CONNECT: May 2012

We Get By with a Little Help From Our Friends

On a foggy, damp Saturday morning at 4:30 AM, I stood in the middle of a field that had been transformed into a festival of sorts with hundreds of others, jittering not so much from the cold, but from nerves.  By my side stood my wife, bundled up and looking intently at me trying to figure out what was going on in my head as I prepared myself mentally for the challenge that lay ahead.  I had already spent months (some could even argue years) preparing my body physically for this moment, but mental and emotional prep goes on right to the starting gun.  

So what were all these crazy people doing in a field at 4:30 AM?  Awaiting the 5:00 AM starting gun for the NorthFace Endurance Challenge at Bear Mountain State Park in NY, a 50 mile mountain trail footrace covering the 50 mile distance while being subjected to over 7,000 feet of elevation gain. Typically participants take anywhere from 7.5 (the winners), to 14 hours for the cutoff.  For me personally, I crossed the finish line arch with a time just under 11 hours, qualifying me for the Western States 100 mile race, the “Boston Marathon” of ultras! And while I may have been the one actually running in the race, but I certainly didn’t do it alone.  


I hope you'll take a minute to enjoy as I share my experience from this event, and highlight just how important it was for me to have a great team in my corner.  Trail running and ultra-marathoning, after all, is a sport of connection...connection with yourself, connection with the earth, and connection with others.

I began training in earnest about 5 months prior to the event, but It really all started when I set forth a plan that would take me from completing a 50-kilometer (31 mile) race all the way up to a 100 mile race 4 years later.  This was now 2 years ago and here I am in the middle of my plan.  I started out training by myself, hitting the trails as often as possible, trying to stay on my feet while running into the occasional bear (true story), teaching myself the way of the trails and picking up what I could from books and the internet.  


Slowly, I began to meet other “crazies” and even found some training partners, including an employee a corporate client who happened to be training for the same event (in the 50k distance), and was willing to meet up on a regular basis for training runs.  I know if I asked these few people, they’d deny doing anything special, but I am certain I would not have had the type of success I did without their constant presence.  From holding me accountable, to sharing their own personal trail running tips, to adding a little joy early on a Sunday morning while traversing 15 miles through the woods, these people helped me to prepare my mind and body for something I myself thought crazy and impossible not too long before.

Many ultra-marathons (50 miles or greater) allow a pacer to run alongside you for the second half of the race, and as the date approached, I found myself getting nervous that I would struggle in the last 10 miles, and reached out to my local endurance club, the PACER Team, pleading for some help.  Chris Bush decidedly risked life and limb to come help me out.  Having very little experience in trail running, Chris was taking a huge injury risk as he himself trains for the NYC IronMan competition, but I assured him that by mile 40 the race would reduce me to the smithering walking fool and all I’d need is company, so he agreed.

Race day arrived with the sound of an alarm at 3:00 AM, and having prepared and packed the night before.....after double, triple, and quadruple checking my bags and plan for 20 minutes, my wife, Alissa, and I were out the door.  We had to arrive at the parking lot by 4:15 to catch the last shuttle over to the starting line, and we made it with time to spare, giving my nerves a chance to catch up to me for the 45 minutes we waited at the starting line.  “All of these guys look so strong,” I thought to myself.  “I don’t stand a chance.”  Self doubt racked my brain as I tried to keep it together on the outside.  I wasn’t even trying to beat anybody, but of course my competitive instincts kicked in, and as a wrestler by background, I couldn't help but size up the competition.  Oh yeah, and the realization hit that I was going to be running...all...day!

5....4....3....2....1.... and we were off.  Really, really, slowly.  Following the thin beams of light scattering from our headlamps, we picked our way over some narrow rocky trails, often getting so jammed up that we had to walk.  I didn’t want to get in the front and start out too fast, as I’d made that mistake in my 50k the previous fall and had to stop for 20 minutes due to dehydration, but I didn’t want to get stuck in the back and waste my energy scrambling around everyone.  I reminded myself it was a long day and resolved to just go with the flow until the first aid station at mile 4.  When I got to the aid station, Alissa was there to meet me, beaming a smile as I approached and asked how I was making out.  “Slow!” was all I had on my mind, but I needed to fuel up.  


Aid stations at ultramarathons are amazing things, they come fully stocked with salty stuff, sweet stuff, and wet stuff...everything you need to keep you moving for the next 46 miles.  They also contain some of the most heroic people dedicating themselves to stand in the woods helping exhausted, sweaty, sometimes ticked off runners, all the while trying to cheer you up and get you moving as quickly as possible.  I can’t say enough about the people who agree to do this on a regular basis and thank them for their sacrifice and commitment, and I made sure to tell them just that as I headed out of the first aid station minus my headlamp...thankfully, the sun was coming up.

The next 5 miles went by in a snap.  Still fueled by adrenaline, the miles came easy and a little faster, but I was still trying to hold back and constantly reminding myself that this would be a long day.  I also began to realize that the week of rain leading up to the event was adding a wrinkle to my running style.  Rather than running around rocks and roots and risk catching the side of one and rolling an ankle, my style often involves running on top of the rocks, shuffling, leaping, and cutting through the woods.  The water, mud, and other runners having already been down the trail ahead of me made for more slippery surfaces than I was used to, and after slipping off one rock, I was incredibly thankful to find my footing before tumbling over.  A few more slips caused my shoes to become immersed in water destroying any hope of keeping my feet dry, so I’d have to change up my race strategy early on.  After a climb on a stretch of the Appalachian Trail and running a trail along a scenic lake as the sun came up, I pulled into the mile 9 aid station still feeling good.  Another smile and kiss from Alissa lifted my spirits even more and I shucked off the arm warmers in preparation for the day’s rising temps before heading out for the next 41.

As I began the toughest leg of the race including most of the steepest mountain climbs, people began to loosen up.  The first part of these races is always very serious and silent with nothing but the panting and pitter patter of the runners, but once the nerves wear off and people start to talk, the miles go by quickly as you learn people’s life stories.  At this point I ran into a fellow that I didn’t particularly want to run with because everything that came out of his mouth seemed to be negative and he seemed to be dreading the rest of the run?!?  Here I was enjoying every minute and relishing the experience and this guy seemed like someone was making him do it.  I did get a very important reminder from him though that many people were going to begin feeling good and start to pick up the pace...he’d done these events before, and those people would surely crash later in the day.  He encouraged me to hold back, and I did.  


The next aid station didn’t allow for spectators or crew, so Alissa wouldn’t be waiting for me, but one of my training partners, Micah, and another prominent trail runner in the area, Todd, were staffing the aid station and I was looking forward to seeing them.  As I pulled into mile 14.5 they asked how I was doing, and although I was feeling great, I tried not to get over confident knowing there was still a long way to go.  The next leg was to be the longest between any of the aid stations, so I made sure I had plenty of fuel and grabbed a peanut butter and jelly sandwich as well as some salty boiled potatoes for the road.  


Running 50 miles still sounded almost incomprehensible to me, even though this is exactly what I was doing...so I developed a strategy that involved running aid station to aid station....taking the race 4, 5, or 6 miles at a time...instead of 50 all at once.  I figured, even if I was feeling bad, just getting to the next aid station seems possible, and once I arrived, there would such a rush of joy that it would be that much easier to head out for the next leg...and this is exactly what I did.  


The trail turned muddy, then muddier, and eventually I found myself trudging through mostly water, straight through the streams and grime.  When the mud ended, the climbing began and once that ended we found ourselves atop Bald Rock, one of the most scenic spots on the course with 360 degree views of what seems like the entire state of NY. I just love it up there!  I had been looking forward to this stretch for a while and although I had been running with a group of runners for a few miles, I threw caution to the wind and just opened up.  Bald Rock is like running on top of boulders the size of high schools...one after the other.  Smooth easy running with a few shrubs and even cacti, it’s almost surreal having come from the swampy, dense underbrush just moments before.  This high carried me down off the mountain and to the next aid station at mile 20 as I passed dozens of people.  Was I going too hard too soon?  I guess I’d find out.

And then, there was Alissa again, smiling and waiting for me having just gone for her own training run while she killed the last 2 hours since she’d seen me at mile 8.  She must be the most patient person in the world, although I know she’d say otherwise.  She puts up with me spending most of the weekends away on long runs and listens to my incessant ramblings about this race, or that gear, and this trail runner, and that running technique.  It must be tiresome, but she does it all with a smile and allows me to keep my energy for such things.  I would never be able to do this without her constant love and support, and I try to tell her that as much as possible.  More water, more salty potatoes, more peanut butter and jelly, more GU, a kiss, and I was off again to see Alissa at mile 28 where Chris and Wandy would be meeting up with her to cheer me on from there.

I don’t even remember the next 7 miles.  Not because I was exhausted or losing my mind, but because I’d become so engrossed in conversation with one of the other runners, Adam.  That’s right, a conversation...while being smack dab in the middle of a 50 mile race.  I have no recollection of those miles, so I’m assuming they were easy and I know we moved along at a good pace, but it’s amazing how establishing a connection like that can take your mind off of the hardship right in front of you.  In our time together, I learned Adam was only days away from chasing his dreams and moving out to California to start his own company.  His plans include the use of walking and trail running as a means for people to connect with themselves spiritually, and show them the joy and benefit you can get out of it.  After the race Adam thanked me profusely for helping him to also break the 11 hour mark, but I can say that he helped me just as much, if not more.

Mile 28 aid station was in a log cabin camp, and after a brutal rocky descent, we were met by some of the loudest cheers all day.  My pace quickened as I ran through the camp to the food table, and didn’t see any of my crew just yet.  I got my staples of food and water, looked around, and thought, “That’s weird, I don’t see them, maybe they’re farther down the camp road?”  So I set off without much delay to discover they weren’t there either...DISASTER!  But wait, I was still feeling good, I had heard miles 30 to 40 were the toughest stretch.....but I was already past mile 28 now and really still felt...well...GREAT!  Maybe it wasn’t so bad, I could still do this!  

I had left without Adam who finally met up with his support crew and found myself running alongside another interesting fellow, Guannan, whose story was just as interesting.  He’s a 2:55 marathoner from China with quick efficient steps who barely looks like he’s trying.  We’d been back and forth over the last 10-15 miles, so we pulled up next to one another and naturally start talking.  Before long we came to an agreement that breaking 11 hours and qualifying for Western States sounded like a good idea and we’d try to do it together.  Seconds later, Adam was back on our tails and the three of us ran like this for probably 2 hours chatting away trading race stories, fueling strategies and who knows what else.  Things were going along well, but once you’ve put in 30 miles your ability and will to continue pounding up hills quickly disintegrates. We continued to run the flats and down hills, but began hiking the steep uphills until we pulled into the next aid station at mile 34.  Still feeling great, I swapped some jokes with the volunteers, grabbed some more salty potatoes and was off again...this time however, I may have pushed Guannan out onto the trails a little too fast.  

The next 6 miles we knew were going to be relatively flat and easy and expected to make up some time.  The three of us were still cruising along feeling good until Guannan broke the news that he was getting “water belly.”  The dreaded water belly is when your digestive system begins to shut down and it no longer absorbs food or water, but instead slushes in the stomach causing nausea, dehydration, and fatigue.  One of the only solutions is to take it easy for awhile and hope that your body catches back up. As unfortunate as it was to leave Guannan, I was still feeling good and sped off, leaving Guannan behind.  As I pulled into the mile 40 aid station, where I expected to see my crew and pick-up Chris as a pacer, I was flying...reaching a 9 minute mile, which, on the trails, is pretty fast especially at that point in the race.  When I came around the corner, Alissa came running at me with a concerned look on her face.  "The roads were too narrow to get to the aid station, and we missed you!" she said, afraid I would have become a wreck.  I shot her a smile, assured her I’d, “never been better,” and headed directly to the crew asking Wandy for some more salty potatoes (you may be seeing a pattern here).  Feeling good, I grabbed Chris and headed out, but quickly realized I had forgotten one thing.....much to the delight of the other spectators and volunteers....Alissa chased me down...gave me a good luck kiss as she had done at each aid station prior...and I was back on my way.  “Let’s get this thing done,” is all I could say!

And here's where things got even more interesting....all of sudden, I couldn’t run!  There was a mile stretch of blacktop through some long parking lots and my right hip was totally locked up.  Here I was on pace to meet my goal and break 11 hours but my hip would not cooperate, so I walked most of the trip across the manmade surface hoping that once I hit the trails again I’d be able to resume.  Thankfully as trails started again, my running picked up...slowly, the hip started to loosen and by the next mile, I was again running at least 50% of the time.  


With this unexpected set-back, I started to seriously think I’d no longer hit my goal and had even conceded that I’d given it my all this time and would be happy to just finish. My body was starting to reject the punishment I had put it through and my confidence was starting to waiver as well. Feeling shaky and nauseous, even with my hip starting to feel ok, running the flats was a even challenge.  So I decided to down a caffeine double shot energy gel and marched on.  Thankfully, by the next downhill, I was flying again, so much so that Chris couldn’t keep up.  A novice to trail running he found descending the most difficult thing where I just let my legs relax and kept my feet spinning beneath me...so I guess I’m a descender, not only did this increase my pace, but gave me a much needed shot of confidence, and by the time Chris caught back up to me, we’d covered almost another mile.

Now, having gotten to be very good friends with Chris over the years, I've learned at least one thing about him...he’s too nice!  As we ran, he proceeded to ask every runner we passed if they needed help!  Now of course I’m only joking, and this is an amazingly noble thing to do, but that’s just who Chris is.  As I pulled into aid station at mile 45 with cow bells blaring and women wearing electric pink and green wigs and tutu’s, I’d again lost Chris.  There were 3 people waiting for a ride back to the start after pulling out including a guy laying on his back wrapped in a blanket with an oxygen mask on and EMS crew around him...yikes!  5 miles, 70 minutes left, this was going to be close.  GU, salty potato, gone!

The next couple miles saw us meander through a section of wood that had recently been burned down in a 500 acre forest fire, followed by the steepest climb in the entire race, and then followed by an ankle busting mile of nothing but sharp softball sized rocks on a slight descent causing me to question if I’d broken my foot after I’d finished.  Once again, Chris stopped to give help to someone in serious need with a chafing problem, and I ran into the next aid station solo again and was out before he could catch up joking with the amused aid station volunteers that my pacer was coming, “tell him I kept going and to catch up.”  I’m not sure if they thought I was serious, joking, or losing my mind.  Less than 3 miles left, but I probably couldn’t make my time unless I seriously hauled...that’s when Chris caught back up.

“How you feeling?” he asked, and after I responded that I was still feeling good, he says, “Good, you can do this, I’m gonna push you, is that ok?”  “Yep,” I responded and we shot off. The next mile was easy running, and I probably hit 7 minute miles on parts of the smooth, soft, gradually winding downhill section, and with only 1 mile to go I was about 10 minutes away.  The last mile had a few respectable little climbs that felt like mountains as I powered up them under the constant “don’t stop,” from Chris, having not run a hill in probably 20 miles.  I ran recklessly, whizzing past people like they were standing still (some actually were), finally breaking out of the trails with nothing but an open field between me and the finish arch.  At this point I was pretty sure I would hit the goal as I spotted a young girl on the side holding her hand out for a slap, so I headed over to return the gesture.  


A few strides later, I heard my name being screamed from a little guy on the side, and before I knew it... out runs Andrew Eisenhart, Mike’s son.  Mike, my colleague and a Pro-Activity founding member, had brought Andrew and his second daughter, Alissa, with him as they made the surprise trip to see me finish.  Andrew, the ever eager endurance enthusiast, had been instructed to run out and give me a high five, but didn’t realize that running directly in front of me probably wasn’t the best option.  Luckily, on incredibly tired legs, my agility did not fail me, and I had one more side step in me, avoiding a head-on with the young lad, and catching his hand with mine on the way by, as I crossed the finish and was immediately swarmed by Chris exclaiming, “You did it!”  Relief overwhelmed me as my head bowed to receive my medal and swiveled in search of my team.

Alissa came running to give me a huge hug and I was happy to have her in my arms with no more miles ahead of me.  What an experience!  I sat and recovered and ate some food as I looked around at all of the other hobbling, smiling fools, thinking to myself, “this feels good.” After some recovery time, I got to meet Dean Karnazes, one of the heroes who lead me to this fateful day.  I caught up with my crew and fans and thanked them profusely for coming out.  I checked my facebook and mail and saw all the amazing things people were writing about me while I was on the trail.  Knowing I had so many people thinking about me and praying for me while I was out there, even if they couldn’t be there, definitely helped carry me over the finish.  I don’t know how I managed to run the fastest two miles of the race at miles 49 and 50, maybe I hadn’t really pushed the rest of the race, or maybe I was fueled by more than just energy gels and salty potatoes, feeding off the love of the people I was with, the people holding their breath from home, and the people I’d met along the way.  

Here I am writing about my 50 mile journey and spending most of my time talking about the people I met and those who helped me along the way.  This was supposed to be a personal journey right?  Well I definitely did connect with myself and there is nothing like the freedom of being out on the trails, but I think what makes it all worth it is the love and appreciation you feel from those around you, and finding the good in humanity from those you don’t know initially, but find just how amazing they are along the way.  


The connection between all of us is vital to our health and wellness, and as we begin the summer with a long weekend coming up for Memorial day, many of us will have opportunities to spend with loved ones over BBQ’s and parties and have a chance to meet new people and become involved in new social circles.  It also offers us a chance to really look around and see what good those who surround you are injecting into our lives.  Have a great summer, and don’t forget to share your journey with those around you!

Nicholas Pfaff
Pro-Activity Injury Prevention Consultant and Personal Trainer