Well, let me give some background on how I got here. I have been an avid runner for probably 5-6 years now, with my biggest running accomplishment before yesterday being the full Blue Ridge Marathon. I have done countless races on road and trail, mainly half marathons, trained countless miles, but none of that meant anything at Holiday Lake. Or maybe it did.
Rewind back to November of 2018. I crewed my trail bud Greg James at his first 50 miler, Mountain Masochist. A David Horton-designed race that to many is the most difficult 50 miler on the East Coast. Crewing him meant lots of driving around, and I could tell from the terrain that I was driving on that he was on a very tough course. I loved the whole atmosphere while crewing him, from the fellow support crews that went around in droves to provide support to their runners, just as I was doing, to seeing racers running into and out of the aid stations. Greg was always smiling when I met up with him at the aid stations, and I could tell that even if he was hurting, he was just happy to be out there in nature doing what he loves to do. Once he finished and we all had a little celebration, the car ride home ensued. He said that I should sign up for Holiday Lake, another David Horton race, that is a 50k++. I had caught the ultra bug while crewing him, and once I found out registration was open, I signed up almost immediately. I am one of the people who after I pay good money for a race, I am committed. Win, lose, or draw.
I didn't follow any training plans for Holiday Lake, just as I have never done for any race. I run entirely by feel and by how much time I have. My training weeks consisted of 25-30 mile weeks, split between road and trails, albeit with a lot of climbing mixed in because that's just how trails in the Roanoke area are. My "long" runs were upwards of 6-10 miles, a far cry from what many would consider being properly prepared for a 50k that is actually 33 miles. The weeks went on and on, and finally, the week of the race was here.
On Friday, February 15th, the day before the race, I started the day out excited and ready to embrace the challenge that awaited me. I left work early to get my stuff together, and then Greg James met me around 4 that afternoon. We headed out. The car ride up was great, and we eventually made it to the 4H Center for check in and packet pickup. This is when the nerves started to kick in. I looked around and could just tell I was surrounded by folks who ran ultras all the time. They trained properly. I felt out of place to be honest. Dr. Horton came in and gave the pre-race briefing, which helped calm me some with the tips he gave out. One rang very true on the day of the race. "It never always gets worse". I reached a low point Saturday, but that was the low point. It never got any worse than that. Anyways, Greg and I headed back to the hotel and we turned in around 9. I didn't fall asleep until almost midnight. I was beyond anxious at this point and my mind was racing. It wasn't a good night.
4:45 am February 16th. An alarm goes off. It's game time. Greg and I both get ready and I throw on what I considered to be the best outfit for the weather conditions. Base layer, short sleeves, and my Arcteryx Endorphin jacket. We get to the start line with about 20 minutes to spare, and before I know it we're lined up with seconds to go. The race starts, and the awful weather they were calling for seems to be holding off. For now. We begin the rather steep climb up the road and out of the 4H Center before taking a right onto the singletrack. Enter heavy rain, dropping temperatures, and all around miserableness. We hit the river crossing at mile 7 and I almost fall in it, soaking myself up to my shorts. Not good. That wave of warmth rushes over me, followed by intense cold. I'm a little worried. I trudge along, hitting a fire road with cell service. I get a message from Marion Childress, leader of C and C Runners in Roanoke, telling me to do great things out there. I needed that and it's funny how it came through randomly. I also managed to call my mom at about mile 10 and let her know everything was going fine.
Miles and miles go by, and I am starting to find my groove of about an 11:30/min mile pace, well above the cut off pace. I would find a runner and focus on staying with them if they were running my pace, and the awesome thing was, all I encountered were more than happy to carry on a conversation and get your mind off the race. That became tougher and tougher to do, however, as the rain increased in intensity, and also mixed with snow and sleet. Before I knew it the ground was white and we were running through ankle deep mud. At Holiday Lake, you have to make it to the turnaround point in 3 hours and 45 minutes. My goal was 3 hours, but I didn't make it there until 3 hours and 25 minutes. It was at this point, I reached a very low point. I didn't have as much time banked as I wanted, my car was 100 yards away, and I was beyond cold and soaked. I wanted that finisher shirt though, I grabbed some food, changed my shoes and headed back out.
Boy, that low point was nothing compared to what was waiting on me.
On my first loop, I felt really good. The weather was terrible, but I felt good. On the miles leaving the turnaround point, the trail had turned into soup. That doesn't even begin to describe it. It was ankle deep mud for miles and miles. Every step took so much effort because you slid backwards each time you took off. I crossed two creeks that had risen, soaking my shoes yet again after just changing them several miles back at the turnaround. My hands were turning pink and I couldn't move my fingers, even with gloves on. Anxiety rushed in. I walked/ran until I was out of the mud pits and back to somewhat solid trail. Not shortly thereafter, my right calf muscle cramped up. Big time. I fell down and the pain in my leg was intense. I could see my calf muscle engaging even though I wasn't trying to use it. I pulled myself up and downed a Gu packet. It helped, but for the remaining 14 miles or so I fought with a calf cramp anytime I hit anything remotely uphill. Pure torture. So many things hurt. My legs, back, neck, you name it. It was pouring down rain and probably 40 degrees. I was done. I wasn't smiling and I wasn't happy to be out there.
This was the low point. I was mentally exhausted and my body had had enough. I was fully prepared to tap out at the next aid station. I was becoming worried about the elements and how cold I had gotten. I was worried that I had somehow gotten separated from any other runners and was out there by myself, or so it felt. I just can't begin to explain the weather and trail conditions. I've ran in lots of weather and on lots of trails, but nothing like Holiday Lake. I looked at my watch and realized I still had a half marathon to go, and my average pace had fallen to somewhere around 12:30/mile. Still well above the cut off time, but I knew I had so much to go. I knew I couldn't tap out in the middle of the woods, so I kept going. Relentless forward progress.
It never always gets worse. I caught a glimpse of two runners ahead of me. Am I really making time? Low and behold it was my friend Jack Bugo and new friend Matt Pisenti. To say I needed to see a friendly face was an understatement. I ran with them for probably 9-10 miles or so. It took my mind off the pain, which was now coursing through my back and butt. We soldiered on, and the miles ticked away. Before I knew it, we were at the river crossing again. Is it really only 7 miles to go? Only. Jack and Matt started to pull away from me a little here, but I knew we had all banked enough time to make it unless the wheels really fell off. After a few other steep climbs, the sun started to peek out. Seriously? After 7 hours of elemental torture now it comes out? I look down at my watch, 5k to go. I audibly say outloud, "By God I did it", multiple times. No one was around me and I didn't care. I had done it. I hit the road to the 4H Center and saw Jack and Matt again. We had all done it. I started to tear up when I saw the finish line. Running through that will probably go down as the best feeling I have ever experienced in a race ever. I talked to several runners afterwards, and they told me this years race was one of the toughest that they had ever done. There were 40 some DNF's and DNS's. Yet I finished it. I made it through 33 miles. I had become an ultra runner. I did something yesterday that I thought I would never do in a million years. I challenged myself and rose to it when it said you're not worthy for this accomplishment. The best feeling in the world. I am still reliving it.
If I could give any words of wisdom to someone thinking about doing one of these, it's that you have more in you than you think. Yes, you have to be physically trained, but you must also have your mind right too. I wanted to give up. I wanted to get in my warm car and head home after 16.5 miles. I questioned my abilities. I doubted myself and wondered what in the heck I was doing out there among all these other runners who looked like they run ultras for breakfast. I found something in me yesterday, and while it might sound cheesy to some, I have truly have a new outlook on life now. You can do anything you set your mind to. And while it might hurt so bad to get there, it never always gets worse. There's highs and lows, and you'll get to the highs eventually. And man, do they feel good.
Also, I can't thank enough the support system that cheered me on from my family to my friends. They had faith in me when I didn't, and that means a whole lot.
