The Bel Monte 50K Trail Run

We lined up on the dam at Sherando Lake.  It was early—6:30 in the morning.  The moon was bright and there was still no sign of the sun.  About a third of the 300 or so entrants (for the 25K, 50K and 50 Miler) had headlamps, and, as the starting horn sounded, the rest of us followed in the dappled spotlights they provided.

Like many large races, the start was slow.  We walked and jogged as the field sorted itself with the faster runners moving to the front.  Because we were pinched onto a narrow trail, this took longer than expected, but that was a good thing.  No need to be pushing hard so early.  Energy reserves are at a premium in a 31 mile race.

For the first few miles the line of runners snaked through the woods, slowly gaining elevation as we worked our way up toward a crossing of the Blue Ridge Parkway.  The sun gradually replaced the moon and headlamps as our primary light source .

Everything was rosy as we arrived at the first rest stop.  A volunteer filled my water bottle with Gatorade; I shed my gloves, grabbed a handful of M & M’s and headed back up the trail.

We passed through some mountain laurel and crossed pretty little creeks, but the dominant trait of this leg of the run is a climb of about a mile that is “lung-bustingly” steep.  It switches back and forth and everyone was walking.  I took off my nylon jacket and tied it around my waist, leaving me wearing just a long sleeved running shirt, along with shorts and running pants.

It seemed as if the whole day was geared around reaching “Camp Marty,” a rest stop near the highest point in the race. The course was designed so you would stop there twice, both times after the most grueling climbs of the day.

We had a drop bag there, where we could leave gear we no longer needed.  We had loaded the bag before the start with extra food and drink, dry socks and shirts, and ibuprofen.  Make it to Camp Marty, and you had a chance to regenerate your chances of finishing.

No problems so far.  We dropped the extra layers of clothes, including gloves and hats, grabbed some food, took some salt tablets to prevent cramping and took off on a long downhill fire road.  Seven miles, and one of the days’ two major climbs behind us.

Troy and I talked quite a lot during this part of the run, which was easy because it was early and the footing was good.  We improved our minutes-per-mile significantly and passed through several more aid stations, eating and refilling water bottles.

We jogged along a dirt road that was actually flat for about three miles, and passed many people who were walking.  By the next aid station, my legs were feeling it, and my stomach was getting tired of trying to digest food while all the blood in my body was feeding the muscles in my legs.  If you don’t eat during these events you will run out of fuel and “bonk.”  If your stomach won’t accept food, you’re toast.

We drank extra water and Gatorade at the rest stop, and I grabbed some “sandwiches” of saltine crackers and peanut butter.  I ate a couple, but my stomach was not having it, and a mile later I tired of carrying them, and left two others beside the trail for the squirrels.

It’s only five miles from that rest stop back to Camp Marty.  Four miles of relatively level trail that crosses the same babbling creek several times, and one mile of torturous uphill that makes your legs groan with every step.  There was no way to avoid getting your feet wet, and blisters became a potential issue as we both could feel our feet chafing in places that hadn’t been an issue the previous 20 miles.

By the time we made it to the base of the climb, our water bottles were empty.  That was a problem.  The sun was out by now, and it was beating down on us.  We were sweating and dehydration became a concern. 

When your legs are aching, your stomach clenching, and you’re thirsty, your brain plays tricks on you.  This is the part where you hear people saying that endurance events are mental.  I told myself to keep going, one footstep at a time – each a small victory. 

Troy was so thirsty; he risked it, and filled his water bottle from the stream.  I reluctantly took one swig – but the fear of giardia kept me from drinking any more.

After what seemed like hours of climbing (it was probably 30 minutes in reality) we heard the country music blaring from the SUV at Camp Marty.  The top at last!

Troy was in much better shape.  He’d had the extra water, and goes uphill more easily than I do.  We changed into dry socks from the drop bag, took some more salt tablets, ate Captain Marty’s food, and some roasted potatoes Troy had made, and started out for the 7 mile downhill to the finish.

It was then that the chills hit.  I was shaking, and goose bumps emerged all over my body.  “Dehydration,” Troy said.

We turned around after 100 feet and went back to Camp Marty.  “Drink,” Troy said.  I had more water.  My stomach would not tolerate Gatorade.

After 4 or 5 minutes we set off again, walking up a small grade.  When the trail pitched down, we began to jog.  The shivers went away, and I felt pretty good.

This section is full of “rock gardens.”  It’s akin to running on rip rap.  You pick your way along, praying you don’t cramp up, trip or both.  It’s running in name only.  You hop.  You pick your way.  You focus. 

We made our way back to the bottom on a section of trail known as “Tory Ridge.”  Portions are so steep that you nearly need to hold on to trees as you descend.  I kicked a grapefruit sized rock in one part of the trail.  It rolled and bounded at least 200 feet downhill before it came to a stop.  I didn’t want that to be me. 

Downhill sounds easy, but it pounds your quads, as you essentially put on the brakes with every step.  This is where cramping can put an end to your day.  If you go faster, there’s less “braking.”  Go too fast, and you may lose control and pitch yourself down the mountain.  Somehow we finished the descent.

The next rest stop is at the bottom.  More M & M’s and water.  From there it is 1.6 miles to the finish – a gradual uphill.  Troy and I broke into a trot and passed several people who were walking.  One man tripped on a tree root in front of us, and fell down a 4 foot embankment.  We helped him up and jogged on.  (He was cramping but otherwise fine.)

We crossed the finish line together in 7:25:58 having averaged 14:24 a mile.  (By contrast my best marathon was about 7:30 per mile)

There were 122 starters for the 50 k and 93 finishers.  Troy and I tied for 48th place.

Not bad for a first attempt. 

I’m not sure if it will be the “only” attempt.  That mental thing still has to work itself out.