Grindstone 100 is an aptly named race. Nestled in the Allegheny Mountains of Virginia, this one featured everything I sought to get after for my selected hundred this year: gnarly climbs, stunning scenery, and countess jagged boulders you dare not fall on.
Going into this one, my goal was under 24 hours. Unbeknownst to me when I registered, the race started at 6 PM on a Friday (who knew you can Google this stuff). Realizing after the fact, I then was doing Nick-logic in my brain - "so if I start at 6 PM, and it takes longer than 6 PM the next day, I will have to go two nights in the dark. I don't want that." So based on that logic, I decided I wanted to try to get under 24 hours. What complicates this goal - of course - is the course has 21,000+ feet of climbing and is VERY rocky. This doesn't even consider the fact that you're likely to be up an exorbitant amount of time and will be very tired.
One advantage for me is that I live in a very hilly place and do a lot of hiking when I "run" anyway, so I was hopeful that would help. Building up to the race, I was doing two a days during the work week (trying to get in 45–60 mins on each jog), and then a long 3-6 hour jog on Saturday (resting Sunday). Doing this for about three weeks helped a lot. I ended training with an "almost" two peak summit of San Bernardino Peak (got caught in a lightning firestorm and never actually summited either time, but did manage to get 10,000 feet of climbing in in just 23 miles). That was a huge confidence boost as my woes weren't body related, but nature related.
When I got to the campsite at Natural Chimneys State Park - the main start of Grindstone - I had about five people as my neighbors. They were dispersed Midwesterners and Southerners from Indiana and North Carolina. Funny how random races in the middle of the woods brings together people from all over. In fact, this race had about 25 countries represented in the 200 registered entrants for the 100 mile course. This drew a crowd because Grindstone is a golden ticket race to UTMB in Europe (a 108-mile course that goes around Mont Blanc in Switzerland, Italy, and France). I knew that this would likely draw competition. Although I like to compete, I intentionally didn't look at the roster beforehand, as I wanted to really focus on my own race and day.
To say I had a pit in my stomach before the start would be an understatement. Sometimes I think people assume I will finish with ease and often in a good place. Although I like to challenge myself physically and mentally, it does take a great deal of mental fortitude, despite being a "seasoned" 100 miler at this point. 100 miles is never easy, and I will never assume that it will be a walk in the park. Well, there will be lots and lots of walking in the park, but these races always have a way to humble me. It's such a long distance, but the arduousness of it provides a great deal of satisfaction and accomplishment. This is why the pit was in the stomach an hour before the race started - I knew lots of challenges awaited me. Something about the thrill of doing something extremely challenging fused with the unknown of what is to come is exhilarating - and frightening. Though from an outside perspective, self-torture and masochism are the "why" for the few that toe the line of these things, I've found that's generally not true for us less intelligent folk.
Before the race started, I had a callus break on my foot that I had to bandage up. Sorry if TMI on images. This definitely stung. Never have I had a callus break, so what unfortunate timing to get it literally hours before I had to run 100 miles.
But this is another reason I was very scared about this race. I knew it was notoriously known for the boulders, and the amount of pounding that was about to ensue would absolutely wreck my foot. Going in injured like this was deeply concerning. It was also frustrating knowing how much time and effort I put in leading up to this race. These are the things that can easily make or break. As running 100 miles is more bodily maintenance management than anything else, this was basically the worst way to start. A forced body issue that there is very little I can do. But I did the best with what I had and just put some moleskin on before the race started.
My nutrition plan was nothing but Tailwind. Logistics are always the most stressful part of these things. I had to consider where to put drop bags. Thankfully this is a course you hit the same aid station twice (so I had to pay 4 visits total), it made figuring out where to drop my bags of Tailwind much easier. Because I get sick easily (something I'm hoping to work on), I stick to an all liquid diet of Tailwind. This involves measuring out countless bags and delineating them with a "W" for Watermelon and "L" for lemon and ensuring I never put "W" plastic bags of white powder in "L" running bladders when I fill up as it will contaminate the flavors and leave me sick and keeled over on the trail someplace: an avoidable error.
Once the gun went off, I just kind of took my time. I saw who unabashedly took the front and were openly competing for a golden ticket, but intentionally decided to stay back. Even though at checkout they gave me a 23 and the lady said "oh, you're a speedy one" I didn't give much merit to that comment. UTMB has a rating system, and based on that system, the more competitive they think you will be, the lower your number. Funny enough, I checked my score after, and I'm in the top 17,000ish+ globally (top 1% of all global trail runners - flattering, I must admit). Personally, I think most rating systems such as these are funny but it definitely created a mental seed in my brain that I suddenly was like "who has the lowest number?!"
The first 11 miles were fairly uneventful, minus my bandage coming off my callus. I restocked my tailwinds and giant bladder full of water on my back and took a seat at the aid station to see if the "medical tent" could help me with the callus. Maintenance on this early and often was my only hope to ensure it didn't become worse. The two women working were super friendly, fast, and knowledgeable on what to do. Although they were a bit more limited with supplies, they got me taped up and this lasted me the next 20 or so miles. They may as well have been medical surgeons so far as I was concerned.
After leaving this aid station, it was now dark, and my headlamp was on. The next 9ish miles were not fun. This is when the climbing really started. Although I welcomed the climbing, I did not welcome how much it would exhaust my water supply. I had a decent amount of tailwind left, but the humidity and level of sweating that I no longer live in was paying a toll differently. I also chose a horrible long sleeve to start the race and was overheating and didn't realize how hot it would remain in the night. So I think I was sweating more than I needed at this point and was running low. By the time I got to the aid station, my first crisis arrived - I was missing a bladder for my tailwind! Literally, 50% of my calories disappeared.
As another runner who passed me on this segment got in, I started to interrogate him like I was with the FBI: did you see a bladder? You did!? How far back? Are you sure? Why didn't you pick it up, you giant doofus!? This was basically my train of thought as I came to the realization I was going to have to then mix up the flavors here soon, as getting calories in is more important than taking a risk and hoping that mixing the bladders wouldn't make me sick. The only other dilemma is I was at mile 20 and my Lemon bladders I wouldn't pick up until 43. So after pleading my case at the station, a kind girl offered me a small gatorade bottle that fit in my Salomon pack. So that was the new strategy.
Leaving here, I got about a quarter mile down the road and realized that I had forgotten my batteries. As I was taking out all the powder to mix in the bladders, I had to move other things around too: batteries, caffeine pills, and Tylenol. I unfortunately left my spare batteries which I would certainly need as the night was young, so I backtracked the way I came and retrieved the batteries and pressed on.
The next 20 or so miles were fairly uneventful. Namely, just focusing on the ground and making sure I didn't stumble over any boulders. This part of the course was a bit flowy too. However, it was on this section that my stomach was REALLY rolling. This doesn't usually happen to me, but I had to pull over immediately. I'll spare the details, but let's just say that TP was my best friend. This was 100% Andy's Pizza fault. On the way to the race Friday morning, I had leftover pepperoni pizza in the car for lunch. That totally wrecked my stomach. Thankfully it was just a minor inconvenience and my body felt a lot better after.
Pressing on I got to mile 45 and Dowell. I sat down for a sec to get my hotspots on my feet situated. It was also here that I traded my gatorade bottle and bladder for the two Lemon ones and ensured I counted the right number of Tailwind powder bags to restock and take with me. I also changed out of my long sleeve shirt as I felt I was overheating the entire time. Being in the middle of the night, I wasn't sure how cold I would get but I was so grateful to have a short sleeve shirt packed here.
Here also I grabbed more batteries and headed out. There were a group of runners that were a bit clustered at this point. There were two guys that were running together and a bunch of isolated ones such as myself. Leaving here, I hit the small dirt road section before hitting a trail and then I heard a voice behind me. I could tell this person was very chatty. Mixed feelings on that. I'm not the world's most sociable in these events as I kind of get into a zone, but I could tell this guy was sincere. As we got to talking - I learned his name is Keith - and I also learned that he used to live in Redlands - about 45 minutes from me. He trained on the same trails that I did and we actually had a mutual connection! We talked about Riley's dogs, his rocks and geologic additction, and the work that he does with Esri. Small world! Little did I know then that he would be with me for basically the end of the race in a variety of capacities.
Unforurtunately for him though, I just popped a Tylenol and a caffeine pill. He was about to meet the Energizer bunny riding tidal waves. And boy did those kick in. I could tell that I was feeling stronger at this point and I got some energy. Lots of it. It was around 1 AM. Keith oddly and surprisingly was lagging behind but keeping up. He was encouraging me and saying that I looked really good and that we were moving well. He was also very appreciative of riding my energy and using me as a pacer. Frustratingly enough, we weren't passing anyone. I knew that there were definitely people in front of us, but we both were a bit amazed that we didn't pass anyone. I kept asking him if we were moving nicely and then began to wonder if others were actually catching up to us! He said that we definitely were moving well and that he would be shocked if someone came from behind.
This also is whem my stomach struck a second time. The unfortuntate part is I ran out of TP the first go around. Keith saved the day and donated some wipes as he pressed on down the trail. He assured me I'd catch up. After the few minute detour, I continued on. After a few rolling miles I was catching up to him but he stayed in front of me. I could hear talking up ahead and then saw two headlamps. Keith had managed to pass them as I was following them slowly up in a hill into the next aid station. Seeing people - even strangers - at these events is always so welcome. It's further proof that we are social creatures and just want to see others, and how selfless of these people to be deep in the woods in the middle of the night to support us.
It was on this section that Keith had warned this "makes or breaks you." He had run this twice already, and one thousand percent these words were spoken into existence. It starts with a giant climb. I was behind a bit as I spent my longest time at this aid station getting my hot spots taken care of. As I left I could tell this was going to be gnarly. Thankfully, I still felt strong and could tell that I had an advantage with the climbs. After the first couple of miles of not seeing anyone and going straight uphill practictally, I saw a few headlamps up ahead. I knew that I was catching the people that left me at the aid station that got a decent headstart of me. However, it was worth it because basic foot maintenance can make a tremendous difference later in the race. This was probably a 3,500-4,000 ft climb. It was also getting later in the night, and I knew that the sun would be shining relatively soon.
I eventually caught up and passed the two runners and marched on. I could see that there were two more headlamps up ahead. The first two were the two guys that were constantly together. I crested the top and could see two more headlamps on a section that just started out relatively flat. I passed them and noticed it was a guy with his pacer. He looked a bit shot. I'm sure moving by him wasn't a boost of confidence, but I can certainly say I've been there before. In a bit of sick way, but it's almost like an exchange of energies when a pass happens - I feed on his weak and weary energy as I gain momentum and press on.
At this point it was down, down, down. And that HURT. My quads were definitely feeling it at this point. This wasn't just a downhill, but basically straight down with rocks and boulders to dodge. The downhills were hurting more than the uphills, but I'm a fairly strong downhill runner and was able to make up more ground. Getting into that aid station I reloaded my bladders and saw another runner there. Some had left but I was making up some ground for sure.
Leaving here, I have to say this was the worst section of the whole thing. Although I gained momentum passing a couple of people, this would turn into boulder hell. I saw two more headlamps ahead and got welcomed with "it's fucking Nick." Keith. He had a pacer and I think was a tad annoyed I had caught him, though I did tell him earlier the second half is usually when I come alive. In good spirit, he moved aside.
For some silly reason I told Keith it must be "lucky" that 11 years separate us: I'm 33 and he's 44. He was practically the worst luck charm ever, and that was evidenced by something bad happening every time he got near me. Earlier it was my stomach, but after I put a tenth of a mile or so on him this time, my nose was running like a faucet. Blood. A bloody nose. How awesome. Made even more awesome that I had no TP so I was using plastic wrappers, holding my finger against my nose hoping it would dry, and pretty much anything else to try to stop it. It wouldn't. I was not moving well. Between this and the 50,000 boulders between each step, Keith was catching back up. He did save the day again and gave me a wipe. He also told me this was it and a fair warning to control my deng body. It was like the hunger games of bodily issues - I never knew what was going to strike next.
Continuing on this section the light was coming up. A headlamp of someone I passed earlier was catching up here. The daylight started surging new life in me. I pressed on up this slight hill and then into the absolute worst part of the course. It was giant boulders downhill for like 2 miles. These are the type of boulders that you dare not fall on. These were jagged, sharp, and beyond unpleasant. I was following Keith and his pacer and I think all of us were just over it. If only I could morph into a hyrax and gracefully move over the boulders that would be awesome. Heck, I would have taken a fat marmot at this point.
After practically stumbling our way onto a somewhat reasonable trail, we winded our way into the aid station. We are all super relieved to have made it. We also lost the guy who was catching up to us on this segment. The boulders must not have been as friendly to him.
After getting my stuff, Keith had a pacer and I basically just left them. It was all downhill on national forest road. The contrast of this to where I just came from is dramatic to say the least. It felt like that warming feeling of that morning cup of coffee first thing in the morning to run on this road. I remember seeing a hunter with his dog and it being a stunning road. All downhill until it turned into a slight uphill. My least favorite grade too. Do you run it or walk it? Walking it was.
This also is when the stomach struck again. After walking an unreasonable amount on a perfect road going slightly uphill, Keith and another guy caught up. I told them to go ahead as I had to stop in the bushes again. Keith was like "I'm out of wipes," and he said it so unempathetically, so I know he was over the gradual uphill road. Or the fact he had to see me again. I bent the corner and the aid station was there!
Now I was at mile 64. Here I got what I needed and noticed a lot of runners were coming in. It was the 100 milers who got to mile 52. I did not envy what they had to go through soon (this part made a loop). For me though, it was back to Dowell.
I was getting pretty sleepy at this point. Wishing I had my caffeine pill, I felt like I was sleepwalking a little bit. Just up a very steep hill. Lots more runners were going down the mountain and I was working my way up. Eventually summitting, now it was down, down, down. This part was actually fairly runnable, and it was the same one I had to do in the early morning hours. It was nice going downhilll on this. I knew Keith was ahead of me, and he seemed to be doing better at the climbs and downhills.
After passing a number of courteous runners going uphill who got off the trail (after slowing down myself and offering right of way), I think they were gracious to have an excuse to stop for a second. Nearing the aid station I could hear cheers from afar - Keith had just gotten in. I pressed on and got in a few minutes behind, though Keith had already left.
Leaving here, this was another "runnable" section that was all about the short uphills. I was walking them at this point. Quite literally my least favorite terrain when it comes to the late part of races like this. However, I moved on. I was surprised to get to Keith and his pacer - Eric. I didn't think I was moving well, but they were much slower.
Saying hello again, I passed them. Everyone talked about the "Magic Mushroom" aid station. Their advertising was fantastic: "warm food", quarter mile later "sausage", and quarter mile later "pancakes and syrup." Thanks to the tailwind, I'm pretty sure eating other foods and reading this would have made me lose my stomach. I got in and this was a very lively aid station. People were practically tossing pancakes at me and trying to shove sausage in my pack. I was a total joykill and told them I can't eat their delicious food. They seemed as perplexed as I was depressed that I couldn't eat their food. 
Leaving here quickly, it turned into a dirt road. I was moving super well but there were a handful of vehicles coming. Some - for some inhumane reason - drove super close and fast to kick dirt up. Others had Confederate flags, and I had to remember that I was in the South after all. There was a group of female bikers at a junction cheering me on. I joked I wish I had one of them and followed - what I thought - was the course (I made a right at the T instead of a left). A quarter of a mile and some change down the road, this lady in a car was like "you're going the wrong way." I told her I saw a pink ribbon and she was like "ok." Great. Anxiety. And lots of it.
I used my better judgment and turned around, just in case. Running back the same quarter mile+, I saw Ketih and his pacer again. Freaking of course. I'm not allowed to pass him. I also saw the pink thing I saw in the tree was a leaf changing color, fluttering in the wind. Fair to say that I was beginning to hallucinate a bit. The tiredness was getting worse. I followed Ketih and his pacer Eric on the dirt road. I was pretty demoralized after the turn, and walked a bit. More vehicles were coming. I let Keith get ahead as he was running. Now the 100k runners were also joining us at this part of the course and were moving much faster than us.
After practically walking into the aid station, I got the items that I needed and moved on. This was mile 82. Leaving here was probably the second worst section of them all. I asked how far to the next one and they said 9 miles. I more or less was arguing with them that this was true. I ran this section in the dark and remembered it being awful - it's the same segment I lost my bladder. My dislike was about to really surpass it this go around. Leaving here, it starts with a climb, and a very long one.
I pressed on and kept going uphill, uphill, uphill. I was looking out at the other mountains for reference of how high this thing probably goes, and I knew there was a ways to go. A 100k runner passed me, but I just kept to my own. The trekking poles were rendered useless here because the trail is so narrow and the foliage so thick, they just catch on all of the vegetation, so I ended up fighting them more than they helped me. Continuing to walk up the hill, I would catch glimpses of Keith and Eric, but they would turn a bend and disappear. This happened so many times. I was also totally sleepwalking at this point. I could barely stay awake and was contemplating if just pulling over for just five minutes and napping would be worth it. Instead, I slapped my face and made weird grunting sounds: basically doing anything to not fall asleep walking uphill.
Finally reaching the crest, I did take in how beautiful it was. I could also see Keith and Eric going downhill. They were definitely feeling it, and so was I. In a way, being in so much pain on this downhill was a good thing because I felt the downhills so much more it actually helped keep me awake. What a great use case for pain! But the donwhill never ended. Down, down, down, then up, up, and up only to go down and up. This felt like a mental game. JUST GO DOWN! is all I could think. And maybe verbally communicated to myself. More rocks and boulders, more uphill - WHY?! - then down, down, down. At this point.I was beyond annoyed. A 100 mile runner did pass and although he acted equally as annoyed, he looked so fresh. That further diminished my spirits.
My face says it all how I felt on this section:
After another 20 or so minutes, I FINALLY made it into the aid station. At last. That section was rough. Here, I got what I needed and intentionally headed out in case Keith caught me.
After running into Keith and Eric AGAIN, I expressed my deep annoyance and frustration. "Fucking Nick" was my greeting. Another deep moment of annoyance and frustration. Literally not allowed to leave Keith. I swore I would NEVER run a UTMB race again. How could these people not keep tabs of their markers? Running the road with him, I told him I was going to press on. Unforutnately for me, it turned into the same undulating bike trail that goes up and down incessantly. At this point, Keith was stronger than me and I was exceptinally lazy with the upills. How foolish of me to communicate to Keith and Eric that I would see them at the finish: how could I when these undulating trails wouldn't allow me to make any difference between us?
After going through these ridiculosu trails and having Keith not far behind, we made it to the final aid station. Since Keith had done this course the past couple of years, he was bff's with the aid stations workers. They seemed to only care about him, but I was just beyond grateful that the next aid station was the finish. This was more of a get in and out aid station.
Leaving here, it was just 4.5 miles to the end. Unsure if Keith felt sympathy or not for me for following the bad markings, or the fact I kept running into issues, I was abe to get an early lead. I felt like Usaine Bolt on this segment. All road, with a -500 ft of climibing on this segment. I took advantage on my weary quads and made some distance between me and Keith. I just kept mentally telling myself "just let me have this, Keith. Dammit." Feeling lazy, I walked the one uphill and looked behind me and didn't seee him. Until I did.
The smell of chicken poop helped keep me awake. Summitting the hill and not seeing him I pressed on. I can't believe this was almost done. Looking behind me, I could see Keith and Eric. "GO AWAY" is all I could think. Why was he also running like Usaine!? He certainly kept me honest on the roads. Eventually I crossed a bridge and these - what I assume were high schoolers - were pointing at the way to go which showed just half a mile to the end. If felt fake. I wasn't allowed to finish this!
However, I followed the markers and passed mutliple "UTMB" markers every .20 miles or so. I saw the end and went through. It was over. 106 miles or so after so many minimal issues that mentally felt like Goliath's.
21,000 feet of climbing in 24:45 and a 5th place finish. What a relief. This race taught me that despite my experience in running 100s, there is always room for improvement. I do want to figure out my nutrition more and see if I can reduce the weight on my pack. 2 bladders and a 1 liter back bladder of water weighs a LOT, and I'd love to course-correct this moving forward.
Another small moment: but getting off the podium at the end, I heard a "is that you Nick!?"Lo and behold, a coworker's husband who came from Colorado won the whole thing outright. What. A. Small World.
Thank you to those who sent words of encouragement. Thank you too, Keith for keeping me honest and making me laugh as you swore at me. You owe me for getting you your fastest time on this course. You're an awful luck charm, and I hope to never be near you in a race again, but I appreciated your commentary and your "kind" greetings.
Until the next bad decision...
