By: Brian Kenah, Bib # 122
Nov 1-2, 2014: Pinhoti Trail Series
Pacer/Support Crew:
- Jason Sobczak – Led the Support crew and pacer from miles 41-45 and 86-100; Co-owner CFEC, 4-time Pinhoti finisher; U.S. Army, Long-range Surveillance Team Leader
- Scott Semrau – Pacer from miles 45-68; new to both crossfit and trail running and ran 23 miles … in the dark
- Beau Durham – Pacer from miles 68-85; 2 time Pinhoti finisher; original CFEC member in 2009
- Toby Futral – Support crew; U.S. Army, Medic
- Honorable mentions
- Kate Brun – Support crew through mile 41; CFEC coach, running guru, trained with me for all my long runs; Umstead 100 finisher; Grand Canyon R2R2R finisher;
- Chris Sims – Co-owner CFEC; Pinhoti finisher; helped train me for past year; U.S. Army, Special Forces Engineer
- Coach Cletus – Zombie-baby and official CFEC mascot
Sat, Nov 1
3:50-5 a.m.
Alarm goes off. Jason
and I had decided to stay in Atlanta and drive over to Alabama the morning of
the race since staying closer to the race probably
wouldn't have saved too much time. As I got out of bed and started putting my
race clothes on, I could hear the wind howling outside. A weather system had rolled in overnight and
they called for record lows that morning (high 20's) and the next morning along
with some high winds (20-30 mph). It was
going to be cold …
Before I got into my car, I walked around outside for a
little bit. It was definitely colder
with a little bite in the air, but not freezing. Suddenly, there was a gust of wind that blew
right through my clothes into my body.
My breath was taken away. I
shivered a little and then laughed to myself, “This is certainly going to be an
adventure”.
I got over to Jason's house around 4:45 a.m. While there, I loaded up some final
items. I had on a winter hat, short
sleeve/long sleeve/over shirt on the top and compression shorts/regular
shorts/sweat pants on the bottom and I was still freezing. I quickly had to mentally block this first
aspect out of my head thinking about how I warm up quickly after running a half
mile.
We departed shortly after 5 a.m.
5-7 a.m.
 |
| We have arrived! Me, Coach Cletus, Jason |
We arrived at the campground where the start line was at about 6:40 a.m. I got my number, stretched a little and said hey to a couple of fellow runners that I knew. Kate was going to be pacing another runner, but was at the start and wished us all good luck.
 |
| Me, Kate, Jason at the start |
Miles 1-6.7
By the time the race had started, it didn’t feel as cold,
but the wind was still strong. I had
ditched the sweats, but still had on everything else. I warmed up quickly enough not to have my
toes and fingers numb, but it was still biting.
I had gotten into position toward the front and while I
didn’t want to block the people who could actually run this thing, I also
didn’t want to be toward the back. You
quickly hit single-track trails and once that happens with 200 people, it
becomes a traffic jam/conga-line. I’d
say I was out in the first 1/3 of the racers, which was good. We were setting a fairly decent pace – not
too fast, but running most of the time.
Suddenly, my toe caught, and I was flying in the air. I instinctively got my hands out and rolled
it out, but I still fell off the side of the trail.
I looked down at my watch – 1.4 miles in. I already was eating dirt 1.4 miles in. Well, I got that one out early and hoped it wasn't
a preview of coming attractions. The rest of this
section was fairly uneventful - pretty single track, rolling up and down, a
couple of steep climbs, but nothing too bad.
Miles 6.7-18.27
 |
| Mile 18 - Eat quick! Keep moving! |
Miles 18.27-40.9 (Bald
Rock/Mt. Cheaha)
Aid station #3 was the last time that I would see my crew
until Bald Rock (Mt. Cheaha) at mile 41.
That meant that I needed to stock up on whatever I needed from them at
that point. I grabbed a sandwich I had
packed, stuffed a banana and cookie in my pocket and started eating/walking. Whenever possible, you want to be eating
“on-the-go” in these races (see note above on time management). I could tell that my energy levels were low,
so the food was good. It was about 11
a.m. and I was making decent time with about a 13 mile/min pace.
Here is where things start to get a little blurry and I
can’t recall the exact succession of events. I would be going about 6 hours with no crew
access. While there were aid stations
along the way, there weren’t many runners, so it made for a very lonely 23
miles. And I didn’t have my music with
me. And the damned wind wouldn’t stop
blowing …
Event #1 – I'm running with 3 other guys. We come around a bend
and off in the distance is this really tall mountain. Now, when I say off in the distance, I’m not
talking about that first set of purple hills you see, not even the dark hills
that might be beyond that. No, this was
the faint, light grey hills you see beyond that. One of the guys says, “Hey, see that
mountain way off in the distance – that’s Mt Cheaha”. Sweet - so I still have to run 25 miles all over hell
and back just to get that mountain that I can barely discern … and it’s only 41 miles
into the race??!! That type of realization will break your
spirit a little. The view, however, was
gorgeous. Even though the wind wouldn’t
stop blowing …
Event #2 – I'm running behind another guy. We have a 10'-15' drop off to our right – not a
cliff necessarily, but a drop off nonetheless. The guy in front of me clips his toe on a root, does the old
“hands-out-and-roll” maneuver, except this takes him right off the side of the
trail. I watched him literally go down
head first, his feet then flip over his head and the he lands right on his feet
to slide down the last few feet. I was
amazed and stunned simultaneously.
“Holy shit, dude! Are you OK?” I asked.
He does a quick scan of his vitals (i.e. ankles not broken, nothing
sticking out of his thighs, knee caps pointing in the right direction). “Yeah. I think so”, he replies. He scrambles back up the hill and I give him
a hand back up and over. Once he's back
on flat ground he looks down at his waist and says, “Crap, one of my water
bottles is down there”. We just looked
at each other and laughed. He climbed
back down and got back up no problem. I
think both of us were thinking about how bad that little tumble could have been and kept it in the back of our mind as we shoved off (with the wind
blowing …).
Event #3 – My stomach had not been feeling good since about mile 20. I had had this feeling before and I knew
where it was leading – nausea, cramps, etc.
Usually this was a sign that I was dehydrated, but that couldn't have been the reason today. Regardless, I wasn’t doing well
and knew that if it kept up or got worse, I wasn’t finishing this thing. I mentioned it to one of the runners and she
replied “Everything in a 100 ebbs and flows.
Give it some time. It will go away.”
Sure enough, 30 minutes later, my stomach returned back to normal and I was
feeling great. I still get surprised at
how the body acts on these events and thought that was interesting. Warming up a bit, but wind still blowing …
Event #4 – I'm trying to strike up conversation with one of the other
female runners.
Me: “Hey, is this your first 100?”
Girl: “No. I had run Western States earlier in the year, but
DNF’d. I’m running this race to try and
qualify again for next year” (side note: Western States is like the Boston
Marathon of trail running and DNF stands for Did Not Finish – usually pulled
for time reason or injury)
Me: “Oh, that’s cool that you were at Western States. Sucks about the DNF. Where you from?”
Girl: “Chicago.”
Me: “Oh, no kidding, so what brings you to this race?”
Girl stops looks back at me with a “seriously, idiot?” look: “To. Qualify.
For. Western. States.”
Conversation
over. No more running together. Wind
still blowing …
By this time, the rolling hills were
turning into some steep up and downs. And then Mt. Cheaha hit … This is a stretch of the course that rises somewhere up around 1600’ over 5 miles to the highest point in Alabama. First, there is no running this. Second, this sucks the life out of you. It is steep and it is long. It probably took
me 2 hours to go those 5 miles. And the
wind was whipping so damned hard at this point, I thought I was going to get
blown off the mountain. I’d like to say
that the sights were pretty, but the only thing I cared about was keeping my
head down, trying to stay warm and getting to the next aid station where my
crew would be waiting for me. My hands
were frozen and I didn't have gloves. The hiking helped keep you warm, but stopping
for just one second to catch your breath was tough.
 |
| The view from the top of Mt Cheaha was gorgeous |
 |
| Warm soup and sandwich? Check. Time to change and put on some warm clothes |
Seeing my crew at that aid station
was the best thing ever. It was the
first turnaround point for me. I got to
change into dry clothes (and socks), put on wind pants, changed my hat
and got a pair of gloves. I got some Ramen noodles and hot potato soup from one of the aid stations and used the
facilities there.
I was a little behind time-wise from
where I wanted to be, but I wasn't in jeopardy yet. I was tired from the previous 41 miles, but
the legs were still moving OK. I was
just doing a crappy job at keeping my calories up – especially carbs.
It was around 5 p.m. at this point
and since we were on the eastern side of the central timezone, that meant the sun set earlier. We finally shoved off
to go down Blue Hell probably close to 5:30 p.m. (this is the backside of Mt. Cheaha and requires a hand-over-feet climb up
or down). This was also the point where runners
could pick up a pacer. Nothing sounded better
than having someone to chat with and help set a pace for me. Jason picked up the first leg.
We bounded down Blue Hell easily,
passing by a few other folks on the way down.
We made good time on the flat and downhills and power walked
the uphills. I was feeling a lot
better. Not great, but able to run when
necessary and not a ton of stomach issues.
Miles
45-55
 |
| Mile 55 - not sure what I'm looking at ... nor why I'm smiling |
By the time we had gotten to the
mile 55 aid station, Jason was trying to figure out where the hell we had
been. Things were falling behind at this
point in the race where you can’t fall behind.
Miles
55-68
Things were still slow going. A lot of the runners were starting to get
gimped up – blown hamstring here, nausea/throwing up there, one guy had a
twisted ankle. It was looking bad out on
the course. I can’t say that I was
necessarily that bad off, but my stomach was not reacting well to anything I
was putting into it. It simply wasn’t
metabolizing the food, so most of everything was just sitting there – that’s
never good. One of the lasting memories
of this part of the race, however, was looking up at the stars. It was incredible how many you can see when
you’re out in The Middle of Nowhere, AL on a crisp, clear fall night. It was truly beautiful and something I’ll
cherish.
Here is where a couple of the aid
stations need to be called out. I’m not a seasoned Pinhoti veteran, yet, so I
can’t remember all the names and I was beyond remembering what mile marker they
were.
The first was the Xmas aid
station. They had strung a bunch of
lights in the form of a Xmas tree and were blasting Bing Crosby and Jingle
Bells. This place had every type of food
– eggs, cheese, ham, sausage and a huge platter of bacon. I tried to muscle down as much as I could,
but it wasn’t easy. I thought to myself that this would be a fun
aid station to volunteer at.
The second aid station is one that
you pass by 4 different times. You come
over a hill and you can see the lights and hear the music blaring and even the
people yelling. It’s about a quarter
mile away as the crow flies and you start moving on the trail toward it when suddenly the trail
goes off to the right or left for a half mile. Then you start moving back toward the aid stations and it veers back off and away. It went
back and forth like that four different times.
I had heard about this before I had gotten into this race, but it still
messes with you regardless.
At the aid station at mile 65, it
had to be close to midnight. It was a
crew accessible aid station, but mine was nowhere to be found. When I climbed up the hill away from the aid
station, I found them nestled all snug in the car with the heat on and blankets
over them. I pounded on the window and
yelled something. I don’t
remember what I said because I was hopped up on 5-hr energy at this point, but
I’m sure it came out real quickly.
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| Beau takes over pacing at mile 68 before Pinnacle. I'm zombie-fied, but still smiling - that's about to change ... |
Miles
68-85 (Pinnacle)
I’ve read a few books on ultra
running and plenty of articles and race reports from people who run ultras and every
one of them speaks to some of the lows, yet I've never really experienced
it. Sure, I’ve gotten dehydrated and the
race didn’t go very well. I’ve been
cramped and had bad race times. I’ve
even hit the wall early and had poor end of races. However, where I was during these
miles can only be described as a very dark place. Describing it as a runner's low doesn't do
it justice. I hadn't just "hit a wall" or just "felt nauseous". My entire being
and soul felt like it was being dragged down to the ground and there was this
weight on top of it that was preventing me from moving. It was a lot like one of those dreams
you have where you’re trying to scream, but you can’t. I couldn't understand
why my legs continued to move while my head was reeling in the thoughts of the
comfort of stopping. I was no longer in control of my body and
the only thing I could do was to keep my mind distracted from trying to
stop.
I’ll try to describe the situation a
little:
It was around 3 a.m. on Sunday
morning (yes, that is 21 hours of straight running … well, time on my feet).
Beau was now pacing me. Since I was
quickly falling behind on my times, he had me moving forward at a good clip –
always speed walking at no less than 15 min/mi and shuffling when we
could. My stomach was turning on itself
and I was struggling to keep down food.
We were travelling to the second highest peak on the course – the aid station called The Pinnacle – which is a 1000’ vertical climb in less than 2 miles. It is constant switch backs going straight
up. Oh yeah, and it starts at mile
72. Oh yeah, and it was 29 degrees
out. Oh yeah, and the wind was still
coming in at 20 mph. I can’t really
describe the cold other than it felt one of those shivers going down your spine
(the kind where your whole body convulses) for about 90 minutes straight. This
part of the race had absolutely nothing to do with physical prowess. No training regimen or diet plan can prepare
someone for this. Maybe if my race
earlier in the day had gone differently or if the weather was different, it may
have made it easier, but this was by far and away the toughest mental anguish
I've ever endured. I simultaneously
wanted the race to be over, while still wanting to finish. My entire body felt
like shutting down, yet somehow I was moving forward. Beau was a great pacer,
however, encouraging me the whole way, keeping me moving and generally
distracting me from myself. I think he
went through the entire Auburn game score-by-score. I would not have made it to
the top without him.
Once we got to the top, I must have
looked like death warmed over. People
were talking to me and asking me questions and I’m pretty sure I was staring straight through
them and not responding. I’m not sure if
I was trying to catch my breath or if my brain was simply not processing the
questions. One of the aid station
volunteers at Pinnacle yanked me aside and began to slowly and methodically
walk me through the remaining 26 miles.
He described what I was going to do in between that aid station and the
next. What the terrain was like and
where I might still be able to get some shuffling in. He was speaking slowly and in short sentences
to the point that I began to understand.
It started to sink in and I began nodding my head. “Yep, I get it – 4 miles with a little uphill
and some downhill on a forest service road”.
“OK, sure. I understand 5.5 miles of all dirt road”. “Oh, yeah 5 miles of trail.” Once those little light bulbs started firing,
a little breath of hope was lit. I might
still be able to do this.
After leaving Pinnacle, Beau turned to me and said, "Hey, you realize that you just finished 3 marathons?" That accomplishment in and of itself was a nice feeling, however I still had another one to go and we had to
make up some time. We needed to be at the
aid station at mile 85 (11 miles away) by 8:30 and we only had about 3 hours to
do so (for those of you keeping score at home it took us about 2 hours to go
from mi 68-74). That meant we had to get
in a solid 4 miles/hour which would entail running as often as possible. I wasn’t sure how much running I had left in
me after the Bataan Death march, but it wasn’t impossible.
 |
| Coach Cletus, Scott and Toby early Sunday morning |
One side note: I haven’t been awake
for a sunset through sunrise in a long time, but we were moving from aid
station at mi 80 to 85 when the sun was coming up and the sky went from grey to
purple to crimson and it felt like as soon as we crested over a hill with a
nice clearing, the sun began to rise.
There is a lot of power and rejuvenation one gets from the sun coming
up. And it felt like I was rising along
with it – truly glorious.
Miles
85-95
I got into the aid station at mile 85 at 8:29 a.m. – 1 minute shy of the cutoff (I doubt I would have been pulled, but that was still close). I changed almost all my clothing. I got as much food as possible in me (or least that I could stomach) and shoved off. Jason was my pacer at this point. I was on track to finish in under 30 hours, but it was going to be cutting it close. I would have to maintain 4 miles/hour to get in with a little buffer.
 |
| Beau passing the baton to Jason at mile 86 (I'm sure he's giving me words of encouragement) |
I got into the aid station at mile 85 at 8:29 a.m. – 1 minute shy of the cutoff (I doubt I would have been pulled, but that was still close). I changed almost all my clothing. I got as much food as possible in me (or least that I could stomach) and shoved off. Jason was my pacer at this point. I was on track to finish in under 30 hours, but it was going to be cutting it close. I would have to maintain 4 miles/hour to get in with a little buffer.
Jason had me take my sandwich with
me down the road and eat some candy bars and cookies too. I was only able to eat half the
sandwich. About twenty minutes later, he
handed the other half of the sandwich back to me to finish. I’m not sure what happened, but I coughed on
something when eating the sandwich and it was lights out. Anything that was in my stomach was all over
the road somewhere around mile 88. Truth
be told, I felt 10 times better after throwing up, but I also had about 3 hours
left of “running” and couldn't just coast in on fumes. I needed to get calories back in my system
quickly, so I munched on whatever I had in my bag.
 |
| Jog-hobbling the final miles |
Jason was out in front setting a
good pace, making sure I was keeping up and shuffling when I could. It was starting to get warm and I still had
on some winter clothes (wind pants, sweatshirt, etc.). Additionally, I was chafed in places that one
simply does not want to be chafed.
Essentially, I was a beaten man at
this point. I had given up physically
about 6 hours previous on top of the North Pole, but now everything else was
shutting down – stomach, mind, etc. I
needed more caffeine but I taking 5-hour energy to stay awake was
tearing up my stomach. I was 12 miles
out and I was beginning to self-doubt if this was going to be successful.
Miles
95-100.6
We finally rolled into the aid
station at mile 95 with only a few minutes of buffer time. My beaten body slumped down in a tailgate
chair and one of the aid station volunteers gasped and ran over. She started mumbling, “you ARE going to
finish this” and “you are NOT going to quit”.
She shoved a ginger chew in my mouth (great for the stomach, BTW), ripped my wind pants and long
sleeve shirt off, force fed me some Ramen noodles, literally picked me up out of the chair and shoved me in the
direction of the trail – all in about 67 seconds flat. She yelled, “Go finish this!” and I started
running down the trail. I had ditched
Jason and simply went. I don’t remember
ever talking to my crew, but this lady – this NASCAR pit crew savior – had
somehow found that last little bit of whatever it is that’s in very bottom of
an ultra runner's belly and was able to get my ass moving along back on the trail
for the last 5 miles. And, I have to
admit I was moving at a good clip. I
probably covered 1.5/2 miles solo before Jason caught up. At this point, we had a little buffer. It looked like as long as I didn't get eaten
by a mountain lion, I was going to finish this under the 30-hour cutoff. It was the first time since about mile 41
that I was able to breathe a sigh of relief.
Suddenly, it hit me. Holy shit!
I’m about to finish a 100 mile endurance race. Holy shit!
I’m about to finish Pinhoti. Holy
shit! I cannot believe how much my body
is aching right now (seriously, every step was a little agonizing). But I was going to finish!
 |
| 20 feet to go with the kiddos |
Coming into the stadium and running
around the last ¼ mile, I was filled with a mix of emotions. The realization of
what I had just accomplished began to wash over me. I was about to finish a 100
mile race (on my first try) and that put me into one of the most elite of
clubs. It’s a 1% of 1% of 1% type of
club … that's exclusive. What was
more important to me at this point, however, was to see my family and have my
kiddos run the last few feet with me. As I
turned around the last quarter mile, there they were running toward me. It was extremely gratifying. We held hands and they led me across the
finish line. I had done it! As I was handed my buckle, I realized that I had
just accomplished the achievement of a lifetime … and
I had NO idea how I’m going to be able to describe it to anyone.
I’ll end with one of my favorite quotes from "And Then the Vulture Eats You". I think it accentuates the difference between “I can't” and “I'm not willing to try”:
 |
| 100.6 |
I’ll end with one of my favorite quotes from "And Then the Vulture Eats You". I think it accentuates the difference between “I can't” and “I'm not willing to try”:
“Then
I realized the idea of self-consciousness is simply another aspect of the
thought/action dichotomy. Reflections on oneself, if it is constant
second-guessing, can be paralyzing. Thought has to make way for action. Even to
reach out to a friend requires the stilling of the whirling computer. Just do
it.”
 |
| At the finish with the Family - Gayle, me, Daily, Tolman |
 |
| "The Crew" - Toby, Jason, me, Beau, Coach Cletus (not pictured - Scott) |
Some post-race notes:
- This description may sound like it was a brutal race and why the hell would anyone volutarily subject themselves to it. The response is - it was a brutal race for me. Very tough mentally, physically and emotionally. However, the satisfaction of knowing that I completed a 100 mile endurance race is beyond measure. I wouldn't trade that feeling in for anything.
- Will I do it again? We shall see. However, I will say this - I will be back at the Pinhoti next year. If for nothing other than to either volunteer or support/pace ... but, maybe to race :)
- I can't begin to describe how thankful I am to my support crew and pacers. I do not cross that finish line without them. Those guys were absolutely awesome.
- I also can't thank aid station volunteers enough. They were up all night in freezing temps, encouraging us and taping us up and feeding us. Thank you to each and every one of you. It's that spirit that keeps me coming back to these races.
- A few people have asked about Coach Cletus - the zombie-baby CFEC mascot. He's been at every Pinhoti since 2011 and now has his own Facebook page. For more info, visit here.
- I explained a little of how I got here (e.g. training, etc.) in a previous Facebook post. Visit here for more info.
- I finished in 29:30 (30 minutes under the cutoff). Of the 201 starters, only 117 finished which puts the dropout rate at around 43% (that’s really high). I finished 115 out of those 117 finishers, however my buckle is just as shiny as the first place finisher!
