Fred Murolo

RR Viaduct 100 2017

There is an aphorism for every situation. Many times, there are competing ones, depending on how you look at things. Consider: (1) The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results; and, (2) Third time’s the charm. I think both apply to my experience at the 2017 Viaduct Trail Ultramarathon 100 miler in Lanesboro, Pennsylvania.

I first ran Viaduct in 2012. It chewed up my feet something awful, with 92 miles of trail on unimproved old railbed, complete with countless small rocks to step on and kick. I finished in 29:28 and felt like death. I waited three years to go back in 2015, this time wearing Hokas to help the pounding on the rocks, and it chewed up my feet worse. I got a blister under one foot and could barely walk by the end, finishing in 30:54, just before the noon cutoff. Mary V. and I trudged through the dark night in the woods and all the next morning as well. So, after two years, here I am back again, thinking I have to be able to do better, have to be able to get the foot care right for this course.

A few things make this time likely to turn out better. First Bob L. lets me sleep in his camper the night before the race, much better accommodations than my tent and cot. Second, the forecast is for cooler than seasonal temps for the end of July. And I have a plan.

The Race:

Before I describe the race, I should recount the setting. This is far northern Pennsylvania, close to Binghamton, New York. It’s anthracite country, where hard coal was mined extensively 100 years and more ago, for industry and home heating. Mine trains crisscrossed the hills, and their paths remain today, used by ATV riders and snowmobilers and even runners. The towns are now quiet, with population measured in the hundreds, rather than thousands, but there are remnants of the busy industrial past, like the Starrucca Viaduct that looms over the start finish area. It’s a train viaduct, still used, that was built in 1848 with stone, 1200 feet long, 110 feet high and 30 feet wide at the top. Really amazing and impressive.

Now the race.

I tape my feet before bed and turn off the light by 9:45. I get up around 4:00 and do the usual prep, lubing the armpits, butt and crotch, taping the nipples, putting on the light compression shots and long running shorts and donning the ratty red and white top I’ve used so many times. I also lightly lube the bottom of both feet, against the chance of friction and blisters on the foot pads behind the toes. (I don’t usually do this, but had blister problems in New York.) I’m wearing Farm to Feet wool blend socks and Hokas with gaiters to keep out as much of the railbed grit as possible. My original plan is to change socks, wipe and lube my feet every 25 miles.

I check in at about 4:30, saying hi to Dave and Carl, the co-RDs. There are about 50 people here to run the 50 and 100, including good friend Gary F., whom I know from years of competing at 3 Days at the Fair. We talk loosely about race strategy. I say I will go by feel for the first 50. He plans to do a timed run-walk mix.

We start just before dawn at 5:00, running a mile up the road to the trail. It’s low 50s, and the going is easy. I have a long sleeve shirt over the standard race top to start, and soon I notice all my clothes are soaked in the humid dawn.

This is the 11th running of the Viaduct, counting the original 68-mile exploratory run in 2007. The race has evolved from a simple fatass style to a supported run. There is an aid station at 7 miles outbound, and another at the turnaround at 12.5. Then back to the aid 5.5 miles back on the out-and-backcourse, and then another aid station at the start-finish. The mid-way aid station, called Melrose because of the crossing road nearby, is run by Vicky and Bob. It started because Vicky was supporting Bob as he ran the race several times. Now the two of them handle this great aid station for the whole race. And the turnaround used to be a table with a paper to record your time and maybe a few gallons of water or a few candy bars. This year it is a full-on aid, with hot and cold food.

I cruise out to the turnaround, running it all at about an 11:30-12 pace. It is old railbed, so hills are gradual, except for two places where there used to be trestles, and you have to go down and back up out of gullies. The first one at 8 miles outbound is gradual and runnable, the second really steep down and steep back up.

I do the first 25 miles in about 5 hours in the pleasant morning air. I talk to Kevin M. I ran many miles with him at Vermont in 2016, and I always see him at the Frozen Fatass on the Cape in January. He’s in Luna sandals again, a daring choice with all these rocks. We chat intermittently as we move along. I also run with Lou M., a guy just getting into ultras. We spend quite a few miles together catching up on news because Lou and I knew each other before any running connection. Back in the day, we lived in the same small town in Massachusetts, and our daughters, now 25, were in the same class through school. It was fun to talk about these connections from days gone by. I don’t run with Gary. He’s about 30 minutes back.

I turn the first 50 miles in about 11:20. I forgot to change socks at 25 and do so now. It’s a time suck, undoing gaiters, taking off shoes, cleaning feet, re-lubing the bottom of feet, putting on new socks replacing shoes, replacing gaiters. But my feet feel better and I think I can probably go the rest of the way with no problem. With the foot care and a little eating, I spend 20-30 minutes at the start-finish. I head back out and see Gary less than one-half mile outbound. He has caught up a lot. I go up the hill to the trail, walking some, running some. Once on the trail, I have an overwhelming urge to use the bathroom. I know there is a porta-john at mile 3.5, but it’s a long two and a half miles when you have to go. I get to the john, and leave my water bottle and long sleeve shirt outside so Gary will know it’s me in there if he comes by. While I’m in there, I hear several voices of runners going by. It takes some time, and when I get out, nobody is around.

I head up the trail. About a mile later, I see Bob L. on a bike riding back toward me. He says Gary is now up ahead. I get to Melrose and Bob and Vicky say Gary passed through about 10 minutes ago running, but he said to tell me he was walking and he was only 5 minutes ahead. I head up toward the turnaround with Bob L. riding his bike alongside. I pass Gary coming back about a good half mile or more ahead of me in the gathering evening. I get to the turnaround at dusk, eat some food and head back. I know I need to speed up. Bob is having trouble riding on the rocky trail in the dark, but he says he will go ahead to Melrose. When he goes, I start to run and get a good rhythm going. I chug into Melrose and Bob L. and Vicky and Bob are there, gesturing for me to be quiet. They pose a question in hushed tones. Do I want to push through or wake Gary up. He’s dozing on a cot under the canopy. I opt to wake him up and we go back to the start-finish together, mostly walking. He tells me he was really tired and needed to lie down.

We’re are the start-finish at about midnight (maybe later), and we head back out after a few minutes eating and drinking. The going is slow and we stay together, both really sleepy. The fourth lap outbound it the worst, with both of us struggling to stay awake. We get to the turnaround just before dawn. We sit. Gary looks like he’s wiped. (I probably look just as bad.) We formulate a plan. We will put on music and run it back. It seems unlikely to look at the two of us. Gary’s music isn’t working, but I have an extra ipod shuffle loaded with rock and pop songs my wife chose. Gary used it at the fair for a while, and likes the mix. We start off running most of the way to the first gully. Then a walk break to get back up to the railbed, then a run of over 2 miles to the next gully, then another run to Melrose, then another run back to the porta-john. One last run up a gentle railroad grade hill to the road. We take a few walk breaks but the music and light of morning combine to give us energy to finish this thing. On the last part of the trail, we pass someone walking it in. I tell Gary we have to run the whole road mile to the finish so he doesn’t catch us. Really, I just want to get there, and we do in 27:21.

Post-Race Stuff

I’m really tired, but I have no blisters, and my feet don’t feel that bad, despite kicking a thousand small rocks and stepping on five thousand more. And I’m pretty excited for the race. There were more 50 mile finishers and 100 mile finishers, and the race seems like it came of age. Dave is really pumped, thinking of letting in more 50 milers next year. And I think: there is no reason not to run this 100 if you are an east coast ultrarunner. It’s drivable. There is camping right at the start-finish. It’s beautiful and remote. The viaduct itself is mind blowing. And the price is … still free. Well, the surface is tough on the feet, and it’s really dark in the woods at night, but aren’t these things supposed to be hard?

Oh, and great runner and great guy Phil McCarthy won the race in 17:35, meaning he woke up, ran the race and got a full night’s sleep. (Oh, to be a front of the pack guy.)

Last thing, relative to the posts on running 100s after 60. I’m 60; Gary is 62. We’re still out there. I think the hardest thing as I get older is getting sleepy in the wee hours of a 100 miler. All-nighters just aren’t as fun as they used to be, and you can’t just take a long nap and pick it up in the morning. But we got it done, and it was good. It may be the definition of insanity, but the third time was the charm.

Fred in CT (looking forward to the next one)