How to die while running the Georgia Death Race

2020 Georgia Death Race COVID Edition
November 7, 2020 at Vogel State Park in Blairsville, GA
Hardest race I've ever attempted, made even harder due to course changes because of COVID. Only 55% finish rate, I was one of the 45% caught by the reaper.
Watch time: 14:06:00
Position: Run, hike, crawl, DIE! I made it 42+ miles before being completely exhausted and mentally drained.

 

Strava - https://www.strava.com/activities/4305127038

GoPro Race Video - ???

 

    I struggled for a week whether I wanted to write another DNF race report. It was hard enough after my Barkley Fall Classic fail last fall. But this one feels different. This one is a result I can live with, and I'm viewing it through a much different lens than I would have a year ago. See, I have this penchant for attempting races that tend to be well beyond my ability as a runner. I find joy in the suffering and pushing myself beyond what I think I'm capable. Sometimes I find that my ability is much more than I thought it was, and that is how I'm feeling after this effort.

    Georgia Death Race - the name itself is enough to strike fear into any runner. Once you dig into the stats it's even more frightening - 74ish mile point to point race with over 14,000 feet elevation gain and 11,000 feet of loss, with a 24 hour time limit. If only we were so lucky - thanks (no thanks) to COVID, there would be no point to point race due to the inability to shuttle runners from the finish to the start. This meant the route needed to be an out and back. Normally the race starts at Vogel State Park - we would begin a few miles from the park, run to Vogel and run the first 30 miles of the regular course, then turn around and run back. The first half is also the hardest part of the normal route, and the end result was a course that was 9 miles shorter but had 6,000 feet more elevation gain and 9,000 feet more loss (this is not a good thing despite how it may sound). Total stats - 65 miles, 20,000 feet of gain and loss.

    As with Quest for the Crest, this race was also going to happen in the spring. A March race would have been an absolute disaster after my break from running in January. So it was a blessing just to be able to do the race in the first place. The race start time was pushed back until 7:00am instead of the normal 5:00 (with a shuttle ride a few hours before that). My original plan was to just drive an hour and a half from our campsite the morning of the race, but I figured it would be smart to drive over the evening before so I could get as much sleep as possible before a potential all nighter. I was going to just sleep in a parking lot in the back of the car, but another runner offered a spot on the couch of a cabin he and some friends were renting. It's always fun to meet other trail runners so I took him up on that offer. After packet pickup, I grabbed some fast food on the way to the cabin. I walked in to find out that they were in the middle of grilling steaks and brats and had some for me. Awesome! We had a few beers, chatted about other races we've done, and got to bed before midnight.

 

    Up at 5:45 to eat some breakfast, load up the pack with mandatory gear - including the old railroad spike that is our burden for the race, get dressed and double check that we have everything. When you finish, you throw your old spike into a coffin and get an engraved spike for your finisher's award. Clint would start in the second wave at 7:10 and I didn't start until wave three at 7:20. I watched the other two waves take off up a very steep hill and wondered just how difficult this course would be. I didn't do my usual research of the course due to the late change and being so busy with the RV life. I like to figure out how hard each section of the course is going to be, and make a plan for how long each section should take for me to be able to finish. I was just going to wing it, and that is definitely a contributing factor to what happened later in the race. A few minutes before 7:20 (we were spread out enough since our group was fairly small) and we were off.

Early on at Vogel State Park

    After the initial climb up on asphalt, that was so steep I wondered how they paved it, we got onto what Run Bum referred to as "country club trails".  It was a very wide, slight downhill, grassy trail.  This was so easy but I was still holding back, knowing that there was so much left to do. After a few miles we ended up in Vogel State Park, where the race usually begins. There were some campers out making breakfast, some packing up camp, likely wondering what this big group of runners were doing running through the campground. It wasn't long before we turned onto the trail and had our first big climb of the day. This park is definitely somewhere I could spend a long weekend camping and running these trails, especially if (when) I attempt this race again. Unlike in Quest where I didn't eat or drink anything for the first few hours of the race, I was going to make sure I was eating and drinking plenty right from the beginning. After a mile or so of climbing, we had a very gentle two miles downhill. I thought about the fact that I would be doing all of this in reverse in the dark 20+ hours from now, and imagined what a death march that would be. But for now I was really enjoying the trail and the fact that the downhills were very run-able compared to the boulder fields of Quest. 

 

    Of course, I'm sure it's the case with any varsity level trail race like this, but as soon as you feel comfortable, just wait a minute and things will change. I was well aware of what was to come, but actually thought it was earlier in the race. At around mile 5.5 there is a climb that lasts for almost 4 miles and gains 2,200 feet. I hiked the entire thing and managed to stay around 20 minute miles. Mile 9 was in danger of taking 25 minutes, but I made sure that didn't happen by running uphill some. I thought to myself that nobody would ever build a race plan and expect any mile to take 25 minutes. But things don't always go to plan, and so you adjust and do what feels right at the time.

 

    Speaking of race plan, let's talk about that. As I said, I didn't do a lot of research on the course. Ideally, I would have known how much distance was between each aid station, where the major climbs/descents are, how much total elevation change for each segment, and time cutoffs. All I really knew was that there was a huge climb early that we would also hit towards the end, and then it was a lot of rolling hills. I wish I had some notes written out and possibly had a crew or Katie able to text me reminders of what I had upcoming. I set up my Garmin with the GPX file of the course that was "mostly accurate" according to Run Bum, and I had it build a pace plan for a 23 hour finish. That way if I could stick to that even if things fell apart later I would have an hour buffer. As for execution, I didn't really follow the paces it recommended. That is because to finish a 65 mile race, you only have to average 21 minutes per mile. Even on the downhill sections, I think the fastest pace it recommended for me was around 19:00/mile. I more used the pace targets as indicators of when the course would be a downhill run (19-21 pace), flat run (21-22 pace), uphill hiking (22-24), or soul-crushing staircase death crawls (24+). What I was really wanted to do was maintain a 3 mile per hour average pace, and build as much of a cushion on that as possible without pushing too hard. That was easy to get ahead even if I was running very slowly... for now...

 

    So that 25 minute mile 9 - I didn't feel too bad about that because I had covered the first 8 miles in exactly 2 hours. I had already built a 2 mile cushion and had the hardest climb out of the way. I was feeling great about how the start of the race was going, until I got to the first aid station around mile 10.5. At that point, my watch predicted (based on my average pace) that I would finish in 19 hours, however I was only 40 minutes ahead of the CUTOFF at AS1. I couldn't figure out that math, but I quickly realized that there wasn't any time to be messing around.  I knew a few people had probably made the mistake of thinking they could take things easy, trying to preserve themselves for later in the race, and didn't even make it past the first aid station. It makes sense to require a faster pace for the first half of the race, because as you start to tire, and especially once it gets dark, you will undoubtedly slow to a snail's pace.

    I knew that I just had to keep doing what I had been doing. Run the downhills as best I could, cautiously as the trails were all covered with leaves and there are some rocks here and there. Hike the uphills quickly and try to limit to damage as much as possible a.k.a. don't have any more 25 minute miles. The trail to aid station 2 was much shorter - only about 5 miles with a few up/downhills that were half a mile to a mile at a time. The last downhill was very steep (about 15% average grade) and I didn't run much of that. I covered the distance in about 90 minutes - an 18:00/mile pace - and lost 10 minutes on the cutoff! Chasing cutoffs would be an unexpected point of stress all day, something I hadn't anticipated to be worrying about until MUCH later in the race. We were allowed to put together drop bags for this point and one other in the race, and even though I had been eating at the aid stations,  I knew I should re-fill my pack from my drop bag, because AS 3 was only 2.5 miles away, but it would then be 8.5 miles to AS 4 and I would need plenty of my own food to eat on the long section.

    As I headed out, I checked my messages and updated some friends on my status. I saw the few other people I knew doing the race were doing well, a few miles ahead of me. I told my group that I was only a little bit ahead of cutoff and after some encouragement, they also told me I should get off my phone and move! That was great advice as I had no time to waste. The next section was only 2.5 miles, but the cutoff only allowed for 50 minutes. Not too terrible, a 20 minute pace, but I was already to the point where your body starts telling you that you have really done something hard. I ran this section in about 54 minutes, but then compounded the slower pace by spending too many minutes at the aid station. By the time I left, I was only about 15 minutes ahead of the pace, and had a really long section to go in 2hr 20 mins. This was going to be make or break time. I honestly didn't think I would make this cutoff.

Still feeling good

    One thing that did give me hope was that the time allowed for this section and the required pace (8.5 miles in 2hr 20mins = ~16:30/mile) might mean that this section would not be too difficult. This turned out to be true - there were a few climbs but for the most part is was either gently rolling hills or mostly downhill. I even managed a few "fast" miles in this section (14 minutes), but did have a few that were 20 minutes also. That was bad news. But even worse was that I ran out of water about 2 miles before the aid station. This would be a compounding problem, because as I couldn't drink, I got quite dehydrated and I got cottonmouth. I also had zero interest in eating a 15th mini Snickers or more potato chips. The dry mouth made it very hard to swallow anything anyways, so I pretty much had no nutrition going in at this point.

 

    I started doing some math and realized that my race was going to come down to how quickly I could get in and out of the next aid station (cutoffs are based on when you leave the AS). The website said the cutoff here was 8 hours. We were around 7hrs 50mins when I heard the volunteers cheering us in. I mentioned to two runners next to me that I thought we were now in last place, because nobody else was going to make this cutoff. It would have to be a quick stop, no time to get anything out of my drop bag, and maybe just time to fill up my water and hope that would be enough. But WAIT - the volunteers told me cutoff was at 3:40 (we started at 7:20), and it was only 3:20 - I had found an extra 20 minutes! They must not have updated the race time for the cutoff (which I had been looking at), but the time of day for the cutoff was indeed accurate. This gave me some new life. I knew now that if I could just make it up to the turnaround point, I might be able to start building a little advantage over the cutoff times.

 

    After a few minutes at the aid station filling up my water and trying unsuccessfully to eat some food (bacon and quesadillas just weren't working this time), I left for the turnaround point right at 8 hours race time. 4.5 miles, 1hr 40mins to do it. This would begin my unraveling. I drank enough water that I wasn't thirsty anymore, but still had no appetite, and now my stomach was starting to make me feel nauseous. There were also two soul-crushing climbs - 700 feet in 1.5 miles immediately after leaving the aid station, followed by two miles down, and finally a 550 foot climb in 1 mile. By themselves these don't sound difficult, but after nearly 27 miles and 8 hours of hard work, they were brutal. I was still moving relatively well on the two downhill miles (16 and 18 minutes), but the second climb made me really doubt my ability to finish - a race-worst 27:34 mile. It really got into my head what I was actually approaching - not the halfway point, a moral victory that I was going to be halfway done in under 10 hours, with 14 hours to do the second part. Like a load of bricks dropped on my shoulders, it hit my mind that this was a TURNAROUND! I would have to go back and cover all of that same brutal ground I had already done. I tried to take some time and recover a bit with some ginger ale and salted potatoes. That food worked well, probably because it wasn't something that was really dry. But I probably should have eaten 10 times as much as I did. Feeling rushed, I left the aid station at 5:10 - still 20 minutes ahead of the cut. I hadn't lost any time race wise, I was still in good shape physically, but that isn't always enough. The mental game was starting to take a toll.

    One thing that helped despite how slow I was going was the constant encouragement from other runners who had already turned around. Everyone always gives you a "great job" or "nice work" or "keep it up" or "looking good" as we pass each other. I had a steady stream of that from the time the leader passed me when I was at mile 25 - he was at 40 and looked like he hadn't even broken a sweat. I was looking forward to more friendly encounters after I made the turnaround. However, that was short lived, as there were only 3 people behind me. I gave each of them precise amounts of their remaining distance and time before cutoff, but I don't think any of them made it. It was then that I realized I really was now in last place. No hope of someone catching up to me and we encourage each other to keep going. No more "good job" or "keep it up" encouragement. The sun was starting to set on the other side of the mountains as well as on my race. My one hope was that we were going back down the soul-crushing hills we had just climbed, and if I could keep a 20 minute pace I might be able to get to the Point Bravo aid station when some other runners were still there and we could head out together. 

 

    And that's exactly what I did - 19, 22 (on the climb), 20 and 19 minute miles. Rolled into the AS at 6:50, 11hrs 32mins into the race, and still 20 minutes up on cutoff. I was somehow also still ahead of my goal of 3MPH - I even had a 28 minute cushion on that average pace. But the night is dark and full of terrors. After complaining to the volunteers that I still couldn't eat, they pointed out all of the awesome food I had in my drop bag - Snickers, honey bun, Swedish Fish, peanut butter pretzels. I grabbed a few things and stuffed them into my pockets, where they would end up staying until I was done, except for a few Swedish Fish I ate in my last mile. I tried eating some bacon as I left the aid station, and after chewing it for 3 or 4 minutes I realized there was zero chance I was going to swallow that, so I spit it out.

    The next climb was really tough. Because I hadn't eaten much food for probably four hours now, I had zero energy. A thousand foot climb is the last thing I wanted to tackle. I was going as fast as I could, hanging with another man and woman in silence, nobody saying a word, suffering together, continuing to move forward with purpose. A one point they even said I could pass them if I wanted to, which I laughed because then I would be alone. I was barely holding on to the pace they were setting. Two miles took us 55 minutes and I realized that I was pretty quickly losing any extra time I had on the cutoff. Just keep moving, what goes up must come down, I think? I honestly couldn't remember anything about the course that I had just done the opposite direction not two hours ago. To make things worse, I had to stop for 30 seconds to step off trail to use nature's bathroom, and I sadly watched a couple of headlamps disappear into the distance, and I truly felt all alone out there on the mountain.

 

     Finally I hit a downhill and did some jogging, and managed a 20 minute mile. At this point, that felt REALLY fast. But not fast enough to catch up to my friends. Truth be told, I was just happy to be moving and not falling on my face on the dark trail with rocks covered by leaves. I laughed at the fact that I have only done maybe one or two trail runs in the dark. What an idiot I was to think Georgia Death Race was a good place to learn how to do night trail running! The excitement of the downhill mile was short lived, as I was soon climbing again. Mile 40 was crossed in 13hrs 8mins. I thought about the Barkley Fall Classic, and how the finish cutoff time for that race is 13:20, and surely what I had just done was harder than any BFC I had attempted. It was a little victory that I didn't appreciate during a race that was spiraling down the drain - but I do appreciate looking back now as a reflection on my progress as an ultra runner. More good news that I couldn't process - we were nearing the top of the climb before we descended a little over a mile down to the aid station. I started seeing lights of runners coming back up. The camaraderie I had been craving for so long was back. I think I passed ten or so runners and that was great. But what wasn't great was my ability to move - we were going downhill and I could barely walk. At this point approaching 14 hours, there was just a lot going wrong. Lots of blisters/hot spots, legs were cramping from lack of food (and really lack of training), and the worst thing that can happen at any race - I gave up mentally.

 

The allure of a fire and a beer,
a moth into the flame

    It took me over 28 minutes for mile 42 and I knew I was done. I had finally given up my advantage on the 3MPH average, and I was most likely going to miss the cutoff at Skeenah Gap. To make things worse, what I thought was a 1 mile descent just kept going and going. I couldn't even see the aid station, much less hear it. I texted Katie to tell her I was done, and she did what every great spouse would do - she called me and told me to get my butt in gear. What would Goggins say - "YOU DON'T KNOW ME SON!" I laughed and thanked her for trying to encourage me, but told her I was fairly sure I was done. All I could think about was how miserable it would be to climb back up this 1.3 miles that I averaged a 30 minute mile going down.  Finally it came into view, but I only had 5 minutes before cutoff. I got news from the last runner I saw that should have perked me up and got me excited - they were extending the cutoff by 30 minutes here! I told him that was the last thing I wanted to hear because I wanted to time out. Clearly I wasn't the only one - I rolled into that aid station and it was full of runners who were calling it a day. The aid workers had music blasting, lots of hot food, but what they also had was a fire pit and a beer. As I checked in with them, I told them I was most likely done. I sat in a chair away from the fire for 5 minutes to be sure, and after chatting with a few others about how tough it would be to climb back up, I moved the chair over to the fire and asked for that beer. I gladly accepted my DNF.

    Final stats - 42.32 miles, 14hrs 6mins, 19:59 average per mile. I still had 23 miles remaining and nearly 10 hours to cover that distance. It turns out that the cutoffs were extended even more throughout the night because of how much more difficult the course was than the "normal" route, even up to 25hrs 30mins for the finish cutoff. I only had to average 2 miles per hour to finish in that time. That stung a little when I found that out in the morning, as even my absolute worst mile was still under 30 minutes. My lack of course analysis is a big factor in me allowing myself to quit - had I known what the course had ahead of me I would have continued - from Skeenah I had to climb back up 1.3 miles, but then the course was fairly flat with small rolling hills for 4 miles. First time through there (mile 18-22) I averaged around 15 minutes a mile - surely I could have walked 25 minute miles? Then from there it would have only be 2.5 miles to the next aid station, and anyone can walk that far! I let that kick around in my brain for a few days after the race, and kicked myself for not having been mentally tougher, but decided I can't dwell on what might have been. I made the best decision I could based on the circumstances I was in. I'm proud of what I accomplished and I'm already looking forward to giving it another shot - maybe on the regular course next time.

    So what will I do differently? A lot of things, honestly. One thing that really made things difficult was the pack I was using. It's the same pack I have used for the past 4 years way back when I needed something to wear when training for a half marathon in North Carolina summer heat. It's a perfectly fine pack for shorter distances, but it didn't do the job this time. Once I had it filled up with all of the mandatory gear, the main compartment was so full that the hydration bladder could barely fit in there. That's most likely why I ran out of water and started the downward spiral - when I "filled up" at the aid station it probably wasn't even half full. Also the outer pockets are small, the front pockets are very small as well, and the side pockets are very difficult to reach without taking the pack off. In short, I couldn't comfortably carry and have easy access to enough food and water and gear. I've already remedied this situation with a new pack that should work much better on very long outings like this.

    The other thing I need to do is figure out how to actually train for these things! Although I had a lot of great runs in the six weeks or so leading up to this race, that wasn't nearly enough. I had some of my best 20 mile trail runs ever, and felt I did pretty well at Quest for the Crest, but the fact is I didn't have nearly enough weekly mileage and elevation gain to be fully prepared for this race. Most weeks I didn't even have 30 miles of running. I checked Strava for one guy I know that finished, and he was consistently running at least 50 miles a week. The change in life circumstances did make it difficult to keep a consistent schedule, but I also slacked off a lot when I could have made time i.e. getting up for early morning runs, or hitting the gym. That can all be resolved by setting my mind to being committed to getting better daily.

    There are some other small things, such as finding some more variety in food that I can eat, or being able to have more options for drinking instead of just water (the new pack can hold up to 4 bottles so I could have Tailwind, Gatorade, etc). Doing research on the course ahead of time and knowing what each section has in store, so when things get tough and seem overwhelming I can know how bad the course really is - or isn't. Running on trails at night to get more comfortable with running in the dark. I also need to stop being so prideful and thinking I can do these things all by myself, and ask for help in the form of a crew. Katie has done this several times for me, and does text/call me during races when she isn't there, and she is always awesome and a huge help. I can't try something like this without her, or someone else in her place if she can't make it.

    Final thought - Mistakes were made. I gave it my all. It wasn't enough. Next time I'll be better. Can't wait.