2022 Grindstone 100 Race Report

a long race report, for a long race.

How do you prepare to run 100 miles in one go? Still not quite sure.

My name is Sean Cate, I am a 23 year-old living in Lynchburg, Virginia. I came to Lynchburg to study at Liberty University, and in the last 4.5 years I’ve come to know this (sometimes) sleepy mountain (ish) town as home. I have had the privilege of running beautiful trails in and around the blue ridge parkway in central Virginia over the course of the last three years, and through it have made my best friends and best memories in college. Running does not define me but it has become a large part of how I express who I am, and in a way is a compass through which I am learning to navigate life

 In my short time of running trails, I’ve run a trail half marathon, five 50k races, one 50 miler, a 100k race, and now a 100 miler. I placed top 5 in five out of eight ultra’s that I have run, and won a 50 mile and 50k.  Running 6 ultras in your first year of trail running was a bit like biting off more than I could chew, but I couldn’t get enough. I have already experienced the woes of dropping out of a race due to injury, as well as the frustration of bonking extremely hard due to going out way too fast in more than one race. I have had ups and downs in training, as anyone will tell you. It feels like I have been at this forever, but I know I am quite “short in the tooth” as they say, with hopefully my best days long ahead of me.

above: Myself, Will, and Emma feeling as good as we were going to feel for the next 21+ hours

My experience at Grindstone probably stacks up to most people’s first 100 miler. In other ways I believe I had some unique circumstances that played out in my favor. In training for Grindstone, I knew I had to be consistent and run higher mileage than I had previously been comfortable with. Since graduating from Liberty, I have been working for a residential remodeling construction company, working 8-9 hours a day in the heat of summer, which makes training for ultra-distance races…interesting to say the least. I was blessed to have a crew going into GS consisting of my girlfriend and co-captain Zoe Davis, Co captain and logistics legend Blair Deitweiler, music coordinator Danielle Burns, and Theo Hu my pacer.

above: Zoe and I enjoy pre race meat and cheese board from my good friend Ralph.

The week before the race I came down with a head cold. I prayed and took probably unhealthy amounts of vitamin C, rested as much as one can working construction, and hoped that my cold wouldn’t affect my body during the race. Starting out at the race, my buddy Rick Kwiatkowski gave me the heads up that the front of the pack goes out ridiculously fast. I made sure to start just behind those jostling together right under the start/finish banner. When the race began, I ran at a comfortable pace right behind those silly runners going out at a seven minute mile pace, so I wouldn’t get caught up at the infamous dam bottleneck, where the race course goes from Camp Shenandoah into the wooded single track. For the first three miles my heart rate was all over the place and my breathing was irregular. I was doing everything I could to stay calm, but couldn’t help but think, “oh Lord this cold may kill me tonight and tomorrow”. With nothing to do but see what would happen and hope my breathing would settle, I ran what I thought was comfortable and easy those first five miles. I saw lots of friendly faces at the start, friends from other races and local runners. Josh Cromwell, Tim Spaulding, Josh Thomas, and I all running close together. Josh Thomas and I found a shared rhythm and spent a good bit of the evening together, cruising up that ridiculously steep road up to Elliot’s knob and sticking to the same steady pace pretty much all the way to Dowell’s Draft. It was almost unfathomable to think as the sun was setting Friday night, that the next day, some 20 ish hours and 94 miles later, I would (hopefully) be running down that steep hill by Elliot’s, back the same way we set out. The little loop up to the tower at Elliot’s knob gave Josh and I an idea of how many runners were in front of us, maybe 12 or 15 at the time. No need to worry about who was in front of us at mile 9, we had a long way to go. The descent down into dry branch was steep but Josh and I intentionally took it easy. Josh had John Anderson of Crozet splits programmed into his watch, and we figured a good way to try to negative split the second half was to stay just a few minutes off and hold steady. Lots of people had seemed to go out so fast, which might have been enticing to me as a younger lad who likes to run fast, save for the fact that the mileage remaining seemed frightening to say the least. I lost Josh somewhere between Dry Branch Gap and mile 22 coming into Dowells Draft.  After the sun went down, the thought of running the next 9 hours and 40 some miles in the dark was really daunting. Seeing crew at Dowell’s was a relief, Jordon Cooter, Brenton Swyers, and Frank the Tank were already partying it up and the energy at the aid station was really high. I took a cliff bar from the crew, ate two pickles, had some soup, and a small triangle of quesadilla before heading out into the dark. Seeing my girlfriend, the crew, and the Hawaiian Luau party boys felt like a big mood boost, but the joy of seeing them melted as I began the climb up Hankey.

This is where I met my new friend Pat Stem, from outside of Baltimore, Maryland. When Pat and I began talking, I knew immediately he was from ‘Balmore’. I recognized Pat’s accent because I grew up in Annapolis, Maryland which sits about 40 minutes away, south on the Chesapeake Bay.  I felt relieved to be heading out into a long section that would bring us past midnight with a friend and he did too. Pat and I both felt good, and trails from Hankey to North River Gap were very runnable. Pat, being from ‘Balmor’, had only been on the course for just shy of two miles before the day of the race. I was lazy and even though I live about an hour from the trail, had been on the course once, for a thirty-mile run. In the dark as we left Dowell’s I realized that this was the one part of the course I was familiar with! Although I had run this section, for some reason both of us were shocked to see an aid station at Lookout Mountain. It was a pleasant surprise as I had mentally settled into running to NRG before seeing any extra snacks or water. Pat and I filled up, and rolled out, smooth and steady. As we approached the five miles down into NRG, Todd Thomas and Natty Montoya (epic name) came blasting past Pat and I. I chatted with Todd as he was surprised to see me and complimented my patience. “Man, you really didn’t go out too fast, good job bud!” Everyone is always surprised when I don’t go out fast. I guess I just have that look about me that says, “I like to fly and die.” Pat and I took it easy on the decent to North River, and I was so grateful to see Zoe, Blair, Theo, and Danielle awake and ready for me at 12:55am just before the aid station itself. A couple big bites of salty, hot, buttery sweet potato, some french bread, and couple tomato slices later, the crew and I walked together into the aid station. Horton was there, also surprised and praising my efforts to run slow and smooth the first half, “Keep it up boy and DON’T BE STUPID!” or something to that effect. As I left the aid station, I (tried to at least) mentally prepared for a seven-mile hill, 6 more hours of darkness, without crew, in the deepest part of the night, on completely unfamiliar trails. Pat and I absolutely rolled through the climb, hardly a word between us, never stopping, just hiking hard and consistently. False summit after false summit wore on me, and even though reaching the top was an achievement, that climb took a toll. Coming down Little Bald it was only 2am and with 65 miles to go, my confidence waivered significantly. We came upon Joseph Crawford up at the top and ran together almost to reddish. It was on the double track road around 3:30, where I finally had to pull of the trail and drop some dumpage. I felt way better after that, but for the first time that night I was alone. I don’t remember too much of what I was thinking about while I was alone, but I was starting to hurt, and I was not even at the turn around. I knew coming out of NRG Pat and I were something like 15th and 14th place, and I also knew that many of the guys in front of us went out fast, so I had to be patient and hope I had the fitness, and mental fortitude, to follow through and execute the negative split plan. As I approached the turnaround, my watch’s mileage seemed to be way off, it was reading 52 miles, and I had no sign of any aid station, lights, or other runners. I got really frustrated and started to doubt whether I could pull this off, if I should have started even more conservatively, and what in the hell I was doing on this mountain in the middle of the night. I finally found Pat and Joseph, and we cruised into the turn-around together. I knew Pat was picking up his pacer, and I was mad, so I wasted no time there, and headed right back up that stupid paved road that had me so frustrated moments before. The only bright side at this point, was that I began to see runners making their way to the turn-around, as I made my way home. Seeing people was good and motivating to keep going. My legs were getting sore, and the fact that I was about to run back over everything I just ran felt like an insurmountable challenge, but at least every step was closer to crew, and closer to the finish. Pat and Pacer John caught up to me, and we just shuffled, walked, shuffled, walked, shuffled, and you guessed it, walked and shuffled all the way back to Little Bald. Mooching off Pat’s pacer, I was thrilled for someone else to push cadence, at a reasonable rate. On the descent back into NRG, I decided it was time to run my own race, and said goodbye to my faithful nighttime friend, hoping the best for him, and at the same time excited to start making ground on the others. My feet were really hurting on that seven mile downhill but seeing crew again for the first time in 6 hours, was a tantalizing thought, and as I came down the mountain, the sun rose and I realized I was running in 7th place. I heard Horton’s voice yelling to the aid station, “SEAN CATE” and it was like new life coursed through my veins.

above: swapping shoes at North River Gap, the second time through.

Cheers were fuel on my fire. I was now running in 6th place, in my first 100 miler, with just over 35 miles to go. I was finally excited again. No time to waste at the aid station, I changed my shirt and shoes, ate a hearty helping of chicken tortilla soup and got moving. I decided to really push up this next hill, knowing I would be picking up Theo-“world’s best pacer who’s never run his own ultra” -Hu at Dowell’s. I was banking on the idea that Theo would be able to draw strength from me where I might not find it myself. I also wanted to put significant distance between me and the runners behind. My thought process was, if I can just run the sections of trails that no one else wants to run, and hike fast where everyone else wants to walk, I can make up serious ground and fend off anyone tailing me. For a while, it worked marvelously. I passed someone before lookout and made sure he was left with the impression he’d never see me again. On the way up to Hankey, I came across Pat Blair, who I’d seen blazing down the trail in second place many hours before. Pat was lying on the ground on his back, in the sun with nothing but a handheld and dazed look on his face. I shouted ahead:

 “Are you ok?”

“Yea I’m just resting” was the response.

“You need anything?”

“No, I’m good”

“Ok well take all the time you need buddy”

And I busted out of there, made my way down into Dowell’s, and for the first time in the whole race I thought, “I’m gonna finish this thing, and I’m gonna make those boys up there work.” Coming back into Dowell’s, it was the same energy from the night before, except my crew was the only crew there. “SEAN CATE?” I hear Brenton Swyers yell. “Yea, yea, yea don’t act so surprised.” Again, no time to waste in Dowell’s but this time I was leaving with a good friend, whose legs were fresher than fresh, and we were going to hammer this thing home. At least that’s what I was hoping. Theo is a gifted athlete, and encourager. Even though I was gripped with excitement at running in 5th place, I was in a considerable amount of pain. I chatted with Theo and caught him up on how I had felt in the night, and together we distracted me from the fact that I had 80+ miles on my legs, and virtually every step was new territory physically and mentally. We moved well up to the Dry Branch aid station, where I was greeted by Zoe Blair and Danielle, as well as two of my best friends who had just linked up with them to watch me suffer through the last 12 miles. I knew the climb up to Elliot’s Knob would be hard, possibly the hardest few miles of my life, but when I say they were painful, I’m talking about mind-bending pain. Nausea, confusion, light headedness, chest tightness. At one point I thought to myself, “am I having a panic attack?” Theo bore with me as I trudged up that hill, not sure how I was going to get through. The excitement of 5th place wore off, and I just wanted to be done. Theo did an incredible job of reminding me how much of a privilege it was for me to be out there, and what an opportunity I had to place so well in my first hundred. Nevertheless, I was hurting bad, and my willpower was weakening. I’ve never been more disgusted by a gravel road as I was with the one down from Elliot’s, which is wear blue hat man came out of nowhere and blasted past us. With seven miles to go I told Theo, “I am not going to race him yet,” and that “he wouldn’t get that far ahead if we were patient”. I’m not sure if I believed that or if it just helped me convince Theo it was ok for me to hobble and not run, because I really didn’t want to run down that hill. In hindsight running probably would have hurt just as bad as walking and I should have just let gravity take me. Either way, I ended up being right, and as I ran down into the last aid station, we caught blue hat man. I was downright and vocally angry for the first time in the race at this aid station. I threw my pack on the ground, grabbed a handheld water bottle, and yelled, “you can throw that thing away, I never want to see it again!” as we left the aid station I was back in 5th place, but we heard cheering as other runners came in right behind us. Theo and I walked and ran as much as I could of miles 98-100, and as we approached the boyscout camp I don’t think I’ve ever had a more difficult time swallowing the idea of running two more miles. Theo made me run, and even in the last mile and half Natty Montoya had eyes on me. I put on my big boy pants, and we ran hard the last two miles together. As we popped out of the woods, onto the grass and over the dam, my crew was on the dock of the pond. My beautiful, faithful, steadfast crew, cheering my name like crazy. I burst into tears, and Theo and I fist bumped. “We’re going to do it Theo” I choked. I couldn’t believe my eyes as we hopped on the road into camp, the same road I had been on 21 hours and one long night earlier. As I ran into the finishing shoot, everything around me became surreal. I took one step over the line and laid down on the ground. I finished my first 100 mile race in 5th place with an official time of 21:28:18.

below: me really enjoying the ground, and the fact that I was done running.

Horton and Clark congratulated me, and I was so relieved to be done. I sat in a metal folding chair while my crew stood around. I promptly passed out, and Zoe held my hand as I came too. A kind lady brought me some soup and it revived me enough to go chat with the crew and relive some of the last moments. I told Zoe, “I’m never racing again, that hurt so bad.” She just laughed and said she’d like to see that in writing please.

above: Horton and company watching me painfully peel off my shoes.

          

  All said and done, it was an epic journey. I am proud of my effort, although I know I could have probably tweaked a few, if not a lot of things, that would have improved my performance. However, I do believe that for my first hundred I ran quite smart and very strong, with pretty much no idea what to expect other than that it would be hard. I couldn’t have asked for better weather (especially September in VA), and I couldn’t be more grateful for my crew. Contrary to how I felt after the race, I am more excited than ever for what the future of distance races holds for me. Every day I get the privilege to run, is a good day, no matter how long or short it is.

-Sean Cate