Thunder Rock 100 2014

Chattanooga, TN. Near the finish for the Head of the Hooch

How to begin a race report about the Thunder Rock 100? A race "mistakenly" measure almost as bad as a Horton race. A race with 3 storms within the first 5 hours. A race with a definite bushwacking section. Probably my toughest race to date. But some of the most incredible memories and experiences I've had in a race.

For most of the beginning, I was immensely worried about being too cold. The forecast was much cooler than I anticipated. It hadn't climbed out of the low- to mid-50s, and here I was standing in a singlet. I was eager to begin running. Despite a forecast of only 10% rain, we were greeted with a downpour and thunder, not 20 minutes before the start. Was this going to follow us the whole race? My concerns of hypothermia were increasing; but the weather abated within 10 minutes.

The race starts at the Ocoee Whitewater Center, which hosted the '96 Olympic whitewater events. It began with a tunnel across a suspension bridge, resonating questionable with the pounding of the runners. We turn off on to trail and off we go! This first sections is pretty benign single track, with various switchbacks for short rollers. Of course it's slow, when at the start there wasn't much room for the pecking order to get settled out, but we are all patient and manage. After a little bit we are back down to the river, crossing at the Thunder Rock campsite. Wee get with the first large climb of the race. Once near the top, the hail starts! Pea-sized balls sting my skin. The temperature is fluctuating like crazy and I'm torn between breaking out the armwarmers and gloves. Probably within this same section, though the hail wanes off, rain and thunder join in. We also get this insane trail jump, aka bushwacking. No marked trail, just a guy tells us to tun let and follow some yellow cones for nearly 1/4 mile. This following section is nearly 10 miles as we make our way to the Deep Gap aid station. Usually aid stations are where lots changes in place occur as some runners take longer or shorter. This section is a mix of single track and very ungroomed ATV trails. It's another 10 miles before we get to the small of Reliance, crossing the bank of the river to the aid station. The hills have kind of tough. I feel ok, but wondering if I'll regret the pace. But the sun is out, and I'm glad I decided to leave off the warm clothing.

The starting area.

Already I can tell some very distinct things about these Wild Trails races. First, part in the course guide that says "flat" or "descending" just means average/by TN standards. Everything are rollers, with STEEP inclines. Second, aid stations are more sparsely stashed compared to Umstead, or a Lynchburg race. From listening to the race director, Randy Whorton (pronounced just like Horton!), he is ALL about preserving the remoteness and natural beauty of the trail. We'll see later that many other runners weren't exactly happy. For Mr. Whorton, course markings are rare. You'll see them at every junction and turn, but otherwise, MAYBE every half mile.

OK, so now we get too some actual flat portions, but unfortunately there's 1-2 miles on pavement that is actually hurting a lot more than the rolling trails. I'm so grateful to reach the Powerhoue aidstation. At 32 miles, this is the first time I've taken to refill my bladder. At first I'm ecstatic that the aid station does spill a drop. Yet, I only make it about six miles until I'm dry! I'm sure my drinking has increased, but drinking in 6 miles what took me 32 before? Now I'm paranoid, and for awhile, I'm getting filled at every aid station which is really time-consuming. Until mile 39 at Coker Falls, we're right next to the river bank. Unfortunately it's incredibly rocking and treacherous. Lots of kneeling and stopping to find the best path around the rock beds.

I couldn't say much about the next part. It's mainly fire road, with several steep climbs, but also with steep descents. There's nothing gentle or gradual about any of these hills. The next aid station is Manning Cabin (I actually later meet the woman who lives there. Who will be going to compete in a 30 hour adventure race later this month!). Suddenly a huge crowd of 4 other guys have caught up to me! It catches me a little off guard, but I try no to show it. It's getting closer to sunset, and cooling off. I pull out my headlamp for the ready, and put on my gloves. This whole next section is knee-killing pavement. It's residential and every home has it's guard dog out (Randy warned us that the county residents are some of the poorest in the country, and not the friendliest). And this point my knee can't decided to cooperate or not. It'll stiffen up at every aid station when I stop moving, and even for a 30 second pee break. Mainly down hill to begin, I chat with one of the guys as we kind of ebb and flow with his main group. We a gradual, but walk-able incline up to the Servilla. It's a crew accessible, no aid, and right at 50 miles! Half way! At this point, I've hitched on with three of the guys who've kept going. And this starts some of the best running I've had.

Ryan, Alex, and Dave introduce themselves, and I keep up. I've felt pretty good about how hard I've worked, and definitely agreeable to their walk/run moments. And it's less awkward than silently yo-yo-ing with them for the next several miles. We're just chatting away about everything, really feeding off each others energy, pushing each other when it's needed. Randy planned for most of this section to be fire roads, since it's all in the dark. I'm going into my first all-night race. We've climbed up to Iron Gap. I'm at my first drop bag location. I change into a T-shirt, and exchange my Nathan pack for a minimalist vest and handheld water bottle. Everyone else takes care of stuff too, but we all agree to stick together. We head on out. We hit another aid station called Bullet Creek uneventfully. The BIG station, 65 miles in, is Starr mountain, is probably the closest in comparison to Umstead. But still, the fanciest REAL food is broth. Ryan is seriously/jokingly craving a grilled cheese that he just can't get. Now we head back out, and we are making out way back to Iron Gap. It adds in some single track. By now our legs are trashed, and the course is muddy, mucky, full of debris. We're all kind of zoned into ourselves and keep focused by calling out obstacles. I think we're finally glad to exit back to the fire roads for 1.5/2 miles back to Iron Gap. I planned on switching to ear warmers (instead of my cap) and exchange for a fresh headlamp, but I'm doing OK on both accounts. I very glad the weather has dipped significantly But now we're back on single track, and bombing downhill too. We're all getting very anxious about the next part.

After some frustrating false hopes (we can see the lights of the camping areas), we reach the Hiwassee River for the crossing. We're all dead. But we have to essentially repel 5-6 feet down the bank to the water. Then, using a safety rope, cross waist deep, freezing, fast-moving water. One wasn't bad enough. We crawl out, only to have to dip back down for another, albeit shorter crossing. We run a couple hundred yards over to another aid station where I have my drop bag. We're about 17 miles from the finish. This aid station has a nice selection and I get to munch on some peanut butter cookies. My stomach held up WAY better than any other ultra. I've done better about having a consistent, steady intake of both calories and water. Even though I have a drop bag here, all I do is reapply some lubricant; I don't feel as cold coming out of the water, and the temperature has stayed agreeable throughout the night. We head out, though I have a brief scare when I get about 200 yards up course when I realized I left my handheld and turn around to get it.

We are now in the longest, most frustrating part of the course. 4 miles with 2200 feet of climbing. I don't think this is as bad as Apple Orchard Falls in the Promise Land 50K, but after 80 some odd miles, it's torture. Nothing but walking. We're a little upset when we realize we took FIFTEEN minutes at the last aid station. This is the one section decide to put on my jacket. We would all be swerving all over the place, except we have the narrowest of switchbacks with barely a foot's worth of cliff before plunging back down the mountain.

As we near the top, Oswald Dome, we get a boost when the sun finally returns. We've made it through the night. At the aid station at the top, the end becomes so near; we're only a half marathon away. We make two pacts: we're going to aim to finish in under 21 hours, but more importantly, we're going all cross the finish line together. Ryan, Alex, and I have helped each other out the last 50 miles, and we'll see it through together.

However, this last part turns into the most irritating two sections of the course. Randy described this as all "mostly flat and downhill." See my statement above. Sure, we have plunging miles of down, only to be turned right back upwards. There's nothing flat about this. Worse, we're wincing over some pavement. The VERY last aid station comes into sight that signals 5.8 miles to go, and we have 1.5 hours to make. Seems doable, and again, it's suppose to be all down hill. Not. At. All. It seems for every mile downhill, we take another quarter to half back up. We're positive the last aid station was misplaced, because it's been WAY more than 5 miles. There's a long section of rock fields worse than Terrapin Mountain. Reminds me a bit of the southern terminus of the Uwharrie trail. WE get back on some un-groomed ATV trails, but it just won't end. We're passing a couple of other runners. Alex is an intense guy. Any time we're passing, we surge. In his words, "when you pass, leave no doubt."

There's little warning as we come around a switchback and see the finish line 100 yards away. Alex, Ryan, and I link hands, and cross the finish in 21:04.

It's an incredible feeling. To compare it too my two years an Umstead, the fatique is like the first year. Within seconds, even walking seems impossible. But we're done, and we got it done. The finish line is very unassuming, almost LESS than an aid station. But we hop in a shuttle and are taken to a nearby rafting center. I get a lukewarm shower. They have bunks, but being up a huge set of stairs, I take a power nap in a rocking chair. Alex's crew is a true testimony to the trail running community. I've only Alex for 12 hours; I've been in the presence of his crew for less than 20 minutes. But they congratulate me like I was their own runner, and they give me a space blanket, no questions asked. I hang out for the next couple of hours. Unapologetically, I devour a cheesburger, four [bite-sized almost] slices of pizza, and two Gigi's cupcakes. I end up just sleeping in my car for about 1.5 hours before turning back to Raleigh. I didn't plan to go all the way home. I'm stopped a little less than halfway in Black Mountain (I love this little town), and I'll make the final leg in a little bit.

Belt buckle and finisher's gift, a WARM blanket

I had to crawl up these to get food.

I'll reflect more on the goals and race execution at another time.