From GRP Runner Canyon Woodward

The Course

With a reputation as one of the more grueling 100 mile trail races on the east coast, if not the country, the Cruel Jewel 100 course covers 105.9 miles and features a rather foot-numbing ~33,000 feet of elevation gain. Hardly a switchback to be found, it traces ridgelines up and down through beautiful hardwood forests, tangles of rhododendron, and thickets of ferns and poison ivy in the North Georgia Mountains on the traditional lands of the Eastern Band of Cherokee. I grew up a short hour and a half drive away in Western North Carolina, so I felt very much at home on the terrain and had already been able to run much of the course.

Pre-race

I had been training for five months, working with my brilliant coach David Roche to develop speed while putting in around 50-70 miles a week. My goal was to run the race in under 26 hours, which would put me in the top five finishes in the race’s seven year history. I knew Karl Meltzer, who has the most career wins in 100-mile trail racing, won the Cruel Jewel in 24 hours and 16 minutes in 2015, so 26 hours felt like a solidly ambitious goal. But if everything went right - which it rarely does in this type of race - I figured I had a good shot. My friend, Abby, a pro runner who I met doing climate advocacy work together with Protect Our Winters, had come from Boulder to pace me the final 30 miles and help crew during the race. My Mom, Dad, and brother Rivers made up the rest of my support crew, ready to refill bottles at aid stations, sling cheese quesadillas and gels, toss warm layers and a headlamp on me, make sure I made it through, and dole out all manner of hugs, high-fives, smacks on the fanny, and loving encouragement.

Mile 0

I toed the starting line at Vogel State Park experiencing a cocktail of excitement, nerves, confidence in my training, adrenaline, and curious anticipation. Partly cloudy with a high of 67 on day one and 72 on day two with an overnight low of 42, the weather could not have been better. Unlike many hundred milers which start in the wee hours of the morning, the Cruel Jewel mercifully kicks off at noon. Never one to prepare much in advance, with two minutes til start time - having just succeeded in getting my contacts in - I was still frantically stuffing my vest with enough energy gels to sustain me the first 20 miles until I would see my crew again for the first time. And then just like that we were off. I gave the kazoo I had found in a running vest pocket in the car a few celebratory toots.

Mile 20.6 // 4:01 PM // 20 minutes ahead of goal pace

So far so good. I went out fast, hanging on behind two other guys at the front as we ran a brisk pace for the first mile and a half uphill out of the gate. We began our first descent and I leaned downhill to pick up speed and move into the lead. At mile 3.5 the first major test began: 2,300 feet of elevation gain over 3.7 miles. I settled into a steady rhythm alternating back and forth between running and speed hiking. Although I know that it is more efficient to hike than to run in long ultras when you hit such a steep grade, it took some willpower to hold back so early in the race with fresh legs and adrenaline pumping. But I slowed it down, drank some water from my chest flasks, and downed a gel to get some early calories into my system.

As it turns out, eating and hiking are actually an important part of ultrarunning. As my friend Brendan writes, beyond running, other components of the sport “include but are not limited to eating snacks, hiking, running with trekking poles, hallucinating, being sad, losing toenails, bleeding, despair, blisters, talking nonsensically, shuffling, and socializing with nice people who live in the forest next to folding tables displaying snack foods.” I concentrated on eating and hiking, knowing all too well that if I neglected those components then the despair, hallucinating, and so forth would close in fast. Roughly 300 calories and ¾ of a liter of water per hour was what I shot for throughout the race. The first 20 miles went by fast all in all and I was thrilled to pop out of the woods 20 minutes ahead of my goal pace at Skeenah Gap at mile 20.6 and see my crew.

Mile 31 // 6:14 PM // 28 minutes ahead of goal pace

I hit Old Dial Road Aid Station (Mile 31) still feeling great. My feet began to hurt from all the pounding during this stretch but then went mostly numb and didn’t bother me again. Even though I was well ahead of the time I’d told my crew to expect me, they were on the ball and had a hot quesadilla ready. I downed a half with salsa and picked up my headlamp and warm layers for the evening. No more crew access until mile 50. A brilliantly red sun soon set the horizon ablaze before me as I continued my journey west. Red faded to deep purple. Darkness began to pool dense and soft in the deep mountain hollers. A whip-poor-will called from the eaves of a tired barn, the barn slowly making its return into the earth. Fireflies flickered in the field beyond. The tiniest toenail sliver of a crescent moon appeared overhead and reminded me of the many toenails of yore sacrificed to these absurd and wonderful endeavors. Aid stations staffed by the most amazing humans came and went every 5-7 miles on the trail. I judiciously ate, drank, and refilled my bottles as I passed through each. A black bear ruckused through the underbrush, yielding the trail to me as I pounded downhill towards Flat Creek. We each paused a moment to take each other in - disembodied eyes glowing back at me in the reflection of my headlamp up the hillside.

Mile 50.2 // 9:51 PM // 51 minutes ahead of goal pace

The half-way point, whew! Well, at least it would be if not for the totally mental additional six mile out-and-back that is tacked on to the return route for the sole purpose of being cruel. Nevertheless it felt great to hit this spot. Rivers was there to tap in for the graveyard shift of crewing after having worked a full day at his clinic and before driving the four hours to get here. I chowed down on food and grabbed soup, noodles, and a hummus wrap for the road. I also began drinking caffeine, filling up one of my flasks with caffeinated Tailwind. I donned long pants for the chilly night ahead and began the return journey.

Almost immediately the headlamp of the second place runner, Kris, bobbed into view as he reached the turn-around point hot on my heels. Feeling the pressure of Kris breathing down my neck and the buoyant rush of caffeine entering my system I focused in hard and shifted into another gear entirely. For the next twenty miles I pushed my pace hard, toeing up against the line of too-hard and hoping that I wasn’t crossing it. Memories of my last 100 mile race lingered in the back of my mind - I hit a brick wall at mile 75 in that race, facing a severe calorie deficit and badly dehydrated but too nauseous to eat or drink, reduced to a painful shuffle forward. Now, with a slim eight minute hold on first place, I prepared myself mentally for that eventuality but did not let it slow my pace. My spirits were high and I was moving great. I cheered on outbound runners as we passed, thanked aid station volunteers profusely for the grilled cheeses and good vibes, and let out many a joyous howl at the moon as I chased my own headlamp beam through the wee hours. 1 AM. 2 AM. 3 AM.

Mile 75 // 3:00 AM // 1 hour 28 minutes ahead of goal pace

I reached mile 75 with no signs of an imminent bonk. Fatigued to be sure, but plenty of gas in the tank, two working legs beneath me, and a hunger to attack the final 31 miles with everything I could muster. Rivers and Abby, heroically running on almost no sleep, greeted me with a wave of energy. Abby joined at this point - providing an immediate boost to the spirits - to pace me through the grueling terrain between there and the finish. Before us lay Garland Mountain, Brawley Mountain, Bald Top, Tipton Mountain, Wilscot Mountain, Deadennen Mountain, lots of not so flat ridges, and then the infamous Dragon's Spine... 13+ miles of steep ups and even steeper downs.

I entered into a love-hate relationship with gravity. The uphills got tougher and tougher. But after every climb I let loose and flew recklessly downhill, tired legs still up to the challenge. The miles passed mercifully by underfoot as Abby and I chatted and chirping birds told of a coming dawn. Up one mountain, down the next we went. We were treated to a gorgeous sunrise that illuminated mist-filled valley upon mist-filled valley stretching in every direction below us. The Dragon’s Spine passed by in a slow-motion blur of heavy breathing and aching quads. We reached the final food station with 8.4 miles to go. Thankfully I still wasn’t nauseous, but having already taken down upwards of 7,000 calories on-course I had little appetite for more food. I figured we were close enough to the finish line that I could stop eating and be fine on the calories I already had banked. Thankfully Abby shut that down real fast and got me to continue taking down gels and a final half of a quesadilla that would ultimately set me up for a flying finish.

Finally, we crested Coosa Bald and I could feel the proximity to the finish line tugging at me. With 7.4 miles to go and the longest downhill of the race before me I leaned forward and plunged down the mountain as fast as my legs would carry me. Last I had heard Kris was still within possible striking distance behind me so I gave it all I had, even though I knew I was well ahead of my target time for the course. As I crossed Wolf Creek at the bottom of the long descent from Coosa, with a 2.3 mile climb looming but less than four miles to the finish line, I looked at the clock and realized for the first time that I might have a shot at breaking the course record. Only, I wasn’t sure quite what it was since it had not been at all on my radar in the lead-up to race-day. I filled one last bottle of water from the jugs by the creek and gave it all I had running the next two plus miles uphill, then flying down the other side to the finish line still feeling like I had gas in the tank. I was greeted with bear hugs from Mom, Dad, and Rivers, high-fives from the race directors, and the shocking news that I had set a new course record by an hour and twenty two minutes at 22:36:05.

Refilling water at Wolf Creek Mile 102. Photo: Grant Carmichael.