My First 50 Mile Run - Black Mountain Ultra Traverse
A tenacious expedition through some of NC's toughest terrain
To the locals living near the highest peak east of the Mississippi, there is the hard way to summit Mount Mitchell (6 miles), and then the harder way to summit Mount Mitchell (11 miles), but none of that compares to reaching the top - for the second time that day - after 41 brutal and hellacious miles. But more on that stage of our day later, let’s start from the beginning:
1:45am on Saturday August 28, 2021 Matt Kornegay and I were awoken to the anticipated, yet still unwelcoming alarm to kick off our day. The plan was to start at 2:30am and cover 50 of some of the toughest miles our state has to offer by sunset. Our start/finish location was at Albert's Lodge where we were staying, so no need to drive anywhere in the morning - good to keep some things simple. After a slight delay (Matt’s hydration bladder froze to the walls of the freezer overnight and we had to use the hairdryer to unstick it) we set off at 2:44am.
An initial 3-mile road section lead us to the trailhead and oh how blissful those first few miles went. Breaths of cool crisp mountain air filled our lungs as our headlamps cut deep through the foggy darkness. Is this really happening? Am I actually running 50 miles? Things were starting well, but as ultrarunners, we prepare ourselves for the inevitable and expect things to go wrong at some point. It’s about adaptability; we’re constantly improving how we respond to situations and learn to endure for just a little while longer. In short, we’re stubborn.
Around 4:00am my headlamp faded from full to dim to dead, the first of many dilemmas - but why so soon? Blocking the trail ahead was my own shadowed silhouette cast from Matt’s headlamp as he approached from behind. ‘Matt my headlamp just died’ muttered my lips with confusion, disbelief and trepidation. I did what I could to keep moving forward, albeit at a much slower pace, utilizing Matt’s light as best I could to navigate the tricky, technical terrain. Tough, but tolerable. Though, I wanted nothing more than for the sun to make its appearance on this mighty mountain - a wish not granted for another 2.5 hours more.
As the sun finally rose and chased us up the mountain I was revived with feelings of determination. The past few hours had me in a pout; without a headlamp I was constantly kicking rocks and roots and aggravating my hip flexors. The slower pace meant we weren’t quite high enough on the mountain for an ideal sunrise, but I was happy for the light nonetheless. As we approached the summit of Mitchell the trail got steeper. We’d been ascending since we begun and I was ready to stop going up. Just before 9:00am we had arrived at the top after 18 miles. We were treated with beautiful hues of orangey-blues as there were still hints of the morning glow in the air. Combined with a mini cloud sea, our grind was worth it:
I was ready to finally replace the monotonous power-hiking with some actual running, but the toughest miles of our day were just up ahead. We had ~11.5 miles to reach Bowlens Creek but those miles were treacherous. Wrecked from the recent storms and flooding, some of the already most-technical trails in the area were now even worse. We slowed to an agonizing 30 minute pace, but it was far from easy. Our legs began to feel the affects of the day, but worse off, our feet began to ache from the brutality of the terrain. By the 25th mile and 8.5 hours, and still barely averaging 2mph, I had my first mental slip.
Why again did I pick THIS route for my first 50? How have we been going this long and just now only halfway?? Will I even make it?
I suppressed these thoughts as quickly as they came and used the surrounding beauty to distract me from my deteriorating physical state. Next up in our adventure was a 4-mile and 3000 foot descent off the Black Mountain ridge line to Bowlens Creek where we’d refuel and recompose for the long return trip back to Mitchell. My intentions were to take this downhill easy and not blow out my quads - but I found that hard to avoid after already having gone 25 miles. The trail was littered with loose rocks and tree bits deposited from the rushing floodwaters. The footing was terrible and it wrecked our feet even more. About midway down we stopped to filter water. Better here than at the very bottom to reduce weight on the impending incline.
Bowlens Creek welcomed us with cool rushing water and a place to sit down. We ate, drank and tended to our mangled feet. I’d been here before, it’s around the 7th mile of the Quest race, when things are still jolly-be-good. I knew what was next, I’d done it many times prior, but never after nearly 30 miles and 10 hours of running. Little did I know that this early into our 50-mile adventure I’d have to dig the deepest within myself I’d ever been before. Things were getting bad.
Every race - or any run at near maximal effort - can be broken into 3 stages:
Body | Heart | Soul
The first part is run with your legs, when your body feels good and you just go. Eventually your body fatigues and your heart takes over. It isn’t until your heart fatigues do things really get tough, and that’s where this next section begins.
After 10+ hours thus far, my legs ached, my feet throbbed and my quads were trashed. I had been in stage 2 since mile 20, but now, nearing 31 miles, my mood changed and my heart was heavy. This long grinding ascent was beating me down with every inclining step. Matt had moved so far ahead that every sharp corner of the trail I was left gazing into emptiness; my eyes searching up the mountain for his presence to bring back some form of an intermittent goalpost for motivation. I saw nothing but a longer, steeper incline than the section before me.
My pace slowed, my head was down and I couldn’t bear to imagine how 20 more miles would be possible. My mind had succumbed to thoughts of defeat. It was just too hard. I sat down just off the trail. Legs defeated, heart defeated; This was stage 3. I cried. It hurt. I was done. With my heart fatigued, I dug into my soul - deeper than I’ve ever had to go. Having already reached Bowlens Creek, we were past the point of no return, as that WAS the turnaround point. There was no shorter or quicker way back to the lodge where we had begun. We had no car and no other transportation but to run.
I envisioned the end and how incredible it would be WHEN I got there. I had to BELIEVE that it was going to happen; convince my mind that it WAS still possible. My tears of defeat turned into preemptive tears of joy. I gathered myself and began trudging along once more. I yelled out for Matt to wait up cause I just needed some company. His voice echoed back to me from way up the mountain, but grew louder as I got closer. We advanced upwards and were eventually greeted by the unmatched beauty of the Black Mountains.
7 miles remain back to the summit of Mitchell, and then 9 more after that.
After the grueling climb from Bowlens Creek, 7 miles separates us from where we stood and the summit of Mount Mitchell. Initially the trail is wide, grassy, and reasonably level. Though it doesn’t take long before we’re tackling some of the most technical and difficult sections of the BMCT. Our progress was agonizingly slow. I was feeling better than before, but far from good. I just had to keep moving forward and we’d finish. My heart was back in the game and I’d shifted back into stage 2.
Though, it quickly became apparent that we would fail to complete our run before sunset, an objective we had hoped for, having stated before 3am. We didn’t want to run down the mountain in the dark. It’s hard enough as it is, but being physically exhausted and mentally drained in the dark isn’t a good combo. My dead headlamp caused me to question the feasibility of running downhill post-sunset and without a light having already battled through so much, and it wrecked my mental state.
I pondered literally every possible way how to get back to our lodge without going the full 50. “If we take this trail down instead maybe we’ll find someone to take us back.” “Or if I could simply just make it to Mitchell maybe a park ranger or someone can drive us down the mountain.” It was during this psychological torment that we linked up with two other hikers heading back to Michell. We shared some stories and leap-frogged each other for a bit. It helped pass the time. I was so thankful.
Matt and I summited Mitchell, for the second time that day, after 41.5 miles and 17 hours, and now serves as my new placeholder of “how tough can it get.” The excitement wasn’t yet over, for we still had 9 miles left back to the lodge where we began. No time to celebrate here. After sharing an incredible moment on the summit of Mitchell, Matt and I quickly started our descent off the mountain. I had gotten extremely cold over the last hour - almost needing to pull out my emergency blanket - and we were loosing daylight. Fast.
With a dead headlamp and heading towards the depths of night, I wanted to make it as far as possible with what natural light we had remaining. And I just wanted to be done. 9 more miles. Our path down took us along the eastern side of the mountain, which served us well in the morning, having caught the first of the suns rays as it peaked the horizon. But now only the mountain’s west face captured the light of the setting sun. We ran deeper into the darkness.
Once again, I found myself running through my own silhouetted shadow from Matt’s headlamp behind me, this time with no sunrise to look forward to. We passed a trail marker: 6 miles to the campground. We struggled to maintain ~20:00 mile-pace and it would take us over 2 hours to get down. After about 90 minutes of the pitch-black descent I took out my phone to use the flashlight. I only had 15% battery and needed it only for this remaining downhill.
My mental concentration overtook my body’s deteriorated physical state and I went faster. It felt like I was flying. After a while I turned back, Matt was too far away to even see his light. I called out. He was fine. I turned and kept going. Faster and faster. After a blistering 16-minute mile we reached the campground. 2.5 road-miles left. We took off like we were sprinting, but barely broke 12 minutes for our 49th mile. Just a few minutes later marked the end of our ridiculous adventure. We finished just before 11pm, nearly 20 hours after we began.
I collapsed in a chair just outside our room struck with an emotionless mix of emotions; too tired to cheer, too overwhelmed to cry. “50 miles … wow” is all I could mutter. We did it. Thank you Matt for agreeing to run this with me, there’s no way I would have done it alone.
Please enjoy my video documentary of our crazy run found here:
Awesome recap. That was one heck of an adventure I didn’t know what I was get myself in to. While it hurt bad, I wish I was in the shape I had then to pull off a 50 like that.