DNF at ODE

Gary's race report from the 2007 Old Dominion Endurance 100

Gary Henry at the 32.5 mile point.

If you are looking for a hair-raising, blood n’ guts account of a midnight traverse of Sherman’s Gap, the most feared climb of the mountainous Old Dominion Endurance 100’s many ascents, you will have to wait for my race report from next year’s race, because in 2007 I bailed right before I got to it.

Threw in the towel at the 75-mile mark, a victim of wet diapers and wanting mommy.

In running terms, that would be – just not prepared for the hills. Legs wouldn’t run for me after the 70-mile mark. I was there about 8:45 p.m., and thought if I could make the next 5 miles by 10 p.m., I could still finish by the 8 a.m. cutoff with a 2.5 mph pace – walking all the way.

Then, in the dark and fog, I tottered past the marked turn from dirt road to trail, continuing down the dirt road for about a quarter mile till it reached a parking lot, wooded camp sites with people partying, and a highway.

I flailed about trying to pick up trail for about a half hour, finally back tracking to where I’d gone wrong. Got on to the mile-and-a-half or so rocky trail, and followed the eerie orange glow sticks through the forest.

Despite sore feet, stiff legs, a headache, and being aggravated at myself for missing a turn I shouldn’t have, I really liked that little stretch. Very spooky and Halloween.

Got to the Elizabeth Furnace aid station at 75 miles about 11 p.m. My original pace chart had me there at 8 p.m.

Didn’t like my chances for a nine-hour 25er, based on how I felt, so I marked it all down to recon, and let the Big K drive me back to the motel, with just one puke-stop along the way. Stopped several times, actually, though all but one were false alarms.

First part of the race went considerably better, as is usually the case. Started with 23 others in 100 percent humidity (according to the Weather Channel) and cool temps – low 60s, maybe, at 4 a.m. at the county fairgrounds in Woodstock, Va.

Did a lap around the outside of the horse-racing track then headed out on pavement through town for about three miles, and two more on hilly country roads. Mostly cloudy, with a few stars showing, and an almost-full, though veiled moon.

Crossed the Shenandoah River and hit the (about) 2-mile climb up and over Woodstock Mountain on asphalt switchbacks. Roads turned to dirt as we got to the top.

I could see the town far below through gaps in the trees – a little galaxy of lights in the dark valley.

Hit the Boyer Loop, a 4.5 mile loop of heavily overgrown trail with a long uphill section, and some more dirt road. On the trail, I saw what looked like big spills of orange paint. Thought someone had been sloppy while painting the trail blazes. Looking closer, I saw it was ruddy orange sunlight splashing down through the trees.

Lots of poison ivy, but no bugs – still cool, but humid.

Hit the 15-mile mark at loop’s end, and continued on hilly dirt and asphalt country roads to the first drop bag/crew access aid station, at 20 miles, where the Big K met me with cold watermelon. How good was that! Also ate aid station bananas and oranges, and replenished the E-cap supply while Karen filled my hydration pack.

That was my routine at every drop bag/crew access point throughout the race – or at least my 75 miles of it.

Continued down into the Fort Valley – a small but beautiful, unspoiled valley folded away in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Looks just like a post card. Immaculate little white farmhouses here and there, with spired barns and pretty little ponds dotting the hills. Lots of horses.

The high green mountains encircled it all.

Went through several small aid stations. Along with encouragement and other good stuff, they all served delicious cold, pure mountain water. Much better than the nasty Woodstock city water.

Hit the 32.5 mile mark still on my 12-minute-mile pace – but starting to feel it. Heat picked up a little during that stretch, much of which was on asphalt.

The next stretch was 11 miles, mostly on technical trail. There was one section of asphalt about a mile-and-a-half long, all down hill on fairly steep switchbacks. Made up some time there, but the quads and feet didn’t like the pounding. I was wearing my Mizuno Wave Ascend 2’s, by the way.

After the asphalt downhill came about 5 miles of trail, which turned gradually uphill. I walked a lot of it, especially as it got steeper. Bugs had finally come out, and were buzzing me like tiny (and not so tiny) fighter jets.

A volunteer stationed midway through this part had some bug spray, though, and that helped. My feet got wet on a stream crossing, and never did dry out – thanks to the high humidity.

Lost time on the long uphill trail, but made a little back running several miles of downhill trail, coming out at 43 miles and a weigh station – I’d only dropped about 4 pounds, so was cleared to go. Four more miles on fairly flat dirt roads through the woods to meet the Big K at the 47 mile mark. On the way, it rained a little, but didn’t cool anything off. I was already soaked anyway.

Half–hour off pace, now, and quads not happy.

Next stretch was all asphalt. Four miles of walking uphill, trying to make 4 mph, but probably not doing it, and three of downhill to the next meeting with Karen at the 54 mile aid station.

Resupplied, now 45 minutes off pace, and started up a nasty, gnarly ATV trail. A big wavy dirt road. Very surrealistic, with steep humps and hollows, but all going relentlessly uphill through the woods. Probably made 2 mph on this horrible stretch. And it came complete with ATVers!

Finally, got a long, mild downhill on the ATV trail, and a heavy, though brief thunderstorm. Put on my poncho. Didn’t keep me dry, but at least I didn’t feel silly being out in the rain without rain gear. Took it off a little while later when the rain stopped.

Made the 64-mile-mark aid station 90 minutes behind schedule. Running was hard by this time, and the soles of my feet felt raw. The rain had cooled the air a little – it was about 7 p.m. – but humidity was still high.

Walking out of the aid station munching an orange and banana, chills suddenly racked me. I put the poncho back on, and it warmed me up nicely.

Walked to the top of a long asphalt hill, took the poncho off, and went back to running. Slow, somewhat painful running, but it cheered me up to be moving faster than a walk. At some point the road changed to dirt, and started with some up and down action. It was on this stretch I calculated finishing based on a 10 p.m. arrival at Elizabeth Furnace. Headache started on this stretch. First time I ever got one in a race.

Made the 70-mile aid station, and at the volunteer’s suggestion, sat down in a camp chair while others refilled my hydration pack. Tough to get back up!

Ate my orange and banana, and headed back into the woods on technical, though very pretty trail. Chills hit again, so I had to poncho it for a little while. Darkness just starting to close in. I put on my light. It illuminated an incredible spray of moisture in the air.

Did a mile or so on the trail as it paralleled and crossed a beautiful, burbly little stream. Tried to run, but the sticks were too stiff.

Followed the little trail to where it joined up with an overgrown double-track dirt road. This turned into all dirt after awhile. Based on my time, I thought I was getting close to 75 miles. I also mistakenly assumed the dirt road would lead to the Elizabeth Furnace aid station.

No reason for that assumption – just thought it would be like that.

It wasn’t.

At the dirt road’s end, I spent way too much time looking for the glow sticks, instead of immediately back tracking. Heard some yelling and cheering in the woods, and saw someone frantically waving a light. I thought that must be the aid station, and headed down a little path toward the waving light.

Then I heard someone call out to me – “If you’re a chick over 18, you better have some I.D.!” That’s when I decided to backtrack. I was really tired by this time, so it didn’t occur to me to wonder why chicks UNDER 18 didn’t need I.D.

In any case, I was relatively sure it wasn’t the aid station. So I returned to the dirt road and walked the quarter-mile or so uphill to the turn into the woods that I’d missed earlier.

Karen immediately piped up – “But we’ll be back next year!”

“We probably shouldn’t make that decision right now,” I recall mumbling. I was dizzy on the way back to the car, but two volunteers stayed with me and Karen all the way.

The dark mountain roads, about 30 miles of them, were twisty, hilly and curvy on the way back to town, but the Big K got us back with no troubles.

I showered, brushed my teeth, puked, brushed my teeth some more, and then, boy, did I sleep!

Pretty stiff the next day, but already the idea of going back was creeping in. You know how it goes – as the pain and memory of pain gets fainter, going through it again seems like a better and better idea.

I went into this race with all the mileage I needed. Next year, though I’ll have more of that mileage on hills. If I can have the quads start screaming at 75 miles instead of 50, then hopefully I’ll get to write that blood n’guts account of the Sherman’s Gap traverse.

--Gary Henry, June 10, 2007