More than brown leaves at Hellgate

A soft rustle escaped through the air, moved through my fingers, flew past my cramped belly, and landed gently in my freezing ears. I released a deep sigh, grumbled even, and looked down with my blurry, red eyes at my bent knees crouched in the wind. I lifted my hand and peered down at the nature that was lying peacefully in my palm. Clean, sharp waves made their way around the perimeter of the smooth, yet tactile surface. And there it was. A tear right through the middle. My thumb and the base of my fingers held onto one significant section, and the terminals of my fingers now curled to grasp the detached remainder. The beauty and practicality in what was originally whole was now nonexistent. And there, seen between the fabric of nature, were my fingertips. They served as tiny plates to hold what looked like unstirred organic peanut butter from Trader Joes. An inconsistent, creamy brown. Nature’s toilet paper was broken, and so was my ability to stay out of the bushes.

Hellgate 100K++. It’s a 66.6 mile run through the Appalachian mountains in Virginia. The race is directed by the one and only, Dr. David Horton. The course is artfully crafted as it climbs up long ascents, shoots down steep free-falls, and navigates across endless stretches of leaf-pack-bearing rocks. The midnight start of the race, the challenging course, the organic style, the history, and most importantly, the people, are some of the factors that make this race special.

I ran Hellgate last year, but things did not go to plan. I was in 4th place at mile 34, on pace for an 11:20 finish. Then I got lost. 40 minutes later, I was back on the course and no longer competitive in the race. My self-pity caused me to give up on fueling myself properly, and I bonked hard. I walked much of the remainder of the race and finished in 35th place with a time of 14 hours and 10 minutes. I didn’t achieve what I wanted, and I maintained my stat that I could not run a mountain ultra race without bonking (It was a grand adventure though).

Here's how Hellgate 2023 went:

I was running at a comfortable, yet pressing pace. Then my stomach started to hurt. I did not want to bonk. I ate three quesadilla slices, two small sandwiches, some Doritos, and a piece of a banana at mile eight. I heard something to the effect of “Now that’s how you eat at an aid station!” from Horton as he looked at me from his camping chair. I was more energized, but my stomach still bothered me. I was not going to let myself run out of energy for my third mountain ultra race in a row.

I was running up in the chase pack. I stopped to try to poop. A guy or 2 passed me. Nothing happened. There was no relief.

I ran some more with some new friends. A discomfort began to make its presentation in my belly.

I stopped to poop again. Some minor success happened. I think I was feeling a little better, but I was wasting time.

My previous group was too far ahead of me, so I was running alone. I pooped again.

Now there were some more runners with me. I was running with John Andersen and Chris Roberts. These 2 guys always finished in the top 10 and ran great times. It felt like a no-brainer to try to stay with them while I ate loads more food than I was comfortable with and keep the poop breaks at bay. I needed to learn from these two guys. They had consistently desirable mountain running results, and I did not.

To pretend things were going well, I talked a lot – probably serving more as a hype man than a real conversationalist. Ex:

Chris: Complaining from behind

Me: "You're doing great, Chris."

John: Grunting while going up a hill

Me: "We love this, man!"

All of us: Starting to walk

Me: "That was an awesome run, guys!"

Now Bobby “Pink shorts” Lee was running with us.

At about mile 40, I started to pull away from them a bit, but my stomach was still in pain. Bobby passed me and sped off. Later, the running duo caught back up to me.

At about mile 45, I started to fight off a warm sensation from brewing in the back of my shorts.

Now they were the ones who were pulling away – on a technical downhill stretch of switch-backs. It hurt too much to navigate across these rocks with speed.

I peeled off into the woods after the stream-crossing to poop… again.

Now I was running alone.

At mile 55 I took another poop break. I ran up a horse-shoe shaped trail a bit, and realized something that turned me from a tired, complacent runner to one that was now energized and scared. Someone was catching up to me. But, I wanted to at least finish just behind John and Chris. I did not want someone to come between those 2 and me.

I started pushing harder, breathing harder, and sadly, having to poop harder. I would periodically turn my head over my shoulder to check on the nearby competitor. He was making up ground. He was getting closer. But, I could not stand it any longer: I pooped.

While I was kneeling behind a tree off the trail, he passed me and said something I thought was comical, since I had been running scared trying to get away from him: “Nice running some miles with you, man!”

I was approaching the last aid station, and could hear some clapping, and a “Good work!!”... “Good job!”

I could see him through the woods briefly pause at the aid station.

This will be my opportunity. I thought to myself.

I “sprinted” at a 7 minute pace straight through this final aid station, ignoring everything, and ran to catch up to him on the start of the final ascent of the race.

He was too nice. I gave him a fist bump. “You can keep on running. I’ll make a big push on the downhill section at the top!” he told me.

So I kept running. But then, it got too hard for me to run. I had to poop so bad. I started walking. I turned around, and saw him running. He was catching up.

He passed me, and he kept running up this very steep climb. He left my panting ass in the dust. He was a true uphill runner. A real mountain runner. My true colors were showing as I walked this final ascent. He deserved this victory. I thought to myself.

But, I got to the top of the climb, and I felt like a new man (though I still had a pained stomach and craved an opportunity to poop). I ran hard. I finished in 15th place in 12 hours and 10 minutes (2 hours faster than last year). My final mile of the race was under 6 minutes, but I was still not even close to catching up to Steven. Thus, someone came between me and those other 2 runners. What a champ.

I was no Bobby Lee, no Chris Roberts, no John Andersen, and no Steven Larick.

But, I still came out on top. It was the first mountain ultramarathon that I did not bonk in.

And, it was a true adventure.

In a special event.

A special, poopy event.