In December of last year, my favorite podcast, East Coast Trail and Ultra, held a live call-in, ask anything show. The idea was simple: listeners could call in and ask a running or non-running question and the hosts were answering questions and giving away free race entries and other running-related gear. I dialed that phone number 203 times during that hour long show, and got a busy signal every single time. I was about to give up, but then on the 204th call, it rang. And then, there I was, talking to Ryan Ploeckelman, Sean Blanton, Jason Green, and Jeff Stafford. My question? How do I transition from running 50 milers to running my first 100 miler? They answered my question with tips including staying hydrated and fueling properly, preparing mentally as well as physically, and telling me to just keep moving forward no matter what. They then informed me that I was the 11th caller and they had only had 10 gifts to give away that night. I was happy that I had just gotten through to talk to them! But then, at the last second, Sean jumped in and said if I wanted to run a 100 in 2018, he'd give me a free entry to his race: Chattanooga 100 in November. I was over the moon! This changed everything! My North Country 50 race now became a training run for my first 100 miler and I set my sights a little higher for 2018.
Chattanooga 100 was scheduled for November 30 to December 1, so I had some time to prepare. I knew I needed more time on trails, so I filled my calendar: Pinckney Trail Weekend at the end of April, where I ran the half marathon Saturday followed by the full marathon on Sunday, Tie Dye 50k in May, Mohican 50 in June, Red Moon Trail Night Run in August, North Country 50 in August, and Hungerford Trail 50 in September. Aside from the adventure of them, I used these races for many things. Yes, to gauge my progress, but also to practice hydration and fueling, to try out gear, and to talk to other runners about their experiences. Every race left me feeling a little more prepared for that looming 100 miler.
I chose my races based on my training plan, but I still needed more miles. There were many runs between 20 and 30 miles that I ran alone locally. These high mileage runs used to feel almost overwhelming to me, but something happened somewhere between September and November. Those long runs became enjoyable; they were no longer a struggle. I turned them into adventures and made them fun, and the thought that I might not make it through a 30 mile trek across the county never entered my mind. And let's not forget about the weather! Since March of 2017, I think I've run on the treadmill once. Living in Michigan, that means I've trained in temperatures ranging from -10 degrees to 95 degrees, in the rain and snow and sleet and ice and wind and heat and humidity. By November of this year, I knew I was ready for anything.
I have never had a crew or pacers for a race before, but I knew I would need them for Chattanooga. It is a 50 mile out and back course, with aid stations from 6 to 12 miles apart, and a pacer or "safety runner" can be picked up at the 50 mile mark. I put the crewing bug in my parents' ear early in 2018 and told them to think about it. I knew Jason would need some help and I thought my parents could fit the bill. As far as pacers, I casually asked a few friends, but no one really seemed interested. My friend, Filip, offered to fill the role and I accepted. He has completed many ultras, including three 200 milers, and I knew he could get me through if and when I faltered. So, it was settled. My crew would be my parents and my husband, and Filip and possibly Jason (if needed) would be my pacers.
Now I just needed to get there! Hotels were booked, vacation days from work were planned, packing lists were made. Jason's parents offered to watch our kids, my uncle Scott volunteered to have our dog, and we booked a neighbor to feed and take care of the chickens and ducks. It takes a village, I tell ya!
And then it was GO time. The forecast called for rain and temperatures ranging from the upper 40's to the lower 60's for the race and I had no idea what to wear, so I took everything. I also didn't know what food would sound good along my 100 mile journey, so I packed a ton: pb&j and grilled cheese supplies, oranges, bananas, pickles, three kinds of soup, Payday candy bars, pretzels, hot chocolate and coffee. My crew also had to have meals and supplies, and by the time we got on the road, my van was stuffed to the gills!
Once we got to Chattanooga and checked into the hotel, we headed to packet pickup, which was at a local sporting goods store filled with a zillion amazing things. Sean, the race director, also had two kegs of beer available, so we all gathered our race stuff, drank beer, and made new friends.
I introduced myself to Sean and got a picture with him and said yes, it was actually my birthday.
I saw Filip at registration, where we received our race bibs, two shirts, and a fanny pack filled with amazing things like Fireball and a condom.
After that, we all gathered in closely and Sean gave us his pre-race speech. I'm sure he said many things that night, but what stands out most in my head was when he talked about how well-marked the course was: pink flagging with reflectors for nighttime, LED flashing lights at turns or in hard to see spots, Run Bum signs with arrows pointing the right directions, and Pink DO NOT CROSS tape over parts of the trail that were not part of our race course. Basically, he said, "Don't fuck this up." Those were his exact words. Got it. We also got some extra sage advice from wise old Sean before we left that night...
After grabbing dinner, we headed back to the hotel where I laid out all of my clothes and gear for the morning and got everything organized for my crew. And then I slept. I actually slept! That never happens the night before a race! Bonus! After a blissful six hours of sleep, I woke up and checked the weather. Yep. Rain. It didn't miraculously disappear in the night. It looked like it would be a dry start to the race and then, look OUT. It was 50 degrees and I figured I'd be warm enough in shorts, a long-sleeved top and my raincoat, but after the short walk to breakfast, I changed my mind. When I got back to the room, I completely changed my clothes, opting for long pants and short-sleeved shirt, along with my raincoat. I wore a buff as a headband for both warmth and to help keep the rain from running down my face, and I stuffed light mittens into my pockets. My pack was loaded and ready with water, salt caps, gels, my voice recorder, an emergency blanket, and the required headlamp with extra batteries. Then it was time to get to the starting line.
For the 100 miler, the race begins in Cloudland Canyon State Park, makes a 12 mile loop down into the canyon and then passes by the start/finish for the first aid station before continuing on. We got there early, and were glad to get a parking spot within steps of the starting line. It was a typical race day morning, filled with people getting drop bags situated, warm-ups, bathroom breaks, the token guy in the kilt, greeting friends, and snapping pictures. The water and Gatorade was all set and ready to be sent out to various aid stations and two water-only stops along the route, and we received our last little pep talk from Sean, once again reminding us to "not fuck this up."
We all headed to the starting line, chose spots where we thought we fit in, waited for Sean to say GO, and then we went. The first few miles were on pavement, and I was happy that I wasn't running with a bunch of idiots who take off at a sprint for an ultra. It was quite refreshing when everyone slowed to walk up the first hill in the very first mile.
Soon enough, we could see the end of the road, and there was Jen, call her an assistant RD, who told us it was all trails from there on out. Yesss! The trails were rooty and rocky and wound around the top of the canyon, offering us amazing views.
And then it was time to cross the bridge and head down. By down I mean, down 1,200 steps to the bottom of the canyon. Good thing there were handrails because you know I love to fall!
Once we got to the bottom, we were rewarded with a nearly flat trail right along the river, filled with huge boulders and amazing waterfalls. It was simply gorgeous, and as we neared that 100 mile turnaround, we caught a glimpse of who was ahead of us and who was behind us. The leaders were in a tight pack about three miles ahead of me already, but I didn't mind. They were on their own mission and I cheered them on.
After the turnaround and a little out and back to see another waterfall, we headed back up. I swear I don't remember coming down THAT many stairs!
But, what goes down must come up, so up I went. I just kept thinking about how happy I was that this section wouldn't have to be repeated at the end of the race! This loop was not a part of the final 12 miles. While I was making my climb out of the canyon, My family and Filip were all anxiously awaiting my arrival at the 12 mile aid station.
As I got closer, I could hear the cowbells and cheers and soon I could hear, "AMIE MARTIN!" When I finally made it to the top, the woman who checked me in said, "101, Amie Martin! We've been waiting for you!" How long was I gone?!
I grabbed some snacks and filled my pack and chatted for a minute, and then I headed out. Just nine miles until the next aid station.
This section was filled with pretty runnable trails, but I was leery about going too fast too soon and wanted to conserve energy, so I kept it slow and steady. When the weather had cleared I had taken off my raincoat because I was roasting hot, and I was drying out for a couple of miles, but it had started raining again and I was soaked. The forest changed so much here. The trail would be filled with crunchy leaves and bare trees one minute, and then there would be bright green plants that livened up the forest, and then there would be huge boulders and many rocks underfoot to navigate. There was always something new to see.
At mile 21, I came into the Ascolon Rd. aid station and I was ready for a break. I plopped down in the chair my crew had waiting for me, and while Jason and Filip took off my shoes and socks and cleaned my feet, my mom helped me change all of my upper body layers. After that, my mom went to dry out my raincoat and my dad gave me some warm tomato soup. My feet were quite pruny from being wet, so I sat there for couple more minutes to dry them out before I put on fresh socks and my shoes. I took my token orange picture and then I was off!
This next section would be a long one. It was 16 miles to Nickajack aid station, with just a water-only aid station in between, and I knew it would most likely be dark when I got there. The trails again were very rocky, and after a few miles, it started to rain again. Let me be more clear: it started to pour. I knew that the longer it rained the more beat up the trails would become, so I just went with it. I was feeling really good-full of energy and just enjoying the day.
The forest was so quiet, aside from the rain, and as I climbed up and down the switchbacks, the ground was completely filled with leaves. It was mesmerizing and a little disorienting if I tried to focus in one spot for too long. The trail carried on, big climbs followed by slippery, muddy descents, and always a small mud pit at the bottoms. My raincoat was keeping me mostly warm, but I had given up trying to sty dry. I was so thankful it wasn't colder! And while I was having fun in the woods, my crew and everyone else at Nickajack was having a blast!
Then, in the distance, I could hear a dog barking. Strange, because I hadn't seen any houses or hikers or anything all day. A dog? Then, around mile 33, I came to a bridge. It was a nice, new bridge, but the slope up and the slope down were very steep. I began to cross the bridge, and there was the dog, a pitbull, standing just on the other side of it, relentlessly barking. I stopped for a minute but then realized it was behind fence. It can't get through there, right? I decided to just keep going, and that's when it happened. As I was coming down the steep slope of the bridge, my feet went out from under me and I fell. I landed with a thud, but it was so slippery that I just kept sliding. Shit! I had taken most of the weight of the fall with my left hand and it hurt a little. I shook it off and kept going, when I felt a burning pain in my right wrist. I looked at my arm and there was a skid of dirt on my shirt, covering where my wrist hurt. When I pulled up my sleeve to check it out, I couldn't believe it. There, in the middle of the inside of my right wrist was a lump sticking out at least a half inch. WHAT?! Remember on Aliens when the alien is trying to come through the skin and it's pressing through, stretching it? Well, that's what my wrist looked like on a smaller scale. Could I have broken it? I had never broken a bone before. Is this what it feels like? It was burning inside and throbbing and my whole wrist was starting to swell. I checked both my Radius and Ulna and it didn't seem to be either of those bones, so I wasn't sure what was going on. I quickly texted my crew and told them I may have broken my arm and they needed to find an ace bandage. I wasn't going to let a little broken bone end my race! I started running again, but my arm was throbbing. I had to hook my fingers through the chest strap on my pack to try and keep it elevated. It was just over three miles to Nickajack aid station. Once I got there, I'd get this figured out. But I had to get there first. And when I fell, I stopped eating and drinking. And those those 3.5 miles took me nearly an hour and a half. I arrived at Nickajack in the dark, soaking wet, freezing, and thinking I couldn't continue.
I threw myself into a chair, and they again took my shoes and socks off and put a blanket around me. A couple guys with some medical training came over to check out my wrist. After several different tests and checks, we all agreed that it wasn't broken-I must've just hit it really hard or something.
I changed all my clothes and my shoes, ate a grilled cheese sandwich, put on my hat and warmest gloves and told my crew that I couldn't make it 14 miles to the turnaround point at Covenant College. The assured me I could. 14 miles?! In the cold and dark and pouring rain with a throbbing wrist? NO!
But I had told them before this ever started that they were not allowed to let me quit. The only way I wasn't going to finish is if I missed a cutoff or was literally physically unable to take another step. So I stood up, and Jason walked me down the path as far as he could, and told me he'd see me in 14 miles.
Me: 14 miles?! That's going to take me four hours!
Jason: Even if it takes you four hours, you'll be way ahead of the cutoff. Just do it!
And then I headed down the road in the cold, dark night that led to the trail into the woods, sobbing the whole time.
After that recording, I went back into the woods. The trail was very tight at first and I was moving pretty slowly. Miraculously, my wrist started to feel a bit better and I mostly forgot about it. Soon, I saw a headlamp coming at me. Hey! It was the race leader! He had already been to Covenant College and turned around which meant he was about 26 miles ahead of me. So fast! And running like it wasn't pitch black and slippery like ice on these trails! Seeing him lifted my spirits a bit and I got myself right in the head and resolved to get to that turnaround point. I knew there was a drop bag aid station at about six miles into this stretch, so I figured that would break this up a bit, too. I continued on down the trail, with the sounds of the rushing river filling my ears and occasionally having a runner coming at me down the trail. And then I was high up on a ridge. It was windy and pouring rain and there was thick fog making it hard to see, even with my headlamp, but I could make out the lights below in the city and it was beautiful. I was following a lady who had run this race last year, and as we turned the next corner, she pointed out a spot where Sean had made a last minute change to the trail because of the rain. It was a rope-assisted descent down into a canyon over large rocks, and I was very thankful that we were going straight and not making that downward turn! A little while later, she pulled over and I carried on. I came to a split in the trail, and it was clear that my route was to stick to the left. I noticed the trail also continued to my sharp right, but I knew that would be for the return from this Lula Lake loop. So, I headed to the left and up a rocky climb. Again the trail became narrower and I stepped off to the side the best I could when runners were coming at me so they could pass. I was nearing that six mile mark, around mile 43 or so and there was no sign of a drop bag site. Oh well, ultra mile vary and I'm sure I'd spot it soon. I kept on following the pink flags and was very thankful they all had reflectors on them. Right before I made my descent back down that rocky climb out of Lula Lake, I saw a guy from our hotel. He had been behind me during the race and said, "Hey, neighbor!" when I saw him. I wished him well and slowly climbed down the rocky mudslide that was the trail. There at the bottom was the split I mentioned above, and I followed the Run Bum signs. After just a few seconds, a woman FLEW past me! Where did she come from?! No one behind me was moving that fast. And then I was alone again. The flags led me to a left turn, and I could hear the very close river raging. I wondered in the dark if it always sounded like that, or if the torrential rains were having an affect on it. The trail turned into stone steps which got narrower and farther apart as it went down. They were so steep and I couldn't see more than about two feet in front of me and I ended up almost sideways crawling down them. I was sure if I tripped and fell forward I would fall into the abyss. Once I finally made it to the bottom, it didn't get much easier. There were huge boulders and stones and thankfully there were tons of LED's flashing and flags with reflectors everywhere because this didn't seem to be much of an actual trail. About halfway through, I saw a headlamp. It was the woman who had flown past me a few minutes ago! What?! She stopped and asked me if I was going the right way. I assured her I was, and she turned to go with me. She was having a hard time following the trail, so we helped each other out trying to find the flags and flashing LED's. She seemed so confused, and I felt bad that I couldn't help her. Then she decided to turn around and go back where I just came from. Ok, then! I had to get out of this ravine. I continued on the trail and it was slowly leading upward. The rocks were getting bigger and I was having to crawl on my hands and knees to get over some of them. Plus, it was so muddy and slippery that I once again feared falling off the edge. In case you didn't know this, I am deathly afraid of heights. Deathly. Last summer I actually was up on my roof, ten feet off the ground and had a panic attack and couldn't get off. So this trail climb was putting me riiiiiight on the edge of losing my shit. And then, there it was. A solid rock face with a rope hanging down. Seriously?! The only way through this was up, so I grabbed the rope and my mittens were soaked through instantly from all the rain that was being held in it. But up I went. And when I made it, there was another one. This one you had to hold onto while climbing sideways up a rock that led to another rope. All the while I climbed, the rain was pouring and the river was raging. It was something out of a nightmare. I just kept telling myself that it would be over soon and to NOT LET GO. Finally, I reached the top. I thankfully followed the flags and continued down the trail. My watch said 44 miles, and I hadn't seen that drop bag spot. Had I missed it in the rain? Was it still up ahead? So weird! I kept on going though, because I had six miles until I could see my crew and pick up my pacer. No time to waste. And then I made a right turn on the bridge and was feeling pretty proud of myself. Until I realized where I was. I was up on the ridge overlooking the city. I shouldn't be here. I came to a stop and the woman I thought was lost came up behind me. She said, "I hate to tell you this, but you're the lost one." And my heart sank.
In a panic, I called Jason.
Me: I'm lost! I'm up on a ridge overlooking the city. I'm going the wrong way. The people passing me are heading to Nickajack. I don't know what to do!
Jason: Just turn around and go back the other way.
Me: You don't understand. I just came through HELL. I can't go back the other way. I can't. I don't know what to do!!
Jason: Babe. Just go back. Find a flag.
Me: THERE ARE FLAGS EVERYWHERE. I'm not lost, I'm going thee WRONG way!
Jason: Hang on. Jen (the co-RD) is here. *mumbled conversation* Ok, she says go back to the Lula Lake aid station and they'll get you on the right track.
Me: Lula Lake aid station? There's an aid station? I never came to an aid station!!
Jason: Just go back where you came from.
Me: YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND. I CANNOT GO BACK. I CANNOT DO THAT AGAIN. IT WAS THE SCARIEST THING I HAVE EVER DONE IN MY LIFE AND I CANNOT GO BACK.
I AM FLIPPING THE FUCK OUT.
Jason: Ok, we are going to hang up and Sean is going to call you. Sit tight.
Yeah, sit tight. While I panic on top of a mountain in the freezing rain. This is my hell.
And then my phone rang...
"Amie, this is Run Bum. Where are you?"
And then I tell him the whole story, trying to not sound as crazy as I did while talking to Jason. Sean proceeds to turn me around, send me back towards the Lula Lake loop. I told him that I've already done that loop. I tell him that I climbed the rocks up to the left, did the loop and came back down the rocks and carried on. And then he stops me. "You never should have come down those rocks," he says. Great. By now my watch is reading 47 miles, and I know I am not anywhere near three miles from Covenant College. Here's my actual route, compared to what I should have done.
He tells me to pull up my trail app, which I do, and he points out where I am and where the Lula Lake aid station is. He tells me he is giving me an off-course shortcut to get to Lula Lake and then they can point me in the right direction from there. He tells me it is less than a mile from where I am standing on the trail and that once I get there, tell them who I am and what happened and that Sean says to point me in the right direction. And then he tells me not to call him again unless it's an emergency because he needs to sleep. So, I go off-trail, down a long gravel road into the darkness. I know I have added unnecessary miles onto my journey, but once I get to Lula Lake everything will be fine. Man, was that a long, lonely, scary mile alone in the dark rain.
And then I'm there. I walk up to the aid station, they look at my bib and say, "You're 101! Amie Martin! We've been waiting for you! You're pulled as of this point." Wait, what? No. NO! I tell them I got lost and that I've been on the phone with Sean and I'm supposed to check in here and then continue to Covenant College. They inform me that the cutoff for this aid station was over an hour ago. It was now 10:35pm and with 7.5 miles to Covenant College, I'd never make it there by their cutoff of midnight. And then I had to give them my bib. And it was horrible.
I stepped off into the darkness to tell my crew the news. And the thirty minutes I had to sit and wait for them to pick me up were the longest thirty minutes of my life. I just kept going over it and over it in my head. Where had I gone wrong? Why had no one else gotten lost? I had never had a single doubt that I was going the right way! I had that "Don't fuck this up" chant in my head ALL day, and that is just what I had done. It is quite a humbling experience getting pulled from a race when your body feels SO good. I mean, I felt great. I had fueled and hydrated appropriately, I hadn't gone out too fast and my legs and feet still felt great. I had done everything right. Almost.
Who knows what would have happened if I hadn't gotten lost out there. I'd like to tell you that I'd definitely have made it 100 miles, but that's no guarantee. A field of 140 runners started Friday morning and only 76 crossed the finish line on Saturday. Sean said that race had the worst conditions of any race he has directed in seven years.
The weather wasn't optimal, but I had trained for that, hadn't I? I felt like I had done everything in my power to prepare for this race, but in the end, getting lost is what took me out of the game.
I will say that those 48 miles I did run were amazing. The landscape was beautiful and the people were amazing-they are MY people. The race was very well put together, and my crew did an outstanding job the entire time. This may have been my first 100 mile attempt, but it will not be my last. Running is my thing. Right now, I'm resting my body, healing my wrist, and trying to keep my mind under control. Soon enough, though, I'll be back out there. The woods are calling and I must go...
