Bel Monte 50 Miler Race Report

Springtime kinks

Over the years of endurance racing, I’ve developed an uncanny ability to enter March events that exceed my comfort threshold. It’s easy to get hyped up for an early spring event after avoiding competition all winter, but then when you’re in the event, the excitement wears thin and early season lackluster fitness punches you in the gut. Most people that smash their finger with a hammer would try not to do it again, but I’m a slow learner so I just keep swinging at the nail. With my eyes closed. You should see my DIY home remodeling.

Denied GPS signal for that first mile!!!! Start and finish are at the same spot.

Coming out of winter, it is so hard to be properly trained for an early season race. Until I move to the Rocky Mountains and can cross-country ski all winter, I’ve given up on the idea of optimal fitness in March or April. I’d rather take a true offseason and ease into the better running weather of spring and summer.

With COVID-19, it’s even easier to enter a race with high hopes and good intentions. You feel an attraction to the days of normalcy when racing was a thing that people did without regret or fear of making others ill or spreading a virus that can kill. But now, you could spend months training for something only to have it cancelled at the last minute. I feel less bad about events now that I’m vaccinated, but it still freaks me out. It’s worth realizing that most trail races aren’t exactly mass superspreader sporting events - you spend much of the time alone, outside, with the only time of true group gathering at the start line for less than a couple minutes, while wearing masks.

Nearing sunrise on the beach

Course

The Bel Monte 50 miler is paired with a 50K and 25K on the same day but with seperate start times for each distance, which further prevents large group gatherings. All distances are on out-and-back courses in George Washington National Forest with lots of climbing, technical rocky sections, singletrack, doubletrack, and jeep road. The 50K and 50 miler are subject to the same rounding error as many other ultramarathons. Both courses are intentionally long, not because the race directors want to mess with you, but because the chosen turnaround points are necessary for safety and ease of volunteer accessibility. Who doesn’t love over two bonus miles in the 50 miler and three bonus miles in the 50K? The answer probably depends on the weather and your blood glucose level at the time.

Start

We became slightly discombobulated on the commute from Wintergreen to the starting line, which resulted in me having about 10 minutes to get ready to run. Despite trying to persuade it into updating my general location the night before, my GPS watch didn’t even have a signal when I hit the start button at 5:30 AM. Fortunately, it sorted itself out within the first mile, which was a gradual vertical loss on the pavement of the Blue Ridge Parkway.

Near the start of the actual singletrack, about 2 miles in, on White Rock Falls Trail, I decided the trail was appropriately named. Because we were doing this portion in the dark with headlamps, the rocks and roots appeared a shade of grayish white. The surprisingly dry, dusty soil seemed a grayish white. Contrast is really helpful for picking precise foot placement and there was none. I don’t recall having this much trouble seeing surface definition before, but my eyes are getting older. I saw two people roll their ankle so I joined them in that celebration by rolling my left ankle as it seemed like a cool club to belong to. One guy tripped, yelped, and nearly fell. White rocks. Falls. Yep. Perfect. I’ll just be extra slow because I can make it up later. It turns out one of the athletes I coach (whose identity I will protect) did fall hard on this trail in the 25K a couple hours later and conked her head so I don’t think I imagined the lack of visual definition.

Sunrise on the beach

More carnage

One runner blasted past me just beyond the first aid station at mile 5: “Can I get around you, sir?” Sir? Either he’s actually polite, or he’s messing with my mind to make me feel old and slow. Now I’m pretty sure this was the same runner I saw doing a number two in the brush down the trail another three or four miles. Well, sonny boy, I guess shit happens.

This slight descent down Turkey Pen Ridge Trail went quickly, though I was trying not to run too fast, too early. After the next aid station at mile 13.6, I saw one of the runners in front of me on Coal Road walk off and hunch over in the ditch. I was a little too far behind him to hear, but I’m going to guess he vomited or came quite close. This gravel road section was nice as it wasn’t so long that it became a boring mental aptitude test but long enough to provide a respite from constantly picking your line.

It’s nice when the weather cooperates

We did have great weather this year. The temperature at this point, in the early morning, was in the 40s and then 50s midday with no precipitation. It was actually a little too warm at times in the valleys, so I’d look forward to climbing back up to the ridges where it was cooler. Except when climbing was difficult, which was too often.

I’m a Cranky Doodle Dandy

The roughly 4 mile climb from the end of Coal Road up to the highest point of Bald Mountain Jeep Trail was less fun. It hurt and took forever multiplied by three. Even after reaching the top, I couldn’t get into a good rhythm across the ridge. My stomach was bloated, which impacted my ability to get full, cleansing breaths. There may have been a little exercise-induced asthma and hyperventilation limitation. I decided it should have been renamed Bald Mountain Jeep *Parts* Trail because there was vehicular shrapnel all over the place from the good ole’ boys gettin’ tipsy and breaking their 4x4s over the years. Brake lights, glass, mufflers, trim plastic, bumpers. You name it and we can find a broken piece of it.

Not singletrack

Across the ridge, there were multiple large mudholes of unknown depths, though I think I saw one of those submarine periscopes sticking out of one. In the process of trying to skirt the edge of a mudhole and cling to some nearby flimsy sapling branches, my feet slid sideways out from under me on the clay mud film, like I was on ice, so my feet and legs ended up in the water and muck anyway. I can’t recall if I laughed, screamed, cursed, or cried at how dumb that was. It didn’t take long to begin descending down the other side of the mountain to the turnaround point at mile 26.2. I finally took in some Coca-Cola, which helped brighten my declining mood.

obviously from a 1996 Pontiac grand prix

Bacon, jerky, ramen, or really any savory food would have been so delightful but COVID-19 has drastically altered the availability of real food at race aid stations. Now race directors want everything to be packaged at aid stations for grab-and-go effect, but the tables look like a vending machine exploded, which is nothing like the old days of grilled cheese, PB and J, fresh strawberries, grapes, jars of pickles, bowls of trail mix, and so on. It definitely makes things a bit harder and will take an adjustment of carrying specific foods from the start or having a crew, which I did not.

No Jeeps on Jeep road

I finally felt like I could settle into a sustainable but slow rhythm climbing back up the jeep trail, but I still had no ability to fly across the ridgetop or take a consistent, deep breath. I picked it up a little on the descent back down to Coal Road, because it just felt right, and I actually could. Near the bottom pine tree section, a person who I’ll call “swim jammer guy,” came flying by me at what I’d use for a 5K or 10K trail pace, not 50 miler. A few seconds later, I heard him yell and looked up to see him in the middle of the trail sitting on his butt, still shouting. He reported he was fine, when I asked, and got up within a few seconds, only to pass me again. Well, then.

Swim jammer guy left the Kennedy Run Trail aid station at mile 35.3 ahead of me, so I chased him the full length of Coal Road and finally passed him in the mid-portion uphill grind back up Turkey Pen Ridge Trail. It didn’t last long because he and another runner caught and passed me on the steepest lower switchbacks of this final major climb. But he must have been hurting, as in bonking or overheating. Near the top he hunched over and stopped. He stood back up, walked a little more and promptly sat down on the trail side. I asked if he needed anything and if he had food. He confirmed having gels, so I encouraged him to at least take in a little of it, though I know it was probably the last thing he wanted to do. At the time I was thinking the next aid station would be nearby.

No coal on Coal Road

My adventure staggered onward with declining quadriceps function and I gradually realized it was a darn long way from the aid station at mile 39 to the next one at mile 48. It didn’t feel as long on the way out because it was more downhill, I was fresh, and moving faster. But this close to the finish, I’m too motivated to get done despite having a rough day. I hadn’t turned my GPS to timer mode for hours because I knew seeing the time would just be a source of frustration and demotivation. At least I wasn’t the only one hurting out there.

Shake shake shake

There were several 50K and maybe one or two 50-mile runners to pass, including the other guy that had passed me on the last climb, so that was at least a reward for not completely slacking. At the final aid station, I struggled with the fine motor coordination necessary to get my hydration bladder out of my pack. It was an inconvenient time to run out of water, this close to the finish, but I wanted to keep using my lone bottle for Coke as bonk prevention since my desire to chew junk food had gone so long ago.

Back the opposite direction on the White Rock Falls Trail, which was still visually tricky in places. I crossed the 50-mile barrier somewhere in there, and upon popping back out onto the Blue Ridge Parkway I caught my wife and her training partner, who were doing the 50K. I reminded them that they had lost the bet of whether I could catch them so I’d expect my $1000 payout the instant they crossed the finish line. I still haven’t received my money, so I’m making it publicly known that I won that bet and they need to pay up before I involve a lawyer.

Even though there were a couple times in this race that I’d think, “you should have entered the 50K,” which is not generally the most positive self-talk that one could employ, I’m glad I did it for the sake of experiencing new trails and views. And it is just the very early spring. In the dark days of next winter, when you’re looking for a challenge, look this one up. Just bring your own bacon.