From: "Bruner" <bruner@innernet.net>
Subject: Massanutten 1998 Report--Updated
Date: Thu, 28 May 1998 18:48:58 -0400

==================
Massanutten Mountain Trails 100-Mile Run
9-10 May 1998
Race Report: Gary Bruner 


"He knew that he felt an odd, joyous, light-hearted self confidence.  He
knew that these were the right steps down the trail he had glimpsed." 

  --from "Atlas Shrugged" (Ayn Rand) 

I found the above quotation when I finally read this awesome work.  After
years of blowing this book off, despite long ignoring the strong
recommendations of two separate friends, I finally tackled its 1100+ pages.
  And when I read this particular passage some 2 months prior to race day,
the words practically leaped off the page at me--I somehow intuitively knew
that the Massanutten Mountain Trails 100 Mile race was going to be right,
that it represented a place I had to go, a thing I had to do.  

Punch line first: the MMT was my first 100-mile attempt, and I am pleased
to report, also my first 100-mile finish, in 34:34.  There were 100 people
who started, 67 finished, and I placed 51st.  Eric Clifton's winning time
was 23:03, and the first female was Sue Johnston in 25:32, third overall
finisher.

Not I am an ultra expert at the shorter distances; in fact, I still
consider myself quite a rookie: my organized ultra total can still be
counted on my fingers.  My 50-miler experience is limited to two races: JFK
(MD) in Nov 96, and Mountain Masochist (VA) in Oct 97.  Plus one 50-K, and
a 35-K.  On the latter, although it was short of 26.2 miles, it represents
what I affectionately look back upon as my ultra baptism--the now defunct
Catoctin Trail (MD).  It ran like a "real" ultra, i.e., slowly, due to the
very tough character of the trail: my 5:15 for the 21 miles put me in the
top 25% of the 48 finishers.

The short list of ultra events above may seem like an insufficient base to
springboard to the 100-mile distance, but my lack of formal racing events
belies the fact that I do a lot of trail training.  See, my family life is
quite busy, and to be frank, I get lukewarm support at best from the family
on my ultrarunning endeavors.  So early on, I made a resolution to myself:
given the fact that my ultrarunning was largely my own solitary quest,
little understood and only tolerated at best, my response would be to
strive mightily to minimize the impact that my ultrarunning would have on
my loved ones.  

My typical training week consists of 3 runs: a pair of 10 milers during the
week, plus one long run on the weekend.  Given my goal of minimizing family
impacts, I try to run at odd times.  Generally I get up early one weekday
to run 10 before work.  I go out another weeknight at 9:30 or 10:00 PM,
when the family goes to bed, for my second 10 miler of the week.  And then
for my long weekend run, I get up at O-Dark-Thirty (that's military time)
for a 10-30 miler, depending on whether that week is my alternating "long"
or a "short" week.  My monthly mileage is typically 100-125 miles,
certainly on the low side as far as ultrarunners probably go.

My approach to family peace outlined above works for me.  Others with
different situations and/or temperaments might devise a different strategy,
perhaps more of an in-your-face, take-it-or-leave-it attitude, and stake
out their ultrarunning time that way.  We all must decide what is important
and what battles are worth fighting.

As for distance, my approach also proved out in terms of training miles. 
My "short" weeks were 30 miles; my "long" weeks maxed out at 50, and I only
did a handful of 30-milers.  See, 100-mile training regimes don't have to
be all-consuming, time sucking pits.  For in addition to my family demands,
I also have non-running life, and simply can't and won't sacrifice all on
the alter of ultrarunning.  Although Dr. George Sheehan (yes, I used to be
a road runner) once wrote, "Distance running is more than a sport.  It is a
way of life."

I was so certain of a positive outcome at the MMT that I actually began
writing this after-race report prior to the race, on April 1st.  I wanted
to get the background down of my philosophy and approach, leaving blank the
parts pertaining to the actual details of the race, to be filled out later.
 The fact that this date is also the anniversary of my father's death no
doubt weighed in my being in a philosophic frame of mind.  He was the
farthest thing in the world from being an ultrarunner.  But his succumbing
to heart disease, high blood pressure, and diabetes in his 60s has
reinforced through the years, through fear if nothing else, the types of
wise lifestyle choices that I try to live by.  So I have Dad to thank, in a
way, for crossing that MMT finish line.

For all North American trail 100s in 1996 there was a 62% finish rate; the
corresponding figure in 1997 for the 17 trail 100s was only 59% (1228
finishes, representing 994 separate individuals, of 2090 starts).  In view
of these numbers, in late March I posted a note to the UltraList  asking
whether anyone had computed the finish rate for first-timers.  Of the
responses I received, only Matt Mahoney had some first-timer stats,
indicating that first timers were slightly more likely than the general
entrant to finish.  This was based on a small sample, was not statistically
significant, but was encouraging nonetheless.  

Mostly the remainder of the responses--and Thank You to all the kind souls
who took the time to answer--were along the lines of "Don't worry, you'll
be OK."  I need to clarify something here: perhaps it was the wording of my
post, but the inference that most people drew was that I was having
negative thoughts and doubts about my ability to finish.  The reality is
that I only wanted the numbers to point to after the fact, when I HAD
succeeded, to say how I beat the odds.  But I already KNEW I was going to
beat the odds.  It wasn't a crisis of confidence, it was a validation that
this indeed is a memorable achievement!  To reiterate the numbers above,
after all, in 1997, less than 1000 separate individuals completed a 100
mile race in North America.  That's 1 out of 250,000 Americans, or even
less if you add in the 30 million Canadians!

I had a major league scare about 4 weeks before the race. I did something
dumb at work--several of us were in the conference room at lunchtime,
watching a video tape.  I leaned across the narrow wooden arm of my chair
to turn off the VCR, and I felt this sudden sharp jab in my ribs.  I yelled
at the guy beside me, the office joker, thinking he had poked me hard with
his finger, because it hurt.  He was innocent, however.  

Turns out I tore the cartilage that connects my "floating ribs" (the bottom
2 ribs) to the rest of my rib cage.  When it happened, I didn't think it
was a big deal.  As a matter of fact, I even went to the gym after work and
did some Nautilus exercises (but laid off doing anything involving my left
side) and then ran 10 miles that night after the family went to bed, with
minimal discomfort.

But I spent an uncomfortable night, waking frequently with pain, so the
next day I went to see the doc to see whether this was a serious injury or
something non-trivial.  Turns out no broken bone, just soft tissue damage,
and he told me I ought to be OK in about a week.  I used
anti-inflammatories and heating pad, but although by race day I could run
without discomfort, I was still conscious of my ribs.  By the way, the
prescription anti-inflammatory I used, (Daypro, 600 mg, 2 tablets once a
day) even when taken with food was fairly hard on my stomach and digestive
system--lots of gurgling, rumbling, sour stomach, mild cramping, etc.  Plus
expensive: $40 for a 7-day supply.  I was not sorry to be off them.

Was my rib injury a factor at MMT?  Probably, but too minor to judge. 
However, had I been a top dog, running much more of the course than I did,
and pushing harder, sucking wind, etc., I would have been handicapped.  I
had to set aside any thought I might have had about going for the course
record!   Actually, the forced taper for the 4 weeks preceding the race
probably helped me finish.  I only did three runs in that last month (10,
10, 15) and while I was well rested, I definitely had mental reservations
about missing all that training.  

So, what was the training regime that brought me, a relative ultra newbie,
to the starting line of the MMT and eventually to the finish line?  My last
previous completed 50-miler was some 7 months prior to the MMT, but I
maintained a good long-distance threshold by doing about one 30-miler per
month.  To capsulize my axioms of training, I stuck fairly strictly to the
following, and I definitely feel they paid off: 

--Whenever I laced up my running shoes, I would do a minimum of 10 miles. 
Without sounding elitist, I feel that running 5-milers, or anything less
than an hour of running, is pretty much "junk miles" in terms of ultra
preparation.

--I rode a bike, stationary or outdoors, once weekly, to build up my quads.

--I did Nautilus circuit workouts twice a week for general body toning, max
of half an hour each.

--I rotated among 4 pairs of running shoes.

--I practiced and experimented extensively in training with various
clothing, eating, drinking, packs, lighting systems, etc.

--I pored over the maps and trail descriptions, and twice ran parts of the
MMT course, to become intimately familiar with it.  I wanted to have that
home court advantage insofar as possible.

But I digress with all this history and philosophy stuff.  It's important
to set the stage, but I also wanted to tell you about the MMT race itself. 


Race day weather was damp and occasionally misty, but the real rain held
off for me except for one half-hour shower on Sunday morning. 
Temperatures, even at night, ranged fairly narrowly between 55-65 degrees,
really decent.  The trails, however, were wet and sloppy from previous
rains.  Low spots were standing in water and muddy spots were now
ankle-deep in muck.  Streams were also up, but there was only one large
stream crossing (with numerous small ones), so the stream crossing problem
was not large.  In fact, after all the mud and muck, stream crossings were
actually welcome to flush out my shoes.

The upshot all of the moisture, of course, is that everyone ran with wet
feet the whole way.  I changed socks at 25 miles, and shoes and socks at
47, but didn't bother thereafter.  My feet were soaked within a mile
anyway.  I wore women's knee-high hose under 2-layer sox, a combination
that had always previously kept me blister-free.  But by the nominal
halfway point at the Visitor's Center at mile 47, I was already in trouble
from blisters but didn't know it.  It was here that I moleskinned the
hotspots on the forefoot of both feet after draining one small blister.

I never have had blister problems in the past, but I think that the
constant immersion simply softened my feet to the point that blisters were
inevitable, given that much time on my feet and 100 miles to cover. 
However, it does leave me gun-shy for the next time--what can I do
differently if on race day I am faced again with very wet conditions?

The course is quite rocky with about a dozen big climbs of 1000' + , each
one perhaps 1 to 1.5 miles long.  The breakdown of foot surface is 80%
trail, mostly single-track, typically somewhat to very rocky.  The balance
of trails were old woods roads, etc., that were pretty good and runnable. 
The remaining 20% of the course was on dirt roads or a couple miles of
macadam to interconnect the trail sections.  The race material says it all:


"The MMT 100 is a challenging trail ultra over a slow, rocky course. Short
but rugged mountain climbs and descents occur from start to finish.
Depending on rainfall, runners may experience wet and muddy sections with
fordable streams. Darkness increases the challenge. In brief, MMT 100 is a
tough trail race.

Eighty per cent of the MMT 100 is on trails, the remainder interspersed
stretches of country roads, 16 dirt and 4 asphalt. There will be 17 aid
stations including 2 unmanned. Runners will need to carry water and food to
maintain hydration and energy. Some sections of the course could take three
to four hours to complete. Reliable flashlights - yes, more than one, - are
a necessity at night.

Toughness. While we say the MMT 100 is tough, a better description is
s-l-o-w, r-o-c-k-y and r-u-g-g-e-d, but not impossible to finish. More than
50% finished each of the first two years. In 1997, two of every three
starters finished, or 38 out of 56. The MMT 100 had more finishers than the
Umstead 100 which had 36 finishers out of 108 starters. If you enjoy
trails, are looking for an adventure and are determined to finish, there is
enough time (35 hours) for you to accomplish your goal."

My training partner, Bill LaDieu, and I do a lot of running on the
Appalachian Trail in southern Pennsylvania, which has a notorious
reputation among hikers for its rocks. He and I met via the UltraList when
we realized that we only lived about an hour apart in southern
Pennsylvania.  We coordinated an initial training run along the Appalachian
Trail, found we were compatible, and thereafter tried to get together about
once a month for a long training run.  A recurring theme among AT
through-hikers, when asked what they remember about Pennsylvania, is the
answer, "The rocks!"   Bill and I figured that if we could run the AT in
Pennsylvania, then we could handle the MMT.  And I'd say that this was
generally true--the rocks in Pennsylvania were in fact worse, and did
provide a good schooling on what to expect in Virginia.

Course markings for the MMT were superb, virtually eliminating going off
course as a source of anxiety.  Race materials state:  "The MMT 100 has a
reputation as the best marked trail ultra in the USA. That doesn't mean you
can't get lost if you don't pay attention. We expect to have chem lights or
other kinds of reflective markings at night."

I can attest to the truth of the above.  Yellow ribbons were strung every
couple hundred yards.  Double flagging on the left or right side of the
trail indicated a turn, then immediately after the turn another yellow
ribbon was hung to indicate that you were on the right path.  At night,
glow sticks were also hung, in addition to the ribbons, again every few
hundred yards. One would have to try pretty hard to get off course.  About
the only stretch where I began to question the course came on a gravel road
section at night.  Because it was straight and without turns, the marking
crew elected not to place ribbons/glow sticks along about a half mile
stretch.  Well, that was precisely why I became alarmed, and was ready to
retrace my steps, thinking I had missed a turn.  Fortunately, I was running
right then with someone who had run last year, and knew we were on course. 
In contrast to some of the stories from other ultras, tampering with course
markings has not been at problem at MMT.

Bill and I had decided months ago to attempt the MMT.  We had agreed to run
together for mutual support all the way, only separating if one of us had
to drop or would miss a cutoff.  Unfortunately, it turned out not to be
Bill's day--he had trouble by the second quarter of the race with food
intake and energy levels.  He struggled gamely through 55 miles, in and out
of bonking, but by mile 55 he sat down, then laid down, and could no longer
continue.  I had encouraged him up to that point but I believed there was
no coming back from this bonk.  We sat together for 10 minutes, and when I
was satisfied that he was OK to turn around and take the jeep road back
downhill 1.5 miles to the previous aid station, we wished each other luck
and I continued.  This occurred about 10 PM Saturday evening.

My hat is really off to Bill--I reached 55 miles feeling rather good,
whereas he had been struggling for hours.  He showed a ton of heart and
courage to make it that far, and I am convinced that my finishing was
largely due to his companionship and support throughout our training, and
during the first half of this race.  It may well have been our conservative
pace saved me for the second half.  I actually ran about even or perhaps
negative splits--am curious to see the split chart to confirm.

I told Bill to go with our crew (his wife and a friend) to a motel and get
a good night's sleep.  I'd be OK with the aid station support.  Well, they
didn't listen, and supported me at every crew point the rest of the way. 
It sure was great to see those friendly faces every couple hours--thanks,
big time.

My feet were a little tender at this point, still an annoyance rather than
a problem.  The moleskin was holding despite my wet feet.  And given the
fact that I was now alone at night, on an uphill trail, I began walking
toward the next aid station at Scothorn Gap (Mile 59).  I wound up walking
the rest of the night except for a few downhill or flat stretches of dirt
road.  The nearly-full moon popped out for about 5 minutes while I ran
along Turkey Pen Road, which was one of my enduring memories of this run.  

A little further, however, I encountered what for me was the first of two
tough pieces of the course--mentally.  This was the 8 mile stretch at night
along the new MMT-West section of the trail, between the Route 730 (mile
66) and the Edinburg Gap (mile 74) Aid Stations.  This rocky trail kept
dropping down off the ridge crest 30'-40' or so, then back up to the top. 
It did this seemingly a couple dozen times and must have contributed
500'-1000' of climb.  While my feet were still good to go, the trail was
covered with lots of loose rocks, making even walking somewhat hazardous. 
When we finally did drop down off the ridge for real, the trail meandered
for a couple of miles before finally emerging at the Edinburg Aid Station
and Mile 74.  Coincident with reaching the aid station, the sun also came
up (well, it became daylight--never did see the sun this weekend!), and
with it, a rise in energy and spirits. So with this rough stretch
completed, I got aid, dumped my flashlights and long sleeved shirt, and
continued somewhat rejuvenated.  Naturally the course immediately threw at
me another long uphill climb, but once I gained that ridgetop, I found the
trail surface for this next 8-mile segment much better than the previous
stretch.  This proved to be a very runnable section going into the
Woodstock Tower Aid Station at 82 miles.

However, this point proved to be my second low spot.  From here the
remaining 18 miles is about the same distance as one of my standard tough
training runs at home, along the Appalachian Trail in PA between Pine Grove
Furnace and Caledonia.  And it dawned on me that now I had to cover that
same distance after having already done 82 miles, on feet that by now were
mighty tender?  But I convinced myself that I only had to run 6 miles to
Powell's Fort and then I'd nearly be to the land of
"single-digits-remaining".  Running from aid station to aid station is how
I had to do it.  

The next few miles I really don't remember much of.  Not that I was out of
it; the trail here was simply fairly nondescript.  I do recall that it
began to shower as I left Powell's Fort Aid Station (mile 88), and I was
grateful to be able to pull out my pocket-sized plastic poncho to stay dry
with.  Near here I paused at a National Forest Service trail marker
containing a diagram of the trails in that area.  As I looked at the map,
the entire post began to sway back and forth.  Of course, it wasn't really
swaying--I was experiencing a mild hallucination.  

When I reached the Elizabeth Furnace Aid Station at Mile 95 with only 5
miles to go, the blisters were causing me major pain every step, but I bit
the bullet and plodded on--I couldn't drop that close to the finish.  I
found that I could run OK--my muscles were still in good shape--on the mild
uphills and flats.  Walking this terrain was also not a problem, provided I
could place my feet either squarely on the ground or land on my heel.  I
could not tolerate the pain of landing only on my forefoot.  Downhills were
the toughest in terms of discomfort.  The extra weight of landing was
tough, and running on any sort of uneven terrain was impossible--I had to
pick my way through at a slow walk.  When I had a decent, not-too-steep
downhill with a smooth surface, I literally gritted my teeth against the
pain and tried to run it as best I could.  My pace was slow, but it was
faster than a walk (slightly!).  And time was a factor--I passed the 95
mile mark with about 2.5 hours to go until the original 35-hour cutoff. 
Although the RD had extended the cutoff by 3 hours to compensate for the
slow course caused by all the muck and mud, I really wanted to come in
under the original cutoff.  So had to motor along at better than 2 MPH to
make it.  That speed sure doesn't sound like much, but at that point of the
race, with another of the 1000' climbs to negotiate, these 5 miles were
pretty formidable.

The last couple miles were actually downhill, coming off Shawl Gap, but the
stretch between the base of the mountain and the finish line at the Skyline
Ranch Resort seemed interminable.  I crossed, then recrossed, and
re-recrossed the same small stream, and I'm thinking that this must have
been done to get everyone's feet washed off--until just beyond was another
ankle-deep patch of muck.  At long last I emerged from the woods and had
only the last quarter mile of grassy field to cross the reach the finish. 
Bill and his wife, and their friend who also crewed, were awaiting me; they
and the others hanging around the finish clapped enthusiastically as I
crossed the line and sat down on the porch of race HQ.  I felt mixed
emotions--exhaustion, pain from my feet, but a profound sense of
accomplishment.  I had done it!

I had some lasting impressions of my first MMT-100, little snippets of
clear images that will forever be embedded in my memory:

--The literal profusion of flowers that lined the course, particularly the
pink wild azalea bushes (properly, Pinxter Flower), Lady Slippers, and Wild
Iris
--Our dedicated crew, always there, always cheerful
--The stone steps going up Shawl Gap from Elizabeth Furnace, placed years
ago, probably by the CCC
--The moon coming out for a few minutes along Turkey Pen Trail
--How FAST the 34+ hours went by, even running alone the second half
--Lady G's blackened grilled cheese at AS-3 (was that a Cajun recipe?)
--Learning to pee while walking
--The mud and slop
--Hallucinating that a trail marker sign/map near Powell's Fort was swaying
back and forth
--Knowing I was paying the price by staying on my blistered feet but
trusting it'd be worth it

As I write this 4 days after finishing, my feet are still pretty sore.  On
each foot I have mirror-imaged blisters: 1 bigger than a silver dollar
across the ball of my foot; 1 quarter-sized on the heel; and 1 nickel-sized
on my big toe between it and the second toe.  Blisters for me are EXTREMELY
unusual.  All I can figure is that running for that much longer and farther
than I ever have before, with my feet constantly soaked, simply made my
tissues so soft that eventually erosion was inevitable.  I have a couple
black toenails, not unusual and no big deal; in addition, I stubbed my
right big toe so hard that I knocked the toenail almost right off its bed
and will lose it.  Surprisingly, it didn't hurt badly at the time, and
still doesn't hurt now.

Thanks to Ed Demoney, the Virginia Happy Trails Running Club, and all the
volunteers who put on this super race.  I have now an enormous respect for
the 100-mile distance.  I chose MMT because of its proximity, knowing full
well its difficulty.  The course is a butt-kicker, and came perilously
close to kicking mine.  Will I do it again?--too soon to call.  My
curiosity may have been satisfied.  But perhaps it's analogous to
childbirth.....

Regards/Gary Bruner
brunerg@ritchie-emh1.army.mil (work)
bruner@innernet.net (home)
Chambersburg, PA