Sometimes You Just Break a Few Eggs: An Honest Look at Grindstone 2017

It seems odd to write a report for a race I didn’t finish, but I spend so much of my time at work making the point that writing is a crucial means for processing experience that it seems important that I go ahead and process my Grindstone 2017 experience this way. And, it also just feels like the honest thing to do.

I typically write a report for all of my major races, and it feels like it would be disingenuous to not write about a race where I failed to achieve my goal. I don’t think we present an accurate view of ourselves if we don’t share the hard times as well as the good times. So, here’s the short version: I didn’t have what I needed to make it happen this time. I dropped at North River Gap 1 even though I was running well because I didn’t have the mental game figured out this time. It’s as simple and as complicated as that.

Now for the more detailed version, which I think is where the learning happens.

My goal for 2017 was to follow up a pretty successful year of running in 2016 (100 mile PR at Umstead; Grindstone finish; The Year of the Runaround; Top 10 at EDU) by exploring a new level of difficulty. I decided to do fewer races this year and focus on doing two mountain 100s fairly close together. I figured it would be an interesting challenge that would also enable me to spend more time at home trying to be a good husband and father, which is my top priority after all. So, I focused my energy on TRT 100  mid July and Grindstone 100 in early October.

When I finished TRT in July, I had the very strong feeling that I should pull out of Grindstone and call it a year for 100 milers. I was mentally exhausted from pushing through and finishing strong (for me) at TRT. Two weeks later, I was still not recovered and felt like garbage. It seemed like the smart thing to do would be to let go of the plan for two 100s close together. The mental cost of TRT and the slow recovery were signals that failure was a likely outcome. I almost sent Clark the email a few times, but I never did. Then, on the last weekend of August I did two hard runs on a Friday and Sunday and felt great physically. That made me feel confident that my body could handle Grindstone. September training went great. I was running strong, climbing well, and recovering from each training run quickly. My confidence grew. The “double” I had committed to doing seemed like a good challenge again. I convinced myself that I had proper motivation and built a pace plan for a sub 25 hour finish.

I arrived at the start line excited and feeling like I was ready for a good day.

My legs felt great. Pawel, Bradner, and I lined up together ready to work together for as much as the first 50 miles as we could. It was exciting. Adrenaline was pumping.

The first 3 miles flew by. I was feeling great. We passed Jordy who was taking photos a couple of miles in and I flashed him a big smile.









Then, reality came crashing down around me.

Right around the time the 3^rd mile clicked off, I started struggling mentally. Why was I here? What was I doing? I could not access any of the joy I typically feel in the early miles of a big challenge. I told myself to just relax, run smart, and wait for things to settle out. They didn’t.

Bradner and I came into AS 1 at Falls Hallow right on Pawel’s heels. Just under an hour. A few minutes ahead of my goal pace. That should have made me happy. My response: “Gee, that’s nice.” I topped off my water bottle, grabbed a PB&J and rolled on. A few minutes later, I put on my headlamp and chatted with Bradner about his Vol State experience this summer. We talked about lots of fun things. None of them could distract me from the odd feeling of dread. I did not want to run 100 miles today. I kept admonishing myself for letting negative thoughts control my brain. I went through all of my normal mantras. None of them were working.

On the climb to Elliot’s Knob, I settled into a strong hiking pace. I kept telling myself to stop dwelling on the negative. I reminded myself of all the advice I’ve given others over the years: Break it into chunks. Run aid station to aid station. Don’t think of it as a 100 miles; just get to the next aid station.

I couldn’t listen to myself. I didn’t heed my own advice.

I came into AS 2 (Dry Branch) exactly at my goal time/pace for the section. Again, I thought: “Ok. That’s nice.” I took no joy in the fact that I was running strong, feeling good, and setting myself up for success. I couldn’t get out of this negative headspace. I could not stop obsessing about the fact that I still had 85 miles to go. I couldn’t shake the dread I was feeling. I kept thinking: Why am I here? I just did this two months ago. I don’t want to go through this again right now.

I knew I was in trouble, but I just kept pushing because that’s what I do.

This continued on my way towards Dowell’s Draft 1. For the next 7 miles I thought about dropping at DD 1. I just didn’t have any motivation to continue. I got to DD1 and saw Jordy. Normally, this would cheer me up. Jordy is such an inspiring, happy guy that it’s hard to be negative around him. He asked how I was doing. All I could say was: “I don’t want to be here.” He tried to cheer me up, got me to make a funny face for the camera and said: “Just get to North River Gap. It’ll be Ok.” So, I did. I knew he wouldn’t give me a ride, unless I had a really good reason. I didn’t. Physically I was fine. So, I pushed a bunch of calories down the hatch and took off into the night.

I ran strong for the next 15 miles. I kept pushing myself thinking that I just needed to find a rhythm. My legs responded to each challenge. In my head, though, it was a battle royale. The negative demons were winning. In the end, this is what I decided: If you can be honest and just admit that you just don’t have the mental game to finish, you can drop. But, you have to be honest. No BS. You have to be honest and confront failure.

So, I did. I came into North River Gap and told Sean: I’m done. I just don’t have it today. He did what a good friend would do and tried to talk me out of it. He reminded me of all the things I’ve said a million times: Just keep going, you’ll feel better. Just get to turnaround, the sun will come up and it’ll get better. You can do it.

But, I knew I couldn’t. Well, I knew I could. I knew I could still finish around my goal time.

I just didn’t want to. I was tired mentally and I had zero motivation to finish. So, I didn’t.

Writing those words was difficult. Admitting failure is hard, particularly hard for me because I pride myself on reaching goals and doing things that are difficult. But it’s the truth. I didn’t have what it took to finish Grindstone this year.

And, that is OK. Here’s why:

If you follow this blog, you’ve seen me write a lot about making omelets and burning ships. That’s just who I am as a person and a runner. Anything worth doing is worth overdoing and doing RIGHT. For me, a big part of ultra running is staring into the abyss and confronting failure. Gary Cantrell (aka Laz) wrote an insightful column (link) where he said: “We can’t find out how much we can do without taking the chance that we will overreach.” Those words resonated with me because I find kinship in the idea that we can’t truly find our limits if we only attempt things that we KNOW we can do. That means we have to stop viewing falling short as a negative thing. Our culture abhors failure. We shy away from it. While I don’t advocate blind risk or being foolish, I do strongly believe in the value of learning some lessons the hard way. I’m quite certain that some folks thought my pursuit of TRT and Grindstone was ill-advised. I admit that I was wracked with doubt for a time this summer and overcome with it during the race. But, I did feel physically up to the task. I hit all of my markers in my short training block. I had no lingering pains at the start line. Mentally, though….

The mental aspect of running long distances can’t be overlooked. I have to admit that here is where I made a crucial error. I talked myself into thinking I was mentally prepared, but I clearly was not ready for the challenges of walking right up to the edge of what I’m capable of this time.

 This weekend I found the edge and fell right off into the abyss. I was unable to claw my way out of that abyss and complete the task at hand. It seems odd to say, but I’m glad that I did. Don’t get me wrong, I’d much rather be writing about a successful pursuit of my goal and the joy of seeing Ginger, PT, and all of my friends at the finish. I’d certainly rather be writing about the pride I would have taken in my “double” this year. But, I can’t. I was unable to do it. I have, however learned a few things:

• 1.     Motivation is, as one might guess, crucial. Without proper motivation difficult tasks can become impossible. I started Grindstone without the proper motivation. The goal of the “double” wasn’t enough for me. Grindstone was just another challenge—not THE challenge that I was invested in Friday night. Before I toe the line at my next 100 miler, I will be sure to carefully consider the motivation behind that choice and make sure it is rock solid.
• 2.     Mental recovery and preparation are crucial elements of success. Much like motivation, I knew this already in a theoretical sense, but this weekend really showed me what happens in practice when you are not mentally prepared for a task. I can look back at the last 18 months of running and see that I just kept heaping challenge upon challenge without taking the time to re-supply the mental stores needed to meet those challenges. Now, I can see that mental recovery is just as important as physical recovery.
• 3.     We can not be afraid to fail. In the end, I think that’s a big reason for my inability to claw my way out of the mental abyss. I was unable to think about anything other than how I would explain why I quit the race. As much as I’ve thought (and talked) about embracing challenges where failure is a likely outcome, I allowed it to dominate my thoughts in ways that were counter-productive. I can’t allow that to happen in the future. I must be willing to recognize that the very concept of success depends upon the potential for failure. Much like joy and sorrow, you can’t have one without the other, so we should not fear either.

In a very odd way, dropping at North River Gap was a cleansing experience. I had to actually admit that I’d bitten off more than I could chew. That was hard. It was also freeing. It has allowed me to stop putting so much pressure on myself—pressure that was robbing me of the ability to enjoy my hobby. Now, I know that overreach won’t kill me. It won’t destroy my sense of self. The outpouring of support and understanding from my family, friends, and fellow travelers in the ultra world reassured me that we don’t have to be perfect. We only have to be honest. I suppose that’s one reason I’ve decided to write this post and share it. Maybe someone who’s struggling with whether or not to chase a goal will read this and see that failure isn’t a bad thing. It is, in fact, instructive. If we are open to learning from it. I’m sure I’ll keep learning. I do know this: I’ll take what I’ve learned and apply it to my next adventure, which will certainly include audacious goals. While I will make sure I’m prepared physically AND mentally for the challenge next time, I also won’t allow the fear of failure to consume me when faced with difficulty.

As always, I want to thank Ginger for her unwavering support. I know this pursuit of windmills would not be possible without you. Thank you.

I also want to thank Sean for his selfless dedication to supporting me at races this year and in life in general. I look forward to paying you back. Chris, thanks for being there. I promise, you’ll get to run next time you travel to wander in the mountains with me. Brett, Jordy, Pawel, Rick, and the rest of the Bad Idea club- you guys are the best training partners and friends I could ask for. Thanks for all the support. I’m looking forward to our next adventure.

I also want to throw a HUGE congrats to Pawel. He executed his preparation and race day plan perfectly at Grindstone. He finished his first 100 in 23 hours and change. Amazing. You inspire me, buddy. And you’ve taught me a lot. Rick B and Bradner also deserve big congrats for amazing finishes this weekend. I’m proud to call you guys friends, and I hope we can hit the trails again soon. Thanks to all the folks in the Blacksburg running community, especially all the folks at Runabout Sports!. We have the BEST people!

Grindstone 100 2016 Race Report: Yes, Clark. Pain is, indeed, temporary.

GRINDSTONE 100: PAIN IS TEMPORARY [PRIDE IS FOREVER]

I’ve spent the bulk of the past six months training specifically for Grindstone. This race came onto my radar when I the chance to pace Jordy for the final leg in 2014. I fell in love with the race immediately. It’s a tough, rugged mountain race that pushes people to the limit—and that’s what an ultra SHOULD do. It has a great energy and very welcoming atmosphere. Clark puts on a great race, and the volunteers are amazing. And the course. Man, the course is full of fun. Check out the elevation profile: 

I have been in no rush to do the race. I wanted to wait until I was sure I was ready to go have a good day and really test myself on the course. In 2015, I helped Jordy run the Reddish Knob aid station. Over the last couple of years, I've spent a lot of time doing long runs on the AT and improving my climbing skills. This year was the right time to step up from flatter 100 milers to a mountain 100.

Sean, Chris and I drove up to Swoope Friday morning, and I got checked in and ready to go. After the race meeting, I tried to get some rest before the start. A little before 6, we headed over to the start where I caught up with Ryan and Ben.

Ryan Nebel & Ben Wyrick

It was a little chilly and drizzling rain—basically what has become “Grindstone Weather”—as we stepped off on the Odyssey that is running a 100 miler.

Running with Ryan and Bryan Photo: Sean Raines

 The first few sections went about like I thought they would. I came through Falls Hallow, Dry Branch, and Dowell’s Draft close enough to my expected times that I felt like a good day was a real possibility. I left North River Gap (Mile 37) feeling strong. I popped in an earbud (just one because I always like to listen to the woods around me) and jammed out to music as I pushed my way up the big climb towards the Little Bald Knob aid station. Rage Against the Machine, Fife and the rest of the Tribe, Mandolin Orange, and John Prine (sorry Brett—no Beibs) kept me company and allowed my mind to drift as I tried to stay at my comfortable “all day” pace.

Things progressed about as expected (if only a little slow) until I started coming close to the Reddish Knob punch. The rain and fog were relentless. The course was a mix of standing water, mud, and slick rocks. Even though I had already changed socks twice (thanks Sean!), my feet were starting to have some trouble. I normally don’t have blister issues, so I wanted to be careful and keep it that way. I felt some hot spots on both of the balls of my feet. To stay on top of it, I sat on the muddy trailside and pulled my emergency socks out of my pack and changed them.

Muddy shoes were great for warding off sketchy people at the Econo Lodge after the race

During the race, the shoes were so caked in mud that I didn’t realize that they had holes in them.

Shredded Altra Olympus 2.0 

 Anyway, a quick sock change and I was off to the punch. Then, I rolled to Briery Branch Gap (Mile 51.56) to pick up Chris in 12:17-- about an hour before sunrise. Honestly, I felt great. I was running smart, taking care of my feet, eating, and saving energy. I was moving through aid stations quickly, which was a big focus.  I felt a little tired, but not bad at all. My legs felt strong and I thought, for sure, sub 24 was possible. The sun would be coming up soon and I knew I could make up some time once I was no longer running by headlamp in the fog and rain.

Chris and I started the hike back up from BBG. I wanted to let food settle while we climbed so we could run the ridge back to Little Bald Knob. We moved fairly well for a while, but then I started having some problems that were a bit more serious than just some sore feet. I had been drinking water like it was much warmer out than it was. I was cold, and I started having to go to the bathroom way too often. Clear and copious urine was not the welcome sign it normally is when you’re hydrated at a healthy level. Chris and I progressed to North River Gap (65.33) making OK time (16:13). Four hours was a good bit slower than I wanted for that section, but I knew that I just needed to wake up as the day went on, figure out the hydration thing, and I could pick up the pace again. Then, I started throwing up whenever I ate.

By the time we got to Lookout Mtn (71.68), I was feeling like I was in real trouble. It had been hours since I held any food down and I was feeling weak and shaky. Chris kept reminding me to get some salt on board. He was SO patient with me as I stopped what felt like every 5 minutes to puke or go to the bathroom. About a mile after leaving Lookout Mtn, I got worried. I thought I might need to go back to the AS and try to sort things out. I thought I might need to drop. But, Chris was with me and I knew all I need to do was keep moving to keep warm.

I needed to work the problem and find the solution. In the end that solution was slowing down, taking on salt, laying off the water for a while, and letting go of my time goals and ego.

That was hard.

I had trained so hard for this race. I wanted to have a good day in terms of placement and the clock. But, what I got was something way better: A chance to stare in the abyss, confront failure, and persevere. So, here is how that went down.

Chris helped me remember that I only needed to get to the next aid station. Everything could be re-assessed at Dowell’s Draft (Mile 80.35). At that point, I would only have 21 miles or so to go. And, I would have like 17 hours to do that distance. I decided I would just get to Dowell’s get out of the wet clothes, into a sleeping bag, warm up, and eat. Then, if I needed to nap, I would nap. But I wasn’t going to quit. There was no reason. I had Chris to ensure I was safe, an amazing crew (thanks again Sean, Pawel, and Rick) who would get me dried out, fed, and ready to go.  I knew that Pawel would do a great job of pacing me to the finish.

So, that’s what we did. At Dowell’s, Rick had laid out a tarp. 

Warm clothes and food make all the difference. 

Sean, Pawel, and Rick got me out of the wet clothes and into warm dry clothes. They fed me, pushed the warm coffee, and got me ready to get moving again. No nap needed. No one complained about being out in the rain for the last 20-plus hours. No one complained about how damn slow I was going. No one acted like I was doing anything but well. And, that made all of the difference. I can’t express my gratitude enough.

Once I was dried out and fed, Pawel and I took off towards Dry Branch Gap. 

Getting Pawel the vert I promised him

Up the climb we went. Jordy was right—the business on this course starts at the climb after Dowell's. Pawel told story after story and kept my mind off the weather (that damn rain!!!), the blisters, the shredded qauds, the chaffing (my kingdom for a zip log bag ha ha) and most importantly: The Clock. At Dry Branch, I got a great surprise when I saw that Ginger was there and Brett had driven up to see me too.

Ginger joins the crew in the rain (preggo & everything-- awesome!) 

I felt so lucky to have such great people supporting me that I no longer cared about the clock. I was just happy to be out in the mountains moving steadily and with a purpose towards the finish. And eventually we got there. 29 Hours and 56 minutes later. Almost a full work day longer than I had thought it would take. You would think I might be disappointed. I am not.

You're not a finisher until you hug the totem pole. 

This finish is my proudest moment in terms of running to date. And here is why:

1.     I have never had to look failure so squarely in the face before. I like running ultras because they allow us to test ourselves. We can learn so many lessons from doing things that might result in failure. I will cherish the lessons from Grindstone. The most important one was to really embrace the process and think less about the finish. I love being in the mountains with my friends, and when you get fixated on the finish line you miss out on some of the fun of exploring.

2.     Before the race, Jordy had told me that I needed to have the discipline to race from start to finish. He told me not to allow myself to be broken or become satisfied. Although I was unable to “race” from start to finish, I believe I heeded his advice. I was never satisfied. I never just phoned it in. I ran smart early and when things didn’t go my way I pushed as hard as I could just to finish. That doesn’t mean I went fast. But I never let myself just slog or give up. I moved with a purpose—even when I didn’t want to.

3.     I Chose Joy. That idea has been a mantra in our group since Brett or Jordy (I can’t remember who) came across it in a race report a while back. Ginger gave me a card on Friday that she colored that said: Choose Joy.  When I was tired and feeling bummed, that card reminded me that I’m lucky to be able to do these things and I should choose to enjoy it. I was able to do that, and that made all the difference.

4.     Having such an amazing crew of people around me made me feel like I must be doing something right in life. I’m lucky that people will be that generous with their time, and I’m proud to have these friends in my life.

5.     I finished Grindstone, DOOD!!! Seriously, a whole year of working towards something, and I got it done!

This has been a long one, so I’ll close by saying a big THANK YOU to Sean for being an amazing crew chief. I can’t wait to return the favor.

If you ever need a crew chief, Sean is your man. He is on top of it!  (Well, he DID wear jeans to Grindstone, but he's one top of taking care of other people)

Thanks to Chris for being a steady, calming presence. I always enjoy our time together on the trail. I’m also looking forward to returning the favor.

Chris Larson is an amazing pacer. Steady, calm, and always upbeat. 

Thank you, Pawel for being patient and encouraging along the way. You’re a great pacer, training partner, and friend. Can’t wait to help you knock out your first hundy too.

Feed this guy vert and he will go anywhere 

Rick: you were such a huge help! Thanks for coming out and supporting me! 

Ginger: thank you for letting me be me and for supporting me as I train and chase windmills with our crazy friends. 

Bryan Jennings: YOU ARE A BEAST! Congrats on your first 100. This was a doozie!! I'm so glad to have re-connected with you and Peggy. It was great seeing you guys. 

Ryan Nebel: Congrats on another solid finish. You're an inspiration, man. Great dad and still running strong!

Ben: I'm glad we got to spend some time together in the mountains. Looking forward to the next one.

Brett and Jordy: thanks for being the best training partners, mentors, and friends I could ask for.

I wouldn’t have made it to the finish without ALL of you.