On Saturday, January 5, I embarked upon my first ultra marathon: the Neusiok Trail Run (NTR) 43 miler in Croatan National Forest in eastern North Carolina. It was mostly a training run for the Umstead 100 miler I'm planning to run at the beginning of April, but it was also my first official ultra. I couldn't help but be excited.
The race would be held on the Neusiok Trail in Croatan National Forest. As per the US Department of Agriculture Forest Service website entry (http://www.fs.usda.gov/recarea/nfsnc/recreation/natureviewing/recarea/?recid=48466&actid=63):
"The Croatan National Forest's 160,000 acres have pine forests, saltwater estuaries, bogs and raised swamps called pocosins. Bordered on three sides by tidal rivers and the Bogue Sound, the forest is defined by water." The race website (http://www.neusioktrailrun.com/Welcome.html) had this to add to my very limited body of knowledge about this race:
"While running the Neusiok Trail you will
cross black water cypress swamps, pine forest, pocosin’s and portions
of the Neuse and Newport River. You will be crossing small creeks and
swampy areas. The worst swampy areas such as “Cotton Mouth Spa” have
foot bridges. You may encounter various bird species including Gulls,
Quail, Hawks and Bald Eagles. The Croatan National Forest is also the
natural home of the famed Venus Fly Trap. It thrives here because biting
flies & insects keep them full.
I drove out to Havelock on Friday afternoon, stopped by race registration to pick up my race stuff, and then checked into the hotel.
Suffice it to say I didn't get great sleep the night before the race, which is typical for me. It ended up being about 6.5 very broken hours, filled with dreams of bears and sounds in the forest. I was psyching myself out to be sure. I woke feeling tired and plenty nervous about bears. For those who don't know me well, I'm terrified of bears. The mere mention of them in the race description was nearly enough to make me want to hibernate for the winter. It was so unlike me to sign up for a race that might include them. I did it anyway. I'll admit I bought a bear bell at REI a few days before the race, but I ended up leaving it in the hotel room.
I wasn't exactly a minimalist for this race; I wanted to be sure I would have anything I might need at both the halfway point and at the end of the race. Because the race director (RD) had informed racers that we could count on getting wet, I brought an extra pair of shoes and socks (among other things) to change into at the halfway/turn-around point. The temperature at race start would be right around 32 degrees, and the day's high temp was supposed to be in the low 50's: a big enough differential to make dressing for the race a little complicated. Layers were a must.
I ended up wearing my running tights, a long sleeve bottom layer shirt and short sleeve top layer shirt with an ear warmer headband and gloves. I brought my sunglasses, thinking I would want them during the brightest part of the day, but they just got in the way. I dropped them in my halfway point bag and changed my ear warmer to my favorite hat.
I was simultaneously excited and really nervous prior to race start.
The morning was cold and very windy at the Pinecliff trail head near the water. I was wishing I had on more but reminded myself of the heat furnace my body becomes once I start moving. As it turned out, it didn't take long at all for the chill to leave my body.
The view from the start of the trail was really beautiful. We got started just as the sun rose.
We were forewarned by the RD to exercise extreme caution on the several wooden footbridges we would encounter, like the one in the picture below. He was not kidding. In the freezing temperature, they all had a thin layer of frost on them, and they were super slick. I walked very gingerly across each and every one of them, and I still slid around. I saw one cocky runner bolt his way onto one only to completely lose his footing and land splayed out on the bridge. Well, he was warned. I love this picture because it gives a great idea of the feel of this swampy forest. At times it felt very enclosed, and yet at others it was wide open. I've never been any place like this. I kept waiting for a black bear to jump out of the brush. Or perhaps an alligator. It was that kind of place.
As I began the race I felt okay. I made a point not to start out too fast. My race plan was to take it sort of easy at least through the first half and then see how I felt on the way back. If I felt great I might push it, but at the end of the day it still was just a training run. My only goal was to finish within the 12 hour time limit. I thought I might be able to do it in more like 10 hours but would be happy with whatever I could do.
The 21.5 miles of trail are broken into a few sections. From the northern most point, there are about 13 miles of solid trail made up of typical single track (pretty technical but not terribly hilly), wooden foot bridges traversing swampy bogs, and very flat pine needle covered trail (not very technical) surrounded on either side by brush and swamp foliage like in the picture above. Throughout this initial 13 mile section, I began to question the intelligence of registering for this race. The frost covered foot bridges were infinitely frustrating. My pace going over them was so slow that my heart rate dropped enough for the chill to return to my body. My fingers and toes were tingling from the cold. I was shivering, and I was pissed. The foot bridge that spanned 'Toad Wallow' was a half mile long.
That foot bridge felt like it would never end. Wherever there was even the slightest bit of pitch in one direction or the other, I slid thanks to the frost. Seriously, it was kind of ridiculous.
I couldn't imagine 43 miles of this, and I really didn't want to do it. To make matters worse, I'd successfully navigated the wet, swampy parts by skirting any water I encountered and essentially hugging and bushwhacking my way through the brush on either side of the trail. To be clear, much of this brush included some type of bush with tall, thick, very thorny stems. This brush was very dense. By the end of the race my ankles were both pretty well scratched as well as my legs and arms from thorns grabbing onto me through my clothing. But my luck (yes, luck) would only last so long. Looking back, I'm not sure why I was so worried about getting wet other than the inherent potential discomfort associated with it. Well, get wet I did. It only took one misstep around mile 6, just over an hour or so into my race, and both feet, shoes, and socks, were soaked. The first time is the worst. I would remind myself of this multiple times throughout the day.
What I imagined this race to be and what it was turning out to be were two very different things. Before the race I figured I could sort of crush 43 flat miles of trail. Yet I'd been reduced to a snail's pace.
Thankfully the foot bridges didn't last forever. Before I knew it, I came to an aid station at the end of this first 13 mile section of trail. I ate a little of the food they offered and tried to change my attitude.
The next two miles were on a gravel road that connects the northern and southern sections of trail. This gravel road is the only time I wore my sunglasses. I turned my iPod up and let the blaring music carry me across these two boring miles. I passed a couple people, and a few others passed me. It was otherwise uneventful.
After the gravel road I began the last section of the trail that would lead to Oyster Point, the turn around for the 43 milers. I'd heard that the first few miles of this part would be 'boggy' but couldn't have anticipated the wet mess I would encounter.
The best way to describe the boggy section is to suggest imagining very enclosed trail covered in a thick layer of pine needles and huge 'puddles' (some up to about 30 feet long) that were bordered by dense brush. I made a concerted effort not to plow through the middle of these 'puddles' but rather tiptoe my way around the edges, again hugging the brush. Time consuming and a little futile. I later heard that several of the puddles were as much as knee deep water. Even going along the edges, I was ankle deep in water.
With just a few miles or so to go to Oyster Point, the bog subsided and the trail turned dry. This was a lovely bit of trail: deliciously flat and not terribly technical. As I neared the 43 mile turn-around at Oyster Point, I had a view again of water. It was right around noon, and the day had become a typically beautiful NC day: bright, blue sky and warm winter sun. I felt awesome. I'd passed a few of the 21.5 mile racers and felt great about my prospects of finishing the second half.
The run back was, obviously, everything in reverse. Because I knew that much water and soaked shoes awaited me on the return run, I made the decision not to change into dry socks and shoes at the turn around. I would leave those for the end of the race, when I knew I would appreciate the dry warmth. I could feel that a blister was starting to form on my right pinky toe but decided to leave that until the race end, too. It was only going to get wetter.
This time, traversing the foot bridges was easier and faster. The early morning frost was long gone, and they were dry. I trotted across them all. I took a moment to delight in the fact that I'd seen no cotton mouths anywhere near their spa.
In fact, I had seen no swampy forest critters all day long. No bears. No alligators. No snakes. I knew they must be out there but was so very grateful that they'd made no appearance. The trek back was much more solitary than the outbound leg. I saw only a couple of other runners (until the end of my race when I saw all 10 or so of the 100k racers going back to Oyster Point) and a few hikers with dogs on the trail. I'd listened to my iPod on the lowest volume all day long, but on this solitary leg back toward the finish, more than once I heard critter-like rustling in the brush. Mostly it sounded like little rustling, but once I swear it sounded like the rustling only a very large animal (read: bear!) could make. I was convinced I was about to become lunch. I shut the iPod off, stopped dead in my tracks, and waited. And then coughed to make some noise. And waited a little longer. And then felt silly and ridiculous, so I started to run again. I sang out loud for a little while, and every so often I took a quick glance behind me. There was never anything there. Either a) I was being stalked by a predator, or b) I was psyching myself out. I consciously decided I was just psyching myself out, and willed myself not to be scared. It worked, sort of.
This time, I was so relieved to exit The Bog and hit the gravel road. I trotted slowly down this road and enjoyed the change of terrain. I knew that at the end of the road was a manned aid station (human contact...hooray!) and then only about 13 miles to the very end. I got to the aid station, ate, ate, and ate some more, and then went on my way. It was about 2:30p when I arrived there, so I still had four and a half hours to cover 13 miles. I could walk it and finish in time. Nice!
I didn't walk, though. I ran, taking very brief walk breaks to eat and give my muscles a break, until darkness fell. When I say ran, I mean that I trotted just a bit faster than a walk. This was the most technical part of the trail, with roots, rocks, and leaves to camouflage it all. I was tired and expected myself to fall (I never did). I probably averaged around 13.5 mins/mile while running, and walking was more like 16 or 17 mins/mile. Once the sun started to drop, though, I knew I needed to get as far as possible before full darkness fell. I wasn't afraid to be on the trail in the dark. I had picked up my headlamp at the turn around point and felt like I could handle anything that came my way. But I was leery of running in the dark, upping my odds of a wipeout. Around mile 40 fatigue started to creep into my legs. I'd felt pretty good until that point, but dark and tired were a tough combination.
A sign pointed the way to the promised land.
Full darkness came down upon me with about two miles to go. I was bummed that those two miles took me about 45 minutes, eating away at precious time. Even on a training run, I wanted to finish as fast as I could. But logic reigned, and I was careful.
In addition to my speed, my body warmth was another casualty of the dark. Because my heart rate had dropped so much, I again began to feel cold. With the setting sun along came dropping temperatures. And my feet were still wet and would get wet once more with about a mile to go. By the very end of the race, I was shivering and dreaming of those dry socks and shoes. Dry feet and hot food became my only motivation. I was going to finish this race.
The very end of the trail was a little tricky to navigate. It went from the forest out onto and across the sandy beach and then back into the forest to the trail head. I was grateful for my powerful headlamp and sense of calm.
As I emerged from the forest, there was no fanfare. There was simply a man, wearing his own headlamp, with a clipboard in hand to mark my finish and overall time. It was simple, and it was perfect.
I made my way to the tent where my bags and hot food would await. The RD and one other runner were the only two in the dark tent. They congratulated me on my race, and the RD asked me what I needed. I told him I needed my bags: my end of race bag and the halfway point bag (which held my dry socks and shoes) that was supposed to have been transported back to the start (the 43 mile finish). The RD's face dropped, and he told me all the bags had been taken back down to Oyster Point for the 100k finishers. But we weren't even done yet, I told him. There was still one 43 miler on the trail. He apologized and called to get our bags back to Pinecliff ASAP. ASAP ended up being about 40 minutes later. He then said that there wasn't really any hot food left but I could help myself to the cold snacks (the same candy and crackers that had been on the aid tables all day). As I shivered visibly, I asked him whether there was any hot food left, at all. He offered broth and ramen noodles. I asked for ramen noodles, which were barely warm. Huge bummer, but I took it. He then led me to the ambulance, where I could wait and warm up.
I spent 45 minutes in the ambulance, chatting with the paramedic and getting warm. By the time the bags arrived, I was mostly warmed back up. The finisher awards were handmade bird houses, and I also received a screech owl house for being the first (and only) female to finish the 43 mile race. Coolest finisher awards ever.
I drove back to the hotel completely happy to have completed this adventure totally on my own. I signed up for it knowing no one else doing it. I did it without any friends or family out there to support me, and I finished the course having gotten myself through some really low points throughout the day. This race was all about me, and it was a huge success. I felt like a huge success. And I had become an ultra marathoner in the process. Not a bad day.
Location:Croatan Nat'l Forest
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