Green Lakes Endurance Runs 50k - stupidity and catharsis

Ok, fair warning: there's not a whole lot of stupidity in the tale itself. I would love for you to come along on this journey, but if you want stupidity, you're just going to have to follow this blog and wait. I promise, I'm guaranteed to oblige eventually.

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I find myself thinking a lot about my emotional state when approaching a long race - how I'll deal with dark points and what things from my life I'm bringing in - I evaluate these things as carefully as more mundane elements like water, food and pace. Well, actually, those things aren't so mundane, to me at least, but they're relatively easy to fine tune given enough time. The emotional aspect is so much more slippery, and unlike the others, I know that there's a part of me that hopes for everything to go awry. That's when those cherished cathartic moments occur... the ones that make for such good stories.

So although I had previously decided not to use anger as fuel , it's not like it suddenly goes away. I mean, I'm not GG Allin or anything, but there's always the STUFF. And I got to thinking: what if there was a moment when you could get rid of it? Stranger things have happened to me out on the trail. I started to envision the course like a mile race (I've done a few of these lately): The first two quarters you muster as much speed as you can while staying smooth and easy, the third quarter is all guts and gnashing of teeth and the last quarter is hallucinatory, where you find what you didn't think you had in you. SO -  however unlikely, that became part of the fourth quarter plan:

GET RID OF STUFF. OK.

But what became clear over the course of the day is- you have to bungle the mundane aspects first to get into catharsis. Neglect your nutrition until you hallucinate, fry yourself to a desiccated skeleton in the sun, go out way too fast and then need to grind out miles on legs that explode in fire every step - they'll all punch your ticket. You have to do something stupid, or be horribly unlucky, to get there. In a long race there's a lot of opportunity for both, and I had just never been without.

So now let me tell you about Green Lakes.

It's a dream of a course. Wide trails of crushed gravel and woodchips and lined with giant white cedars wind around beautiful, anomalously turquoise lakes. It's a drop of the Mediterranean in the upland forest of central New York. The moderately rooty climbs and descents are limited to ~500ft of vertical per 12.5k loop. The open fields of the upper portion boast scores of wildflowers and breathtaking views of the surrounding hills. Seriously, no ultra is easy, but those thinking of dipping a toe in this wonderful world could do a lot worse. And afterward you can swim in the lake!

I awoke in the campground, oddly bustling with runners, at 4:30am. It was 60 degrees - great temps, though by 10am it would hit 73 on its way to a high in the mid 80's. The race began with a pep talk in the half darkness and the national anthem, a whisper of a recording amplified by a megaphone at a distance of 50 yards and sounding as though the real world was very far away indeed. Tim, the friendly RD, counted down the seconds to 6am and we were off. I started out in the lead group of four, running easy with super-talented Cole Crosby, gracious course veteran Justin Weiler (who showed the way and gave tips on the course) and chatting with Jason McElwain who has seen his share of recognition in athletics and was on his first ultra jaunt. We got strung out in the fields (called 'Serengeti' by local runners) with Cole out front and looking for a course record, then Justin, me, Jason. I was feeling good and enjoying the rolling hills in the fields and the descent back to the lake path. As I was coming up to the start/finish at the end of the first lap I caught a glimpse of someone catching up to me, and quickly. This turned out to be Cole, who had gotten turned around on one of the two-way-traffic sections of the course. This should have been a warning to me, because well into the second loop, after finishing the one bigger climb and successfully dodging bees, I heard a recently stung runner who was finishing his first lap call out from behind me, "Hey, you're going the wrong way!"

"No, I'm not," I said. But by now you know - I was. I finally met a couple of nice ladies who were able to convince me that even if I was on loop two, I was now heading in the reverse direction on the upper portion. I thanked them and backtracked. This all cost me about 8 minutes, but I only found that out later (it was also at this point that the excellent Jason Mintz passed me on his way to winning his very first 100k). In the moment I just set myself to the task of getting back the places I had lost during my detour. It sucked, but you know what? I got all but one of them back, and it was the only thing that went wrong.

Before the race I'd set out my stuff on a chair along the stretch of course between the start/finish and the main aid station as was allowed. Just a towel, some extra gear, a handful of gels and three handheld bottles of Tailwind (at 200cal/18oz bottle). Each lap I would just grab a new bottle and a gel. I got to find out how great the main aid station was when feasting on watermelon etc after the finish, but as for the race I was expertly crewed - by a chair. In all, I took in around 900 calories (most of the Tailwind plus a caffeinated gel in laps two and three) and drank about 64 ounces and it was perfect. The easy early pace made sure that although things got tough, especially out on the Serengeti as the temperature began to climb, there was enough life in my legs toward the end.

So late in the race when I pulled up that STUFF, I found that it was only chalk outlines and I couldn't hold onto it. I wasn't hurting that much and it all just seemed to flow away from me... and I think that's because there was no crucible to put it into, which is maybe because I mostly avoided doing stupid things for a day. And maybe being out on trails in a kind of otherworldly, beautiful place, succeeding at doing something that I love - some days that's more than enough. My cup overflows.

Official time - 4:15:44 - 4th overall - lap splits (56:02, 1:06:40, 1:03:37, 1:09:26) - Strava data here.

Study What You Think You Already Know: Running the Trails at Allegany State Park

It's late now, and as far as I can tell, everyone is asleep. The coals from the stirred-out fire gradually dim and grow their coat of gray ash while above, the starry sweep glitters, unobserved now after treating us to a show of two dozen or more meteors all while we warmed our feet by the fire. And I can sit in darkness on this porch, close my eyes, and feel the land wrapped around me.

This cabin is nestled into a hillside at the foot of a old, slumping rise, barely a mountain; close by to the east is more of the same, and across the silent lake as well. I see the old growth, the glades, the rings of stinging nettle, jewelweed and blackberry; a little higher up, the rock gardens, where the tumbling bits of the mountain settled as glaciers receded, and above that simply the majestic upland forest that crowns and covers each peak, filtering bars across the view of more mountains in the blue distance. I have been coming here for 30 years, have hiked and camped all over this park, pulled fish from its lakes and crayfish from its creeks, plucked ramps and chanterelles from leaf litter in dappled shade for fireside snacks, laid in its grasses, on its hillsides, and walked through its oppressive darkness, hairs bristling, without a light. Yet I feel as though it's taken until now to be able to hold the form of it in my mind, to feel the land rise and fall, bend and fold, around me.

And perhaps it's mostly due to finally immersing myself in it because for the last week, I've covered the majority of the trails here with as much diligence as I could muster. I've gone from one end of this park to the other. I've scrambled up each of its modest peaks. I've run this land, put my own prints on the paths that run through it, and in doing so etched it into me.

It's not as though it's a singular experience - I have a similar sense about the little 14-acre patch of forest at home where I've stubbornly cut trails through invasive wild roses and honeysuckle and innumerable pine deadfalls and then pounded a track into the earth with my feet over thousands of laps. If anything, I know that land more intimately - every rock and root, trees that lean precariously, waiting for their striving to come to an end with the next big storm, little patches of raspberry and stands of pine - but it's so small by comparison, not big enough to feel humbled by.

And then there are also the larger swaths around home, bounded by country roads that are host to more than half of my long runs, where although I have memorized the ebb and flow of the land, that knowledge is softened somewhat, maybe by the inches of asphalt that keep me just slightly disconnected. I find lines, intersections, climb hills, see familiar structures from a distance, but it's more like having a map vividly come to life than it is to feel that life beneath and all around you.

Here I lie insignificant as it rises and falls and all but breathes around me and for some reason because of that, I am at peace in it.

I feel that now, on this last night of my stay here. I have grown to know this land like a lover -  that is to say I have a deep appreciation and knowledge of one or two aspects of it and focus on these, even as I set aside ugliness and choose to remain blissfully unaware of the fullness of it, unknowable anyway. I love it in the way we all love, finding a piece of ourselves reflected in an other and carving its identity from that raw material.

Tomorrow I leave. When I return again it will be a joyous reunion, and an opportunity to begin with what I have finally opened my eyes to and then to begin the discovery of something new in a place well known.

Brief trail reviews:

Firetower: The trailhead near the entrance control leads quickly to steep trail, where the Coon Run trailhead doesn't.It's almost always better to go up the steep section. Lots of runnable singletrack in the middle.

North Country(from Firetower): Features some lean-to's along the way and various bridges and walkways over wet areas. Significant rock strewn technical areas throughout, significant stinging nettle and blackberry patches overgrowing the trail both on the descent of Mt.Tuscarora and ascent of Mt. Seneca. Currently well-maintained and recommended.

Conservation: From behind the Red House administration building, its ascent is fairly regular and rooty technical. Lean-To is crumbled and not usable. Coming from the North Country end was ok. I imagine less so from the other end.

Firetower / North Country / Conservation

Osgood: A mile up, half mile at the top, then scream back down. No BS. Some very technical rock areas. Good crucible, if you like that sort of thing.

Red House Bike Path: Couple of rises that make you earn your breakfast, but all in all easy peasy. Good alternative to trails on an off day. All other roads out of the lake area turn uphill pretty quickly.

Osgood + bike path

Beehunter: Dynamite mix of heart-pounding ascents (both ends of the trail), technical rock and root sections and plenty of runnable singletrack. Marked as 6.5 and can't be more than 6, but that's the only flaw that I can see. Start from the picnic area trailhead.

Beehunter (+)

Patterson: A very even grade all the way up (or down) from the Summit area... 1000 ft or so, but it's a great, low risk opportunity to pick a gear and practice extended climbing.

Ridgerun: Similar to, but less regular than Patterson, if you like some variation.

Patterson -> Ridgerun

Snowsnake: A true switchback trail, tough to find here. Often unmowed and with ankle to knee high grass, can be steep for short sections, but a challenging way to get down the mountain that doesn't let you off too easy and  leaves you with a couple of choices for how you'll climb back up.

Snowsnake -> Patterson

Sweetwater: Easy, nice scenery and wide trail like all in the Art Roscoe ski area.

Christian Hollow: Short, with semi-steep hills on both ends, the middle section features an overlook with (by far) the best view in the park.

Sweetwater -> Christian Hollow

View from Christian Hollow overlook

Recommended runs/hkes:
     Easy:
          North Country to lean-to from ASP1 (4mi): Not too much climbing and all on the back half. Blackberries along the way and the impressive lean-to is a great natural break and turnaround. Avoids the overgrown sections.

          Christian Hollow Loop from Summit (3.6mi): See the view above!

     Moderate:
          Ridgerun -> Patterson (6.8): Fun jaunt that takes you down in bursts and then a regular grade for grinding back up. This aint the carnival, it's bread and butter.

     Difficult:
          Beehunter (5.5ish): Very technical in spots, involves walking some steep sections, but lots of runnable areas await the bold and plenty of rolling will keep you honest and engaged.