I apologize for my tardiness. It’s been ten days since I ran The Mountainman Ultra, and an account of my race experience is long overdue. I’ve been quite busy traveling through Switzerland and Austria, and certainly some of the delay has to do with that. But truthfully, I haven’t been really sure what to say. When prompted for an account of the race, all I’ve really been able to say is, “It was really hard.” It is difficult to explain how hard it was. Nevertheless, I will try…



When I was acclimatizing at Solsteinhaus in Austria, I posted the picture below on facebook, with some sort of reference to being in Middle-Earth.

It turns out, I was in The Shire; the beautiful but mild-mannered part of Middle-Earth with forested, rolling hills where nothing particularly unexpected or adventuresome happens.

The Mountainman Ultra, however, was in the Misty Mountains; the I’m-on-an-epic-adventure-and-I’m-gonna-punch-Sauron-in-the-nuts part of Middle-Earth. See picture below, for nut-punching terrain.

Now, being in Middle-Earth and being on an epic adventure through the Misty Mountains, it would be exciting to imagine myself like Aragorn with the blood of an ancient line of kings running through my veins, or Legolas as lean and lithe as an elf, or even Gimli strong and stout and tireless. Maybe that’s how the winners felt, but it was not at all how I felt. I felt more like Sam Gamgee; I felt very tired and very small on top of those mountains, but I just kept going, powered at times by sheer determination alone.

The 50-miler is almost twice the length of conventional, big-city marathon. Doing that kind of mileage on flat, even ground is not simply twice as hard as a marathon; it’s at least a few times harder. Then, take into account that The Mountainman has over 16,400 feet of elevation gain, and almost as much in elevation loss, throughout the course. How can one possibly finish something like that? Training is obviously a factor but, more than anything, you have to want it really bad. Views like this one definitely help in that department.

There were times during this race when I felt great. I was keeping a good pace, my body felt good and energized, I was making friends from all over the world, and I was surrounded by some of the most beautiful scenery I’ve ever seen. I felt grateful to be there and running 50 miles seemed to be a small price to pay to be able to see these mountains that are not done justice by the camera in my phone.

Then there were the times that involved a lot of swearing, both in English and in German. When you decide to chew some Advil so it will be absorbed into your bloodstream faster, make sure you’re not out water. Fuck. It’s bad enough running out of water, but it's MISERABLE having that bitter, chewed-Advil taste in your mouth until you can get to the next water station. That was the first time I ran out of water. The second was during the largest climb of the race, at a little over 20 miles in. I ran out of water about two-thirds of the way up this massive climb and, as a result of my quickly-onset dehydration, my quads completely locked up. Imagine a “charlie horse” attacking all fours muscle on both quads at once, but it won’t pass; it is completely constant. Then, imagine that you know stopping or sitting will make it worse; the only thing that will make it better is getting to water, and water is all the way at the top of this big-ass mountain. FUUUUUUUUUCK. By the time, I made it to the next aid station, at the top of this massive climb, I was delirious and severely dehydrated. But I made it. The hardest part was over. I spent some time re-hydrating and refueling, and then slowly went on my way.

Once my quads relaxed, and I encountered some more moderate terrain, I was able to pick up my pace and I felt pretty good for a while. In fact, after the climb a big chunk of the race passed rather uneventfully as I slowly chipped away at the mileage.

In the final quarter of the race, there was this forest that can be most easily described as stupid. It was a stupid forest and I didn’t like it one bit. At this point in the race, despite being at about Mile 40, I felt pretty good and wanted to keep my pace up. But the ground throughout this entire stupid forest was a combination of loose dirt and a web of very fine roots. It was like running on a very narrow trail of sponges of varying and unpredictable density. The only way to proceed without twisting an ankle was slowly, which is maddening when you want to be running. And at such a slow pace this awful, stupid forest seemed to last forever. I actually thought it was never going to end. Stupid forest.

Finally, free of the black forest of Mirkwood, I encountered some much easier terrain. Not only was the terrain much easier, but now I was really close to the finish! I don’t know where it comes from, but I always manage to tap into some energy reserve when I get close to the finish line. All of sudden, after running 45 miles across some of the most technical terrain I’ve ever run on, I was comfortably keeping an 8-minute per mile pace. I could have kept this up for miles. I felt great! But alas, all great things must end. The finish line was at the summit of Mount Pilatus. The really big mountain is the picture below is Mount Pilatus (and bear in mind that this picture is from really, really far away!).

It took me a long time to make it to the summit. It was a slow march to the finish line, which I reached just after dark. And though I was long past running uphill (I pretty much walked the whole climb to the finish line), somehow I summoned the strength the run up the steps and across that line at what felt like a respectable pace. I think a lot of that had to do with having some of my family there waiting to cheer me on. When you spend almost 15 hours out on the race course, having people you love waiting at the finish line makes a big difference.

I went for a run today. It wasn’t my first run since The Mountainman, but it was the first one where I felt like a runner again, instead of a hobbling old man. I thought about the race and the training that lead up to it. I’ve talked about the introspectiveness of training for a 50-miler; that perhaps I’d know myself a little better by the end of all this. One’s identity is a such a vast and multi-faceted thing. And while I’m not sure I could point one specific aspect of myself that I know better, I would say, yes, I’ve learned some things. I had hoped to meet my dæmon (see earlier post “Dæmons and Dragons”), and unfortunately that didn’t happen. But, afterall, it was very dark as I climbed that mountain. Maybe my dæmon was there. Guiding me and urging me toward the finish. One day we’ll meet. There’s plenty of time and races for that to happen.

-Crazy-Mountain-Running-Zack