Beast of the East 50 Miler (2021)

It’s 6:00 AM when my alarm sounds, but I’m already awake.

I have all my race gear and supplies laid out on the dinette of my camper and a French press steeping.

A cup of coffee, a banana down the hatch, and a quick trip to the toilet.

Ready to head out.

My wife (Christa) and daughter (Callie) are both with me, and they escort me to the start/finish of the race—-the Linwood access at Crowders Mountain State Park in Gastonia, NC.

We arrive with only a few minutes to spare, which is perfect because I’m not a fan of waiting around before starting a race.

The race director, Richard, wrangles us runners and gets us gathered down by a gate to prepare for the start of the 2021 Beast of the East 50 Miler.

“3…2….1….Go!”

The race begins with a steep gravel climb, roughly a mile or so long before we funnel into some singletrack which quickly becomes some gnarly rock scrambles and a lot of jumping and hopping. Not much running happens from mile 2-3, just a lot of sketchy and well-planned steps to make our way through the technical rock sections.

From there, we start to hit some smoother trails, and the field begins to separate at this point. Right around mile 3.5, we hit our first aid station—Sparrow Springs. The volunteers are friendly and high-energy, but I choose not to stop this time and keep it moving. We continue with some smooth trails until we hit another good climb.

At mile 5.5, it starts downpouring cold rain. It feels good, but it's slightly concerning as I can feel my body temperature dropping quickly and my shoes saturating early on. Luckily I packed a top layer in my vest in case I become too cold. The rain subsides around mile 7, and I’m finally feeling myself getting into a groove.

We arrive at the next aid station (161), and the volunteer is cooking bacon, amongst other items. I smell it, and I immediately begin salivating. But, I’ve never had bacon mid-race, so I decided to hold off and opt for some familiar items. We head out of this aid station, and I’m currently close behind two other runners here. I decide to keep my pace consistent and stick to my original plan of slow and steady.

The next three or so miles are rather uneventful until the pack leaders come flying past me. They must have hit the turnaround point and are heading back to the start/finish to close out the first out-and-back. I count them—1,2,3,4—-and then myself and the other two runners near me arrive at the Boulder aid station—the turnaround point. I ask the volunteers, “how many ahead of us?” One of them replies, “only 3”. I could have sworn I saw four run by me, but maybe it was three? Either way, I’m hanging around the top 5 at this point, and I become motivated.

Heading out of Boulder, I start to pick up the pace ever so slightly, and I’m now in front of the two runners I was behind when we headed into Boulder. In my mind, I’m in 4th place now, and that feels good. Good enough to not want to lose that placement, so, at mile 11, I decide I’m not going to.

I head back down to the 161 aid station, where I can smell the bacon again, and this time I can’t resist. “Bacon, please!” I get a handful of bacon and some Tailwind, and it was everything I needed at that moment. I press on, knowing that there are a handful of runners not too far behind.

I’m cruising well through the next 4 miles, just staying focused and hydrating. The humidity is fierce, and I’m drinking a lot. Luckily the aid stations were placed every 3-4 miles, perfect for a course and weather like this. I run out of fluids, but just as I realize this, I arrive at Sparrow Springs again. I restock, refuel, and am on my way back to the start/finish to wrap up the first out-and-back.

Shortly after heading out of Sparrow Springs, the frontrunner passes me. He’s already roughly 2 miles into his 2nd trip out, which means he’s at least 5 miles ahead of me. Not more than 5 minutes go by before 2nd, and 3rd come flying by. They all looked strong and fresh. There’s very little likelihood of me catching up to any of them. I’m inspired by their ability and grit and get comfortable with the idea that my goal is to remain in 4th place.

I’m about a mile away from the start/finish when another runner passes by me, heading out for his 2nd trip. Wait for a second, did four people pass me, or 3? Am I in 4th place or 5th? I get to the start/finish and ask, “how many came through already?” “You’re in 5th right now,” someone replied. For some reason, this trips me up. 4th sounds way cooler than 5th to me, so I gather myself and head out of there with a purpose. I want to be 4th.

I’m noticing that my watch shows about 21+ miles at this point, and I become confused. We’re heading back out for our 2nd trip out to Boulder and back, so, at most, this race is only going to be 43 miles. Or is it? Am I missing something? I can’t be…

The next 11 miles back out to Boulder go well, without much to report on. I turn around to start making my way back to the start/finish, for what I think is the final stretch of 11 miles. I’m a little bummed out that the race will be shorter than I expected or that I trained for. But I’m also slightly delighted that I’m likely going to finish in the top 5 with some daylight to spare.

As I’m heading back into Sparrow Springs, for what I think will be the last time, I see the runner who’s in 4th place, sitting in a chair at the aid station. I become insanely competitive at this point, understanding that I have a chance to pass him now and claim 4th. We shared some conversation, make a couple of jokes about the course and our performances, and then we quickly resume our races. He’s ahead of me for a few minutes until I decide to push it to the finish. I pass him, and he wishes me good luck. I keep pressing until I can no longer see him behind me. I’m convinced I have no more than 3 miles to the end and commit to pacing as fast as I can to preserve my position.

But then it happens. I see 2nd and 3rd place passing by me again. Wait, what? “Aren’t you guys finished? Why are you back out here?” 3rd place looks at me confused, “What? We have to head back out to Sparrow Springs and back one more time…”

I had missed this detail during the preparation leading up to the race, and I misunderstood the course. All confusion aside, I now have to shift my brain from thinking I am 2 miles from the finish to accept that I was actually around 9 miles from the finish.

I get back to the start/finish, and both Christa and Callie are waiting there, cheering for me. I let them know that I have to head back out to the Sparrow Springs aid station before returning to the finish. I give them my vest with all my supplies and distractions and take off with just a soft flask in hand.

I’m digging deep, and I’m committed to finishing this race in 4th place, no matter how bad it hurts.

And it hurts.

Back through the rock scrambles, and the weather is getting nasty again.

I don’t care. I welcome it.

I get to Sparrow Springs, and there are Christa and Callie again. It’s great to see them and to get my final aid. I kiss them and tell them, “see you soon!”

I’m now on my way to the finish, and I begin to drown it all out.

Everything.

Forty minutes feel like five, and then I see it—the finish.

I come plodding through in 10:56, 4th place overall.

What a damn good race!