Exploring Wild Roots on the Wild Oaks Trail

EXPLORING WILD ROOTS ON

THE WILD OAK TRAIL

Hot T.W.O.T. 100+ miles race recap by Erica LuBera

Hi, friends! If you know me pretty well, and you know this race pretty well, you may like to skip ahead to “The Adventure to the Adventure” section. Assuming you don’t know me or this race, I believe some background context is in order. This is a race recap of a journey that covers 100+ miles in the forest, over mountains, without the support of friends and family to cheer (aka spectators), provide aid (aka crew), or accompany you (aka pacers). It is not your ordinary trail ultra marathon. Buckle up and join me for the journey!

About the Race –

The “Hot T.W.O.T. 100” is a 112-mile trail race with ~29 or 32k elevation gain (depending on your resource) that offers exactly the above type of run. There is also a version of this challenge that takes place in February called the Cold T.W.O.T. I suppose October could be considered “hot” when compared to February😆 . No spectators, crew, or pacers. It takes place on a beautiful, rugged trail called “The Wild Oak Trail” (hence the acronym) in George Washington National Forest, Virginia. If you can follow trail blazes (markings on trees) then you can probably follow the course, but you’d better be paying attention. The course is not flagged. If you have a GPX watch, you can find & download the route to your watch to follow. This is a 28-mile loop with nearly 7,400 ft of elevation gain. Starting at the trail head parking lot, your car will be your primary source of aid as you run 4 loops to complete the challenge. All aid is provided by the runners, so plan a dish to pass and bring along a couple extra gallons of water for your fellow runners 🙂 On the event website, you’ll also learn that there is an option for a drop bag which will be placed somewhere along the course for you. You’ll also find an interesting set of race rules – including “If you have any questions, don’t come.” – set by the founder, Dennis “The Animal” Herr. The event has a deep history with strong roots, and I highly encourage anyone interested to read up on it’s history first.

About Me –

Over the past 4+ years, I’ve been training and attempting to set an unsupported Fastest Known Time (aka FKT) on a 300+ mile trail. I call this type of effort “fastpacking”, since it requires carrying several days of food, your own shelter, an other minimal necessities in a backpack to traverse 45+ miles a day over the course of a week. To learn more about FKTs, check our their website here! After my first attempt in 2022, I decided I should begin training longer distances and undergo more tailored training. I hired a coach for the first time and began to prepare for my first 100-mile trail race, Eastern States 100, in 2022. I learned much from that experience and continued to search for more opportunities to train harder, faster, and push past limits with only myself to motivate me. This included many races that don’t allow pacers or crew, pushing myself harder and waiting to see where the “wheels” would fall off, then proceeding to hold on for dear life when my mind and body felt like blowing up. It also meant getting out there with my fastpacking gear on a couple efforts, traversing 70-90 miles at a time over the course of 2-3 days. I had the best support from Coach Sayard, and with this additional training, in May 2024, I determined I’d be ready for “take two” of the monumental undertaking. Take two would once again become a “learning experience”, though. On this second attempt I moved faster, farther, and under worse conditions than the first attempt – but something happens around mile 140. After days of 3-4 hours of sleep, covering ultra-miles and carrying a 30-lb backpack, my mind begins to betray me and I lose the confidence to continue. Against all evidence, I decide “I can’t” and I quit. I would need to dive back into that headspace more in order to build a better strategy if I ever plan to get back out for a “third time’s a charm” attempt. Back to the drawing board for more training.

This is where the Hot T.W.O.T. comes into play. After reading through the description of the race online, I couldn’t imagine finding a better opportunity to do just that – dive into the crippling headspace that has become my kryptonite. The Jigger Johnson 50+ miler in New Hampshire was a great stepping stone in July and I felt physically ready to tackle the T.W.O.T 100, which would be double the mileage and double the elevation. Throughout the month of September, I researched weather norms in VA, determined likelihood of snow and/or freezing rain, purchased new gear, booked a campsite, and ordered a hilarious amount of baby food, fig bars, and gummy bears. Ten days before race day, I’d be flying out to California for work and play, so I knew the days leading up to the race would be hectic. Why not change time zones a couple times just before running 100 miles? I guess I’d find out.

The Adventure to the Adventure

It’s Thursday, Oct 3rd and 24 hours before go-time. I’m madly packing zip-locks full of various gummies (I call it my magical mystery gummy bag, but not for the reasons you’re thinking), baby food pouches, fig bars, Uncrustables, and other old reliables. Over the years I’ve found a couple pick-me-ups that are tried and true, so I planned a can of cold Dr. Pepper and a Snickers bar for every 10-15 miles to look forward to. You’d be amazed how much my mood can change if you just surprise me with a cold Dr. Pepper during a race :). Time rushes by as I pack a cooler and extra clothes in case I decide mid-race I absolutely hate my choices and need to feel like a new person. At 12 pm, it’s just about the time I planned to hit the road, and I still need to plan a dish to pass for the other runners! I’m not much of a cook, but I decide to try out the oven for maybe the 2nd time in 3 years of living here, and make cheesy bacon tator-tots. Now with all that said and one, I’m in my car 2.5 hours behind schedule and ready to drive 5+ hours to my camp. I’m due to arrive around 7 pm, so I’m hopeful for daylight to find my campsite and set up my tent. Maybe even time for a good meal somewhere local, I think.

Well, Route 81 had something different in mind for me, it seems. The good news is I would end up shedding more tears on this drive, while sitting at a dead stop boxed in by tractor trailers, than I would shed during the upcoming run.

It’s 10:45 pm, I’ve made several wrong turns, but I’m finally pulling into the campground 7 minutes from the race trailhead that I would need to be at tomorrow morning. All the campers in the area appear to be sleeping – not a campfire in sight. As I navigate the dirt road through the campground, I’m getting just a tad frustrated again as I realize I can’t read any of the site numbers in the dark. On top of that, the signage here is not computing with my exhausted brain. I finally find what appears to be tenting sites and I’m looking for site 80 when I pass “blank” site (no number), then 82, then 84….Okay, my site must be “blank” site, I think, home sweet home! Within 20 minutes I set up my tent, prepare my gear and clothing for the next day, crack a beer, and promptly fall asleep. No worries, that open stale beer will still hit the spot all the same in 48 hours.

Hot T.W.O.T. 100+

And so it begins. All set to go, I hop in my car and put it into drive. Nothin happens. Oh no oh no oh no! A quick inspection informs me that I am an idiot. I need to turn the car on before I put it into drive. I yank it back into ‘park’, turn the key, vroom, back into drive. Let’s try this again. I make it to the trailhead with 30 minutes to spare and park next to a large van with stickers covering the back doors. I feel right at home and with my people 🙂 I also notice there is a TWOT 100 sticker on the van, amongst others, and think to myself I need to meet the owner of this van. Tony, the owner, finds me first and introduces himself. He’s run this race before, and is looking to finish for his second consecutive year. I’m maniacally putting the finishing touches on my gear for the first loop and just about to ask if he has any advice for a first-timer like me when the Race Director, Guy, heads our way. He fills me in on the course, including that there will be a small manned aid station at mile 10 along the loop. Also, I can hand off my drop bag of food to cache in the woods at mile 16. I hand off my bear cannister and continue prepping. The aid station is really cool news, though a small part of me is a bit bummed that this would be less unsupported than I’d originally thought. I had no idea how much I would appreciate that aid station just yet.

Loop 1 (Mile 1 – 28) –

Eight runners (7 male, 1 female) are gathered in the middle of the Wild Oak Trail parking lot ready to take on over 24 hours and 112 miles of solo adventuring. A man next to me introduces himself as Ben, and asks if I’ve been here before. “Nope, first time!” I see the confusion on his face and he insists, “Oh, I didn’t see you here on a training run a couple weeks ago?” I laugh but “Nope, definitely not me! First time”. There is no more time to chat as the race director indicates that we can start running. No countdown, just – “Okay, have fun, make sure you lock your car before you go“.

We’re off! Within the first 1/10th of a mile, we all crawl around a large tree that had fallen across the trail. We all take different directions to navigate around – choose your own adventure style. I pass Tony and another runner together, then catch up to Ben. We begin the first climb and settle in. I know from reviewing the course elevation profile that I’d be climbing for the next 7 miles. I chat with Ben and learn that he really doesn’t race often, but he’s run this race more than once. I proceed to bore him with talk about all the trail races I really love and think he’d find interesting, including Black Forest 100k (also occurring this weekend) and the Jigger Johnson ultra. “Are you sure you weren’t here two weeks ago?” he asks once again. It turns out my doppelganger also talked to him about Jigger Johnson. I really need to meet this woman, I declare, sounds like we have a lot in common. Ben pulls away up the mountain never to be seen again by me, and likely thinking as he goes “I must escape this crazy woman with clearly two personalities“.

They day is gorgeous and I’m forcing myself to slow. tf. down. I’m excited, as usual, and the adrenaline has me itching to move faster than I should. I need to conserve energy. The fog is sitting in the trees and the fall foliage is awe-inspiring. Waves of sleepiness crash over me as I climb, but I’m determined to ignore those warning bells. This level of exhaustion so early on cannot be a good sign. Can’t think of that now. Before I know it, the 7-mile climb is over and I’m running along the ridge through tunnels of mountain laurel, thinking “Gosh, I’m so lucky to be here!“. The trail brings you back down to mile 10ish, where I expect to see an aid station. Instead, I am looking at wide flowing creek. Welp, wet feet it is, only 10 miles into 112. What can go wrong?

I say Hi to Steve, who is manning the aid station here at “Camp Todd”. He fills my water, I eat a couple grapes, and take off. The day is going so great far, and Steve let me know that Ben is only about 10 minutes ahead of me. I file that away but don’t think much of it. I’m not trying to catch him, I’m out here for me. The next several miles fly by. Around mile 18ish, the trail goes around a bend and suddenly I’m facing a rock outcropping (aka hoodoos) and a gorgeous view. So much of this trail has reminded me of the Black Forest Trail back in PA, and once again I’m having flashbacks to one of my favorite trails and feeling at home. I dub thee rock – contemplation rock! ….and then it’s time to move on. I settle into an easy flow until I’m nearly 4 miles from where I think the loop ends, back at my car. I figure the trail must bring me back down the mountain, right? As I look around, I can see the nearby mountaintops are pretty much the same height as I am. I’m so ready to run downhill and let gravity guide my already tired legs. But I will be disappointed – the last few miles are a tease. Each time I start to descend and settle in to a flow, the trail begins to climb again. This pattern goes on for what seems like an eternity until I’m finally at the bottom of a mountain, now facing a scenic creek. This time we get a fun bridge!

Shortly after the bridge, I’m back at my car and loop 1 is complete in just about 7 hours and 20 minutes. At this pace, I’d finish in sub 32 hrs – but let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Erica. The waves of exhaustion are in full force now and it is time to make a decision – I can’t ignore the warning bells any longer. The toll of the past 10 days of traveling to different time zones / terrible sleep were not going to release me from their grip. I packed my vest full of food and water to prep for loop 2, then set my alarm for 15 minutes. Within an instant of climbing into the front seat of my car, I slip into a waking REM sleep. While completely aware of my surroundings, dreaming nonsense dreams, I hoped this would be enough to allow me to stay awake for the next 84 miles.

Loop 2 (miles 29 – 56) –

I begin the 7-mile climb once again, and can tell the “nap” has helped me mentally. My body, however, is still tired from the first loop, and this climb isn’t as speedy as the first. Then a new fun thing starts to happen – nausea. I consider my food options and decide to switch to less solids and add water to the more solid foods to see if that could help. Despite all that, my mood is lifting incredibly. If runners highs are real, this is certainly one of them. One moment I am dancing down the mountain, and another I am signing to the trees. Completely in my element, alone in the forest, I feel wild and free. My nausea slowly dissipates and becomes a distant memory. I even allow myself to run a little faster, knowing that the end of this loop will be in the dark, when I’ll have to slow it down to avoid tripping. Now 45 miles into the day, the sun is setting and it’s headlamp time. Contemplation rock is absolutely gorgeous. I decide to turn the headlamp off completely and sit for a moment to stare up at the sky. It’s already starting to get chilly so I after a few moments I move along. As I approach the final tease (aka the last 3-5 miles), I can feel the exhaustion creeping back. “You’re almost there, even if it doesn’t feel like it, you’re almost there”. The certainty that another nap will be in order settles into my mind. I roll into the trailhead parking lot and say hello to Guy the RD. After about 15 hrs and 25 min of running, it is time for nap 2.0.

And then I made a crucial mistake. In my haste for sleep, I completely skip prepping for loop 3 before setting my alarm and closing my eyes. For the next 20 minutes, I roll around in my front seat with racing thoughts of “You’ll need a coat, it’s going to get cold! Did I pack my food? Change your shirt – you’re soaked through with sweat and you’ll freeze. Do I need more water? Don’t forget to eat before you head out. How cold will it get?“. The alarm goes off, far too soon in my mind, and I zip around the backseat of my car trying to remember all the thoughts I’d had while not sleeping. I pack food and water and change into something dry. I end up heading out with a jacket (Houdini), an emergency blanket, gloves and a new shirt.

Loop 3 (Miles 57 – 84) –

I am woefully unprepared.

I drudge up the climb and say hello to my old friend nausea. It’s now just after 12 am, and if I stay on track, I’ll be out on this loop until 8 AM. For the past 15+ hours, my watch has beeped every 20 minutes reminding me to take in 100 calories. Beep, eat. Beep, eat. The beeps are quickly becoming a nightmare, and eating while moving becomes nearly impossible with my stomach threatening to revolt. I flip the script, and allow the nightmare beeps to instead become a chance to sit on the trail to rest, but also to force food into my body so I can continue on. Eating and drinking enough are crucial for ultra running. It keeps the mind functioning and body running – nausea be damned. Meanwhile, the need for sleep is steadily taking over every corner of my mind.

I finally find a small campsite to pull off trail and lay down. I don’t know for sure how cold it is out here, but it feels like 40 degrees. I know my body will not be capable of retaining any heat once I stop moving. I pull out my gear to set up a “bed” on the ground. It’s dirt nap time! For some reason (that still alludes me), I decide my jacket will be best served as a ground sheet rather than as a – well – as a jacket. That leaves the emergency blanket as a blanket, so at least that part makes sense. Alarm set for 25 minutes, I am huddled in the fetal position completely covered by the foil blanket. I can only imagine what this looked like from the outside. A shiny silver boulder? An alien spaceship? Either way, it is a freezing, shiny, silver boulder / alien spaceship. As I lay here shivering, I listen to a hoard of runners tromping past my freezing spaceship and watch as the lights from their headlamps flash around the inside of my foil blanket, really leaning into the alien theme. I recall that Guy had mentioned there was a midnight-start race for people to run one loop. I try to pull the blanket tighter around me to stop the light from getting in when it dawns on me – I started this loop just after midnight. There are no runners. I am completely alone and possibly hallucinating. Maybe…maybe this is just waking REM sleep? Heavy on the “waking” part? Time to keep moving, and keep climbing. At least 5 more miles to the top, and 3 miles to the aid station.

The cycle continues. I try twice more to sleep before I arrive at Camp Todd aid station. When I arrive, soaking wet from crossing the stream a third time, I share my struggles with Steve. He offers to find a blanket so I can get some real sleep. The cold seems to be the primary obstacle. In the dirt next to the fire, I huddle under a down sleeping bag and pray for sleep. Sleep does not come, and once again, it’s time to press on. I’m 4 miles out from Camp Todd and I have 2 more miles until I reach my drop bag with my pick-me-up Dr. Pepper when I begin to fall asleep while running. It’s all downhill, and I know I can’t lay down without freezing. My best chance is to keep moving until the sun comes up. I have no idea how I made it down the mountain, running in and out of sleep, without tripping in the dark. I did run into a few bushes, though.

I reach the drop bags, now 22-23ish hours and 72 miles into the effort, and the sun is finally rising! This could be a great game changer. I lay down to get 5 minutes of actual sleep – and I mean dead sleep. Blink and it never happened, sleep. I decide to pretend This is a new day! The sun is up, and I’ve just started my run. I’m fresh! That lasts about a mile. Then I am sitting in the dirt crying. I run more, cry more (still not more than during the i81 traffic), and pray to God that I will find the strength to get through this race.

Brush it off. Stop being a baby. Keep moving forward. I’m still having to stop running or stop moving altogether in order to take in calories. My body decides Why not mix it up? and my gut takes another turn. Whatever benefits softer food had for the nausea were now threatening to head in the other direction. Suddenly I’m running off trail every 3-4 miles for what I’m calling “false alarms”, and still not able to eat while running. This loop will never end, I’ll be here for the rest of my life. I finally get cell service on top of the ridge, and I decide to call my husband. I don’t know what I’m going to say, but maybe talking will help? He doesn’t answer. I leave a rambling message “This loop is so bad. I’m nauseas. I can’t sleep. I’m exhausted. I can barely run.” I continue to complain into the voicemail “I’m not going to make any decisions right now, but I’m starting to think I’m just not cut out for this. It’s just not for me. I want to get back to my car and regroup and I’ll call you back“. Onward.

The last 5 miles of loop 3 destroy me. I know from the first two loops that the trail teases you. Each time I think I’m making the final decent, I’m brought back up to the top of the spur. I know this, yet my exhausted brain keeps believing the trail will change for me. This time – this time I’ll be at the bottom. Then right back up I go. I scream my BEST profanities at the sky. Then think, I’m not done. I scream again, this time louder and with more umph. This continues for a short while. Just a woman screaming at the sky, progressively louder and umphier, until she feels satisfied that the universe has gotten the message.

At long last, loop 3 is over. I glance at Guy and mumble “whoof” to myself, Guy, the universe, the trees, etc. Just, whoof. I’m barely conscious of the fact that tears are streaming down my face and I head straight for my car. In my mind I think I’ve quit. This is where my race ends. Meanwhile, I’m packing my vest for loop 4. Guy stops by to see how I’m doing, and asks What hurts?”. I point to my head and say “Nothing, it’s my thoughts. I’m not handling the sleep deprivation well and I can’t seem to sleep. I might not go back out, I haven’t decided yet.” Guy is in good spirits and doesn’t seem to want to humor this idea – “Loop 4 is the victory lap! He assures me. Then goes on to explain that he has to head out and check on a runner and the drop bags. “If you’re not here when I return, I’ll just assume you went back out.”

I call my husband and let him know I’m probably quitting. Nothing official until after I sleep, but that’s where I’m at. He is having none of it. He had texted my coach when he heard my voicemail and he asks if I saw her message to me. I did, but I didn’t understand it yet.

“You’re killing this. Taking it down. Made it through the night. Hell yeah! Can you turn off your mind. Go to animal mode. Basic survival mode. Set one single goal and turn off the modern human and let the body take you.“

– Sayard

#SayardTanisCoaching

We agree I will sleep and text him later. This time I set my alarm for 45 minutes and make a “bed” on the ground next to my car with my Nemo Switchback sleeping pad. I prop my feet up on my camp chair and cover my entire upper body, face included, with a blanket from my car.

I fall asleep immediately. 

20 minutes later, I awake to sounds of doors opening/closing and see that the owner of the car next to me is getting into his hatchback. When I roll over, I see his crocs on the ground next to my face, under his car, and I’m in his way! I shoot up and apologize “Let me get out of your way!”, but he ran the 1 loop race today and he knows what I’m doing. He tells me to go back to sleep, he doesn’t even need those shoes. I try to fall back asleep but am fully awake now and we start to talk. His name is Anthony and he’s completed this 4-loop course before. As we talk, I realize I’m totally ready to do another loop. It’s entirely ridiculous to me now that I wouldn’t continue. My mind is completely changed after just 20 minutes of sleep. I share with Anthony how rough loop 3 was, and he confirms that EVERYone hates loop 3 – loop 3 is the worst! My mind is already made up, but this confirmation gives me a little boost for sure! I can do another loop as long as I can believe it won’t be worse than the last one. 

Loop 4 (Miles 85 – 112) –

I crawl under, over, and around the massive fallen tree just as I have at the start/finish of each previous loop. Each loop follows a “lollipop” route, and this tree is on the lollipop stick, meaning you pass through/around it twice each loop. I think to myself how hilarious it would be to have a video sequence of each time I tackled this obstacle. Starting loop 1, I walked all the way around the tree. Finishing loop 1, I nimbly climbed through, under and over the fallen trunk & branches. By the end of loop 2 I found myself crawling through the tree in the dark, getting lost briefly and not seeing the trail to the parking lot right away. Loop 3 was a hobble, a stumble, and also involved some hand/knee crawling. Starting loop 4 is not looking much better as I’m heavily leaning on trekking poles just to stay upright while stepping over/ducking under the fallen tree branches.

As I begin the final 7-mile climb, I contemplate on the text from Coach Sayard. “Turn off the modern human. Go to animal mode”. A song comes to mind, and I decide to give it a go. Maybe this song can get my mind back on track. I slept, I am in it now, and I am going to finish. Now I just need to determine how well I’m going to finish. The song I choose flips on the axons and dendrites in my brain that seem to have been offline since the start of this race. I play the song on repeat for a really…..really…. long…. time. When I feel myself starting to choke back tears, I roar instead. When I need silence, I turn the song off to listen to the wind in the trees, and my feet crunching under me. With each step, my confidence and energy grow knowing it is the last time. The last 7-mile climb, the last time crossing the creek before saying hello to Steve, the last time passing contemplation rock, and so on. I set a crazy goal to catch sunrise at my rock, and then I do it. Meanwhile I’m listening to my song, roaring as needed, or listening to the wind. I’m running on a ridgeline in the dark when I hear coyotes howling from a distant valley or mountain. I howl back, but they don’t seem interested. The final 5 miles do not take me off my guard this time, and I roll with the punches until I am crossing the bridge at the creek – only half a mile from the finish. With the excitement of finishing taking over my mind, I trip hard and skid across the trail, cutting open my knee and elbow. In the darkness I see the blood starting to push through fresh layers of dirt and think yea, that’s fitting. Onward. Running the final distance with everything left in the tank.

I finish the Hot T.W.O.T, 4 loop course, 112 miles, ~30k ft elevation gain, in 38 hours and 20 minutes. Guy greeted me and gave me my winnings: a sticker, a fun doodad, and delicious apple butter. I am one of two finishers this year, and I hope to be back another time to take a shot at the 4 loop option again, or maybe the 8 loop – we’ll see!

I feel so much gratitude for my coach, my husband, Guy, Steve, and the entire TWOT crew that keeps this event alive year after year. I’d also like to mention that there is a surprisingly low number of female finishers for the 4 loop event. I believe there has been (please correct me) less than 10 women finishers over the 30+ years that the event has been running. I know we can change that. Where my ladies at?

And yes, that stale beer I opened 2 days ago was still pretty great…

Epilogue

I truly believe that all experiences are learning experiences if you allow them be. You can learn from the good and the bad, and often even choose what to take away as your lesson. I’ve been told not to call my unsupported FKT attempts “failures”, though admittedly that has been tough to wrap my mind around. I can, however, say that I truly learned from each attempt, failure or not. I learned about my strengths along the way, recognized growth, and then I learned where some of the cracks are. Now I’m learning how to fill those cracks and find my way across. I have more ahead of me, but I’m on my way.

Days after the event, we received word that Tony had passed away a couple days after I had the pleasure to meet him. I didn’t get a chance to know him well, but the few interactions we did share felt genuine and positive. My heart goes out to everyone who knew him and the lives he’s touched. <3