ROSARYVILLE Maryland, March 23 2014
EX2 Adventures puts on a good race, and today was no exception. The aid stations were well-run, the course was well-marked, and the post-race food was satisfying.
I had registered for this race in anticipation of running it with The Boss and two. Unfortunately they all wound up dropping out for various reasons – injured, work conflict, untrained – and I had to run alone.
But not completely alone, of course. This was a trail race, after all, so even a curmudgeonly loner like me was bound to get drawn into a conversation or two. I met H., a nice man who told me his friend had flown him to the race in his personal plane and they were continuing on to New York after the finish. I met a young lady who was running the companion 10k race who told me she had run a 50k the week before – I could not resist trumping her story.
I knew I would be exhausted from the previous day’s run, but I was even slower than I expected. I walked almost all of the ups, even the mild ones. I didn’t mind too much, though; I was enjoying being out on the trails. The only thing that (mildly) annoyed me was the volunteers at the last aid station insisting on trying to tell me how well I was doing despite my demurrals. I actually felt like I was doing pretty well given that I’d run 50k for time the day before, but they didn’t know that, so it just felt patronizing.
I admit that I have a phobia about being too farand, a fortiori, . Part of this is a desire to avoid being the reason for volunteers and race crew to have to stick around waiting for the last finisher to straggle in, but to be honest the larger moiety is probably an inadmirable distaste for being perceived as slow.
It’s a little odd – I think I have even more respect for the slowest finishers of most races than I do even for the leaders. They are out there trying something that tests their ability to the limit; it doesn’t matter that their limits may be more modest than those of others. I’m not sure, then, why I care what other people think of my own performance.
I did manage to come in ahead of some 20 people, finishing 95th out of 115 people (plus one . I felt pretty good about this, considering. ) in 2:38:47
In any case, I was too spent from the previous day’s effort to enjoy the race as much as I’m sure I otherwise would have. I feel like I wasn’t able to form many lasting memories of the day. I’d like to do this race again when I’m fresh, and with an uninjured Boss.
Miles this race: 13.1
Miles raced this year: 92.7
HAVRE DE GRACE Maryland, March 22 2014
The HAT Run or, as it’s known in our house, the 모자 is a very popular 50k race. Entry is capped at 500 and fills up within a few hours. The race is popular for good reason.
The course is beautiful, mostly single track trail but with some road and open, grassy field sections thrown in. There is a fair amount of elevation gain (the website claims almost 10,000 feet, but my watch recorded a paltry half mile or so).
I had been concerned that the trails would be a sloppy mess. There had been several inches of snow just five days earlier, on top of many similar accumulations throughout the winter. Amazingly, though, a few days of bright sun and warm temperatures had dried the trail out beautifully – there was only a very few small muddy patches, and the stream crossings were not more than ankle deep.
As I was receiving my packet from a kind volunteer I saw someone reaching across me to grab some bib-pinning safety pins. This turned out to be the famed zhurnalist Mark Zimmermann, whose site is one of my favorite places to read race reports (and more!). I would see Mark again at the finish, just as I was leaving. I called out “Looking good, Mark!”, and he expressed appreciation for the sentiment although I’m sure he had no clue who I was.
The HAT Run course consists of one small loop of about 3.6 miles followed by two identical longer loops measuring some 13.7 miles each. At the end of the first loop I noticed that we were running directly under the finishing arch. “That’s a little too much of a tease,” I complained to the woman beside me, earning a grin and a nod. In the end we would go under that arch three times, with only the last time counting.
There was an aid station set up in the start/finish area, since we’d be through there three times, but I skipped this the first time through. It was only some four miles to the next AS, and since the weather started out cool I had plenty of water left in my bottle.
There were three aid stations on the big loop, the last one being a couple of simple, unmanned jugs of water. The first two were actually only some 50 feet apart as the crow flies, although separated on the course by some 4.1 miles. The GPS track from my watch shows the pinch in the course in the northernmost area. Both of these aid stations were serving up what instantly became by far my favorite ultra food ever: freshly cooked french fries. They were hot, crisp, salty, and invigorating. I just completely fell in love with those fries.
I got to talking for a while with G. when I noticed that he and I were wearing the same model shoe – the Altra Olympus. G. will be running his second MMT this year, and I tried to pick his brain a little in support of my own first attempt on it. He warned me that there were very few runnable sections, but then he went on to say that he probably ran about 50% of the course. He also told me that he was planning to run 45 miles around his native Philly the day after the 31 miles of the HAT. Up until that point I’d been pleased with myself for planning a half marathon as a HAT follow-up; now I started to doubt whether I had anywhere near the training needed to achieve an MMT finish.
G. got up ahead of me for a while, and with about four miles left to go I found myself running alone for some time. I eventually caught up to S., a guy with a French-sounding accent who I later learned had finished shortly behind me at last year’s BRR. We ran together for a couple miles, eventually falling in at the end of a conga line of some 5 or 6 runners muddling their way up a hill. We stayed with that line for a little while, hiking a few ups and running a few flats, but it was moving just a little slow for my taste. I finally took an opportunity to zip around to the left as we went up yet another hill, noting with some surprise that G. was one of the conga line constituents.
I picked off a few more runners as the trail opened up into a sunny, grassy field. Then came a screaming, paved downhill where I really opened up the pace, moving up another place or two.
Then a little more single track before the course opened up and headed out through fields and road to the finish. Third time though the arch was the charm, and I finished in 6:38:45. I was pretty close to finishing in the top half of the results; I was in the top half if you include DNFs.
As long as they keep serving those french fries this will be a hard race for me to skip.
Miles this race: 31
Miles raced this year: 79.6
CHESTERFIELD Virginia, March 15 2014
“I’m like a bad penny,” I said to Columbia as I came up behind, “I keep turning up.”
I’d met him in the first quarter mile of the race, before the field got separated out. I was asking someone else if they knew what the trails were like. That person didn’t know, but I heard someone call out that he thought they were mainly fire roads. I made my way over to chat with that latter guy a little more. We discussed the race course for a little while, then he asked where I was from. “Manassas,” I said, “you?” “Columbia Maryland.”
We ran and chatted for the next couple miles. The brutal winter had destroyed my already questionable fitness, and I knew I needed to keep a slow pace if I wanted to have any hope of a strong finish. The race’s elevation chart tended to confirm this analysis.
The trails actually turned out to be a mix of fire roads, double track and a couple miles of gorgeous, flowy single track, which put me in mind of the good old BROT and was by far the most joyful section to run.
We started out running in the 8:30 to 9:00 range. I knew I needed to back off of this pace, but the weather was perfect, and the course was beautiful. I could never have imagined it during my sedentary years, the idea of running being too pleasurable to stop or even moderate my pace, but the legs will have their way and so I spent a few miles telling Columbia to go on ahead, as I was going to slow down a bit, but never actually following through.
Eventually we got to the first truly hilly area, and I was finally able to persuade my legs that I needed them to walk the ups. Columbia got up ahead here, but the walking break had the desired revitalizing effect, and I caught him again before too long.
This pattern repeated itself several times over the next six or seven miles. I’d get dropped on the ups, and then catch up where the course was flat or down. He’d always greet me with a hearty “Manassas!” He was usually running with a group when I caught him and there’d be introductions all around. I met D., who was running this race as part of a double this weekend – he would go on to run sub-four at the Shamrock Virginia Beach Marathon the next day. I met a young lady from Northern Virginia, apparently running her first 26.2, who was introduced to me as “Prancer”.
After mile 9 or 10 Columbia put enough of a gap on me that I couldn’t catch him before the next uphill. At around mile 11.5 I saw him at the race’s sole out-and-back section, he some 50 yards past the turnaround, and I the same distance short of it. Then he was gone.
I chatted with several other interesting runners, though. Most of them were ultra runners. One young woman had recently run all three days of the West Virginia Trilogy – a 50k on Friday, 50 miles on Saturday, and a half marathon on Sunday. She said the trails were breathtaking. Several people I spoke with had run the Bull Run Run, or were planning to. I pimped it every chance I got.
I continued walking the ups and running the downs. Through the first 15 miles I was keeping just over a 10 minutes per mile average, which would put me under my ambitious goal time. I was at 18 miles in the neighborhood of 3:04, and was cautiously optimistic about a sub-4:30 finish.
In every previous marathon I’ve run, I’ve found myself crashing in the last 6 miles and getting passed by huge waves of runners. Today was the opposite. Buoyed by my run-walk strategy, I was passed by no one after about mile 12. In fact I was methodically picking off exhausted runners ahead of me. I must have passed around ten or twelve people in the last ten miles, in a race with fewer than 100 finishers.
Eventually I saw a familiar figure just rounding a curve up ahead. I upped my cadence a little and eventually caught up to Columbia for the last time around mile 20 or 21. He had had to take a pit stop at the last aid station, and was complaining of fatigue and cramps. I was slowing too, but I tried to convince him we could still bring it in under four and a half. He wasn’t buying in to this plan though. We ran and chatted a little, and then I got up ahead.
I got to the last aid station and declared “This must be the finish line!” This got a chuckle from the volunteers. “No, but you’re getting close. A mile to go, or maybe 1.2.” “It’s 1.13 according to this,” I replied, pointing to a helpful sign nearby. “I’ll take every hundredth I can get.”
I generally hate walking in the last mile of a race, no matter the distance, and I tried to adhere to this philosophy today. They’d thrown some of the nastiest hills in the last few tenths here, however, and I wound up giving in and trudging up them. Soon enough I found myself crossing the bridge back to the finish area and spied the finish line up ahead. With a few hundred feet to go there was one runner between me and the arch, and I set out to take him. He looked a little beat, and I passed him pretty quickly, but as I started my finishing kick across the field my calves started seizing up with cramps. I managed to grit my teeth and hold off the cramps for the 100 or so yards to the finish, and the pass was not reversed.
I missed my ambitious goal, but did better than I expected to. My time was 4:37:10, 38th out of 94 finishers, and the first time I’ve finished in the top half of a marathon field.
I hung around to watch the later finishers. Columbia came across the line some ten minutes after me. “My name’s
McArdleRay,” I said, offering him my hand, “What’s yours?” “ DavisSteve,” he replied, shaking it.
There were several noteworthy things about this race. Among them:
- Before the marathon started, the race director announced that we had a Guinness world record holder in the field. Laurence Macon holds the record for most marathons run in one year with 157(!). Laurence finished DFL today, but he’s got nothing at all to prove.
- The signage was amazing. At every turn – and at occasional places with no turns – there was a laminated sign on a tree or stuck in the ground with the current distance to the hundredth of a mile for both the full and (where applicable) the half marathon.
- They had an unusual chip timing system. You crossed the finish line, then walked down to the end of the chute, where a volunteer waved a sensor on a paddle over your bib. This added some 20 seconds to my net time, but, meh, it’s not a PR type of race anyway.
This race is beautiful, well organized, and very well supported for its size. The marathon field is small, but there were around 2 or 3 times as many in the half. I hope to come back in the future.
Miles this race: 26.2
Miles raced this year: 48.6
I ran the Marine Corps Marathon in 2011. I don’t want to run it again; it’s far too crowded. Maybe if I get fast enough (or slow enough) that I’m not packed like a sardine in the middle of the bell curve I’ll consider it.
The Boss, though, is determined to run it until she beats her goal time. She missed it by just a few minutes this year. Right after the race she said she was done with this course, but that only lasted a few hours. She’s planning to run again in 2014.
I spent a fair amount of time out on the course in various places trying (and mostly failing) to catch a glimpse of her. I had some good experiences anyway:
- Watching the front of the race come through was sublimely awesome. The wheelchair and handcycle division came through first, of course. The leaders were freakin’ flying. I didn’t care so much about them. Soon after, though, mixed in with the first elite runners, came the real stories – the men and woman who’d lost multiple limbs and were using this race to prove to themselves that they could still do epic things. Or maybe that they would now do epic things for the first time. Screw you, fate, screw you, war. I was standing at the bottom of the first hill, just after they made the turn off of Lynn Street onto Lee Highway. Some of them were already struggling. One seemed to be having mechanical issues, a problem with his chain. One guy was missing both his right arm and right leg; he was on a strange four-wheeled contrivance, but he seemed to be managing OK. Several people seemed to hit an impasse, unable to continue, almost falling back, but were caught and aided by others. Somehow they all managed to recover and continue inching up the hill and out of sight. Only 24 miles to go.
- Soon after this the main mass of runners started coming through. I saw near about every type of runner imaginable. I saw old men who must have been in their eighties, eyes a’twinkling. I saw people running barefoot. I saw a woman holding a bloody rag to what appeared to be a fresh wound on her head, but still moving determinedly. I saw people so overweight that I knew they’d be flirting with the time cutoffs all day, but they were giving it all they had.
- Then there were the families following in the Team Hoyt tradition, God bless them. I couldn’t keep my eyes dry, I admit. They aren’t completely dry as I write this, I admit. Those kids, those parents. What a truly awesome thing.
- I saw Tim Stanley around mile 9. He is one of the Bull Run Run streakers, having finished all 21 versions of that event so far, along with Tom Green* and Frank Probst. Tim was wearing the same purple shirt he has worn at every BRR. He doesn’t know me from Adam, but I called out to him “Tim Stanley, tear it up!” He looked over his shoulder, trying vainly to recognize me. I know what he was probably thinking: “Do I know this guy? I must, why else would he know me? No time to think about it, have to just start calling out a response and hope his name comes to me before I finish it.” He wound up drawling an extended “Heeeee-eey . . . maaan!” It was awesome.
- I saw an older guy wearing a Duke t-shirt and I yelled “Go Heels!” He started to react like “Thanks, man!” then realized what I’d said, and what he was wearing, and he laughed. He was a good sport.
- I saw several people from The Boss’s training group. Rachel T. was running with her husband Robert. I know Rachel is kind of fast, maybe about a 4:15 to 4:30 marathoner, but they were on more like 5:30 pace. I called out to her and gave her the “what gives?” gesture, shrugging with hands slightly raised and out to the side. She responded with a grin and a mock-exasperated gesture at Robert who was happily, obliviously trotting along in front of her.
- I was waiting around at mile 25 in a last ditch effort to finally succeed at seeing The Boss. This is the death march zone. When I got there the 4:00 to 4:15 runners were passing through, and there were already a lot of people walking. Later runners were looking pretty haggard. I started calling out encouragement to them, but I felt a little awkward and self-conscious. I saw one girl who was really looking beat down and I hollered “Looking good!” Then after she passed I turned to this Asian dude standing near me and said “but not really, though.” Kind of a jerk thing to say but he laughed and we got to talking. He was waiting for his girlfriend to finish. He had finished in like 3:09; his girl was a sub-5 runner but she had stayed out late the night before, or something, and he was expecting her in maybe as late as 5:00 or 5:15. We got to talking about his prior running exploits and he allowed as he had run across Tennessee this past summer. “Oh, was that the Vol State?” I asked, shocking him a little. The Last Annual Vol State 100π mile road race is small enough that I had been able to stalk everybody in it while it was going on. Turns out I already knew the name of this guy I’d randomly struck up a conversation with – Sung Ho Choi. The world is always smaller than you imagine.
- I saw Gene P. and coach Bruce W. from The Boss’s training group in this same mile 25 area. I forgot Gene’s name for a second after he recognized me and I was reduced to pathetically calling out “Hey, uh, Glenn! Uh, Gerry! Uh, uh….”
- I finally got to see The Boss when she came by the mile 25 marker. I ran along the sidelines with her most of the rest of the way, but I got stymied by crowding near the finish line and didn’t get to see her go under the arch.
*Tom is a minor legend – he was the first person to complete the “Grand Slam of Ultrarunning” back in ’86. I nipped him at BRR and came in well ahead of him at the Rosaryville 50K this year. Surely he was taking it easy and he’s got 16 years on me, but still: come at me, legend!
BOALSBURG Pennsylvania, October 20 2013
- Fallback goal: Finish
- Ambitious goal: Don’t be the last finisher
- Dream goal: Finish in under 11 hours
“Nuh-uh, they don’t have races that long!” says co-worker K. when I explain why I’m gimping down the hall. “Oh, I assure you,” I reply, “they do.”
I was undertrained going into the Tussey mOUnTaiNBACK 50 miler, as I always am for marathons and ultras. I was a little concerned about the 12 hour time limit, but I had done some research into comparative finishing times at this race versus the BRR 50, and it looked like people who’d run both tended to finish a little faster at Tussey. I’d finished BRR in 11:07, so I figured I should be able to sneak in under the time limit even given my questionable fitness.
The weather is perfect on race day. The day before the weather report had been showing rain all morning for Sunday, but when the sun rose there was nary a drop to be seen, and this condition held throughout the day. The temperature was in the low 40s, maybe even dipping down into the 30s, but it was slated to rise up to maybe 55 or so. I thought I might wear two shirts while running, but just before the gun I ditched the long sleeves and went with just a very thin tech t-shirt. This turned out to be the right decision; I was comfortable most of the day.
Tussey Mountain is a little unusual in that it is both a relay race and an ultra. All of the relay teams and many of the ultra runners had support vehicles, which shared the course with us, each vehicle leapfrogging ahead of its runner to meet them at the next aid station/transition zone. This got annoying very quickly, but mostly was not a big hindrance. The support crews also felt the need to shout encouragement at all the runners, which was nice, but having to acknowledge each “whoo, go ultra!” with a wave or a fist pump or a salute got old in short order. This would go on throughout the race.
As we line up to start I spot a sixty-something-looking Asian lady and I think “as long as you don’t pass me I am good”. Then I see a kind of hippie-looking dude, probably late fifties, pony tail, skinny legs. “I’m beating you for sure.” The Asian lady would pass me at around mile 25, loping along at a steady pace as I suffered through an extended walking spell. It would be ten miles more before the hippie dude was to pass me.
After a brief downhill start, the next three miles were all uphill. At each mile marker I stopped and walked for one minute – this was my new strategy for preserving my legs, which always fail me in the latter half of long races. I felt a little goofy when I was the only one walking 10 minutes into the race, but I found that I didn’t lose any net position to any other runners. When I started back running I would leapfrog all of those who had passed me during the walk breaks. The first mile passed very quickly, and the next two only slightly less so. I had barely broken a sweat when we crested the hill and arrived at AS 1.
An easy four mile downhill. Time to get some cushion in the bank. I do easy mid-eights all the way down. I chat for a while with a couple young men who I think were doing their first ultra, or at least their first 50M. They tell me it looks like I’ve done this before, and ask me about my run/walk strategy. “One minute walk at every mile marker,” I tell them, “but I’ll probably skip it on this downhill.” I run past them and don’t look back. I am on pace to finish in eight hours, but I have no illusions that this will last. The fastest time I will let myself dream about is 10 hours, but I don’t really give this number any credence either.
There is a short out-and-back section to get to AS2. On the way in I get a hand slap from some random guy. On the way back out I spot the two young men I’d chatted with earlier. The rest of this section is not very memorable, just flat and easy. I saw a small snake, long dead and its body driven down level with the surface of the road by passing cars. This made me sad; it seemed so improper, undignified. I wanted to grab the body up and at least fling it off to the side of the road where it could rest a little more peacefully. I wound up just running on.
This was the leg where I’d planned to start doing some extended walking, and I adhered to this plan. I think it was on this leg that I met J., a very nice young woman from Ottawa whom I’d wind up leapfrogging most of the rest of the way. We chatted for a while. I asked her her time goal and she told me she was hoping to use this race as a qualifier for Western States. “So, eleven hours, then?” I asked her, and she nodded, looking a bit startled that I was nerdy enough to know this off the top of my head. I mentioned that at least the cool weather must be comfortable for her, given her origins, but she said it had been a warm year so far, so she was not really acclimated to the cold.
The first wave of relay runners had started an hour behind us, and I had predicted I’d see the first one passing me around mile 15. This turns out to be very close; a guy with the white bib indicating relay teams barrels past me at about mile 15.3.
I don’t remember much at all about this leg. The splits from my watch show that I was keeping a fairly decent pace, even though I was probably continuing my “run one mile, walk one minute” strategy. I think it was somewhere in here, or maybe the previous leg, where the two young men from the early legs pass me. I offer them an encouraging word as they go by. I felt OK pulling into AS 5.
Going into this leg I expected to walk the whole thing, and this is pretty much what I did, aside from a little running near the beginning, and a brief pride-jog into AS 6 at the end. I dropped J. near the beginning of this climb, but she’d catch me before too long. For most of the three miles of this hill I chatted with A., a nice guy who had done some three or four 50 milers, but was here for the first time. He claimed time goals that were similar to mine, but he’d wind up beating me by a little over an hour. When the grade of the hill started to level off he was ready to run before I was, and we wished each other well as he trotted up ahead. “That sucked!” I advise the volunteers when I finally reach the aid station, and we exchange grins.
Most of the scenery so far has been undifferentiated – gravel road with trees lining both sides. Pleasant, but far from spectacular. This changes here in this leg. About midway through the trees open up onto fantastic vistas on either side. A volunteer whom I recognize from some previous aid stations is standing here near her parked car, admiring the view. “This makes it all worthwhile,” I say to her, and she indicates agreement.
I think it’s somewhere early in this leg where U., the lady I’d picked out as an easy mark at the start line, catches me then drops me like a hot squat. I want to try to hang with her, but I have no response. She trots easily ahead and disappears around the next bend.
But somewhere before the vista and the volunteer my legs start to wake up a little. I have a habit of counting steps when I get tired – usually I will count them in bundles of 100, but I don’t keep strict track of how many bundles I’ve notched. It’s just a way to pass the time while dividing the race up into very short segments. During this stretch, though, my focus narrowed down to sets of only four steps. “ONE two THREE four, ONE two THREE four,” over and over and over again. This had an almost hypnotic effect, and I kept up a steady running rhythm without stopping much to walk. Somewhere in this leg we pass the marathon distance and transition into ultra runners.
I am starting to flag. J. catches up to me again and says I must be sick of seeing her. I smile and say she’ll drop me for good before too long. she expresses polite doubt.
The terrain here is not too challenging, but the cumulative distance is. I see a couple woolly caterpillars blundering across the road, and I toss them back off to the side – I don’t mind taking the time now. We pass the 50K distance before we get to the aid station. I am hurting pretty bad. My goals have been tempered – I vacillate between thinking I’ll be lucky to finish and thinking I may be able to eke out 11:30 and maybe avoid DFL. After partaking of the aid station I ask the volunteers how far to AS 9 and they tell me it’s only 2.9 miles. “That’s it? Pfft, hardly worth doing!” I am trying to keep my game face on.
Death march. I am lit up, I am done. Nobody can run 50 miles. I’ll drop at AS 9. No, I have enough cushion that I can easily make the last cutoff at AS 10, but I’ll time out before I get to the finish. Maybe I’ll sit at AS 10 and rest for a while, maybe 30 or 40 minutes. Maybe I won’t want to get up and continue on.
I stop a few times and lean on my knees. I can’t finish this race, I am done. I pluck a few more woolly caterpillars out of harm’s way. I think not all of them are living.
This race has 12 legs and a time limit of 12 hours. One hour per leg, I had thought when planning my strategy. I figured I could probably build a two hour cushion over the first 4 or 5 legs and then try to hold on over the second half. I never got up to two, but I was hovering around 1.25 to 1.5 for a long time. I was still in that range when I staggered into AS 9, but this had been the shortest segment of the whole race. A volunteer calls out “What can we get you?” and I reply “You got an IV and a gurney?” She laughs, heartily and sincerely, and offers me a nurse instead. I later think I should have replied “That doesn’t sound too comfortable, but if that’s all you’ve got I’ll lie down on her,” but I am not that quick-witted even when I haven’t just run 35 miles.
The hippie dude I’d targeted at the start line passes me by while I am trying to snarf some calories and electrolytes. He looks pretty fresh, at least compared to me. He rolls on.
I ask the volunteer to confirm that the cutoff for AS 10 is 10 hours, but she is not sure.
J. drops me for good somewhere early in this leg. We leapfrog for a little bit, she complaining of IT band issues and I of calf cramps, but I also have dead quads and soon I can’t answer when she pulls ahead. This section is mostly downhill, but it is a long, slow slog on my useless, dead legs. In desperation I take a couple of ibuprofen tablets – I’ve never gotten much benefit from them in the past, but I am willing to try anything to reduce the suffering.
The last mile or two comes out on paved road, and there are homes and lawns and fences. The change of scenery gives a sense of progress, and I start to feel marginally better. I meet up with guy who is also complaining of IT band problems, and I offer to swap him mine for a pair of quads, which garners a laugh.
As I hobble into AS 10 there are cheers from the volunteers and the relay teams waiting for their runners to arrive. I do what is becoming my standard trick: I extend my arms low, palms up, and wave them up and down in the universal “come on, let’s hear it!” gesture. Works every time – they cheer louder, and I pump my fists over my head in response. My mood improves another notch. I also realize that the mile markers now start with a “4”. Yet another notch.
A girl in her early teens is manning the aid station. I try to one-up my gurney joke by asking her if she has a coffin I can use, but this falls kind of flat. She offers me a chair instead. Avoiding my premonition I decline. “Thanks, but I have to keep moving.” This AS has Apple Cinnamon Hammer gel and it tastes like the sweetest nectar imaginable. I suck one down and take another for the road.
I am a little over nine hours into the race – I’ve got an hour cushion left on the “one hour per leg” schedule, and I think I’ll need all of it.
“Oh come on!” Most of the aid stations have the elevation chart for the next leg posted on their table, and this is not what I want to see. A hefty 5.3 miles to AS 11, most of it uphill. “Yeah, but then it’s all downhill from there,” a volunteer reminds me, and I head out with a resigned “okayyyyyy”.
The volunteer checking numbers at the front of the aid station directs me back onto the course and says “see if you can catch up to that next guy and give him some encouragement; he looked pretty rough.” I accede to this plan and trot off after the guy. Having a target in my sights improves my mood yet further, and I catch up to the guy in short order. “How you feeling, brother?” “Mumble wumble PAIN,” is all I hear in response. “Uh, well, hang in there buddy!” Lame, but it’s all I can muster.
I am able to do a little running here and there. I catch up to a relay runner and mention that I think she has the worst leg of the race – she gets the nasty uphill and the next runner gets four miles of down and the glory of crossing the finish line. She doesn’t seem to mind. We chat for a while, then she gets up ahead. I catch another relay runner, though, and I give her the same line about drawing the short straw and winding up with leg 11. She says that she mostly does half marathon distance or below, but she got talked into the 2014 Hyner View trail Challenge 25k. “Watch out for the first hill,” I warn her, “it will change your world.”
Something strange happens right about this time. We’re at mile 41 or 42. The upward trend of this leg is interrupted by a brief downhill. Without much hope or expectation, I try my running legs as the road starts to slope down and I find that somehow they’ve risen from the dead. I feel fresh, like I just stepped out the door. Was it the ibuprofen, the cheering crowd at AS 10, the Apple Cinnamon gel? Was it the ego boost from catching the relay runners? The good conversion? The paved road after so much dirt and gravel? I’ll never be able to say for sure, but I felt fantastic. I lean into the hill. “A wise man told me ‘don’t waste the downs’!” I call over my shoulder to the girl I’d been running with, and I am gone.
I know I will finish. Eleven and a half hours seems very doable. I am running even much of the ups, and power-hiking the rest. I catch up to and pass the relay runner I’d chatted with early in the leg. “You’re digging deep, sir!” she calls after me. “Got my fifth wind!” I run on.
There’s a long climb near the end, and I walk all the way up it, trying to save my energy for the final push. My legs are tiring only slightly; I still feel good. I might even beat 11:15. I run into AS 11 determined to just grab some water and go.
I linger a little, grabbing water and some pretzels. My watch reads 10:15! There’s 4.2 miles to go, almost all downhill. Amazingly, the eleven hour goal is back on the table. It’ll take a gutty effort, but this can be done.
The attempt on 11 hours starts inauspiciously as I head the wrong way out of the aid station. I get some 20 yards away before I hear the volunteers calling me back. Oops. Reoriented and chastened, I head out the right way. I see the second relay runner I’d chatted with and call out “See you at Hyner next year!”
Near the top of the brief uphill that starts the leg I catch sight up ahead of Mr. Natural, the hippie dude I thought had dropped me for good. I steadily close the gap on him and catch him shortly before the mile 47 marker. “This is about to be the slowest 5k I’ve ever run,” I tell him, earning a hearty chuckle. “That’s right, man, but we’re getting there!” “Git ‘er done!” is the dopey thing that comes out of my mouth; I am giddy with having a goal, and from the effort required to meet it. “Gettin’ it done!” replies Mr. Natural to Mr. Clean.
Very soon we hit pavement. Two and a half miles or so to go. I can run this all the way in, I have to run this all the way in. The phrase that keeps running through my head is one I hate: “gut check”. But it keeps me focused somehow. Up ahead there is a cluster of three ultra runners that I might catch before the end. Stay under 10 minute miles and this is in the bag.
Two miles of down to go. Less than twenty minutes. I haven’t caught the cluster yet, but the distance is closing. Don’t stop to walk, you may not be able to start again.
One mile left. You can’t walk in the last mile, no matter what. It’s a done deal, I’ll finish under 11. The cluster is just up ahead. I converge on them and a female runner as we reach the last turn back to the finish. The woman is momentarily confused by two conflicting arrows at this turn, but I tell her that one of them is the one we followed at the start this morning. “Hey, you can do another loop if you want,” says one of the cluster runners to general laughter. The cluster and I are moving faster than the woman at this point, but as we pass I encourage her to push and get in under 11 hours. “I don’t need it,” she says. I’m not sure if she means that she has her WS qualifier already, or if she is just not hung up on arbitrary round number goals. She will go on to finish under 11 anyway.
Just ahead I catch up to the two young runners from early in the race. One of them is obviously hurting, stiff-leggedly hobbling down the course. “Been a while since I’ve seen you guys,” I call out, and they allow as how that’s the case.
There’s a short rise at the end, but we can see the banner over the finish line. The cluster pulls ahead and I let them go – I have my goal in hand. There are people lining the finish area, cheering. In the last 50 yards I break into huge, goofy strides, mugging for the crowd, which roars its approval. Then I sprint across the line, finishing in 10:56:20. I have met every one of my goals – including (by 2 seconds!) my standard goal of finishing in less than double the time of the winner – which means I set them too low. I’ll adjust them next time.
“Can I get a fist bump?” One of the cluster is walking over to me, and I offer him a clumsy bro fist. “Man, where did that come from? We thought you were dead!” I didn’t recognize them, but they must have passed me during my death march miles and seen how bad I was struggling.
I meet J. in the food tent. “How’d you do?!?” we ask each other. She finished in something like 10:46, achieving her WS qualifier. She congratulates me on my time and reminds me that I am now WS qualified as well. I tell her that I don’t want to run it, but she seems to think I should give it a try anyway. I will probably put my name into the lottery – there’s usually less than a 10% chance to get in, so I should be pretty safe.
The post-race food was delicious.
Back in my car, I took my time changing my clothes and shoes as the last few finishers straggled in.
It was a pleasant drive back to Manassas.
GAINESVILLE Virginia, October 13 2013
It was too freakin’ wet.
The temperature was nice, but there was moderate rain fading in and out during the entire race; my clothes were drenched within minutes of starting. People were dodging around puddles in the road for no reason. Your shoes are already soaked, what’s the point?
There was only one difficult hill but the constant rollers ground me down a little bit. I kept pretty close to an 8:00 pace through the first half or so, but fell off pretty hard in the last 10k, finishing with an average pace of about 8:22. I felt better than usual during the last 5k of this race. I was tired and slowing, but I never felt a strong urge to stop and walk, and my suffering index was lower than normal for that point in a half.
I’d been thinking that I’d be happy to stay under two hours, so I was quite pleased with my 1:49:32. Almost five minutes off my PR, but on this course, at my current state of fitness, I felt like this was a very good result.
The volunteers were fantastic. They kept great attitudes while standing in the rain for hours, and were very attentive to all runners.
- I saw Paul P. on each of the three out-and-back sections. He would go on to finish his first half marathon in a very respectable 2:22:xx
- In the second mile I passed Andrew A., who’d worked an aid station with me at this year’s VHTRC Women’s Half. He soon caught up to me and seemed startled when I greeted him by name. I reminded him of our shared service and we chatted a little before he dropped me. I kept him in sight for a while, gaining some on the ups and giving it back on the downs, but he kept his pace when I fell off in the last five miles and came in some five minutes ahead of me.
- In the last mile I kept leapfrogging a woman who would stop to walk briefly, then run past me while I kept a steady pace. She finished ahead of me and gave me an extended high-five at the finish.
- At one aid station the young volunteers had a fantastic technique of running along with the racers to make it easier for us to grab their proffered beverages. This worked amazingly well, but probably wouldn’t be possible in a larger race.
Miles this race – 13.1
Miles raced in 2013 – 244.1
Runkeeper supports the hypothesis that my run reports are related to miles run, as I have not reported since the BRR 50 in April. With two marathons on the schedule, at least one of which I plan to actually run, and that a mere three weeks away, I realized last weekend that it was panic time. My last outing was a ten-mile tourist jog along the Sea of Marmara, great fun but not great training.
So I declared to a few friends that I would cover twenty miles on Sunday, hoping that shame would do the job where common sense had failed.
While I did not expect that distance to be easy, I supposed I could somehow push through it with willpower. Which, in the end, is about all I could do, but the second half was much more a shambling mess than I envisioned, and completely outside the realm of the Oprah Line territory which I am considering a goal for the MCM. If I had added an 6.2 additional miles at my average pace, my marathon time would be 5:38. If, realistically, the last six were done at the same speed as the last six of my 20, my marathon time would be closer to 5:50. Perhaps even that is not realistic, because I was not being lazy during the last two miles and simply could not propel myself faster than a 15-minute pace.
My discipline was not very good, and I hope I can improve on that score. Several times I broke pace for no good reason. During the long boring stretch alongside Four Mile Run, I got passed for the first time. I kept the runner in reach by running on her head’s shadow while I tactically prepared for an overtaking maneuver by laying in some more of the Powerade I grabbed at the Arlington Exxon and squeezing in another gel. But then instead of a civil passing, I took advantage of a corner like it was some kind of Formula One race, then to “put some distance between us” and “destroy her will” I posted my fastest mile (9:11) since the first two. This strategy had the obvious result, as I was gassed after making the turn north by the airport. I resisted the urge to look back but thought it was likely she was pulling me in. When I did look back, I realized that my hypoxic brain had memorized a rather unhelpful feature to recognize a runner: yellow headphones. But eventually the yellow headphones pulled alongside and then on ahead, maintaining a steady pace. I kept her in sight and decided that if she stopped at the potties at Gravelly Point, I would take the chance to regain the lead. But she did not stop, she did not look to the left and she did not look to the right but kept on like she had cruise control. I started walking, at first to look for a water fountain and then because my will was broken.
That first long walk was finally ended by a goose. It was thinking about crossing the path in front of me and gave me an evil look as I approached. I glared back, and he opened his beak to prepare a hiss. I hissed first, and somehow channeled that aggression into resuming a run.
I brought my headphones along, correctly anticipating that running for hours on paved trails would be a bit tedious. This probably made it easier to walk, providing one more distraction from my goal. At some point I was passing time blabbing to myself in broken French, and it occurred to me that the word “courier” means “runner.” That seemed kind of cool and evocative and worth looking up.
A little later I had another breakdown of discipline. I was starting to get thirsty and planned to cross the pedestrian bridge to Roosevelt Island for the water fountains. When I saw the locked gates I was more than a little annoyed; I had not anticipated that the island would be shut down along with the federal government. I would have to detour to Gas & God to get some more fluids. While jogging along and entertaining such thoughts, I saw some dog-walkers on the path ahead. I moved to the left lane to pass them and resumed my beat-down, hunched-over posture. I looked up a bit later and realized that I wasn’t gaining on them. This was so infuriating that I burst into a flat sprint, which continued as I climbed the roundabout ramp bridge over GW Parkway. I was breathing pretty rough when I got up to Lynn Street, and the “Pacers Oasis” set up there was about a welcome a sight as I could imagine. I assumed they were set up for an event, but they called me over and said the water, sports drinks and snacks were there for everyone. I drank about a quart on the spot and topped off for the way home, glad of an excuse to linger through another streetlight change. They didn’t have a tip box out, so I had to express my gratitude on Twitter.
I started with two Clif bars and four gels, one with caffeine. I took that one and two Advil at the oasis, but didn’t sense any obvious effect. By mile 16 or 17 it was obvious that poor conditioning and not discipline was keeping me down. No amount of cursing or promises of self-bribery could get me into a decent pace zone.
As I waited at the last road crossing a guy came up on a bicycle and said “hola amigo.” He was all sweaty and told me it was 90 degrees out, maybe 100. I was ready to believe the 90. (It was actually 70 in the morning and 79 when I got home.) We both complained a bit, then he told me he was from Honduras, where it was “tres veces más caliente.” Maybe I should run a marathon there, so at least I will have a good excuse.
GEORGETOWN Washington DC, September 15 2013
A very flat race on the C&O Canal Towpath. I’d hoped to beat three hours and was under that pace through about 12 miles, but crashed in the last eight and wound up finishing in 3:19:31. A 20 mile PR by default.
I was accompanied at this race by four FotBs (Friends of The Boss):
- A. was running her first 10 miler (a companion race to the 20). She finished a little over her goal time, but gained confidence going into the upcoming Wilson Bridge Half.
- K. and Ca. were using the race as a long training run in preparation for the Marine Corps Marathon. They did not run together but finished within a minute of each other anyway, pretty much right on their goal time.
- Cy. was running her first 20 miler and babying an injured foot. She started out running with K., but K. dropped her when she lingered at an aid station after complaining of dizziness. When A. and I saw K. return with no Cy. and heard what had happened we were a little concerned that we’d later find her floating in the canal. But after about 30 minutes we saw her coming down the trail, finishing at a dead sprint trying to beat out the guy she’d been running with the last few miles.
This was a small race, with only some 300 finishers between the two distances, but the support was very friendly and well-organized. I’d like to do this race again when I am better trained.
Miles this race – 20
Miles raced in 2013 – 231
ROCKVILLE Maryland, September 8 2013
It was still a little warm, but almost getting down to good running temperatures. This was the first time I have run this race when the course was dry – the previous two times (2010, 2012) were after fairly heavy rainfall.
I am getting to the point where I know this course pretty well, which means I am about ready to stop running this race. It’s a little strange that I feel this way about road races*, but the opposite about races on trails.
I have been injured most of the year and training has been very light, so I didn’t expect to perform particularly well. I lived up to this expectation, finishing in 1:52:23 – pretty much right in the middle of my two prior times. I did manage to run the whole distance without walking, which was encouraging after a rough summer’s results.
*Much of the Parks Half is on trails, but they’re smooth, paved trails.
A few recollections:
- Around mile 6 it strikes me that there seems to be a lot less music on the course than last year. Just a little later we round a bend and there is a guy in a tuxedo playing a grand piano for the runners. A tall dude running next to me yells out “Freebird!” and I’m thinking “douche” – but then the guy starts to play it! A few runners let out obligatory whoops and somebody asks for a lighter. I immediately revise my estimate of the tall dude’s douche status. This really lifted my spirits for the second half of the race.
- In the last mile I notice a guy just in front of me is looking rough, shuffling along with his feet barely rising off the ground. Just as I am about to pass him he trips over something and faceplants, landing spreadeagled on the ground with a cringe-inducing “Unghf!” A lame “You OK, bro?” is all I can manage as I nip around to his left. I look back and am relieved to see that he’s back his feet, looking not much worse for wear.
- Just a little later I see Michael Wardian running back down the course, calling encouragement to us mid-pack runners. I holler out “Mike!” and say to the girl beside me “That was Michael Wardian,” but she doesn’t know who he is. I later find out he finished 15th.
- The Boss’s friend C completes her first half-marathon in a quite decent time, supported by Boss-friend K. C complains of cramps and soreness, but looks very happy with her achievement.
- When we arrive at the metro for the ride back to the start I notice an older gentlemen with a race bib gingerly walking backwards down the stairs. He looks like he’s really suffering. I offer my standard commiseration – “That’s how I feel too!” – even though I didn’t really feel quite that bad – and am rewarded with a grin.
- The Boss sets a new PR for the half marathon distance: 2:18:17.