StumpJump in "Marathon und Mehr"

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February 19, 2008

StumpJump in "Marathon und Mehr"

I received a package last week containing a German running magazine, Marathon und Mehr, along with a note from Gerd Duerr, who ran the Rock/Creek StumpJump 50k in 2007. He had written an article about the race, published along with quite a few photographs in a three-page spread in the magazine. As he said in his letter, the StumpJump ended up being a very difficult race: "It was really a very very hard job for me," he says, "cause till the start, I thought of a lovely street-race of 50k through the beautiful Cumberland mountains. I was a little bit ignorant." In the article, Duerr calls this "the toughest race of my life." He wishes us luck with future races and hopes we get more racers from Europe. I'm sure we will with such great press. Thanks Mr. Duerr! The full article follows, translated very graciously by our friend Jim Johnson of the Chattanooga Bike Club. Click on the image to view the original article on flickr.

"50 Kilometer Cumberland Trail Stump Jump in Chattanooga, Tennessee, USA"
A report by Gerd Duerr, originally published in Marathon & Mehr, January 2008.

Just to get it out of the way at the outset, yes, this is the same Chattanooga that Glenn Miller made immortal in 1942 with his song about a train. The famous train hasn’t run since the 1970s and, beyond its touristy reincarnation into part of a Holiday Inn, there’s nothing left to see.

From my perspective, I don’t have much more to say about the town, since the hidden secret of the region is a bit north of and above the city in the suburb of Signal Mountain: the Cumberland Trail. It’s part of the challenging Appalachian Trail, the long-distance trail into the Appalachian Mountains.

An otherwise quiet town, Signal Mountain comes alive once a year in the beginning of October as the starting point of the 50-kilometer “Stump Jump,” an unbelievable trail race. The race takes place along the Cumberland Trail. Other than this trail, it’s not possible to take other routes through the woods due to the thick vegetation.

A vacation in the South of the United States gave me the opportunity to participate in the race.

Carbo Supper in the Evening
The usual Pasta Party (called here a “Carbo Supper”) was held the evening before the race. Put on by the Chattanooga Track Club and the local outfitter “Rock Creek,” it took place outdoors in downtown Chattanooga. The weather was beautiful: from 18-27 degrees Centigrade and no clouds blocked the view to the blue skies. The setting was akin to a beer garden, which, along with the great food, made for a wonderful atmosphere... [plenty more below the fold]

The extremely good weather really surprised me, but it was typical October weather for the South. It also made me think about what temperatures would welcome me on race day.

During the Carbo Supper, I got to know Andy, a friendly guy from Atlanta. He studies German and is really interested in everything about Germany. So I encouraged him to sign up for the Cologne Marathon.

Andy told me that the 50 kilometers wouldn’t be easy, so he was doing the 11-miler. I asked him, “Is the route hilly.” He answered with an emphatic, “Yes!” And that this is the reason so many people would be running it. The route would be difficult enough, he said, but tomorrow the temperatures would reach 87 degrees. I did some quick calculations and realized this would be around 30 degrees Centigrade. Hmmm.

A subtle feeling started nagging me that perhaps I’d made the wrong decision to participate in this race. No matter, I’d work it out tomorrow. Anyhow, it couldn’t be more difficult than my favorite race, the Roentgen Run, one of the toughest races in Germany. And I could do that one. So…no problem! Now you’ve probably figured out what really happened. This race was tougher. Much tougher. And I’m using a superlative I’ve never used before: This was the toughest race of my entire life.

After I handed Andy a technical shirt from the last Roentgen Run, I started to make my way back home to my bed and breakfast on Signal Mountain.

Miles or Kilometers?
My wife is well accustomed to my starting our vacations with some kind of race somewhere off the beaten path. But this time she put my usual pre-race nervousness over the edge. That evening, quite casually, she asked me, “So, old man, are you sure the race is 50 kilometers and not 50 miles? Americans measure in miles, you know. They don’t know the metric system at all.”

In a panic, I leaped up to take another look at the race materials. But I couldn’t find them. Help!

“Just kidding,” my wife called out, as she laughed and laughed. Bathed in sweat, I tried to get at least some sleep on this warm October night.

The Toughest Race of My Life
At exactly 8 a.m., there was a fairly unspectacular start to the race on the grounds of Nolan Elementary School. Quite casually, the starter said, “You can go now,” and 180 men and women were off on the adventurous route of the Stump Jump.

At the start, the route made its way along packed dirt paths and lightly rolling terrain, an easy introduction to the route that would follow. The dense forest was a solid green, and it served almost like a roof to keep the sunlight off the runners.

After about 3 miles, we reached the first aid station. A mushroom-shaped rock formation stood there, about 25 feet high, perfect for climbing and giving some shelter. Impressive.

The first descent, to the bank of a dried creek-bed, was a tough one. After barely a few meters of running, we had to scramble across rocks and fallen trees. It was difficult to fall into a rhythm.

Now I want to give a further impression. It was warm, and I was sweating, but I felt good. My condition is that of a well-trained marathoner. So what’s the problem?

Then I had to scramble over rocks and fallen trees. At the same time, the sparse route markings (small colored pieces of plastic on the edge of the trail) required total concentration. It was often difficult to recognize that a path was actually there, and straying off into the wilderness here is not a good idea!

Soon I felt the early stages of fatigue setting in. The heat was taking its toll, physically and emotionally. It started to feel a little bit like a road marathon, with all the monotony.

An hour of stumbling around threw out any preconceived notion of a finish time. Suddenly, every concept of time took on relative meaning. The mile markers were so far apart, that even checking my watch didn’t have any relevance. Just finish, I told myself.

The heat, which was especially oppressive in these dense woods, started getting to my head.

The distances between the aid stations varied considerably out here in the woods. It depended on access: how the organizers could get the food and liquids in. Sometimes they could use jeeps. Sometimes, where it wasn’t possible to drive in, they had to carry everything in on their backs. Like to my favorite aid station: an imposing rock formation at a steep incline overlooking the Tennessee River, where the Cherokee Indians once built their fires. This part of the world is called “Cherokee Country.”

Amidst my exhaustion and confusion, I asked one of the volunteers whether there was any way out. “No,” the volunteer said. “There’s not.” However, if I absolutely had to, I could wait till the end of the race, and they’d take me with them.

So I made my way back onto the path – as one of the volunteers offered a helpful observation: “No pain, no fun!” Very funny, I thought to myself, getting a bit angry. Then I had to laugh: That’s the special American way of thinking. Back home, if a volunteer had seen someone looking the way I did, they would have made a direct call to the Red Cross.

In the midst of my lethargy and unbelievable fatigue—thanks to weather that’s not typical for mountain runners—I was still able to enjoy again and again imposing views to an untouched landscape. Sometimes, we could look down into the Tennessee River Valley, also without a trace of civilization. Beautiful, sure, but for a city boy like me, a bit unnerving.

Sometimes we had to scramble across rocky stream beds. Other times, we had to make our way across hanging bridges that swayed and looked to be of fragile construction. And the Americans would keep up with their unavoidable “small talk,” which helped distract me from my pain.

I’d feared that my fatigue would cause me to lose my concentration, and that’s exactly what happened. Several times, I wasn’t paying attention, and I’d trip over stones or roots. I’d use the overgrowth to pull myself up. Every time, another runner – ready to help – would ask if I was OK. Other runners fell, too, and it became a competition of sorts among the Americans to see who fell the most. Hey, why not? It’s America, after all.

The path is never wider than 50 centimeters. To pass, a runner would politely shout ahead the request, “Left, please.” Then he would make sure the other runner heard. And only then would he pass. But it wasn’t over with that. Each time, the passing runner would thank the runner he’d just passed. At which time that runner would say, “You’re welcome.” Such a conversation among runners isn’t typical for us, and I was actually charmed a bit by such civilized talk off in the middle of the woods. I thought to myself, “That’s got style.”

Even on the flatter sections, I always had the fear I’d lose a group and then stray off alone, stumbling through the uncannily dense forest. But someone would find me eventually, perhaps after several days. At every steep incline, however, I’d find small groups of racers running together to overcome another one of the countless climbs. We’d talk and laugh a little bit about how crazy it was what we were doing. Some even asked me questions about Germany, mostly about how Oktoberfest is. “Good,” I’d say quickly without continuing on that subject, since I’ve never been to Oktoberfest. But I didn’t want to disappoint these friendly people. Lots of communication on this race!

At one of the last aid stations, which you can get to only by running up a natural stone staircase through a narrow chasm, I met Orlando from Puerto Rico. He was wearing a white running shirt with a cross and the words “God Help Us All.” With a mixture of irony and exhaustion, I pointed to the words and said, “I hope that’s right!” Orlando laughed and assured me, “Yeah, man, that’s right.” It was the start of a short but helpful friendship. Orlando ran behind me. His presence gave me a sense of security. Slowly, I started to get the feeling again, “I can finish this thing!”

This race lets you retain a sense of modesty and restraint in the face of competition, so much so that I found myself waiting for Orlando, if I’d run ahead too far. At that moment, to maintain human contact was more important than my finish time. Waiting for another competitor in the middle of a race—that’s something I’d never done before!

Over the last few miles, the landscape was simply beautiful—not a “green hell,” as I had been starting to perceive it.

At the last aid station—again the mushroom rock—one of the volunteers shouted, “Only three long miles, man!” Gee, in America are “three long miles” four miles, five miles, or what? But suddenly, I sprouted wings, and I got my wind back for the last flat segment and gave it some gas.

Frisbees and Hamburgers
With a time of 6:52 I lurched past the finish line totally dirty and covered with scratches. Originally, I’d thought I could do it easily in 5:30.

At the finish and since this was America, the runners enjoyed a meal of hamburger and salad. Not bad. Then the organizers tossed endless Frisbees and water bottles into the happy crowd.

When I looked at the race results, I was astonished: I’d finished 70th out of 174 finishers. I never would have thought that.

I also saw Richard Schick, a guy who had shouted out to me at one point and kept me from going the wrong way. He’d taken photos during the race, and I asked him if he’d email some of them to me. He told me how he’d been in Germany with the Army during the 80s and had won the European Cup for marathons (as I understood it, this means that he’d run 12 marathons in 12 different countries). Not bad, the people you can meet here, I thought, as I prepared myself for hellish aching muscles and made my way home.

Conclusion
A great run for anyone wishing to gain a runner’s self-awareness. You just have to love it.

I’ll probably never totally understand the soul of America and Americans, especially not the fact that, in this massive country, there are hardly any pedestrian paths where you can train. For that reason, for me as a runner, America remains an adventurous experience that I wouldn’t want to miss.

Finishers: 174, of which 30 women (17.2%)
Men’s Top Finisher: Eric Grossman, 35, 4:33:32
Women’s Top Finisher: Mary Middlebrooks, 35, 5:44:53—and behind only 17 men!