I just wanted to thank you for everything about Hellgate

This is to be my grand finale of the year, with nothing coming afterwards.
After a big Oct/Nov race period, with Baltimore Marathon, Mountain
Masochist 50, JFK 50, and NCR trail marathon over a 6 week stretch,
my body was starting to revolt. Actually, all seemed fine until I ran a
hard treadmill run a couple of days after JFK that started to irritate my
ankle/lower shin. I took a break for a few days and then ran the NCR
trail marathon, which left me in a lot of pain afterwards. With two weeks
to go before Hellgate, I knew I wouldn't be in the optimal condition at
Hellgate, and clearly I wondered if I could do it at all. Nonetheless,
without knowing how fierce Hellgate actually was, I really didn't know
how much at the top of my game I would have to be just to finish. But
I would soon know. For the two weeks leading up, I did almost nothing.
A few 1 hour doses of the rowing machine. A couple of hours on the
elliptical machine. One 4 mile run that hurt a bit. A one hour trail
run that hurt a touch for the last few miles. Well, I had signed up, I
had made my plans, and there was nothing I have after this for the year,
so what the heck? After the 2 week period, I could tell that I had lost
some of my endurance, but at the same time, most of my body was
rejuvenated. I'm not a taper kind of guy and tapers have never
worked for me. Then again, I don't work hard in training ever (and
when I do, my body punishes me), so
I've never had a great reason to taper. My ankle hadn't hurt at all for a
couple of days and there
was no pain on the elliptical. That's sufficient for doing a 100k, right?
After all, it's not as if this is 100 *miles*(even with the uncertainty of
Horton miles). We had all been watching
the weather leading up, wondering if the course would be covered
with snow and ice like last year. After a few last minute threats of
storms, there really was no precipitation, so this would not be a
snow and ice year, other than that from runoff and that which would
freeze up after the stream and creek crossings. Clearly, that should
make it a lot easier than last year!   That night at the pre-race
activities, it came out that while we wouldn't have the ice and snow,
this would likely be the coldest hellgate yet, with temperatures at
the higher elevation parts in the single digits. I was unable to sleep
past 4:45 am on the morning of the 8th, so I knew it would be a very
long night. I left my office at about 1 pm and made the 4 hour drive
to Fincastle, VA for the pre-race festivities and check-in. We picked
up our packets and shirts (great shirt - the slogan was "The gates
of hell are open night and day." ) I would soon find out what that
means. Great dinner at 6:30, followed by pre-race briefing and
instructions. At 10 pm, I grabbed a bunk in the heritage lodge -
couldn't sleep but got some good relaxation in for an hour. At 11 pm,
we began the drive to the race start about 30 minutes or so away,
from what I recall. I was dressed well, with an under armour cold
gear mock turtleneck, a microfleece, and a running jacket, with
under armour cold gear tights. With 8+ miles between some of the
stations, I knew I would have to carry fluids, so I compiled the suggestions
from the ultralist and carried my nalgene hydration backpack, which
holds three liters, but I just filled it with 72 oz of accelerade, without
plans to refill - just drink conquest and Coke at the aid stations. My
nalgene pack has an insulated pouch that holds the bladder and that
was sufficient to keep it from freezing - I kept it over my microfleece
but under my jacket with the valve and hose under my jacket in
the front. With temperatures in the night and morning no higher than
about 22, I never experienced any freezing on the valve, hose or
bladder. It worked!   At just before midnight we all proceed to the
race start, wherever it was (couldn't see anything other than what
was in the view of my headlamp in front of my feet). We all sing the
national anthem as we did at Mountain Masochist. Then after a
brief search and call for the last missing runner, he's finally located,
trying to repair his broken shoe lace. At 12:01, the race kicks off. It's
been a few days since I've run, and I've run so little over the past
couple of weeks, that I didn't know what to expect. I had my heart
rate monitor on to keep things in check and I know noticed that my
heart rate was a bit higher than usual given the pace I was going.
Not too surprising given my time off. This was a sign to keep things
under control. As we had heard in some of the pre-race discussion,
there are a lot of leaves on the course, as well as fallen trees. I
would have to be very focused on the ground, while at the same time,
keeping eyes up so as not to miss the glow sticks that marked the
course. This was very challenging, especially when the terrain
became messier. After the second aid station, about an hour and
a half into the race, I came to the first technical section of the course.
I hardly remember, but we must have had a good climb on the fire
roads after the first section, because this stretch was mostly
downhill. I had a nice pace going, and I was doing well on this
section, which was only moderately technical, but with plenty of
leaves. I had a few people around me for a while and then I found
myself all alone for a good period. I'm in a good rhythm, too good.
I remember being warned that there are a lot of glow sticks up, so
if you find yourself going for a while without seeing one, there's a
problem. Well, it just occurred to me as I'm running down a long
steep fire road that it's been 15-20 minutes since I've seen a
glow stick. I looked up, way up, and to the right and I could see
some headlamps moving, probably a thousand feet or so above
where I was and not moving it the same direction. So, then I start
back-tracking, and back-tracking, and more back-tracking until
I find the last glowstick, that pointed up, where I had continued
down. I just wasted, what, 20-30 minutes, and I have to make it
all up with more uphill! Very demoralizing, especially when it's
pitch black at 2 in the morning. I couldn't stop thinking of how
much this looked like the scenes I had seen from the Blair
Witch Project (which I hadn't seen, but my running buddy
Melissa had reminded me about). The only thing that really
kept my spirits up at this point was the fact that my ankle was
not hurting and it felt better than it has felt in weeks!   So, up and
up I go, eventually passing a few of the people I had passed
earlier. There are a lot of detailed descriptions, elevation profiles,
and so forth of this course, but let me give you a detailed description
in a few lines: Start out on some gentle technical trails with some
fallen trees. Cross an ice cold stream and try not to slip on the
ice covered rocks (one guy fell and dislocated his shoulder in
the first stream and kept going until mile "42.5"),
Run about 4, 5, 6, or 7 miles up a relentless fire road that's loaded
with rocks and craters. Cut onto a switchback and run it halfway
around the mountain, and then go down a rocky, nasty, jagged
terrain, then across a creek, back onto a fire road, climb forever,
more switchbacks (always worse than the previous ones), then
another 5 mile climb. At this point, it's interesting to point out
what "switchbacks" means on this course. They're not like the
switchbacks on the JFK course that are slanted toward the mountain -
they are all slanted down the mountain. And then there are some that
are nothing more than a line along the mountain that you try to stay
on without just sliding or bouncing down. And if there is something
to run on, you can be sure it's covered by jagged rocks, then 2-6
inches of leaves, and that there will be plenty of obstructions by
fallen trees. I remember around 5:30 am, I started kicking
rocks more frequently and having seemingly a lot more difficulty
with the terrain. I had one memorable jolt on a rock that overflexed
my foot and brought back my ankle pain with one swoop. It wasn't
long before the pain just became excruciating and my pace slowed
tremendously. Nonetheless, I decided I would keep going until
I became so slow that I couldn't make the cutoffs, no matter how
much it hurt.   At this point, it occurred to me that one reason I'm
having so many problems is that my headlamp battery was dying.
I pulled out my flashlight and the helped quite a bit. I was having
a lot of trouble seeing anyway because I think the cold air was
drying out my eyes or something. I noticed that when I was breathing,
the condensation would freeze up and look like a light snowfall in
front of my headlamp. About 6 hours in the race I was thinking
to myself how I felt like I've been out longer than the 50 miles at
JFK, but I'm not even 1/4 of the way through with the race and I'm
in immense pain. Shortly after that point, I was climbing one of
the endless fire roads and suddenly found myself in a painful
split when I hit a large patch of ice that covered the entire road.
This was no help! By about mile 27
or so, I spent a lot time trying to divert myself from the pain, singing
to myself, trying to think of a time when I felt worse (couldn't come
up with anything!), etc. I started checking the cutoff times at the
major aid stations and I was still 2 hours or so ahead, even with
my slog. The aid station at mile 34.5 (and I use that term very
loosely) came and I was about 1/2 hour in front of the cutoff there,
so I knew I was losing time fast. Nonetheless, my fate was no
longer in my hands at this point. The next aid station was "8"
miles ahead and I had 3 hours and 15 minutes to get there.
(Remembering what I had learned at Vermont - don't ever
take for granted your ability to maintain a 1 mph pace, I
couldn't help but wonder ...) The first 4 or 5 miles were very
runnable and I was able to keep a slow but painful running pace.
And then it came. I found the gates of hell. More switchbacks,
but these unlike any I had seen earlier. Well, they were steep
without any runnable surface, covered with rocks and leaves,
sure, along with several fallen trees, but there was something
very special about the distribution of jagged rocks here. It looked
as if someone had just taken 500 tons of concrete, crushed it up
into large, pointy chunks, then dumped them down the side of
the mountain. At the place where they congregated the most
with no visible dirt surface under, these were denoted the
"switchbacks" or, more affectionately, "the running path" and
then it became part of the course (legend has it, of course).
This is pure speculation on my part, but a few of the trees across
the path had suspiciously clean cuts, so I wouldn't be surprised
if Dr. H may have snipped a few of the trees and dropped them
across the course for good measure.   After about 2 hours on
this stretch of about 1/2 mile or so, my friends Paul and Martha
came by (I was quite glad to see them because I knew at this
point that I was getting close to the cutoff). They were looking
fine while I was inching forward. When I first hit the nasty
switchbacks I figured that I could edge through them in an hour
or so and afterwards I'd be able to get moving again when I
hit some more gentle terrain. However, even moving slowly
every step on the rocks and every slip gave more of beating
to my lower leg, while at the same time, the rest of my legs
were tightening up more and more (for the post-race kind of
feel) as I moved so slowly. I knew I was within about 1/2
mile of the next aid station with about 30 minutes to go and
an apparent end to this horrible section, but at that point, I didn't
see a reason to endure any more excruciating pain just to make
the cutoff and put myself in for another section of torture, so
I focused on walking to minimize pain as much as possible.
After exiting the trail section, there's a nice surprise waiting at
the bottom, another stream to cross! I was just dying to get
my feet into that ice cold water once again (and I actually wondered
if I could keep my ankle stable enough to get through without
slipping down). So I piddled across and started to head out
to the road, at which point the race doctor came down to make
sure I was ok to continue on my own. It was just about 12:30
(the cutoff time) and the aid station was another 1/4 mile or so
down the road, so I cheerfully hopped in his car for a ride down
there. The race doc told me right away, "oh you have ultrarunner's
ankle," which I'd never heard of, but it certainly made sense.
Some sort of anterior tibial tendonitis.
I understand exactly where it came from since it was very
abrupt this time when I hyperextended my foot when I hit a large
rock while running. Aside from my obvious ankle problem, the
45 miles or whatever I did in this race have me way more beaten
up and needing recovery than any other races I've done with
the exception of, perhaps, my 21 hours at Vermont. I'm sure that
had I finished this, I would be more beaten up than I was at Vermont.
Right after the race, I ate some chili and several other items
from the nice food spread, said goodbye to folks
and drove the 4 hours home. Must have been about
20 minutes until I started to fall asleep while driving. I had a
2 liter bottle of mountain dew in the car that I started swigging.
Didn't help, so I pulled over at a gas station, closed my eyes,
and the next thing I knew it was an hour later - no recollection
of sleeping. No problems with the drive after that.

As with MMTR, the aid stations and volunteers were awesome.
It is just incredible to see these people out there in the dark
at 3 am, 5 degrees outside, and cheerful as can be. With the
cold temps, most of the cokes became slurpees, which were
great. This is the only race where I've had an eggs and sausage
sandwich.   There are no portapotties on this course and in most places
there are no private trees, so if you like that sort of thing, you'll
have to do without.   Plus, since so much time is on narrow
switchbacks, good luck taking care of business standing on
leaves on the side of a mountain.

Lessons learned:

1. This race is hard.

2. I had to reflect a few minutes as to what made this race so
much harder than MMTR, other than the distance (after all, I didn't
make it as far in 2 hours more time, than I did in MMTR). here
are my opinions:
    a. switchbacks, switchbacks, switchbacks. I don't remember
        any in MMTR
    b. starting at midnight. It was very challenging to track the
       continuous obstacles on the ground and catch all of the glow
      sticks. Blink your eyes and you can miss something (and I did).
    c. aid stations less frequent. Since I carried fluids anyway, this was
      really a mental thing, making it a longer time between stretches.
    d. in many places the terrain was simply unrunnable for someone
      that's not an expert hiker or billygoat.

3. Unless you've got extreme talent and endurance, this is not the
race to do unless you are at the top of your game. I was not nearly in
my top shape of the year for this race, so even if I didn't have the
ankle problem, this would have been an extremely painful event.
If the course truly did get slightly less difficult, there's a good chance
I would have finished, but with more of the same, I really don't know.

4. To know if you're up for the extreme ups and downs for this race,
you should make sure that you're comfortable with the Mountain
Masochist course. If it was difficult to make the cutoffs for Mountain
Masochist or your time didn't compare to other common 50 milers,
such as JFK, then this race may be too much. I think you'd really
want to get a lot of mountain trail runs in this with long, long climbs
and descents, as well as a lot of technical trail running. That's not
to say that you should thing MMTR is easy, but compared to other
50 milers, it shouldn't feel like night and day.

5. When trying to figure what to do about hydration, how much clothing
to wear, etc., listen to a lot of people, then form your own personalized
plan. If you listen to one person, the chances are that it won't work
for you. Fortunately, my hydration carriage and my clothing worked
perfectly. However, others out there did virtually the same that I
did for one thing or another and it didn't work for them.

6. Every ultra race I do, my stomach becomes more and more
forgiving. In my first three ultras, I would always have some kind
of stomach issue, slightly less each time. Finally I no longer have
such experiences.

7. I'm clearly not yet a mountain runner. That's clear from my
performance at VT100, MMTR, and to some extent this race.
I gotta find some mountains to run on to prepare adequately
for these things! Once I am a mountain runner, I'll come back!

Jesse Leitner