I have had a few adventures on the great Blue Ridge Parkway in North Carolina, and even though this read is published "Part I", the event mentioned here does not fall in chronological order with my other BRP adventures. The following is about a training run that has been consistently recalled to my mind in the past few weeks; a run that, alone, helped me to capture my most recent personal record for 26.2.
It was late October of 2011, and I was counting down the days until Charlotte's Thunder Road 26.2. I had been planning a trip to Western North Carolina for quite some time, and this is something I try to do at least once prior to any race. As it neared late October, my window of opportunity was getting more and more narrow - I knew I'd need time to taper my training on the week before the race and November 12 was the day of the race. So on Saturday, October 29 I awoke early, packed my things and began to drive the highways north and west in order to escape the low-country's beautiful but zero sea level conditions.
I arrived outside of Asheville in the afternoon and found my first hotel just a stones throw from I-26, and thankfully only a few miles from The North Carolina Arboretum, which hosts one of my favorite short-mid range trails: Hardtimes. This trail is an all-around perfect loop, loaded with a healthy dose of inclines, down-hills and flats, and all of this is cradled in the beauty of the Pisgah National Forest. When I arrived at the trailhead it was a chilly 42 degrees, and the fall foliage was in it's prime at this elevation. I put in a brisk and demanding 6 miles, then headed for a hot shower and an eggplant dinner at one of my favorite local bistros. Back at my room, I fell asleep at around 8 o'clock, knowing that the following day would be one to remember for years to come.
I awoke to find ice on my car as the temperature had dropped to 28 degrees the night before. An ill omen for a runner who'd be tackling altitude near 6,000 feet later that day. Even though it was cloudless (an aid to the chilly temp.), and bound to warm up, a blustery mountain run in the shadows of a westering sun would challenge any runner, even one in cold-weather gear. I knew I'd be running Brewer fassion: shirtless and shaved. With some food in my core and a vision to focus on, I did some morning relaxing at a few of my favorite Asheville area Starbucks. Eggs, Belgium waffles and tea digesting, I also continued my hydrating trend. I was not sure yet which route I would be attempting, or what kind of mileage I'd be tackling. I knew it'd be on the BRP and that it would not be shy of 20 miles.
For some reason, Craggy Gardens had been on my mind. In fact I had been thinking about it for months. This section of the parkway begins at around 4,500 feet and is an area of balds, or flats, that plays host to Rhododendron and Mountain Loral and very little other vegetation other than rogue firs and lichen. Rather then head to the Grove Park Inn and check-in prior to my run as I had planned, I began the drive up the parkway to the Craggy Garden Welcome Center. I had made up my mind.
When I arrived at the welcome center, the wind was whipping and the air was considerably thinner. The temperature had dropped a good 10 - 15 degrees as well, and was reading 45 during the "heat" of the day. I wasted no time in stretching intensively, messaging my muscles to keep them warm. I'd be shedding my warm-up's soon. The windchill must have been in the 30's at warmest, and the sun was at a point where it would only go down from here on out. Night shadows arrive early in the mountains and I had to keep this in mind. Warmed up, limber and focused, I shed my "skin" and began the immediate accent up the Parkway.
Already, some of the tourists at the welcome center were looking at me, pointing (don't they know it's rude to point?) and commenting aloud about my attire. They'd say, "Look at that guy! He's only wearing those tiny shorts!", or something to that effect. I must add that all of the tourists were dressed as if they were on an Arctic trek. Up the first hill (it'd all be hills) and through a short, dark ice-filled tunnel the wind cut like blades. I could already feel my skin tightening and cracking. Dry wind on the tip of Winter's tongue. I must say, the first few miles were difficult. I am not talking about the weather or the actual miles, but more about the way that I felt: strong, but a little jammed up in the gearbox. So I kept it in low gear, which was what I needed to do anyway. I think that this slight pace-bind (it at least felt like a pace-bind) in the beginning was my bodies way of reminding me of how I need to pace with patience for my marathons. But my mile times were in the upper 7'00"s and I began to realize that my pace was not slow, but I in fact simply felt inhibited by the hight altitude (which was quickly approaching 5 Grand) and the change in the air's consistency and temperature.
The Rhododendron shimmered like a sea of diamonds, each tip and leaf coated in a thick crystal casing of ice, the sun making the mountain tops into kaleidoscopes of pink-white-silver. It was as if the Pink Beds (a spring blossoming event) were happening all over again in the late Autumn. Snow was hiding in the shadows of every turn that gave the mountain side relief from the pale but bright winter like sky. Rolling hills greeted me followed by a steady long down-hill, and then, after mile 5 or so, a steady incline began. The plant-life began to thicken, becoming Alpine-like: tall fir's and a few random deciduous stragglers. The only life other than plant and passing motorist were the wide variety of birds, squibbing and chattering among the icy forest floors and in the frosted tree tops. At this stage, I began to find some higher gears - I knew I'd need to intensify my momentum on the daunting up-hills and keep my body heat as high as I was able to by increasing my blood flow. Keeping my mind awake was vital as well. On runs like this you cannot afford to lose your focus. Once you do, a downward spiral is likely.
I plowed through miles 6-9 with what felt like relative ease, and at a few points on the road, I could see across the ravines back to the peak where I had started. It was an amazing and motivating perspective: to be able to see the ground you had already covered and to know you'd be returning on that same route. It was truly breathtaking. Down hill for miles 8-9: that was a savior of sorts, for I was starting to think too much about the run ahead and was nearing the point where I'd have to call upon my mind to focus on the "here and now" of the run. In short, I realized that if I did 20+ miles on this run, the 6-9 mile down-hill section would soon become miles 12-15 on the up-hill. Around the close of mile number 9, I reached Black Mountain Gap and was in the 6,000ft range: I had reached the final turn-off that lead up road 128 toward the Mt. Mitchell summit. All up-hill from here on until I rounded for my return.
It was at this point that my first feelings of worry came upon me. Mind you, I was not scared, but merely feeling an inkling of caution for the sudden change in conditions: I was now in full hiding of the already failing sunlight. I did not get a temperature reading, but I have no doubt that it had dropped into the the low 30's and I was already approaching my 10th mile. My body's core temperature was at risk of a rapid plummet and it took everything that I had (mind and body) to maintain what warmth I could. I wanted (and had planned) to reach the Mt. Mitchell Restaurant, but was forced to make take my turn-around for the homeward journey only about a mile after my accent up Mitchell's final steppes. I had reached a critical point in this session: turn around now, despite my determination to continue, or suffer the consequence of possible hypothermia (the temperature now threatening to plummet rapidly) and the possibility of my muscles refusing to keep up the fight in these demanding an unfamiliar conditions. I chose to surrender to the mountain. I now turned my attention toward the homeward journey which promised to test me.
I was literally feeling frozen as I descended mile 11. Thankfully, only 1 - 1.5 miles later, I rounded the bend which put me back on the BRP and I was hit by rays of warm life and hope giving sunlight. Unfortunately, this came with the price of miles 12-15 on the incline, and these miles turned into monsters rearing their both ugly and beautiful heads. I remember yelling out loud with a battle cry of sorts, challenging these ominous miles, this seemingly evil mountain road that hid its deadly weapons under the facade of immeasurable beauty. I reeled inside, yelling again and calling-out the mountain. It was here, getting up and over this section, that led my eye back across the miles I had already travelled to the finish in distance, the same view I had seen miles earlier, that view which had inspired and moved me so deeply. I could literally see the road-way snaking in and out of view as it darted in and out of view from ridge to ridge. The next 3 miles gave way to down-hills and I took full advantage. I had crossed over the "hurtle" that I had been expecting to meet and expecting to beat. My legs were really cooking now and my body temperature had been maintained. Life does not get better! I was looking at my last 5 or so miles and eager to defeat this run.
Ahead, as I rounded a hair-pin turn with the ice and snow crunching deliciously under my trainers, I caught a glimpse of what would be 3-4 miles of up-hill course. Rally the Battle Cry! I did. I charged. Oh my All Things Holy! this was going to test my character. "Mother Mary, full of grace, help me win this stock-car race." Legs in full cycle, arms in rhythmic motion, breathing in-and-out with a mantra-like pattern, I charged the "hill". It was another monster. I was plunged once again into shadow and bitter cold. The wind (ever-present all throughout this session) whipped my exposed flesh, and my quads seemed to be taking the worst of it - how they burned with the chill! With a mile to go and the top of the most prominent of the Craggy Balds in sight, I unloaded all of my aggression. I knew that on the last half-mile I'd have a down-hill kick available to me if I wanted it. A few more turns and a tunnel to go. I passed the half-mile to go mark and was in full-throttle. I felt like I was outrunning the winter-wind as I exploded into the Craggy Garden Welcome Center car-park.
Here's the funny thing: I did not feel winded when I eased out of my mode of traumatic psychological stress-induction. In fact, I did not even feel beat-up. I realized that I have had short-distance runs that have been more testing than this had been. This realization led me to re-enforce my belief and conviction that running is a battle of the mind and spirit, first and foremost. PERIOD. If a person does not have his mind and spirit in the right place; if he does not have his "armor" on - his full and untainted character - all the training in the world is useless.
I finished off that evening with a few ice-cold local beers at the bar in the Grove Park Inn's Great Hall, the company of a roaring fire in the hearth and a much needed and long overdue phone conversation with Daniel Eggars. We talked about old times, the do's and don'ts of training and the motivational experiences we had both had over the past many years. We talked about the upcoming marathon we'd both be sharing with one another, our first race together since more than 10 years prior. What I have been learning (all over again it seems) and remembering is that running has always consistently provided me with the most magical of days and the most awe-inspiring moments of my life. Running has always brought me back to square-one with God and myself: back to simply believing.
Always searching for the next Key Experience,
J. Brewer
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