Tough Trail to Ultra Runner – PART IIX: A Bridge Far Enough

Mile 25.8 to Mile 33.9: Blue Heron Mining Community & FINISH LINE 

Optimism was in the air. Barring a catastrophe, time now seemed to be on my side. There were about eight miles to go in the race and with the pace I was managing, I’d finish with two hours to spare in my quest to become an ultra runner.

But I wasn’t putting the cart before the horse. One twisted ankle, a bad fall down a wet, wooden bridge or metal staircase, anything might end the adventure before I finished. After the race, word got out about a man who fell on a wet slab of rock, smashing his face and breaking ribs. I could think of about 30 places on the course where that might have happened.        

I’ve Never Been This Far Before

Replenished on electrolytes and hope, like a barn sour horse, my pace improved, despite a nagging knee and beyond-sore leg muscles. I was officially running in that elite distance beyond a full marathon at this point. I coined the term “Idiot Zone” for this rarified honor. The human body simply isn’t designed for such sustained efforts. It literally begins to cannibalize itself just to survive. 

This last section was different from any of the previous. It coursed along gravel roads and onto single track through the high country fields and dry pine forests before dipping into damp and sloppy creek bottoms. 

Dark Clouds

The first grassy meadow I ran through offered an unobstructed view of gray thunderheads towering into the atmosphere. Distant rumbles removed any doubt: there would be rain before I finished the course. I welcomed the shower. I worried about the trail deteriorating. 

All the pain and soreness remained as mental white noise as I focused on making good choices with my foot placement along the path. A steady rain had begun pelting the woods, obscuring the lenses on my sunglasses. I took my eyewear off and stowed them on my hat, allowing me to see the trail with fresh eyes. 

The trail was getting muddier, with more earth clinging between the lugs in my shoes, increasing their weight and decreasing their traction. This made the numerous wooden ladders on this section more treacherous than ever, not to mention each turnover heavier than before. 

More Cowbell

As I drew closer to the end, more remnants of coal mining operations were evident along the trail. Old coal cart tracks, decrepit structures of rotting timber, all of it pointed to proximity to the Blue Heron Mining Community. Any memories of physical anguish at this point are simply not present. I was approaching ultra runner status.  

Less than a mile away from the finish line, the faint sounds of cheering and cowbells filtered through the forest. To my right, the steep valley carved out by the Cumberland River served as a landmark indicating the span of the pedestrian bridge was coming. The rain had cleared out and the sun shone brilliantly in the blue sky. 

The far side of the bridge was the end of the Yamacraw 50k.  The culmination of five months of rigorous weight training, long, lonely running miles, unsolicited warnings from non-runners, all of it coalescing into one final kick across that iconic bridge.  

The Final Sprint

The muddy trail turned to the right and transitioned onto the timber planks of the pedestrian bridge at the Blue Heron Mining Community. I remember how the feel and sound of my shoes striking that surface seemed so unnatural after spending 30+ miles off-road. 

My legs were trashed at this point. I couldn’t muster full strides so I took shorter ones, gritting my teeth to try to offer as natural a gait as possible. A throng of folks on the far side were waving and cheering. Jake was positioned ahead of the finish line under the sheltered portion of the bridge, Andy behind the finish line with the video camera rolling. 

I crossed the finish line 8 hours and 54 minutes after the start gun went off. A volunteer placed a turquoise-accented Yamacraw race medal around my neck. Strangers offered high fives. The consummate pit crew, Andy and Jake were ready with Meat Sticks as a sodium source to prevent further cramping as we moved out of the way for subsequent finishers.   

Physically broken but spiritually victorious, I gingerly shuffled my way down to the parking lot as an official ultra runner. Mission accomplished.

---

You’ve been a part of this ultra-runner journey, now, come celebrate with us in Part IX: Was the Juice Worth the Debilitating Squeeze?

Need a refresher on the third segement of the Yamacraw 50K? Flip back to Part VII: Corporeal White Noise.