Long Haul 100, January 16, 2023
By OneBiteAtATime
By OneBiteAtATime
Cliff notes: Best race of my life. 19:32:59. Almost nothing went wrong, almost everything went right.
Ultrarunning, in general, is a pretty selfish activity. There’s certainly a community, team aspect to it; but ultimately it’s you, and the time you are spending away from family and friends pursuing… what? The vast majority of us will never stand atop a podium. Really, what is the point of all this?
I used to do race reports after each ultra – also pretty self-centered. Superior Trail 100 in 2017 was the first I didn’t write. Frankly, Superior took me over 35 hours to finish, I saw the sun set twice with no sleep and it left me with a broken big toe (which still hurts some 5 1/2 years later). Superior ground me out. I made a few attempts to write one, but just couldn’t.
Since then, although running 6 more ultra-events including (3) 100-mile finishes, I haven’t had a lot to say. Each of the races deserved to have something said about them, but I just didn’t have the desire. Race reports are pretty selfish, too; and this one is no exception.
Recently, I ran the Long Haul 100 in Land O Lakes, FL. It’s a great race and directed excellently by RD’s Amy and Andy “Croom” Mathews. They clearly care about their runners and brought a great attitude to the event. Long Haul doesn’t have a lot of the things I typically look for in a race. It didn’t have the repetitive body blows of constant hills. It wasn’t a point to point across an amazing landscape with something new to discover around every bend. It doesn’t have the prestige of an event that’s been running for 45 years. (It does have a great vibe and you really should come try it. But I didn’t know that when I signed up.) It’s a 10-mile loop, 3 spurs, all out and back. I signed up on a whim – it’s a Western States Endurance Run qualifying race and I’m stacking entries.
The last few years, the beard has gotten grayer, and the wrinkles are getting deeper. I was lying in bed the night before the race thinking the best years of my ultra-running were probably behind me. Maybe it’s time to let all this go. I visualized “hanging my running sandals up”. Quite literally could see sandals hanging from a hook in my mind. In December, I had a pretty miserable 50 at the Tallahassee Ultra where I just seemed to hurt and get slower and slower the whole day. I assumed Long Haul would be like that except I would resign to a death-crawl the last 30 miles generally hating life.
I got to the course at a reasonable hour, got my number (12. A good number.) and sat down in my car to stay warm. It was cold. Close to gun time, I carried my tote to the start line in a jacket and pajama pants. Socks and sandals, my wife would be so proud if she could see me now. Standing around the start, some announcements taking place – surrounded by dozens of people. I know no-one. Another lonewolf, a furry dude from West Virginia Jeff M comes and stands by me. Thinking I’m a race volunteer he asks me a couple questions I can’t answer. I have no idea. Then we realize that I’m running too. He asks about what I think I’m shooting for – “24-26 hours will be good considering my training.” Seems like a good guy.
Race director starts the customary countdown, 10! 9! and we all shout “3! 2! 1! Blaaaaahhhhhh!!!!!!”
Loop 1: I start slow. Real slow. Need to gently warm these old muscles, old tendons. Lots of walking with occasional bursts of jog. Lots of people passing me. That’s fine. It’s about a mile down to the “hub” on asphalt. Make the turn to spur 1. Out and back on a mixed rock/dirt jeep path. Seems people heading out stay right and those coming back are on the left. There are a few spots to dodge some standing water, some grass to get on, but mostly it’s just the slight trench of a service road in a forest. Out and back, I assume is about 1.5 miles. I’ve made the decision to walk 60 seconds every mile mark and 30 seconds on the half. It’s worked for me in the past and with my miserable training – I’m going to need the walking.
End of spur 1 is back to the hub – tent city – cowbell alley. Lots of good people cheering on their runners. About a ½ mile of asphalt and back onto the pathways of spur 2. Spur 2 involves the “Hall of Pines” which is a nice tree-lined path. Beautiful place. But mostly jeep path again. Lots of trees and a few puddles to dodge. There’s no conga-lines on single track to fuss with. Plenty of pine straw and leaves. There’s a section next to a road where there’s lots of tall whispy grass and sand. Out to the turn-around aid station, aptly named Aid Station 2. Look for the closest thing to real food, get some and get out. Leaving aid station 2, a runner comes by “You’re #80, you’re 81…” I think he said I’m 83. Back through the hall of pines and I’m finding that I’m warming up nicely. No major discomforts.
Back on the asphalt and through the hub to spur 3. About 100 yards of rock (I know because these sandals are pretty thin) and then into sandy paths to the only bit of single track. The end of spur 3 is pretty funny in Loop 1 because the crowd is not 100% spread out yet, and we are doing an out and back on single track which does have its fair share of roots and puddles. Only gets better after that. Back to the hub – over the timing mat (2:07 split).
Loop 2: Just settling in, finding the walk 60 walk 30 plan to be simple to remember and comfortable. Probably a little uncomfortable for those around me that have to hear the Strava app calling out my ½ mile splits; but lots of us are using technology. (1:50 split 3:57).
Loop 3: Miles are piling up. Starting to become an ultra. That said, not really feeling much other than the same old tightness in the hip/butt that I get all the time. Hip flexor / IT band. But not enough to slow me down much. Fueling is good. Pace is fine. Surprised that the splits are staying pretty steady. The 60 second walk rests, I take time to take some real deep breaths and keep the lungs wide open, stretch the neck and do some big arm circles, shoulder shrugs; keeping loose. (1:48 split 5:45).
Loop 4: Talking with a runner. He hears my GPS call out a split “10:49” and says, “Sounds fast, you shooting for sub-20?” I all but laugh at him, “Nah, if its sub-24, I’ll be ecstatic! But probably 24 to 26 given my conditioning.” I’ve done a few of these races. I know that typically I feel pretty good between 30-70 miles, and then I turn into the Tin Man with no oil, and sometimes the Straw Man with No Brains.
Aid station volunteers at both ends are keeping me in calories and keeping spirits up. “What do you need?” “Something that resembles real food, and Coke.” This was always met with hot dogs, quesadillas, olives, potato soup, ramen, chicken broth, pickles, I think I may have even had some doughnuts and cake. (1:55 split 7:40).
Loop 5: I’m becoming aware that I’m not feeling like I’m doing – just that I am being. I don’t feel like I’m actively running, just that I exist in certain places. Right now I am on the asphalt….. and now I am in the Hall of Pines. Flow. Only thing breaking the flow is picking the pinestraw out of my sandals. I love being minimal, but it is starting to bug me. (1:56 split 9:36).
Loop 6: Start of 6th loop, I open my phone to tell my wife how things are going. Here’s my text: “Good start. 51 miles 9:41. About the same as Tallahassee Ultra, but I feel a hell of a lot better.”
Starting to wonder if I may PR here. I mean, sure, I’m uncomfortable. But there’s no obvious debilitating ouchy trying to get me. I grab a headlamp and head back out. This is about the time that Andy started making comment of how consistent I’m doing – how comfortable I look. “I don’t know what’s going on!”, I say. He’s right, but I don’t want to believe it yet. (2:01 split 11:37).
Loop 7: 60-something miles in now… headlamp back on. I have Morpheus from Matrix in my mind, but I’d never say it aloud, “He is starting to believe…” Maybe I can go sub-20. Is that even possible? I’ve been below 24 once. Once. And my training has been total crap. A lot of 5k’s and not a lot of long runs, not to mention the lack of during-the-week maintenance. But, still…. Flowing. (2:03 split 13:40).
Loop 8: OK. I’ve made the decision to try for sub-20. I sit down at the start of the loop and get some help from the awesome aid station volunteers to help me. I’m getting some clothes to stuff into the pack, long sleeved shirt, jacket, hat, gloves. Decide to go with shoes because I’m a little tired, it’s a little dark, and I don’t need to break a toe on a tree root. Need to find some extra batteries – just in case. Just getting set up because the temps are plunging. I tell the aid station volunteer “I know what I have to do, but I don’t know if I have the strength to do it.” She says, “Oh! You’re doing great!” I don’t think she knew she was talking to Kylo Ren or was it Ben Solo?
But, yes, I get out on the trail and finally… 70 miles in I start pushing my pace a little. Trying to nudge these 11-something minute miles down to 10-somethings. And I’m getting away with it. Aid station volunteers lovingly chide me for putting on shoes and covering up the collared shirt, “How will we recognize you now?”
Again, at the turnaround, Andy makes comment about consistency and how I look fine, “I don’t get it! But I’m not complaining!” (1:55 split 15:35).
Loop 9: It’s dark, it’s cold, but I’m still salting away the miles. Not as well as the 8th loop, but still salting them away. On spur 1 a runner says, “You’re still in shorts?” “No time to put on pants!” “I love you.” Runners get weird after 15 hours, but she was right – it was freezing. Literally. The pace is definitely off, but not terrible, but the second half of the loop, I am losing concentration and starting to get a little bit bonky. On the third spur, the single track, I finally kick a root and go down. Fortunately, not onto another root or anything, just on my left side. Laugh, wince, get up, keep going. I concentrate HARD on the single track to get out of it and headed back to the last loop. (2:01 split, 17:36)
Loop 10: When I start falling down, I know it’s typically lack of nutrition so I eat A LOT at the turnaround aid station. I think I had 2 pieces of pizza, 2 cups of Coke, bacon, even some candy. It worked. It got me going again. Last loop, and I’m not a zombie, I’m not the tinman. This is all good, and I’m still running. I’m in and out of the aid station 2 quickly, but not before thanking them all for helping me all day. Not enough can be said about the folks that give away their weekends to help a lot of normal people try to do extraordinary things.
There is some discussion with a runner right outside the aid station about sub-20, and I think I’ve got that, but not 100% sure and still know the wheels can come off at any time. But I move on.
Spur 3 at the very end I come up behind Chris S. at the turn-around. He says to me, “Did I hear you say this is your last loop?” “Yeah! You?” “Yeah.” “Aw, congrats, runner!” I say. We turn and get out of the single track together. And he’s hanging right with me. Now… see I’m never in contention for anything at these races. So, I assume Chris and I are probably 17th and 18th or something. So, when my clock chimes off that its time to walk…. I walk. Yes, we’re ¾ of a mile out, but I walk. Chris’ pacer has different ideas – he starts horse-whipping Chris into a frenzy, and I see him whipping down the trail at 5:30 pace. I don’t give chase. My thought being, “My race isn’t with him, its with the clock, and I’ve already won.” Little did I know we were competing for 5th place. Had I known, I would have given him a better race. And if it happens again, I will give whomever it is a better race. You never really know how important that last spot may be.
I come into the finishing gate. Tears, smiles, hugs from the race directors. Unbelievable. Impossible. (1:57 split, 19:32:59 official, 6th place). Nearly a 4-hour PR for 100 miles. Completely impossible. The best race of my life, including high school and college, easy.
It’s taken me nearly a month to write this. And yes, it was a selfish race report. But here’s what I’ve learned from Long Haul 100 2023:
It’s not even that we can do things we don’t believe we can do… It’s that we can do things that we believe we CANNOT do. We can do things that we believe 100% are impossible for us. And maybe we can do more. Maybe we can do things we thought were only for others. Maybe we can accomplish goals so impossible that it’s silly to even contemplate. And if that’s true for me, its true for the reader. You can do things you don’t believe you can do. In fact, you can do things you believe you CANNOT do. You can do things that are impossible.
Thanks again to Andy and Amy and the volunteers.
