It was mile 16, and I was walking up a paved hill. My race plan had been meticulously developed over the previous weeks, and, up to that point in the race, I had followed it carefully. But I had misunderstood a crucial factor related to endurance exercise: water. Over the first three hours of the race, I over-drank by roughly one pound (500ml or 17 oz) of fluid per hour. I was starting to get dizzy. My hands were swollen. My blood pressure was dropping. At that time, however, I didn’t understand what was wrong. I only knew that I was in trouble. I wondered how long it would take me to get a ride back to the start/finish area in the event that I took another dnf (quit), and I decided that running in the mountains all day was a stupid hobby.
Here’s what happened:
Some relevant Context:
1. In my only other 50M race (Dam Yeti in Damascus, VA), which was maybe 5 years ago, I had burned up (so to speak) over the first 30 miles and hobbled in the rest of the way. I finished in 7:40. In my post-race analysis, I decided that I hadn’t drank enough water. (Nevermind that I had nearly split 3:00 for the first marathon.) Since then I have been training myself to drink more during my training runs.
2. Two months ago, I ran the Mt. Cheaha 50K (report here). Within the first three miles of that race, I had destroyed my quads on the first descent. Since then I have trained my legs for downhill running and trained my legs/lungs for uphill hiking and jogging.
3. During the past few weeks, I have been listening to the Science of Ultra Podcast, and took a special interest in the conversations with coaches. One episode in particular stood out to me. The topic was “hydration” (a word that, when used by a trail runner, transforms them into a chemist in my mind). One of the coaches explained that they drink a lot during races and workouts. So much that they don’t end the race in any sort of fluid or weight deficit. That sounded good to me, and I started practicing this in my training.
4. I discovered the racing tactic/strategy of Nick Coury, who is the American 24hr record holder. He describes a negative split strategy where he calculates his potential, and then begins deliberately more slowly than he is capable with the intention of speeding up as the race continues. I read his essays on the subject repeatedly, and listened to every podcast interview with him on the topic.
Not-yet-waterlogged pre-race-day photo
Training
My training over the past five years has been inconsistent. I would string along 4-5 months of 60 mile weeks, then lose interest and run maybe 15-20/week for a few months. I don’t think I realized how much the inconsistency hurt my overall fitness.
Over the previous year, I think I have averaged around 45 miles per week, with an average in excess of 55 mpw the last five months. During the final 8 weeks, that average went above 60 mpw with climbing in the range of 5,000-10,000 ft each week. This meant that my hourly training average went from 5hrs/week of training to 10hrs/week. I don’t advise this. Even with a three-week taper, my legs were tired and sore at the start. I didn’t think I would be able to climb at all, and nearly withdrew from the race before collecting my race bib. (Thankfully, my friend and experienced ultrarunner John Kilpatrick suggested that I start anyhow and scratch if necessary.)
I did three workouts designed specifically for running downhill. One was a day at Providence Canyon, which has maybe 4 hills that are around 200’. I ran down these over and over, going as fast as I could safely do so. Some of the descents were technical (into and out of the canyon on the back half). I accumulated 15 miles that day and felt okay.
The second workout was done in Macon nearby the hotel we were staying at for our anniversary. There was a 100’ paved hill that was pretty steep. Probably 12-15% grade. I didn’t accumulate much more than 800’ downhill, but I practiced how to run it with the least amount of fatigue. I tried short steps, long steps, running, braking, etc. I found that really fast steps (like flying down a staircase barely hitting each step) was the best and resulted in the least amount of muscular loading.
The third workout was part of a 2hr run on my flat country road. I did lunges every mile or so, using the ditch on the side to make them decline lunges. I finished that run with very tired legs.
My Water Obsession
Running in South Georgia, which is pretty hot most of the year and very hot for about 4 months of the year, I have learned that I can sweat about 1-3 pounds per hour depending on temperature and running intensity. During marathon training, I would routinely run 2hrs without eating or drinking anything. I would finish thirsty but never had any other problems except for sometimes feeling parched. My new mantra, however, was to avoid ever feeling thirsty. I could only do this by anticipating my need for water. I have learned to carry water with me and drink 20+ oz fluid per hour, even during easy training runs in cool temperatures.
For really long runs, I purchased a running vest, which the running bio-chemists call a “hydration vest.” I also ordered a 2L water pouch (Latin name, “hydration bladder”) with accompanying straw. I practiced running and hiking with an additional 4 pounds of water strapped to my torso, drinking enough water to do a load of laundry.
The Race
Before the race began, I swallowed a small Advil-sized pill full of sodium and other minerals. From experience, I knew that this would help me drink more water and hold it for longer. This is what I sincerely believed I needed to be doing: cramming as much water into my body as possible for the long and hot day ahead.
I started off deliberately slowly, which resulted in getting stuck walking the first two miles of the course. After that the next bit had lightly undulating downs and ups—about 200-400’ per incline/decline. I took it all very easily, running downhill the way I had practiced and walking every uphill no matter how shallow the grade, drinking water all the while.
At around mile 6 I had to pee. I had never had to stop to pee in a race in my entire life (except when stuck in a corral at the beginning of a mega road race with impossibly long port-o-jon lines). This told me that I was drinking too much water, but what I HEARD was that I was doing a good job staying on top of drinking.
These early miles took us through the most beautiful part of the entire park, which was up the side of Mount Rogers. We could see for miles and miles—with views of dozens of peaks in the distance. The mountainside was full of wild ponies and grazing cattle. The weather was perfect. The setting was magical. I was grateful to have a guided tour of the area (with flags to keep me from getting lost).
After the high point of the course there was a 7-mile descent on a jeep road. It was mostly smooth but had some rocks to navigate and lots of little streams. I passed a lot of people on this descent, and worried that I was maybe going too fast. But I knew that slowing down would have produced a greater muscular load than the quick steps I was taking, so I trusted my downhill practice.
It was hard to drink while running more quickly, but I found a way. At the end of the descent was the first major aid station where I started feeling dizzy. I stopped to let some dirt out of my show, and nearly fainted while standing back up. “Uh oh,” I thought. I had better drink more water, I thought. And so on. I kept peeing like every other mile or so, and removed my wedding band because my fingers were swelling.
It is important at this juncture to note that dehydration does not lead to dizziness or finger swelling. Dehydration leads to feelings of thirst. I was misinterpreting my symptoms. I was getting hyponatremic, not because I was sweating out my salt (it was not exercise-induced). I was getting hyponatremic because I was drinking too much water for my H2O-NaCl homeostasis. I was feeling dizzy because of low blood pressure. This happened when I tried a low carbohydrate diet, so I recognized it. The problem wasn’t too little sodium, however, but too much water. All I could do was sweat out or pee out or vomit out the excess water. But I didn’t realize it.
I drained the liter and a half of water into my body over the next four miles (worsening my condition), and immediately worried that I wouldn’t make it to the next aid station due to dehydration. I only had one 17oz bottle of water left, which I decided to make last the remaining six miles. Over those six miles, I promised to only drink when I became absolutely parched. I could decide at the next aid station whether to drop out of the race.
I wound up taking only a few sips that whole duration, and, remarkably, I reached the aid station feeling better than I had over the previous two hours. (Because my H2O-NaCl equilibrium was starting to return.) I refilled all of my water, this time deciding to conserve it for the seven miles to the next stop. I was still convinced that I needed more water, and I didn't want to run out again.
It was about mile 26 by now, so I was a little over halfway. I didn’t feel the way I wanted to at that point. I felt groggy and my legs were starting to feel heavy. (I would very much like to know what I would have felt like had I not been holding four extra pounds of fluid in my body and an extra three on my body.) But, by and large, I was not overheating or hungry or sore/cramping or anything like that. I decided that I would continue taking it easy until at least mile 35, which meant hiking up all hills and running flats/descents.
At mile 33, I still felt the same. Legs no better or worse. Fingers still pudgy. Peeing regularly. My spirits had improved, however. In retrospect, I think this was because it had started getting hotter and I was able to sweat more. I filled back up on water, maxing out every bottle and pouch I carried, and I continued back up the side of Mount Rogers. Still, I worried that too much heat would lead to dehydration.
Once I got over the fact that I would be going for 12 hours (possibly), it was really a gorgeous hike throughout the afternoon. The aid station volunteers were pros—helping me fill my stupid water pouch after I spilled gallons’ worth all over my pack and body; finding me salt pills so that I could continue gorging myself on water (no fault of theirs); being generally positive and encouraging.
Especially during the final 4 hours, I reminded myself about how grateful I was to:
- · be out there
- · have an able body
- · have gorgeous weather
- · have a wife who supports my inane hobby
- · have the money to take trips such as this
- · have occasional cloud cover to protect me from the sun
- · have cool streams to dunk my head into
- · see a foal and momma pony.
- · Have feet that felt okay
- · Have my legs still feeling good
- · Etc.
That was pretty much it to the finish. As it got hotter, my condition improved. I carried extra water (on me) the rest of the race, always maxing out my bottles before leaving aid stations. These would sit mostly full until the next station, and so on.
Throughout the day, I ate around 10 salt and electrolyte pills. I’m not sure if those helped or hurt or did nothing. I do know that my sweat was very salty. I’m sure my pee was, too, but I didn’t test that. Still, I craved salt. (Again, I didn’t realize that water-induced hyponatremia leads to sodium discharge.) Right now and in retrospect, I’m sure I could have run the final 10 miles without any water. But I always loaded up my pack with pounds and pounds of water, and then drinking more at the aid station before I left.
Despite doing everything I could do to sabotage my race with fluids, I passed a bunch of people over the final 10 miles. My legs still felt okay, and my spirits were as high as the first hour of the race. There was a stretch after the Camp Store aid station that went alongside a river. It was like a jungle, and very slow-going. It would have been extremely difficult if my legs were exhausted or cramping.
The final three miles were uphill, and everybody was walking. I had read race reports, and knew that most people had nothing left to do anything but walk at this point of the race. In my race plan, I had wanted to be able to run some or all of this last section. And I did. I did about a 50/50 walk jog until hitting the final trail, which I mostly hiked.
After the race, I probably weighed more than I did when I started. I drank only ~1 liter of water the rest of the night.
I met some cool people on the course, and I'm grateful to them for making the day more cheerful and more enjoyable than it otherwise would have been. I also think I helped a few people during their low spots just by being positive and supportive.
I admire everybody who went out for the 50M and 50K distances in particular, especially the people who continued on despite extreme fatigue, blisters, cramping, etc. One guy was cursing the final ascent as loud as he could when I passed by. I heard him gnashing for the next half mile. But, later, I saw him cross the finish line. I admire the hell out of him and everybody else who continued on despite everything telling them to stop.
Insights and Lamentations
Water:
On my drive home from Virginia, I re-listened to all the podcast interviews I had ever heard with Tim Noakes, exercise scientist and physician (nonpracticing) in South Africa. I was interested in his research on overhydration and dehydration. I listened in horror to all of the stories of runners who had done exactly as I had done during my race (and in general in my training and life): Runners ignored the warning signs—disorientation, swollen fingers, sluggishness—and drank according to dogma (“drink early and often”). They weren’t as lucky as I had been. I could easily have passed out if there was one extra aid station around mile 21 for me to swallow another unnecessary two liters of water. Then I would have been rushed to the hospital where I probably would have been fed more water intravenously, gone into a coma, and died.
I drink too much water regularly. Even as I’m writing this, I believe I am confusing dry mouth with dehydration. I carry around a giant (40oz?) prophylactic Yeti water bottle that I drink many times over daily. “Gotta stay hydrated,” I remind myself.
I think back to my last two races. In both I drank too much water, becoming dizzy and swollen. I had attributed my lethargy to muscular fatigue, insufficient food or sodium, poor pacing, etc. Never too much water. To think: I could carry less water and drink less frequently, and feel better. I would be lighter, carry less, and run faster and farther feeling better than I ordinarily do.
I feel like an idiot.
Pace:
I quite like the Nick Coury approach, and will experiment with it more widely. I need to remember, however, that starting off slowly and with ease means less of a demand/need for water.
Training:
Even though I didn't do a large volume of climbing/descending, I think I did enough climbing specificity during the last 8 weeks. I could have done more technical trail running, which would have helped a few muscular issues (dorsal flexor strain), but I feel like I handled it all right up to the finish. This means more trips to FDR State Park, which is about a 3.5 hr round trip for me.
I need more general fitness. If I was in better shape, then any distance would be easier. Since so much of these long mountain runs is climbing, better aerobic endurance would make the hiking easier/faster.
Moving forward, I think I will try to improve my general fitness. This requires muscular endurance (hips, legs, core), and less but more consistent mileage (50-60mpw for the next year) with two workouts (periodizing between speed, strength, endurance, etc.). This diversity of speeds should keep running interesting to me, and will allow me to run races of all distances. I can train for a mile or 5K, and it will raise my fitness for these ultras, even without 2x long runs each week.
I can shorten my long days and increase my intensity during those runs. Throughout the week I will do more variety of speeds.
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