Race Reports from a Mid-Pack Runner: The Breaks Ultramarathon

Words: Hunter Lewis

In the search for ever more difficult feats of endurance I recently found myself toeing the starting line at a race in a little-known park in the southwestern corner of Virginia along the Kentucky Border. 

The Breaks 45 (ish) Mile Ultra could perhaps be the hardest sub 50-mile trail marathon on the east coast of the United States. 

Breaks Gorge

Mike Whisman, race director for Next Opportunity Events utilized the varying features of the Appalachian landscape to create a formidable challenge for even the most experienced trail ultra-runner.

Breaks Interstate Park is a bi-state park noted for its 5-mile-long gorge, which plunges 1,650 feet and has come to be known as “The Grand Canyon of the South.” The Breaks Ultra takes full advantage of this geological feature during the 45(ish) mile race which has 12,000 feet of both elevation gain and loss, multiple river crossings, dangerously technical climbs and descents, and what could only be intentionally erroneous aid station mileage charts meant to keep you guessing. The runners and aid station volunteers actually call this “Mike mileage” in honor of the RD.   

A palpable buzz of nervous excitement permeated the air during the pre-race dinner and safety meeting the Friday night before the race. Previous years attendees of the inaugural 2018 event openly discussed the difficulty and challenges which resulted in the abysmally low 38% completion rate. A slideshow and presentation compiled by the RD covered the various intricacies associated with the course. If multiple river crossings, rural coal country highway running, and precipitous cliffs aren’t enough to give you pause perhaps the potentially dangerous local flora and fauna will. Copious amounts of stinging nettles, poison ivy, poison oak, yellow jackets, rattlesnakes, black bears, and copperheads inhabit this part of the Blue Ridge mountains, though I was lucky enough to only encounter a few of these on my run. 

The race started at a very reasonable 6:00AM with 87 participants of various ages, genders, and experience levels. The first few miles saw a conga line of competitors following the conical blue light of their LED headlamps down a fairly technical single track to the bottom of the gorge. I witnessed at least one runner go ass over teakettle only to be absorbed by the surrounding forest understory before righting himself and continuing on his way. A slippery upriver limestone creek walk brought the field of runners out onto a curving highway known to be frequented by speeding coal haulers carrying the lifeblood of the local towns’ industrious heritage.  As we wound our way down the road frequent cries of “car” and “on your right” rang out and echoed off of the vertical mountain walls paralleling the road as the dawn began to illuminate a heavily misted mountain scene around us.

A short 1.2 mile jaunt on the road brought the first minimal aid station and river crossing of the day. Runners lined up to cross the thigh deep swift flowing current with the aid of a set rope line and a whitewater expert on site overseeing the safety of the competitors.  Coming out of the river with feet squelching, the initial ascent of the race began and mirrored the invisible demarcation line separating Kentucky and Virginia. The course gained 1,798 vertical feet over the course of 3.5 miles on relatively easy switchbacks peaking in intensity near the top where a higher grade climb brought us out onto the ridgeline.

The second aid station of the day at Goldfish Pond set the standard for the offerings of the aid stations to follow. Water, Coca-Cola, and Sword (hyper-localized Tailwind competitor) covered the liquid needs of the runners and the standard ultra-marathon trail buffet covered the salty and sweet calorie needs with chips, grapes, oranges, bananas, pickles, candies, and occasionally watermelon and PB&J. Leaving the second aid station and running across the exposed mountain balds on the ridgeline, the steep drop offs gave impressions of expansive views of the mountainscape below but were concealed by the misty low hanging fog banks common to the southern Appalachian Mountains on early fall mornings.

The topography and mild challenge of the first 11 miles belied the remainder of the course which could best be described as torturous. From mile 13 to mile 35 there was a culling of the herd as almost 1/3 of the entire race field threw in the towel and accepted their DNF’s. Within the span of 3.5 miles there was an elevation change of 2200 feet while following a trail that at times resembled a runoff chute for mountaintop rain shedding to the valley below. This difficult section would be repeated after a further 5 mile out and back run along the ridge line to the most western aid point of the course and the first drop bag pickup of the day.

“I passed the top 10 finish college runners, with their hipster mustaches and perfectly coiffed hair channeling the ghosts of Steve Prefontaine and Frank Shorter”

The concentration of multidirectional out and backs in this 12 mile portion of the race presented a unique opportunity to sneak a peek at the competitors in both the front and back of the pack. I got a quick glimpse at the race leader, a fiftyish year-old man with a smile on his face and a quick foot tempo that would put him across the finish well before the sun went down. I passed the top 10 finish college runners, with their hipster mustaches and perfectly coiffed hair channeling the ghosts of Steve Prefontaine and Frank Shorter with too short shorts and throwback styled Nike trail runners.

From the front of the pack to the back I encountered the hard charging women of trail running that seem to take every stride with poise and balance, steadily enduring the rigors of these events with calm faces and a “good job” to all passersby. 

Returning from the out and back sections, an intense scree littered downhill section with 30-40 percent grade tacked on damage to quadriceps that were blasted from previous miles of climbing and descending. The second to last aid station was on a much welcome flat piece of land. This aid station also offered the second drop bag pickup of the day, a parking lot for family and crew, and a morale boost in the form of applauding spectators offering verbal back pats and cheers of encouragement to the field of runners. 

A penultimate uphill slog on the fire road presented some unique challenges in the form of fetid exhaust producing all-terrain vehicles and dirt bikes blasting by on the dry and dusty trail. The hazy orange-red clouds of fine clay dust kicked up in their passing made breathing a bit maddening and led to the use of my sweat drenched shirt as a makeshift mask until the race branched off from the multi-use access road. Coming down to the crossing point from the morning start, a final wade through the river brought us through the last aid station and back onto the highway for another 1.2 mile road run. 

A trail camping cabin nestled in the woods

“This sport, this lifestyle, is unlike any other. We willingly tear down our bodies for months in training to further destroy them on a few days throughout the year for something that we call fun”

The final section of the race followed an ankle breaking trail from the bottom of the gorge back to the start/finish line at Breaks Interstate Park.  Trampled trail marking flags led to my impromptu exploration of approximately 200 yards of technically dangerous creek side wild game trails before realizing my error and picking up a fellow directionally challenged runner on our way back to the course.  The trail, root covered and seeking blood with its myriad granite and limestone outcroppings meandered through the darkening woods laughing at my attempts to make up time.  There were absolutely no runnable pieces of trail until peeking out on top of the gorge after conquering the, at times, 60% trail grade and a final push through a limestone cave where one could only imagine cries of “my precious” echoing off the walls from deep within.

A final half mile run through the park brought the glow of generator powered lanterns and a red digital clock counting up the time since the beginning of the race.  Everyone on site applauded and cheered as I crossed the finish and continue to do so for all those that came behind.  It took me 14:19:53 to travel the 45 mile loop that brought me back to the finish and the welcome feeling of an ice cold beer being shoved into my hand. 

This race was physically and mentally challenging.  The fastest competitors completed it in under 11 hours, with the winner tackling it in a mind boggling 9:25:17 at 52 years of age.  I grossly underestimated the amount of time it would take me based on previous 50K races that lacked both the distance and technical challenges presented on this course.  I have no plans to run this race again, but I would highly recommend everyone try it at least once.  

After the finish I sat down with the other competitors, finishers and DNF’ers alike, and discussed the war stories from the day.  The man who finished just in front of me had sprained his ankle at mile 10 and continued on with pure will.  A friend of mine crossed the finish with bloody nipples and nether regions from chafing and never uttered a word of complaint throughout the day. 

This sport, this lifestyle, is unlike any other. We willingly tear down our bodies for months in training to further destroy them on a few days throughout the year for something that we call “fun”. When people ask me why I do it, I ask them why they don’t? I truthfully don’t have a sequence of words that I can string together and encapsulate the reason that I do this, but I know that I am a better person for it, and I don’t know where I would be without it.

Follow Hunter on instagram: @hunterrunsultraslow.