A Journey of 80,000 Steps Begins with a Single Mile

Preparation

Last year’s Bull Run Run 50 Miler was my first, so I was careful not to make the rookie mistake of starting out too fast. Nor did I finish too fast. In 2013 I just beat the twelve-hour mark on my first ultra, and given the weather and my utter lack of training in 2014 (one impromptu 18-mile jog in February snow), my realistic goal this year was to do no worse. My hopeful goal was to attend the 6 p.m. award ceremony, and my conservative goal was again to avoid a DNF. This despite the wisdom I had since encountered on the value of “achieving” a DNF in order to explore one’s limits.

This wisdom, and much more, appears on the ^zhurnaly, the online repository of ^z = Mark Zimmermann, an indefatigable polymath who has enlightened me on such subjects as Bayesian probability, Frog and Toad, and quantum mechanics, and also inspired me with his reflections on far more diverse subjects in the deep Zhurnaly.

I again enjoyed the gracious hospitality of dear friends, staying at Chez Ray Friday night before the event. Last year Ray calmed my nerves with a showing of “The King of Masks” which features no long-distance running. This year we started with a friendly go match in which he spotted me a handicap of at least 13 stones; the board looked something like this:

Despite what I thought the proper strategy of ceding much of the board in order to reinforce and secure a couple of corners, I failed somehow to make life and eventually offered a courtesy resignation before all my stones overflowed Ray’s bowl lid.

After the teaching game we watched a documentary on the Massanutten Mountain Trail 100, for which Ray qualified and has entered this year. The MMT is for those who find a mere double-marathon in the hills inadequate to achieve a DNF. The DVD depicted the 2006 event, in which Sim Jae Duk was the unexpected winner, setting a course record by finishing the race in less time than it took him to fly to the event (from South Korea, two days before the race, according to a New York Times profile).

Ray had invited me to join him at the MMT, but in the same spirit of generosity he showed at the go board, he would give me a 63.5-mile head start. I would meet him as a pacer for the back third of the course, an intimidating and challenging idea as much of this would be done after nightfall.

Overnight I sorted my supplies, collected using my inventory list from the year before.

2014_BRR_supplies

 

I brought:

  • a paperback
  • chia seeds
  • Starbucks poop inducer (ineffective)
  • gels
  • Clif Bars
  • wet wipes
  • medkit with athletic wrap, Body Glide, Vaseline, Chap Stick, and sunblock
  • towel
  • bandana (not used)
  • smartphone armband
  • my uniform: hat, tech shirt, swimming trunks, compression shorts, DryMax socks
  • (not shown) my cleaner pair of sneakers

My belt was loaded with one 22-ounce bottle and sundries like S-Caps, Advil, Band-Aids and a sleeping pill. This last item was not like the others, and I ended up using it late Friday night. I couldn’t sleep for what felt like an hour or two, though I didn’t dare look at my watch for fear of adding deadline pressure to my restless mind. I would have plenty more opportunity to struggle against the clock.

Outbound

My accommodations included a drop-off at the start (thanks, coach!) and we made our way through the dim early light to set out our drop bags and perform final preparations. Ray spotted ^z and we exchanged greetings and good wishes. Ray then went up to the starting area for some breakfast, while I hung back to bug Mark for a celebrity photo.

Before the start, I got one more photo but didn’t see any familiar faces among the 321 starters.

The first mile is a casual loop through the parking area, spreading out the field, with most people adopting a comfortable warmup pace. I joined in somewhere in the middle of the pack. It felt good to be moving, to get into the physical rhythm that the body understands. I was already thinking about pushing just a little harder than my leisurely start last year. It seemed a good idea, as the forecast called for temperatures as high as 70 (21°C), and the weather was perfect and cool at 6:30 a.m.

My biggest mistake in 2013 was lolling about far too long in aid stations, spending perhaps as much as an hour over the day idly stuffing my face with peanut butter and jelly sandwich quarters and chasing them down with Gatorade. This year I again used my watch to time the minutes I spent stopped, with an eye to improving my finish time without spending much extra effort. Runkeeper on my phone recorded my progress, with audible announcements of my time and distance every mile.

Somewhere along the first few miles, I heard a familiar voice behind me. I turned and saw the face of Gary Knipling, who seemed omnipresent at the 2006 MMT. “I saw you on TV last night!” I called back. “You wasted twenty bucks on that thing?” he replied. I introduced myself and we chatted a bit. The dialog was frequently interrupted by greetings from seemingly every other runner, who greeted Gary by name, and he responded in kind.

I made good on my hopes of an express pit stop at the first aid station near Mile 7, pausing for just one minute and 15 seconds to load in some food before moving on. I was concerned about pushing too hard so early, so I planned to determine my position in the crowd. Before long I saw the leaders coming back from the turnaround at Mile 9 and I began counting the runners ahead of me. I also watched out for the few entrants I knew, and managed to recognize and greet Bernard and Robin as they passed going the other direction.

I was quite surprised and confused on arriving at the turn to have counted about 135 people ahead of me. I clearly remembered that my position at this point the previous year was 92. I guessed that I wasn’t going as fast as I thought, but at least I was ahead of Ray, whom I had not seen yet. We crossed ways a little bit after the turn, and his exclamatory “Dude!” with elongated vowel and falling intonation (PDF) indicated that he also thought I was setting an aggressive pace. Eventually it occurred to me that I was 92 positions from the back last year.

mile / pace / elevation (ft)
1 / 10:38 / -42
2 / 10:55 / -101
3 / 10:23 / -17
4 / 11:09 / 59
5 / 12:27 / 46
6 / 11:58 / -51
7 / 12:12 / -62
8 / 12:54 / -9
9 / 10:41 / 29
10 / 10:36 / -2

This first section seemed casual and fun, like before. I noticed that I managed ten miles without serious thoughts of quitting, which seemed an accomplishment. Not being a first-timer made a considerable difference in my confidence. I made another short stop at the Centreville Road aid station heading back, and saw Ray enter as I was leaving. I was following the protocol I established last year of walking out with my hands full, and this time paused by a trash bag to down the last of a sandwich quarter and some liquid so I wouldn’t have to carry the cup. Ray had wasted no time snacking and joined me there.

We proceeded together a while, both revealing the intel that a more insistent pit stop would probably be required before the day was done. He gave an enthusiastic recommendation of the loo we would pass after Mile 16, at the start/finish where our drop bags were waiting, but I was wary of even going a little off course only to have to wait in line. When Ray suddenly fell silent and disappeared, I concluded that it was this duty and not a root that had awarded me the lead again.

He didn’t linger long, though, and pulled on ahead before we got to the drop bag stop. I then saw him there briefly as he slipped on fresh shoes and set out, looking strong. I tried to chug a lot of the water with chia seeds I had prepared in the morning and grabbed some more gels and two Clif Bars. I decided to leave my spare battery pack behind, making it a race between me and my phone to see which had more juice.

By now the warmth was beginning to tell, and I was finding it hard not to think about the magnitude of the physical task ahead. Another two or three hours would make it a marathon, yet it was still far too soon to start counting down miles to the finish. I alternated greeting other runners with a cheery “Good morning” and the hopeful witticism “Got it in the bag.” At some point I asked someone if it was still morning and was assured that it was. I did the math and concluded that it was not yet 10 a.m. We reached the soccer fields and I spotted a proper Porta Potty. Another 90 seconds on the stoppage clock and I was on my way again, lighter and more comfortable.

mile / pace / elevation (ft)
11 / 10:30 / -15
12 / 15:11 / 34
13 / 12:46 / -9
14 / 14:25 / 107
15 / 13:44 / -128
16 / 15:50 / 140
17 / 17:46 / -38
18 / 15:30 / -36
19 / 16:20 / -88
20 / 16:01 / 32

The middle fifth was the one I’d just as soon forget, and mostly did. I was still keeping to my promise of maintaining some kind of running gait over level ground most of the time, but with some cheating now and then. Somehow I managed not to worry about my speed very much, often not even paying attention to my phone’s time and distance announcements. I was usually low on fluid entering aid stations but never felt overheated or sick. I was confident of a finish, and the only motivational struggle was over the goal of beating my previous time.

I remembered the White Loop as a ruinous walk of 20-minute miles, and determined to do better this year. What I didn’t remember was that it is actually pretty hilly. But a chance encounter led to some conversation that helped the miles pass. I caught up to someone with a T-shirt from Le Marathon du Médoc: “le Marathon le plus long du monde.”

“So how long is the Médoc marathon?”

“Oh, it’s a regular marathon, it just seems long.”

“Is it because of the metric system?”

“No, it’s a standard 42 kilometers, but it’s like a big party. Every year there is a theme, and everyone dresses up in costume. When I was there, the theme was space. My buddy and I got some shirts with a steampunk motif, but a lot of people took it farther. There were robots, aliens, stormtroopers. A Chewbacca. I got a photo of a line of ten supermen before the start, all peeing. The aid stations are châteaux and they serve wine and cheese, everything. And I don’t mean a little sip of wine, you can get a whole glass if you want. People who usually finish in three or four hours take six or seven there. It’s great. Toward the end one of the châteaux was serving raw oysters. It was actually really good race food. Feel free to go on ahead if you want. Some of the costumes we couldn’t figure out what they were. We saw these guys running and pushing a giant bowl. They were all dressed up in yellow with red on their heads. We asked them if they were chickens. “Non, non, super shoe!” They didn’t speak any English, and we couldn’t figure it out, they kept saying “Super shoe!” After the race we asked our hosts if they knew what the Super Shoe was about, they didn’t know either. We came back home and tried to look it up. Asked friends and relatives. Nobody had any idea. Finally we found someone who recognized it. Soupe aux choux, it means cabbage soup, it was the name of a movie. It’s about these two old men who spend all day sitting on their porch getting drunk and farting. One day an alien comes and visits them and offers to take them back to his planet in exchange for their cabbage soup. But the men don’t want to go. The alien makes promises and gives them gold and says they can have whatever they want. One of them men asks for his wife back; she died long ago. So the alien brings the wife back to life, but she is still 20 years old and she immediately runs off with a young man to Paris. So the men continue drinking and farting on their porch. But eventually the town changes and becomes more developed and they don’t like it anymore. So they decide to go with the alien to his planet. It’s a well-known movie.”

Then he said something about having to “plant a seed” or “water a tree” and stopped, then later passed me and I lost sight of him ahead.

[Update: Ken Swab’s report from Médoc, including Supermen photo.]

mile / pace / elevation (ft)
21 / 20:14 / 17
22 / 18:05 / 41
23 / 17:32 / 81
24 / 17:21 / -104
25 / 20:57 / -21
26 / 17:04 / 81
27 / 19:04 / -17
28 / 17:28 / 25
29 / 15:31 / 7
30 / 17:48 / -71

How to carry two Clif Bars for 30 miles and despise them the whole time

It was a little farther on to the Do Loop, where I anticipated a popsicle at the aid station that greets runners before and after that circuit of grueling elevation change. Ray was on his way out as I arrived, some three miles behind him. The spark of competition had faded, but I was motivated by the approaching point at which the shortest way to get to the finish would be to go directly to the finish. There was a small line for a frozen treat but I didn’t mind waiting, using the time to drain some of my freshly-filled bottle to make space for more. They also had stacks of pizza boxes, but a hot greasy mess was the last thing I wanted to take with me. I strolled out with my popsicle and took the loop at its word; it was neither less nor more than anticipated.

On the way out I thought I should appreciate the pizza; it is really an amazing job that the volunteers do all day. I had run out of Gatorade by the time I came back so that was a priority, but I grabbed a couple of thin slices of pizza to go and worked on them as I walked out. I had been taking S-Caps every couple of hours but wondered if they would make me drink more. I had also taken an Advil by now and a caffeinated gel, hoping to spark another kick like the one that carried me in in 2013.

The kick was not as dramatic, but it came at a good time. The miles after the Do Loop are long, dull, and fairly flat. Since my fast start, I had been getting passed pretty regularly all day, but now I started pulling people in. Many of them were still running, but I managed to keep up a pace just fast enough to overtake, and each time I passed one there would be another runner in sight ahead to keep me going. I leapfrogged with a lady in an “Alaska” shirt several times, mainly thanks to her longer stays in the aid stations.

I ran low on fluid again, and applied the motorist’s ill logic of going even faster to the next station to get there before running dry. Seeing the “10 Miles to Hemlock” sign gave me almost as much of a boost as it did last year, when it seemed an impossible lifesaver.

By now walking was very little less unpleasant than running, so I continued to try and make time. I had started the race with a thin pair of Injinji toe socks under my trusty Drymax trail socks, but the toes of my right foot seemed cramped and I had removed the Injinji sock on that side. A root caught that foot pretty good, and I cut the corner off a turn demonstrating that most ungainly of human gaits, the pre-faceplant: hunched over, stomping and windmilling, but somehow managed not to fall down.

mile / pace / elevation (ft)
31 / 18:59 / 47
32 / 16:44 / -39
33 / 20:27 / 56
34 / 19:45 / 27
35 / 17:00 / -7
36 / 16:44 / -21
37 / 12:46 / -94
38 / 20:24 / 45
39 / 16:11 / 74
40 / 17:04 / -95

At some point my phone emitted a plaintive buzz and then ceased announcing my mile times. I was likewise pretty well used up but sensed that the job was going to get done. The aid stations were frequent and refreshing, with iced Gatorade tasting as good as something can taste. There were cold wet washcloths, also uncommonly pleasant. I would drape one over my head during the whole of my brief respites from forward progress, trying not to drip onto the doughnuts, chips and cookies spread out.

PBJ and Gatorade was not the only awkward combination made palatable by exertion. Pizza and popsicle went together surprisingly well. At a station toward the end I heard someone say there was coffee, and while waiting for a cup I spotted a tray of stuffed grape leaves, delicious-looking dolma. A volunteer said they were popular and I grabbed a serving, but it didn’t quite hit the spot. Washing it down with tepid black coffee didn’t help. I finished it off, though, and managed to get through the day with no tummy trouble. I hated the thought of those Clif Bars in my pocket though. I was afraid to throw them away for fear of regret, but they are hard enough to get down with a drink and I never had any desire to open them.

mile / pace / elevation (ft)
41 / 18:33 / -28
42 / 21:36 / -3
43 / 13:41 / 7
44 / 22:18 / 3

With no smartphone updates, I thought I might still be able to beat my previous time, but didn’t feel much urgency about it. Then I remembered that my stopwatch was also a watch. I switched it to clock mode, having timed just under 30 minutes spent not in motion since the start. I wasn’t sure how far I had to go, but it looked like I would finish well past 12 hours. I gave it a good push though, and only walked the incontrovertibly upward-sloping hills during the last miles.

The finish was no less sweet for having seen a “12” on the clock. I sprinted in the last stone’s throw for show, then gathered my loot and plugged my phone in to stop the recording and get a shot of ^z coming in. Among those who finished in both 2013 and 2014, he was one of the few who managed to improve his time this year. I was happy to see that I was only about 1% slower, a little better than the average change, and my overall average time was still just under half a day.

Coda

Probably I am not the only person who finds it difficult to give satisfying answers to the questions posed after an event like this. How could anything be worth that much effort and discomfort? After it’s done, it doesn’t seem like any effort at all. It is really just a matter of not doing one very specific thing from the time you start until the time you finish. After last year’s unlikely success, this time I never had serious thoughts of quitting. And another answer: were the things I did on the previous and following Saturdays worth the effort I put into them, now that I have forgotten what they were?

Maybe it is simplest to focus on the little pleasures. It’s one thing to extol the charms of a rag soaked in ice water. How much more appealing is the idea of spending hours in the woods, hardly ever hearing an engine or seeing a house. Being among people who are all in an improbably good mood. Absolutely no distraction from any thoughts of the outside world, just one single task upon which all attention is focused. And now and then you look up and see a stretch of gorgeous single-track smooth dirt path surrounded by wooded scenery.

I was immersed in this effortful reverie about 15 miles in, trying to experience the moments and not dwell on the challenges ahead. I happened to be on my own, just running through the forest. Suddenly there was a grand mechanical roar and an Amtrak train appeared, racing by on unseen tracks atop an embankment. Like something from a film, resplendent with power and momentum. Nothing more natural for that body than to keep moving. The image carried me through the day.

After the final chow of burgers and soda, the beginning of a couple of days in which food and liquid would disappear into some internal void, it was time to go home. I looked up directions on my phone, to avoid getting turned around in the dark, and headed out on the country roads. It was strangely exhilarating to travel with such speed and so little effort. To move while seated, a little miracle.

At a red light, I pulled up beside a car with IRUN100 vanity plates and bumper stickers to confirm that we were both coming from the same place. I tooted the horn.

She didn’t put her window down and gave me but a brief glance. “How was your race?” I said aloud, but mostly to myself as the driver stared straight ahead. This wouldn’t do, but I would have to double down before it got any better. I pulled out my finisher’s premium, a large beach towel, and honked again. She looked over, and I held the navy blue towel up, the full moon doing little to illuminate the dark lettering, and gestured at it. Hey, I’m the jerk in the car again, and I have a towel! Fortunately the message was received, she held her own towel up, we exchanged thumbs-up, and then I stared straight ahead until the light changed.

The drive home was 24.7 miles. I am no Sim Jae Duk; the race took me a good deal longer than the commute.

BRR 50 Report from 2015

BRR 50 Report from 2013

La Soupe aux choux

Hyner View Trail Challenge 50k 2014

HYNER Pennsylvania, April 26 2014

If you are looking for Δz, Hyner is your course. The 25k race has some 4200 feet of climb, and the 50k adds another 3300 or so, for a total of 7500. Almost a mile and a half of total up.

The 50k race subsumes all of the 25k course and adds a separate 25k loop in the middle. I’ve done the 25k version three times before, so I knew what to expect for the first 8 miles and the last 8, but the middle 15 was going to be new ground.

The 50k started at 0700, two hours before the shorter race. The start is a mile over road to the trail head, followed by a mile or so of easy, flat trail. It lulls you. It sets you up.

Around mile 2 you see a sign: “Humble Hill”, and the path turns up. And up. And up. Nearly a mile of hands-on-knees, nose-to-dirt, sweaty, wheezing trudge gets you to a brief respite where you can run a little before round two – another near mile of death march up to AS1 on top of the mountain.

When I ran the 25k they always had somebody ringing a cowbell up there, but I reckon the ringer hadn’t gotten set up yet, or maybe they figured that the 50k runners were more serious and didn’t need the encouragement. I don’t mind saying, I’d’ve liked to hear some cowbell. The aid station volunteers were great, though.

I headed out of AS1 pretty quick, and on down the first descent, almost back to the level we started at. A few more small ups and downs brought us to Johnson Run, with its myriad stream crossings. Don’t bother to try to keep your feet dry, just slosh through and roll on.

Halfway through this section was the split-off for the 50k course. We turned right and went up a mild, muddy hill before turning left onto Sledgehammer. This was a monster. Not quite as steep as Humble Hill, and it was nice, smooth double-track, but it just doesn’t ever end. It was a straight line to infinity. I kept thinking of a passage from that children’s book, The Phantom Tollbooth – “‘Just follow that line forever,’ said the Mathemagician, ‘and when you reach the end, turn left.'”

“Does this hill even have a top?” I asked a woman I had caught up with, exasperated. She grinned and expressed her own doubt of the proposition. I got a little frustrated at this point and set off at a strong hike, passing several tiring racers. It felt like we’d been on this hill for hours, but finally we took a right turn and a little more climbing brought us up to AS2.

There was a little more climbing here, though gentle, then quite a bit of easy downhill running. Around mile 11, some three miles past the aid station, there was a simple cache of water on the ground. Just a few cases of bottled Deer Park or something. Someone said that it was seven miles to the next AS, so I filled my carry bottle and took a deep draught from the cache. A few more miles of down brought us out to Ritchie Run.

This was basically a mirror of Johnson Run. Many, many foot-soaking stream crossings followed by a long upward grind. I was ready to be done with it long before it ended.

We finally came out to the next AS, but they were out of water! They had a few drops of Gatorade, some oyster crackers, and three tiny cups of soup. The soup was nice, but, dudes, when you are 10 miles past the last real aid you really hadn’t ought to run out of water. At least the weather was cool.

After this was some easy trail running and then a few tenths of a mile of road. Back on the trail again and up to the aid station at the top of Sledgehammer. It was only about a mile and a half from the previous, waterless AS, and I was a little concerned that maybe I’d missed a turn somewhere. All the runners I was with seemed to think we’d stayed on course, though, so I eventually accepted that I hadn’t missed anything and set off to get my revenge on Sledgehammer.

Now this was more like it. It was great to pound this downhill, though it still felt like it took all day to traverse. I was psyched to join back up with the 25k course, and I was passing suckers all the way down that hill. Near the bottom I said to a woman near me “Man, how did I ever get up this hill?” “I know, right?” she replied, smiling.

Back through the muddy section and then I could see some of the slower 25k runners down below on the course. I dropped back onto the Johnson Run section of trail and started picking my way forwards through the hikers.

I enjoyed giving out advice to the 25k runners as I passed them. Many of them wanted to know whether we were already on the second big hill shown on the elevation chart, and I felt very elder-statesmanlike handing out reassurances that this was the case. A lot of people were stopping to rest on the last push out of Johnson Run, but I kept up a pretty good power hike. I admit to getting a little vicious glee from telling people what was waiting for them on the following climb. Then out to a short runnable section before another aid station at the top.

Then there is a long, rocky downhill where I must have gone around like 30 people. Very few of the 25k racers were running here, so I was constantly calling out to pass. I made sure to express gratitude to those yielding the trail for me.

This section eventually bottomed out and it was time for the SOB. This is a killer at mile 11 of the 25k; I learned that it is much worse at mile 27. There is a long steep approach, riddled with switchbacks, that just grinds you down. I was still passing many people here, but I was really dreading the short, sharp shock of the SOB proper. It’s steeper than it looks. I had to stop to rest halfway up.

One more aid station at the top of this monster, then out for the final push. I saw a few 50k runners here – passing some, getting passed by some – but mostly I was reeling in the 25k people. I passed one perky-looking couple and couldn’t resist tweaking their spirits a little: “Only eight miles to go!” I called out. “Nooooooooooo!” said the woman, and I immediately relented, “No, no, it’s only three and change.” I think she forgave me.

A little more dorking around on some fire roads and a little single track, and then I hit the final grinding, quad-shredding downhill of Huff Run. This punishing section always seems to go on forever, but at least it’s mostly runnable. I continued passing a few people here and there.

At the bottom of Huff Run is a bridge, and from there I know it’s less than half a mile out to the road and then a mile back home. At the intersection with the main road back to the finish there are some cars coming from my right, but I think I can get across in front of them. I power out into the road, and some lady yells “Watch it!” “I got them, they see me,” I reply, and make it safely across. Probably a little risky, but I didn’t want to give back even a few seconds waiting to cross.

If I hustle I can make it in under eight hours. The slowest 50k I’ve ever run, but also by far the hilliest. I manage a weak jog down the road and up the final hill, and finish in 7:58:xx. I accept my finisher’s medal and collapse on the ground in the finish area.

Eventually I get up and partake of the excellent food and beverages this race always provides. As I’m gathering my strength to head home, Steve C., whom I met at the VHTRC’s Magnus Gluteus Maximus 50k in December, comes and sits beside me. We had talked about this race at the MGM, and I’d been wondering if I’d see him here. He’d finished in some 7:20 and was waiting for his buddy who’d come up with him. We talked a little about MMT, where he will be volunteering this year.

I also saw Gary P., whom I’d met earlier this year at the 모자, but I didn’t talk to him. He is also registered for MMT.

This race was a great experience, but it felt a little unsatisfying traveling there and back alone. I don’t think I’ll return unless I can convince The Boss and/or some friends to go with me, although if I lived closer I’d never miss this event.

Miles this race: 31
Miles raced this year: 185.8

Bull Run Run 2014

CLIFTON Virginia, April 12 2014.

Pre-race
I attend the pre-race briefing on Friday evening, but skip the pasta dinner this time. At the briefing I meet a dude named Pete who will be going for his 10th BRR finish. As per developing tradition, Steve stays over at our place and The Boss drives both of us to the race. I am running for the South; I tell Steve that if I break 10 hours I will holler out a rebel yell when I cross the finish line.

I chat briefly with Caroline W., who is injured but planning to run anyway. Steve and I try to start a conversation with ^z, but he peels off to talk to someone he knows. I enjoy the anticipation before the start, but I am not nervous or overly excited. This is not my first time around the barn, after all.

Start to Centreville Road
I lose sight of Steve before the start and I assume he’s behind me. I feel comfortable the first few miles. I see Pete from the briefing early on; he’s moving faster than I am.

It’s cool, but very humid. I can’t keep my glasses from fogging up. I wind up stashing them in the pocket of my shorts. Somewhere after the second set of stream-spanning pylons I catch up with Gary K. and we chat for a minute or two. I tell him I picked him in my office pool to win the 70+ division, and he chuckles heartily. “What’s the Vegas line on me?” he asks. “They’ve got you at 3:2, Frank P. at 2:1 and Bill W. at 20:1,” I tell him. I’d’ve put Frank higher but it was projected to be hot. Frank fares poorly in heat.

I tell Gary that I am in the MMT 100 miler coming up in a few weeks. I hope that I’ll be able to draw from his experience some during that race.

I am very pleased to see my friend Paul P. hanging out at the aid station. He hands me a Gatorade and agrees to hold my water bottle until I get back from the upcoming out-and-back section.

Centreville Road (back) to Centreville Road
Two miles out and two miles back. Last year I saw the leaders coming back just before I reached the first aid station; this year it’s just after. Maybe I’m faster, maybe they’re slower, maybe both. It’s starting to warm up. I am approached by a steady stream of runners, most of whom apparently feel compelled to offer an encouraging word. I appreciate the sentiment, but I wish people would put a little more effort into originality. I very quickly tire of hearing a pro forma “Good job” every time I encounter another runner. I occasionally offer encouragement of my own, but I try to change it up a little – “Looking good”, “Tear it up, man”, “Stay strong, buddy”. I recognize a lot of runners coming towards me, and I greet a few by name even though they don’t know me.

I am surprised to see Steve coming back about one minute before I reach the turnaround. He looks pretty strong. Maybe The Boss was right about him training hard on the sly.

There are still plenty of people behind me. I’m surprised to see that Caroline is in last place. It turns out she is more injured than she thought and will drop soon. I see Steve leaving the aid station as I arrive. He asks me to teach him the sub-10-hour rebel yell, and I let one rip as I climb the stairs up to the AS – “WAWWAWWAWWAWWAWWAWWAWWAWWAW!”

I collect my water bottle from Paul and offer him hearty thanks in exchange.

Centreville Road to Hemlock
Steve has stopped to dump some trash in a bag set out for that purpose some short distance past the AS. I catch him up and we run together for a while until I decide to run down a side trail to take care of certain biological necessities. I catch back up to him shortly before AS3 and take the opportunity to practice my rebel yell once again. I expect that we will run together at least back to the AS, but Steve seems to need a little time to recover from his early fast pace, so I trot on ahead.

Back at Hemlock I swap my shoes for the pair I’d left in my drop bag. I think this is the first time I’ve done this during a race.

Hemlock to Bull Run Marina
I catch up with and pass Pete early on in this segment. It’s heating up, and most of the humidity has burned off. I’ve put my glasses back on.

The soccer fields are exposed and the mounting heat starts to make a statement. Just past the fields there is a muddy area, but there are cut logs and bridges across the worst parts.

AS4 has cold, wet towels, which are amazingly refreshing in the still-building heat. They also have V8 and Yoo-Hoo. Outstanding.

Bull Run Marina to Wolf Run Shoals
Heat … growing. Legs … tiring. Must … not … drop.

The theme of the Wolf Run Shoals this year is Christmas. The costumes look hot. I recognize Alex P. and call to him: “Hey Alex! You got any sunblock?” He recognizes me instantly from last year’s incident. He has the sunblock ready, and informs me that he’d be honored to anoint my noggin with it. “On the way back,” I tell him, a plan to which he accedes.

Wolf Run Shoals to Fountainhead
A short two miles. I see the leader heading back, and the second place runner not far behind him. “You’ve got 30 seconds to the lead,” I inform this latter guy. The final gap would turn out to be some five minutes.

There are more cold towels at the Fountainhead AS. They also have pierogies.

Fountainhead to Do Loop
Just after the white loop I hear a woman behind me say to her companion “These Altra people have yellow feet on the bottom of their feet.” While I am trying to parse this surreal locution she continues “You have a foot on the bottom of your feet!” I eventually realize she is talking to me – she is referencing the design Altra puts on the bottom of their shoes to highlight the anatomical shape of the forefoot – but I don’t know how to respond. I just run on.

I catch up to Frank P. just before the Do Loop AS. Last year I didn’t catch him until after the second pass through the Marina, and he came back to beat me by a few seconds. Frank is 70 years old and had finished the BRR every previous year. I knew he was hurting in the heat, and I offered him an encouraging word as I went by. I hoped he would make it to the finish.

I’d been hoping all day that the Do Loop AS would have popsicles, as it did last year, and they did not disappoint. Thanks, guys, you are the best.

Do Loop (back) to Do Loop
Once you leave the Do Loop aid station you are kind of committed to finishing the race. You are still heading outbound, but you’re on a loop to come back around to the Do Loop AS in about three miles. I like to measure out a mile and a half by my watch; I get a boost out of knowing I’m on the way home.

The Do Loop proper is really only about two miles long. There is a half mile approach from the aid station which is an out and back section. Once you hit this section on the return trip, the people coming towards you are behind you in the race instead of ahead of you.

I saw Steve at the AS, he outbound and I inbound. This was very similar to our positions at this point last year.

I grabbed another popsicle and headed on.

Do Loop to Fountainhead
I saw a steady stream of people here on this section. I met ^z on his way out and advised him that he was roughly half a mile from popsicles. He expressed gratitude for this news.

A few miles further on I met a young lady who must have been flirting with the cutoffs, but was still keeping a good attitude. She asked me if there was any water up ahead she could jump in, and allowed as how it would not be the first time today she’d done so. I told her she had about a mile to go to find some. It really was getting oppressively hot. My water bottle seemed to have a hole in it.

The stream of runners coming towards me petered out as I approached Fountainhead. Anyone still going outbound would have missed the cutoff by the time I got back there.

Fountainhead to Wolf Run Shoals
I did pass one more outbound runner, though, just over a mile past Fountainhead. He looked to be in OK shape, but he was way past the cutoff. I said something to him, intended to be kind. I don’t remember what it was, but it wasn’t “Good job”.

Back at Wolf Run Shoals I accept Alex’s offer of sunblock. We get a picture of me with it slathered all over my head.

Wolf Run Shoals to Bull Run Marina
A fair number of people pass me from behind during this segment. I am walking a lot. I am reduced by the heat.

I linger at the marina aid station. I drape one of their cold towels over my head and just sit and rest for a while. This is the final stop for aid; time to head out for the last push. There is a volunteer hosing down runners as they leave, and I take full advantage of this kindness.

Bull Run Marina to Finish
I know I will be slower than last year, but I also know I will get it done. I run very little, but I still bust out a few hundred yards of ballistic motion here and there. I keep looking over my shoulder for Steve, expecting him to loom up behind me, intent on evening the score from last year.

After I pass the soccer fields I notice that I am starting to get significant chafing of the inner thighs. There are still some four miles to go, so I know this will be painful. I try re-applying some Body Glide, but once chafing starts it doesn’t really help much.

I lose a lot of places during this last stretch, but I am just jazzed to be on the show, man. I still worry that Steve will come up and pass me in the last mile.

The last hill is brutal. It’s always brutal, but this year’s heat has been beating me down all day and I have very little left. Race director Toni is cheering runners in at the finish line. She comes out to slap my hand as I cross.

Just freakin’ beautiful to be done.

Post-race
The food is outstanding. I just eat whatever they can put on my plate.

The Boss is a sublime sight. I tell her I’d like to hang around and watch people finish, and she graciously agrees. Steve comes in about a half hour after me. Everyone is slower this year in the heat, but he only lost some eight or so minutes.

I learn that Tim S., one of the three people who’ve completed all prior BRRs, had to drop with medical issues. Tom G. and Frank P. are still on the course. Tom comes in with some 15 minutes to spare. Now everyone is waiting for Frank.

Ten minutes to go. No Frank. Anstr D. walks down a ways to try to try to see a little further down the course.

Eight minutes. Six. Five. I start to consider for the first time that he might not make it.

But then a form comes around the final bend, a form with Frank’s characteristic rightward lean. The crowd goes wild. They love him.

The only thing going through my mind is the last bit of Tennyson’s Ulysses. It’s clichéd and overly sentimental, but then, so am I, so I don’t mind reproducing it here:

Though much is taken, much abides; and though
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

Frank_P_BRR_2014
Frank finishes his 22nd consecutive Bull Run Run with less than five minutes to spare. God bless you, sir.

As I hobble to my car, still trying to pamper my chafed legs, I see Gary K. heading to his truck and I tell him that I’m dropping out of MMT. I don’t think I have the stones to make it 100 miles. “Nooooo,” he says, and looks crestfallen. I am chastened, and promise him I’ll wait a few days before making a decision.

It turns out that a few days was long enough for ultramnesia to set in, and I’ll be toeing the start line of MMT early in the morning of May 17th. If I die it’s Gary’s fault.

Miles this race: 50
Miles raced in 2014: 155.8

Buck Ridge Burn 2014

GARDNERS Pennsylvania, April 6 2014

In 2013 I ran a half marathon six days before the Bull Run Run 50 miler. The Run for the Animals turned out to be one of my favorite races ever – the course was great, the volunteers were friendly, the cause was righteous, the post-race food and music were outstanding, I set a half marathon PR and got an age group award. There was no feature of that race that was less than top-notch.

Since I believe in doing what works, and I attributed my much-better-than-expected performance at BRR 2013 to my experience at the RftA, I decided to run a half marathon six days before the 2014 BRR as well.

I strongly considered going back to Onancock to run the RftA again, but it’s a little too far for a day trip and staying overnight for a mere half seems a little excessive.

So I chose this charming little trail half instead. It was still a couple hours drive, but that is easily day-trippable.

I enjoyed the race. The course abutted the Appalachian Trail; I’m not sure whether any of it actually joined up with the AT or not. There was more delta-z than I expected, some 1600 feet of gain according to my GPS record. The organization was impeccable. I am a little late in writing up this report, so I may be mixing up the post-race spread with some other event’s, but in my memory there was this outstanding vegan curry that really hit the spot.

I don’t have much to say about the actual running. The aforementioned delta-z caused me to walk a fair bit of the course. A shamefully large bit, it must be said. The trail was beautiful, though, and the weather was great. I did my share of passing, I did my share of getting passed. Near the end of the course, in the last mile, I sloshed through a small stream and started climbing a good-sized hill. About three quarters of the way up I heard something behind me and looked back to see a woman determinedly hiking the rise. I got the feeling she had it in mind to pick me off before the finish, and I picked up the pace to stay ahead of her.

This turned out to be a challenge.

I wasn’t sure how far we had left to go, so I was hesitant to go all out, but I kept hearing footsteps closing the gap behind me. Finally I came off the trail onto the road leading back to the finish, and I felt comfortable starting a strong kick. I held a good pace through the finish and held off my rival by four seconds.

This race was great, but all-in-all I think I’d rather do the the RftA again. Maybe I’ll make that trip again next year.

Miles this race: 13.1
Miles raced this year: 105.8