Underestimating The Beast
Running the 2017 Kismet Cliff Run, Beast of the East Half Marathon
See those towering granite bulges beyond the lake there? Those are the first, little bumps on the elevation profile of the Beast of the East “half-marathon” course below.
2017 was my first time running the race, (though it’s been on my bucket list for years now, being the only official race in the White Mountain National Forest), and so I studied the activities for previous runs on Strava in detail during the days before. My analysis concluded: there will be a couple of small climbs in the beginning, buckle down for a long climb up Moat Mountain in the middle, a long descent down, some flat, and a small bump before the finish. No problem!
I had run a 50k on Mt. Moosilauke a couple weeks before that featured 9k+ feet of climbing, so I thought this little half-marathon in the mountains wouldn’t be anywhere near as tough. My goal was to complete the race in under three hours. It was hot as hell the day of the race — almost 90 degrees F and very humid! The morning of race day I realized that sub-three may be pushing it.
Echo Lake and The Moats
The race begins and ends at Echo Lake State Park in North Conway, NH. It’s a gorgeous location, and even nicer since this late September day felt like mid-summer! I was looking forward to a dip in the lake when I arrived that morning — it was already at 85% humidity.
I made the info-graphic above to give some context to the huge climb up Moat, and how the course is laid out relative to the lake. When you begin, you go to the left of the lake, if you were facing it as in the pic of me and Emily above. After halfway around the lake, you head North (up) and and then take a sharp left to climb up Cathedral Ledge. This was the point in the race that I realized I had greatly underestimated what I had gotten myself into!
That first climb was very steep! I got into A.T. mode and power-hiked like a beast. I passed a few people on the way up, but I was not racing anyone at this point — just watching my heart rate and keeping it where I knew I could keep it. The thing about training with heart rate data is: the data does not lie. You can see clearly where your limit is. It’s disappointing when some young whipper-snapper passes me and my heart rate is pegged, but also comforting in a way, because, I know that this is my pace. So I kept it dialed it.
The climb made me acutely aware that is was indeed as hot as balls outside. The trees offered a bit of shade, but the humidity was not to be escaped. I was glad to descend the Whitehorse Ledge, because the fast running cooled my drenched body with air rushing past. But, that ended all too quickly as I reached the 4 mile aid station.
Quadtastic!
This was the last manned aid station on the course, and, more importantly, marked the beginning of the arduous climb up to North Moat peak. I knew this would not be easy, but, it was much, much harder than I expected. There were many sections that required hand-over-hand climbing up and over sheer faces of rocks. My trail dog, Arlo, would not have been able to ascend this trail without my help. There was one section where I saw an orange flag way up above me. I thought the trail must curve around to it up ahead beyond my sight. Nope. I went past the flag only to discover that I needed to scale the rock face up to the marker to continue on. Kudos to the course markers — they did an excellent job on this part of the course!
Near the top, the trees opened up and I was on exposed ledges. It was at this point that I began to feel that this little jaunt in the mountains be more than just keeping my heart-rate in check — I was getting exhausted! I can’t express how difficult the climb was. And the reward for all this hard effort? Miles of steep downhill that made my quads scream in a way that they never have before! A runner passed me about a quarter of the way down. Just as he passed me he wiped out and nearly caused himself serious injury. He jumped back up and and continued on with his frenzied pace, shouting: “You’ll catch me at the next uphill!” A mile later, he was off to the side of the trail, obviously wrecked from the effort. This downhill was tough for me, but not unfamiliar. I focused on my breathing and managed to maintain a controlled run down that terrible trail as my quads told me that this experience was something new and unwelcome.
Lost
The last aid was an unmanned water drop between mile 9–10. I was wearing a small hydration pack with a 1.5 liter bladder, and had a bit of water left, so I decided that I wasn’t going to waste time trying get water into the bladder when I got there. I was going to just drink down as much water as I could and then knock out the remaining few miles with what I had left in the bladder already. I really wanted to get this over with.
When I arrived at the water stop, I filled a Dixie cup 3 times and drank down the water. I also had to pee, so I just stepped behind the table and let loose. Another runner showed up and I apologized, “Sorry man, I just gotta do this quickly.” He said not a problem and that he totally understood. I filled the Dixie cup one last time and then kept on running straight past the water table. I shouted to the other guy, asking if it was the right way, and he responded that it seemed so.
After running for a few minutes and not seeing any markers or blazes, I started to get worried that this was indeed the wrong way. I remembered that looking at the course track that it took a sharp turn after the water stop. I saw some hikers up ahead and shouted to them: “Have you seen any other racers?”. “No”, one of them replied, “you must be in first place!”
No. I was not in first place.
I turned around and hoofed it back to the water stop. To my great despair, there were the marker flags, clearly indicating to cross the stream, and a group of 4 or 5 more runners refilling water. Fuck.
In hindsight this little setback distracted me from the fact that I was completely wrecked, and lit a fire under my ass to keep running. I passed some more runners, slowly trying to re-claim my previous position. The trail was not flat, but a steady incline before the last climb of the day. All the runners were now walking. I passed them all and shouted: “Come on! We got this! It’s mostly flat! You can do this!” But, everyone was pretty destroyed and kept walking. I ran.
Around the Lake, Again
Soon the trail took another sharp turn and there was a final kick-in-the-nuts half mile climb back up to Whitehorse Ledge, (pictured in the background of the lake pics). This was followed by a seemingly never-ending descent where I almost went off the trail a few times. I had to stop at intersections and wait for the runner behind me to get within earshot so I could yell “Which way!?”
When I finally saw the lake, I was super excited and ramped up my speed thinking it’d be all over soon. Then a sign popped into view pointing me the LONG way around the lake. “It is what it is, and it could be worse.” I said to myself and just ran as hard as I could, completely destroyed.
I came in at 3 hours and 8 minutes. I was pleased with myself because I ran every step that was runnable by a normal human. I would learn a few days later that I was 11th overall. Not too shabby, but it was quite an ordeal, to say the least.
This year I ran a spring 50k on dirt roads in Vermont, the 21 mile Wapack race, self-organized 50 miles on the Appalachian Trail, and 50k mountain run on Mt. Moosilauke. This race was a part of that progression, leading up to the crown jewel adventure of the year: R2R2R run across the Grand Canyon in early October!
Details: 13.2 miles, 5,069 feet of climbing, 3:08:33, 11th overall, 4th in 40–49 age group
Strava track: https://www.strava.com/activities/1200278132
Results: http://six03endurance.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/2017-KISMET-HALF-RESULTS.pdf
