In the beginning of November I ran my first 100-mile race – the Pinhoti 100 from Heflin to Sylacauga. I honestly struggled to write this race recap. How do you put one of the best days of your life into words? How do you string enough coherent thoughts together to make people understand even a tiny fraction of what you felt?
I’ll break my race down into bite-size chunks so that you can follow along without going cross-eyed or losing interest.
The Crew
Man, I don’t know what to say other than my crew was a huge reason why I finished feeling so strong. A good crew is like a NASCAR pit crew—every person has a job and is 100% focused on you. Which is so weird to get used to! I’m not one for having people wait on me hand and foot. But it was actually incredible. One person would refill my hydration bladder while two others were changing my socks and at least one other person was feeding me.
The Course
Oh, Pinhoti. On a good day, the course is a strugglefest full of rocky, technical terrain and a lot of elevation change. Throw in rain, disintegrating trails, and fog, and it’s a crapshoot whether you’ll make it out unscathed.
The first 13 miles were now an out-and-back due to the weather-related course changes. I knew from talking to experienced Pinhoti runners to get a good start position to avoid being caught in the bottleneck and conga line that would occur the moment we got onto the narrow single track.
The course was narrow and offered little room for error; one misstep and you’d slide off the trail and down the mountain. And then it got even trickier as the leaders started to pass us heading back to Aid Station 2, and we had to step off the trail to let them pass.
Miles 13-41 actually went by rather quickly, which feels funny to say because it’s such a long distance on a normal day. The course was more pretty Pinhoti single track—rugged and rooty, with a few cascading waterfalls. The creek crossings were frequent and had enough of a current to whisk a tired runner into the Gulf. Resistance to not looking like a waterlogged rat was futile.
I felt like I did well at aid stations—I stopped and changed my socks at Aid Station 3, but otherwise stuck to my plan of getting in, getting what I needed, and getting out quickly. Because of the deluge, two of the aid stations became unmanned water stops, which didn’t bother me one bit—I was carrying extra Tailwind on me and could dump it into my water and keep moving.
During miles 35-41, I softly bumped into “The Wall” for the first time. After leaving unmanned Aid Station 6, I was all on my own without another runner in sight. Which I generally don’t mind! Until I started the climb up to Bald Rock. And it got foggy. And dark. And rock garden-y. My headlamp wasn’t doing a whole lot of good, so the going was slow and slippery.
Toward the top I ran into two other runners who didn’t have their headlamps yet, so we banded together, and I led the way to the famed Bald Rock boardwalk. At the end of the boardwalk was my crew and dry clothes, so all was right with the world.
After a wardrobe change in the car (it is not easy to put tights onto wet, swollen legs), I picked up my pacer Drew and we headed toward Blue Hell. Blue Hell was as tough as I had expected, but not fatal. Drew and I picked our way down the mountain at an elderly snail’s pace. Below, we could see headlamps bobbing and hear shrieks as runners slid and fell off the trail. Not unnerving at all. But we arrived at the bottom unscathed, and we ran at a good clip down fire roads toward the Silent Trail Aid Station.
Miles 45-55 were with Sally, my #1 trail running girl. Honestly, I’m not sure this part of the race even happened if not for our selfie and my vague recollections of things along the course. These 10 miles flew by in an instant! I remember some gnarly creek crossings, some slippery rock stairs with a railing (hooray for not plummeting to my death), and runners wearing trash bags and making loud swishing sounds.
Ah, miles 55-85. The part of Pinhoti that separates the women from the girls, the trail runners from the wannabes. The part that will leave you sitting on a rock whimpering (true story—I saw it happen). I had recruited Beau to pace this section, because he’s a fun, experienced ultra runner who won’t take any shit or whining.
The first couple of miles were a gradual uphill on fire road—a nice walking break for me but an anticlimactic start for a pacer. We were both happy to get back running on single track! Beau did a great job sticking with me and telling me stories on fire roads, then taking the lead and pushing the pace (or so it felt) on trails. It was as if an invisible rope was tied between us and I was running just to keep up with him. I had zero concept of time and pace, which was why having pacers was so important to me.
The monster of Pinhoti lies between miles 68-85, waiting to eat haggard runners and spit their bones off Horn Mountain. I took a little extra time at Porters Gap, knowing I wouldn’t see my crew again until morning. Then Beau and I set off to the BUTS party at Pinnacle. The climb going up to Pinnacle is the hardest of the race—it starts slow and gradual, then careens you uphill and onto a never-ending set of switchbacks that make you question your life choices.
For those of you unfamiliar with the race, Pinnacle is an aid station at mile 74—an oasis at the top of a mountain in the middle of the night full of good food and friendly faces. Climbing out of the woods and being bathed in the Christmas lights is like being enveloped in a warm hug from your most favorite person. It was a mental milestone for me—I knew if I made it to Pinnacle, I’d finish the race.
The bad thing about Pinnacle is that it’s a false summit. The trail only continues to climb from there, only now you’re navigating slippery rock gardens and a biting wind and driving rain. Because running 100 miles is all a mental game, I had prepared for this section. Or so I thought. The next 10 miles weren’t spectacular for me either—my vision kept blurring from the cold and rain and exhaustion, and I kept running off the trail and shouting for Beau to come and rescue me. What a good sport.
After miles of biting wind and endless fire roads, the sun rose, marking another milestone of my race. I had survived the night! The daylight was a welcome sight, even though it only illuminated this godforsaken stretch of road. I was pumped to hit the single track, see my crew again, and get my buckle.
Popping out of the woods and into Bulls Gap was such an exhilarating feeling! Only 15 “easy” miles until I was done. I was absolutely giddy with excitement and exhaustion at this point—I bounced around crewing other BUTS. I shed some layers, changed my socks (I was wearing Blaine’s at this point because I had run out of my own dry socks), stuffed my pockets with chips and espresso beans, shoved pirogies into my face, and went off with Olivia.
Or, off...I...went...Those 15 “easy” miles were on rolling fire roads, which I immediately realized did not feel so hot after 85 miles of running. I couldn’t force my legs to run at the pace I felt like I could have been running. I wasn’t hurt, I wasn’t that tired, I just did.not.want.to.run.
I did get a nice burst of energy when we “blew” past a struggling runner from California who told us that he had vastly underestimated Alabama trails. That’s right, buddy boy! We may not have elevation and mountains, but we have gnarly trails that will make you cry for your mommy.
Because of the rain, the mile 95 aid station was closed to cars, so we weren’t sure Mary, my final pacer, would make it. But as Olivia and I trudged up the hill toward the music, my entire crew was standing at the top cheering and waiting to give me that final push to the finish line.
Mary had arguably the hardest job pacing me those final 5 miles. I’m pretty sure I didn’t say too much other than how tired I was and how much my feet hurt. She entertained me with stories about pacing Michael to the finish of his first Pinhoti and encouraged me to run for small stretches at a time.
The saving grace of this part of the course was seeing my people along the way. Around mile 97, my BUTS friends pulled up with another car behind them. Sonia said something about having a surprise, then the other car’s doors popped open and my friends Darnell, Rachel, and Nikki ran out. Y’all. We all started to ugly cry right there in the middle of the road. It was one of my favorite parts of the race.
When I hit the stadium track, I took off like a bat out of hell. Suddenly, nothing hurt—all I could feel was this insane amount of excitement and emotion coursing through my body. After years of dreaming and months of training, the finish line was right there in front of me. I ran through cheering and crying and of course jumping, then fell into the arms of everyone.
The Food
I stuck with my tried-and-true plan of using Tailwind and then supplementing with whatever looked good at aid stations. I used a 1.5L HydraPack bladder and always had 400 calories of Tailwind in it. I ran with ziplock bags full of Cheetos, Doritos, and chocolate-covered espresso beans to get me through the overnight hours. At aid stations, I feasted on quesadillas, grilled cheese, soup, brownies, etc.
At mile 40 I started taking Tums and ibuprofen every few hours to help combat muscle soreness and stomach acid. I didn’t feel bad, but I had heard from multiple 100 veterans to take these as a preventative so that I wouldn’t feel bad. And it seemed to work well! The few times my stomach started revolting I would just take some Rolaids or Tums and it would help.
The Gear
Again going with the rule of nothing new on race day, I stuck with my favorite pieces of clothing. Under Armor shorts and Athleta tank for the day, and Brooks’ new fall line for the cold night. Rather than going with a lightweight raincoat, I grabbed for my North Face Thermoball puffy to get me through the night. Great decision! It was waterproof despite the constant downpour, and I never felt that biting wind at the top of the mountains. After hearing so many stories of runners getting hypothermic at Pinhoti, I’m even more pleased with my spur-of-the-moment decision.
For shoes, I only wore my Brooks Cascadias—perfect for draining and slippery conditions! My favorite always.
The one new piece of gear I had was a Salomon SLab 12Set vest. This thing is so incredible that it will get its own review soon. But trust me, it is worth every single penny, and then some. Don’t be stupid and skimp on something as important as a hydration pack or vest. You’ll hate yourself in the middle of a race.
Will I do another 100? Yes! I feel like my strong performance means that there’s only room for improvement from here.
Did I really smile for all 100 miles? Yes. I’ll teach you my secrets in an upcoming article.
Tanya is a Jersey girl who loves to run far and eat lots. You can follow her adventures at TanyaSylvan.com.