Icing on the Cake, aka, 2023 MMTR 50
If finishing these challenges was guaranteed, I don’t think we’d toe the line.
- Costi Sifri
Mountain Masochist was the icing—the sweet, smooth, buttery finish slathered on a dense, rich cake of training… Unfortunately, the bowl of icing slipped, and half the icing spilled on the floor.
The plan was simple. First 17 miles chill and slow, middle 17 easy, and slowing ramping up the last 17 till I left it all on the course. The goal was to finish between 12-13 hours. Nutrition, water, gear was all what I’d been training with. Because, we all know: Nothing new on race day.
Race days had near-perfect, bluebird conditions. Cold moving to cool, dry, and clear. Charlotte woke up with me, more excited than I was, because it was her FIRST time seeing an ultra start. We walked up to the start, heard the music blasting, letting one of our dogs say hi to people, marveling at the clear sky, bright stars.
I shuffled into the back of the pack, not wanting any temptation to start hard. The first climb went easier and faster than expected, nothing like what the elevation profile suggested. From the back, I saw the long line of headlamps twisting off into the mountains, echoing the stars and planets. Even in the dark, the course was amazing.
Over the first nine miles, a few of us leap frogged each other, though I was mostly back with the 50k runners. After the first couple miles, I started jogging the flatter sections of the climb. “Chip away the time” was the mantra. The sun rose, revealing the depth of the mountains. The Blue Ridge between Vesuvius and Roseland is much broader and wilder than what’s north of Rockfish Gap. The trails and fire roads were all surprisingly runnable.
Cruised into Salt Log Gap #1 about 11 minutes behind 13 hours pace. Handed my flasks off to the aid station crew, chatted with Bob Clouston for a moment, said “Hi” to Stuart Brown, just behind me, then went on my way. (THANKS BOB & CATs!!!)
The short stretch between SLG #1 and The Loop #1 went smoothly, lots of rollings hills, no serious climbs, but plenty of intersections. The course was well-marked. Mad props to the MMTR RDs! Coming into The Loop #1, those 11 minutes had dropped to 3 minutes behind 13 hour pace. The lovely volunteers topped off my water, and off I went.
The Loop #1 to Cabin #1 was a little harder and slower. The climbs took longer, hikers were starting to come out. The scenery wasn’t quite as impressive. Around here is when I broke out the headphones. But it’s also where I started catching up to—and passing—others. Legs felt fresh. Calories were going down easily, pee was looking good, stomach happy. On the long climb, I passed an older gent who looked very familiar—turned out to be Ed Furtaw!
Getting into Cabin #1, I was starting to worry a little about time, I had also lost a couple minutes on the 13 hour pace.. Quick refill of my calorie flask and water flask, then out. Every aid station had a great spread, but I wasn’t feeling it. The 300-350cals/hour were keeping things chugging along.
Thankfully, a mile after Cabin #1, the middle seventeen miles started. Some punk rock in my ears, body feeling good, I eased the pedal down, giving it a little more oomph. I passed a single other 50 miler, then saw the front runners. Lean, long legged, fit as fuck, they were hitting the top of the long climb as I was headed down, an easy 9+ miles ahead of me. “Yep, I’ve become the old, pudgy, back of the packer!” I thought to myself.
Down and down that descent went. Picked up more speed, though holding back from bombing it. More and more runners going up. Checking my watch, it said I had half a mile to the AS, but I rounded a bend, and it was there! A full 30 minutes ahead of 13 hour pace. Spirits perked up a little. A quick refill and down to the reservoir I went.
Next few miles to the Reservoir were easy, nothing exciting. Quick turn around and started to climb out of the gap. And the race went south. Not sure what happened—heat? poor hydration?—but I started dry heaving when pushing uphill. The next few miles, I sipped calories, put some more solid food in, some water—nothing helped. Bent over and retching is not fun. It’s a fast track to serious negative mental attitude.
Half a mile before Long Mountain #2, I made the call to drop. Facing a bad stomach and a 1000’ climb, I knew I’d be suffering, loosing time, and very likely to loose the half hour buffer I’d built. Charlotte happened to be 20 minutes away, enjoying the Blue Ridge Parkway, and rescued me. In the end, it took my stomach several hours to settle and didn’t fully recover till late that evening.
The next day, I woke up happy. Dropping was the right call. And the work to get to MMTR laid down the foundation for next year. Like any stupid ultra runner, I spent an hour (or three) browsing upcoming races, and wound up laying out what should be a solid, well-paced 2024 calendar. All as a lead up to MMTR ’24.