Report from the Robot Knee

This report by Nick Neakrase on his successful conquest of The Ring has been cribbed pretty much verbatim from his post on The Facebooks two days after race weekend.

That’s done. Long race report follows for The Ring!

• I had training, I had recon, I had a plan, I had motivation.
• I have not ever run this far, ever. I’ve run far enough, but not on this insidious terrain.
• The last big training run was MMB three weeks ago, and it represented the longest run for me in 20 years.
• Would I have the juice to make it past 38 to 71?

TO MILFORD GAP – 13.3:
Right away, there’s my love, Samantha Neakrase, one mile in at Elizabeth Furnace. She traded in her hydration pack and run skirt for a cow bell and a bull horn. Awesome.

So much trail chatter leaving EF. All the stories are delightfully the same: “We went (here) and we ran, then stuff happened”. So great! Highly recommend. The first long climb actually felt good. People talk so much about the rest (later portions) of the Ring course, but I’ve never heard about that billygoat trail before Milford. Rocky goodness. Scraped my knee on the wall. Fun. Almost stabbed someone in the eye with my pole. Stabbed myself in the eye with a branch, and yet…

Oh how good I felt at Milford Gap.

Big note here on the army of people at Milford. You haulin’-water-up-the-hill peeps are so cool. Seeing people on the trail is great. Seeing those in support of you, better still. Before Milford and after, it was great running with you Ivory Lira, and Paul from the UK, and Tom Calla.

With the exception of my Honey coming out reverse from the later aid stations to meet me, I would spend Crisman to Powell’s Fort alone; alone with my own sh**… er, stuff.

TO CAMP ROOSEVELT – 24.9:
Oh how good I felt at Camp Roosevelt. I dare say I was chipper. The plan was to take it easy to Camp Roosevelt. The race starts there anyway – I postulated.

Roosevelt was festive, and thank you to everyone there (Travis Bertram, Bob Gaylord, Daisy Weill, and Samantha of course) bringing what I needed. I was ready for Duncan, and then…

TO CRISMAN HOLLOW – 34.4:
If there had been a dude standing on the trail three miles up Duncan Hollow, with a car, and a margarita… yes I know, you can’t get a car on the Duncan Hollow trail… no, I don’t know why he would have a margarita, yes, it’s oddly specific… look, that’s not the point, never mind. Let me start over…
If properly motivated, I would have quit at Crisman Hollow. My right leg started cramping after I left Roo; first my hamstring, then all down the interior side. Like bad, okay, seizing up; ask Samantha, it was bad. (How’s that? Pretty good whining, right?).

I was eating - I swear I was. I was drinking - swear. I was popping electrolyte chews (hold that last thought).

Samantha shifted me to a regimen of salt caps (that made me gag every time), but because of the unknown amount of sodium in the chews I was using. I needed more salt to replace that which was whiting out my black shorts.

At Crisman – I felt “fine” (other than the cramping), I took a head lamp. The crampy slog up Duncan and Waterfall put an hour dent in my plan. For all of my training, I was not expecting to be on Kerns at night. It felt particularly lonely, but into the night I went.

TO MORELAND GAP – 40.7:
After Crisman and all across Kerns, it still didn’t feel like the salt caps were working, but I kept with it and trusted the one person I know who’s finished five consecutive Rings.

Let’s park here for a moment. With the exception of Milford Gap, every AS I came into there was Samantha with the most expert runner set-up you’ve ever seen. Everything I needed and many things I didn’t (just in case).

I’m so lucky. The switcheroo was amazing; me the runner, she the crew.

The game planning continued. We would later solve my cramping, but I would pay the price for solving my cramping.

I was dumping everything in my stomach, and somewhere over Kerns, the cramps went away, but the “ill” effects of my zeal to overcome my cramping was the rot in my stomach.

Back in Duncan for a moment, as I slowly Hollowed (I mean wallowed) in my crampy misery, I came upon Sandal Man (later to see him on Signal Knob: Cheers!) and his downtrodden companion; the rot got to him (the companion) before me. Sandal Man had to leave him on the DH trail. I’m sorry, my man. It was apparently a common theme for the day. [Editor’s note: “Sandal Man” was Josh Nunez, who would go on to finish two minutes behind Nick. “Downtrodden Companion” was Ted Kelch, a fellow Georgian who pulled plug at the next aid station at Crisman Hollow Road.]

Jump ahead to Moreland (and the most miles I have run in 20 years), I was falling off my pace and falling off my motivation. I was now a scant 14 minutes from the cut-off and disinclined to continue with the specter of starting a second ultra. With a calm, caring, but direct tone the Crew Chief, Samantha, made it sound like I had no choice. Perhaps I didn’t.

THE ROBOT KNEE:
Oh by the way, if you’ve been on board with my voyage, you may remember that I have a surgically “replaced” left knee. If you were wondering how it (the knee) did. It was great, and not much more of a detriment than the rest of me. The knee, though, doesn’t have the greatest range of motion. That means I catch the toes of my left foot on the follow-through. I’m not going to tell you that doesn’t hurt a lot because it hurts, a lot, but usually goes away after about 10-15 steps.

Rocky step-downs are also especially challenging. I found that poles help my stability tremendously. Funny thing that, some time before Roo I snapped the tip off one of the poles. The pole (without the tip or basket) still worked, so on we went.

Where were we?

Right, Moreland Gap and 14 minutes until the cut off. I learned that there were some 11 peeps behind me. It was a tough, hot day for cut-offs. John Hord, Ivory [Lira], it was great spending some miles with you. I know you’ll come back strong. Sorry it didn’t work out on this day.

TO EDINBURG GAP – 48.7:
Out I went to conquer Short Mt. The cramps are finally gone. I surged to the fire road crossing, when “snap” the whole tip-less pole unraveled and was irreparable. Silver lining: my hand was cramping from using the pole anyway. One pole would have to do.

Up Short Mt. and the ill feeling in my gut said hello for real.

Now, I’m not a barfer. In fact, I’ve only thrown up three times in my whole life. I think though I might have enjoyed (been relieved by) hurling in these moments. Legs felt great, or good at least. No cramps and power to climb. But conquer Short Mt., I did NOT. Endure it, sure. At one point I thought, “what am I doing up here”?

Edinburg and the comfort of the aid station - Samantha, who ran reverse a couple of miles to meet me (she also did that at Moreland), said “you’ll have 40 minutes before the cut-off, but you won’t use them”. I love her so much!

Samantha (and Daisy) went right to work at Edinburg. Eat/drink something to keep the cramps away, but don’t make my stomach worse. Also, switch socks and shoes (I literally shredded my Speed Goats). Couple of blisters; no biggie.

Side note: until a shoe company makes a model called the “Massanutten”, I will fail to be impressed.
Motivation low, energy good, stomach bad. I left Edinburg and started the climb of Waonaze. Daisy would later remark… “I think your low point was at Moreland”.

Close Daisy, but It wasn’t. It was the two-mile climb out of Edinburg on the sickest stomach I have ever felt. I had to stop and SIT multiple times; deep breaths, bring my heart rate down.

I didn’t want to come up here.

I could have stopped at Edinburg. I didn’t.

TO WOODSTOCK TOWER – 56.9:
Two miles up and six down, 100 sips of clean, cold water. It took every bit of it to finally work out my stomach issues before Woodstock. Took a wrong turn down an old fire road, had to climb back up, if I hadn’t been so focused on my gut, that might have actually bothered me.

Samantha ran out to meet me again. I can’t express how much I loved seeing her head lamp and hearing the jingle of her bear bell. Broth and water at Woodstock meant playing it safe, but I was definitely starting to feel better.

Sure I was still “eating” the cubes, gels, and waffles while on the trail, but very little solid food from Moreland on. During the race, I drank 12 LITERS of water (that’s 3 gallons) from my pack, plus a lot of coke, Gatorade, popsicles, pickle shots and more bottled water at the aid stations. That is a massive amount of fluids, peeps!

TO POWELL’S FORT – 62.4 (and the longest I’ve ever run EVER).
In and out of Woodstock with a full hour to the good (cut-off). Now though, I’m starting to think about the final finish line cut-off. But wait, was I finally starting to catch a groove with 14 miles to go? I made Powell’s Fort in under two hours.

Side note: six years crewing and one year running; this was my first time seeing Powell in the daytime. Whatever “pace” I thought I was originally capable of was gone by Crisman Hallow, now I was just of the mind to finish.

At Powell, tried a few bites of potatoes and broth. Didn’t want to rock the gut boat. More water. Final push.

At the moment that I stood up from my comfy chair, I had energy… still. My stomach felt something better than sick and I switched on power-hike mode.

TO THE FINISH:
Here was the coolest part for me. You probably know I trained (I posted about it 🤪 a bunch), but the place where the training really manifested itself was on that climb to Signal Knob. I had somehow worked through the issues of the day (and night) to find that with eight miles to go, I actually had the ability to do this thing. The 28, 29, 30 minute slogs up and over Duncan and Kerns, and Short, and Waonaze were replaced by 18, 17, even 15 minute miles up Signal Knob.

A 24 hour finish “plan” at the start had turned to chasing cut-offs. But now not only was I going to make the 29 hour cut off, but up Signal Knob I pulled back a full hour to finish the race in just over 27 hours. I’ll take it.

The rocks down Signal Knob are heinous, but it was okay; this thing was in the bag. Once again, Samantha came out (up) to meet me. She was so light and breezy across the boulders and I struggled down the rocks, but no matter.

I actively thought (yesterday), “I should have stopped at Edinburg”, but I didn’t. I would stop only at the finish of the longest run I have ever done. The Fellowship awaits. The completion no longer in doubt.
I’ve had so much fun previously at the Ring; crewing, pacing, roving, supporting, shuttling, and partying. I have so much love and respect for the runners and the dedicated volunteers and the community of support. Thank you of course to the extraordinary outgoing RD’s Quatro Hubbard and Bur, and I would like to express my joy for the new regime of my pals Daisy and Lauren Gabler Masterson.

I am (this year anyway) the oldest finisher (decorum forbids me from naming the second oldest, Gaynor, oops). I came in with a fake knee, a Couch-to-Ring training plan, and a great mentor. With that and a little fortitude, I did it.

The Fellowship is a club I’m very, very proud to be a part of. I’ve previously experienced this Monday after the Saturday many times (thank you, Honey), but this time it’s a bit different; a bit surreal. Thanks for having me.