"Turn that jazz off."
It was about 0300 hrs on race morning, and I was awoken by the soft jumble of a good jazz band playing through the Prius' speaker system. The only radio station that came through without static, which had earlier been playing funeral style pipe organ tunes, was brought to life by Tyler's turning on the car to get warm. I lay in the back, stretched diagonally across the folded down rear seats; Tyler sat/laid in the front passenger seat.
It was 43 degrees when we crawled back into the car after the three hour drive and sharing pre race jitters with a few runners who were also toeing the start line in the morning. It was now hovering around 35 degrees, where it would stay until well after race start.
It has been a long year since beginning a new career. Commuting 3+ hours each day and sitting in a car or doing paperwork for the majority of the workday has taken it's tole. My opportunities to get out are fewer and father between, and my motivation at many of those opportunities has been greatly lacking. My gut has also regrouped and has mounted a mighty offensive against my size 34 pants; he continues to be a worthy adversary. Couple this with Kelly's training for the Mount Desert Island half marathon the weekend after Green Monster, and basically I've been training for an ultra distance race with a half marathon training plan. I did manage to get in a 20 miler in early September, but beside that my running has been short and slow. This is not entirely unusual, though. If you've followed any of my races over the years, you'll notice a pattern of little training punctuated by stretches of not training at all, peppered by obscenely difficult long runs. I subscribe to the "running is 90% mental" theory, which I've proven to be correct on multiple occasions.
Race morning came slowly. We drove to town for DD coffee and to contact the wife to let her know we had arrived the night before and were preparing to begin our adventure. She, like every other red blooded, Bible believing, common sensed citizen of our Commonwealth, was asleep.
The debate over whether I should run the 50K or step down to the 25K was quashed when I joked (pleaded) with the lady at the registration tent. It was too early for her; the answer was a definite "N-O." I had mentally chewed on the idea of switching races for about a week, as it became apparent that I would not be running this thing fast and would, in regular fashion, be struggling out there for a good many hours. This was compounded by our conversation with our new running acquaintances, who related the difficulty of the course. Again, it is common for me to choose a race solely on the distance and whether or not I have that weekend available to run. I knew this thing was supposed to be tough; we were in Tioga County, after all. The topography in northern PA is very much straight up and straight down. Terrible mountain biking terrain. I was unaware, however, of the extent of the horror that awaited.
0700 hrs. We were huddled around the campfire at the start line. The race meeting was held, we stripped out of our sweatshirts and walked to the start line for the playing of the national anthem. I wished Tyler good luck, confident he'd be crossing the finish line hours before me. Even now, I was still thinking I could just ditch it at the 25K turn. I didn't have to do all this. I wanted to be home, warm in bed. My motivation was severely lacking, even at the starting line. This was not a good way to start the day.
The horn sounded and we were off. The gravel road crawled by under my feet as I fell into my "Ultra Shuffle" gait. I settled into where I am comfortable, somewhere between the last of the fast and the first of the slow, and chugged along. Again, there is no flat running in this race. We started out with a climb first thing. The grade, for the most part, was runable for approximately a mile and didn't become too difficult even after I began hiking. I met Mike, who we had talked with the night before, on the course and settled in with a group of guys from West Chester, Scranton and Jersey Shore areas. We played leap frog on climbs and descents for most of the first half of the race. The first climb under my belt, I knew this wasn't going to be as bad as I thought. Folks at the start talked up the first climb, claiming it to be the worst on the course. Blue Knob was worse than this, I thought. Maybe I'll finish in seven hours.
The terrain of the course is very similar to Blue Knob with a steady mix of rocks and roots thrown in with a few short clear sections. It was terrain I felt comfortable on, as Blue Knob is my main training ground. This familiarity was helpful in not face planting during the long, rocky descents.
The second climb was similar to SOB, if you are familiar with Hyner. The difference between the two is length; this thing made SOB feel like a 10 foot climb. The climb as half crawl, half ladder climb of loose scree. As we climbed we were freeing rocks an dirt from their resting places and causing them to tumble back onto our fellow runners. I apologized and kept climbing, passing a few runners that would not catch back up with me for the rest of the race. At the top of the climb I closed my hands and realized they had swelled like sausages due to the change in elevation.
It was warmer on top of the ridge, but the weather was short lived as we dove down the mountain again only to be met with an equally steep climb. "What goes down must come up!" I yelled as we started tearing down the technical stretch, side stepping, hopping and stumbling my way through the softball size rocks. "What goes up, must come down!" someone behind me yelled back. I liked his attitude and it helped me change mine for the better. At this point we were only about 8 miles in and I was still thinking about how I was going to spin my reason for dropping out at the 25k.
The next descent and climb were routine by now. The top of the climb, though, provided a nice respite with a beautiful section of singletrack that ran along the top of the ridge for a few quick miles. As I made my way up another climb and into the (roughly) mile 13 aid station, I vocalized my concerns about dropping to the volunteers. The family had no idea what to say and just sort of looked at me for a minute and went about their business. It was a little more strange, though, because I was the only runner at the aid station. I drank my eighth cup of gingerale and headed out for Frankenstein's Forehead. This eighty degree descent consisted of nothing by loose scree that had been chewed up by the fast guys who came before me. The trail was like running straight down a glass covered sand dune with a vague, winding trail cut through the loosest parts. Another runner had warned me the night before that the descent was like running through snow, so I dug in my heels and attempted to stay upright as I plunged toward the floor of the hollow. I missed a quick turn in the trail, however, and ended up ass to grass in a nice pile of rocks. I decided to change methods and tiptoed and slid sideways down the remaining section. The course description even states the descent will have you cursing the race director, which is accurate.
The bottom reached, I was met with the decision I'd been contemplating the last 14 miles. An arrow pointed left and promised an end to the seemingly endless ups and downs. My thoughts went immediately to my wife, who was probably up by now, making a pot of coffee. I don't get many weekends off, and the few I'm allotted can be switched and moved at random based on staffing needs. I had left her at home alone, again, as I drove to the northern border of the Commonwealth to run around in the woods. I knew if I'd dropped, I'd have a lot of 'splanin to do in order to justify using the weekend for anything beside time spent with her. With this in mind I let out a quick expletive, turned right and trotted up the hill to face the next 17 miles.
I quickly reached a small stream just wide enough to stop me from jumping over it. I instead used a branch lying across the width of the stream as a bridge, so as not to soak my feet. This, of course, didn't work out and I ended up face down, half in, half out of the stream with my right foot fully submerged. Again, I thought how east it would be to turn around and end it. I pushed on, coming to a semi-dry creek bed. The issue was where I stood was approximately three feet above the rest of the trail. The slight drop into the creek bed from the bank where I stood wasn't a big deal, except the rocks that made up the creek bed were covered in freshly fallen leaves. After a few moments of contemplating where to aim for I landed safely in a flat spot and climbed up the other side of the bed and up the side of another mountain.
Tyler was at this spot long before me and had stood, making the same decision about where to aim for when he jumped into the creek bed. His landing, though, was not smooth as he landed on a rock hidden by the leaves. This caused him to stumble and, in an attempt to stay upright, wrenched his lower back. In turn, this slowed his pace to a crawl, dropping him from top 10 to mid pack. He managed to hike to the next unmanned aid station about 2.5 miles up the mountain from the creek bed. He filled up his handheld and continued on to the next station at Hessel Gessel, mile 20.
I did not know this had happened, as I was far behind him and the incident happened in the stretch of trail where there was no access and the 17.5 mile aid station was unmanned. I crawled up the mountain, hit the 17.5 mile aid station and loaded up on gummie candy. A runner came trotting up an access road to the aid station and determined he had lost his way, cutting approximately 4 miles off the course. Lucky.
I slogged up the hills leading to the mile 20 aid station where Tyler laid, overdosing on Ibuprofen. The first woman passed me on the climbs here, chugging along strong. I kept up with her and we cruised in to the aid station together. I stopped, she did not and she disappeared into the quarry.
By now I'd chafed the undercarriage to a raw mess and needed some reprieve. The aid stations were all manned by the great athletes of the local high school cross country teams. They were great help, getting us all we needed or wanted, but I wasn't about to ask a 14 year old kid for lube. I'm pretty sure that's a misdemeanor offense. I instead whispered it to the only adult working at the station, who handed me a small white tube o' lube. Having no concealment in sight, my earlier effort at being discreet in the presence of the tent full of juveniles was thwarted when I shoved lube down my shorts and almost cried at the initial burn. "Are you sure this isn't icy hot?" It wasn't and the pain subsided. This is when I found out what had happened to Tyler earlier. He thought he could make it to the next aid station, and if he didn't feel good there he'd drop. I figured with my glacial pace he could suffer through the rest of the course with me. With a hand warmer duct taped to his lower back and 3 full bottle of Ibuprofen and Tylenol in his system we set off into the quarry, guided by a young volunteer. The trail crossed over a rock outcropping and required us to jump from boulder to boulder as we came out of the quarry. This was a favorite small section of the course, even if it was poorly placed.
By now we had met back up with a few runners I had been pinballing with all morning, including a gent we met the night before. Unfortunately, I can't remember his name for the life of me; good dude. He was wearing NB Minimus and had stepped on a sharp rock a few miles back, causing him to cramp up and slow significantly. Together, we made our way up and down the much smaller climbs. The second half of the 50k is much more runnable than the first 25k. I was relieved as we rolled into the mile 25 aid station, where Mary Ann and two young volunteers served us hot pierogies before sending us up another climb. This one, I know, was merely there to get the necessary mileage for the 50K. I know it was necessary, but at the time the fact the I traveled about 1.5 miles in 3 miles up immediate up and down was unnerving. We crossed the creek for the last time, managing to stay dry this time, and rolled into the last aid station at mile 28.5 as they performed a rousing rendition of.... well I don't remember the song. It was motivational, though! If I'm not mistaken, this is also where Tyler was hit on by an aid station volunteer. She liked his beard.
The final climb was brutal. It was a double track style trail the followed the hollow up for about 2 miles. I wasn't steep, it just wouldn't stop climbing. After asking if we had entered hell, we finally made it to the top. I cannot adequately express how much I wanted this climb to end. I had cramped for the first time in the race. Even with kicking and stumbling over rocks along the course, I hadn't truly locked up until a quarter way up this hill. We still had fuel in the tank though, and after asking a mountain biker how far we had until the bottom (2 miles), we cranked it up, leaving our other cohorts behind.
A runner we had been playing leap frog with since mile 20 came into our sights as we cruised down the final descent. "Let's catch him", I said, and we were off, hot on his heels. We caught up to him at the very bottom of the mountain, just as the hard road was coming into sight. Tyler's foot caught and he ended up tumbling onto the ground just as we got out of the woods, which seemed ironic considering the technical trails we descended without issue all day. Still, we cruised on toward the finish line, giving every fume we had left in reserve. The runner we had just passed was coming up strong behind us, and we kicked it on for a sprint finish. I focused on the start line, where I assumed we would be finishing. I got tunnel vision and completely missed the finish line off to the right of the hard road. I even tuned out the volunteer standing, blocking the start line screaming, "No! Go right!" All that effort for nothing. After embarrassing myself, I crossed the finish line at 7:56.08, three seconds behind Tyler.
We exchanged handshakes and man hugs with Gary, the runner who we caught on the last descent, and thanked eachother for the push. Our wooden medals/keychains acquired, we hit up the tents for some top notch BBQ and finished off the last of Yorkhollow's supply.
Three weeks removed, I'm still impressed by the course. It was hard. It's a monster, no exaggeration. It was also up to par with what I expected from the group of guys who put it together. It was well planned, marked and supported. The volunteers were great and it was a fun couple of days up in Tioga County.
I'll probably be back, but for the 25k. I've slain the Monster once, I don't think I'll be challenging it to a fight again any time soon!
Thanks to the race directors and volunteers who gave of themselves to give we runners a great day! Check out their site and sign up for next year's race here: Green Monster Website
It was about 0300 hrs on race morning, and I was awoken by the soft jumble of a good jazz band playing through the Prius' speaker system. The only radio station that came through without static, which had earlier been playing funeral style pipe organ tunes, was brought to life by Tyler's turning on the car to get warm. I lay in the back, stretched diagonally across the folded down rear seats; Tyler sat/laid in the front passenger seat.
It was 43 degrees when we crawled back into the car after the three hour drive and sharing pre race jitters with a few runners who were also toeing the start line in the morning. It was now hovering around 35 degrees, where it would stay until well after race start.
It has been a long year since beginning a new career. Commuting 3+ hours each day and sitting in a car or doing paperwork for the majority of the workday has taken it's tole. My opportunities to get out are fewer and father between, and my motivation at many of those opportunities has been greatly lacking. My gut has also regrouped and has mounted a mighty offensive against my size 34 pants; he continues to be a worthy adversary. Couple this with Kelly's training for the Mount Desert Island half marathon the weekend after Green Monster, and basically I've been training for an ultra distance race with a half marathon training plan. I did manage to get in a 20 miler in early September, but beside that my running has been short and slow. This is not entirely unusual, though. If you've followed any of my races over the years, you'll notice a pattern of little training punctuated by stretches of not training at all, peppered by obscenely difficult long runs. I subscribe to the "running is 90% mental" theory, which I've proven to be correct on multiple occasions.
Race morning came slowly. We drove to town for DD coffee and to contact the wife to let her know we had arrived the night before and were preparing to begin our adventure. She, like every other red blooded, Bible believing, common sensed citizen of our Commonwealth, was asleep.
The debate over whether I should run the 50K or step down to the 25K was quashed when I joked (pleaded) with the lady at the registration tent. It was too early for her; the answer was a definite "N-O." I had mentally chewed on the idea of switching races for about a week, as it became apparent that I would not be running this thing fast and would, in regular fashion, be struggling out there for a good many hours. This was compounded by our conversation with our new running acquaintances, who related the difficulty of the course. Again, it is common for me to choose a race solely on the distance and whether or not I have that weekend available to run. I knew this thing was supposed to be tough; we were in Tioga County, after all. The topography in northern PA is very much straight up and straight down. Terrible mountain biking terrain. I was unaware, however, of the extent of the horror that awaited.
0700 hrs. We were huddled around the campfire at the start line. The race meeting was held, we stripped out of our sweatshirts and walked to the start line for the playing of the national anthem. I wished Tyler good luck, confident he'd be crossing the finish line hours before me. Even now, I was still thinking I could just ditch it at the 25K turn. I didn't have to do all this. I wanted to be home, warm in bed. My motivation was severely lacking, even at the starting line. This was not a good way to start the day.
The horn sounded and we were off. The gravel road crawled by under my feet as I fell into my "Ultra Shuffle" gait. I settled into where I am comfortable, somewhere between the last of the fast and the first of the slow, and chugged along. Again, there is no flat running in this race. We started out with a climb first thing. The grade, for the most part, was runable for approximately a mile and didn't become too difficult even after I began hiking. I met Mike, who we had talked with the night before, on the course and settled in with a group of guys from West Chester, Scranton and Jersey Shore areas. We played leap frog on climbs and descents for most of the first half of the race. The first climb under my belt, I knew this wasn't going to be as bad as I thought. Folks at the start talked up the first climb, claiming it to be the worst on the course. Blue Knob was worse than this, I thought. Maybe I'll finish in seven hours.
The terrain of the course is very similar to Blue Knob with a steady mix of rocks and roots thrown in with a few short clear sections. It was terrain I felt comfortable on, as Blue Knob is my main training ground. This familiarity was helpful in not face planting during the long, rocky descents.
The second climb was similar to SOB, if you are familiar with Hyner. The difference between the two is length; this thing made SOB feel like a 10 foot climb. The climb as half crawl, half ladder climb of loose scree. As we climbed we were freeing rocks an dirt from their resting places and causing them to tumble back onto our fellow runners. I apologized and kept climbing, passing a few runners that would not catch back up with me for the rest of the race. At the top of the climb I closed my hands and realized they had swelled like sausages due to the change in elevation.
It was warmer on top of the ridge, but the weather was short lived as we dove down the mountain again only to be met with an equally steep climb. "What goes down must come up!" I yelled as we started tearing down the technical stretch, side stepping, hopping and stumbling my way through the softball size rocks. "What goes up, must come down!" someone behind me yelled back. I liked his attitude and it helped me change mine for the better. At this point we were only about 8 miles in and I was still thinking about how I was going to spin my reason for dropping out at the 25k.
The next descent and climb were routine by now. The top of the climb, though, provided a nice respite with a beautiful section of singletrack that ran along the top of the ridge for a few quick miles. As I made my way up another climb and into the (roughly) mile 13 aid station, I vocalized my concerns about dropping to the volunteers. The family had no idea what to say and just sort of looked at me for a minute and went about their business. It was a little more strange, though, because I was the only runner at the aid station. I drank my eighth cup of gingerale and headed out for Frankenstein's Forehead. This eighty degree descent consisted of nothing by loose scree that had been chewed up by the fast guys who came before me. The trail was like running straight down a glass covered sand dune with a vague, winding trail cut through the loosest parts. Another runner had warned me the night before that the descent was like running through snow, so I dug in my heels and attempted to stay upright as I plunged toward the floor of the hollow. I missed a quick turn in the trail, however, and ended up ass to grass in a nice pile of rocks. I decided to change methods and tiptoed and slid sideways down the remaining section. The course description even states the descent will have you cursing the race director, which is accurate.
The bottom reached, I was met with the decision I'd been contemplating the last 14 miles. An arrow pointed left and promised an end to the seemingly endless ups and downs. My thoughts went immediately to my wife, who was probably up by now, making a pot of coffee. I don't get many weekends off, and the few I'm allotted can be switched and moved at random based on staffing needs. I had left her at home alone, again, as I drove to the northern border of the Commonwealth to run around in the woods. I knew if I'd dropped, I'd have a lot of 'splanin to do in order to justify using the weekend for anything beside time spent with her. With this in mind I let out a quick expletive, turned right and trotted up the hill to face the next 17 miles.
I quickly reached a small stream just wide enough to stop me from jumping over it. I instead used a branch lying across the width of the stream as a bridge, so as not to soak my feet. This, of course, didn't work out and I ended up face down, half in, half out of the stream with my right foot fully submerged. Again, I thought how east it would be to turn around and end it. I pushed on, coming to a semi-dry creek bed. The issue was where I stood was approximately three feet above the rest of the trail. The slight drop into the creek bed from the bank where I stood wasn't a big deal, except the rocks that made up the creek bed were covered in freshly fallen leaves. After a few moments of contemplating where to aim for I landed safely in a flat spot and climbed up the other side of the bed and up the side of another mountain.
Tyler was at this spot long before me and had stood, making the same decision about where to aim for when he jumped into the creek bed. His landing, though, was not smooth as he landed on a rock hidden by the leaves. This caused him to stumble and, in an attempt to stay upright, wrenched his lower back. In turn, this slowed his pace to a crawl, dropping him from top 10 to mid pack. He managed to hike to the next unmanned aid station about 2.5 miles up the mountain from the creek bed. He filled up his handheld and continued on to the next station at Hessel Gessel, mile 20.
I did not know this had happened, as I was far behind him and the incident happened in the stretch of trail where there was no access and the 17.5 mile aid station was unmanned. I crawled up the mountain, hit the 17.5 mile aid station and loaded up on gummie candy. A runner came trotting up an access road to the aid station and determined he had lost his way, cutting approximately 4 miles off the course. Lucky.
I slogged up the hills leading to the mile 20 aid station where Tyler laid, overdosing on Ibuprofen. The first woman passed me on the climbs here, chugging along strong. I kept up with her and we cruised in to the aid station together. I stopped, she did not and she disappeared into the quarry.
By now I'd chafed the undercarriage to a raw mess and needed some reprieve. The aid stations were all manned by the great athletes of the local high school cross country teams. They were great help, getting us all we needed or wanted, but I wasn't about to ask a 14 year old kid for lube. I'm pretty sure that's a misdemeanor offense. I instead whispered it to the only adult working at the station, who handed me a small white tube o' lube. Having no concealment in sight, my earlier effort at being discreet in the presence of the tent full of juveniles was thwarted when I shoved lube down my shorts and almost cried at the initial burn. "Are you sure this isn't icy hot?" It wasn't and the pain subsided. This is when I found out what had happened to Tyler earlier. He thought he could make it to the next aid station, and if he didn't feel good there he'd drop. I figured with my glacial pace he could suffer through the rest of the course with me. With a hand warmer duct taped to his lower back and 3 full bottle of Ibuprofen and Tylenol in his system we set off into the quarry, guided by a young volunteer. The trail crossed over a rock outcropping and required us to jump from boulder to boulder as we came out of the quarry. This was a favorite small section of the course, even if it was poorly placed.
By now we had met back up with a few runners I had been pinballing with all morning, including a gent we met the night before. Unfortunately, I can't remember his name for the life of me; good dude. He was wearing NB Minimus and had stepped on a sharp rock a few miles back, causing him to cramp up and slow significantly. Together, we made our way up and down the much smaller climbs. The second half of the 50k is much more runnable than the first 25k. I was relieved as we rolled into the mile 25 aid station, where Mary Ann and two young volunteers served us hot pierogies before sending us up another climb. This one, I know, was merely there to get the necessary mileage for the 50K. I know it was necessary, but at the time the fact the I traveled about 1.5 miles in 3 miles up immediate up and down was unnerving. We crossed the creek for the last time, managing to stay dry this time, and rolled into the last aid station at mile 28.5 as they performed a rousing rendition of.... well I don't remember the song. It was motivational, though! If I'm not mistaken, this is also where Tyler was hit on by an aid station volunteer. She liked his beard.
The final climb was brutal. It was a double track style trail the followed the hollow up for about 2 miles. I wasn't steep, it just wouldn't stop climbing. After asking if we had entered hell, we finally made it to the top. I cannot adequately express how much I wanted this climb to end. I had cramped for the first time in the race. Even with kicking and stumbling over rocks along the course, I hadn't truly locked up until a quarter way up this hill. We still had fuel in the tank though, and after asking a mountain biker how far we had until the bottom (2 miles), we cranked it up, leaving our other cohorts behind.
A runner we had been playing leap frog with since mile 20 came into our sights as we cruised down the final descent. "Let's catch him", I said, and we were off, hot on his heels. We caught up to him at the very bottom of the mountain, just as the hard road was coming into sight. Tyler's foot caught and he ended up tumbling onto the ground just as we got out of the woods, which seemed ironic considering the technical trails we descended without issue all day. Still, we cruised on toward the finish line, giving every fume we had left in reserve. The runner we had just passed was coming up strong behind us, and we kicked it on for a sprint finish. I focused on the start line, where I assumed we would be finishing. I got tunnel vision and completely missed the finish line off to the right of the hard road. I even tuned out the volunteer standing, blocking the start line screaming, "No! Go right!" All that effort for nothing. After embarrassing myself, I crossed the finish line at 7:56.08, three seconds behind Tyler.
We exchanged handshakes and man hugs with Gary, the runner who we caught on the last descent, and thanked eachother for the push. Our wooden medals/keychains acquired, we hit up the tents for some top notch BBQ and finished off the last of Yorkhollow's supply.
Three weeks removed, I'm still impressed by the course. It was hard. It's a monster, no exaggeration. It was also up to par with what I expected from the group of guys who put it together. It was well planned, marked and supported. The volunteers were great and it was a fun couple of days up in Tioga County.
I'll probably be back, but for the 25k. I've slain the Monster once, I don't think I'll be challenging it to a fight again any time soon!
Thanks to the race directors and volunteers who gave of themselves to give we runners a great day! Check out their site and sign up for next year's race here: Green Monster Website
