After seven years, I returned to the JIM for my fourth start, aiming for my third finish because I WANT THE BOOTY JORTS!
The plan was simple. Training run. Don’t pound the downs. It’s a Training Run. Take the ups easy. No, seriously, get the miles in, test drive shit, and don’t break yourself. Because? TRAIN. NING. RUN.
A, B, & C goals went well. Spoiler Alert: Goal D, a finish, did not. 😆
The day started off a little in the hole. A bit of work set me behind getting out the door. GPS said I’d have ten minutes to catch the last shuttle. But GPS didn’t account for Route 29’s hellacious traffic, and I arrived at Greenwood with two minutes to spare before the last shuttle—a shuttle that never showed up. Because what’s a sucktastic race without a little sand thrown in the gears?
Thankfully, another runner showed up late and offered a ride, sparing me the mile walk with a cooler. The lack of a shuttle caused the first mistake—not lubing up. I realized this while walking around and catching up with people.
Equipment? A pair of shorts, Injinji wool socks, a pair of used Altra Timp 3s, and a big floppy hat. Shirt? Ha. The JIM starts at noon in August. A shirt’s just something to take off after the first lap.
[Edit: For anyone not familiar, The JIM takes place on Jarmans Gap Road in Crozet. It sucks. One lap as a training run sucks. Three miles of gravel and broken asphalt, with 1500’ of constant climbing on the way out. The first mile is an easy uphill. The second mile isn’t runnable for 90% of us. The 3rd is “runnable.” The JIM is five laps, starting at 12:01pm on the first Saturday in August sucks even more, for a grand total of 30 miles (3x2x5) and 7500’ of gain and fall. It eats you up.]
Everyone’s here for the carnage, so I’ll skip over the first lap. The second went pretty well. Lots of speed hiking the outbound, taking it easy on the down.
The third is usually the make or break lap, and that’s where my body started leaning towards “break.” The last few weeks, I’ve been implementing some corrective exercises from “Running Rewired.” It’s worked out some issues with my left foot and ankle, loosening it up, restoring mobility. But as it’s started moving better, I’ve learned some ankle muscles weren’t getting worked for the last few years. They’ve gone weak.
On the third decent, that weak ankle started to be like “um, hey, yeah, you oughtta know I’m not in to this.” Not much, barely a niggle, but def a “well, shit, finishing’s probably not gonna happen.” I’d already seen a few runners leaning, limping, experiencing weird gaits. I love The JIM, and have broken myself for it before, but today was about training.
Despite the niggle, when I came into the bottom aid station, I was in a good mood and not hurting much. Sipped some Dr. Pepper, drank some water, ate a few chips, refilled my handheld with calories, and went back out.
And then my ass and hamstrings started hurting. They weren’t toast, but climbing the fourth lap just suuuccccckkkkeed. I sat down a little over a mile in, where some locals had placed chairs, and contemplated my life choices. Tucking tail now would still give me a 20’sh mile day. Not bad for a training run.
But Amanda showed up and talked to me just long enough for Matt Smythe to come up and say “Josh! You’re coming with me!” Fuuuccckkk. He wanted to talk music, small town politics, food industry. The death march began.
Good company. Good conversation, but the next mile was a slog of climbing. The effort was a on the bad side of too hard. My stomach soured. Matt kept going as I slowed. By the powerlines, his power hiking ass had left me. My stomach told me what was coming. Taking the bend into the “No Walk” section, I bent over a ditch. Amanda excused herself because “you don’t have any hair to hold back.” The heaving came in waves. A handful of chips, some replacement drink. Not much in there to come up, but it valiantly tried.
Nothing much to report between loosing my lunch, reaching the top, and trudging down the bottom. The ankle definitely quit somewhere around mile 21. It’d do a little light jogging, but it was mostly walking.
Came in to the bottom aid station 2 minutes before last lap cut-off. James tried to talk me into starting. Any other year, I’d have wanted to. But. Training run. No breaking myself. In hind sight, a last lap starting at 6:58 would’ve easily had me walking in the dark—no headlamp and with only my prescription sunglasses. I’d have walked off the edge of the middle section, tumbled to my death, and brought national attention to an idiotic event. But, my suffering would’ve ended. And maybe Danton & Jimmie would name an award after me.
Highlights:
Getting over the “Why the fuck am I here again?” thoughts and resigning myself to doing it.
The mystery igloo cooler around mile 2. Water? Moonshine? LSD laced kool aide?
Unidentifiable mammalian roadkill reduced to bones and scraps of hide.
The extra aid stations and water. One had a sign saying “C’ville Tap Water.” Was that a warning? Or proof it was safe?
Chatting with Jimmie on his RD lap. And watching in awe as he left me in the dust.
Staying in a good mood while watching the sufferfest.
Being at the bottom AS while Horton still had peach ice cream
Drinking all the calories.
On the drive home, eating a Big Mac followed by a chicken sandwich.
Conclusion:
As a training run, it was the kinda ass-kicking you need now and then. The nutrition plan, about 300 cal/hour, kept me in good spirits. Think it aided in a relatively fast recovery. Def need to work on hill climbing. I miss hitting up Jarmans a couple times a month before work. Get my speed back up. Get my weight down. The training schedule has a few other big runs before MMTR, and I’m hoping the feeling of failure lasts just long enough to push those.
The Week After
Sore quads helped kick my glutes into gear. Had some sore days, but ran consistently the days after. Returned to the JIM gym for good workouts. Had some good climbing eight days out.