Pinhoti 100 Race Report

By Chip Trimmier

Every ultramarathon race pits the course and its rules against the runners. Especially at the longer distances, there’s a certain degree of sadomasochism built into the sport. Race directors generate routes that normal people probably ought to avoid, sometimes using aggressive cutoffs to make the course even more challenging. Every ultra teaches me something. It might be something about myself and what I’m capable of, or it might be a nutrition strategy, or some technical skill that gets me down the trail faster. The Pinhoti 100 reminded me that the runner’s mind is truly impaired after running for 20+ hours. It also taught me how to handle defeat with grace. 

The Pinhoti 100 is a point-to-point race cutting a diagonal path through northeast Alabama in the Talladega National Forest on a brutal section of the Pinhoti Trail. I was warned about this in advance, but I didn’t fully appreciate how difficult some sections of the trail would be until I actually hit them. The trail ascends Mt. Cheaha to the highest point in Alabama. That trail wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t terribly punishing either. On the other hand, immediately after the peak, the trail drops about 1000 feet of altitude straight down a half-mile long boulder-strewn chute in a trail section called “Blue Hell.” 

This race was something of a reunion for me. My childhood friend Guy Dewees had agreed to crew for me, and my Baltimore friend Erin Altemos (who is responsible for talking me into signing up for both this race and my first 100 mile race) was bringing down another friend Stephen Wancowicz to crew for him, so we put them both together in one car to share duties and help each other out. I got to have dinner with my mom Rae Trimmer and my godmother Lyn Lashley. I connected with some Birmingham friends I haven’t seen in a very long time. I got to spend the night with Jeff Payne in the place he has in one of the many adaptive reuse projects that have repopulated downtown Birmingham. I got to celebrate the birthday of Sabrina Vargas with a Karaoke night. I visited the campus of my undergrad alma mater Birmingham-Southern College and got to hang out for a bit with Roald Hazelhoff, Patti Manning, and Bob Shelton. I had dinner with Judson Pendleton and Dorian Reese and then stayed the night at Dorian & Julie’s house in the woods by the Cahaba River that’s super close & similar to the home I grew up in. It was an amazing visit, even though the reason for the trip to Alabama didn’t turn out like I expected.

Physically and mentally, I was fully prepared for this race. I was well trained and injury free. This was not my first 100 mile race. I had crossed that threshold in 2018 when I finished the Yeti 100 in under 24 hours. Earlier this year, I had run a few 50k races, the Headlands Hundred 100k, and the Q50 Crossroads 100 mile 3-day stage race. Every metric told me I was on target to comfortably finish the Pinhoti 100 in less than 30 hours. In the end, if I had been allowed to continue, I probably would have. But every ultra has its own specific challenges to overcome, and this race had other plans for me.

100 mile races typically give runners 36 hours to finish, and there’s often a few different checkpoints with time cut offs that will pull you off the course early if you’re not going fast enough to finish. These cutoffs usually start pretty deep into the race. But some races are more aggressive. The Pinhoti 100 reduces the available time on course to 30 hours. The cutoffs start at the very first checkpoint, and there are 17 of them. Under the Pinhoti 100 rules, it’s technically possible for a runner to be pulled off the course after only 6.7 miles.

Because we stayed at a hotel in Heflin less than half an hour drive away, Erin and I were well rested when we made it to the start line with 5 minutes before the gun. We got onto the singletrack trail without too much bottleneck delay. We blew through the first aid station quickly and the field started to spread out fairly well after the second one. We had a great time talking, and I felt so good that Erin had to tell me I was going too fast when I was out front. That was the harbinger of doom.

The first 25 miles of trail had lots of rolling hills and some climbs, nothing as steep as trails I typically trained and raced on back home in California. But the Pinhoti Trail is narrower and far more technical. Maybe my overconfidence led me to abandon my typically conservative process and perform a dynamic move on a stream crossing around mile 15. I didn’t realize it right away but, in retrospect, that leap probably overloaded my left IT band, eventually resulting in knife-like pain to my left knee during hill descents after around mile 20.

Running for 24+ hours is always an exercise in pain management at some point. Even if everything goes right, things will begin to hurt. The continuous pounding of the feet against the ground eventually becomes somewhat unpleasant at best, and absolutely excruciating at worst. Ultra runners need to be prepared for either situation. And I was. I just didn’t expect for it to begin so early in the race.

I carried on with Erin, in good spirits despite the annoying pain, until the summit of Mt. Cheaha around mile 40. That’s when I started dropping behind. My crew told me I was just 12 minutes behind him at Cheaha Lake, the first checkpoint after Blue Hell. By the time I reached the Adams gap aid station 55 miles into the course, that gap had grown into an hour and a half. And I was only an hour ahead of the cutoff. 

As they helped me change my shirt and socks, slip some compression sleeves onto my calves, and get some nutrition into my vest for me to carry, my crew also talked me through the pace I needed to run if I was going to maintain my position against the cutoff. It was totally doable, especially considering I had already passed through the most challenging sections. 

I brushed my teeth and hit the trail (dental care isn’t just a healthy thing to do; it’s a mind-trick for feeling refreshed). When I saw my crew again at Porter’s Gap, 69 miles into the course, I had succeeded in maintaining my position against the cutoff. I was in pain, but I wasn’t tired. I had plenty of juice left in my tank. I only had to run 50 kilometers more. I could already feel the Pinhoti belt-buckle award in my hand at the finish line.

When you’re registered for the Pinhoti 100, they send you lots of helpful information to prepare yourself. One of the things they send you is a spreadsheet of the aid station information, including distances, arrival times for certain paces, and the cutoff times. This is such a useful tool that I printed it, put it into a plastic sleeve, and carried it with me the entire race. The times are given as hours of the day rather than elapsed time on the race clock. The complicating factor that led to my downfall was Daylight Savings Time.

My plan was to meet my pacer, Guy Dewees, at Bulls Gap, about 15 miles away from the finish. My research and interviews of prior race finishers told me this would be an easy section of the course and I would likely be able to pick up the pace. I knew Guy would be able to keep me going all the way if I needed a mental boost. The sun rose as I approached Bulls Gap, and the running got easier. Even though my knee had been giving me excruciating pain in the downhills earlier, it had eased off in this section, perhaps because it wasn’t quite as technical and I could run faster.  When I saw Guy running up the trail toward me, I immediately knew something was wrong.

“You missed the cutoff by like four minutes, dude,” is what he said. 

“No way,” is what I said back, looking at my watch. “My watch says it’s not even 7:00 yet.”

Guy looked at his watch. “Yeah, mine too.”

That’s when we both realized our watches were connected to our mobile phones and had adjusted themselves back one hour for the ending of Daylight Savings Time. I had been looking at the hour on my watch, comparing that to the cutoff time on the spreadsheet, and thinking I had plenty of time to spare.

“Let’s hustle back to the aid station and plead our case,” I said.

And we did.

They weren’t having it.

The challenge of cutoff times is something ultra runners navigate on a regular basis. I should have realized that the clock change would create a complication, and I should have managed that before the race. After you’ve been running on the course for around 24 hours, your brain just doesn’t have the capacity to cope with that sort of thing, so it’s best to handle it in advance. I didn’t, and it cost me the finish after running 85.72 miles from the start. 

My consolation prize was meeting Chihping Fu in the van that drove us to the finish line. I had noticed there was another runner from my local California area who had registered for the Pinhoti 100, and I had wanted to meet him because I haven’t yet assembled my Cali Ultra Fam and I know I need to make an effort to become more connected with local runners. We had a great conversation about races we did back home, how Alabama is so incredibly gorgeous, and why the Pinhoti 100 is such an awesome race. The volunteers are amazing, the aid stations–especially during the overnight sections–are perfect for feeding your body and lifting your spirits, and the race itself was very well managed.

While I was feeling bad for myself for not finishing, he told me this was his second attempt. He was happy he had made it 68 miles before being pulled this year, which was much farther than the 55 miles he had managed the year before. His positivity was contagious. He said he was going to do it again. I told him if he was going to come back for more punishment, then I would too. 

And I will.

The Pinhoti 100 will not defeat me.

Next time, I will be armed with knowledge of the course.

Next time, I will seek to discover and manage complications ahead of time.

Next time, I will hold the buckle.