"I guess it's just something that happens one in five years," was David White's assessment at number pickup. For the third time in fifteen runnings of the Double Chubb, the trail along the Meramec River is flooded. The first time it happened in 2002, the course was re-routed onto the railroad tracks, which resulted in a less than friendly follow-up from the Union Pacific Railroad. To mitigate the problem in the future, the start/finish and turnaround ends were flipped so there would always be roughly four miles of trail above water no matter how high the river got. When the river again took out the Lone Elk side of the trail in 2008, the normal two out-and-backs were replaced with four using just the West Tyson side. The swap of the flat river section with an equal distance of Tyson's severe ridges became known as the "Quadruple Bypass Chubb" and it's what we face again this year.
The next morning, I'm at the start at 5:45AM to help Greg Murdick set up. He's taking over direction of the race from the Victoria White. I always want to lighten the load for new RD's because if they quit I'll be one of the people asked to step in. Fortunately, he seems to be adequately staffed and after an hour of handing out T-shirts, I'm freed to get in my warm up.
The weather is ideal for running: mid 30's, low humidity, clear sky, gentle breeze. I don my lightweight New Balance trail shoes and head out on a short jog to check the condition of the trail. I don't get very far before deciding that my footwear is inadequate. The grip is sketchy in the wet spots and I feel like I'm altering my stride to avoid landing too hard on the many sharp stones. Comfort counts for quite a bit in a race of this distance, so I return to the car and switch to my somewhat heavy, but bulletproof pair of Montrails. They are still rigged for winter running with machine screws drilled into the soles, so they'll offer plenty of grip on the wet limestone and the rock plate in the midsole is stiff enough I could run across a bed of nails.
Greg gives the start right at 7:30 and we get all of 10 meters to build up some speed before hitting the first climb on the park road leading to the trailhead. This strings out the field a bit before hitting the trail. While the trail is technically singletrack, the combination of open woods and frequent rocks means that the mountain bikers are constantly trying different lines. The result is that the trail is plenty wide for passing. As such, I don't fight for position heading up the hill and get onto the trail in around fifteenth position. After my fade at Prairie Spirit last month, I'm determined not to take this one out too fast.
Any hope of breaking four hours for 50K was lost when they went with the quad route. I've set my
sights on 4:15, which corresponds to running the main ridge section between the trailhead and the railroad tracks in about 26 minutes. So, when I get to the tracks in just under 27, I'm feeling pretty good about my pace (the run up from the start to the trailhead was less than a minute). On the far side of the tracks is the aid station. I grab just a cup of water and drink it while running the remaining 90 seconds to the turnaround cone. Back through the aid station I grab a couple cookies and head back up the ridge.
The main climb back to the top of the ridge (a point referred to as "the picnic table" because there is, in fact, a picnic table there) is the most difficult part of the course. I keep a firm pace, being careful to stay within myself. The bulk of the field is coming down the other way, but this is such a high speed descent for the bikers that there are many lines to choose from and passing is not at all a problem. I reach the table exactly 10 minutes after leaving the tracks. This is 90 seconds slower than I run it as hill repeats and I feel fine as I go over the top.
Oddly, I now find myself completely alone. Granted, with a limit of 135 runners (which was hit less than 20 minutes after registration opened this year), it's a small field but It seems awfully early in the race to not see anybody up ahead. The remaining miles to the trailhead pass easily. A bit too easily, in fact; my split from the tracks is well over 27 minutes. That explains why I haven't been seeing runners in front of me. I firm it up over the Chinkapin loop (the only part of the course that is not out and back) and finish the first lap in 1:03:11. From the finish line, it's a quarter mile on the park road back to the start of the climb up to the trailhead, so subsequent laps will take a couple minutes longer. That would have me in at 4:18, which isn't terrible, but I'm pretty sure my early pace was right and I just let it lapse coming back. I get back on my initial pace and resolve not to lose focus again.
I pick up the fresh water bottle I stashed at the finish aid station, leaving my empty one to be refilled. I also toss off my wind shirt. It's still quite cool, but the hills have me generating plenty enough of my own heat. In these conditions, I have to remind myself to drink enough. I wonder if my single 8-ounce bottle plus a cup at each aid station per lap will do it. After thinking on that for a bit, I realize that if I drop my empty bottle at the tracks aid station and ask them to fill it, I can get it on the return just three minutes later and have an extra 8 ounces per lap with no time lost. That will come to 24-30 ounces per hour total, depending on how full the cups are that I take (and how much I spill) at each station. That should be enough in these temps.
Descending to the tracks on lap 2, I catch Chad Silker. Yesterday, he was going on about his form being off because of an injury over the winter. He seems to be moving just fine to me. We run together for a bit, but then he drops back. OK, maybe he is off; this pace wouldn't normally be a problem for him just 12 miles in. I don't catch or pass anybody else during the rest of the lap
I cross the line at 2:07 for a 64-minute split; nearly a minute faster than lap 1 when adjusting for the extra distance. As at the two hour mark at Prairie Spirit, my right hamstring and glute are telling me that there's some unpleasantness in my future. However, things didn't really go badly until mile 35 in that event and this thing will be over by then. I remind myself that the second half is supposed to hurt and don't make any pace adjustments.
I pick up two more positions on the way out to the tracks. As the 25K runners stopped at the end of lap two, I figure this is a good opportunity to use the turnaround to assess where I stand in the field. The process is somewhat confounded by the fact that we are lapping the back end of both fields, but I'm able to sort it out. David Pokorny is leading but getting a real challenge from Travis Redding. A few minutes back are Josh Wright and Joel Lammerts. Then me. OK, the win is probably out of the question; it would require both of the leaders to go in the tank. But I'm in the hunt for a podium spot and, while I'm certainly feeling the effort, I seem to be holding the pace.
Approaching the tracks, I hear a train whistle, and it's clearly headed my way. I get to the tracks and see the approaching headlamp just a hundred meters away. A few seconds later and I wouldn't have made it. As I'm headed to the turnaround cone, there's still the question of whether I'll need to wait to get back. There are only two locomotives on the front and the train is moving pretty quick which bodes well but, as I round the cone, I still see no sign of the end. At least if I am held up, I'll be on the aid station side and can use the time to get more to drink. About 30 seconds from the crossing, the trailing locomotives come into view. The train clears the crossing just as I'm grabbing my refilled bottle. You can't get that lucky on timing and not make every remaining second count.
I press up to the top of the ridge. This is real effort now and I wonder if I'll be able to hold it past mile 20. And then it occurs to me: I'm already past mile 20! It's time to empty the tank. I pass Josh and Joel; Josh is off the pace, but Joel hangs tough losing only half a minute over the rest of the lap.
I finish the loop with a split of 63:22; my best so far. I'm pretty sure I can't keep anything solid down at this point, so I just grab my refilled bottle without missing a stride at the aid station. I start in with the mental games: don't think of it as an hour to go, just get past the next obstacle. Push up to the trailhead, through the muddy section (which is getting pretty muddy), high cadence on the rocky descent to the powerline, hammer the traverse (the only level section of trail aside from the turnaround), and then the big climb up to the picnic table. My entire right side is lighting up now: calf, hamstring, glute, ribs, shoulder. Even my right elbow is in on it (no idea why the elbow is crabby). I give myself a bit of a respite on the long descent to the tracks.
A minute before the tracks , I pass David on his way back. I've gained slightly over the last lap, but he's still five minutes ahead. Only an injury will bring him back and I'd never wish that on anybody. I look for Travis, but don't see him. He must have been stopped at the aid station, but which way was he going? The question is answered as I circle the cone and see both Travis and Joel coming towards me. I'm in second, but the issue is very much in doubt. All sorts of things can come unglued in the late stages of an ultra. I need to make this position stick while I'm going well. I unload on the climb up the ridge, hitting the picnic table 8:30 after crossing the tracks (my hill repeat pace!). I'm seeing stars, but it's worked. Both my pursuers have dropped back.
I give myself the minute along the top of the ridge to recover and then get my cadence going again for the descent. It's crucial to keep some pressure on here, if for no other reason than a careless step on the steep, rocky descent could mean a very nasty face plant. The traverse gives another opportunity to recover without losing much pace and then I'm back on the gas to the trailhead. Only the Chinkapin loop remains. While it's clear my position isn't going to change, this is too good of a run to back off now. I muster up one last push to the top and then cruise back down to hit the line in 4:14:10, my split is just slightly faster than lap 3.
There are good results and there are good runs. The two aren't as tightly correlated as one might think. Seems the older I get, the less I care about the former. That's not to say I'm not competitive; I certainly am. A lot of running well is how you play your competition, whether that be other runners or the watch. I'm happy to collect my plaque (David is 45, but he gets the overall win, so the Master's prize rolls to me). It will look nice in my basement next to the matching "Single Chubb" Master's plaque I won in the 25K two years ago. But, what I really like about this one is knowing I got it right. The first lap was about a minute soft, but if that's your biggest mistake in an ultra, you had a very good day.
As an added bonus, the race was chip timed and as soon as they post the splits, everybody else knows I got it right, too. I'm the only person in the entire race to run negative splits and I have the fastest time for both laps 3 and 4. I receive many compliments for the nearly perfect progression and, all modesty aside, they are a fine looking set of splits that look even better in contrast with the rest of field.
The graph above shows the position of the top eight at the end of each lap relative to a steady 8:15 pace. The bright red line is mine. This graph already adjusts for the short first lap so the opening round can only be described as mass suicide. Keep in mind, these are the leaders; the people who should have enough experience to get the pacing right. My guess is that most of them could have come reasonably close to holding the early pace on the normal Double Chubb course, which gives you an hour of easy running each lap to recover from the ridge. But, one year in five, it clearly pays to take it out easy.
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