Despite being advertised as the Hagg Lake Mud Run, I don't think the trails are going to be too muddy today. The whole past week have been relatively sunny. Still, I'm wearing my Merrell Trail Glove minimalist shoes, for traction more than anything, and warmth, though really, I think the 'extreme' cold weather of the Willamette Valley area here in Oregon (such as it is) has passed, and I could be moving back to huaraches or, gasp, barefoot. Still, 50K. Do I want to risk having cold feet for six hours? So I'm playing it safe. I'm having cold feet about having cold feet, I think. Excuses, I know. A manly barefoot runner would tough it out. Sigh....
But, anyway, looks to be a great day out here at Hagg 'Lake' (it's a reservoir). Still a bit foggy, but I'm thinking it will lift later. I could've almost slipped in for the early start at 7:00, but I think I'm going to be ok. That is, all this training I've been doing for the Badger Mountain Hundo must be worth something at this point!
There are, I think, 300, people signed up for today's 50K, and I think it's the first time the race has actually sold out the 50K. There is also a 25K tomorrow, with twice as many people, and it's sold out. There is also the option to do a 'double' and do both, which I opted not to do, though maybe I should have. My thinking is, actually, that I don't want to waste my time with a measly 25K. On Tuesday I plan to run 30 miles, and then Thursday 45, as my 30/30/45 hundo training week. Oh well.
We are gathered under a picnic pavilion near the reservoir shore, where there are portable outside heaters we're all standing under. The air is not actually super cold, but still, I've only got two shirts on, and some light wool gloves, but I'm already impressed with the organization of this race: heaters are a nice touch, and I see they have a kitchen being set up for the end—we're going to get more than doughnuts! All of the volunteers seem to know each other and many of the runners. Must be some kind of running group out this way.
And lo, who should appear but a guy in huaraches! I'm not sure what kind they are, they've got a funky strap. Might be home made. Interesting, for me, to not be the odd man out. In my Merrell shoes, no one can tell that I'm actually a freak. In fact, I feel guilty now. I should've 'huarache'd up' like a real man. But, now I can see how other shod runners react to him, staring at his feet when they think he'd not looking and shaking their heads sadly. Like, what an idiot, huh? Everyone knows you need supertank shoes to run a 50K.
And hark, the babe of the day just appeared, and she walks over and stands next to me. She's the only one here with maybe frizzier hair than me. Being the manly man I am, I smoothly strike up a conversation by asking, “Have you run this race before?” I've got all kinds of pick up lines like that.
But, we talk. This is her first time here, but sounds like she's an accomplished long distance runner. She's actually doing the 'double.' She's from Walla Walla, and knows about the Badger Mountain Hundo, and may be doing the 50K section. Anyways, sounds like she's a wee bit faster than me, so I probably won't see her again. We exchange 'good luck's' as we line up for everyone else.
The course is going to be a short out and back up a dirt road, than back here to the picnic area and around the reservoir twice. Again, I like the planning here. I mean, maybe they need to add on a few kilometers to make the double loop a full 50K, but what will happen is, after runners have warmed up, they'll be zipping right back here and can drop off any extra layers now that they're warmed up. I myself am just going with what I have, hell or high water, but many people have brought out whole bags and boxes with clothes and multiple pairs of shoes! Yes, and some people are running with small backpacks on, which I think are Camelbacks, but they also seems stuffed with stuff, I'm not sure what. That just seems like overdoing it, since we have three stations total, with water and food. That's the bonus of doing races like this—they supply the supplies!
Doesn't quite seem like 300 folks, but I'm never sure on that. And no gun or cannon or anything, just suddenly we're off! And uphill immediately! Woo hoo! And up a gnarly gravel road. Gnarly meaning big stones of gravel, that are uncomfortable even in my Merrells. I can't imagine what the guy with VFFs I pass if feeling. So yeah, maybe barefoot wouldn't be so cool here. But, hey, you could run this out in back in something thick and then ditch the footwear on the way back!
With an out and back, we get to see the front-runners, and they're young dudes with no body fat just barreling down the road. In fact, curiously, when I get up to the turnaround point, I too barrel down and it seems, just seems, that there seem to be two kinds of runners: those who barrel down hills, and those who don't. And those who do are all in front. I'm like the last person barreling, midway in the pack. Again, this might be my imagination, but I wonder if there's a way to test this?
But yeah, those gravel stones kinda hurt when barreling.
On my way back into the parking lot and the picnic area, a bystander (or bysitter), a guy, yells out, to me, “Hey, how come you're wearing shoes?”
I'm startled. “How'd you know?”
“Oh, I've seen you around.”
How odd. I don't recognize him at all. And we're like an hour from Portland. I guess I'm a Known Figure. As an extreme introvert, this freaks me out. But I guess it's a compliment. But I think it's another sign from the Universe that I should have huarache'd up, at least.
The START/picnic area is almost at the 'top' of the reservoir, where whatever river is being dammed up comes into the valley. Is it the Tualatin River? Not sure. Anyways, we're soon on the other side of the reservoir, and can in fact see the START area and parking lot. In fact, I can still see them further on, when I can also see the dam coming up. That's weird. I'd think the dam would be the farthest point out? But doesn't feel like we've gone but a few miles. Ah ha, but here's the deal, the trail on the other 'side' of the reservoir is a lot more 'wind-y' (as in, it winds) with a lot more coves that dip in and out.
But first, at the end of the dam is our first aid station, and man, these people know what they're doing! It's well stocked with all kinds of drinks and munchables. I eat an orange slice and a banana section, and yes! Fig Newtons! I don't think I'm going to be needing the two Clif Bars in my pocketses, which is good because I'm about sick of Clif Bars at this point. In fact, all they're doing now is taking up space and weight in my shorts. My Amphipod water bottle is handy though.
And yeah, this trail, especially over here, where it's a little bit more muddy (though just a little) is totally barefoot-able. Not sure about six hours of cold mud, but might conceivably be doable.
The pack is well spaced out by now. I chose my starting position well: Mid pack. There hasn't been a lot of passing or being passed since the out and back road (another good reason for that!). And the trail is easy to follow. It basically stays between the water and the road that goes around the dam. No getting lost today! But a pleasant run in the trees.
Something odd: the route does bump out onto a parking lot. The area is still technically closed, but this lot has some vehicles, and some activity going on. Cement is being made and shoveled out and who, what the hell are those things??? It looks like a modern art sculpture. Those cement bricks have been turned sideways, holes facing up, and cement is being poured into the holes. Then three-foot rubber tubes and inserted into the west cement, hanging out like multiple antennae.
If the people doing the activity were like a bunch of artsy looking people with lots of tattoos, I would say it was art. But it's a bunch of small town good 'ole folks. Kids and elderly people. I'm racking my brain long after I pass them and head back into the woods and then suddenly my time working for the Forest Service back in Arizona comes back: Those things are for fish. Either habitat and/or food source. Once the cement dries, the block will be dropped to the bottom of the reservoir (which, remember, isn't a real lake, so doesn't have stuff like plants) where, I think, the tubes will act like plants and accumulate plankton (or whatever, smaller plant bits) which the fish (which, remember, are stocked and not native) can nibble on, and maybe swim around in. Shoot, I still kind of prefer them as modern art.
Onward!
Some mud appears, enough to get the shoes muddy, but not too bad. I'm ok with this not being a total mud fest, which sounds like it normally is. Some people I've talked to say that even the flat straightaways are like running on oil. So far I haven't slipped at all!
Second aid station is just as well-stocked, and with friendly volunteers. And more Fig Newtons! And we cross a river. Hm, maybe this is in fact the 'top' of the reservoir. Not sure. The whole day has been quiet so far, just birds and moving water. So nice.
Finally, the parking lot, which means the picnic area is not far now. One last little section of trail, and pop!, here I am. Time? Hm, 2:50. That bodes ill for finishing in six hours, since I'm sure I'll run the second loop slower. But, that also includes the out and back, so this is in fact more than half way. I don't dawdle though, just grab some grub and go. I'm so into the food that I forget to drink some water at the station, though I at least refilled the Amphipod, which should be enough to get me to the first aid station.
And around we go. I'm playing tag with these two guys, one of whom seems to be having some leg cramp issues. I'll pass them while he's kneading his thigh, then they run by me chatting away. The only other person around is a woman wearing what I call 'booty shorts' over her running tights. I've occasionally seen women running races in just these booty shorts, which are black and super short, though I'm not sure if they're actually sold as running shorts. They're awfully (or, that is, wonderfully) skimpy, but I'm not sure what wearing them over running tights is getting her, though she has a juicy booty anyways—if she were just in shorts she'd be hanging out all over the place. I know, I know, just focus on running. Still....yowza.....but no, I must remain loyal to my Babe of the Day.
The fog has lifted, the sun is out and wow, coming out on the dam, what should there be but a rainbow! Much rejoicing. The sunshine just give a little boost, not sure if it's psychological, or if I'm getting a shot of Vitamin D or what. And at the first aid station there are more orange slices and bananas and Fig Newtons! And here comes Babe of the Day. I thought she was ahead of me. We say hello and I'm off. I'm sure she'll catch me. I'm not going to be running any faster at this point, but I do feel strong, like I could potentially not bog out. I don't even know have far I've come, there are no mile markers. There signs at the aid stations, but they're meaningless to me, since I think they're in the metric system.
On my way back into the trees, a guy comes up behind me and says, “Well, are we having fun yet?”
And I say, “Yeah, actually, I am.”
We start talking and turns out he's and ultra runner too. Not like one of the gods, but just someone like me, or a little bit more advance than me, with a couple hundos under his belt. When I tell him about my DNF at Burning River, he says he went through the same thing on his first hundo, and gives me words of encouragement about my second one coming up. I go over my training plan with him, and he gives me some basic tips, like to walk all hills, even at the early stages, and to in fact go slow right form the beginning. His second halves of his hundos are faster than his first halves, which kind of boggles my mind, but ok! And in fact, looks like his second half of this race is going to be faster, since he soon pulls away.
Soon after, I'm caught up by the guy in the huaraches. As he passes, I ask, “Hey, what kind of huaraches are those?”
And he says what I think is, “They're 'Tired of Shoes huaraches. I make them myself.”
Turns out he's got his own little huarache-making operation called Tire Dove Shoes. He's out of Monroe, and I think he says he's started selling them at a farmers market in Bend, but he's soon moving up to Portland. I like his idea for laces, using flat nylon parachute cord (I think?) with a special lock kind of deal that keeps the lace firm, even when putting the sandals off and on, so no having to readjust every time. Plus, he's working with using actual tires for the tread for at least one 'line' of sandals, which I think is brilliant. Seems like some people would really like the recycled option. Anyways, he's going faster than me, but I get his email: Ave McCombs, tiredoveshoes@yahoo.com.
At the second aid station I fill up and ask, half-jokingly, “How much farther do I have to go?”
A woman says, “Four and a half miles.”
Finally, miles! “Oh, I can do that!”
She smiles. “Of course!”
The trail does get muddier in here, now that it's been pounded by 250+ pairs of feet. A little slippery, and at time sticky. I'm going a little slower, my second split won't be as fast as my first, but I'm not bogged down either. Still, I'm a little worried, looking ahead to Badge Mountain, and if I'm feeling tired at this point, I'm not sure what will happen.
And in the mud who should pass me but Babe of the Day, looking strong and steady. Maybe I should work more on being stronger for my second split, I seem to be getting passed more now.
And, as if for some kind of closure, I even get passed by Booty Shorts. And well, I hate to see her leave, but love to watch her go.
Concentrate John! Going slow. Am I even going to have energy for my 'balls out' at the end? Not sure. But here's the parking lot, which means it's not far now, so I make an effort to pick up the pace. And since the trail becomes a lot more downhill-ish here, I'm helped by gravity, and in fact, once I start barreling down again, something kicks in and I'm actually sprinting! I even catch a guy I'd seen farther ahead, he's dragging, and I can hear the people at the finish line.
And I pop out of the trees and whoah, they've moved the course so that the finish line is only like twenty feet away. I kind of catch people by surprise and actually have to put on the breaks in order not to run past the finishers tent, where a woman offers up my medal (which is actually a bottle opener, I guess for all those old school type bottles of beer popular out here). Time? 5:48! A PR, by at least twelve minutes. So yay!
I wobble down to the reservoir and take off my shoes, washing off the mud as best I can, then standing in the water for some coldness on the muscles, and my, the water is brisk! Babe of the Day is there with a posse of friends. Ah well.
Best of all, under the picnic pavilion, the kitchen is in full swing, with hot dogs (even veggie dogs!), grilled cheeses, and two kinds of hot soup. Plus brownies. And mounted screens set up so you can see your time, and computer screens on table to look up your stats. Man, there are just a ton of guys my age doing these races. I'm going to have to wait 20 years for all their knees to give out before I start winning for my age category. The overall winner came in at something like 3:26. Impressive.
I run into both Ave of Tire Dove Shoes, who gives me his card, and Babe of the Day. Turns out she PR'd too. I think this was a good fast course, with great weather.
Now to hobble back to my car for the drive back to Portland.
Showing posts with label 50K. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 50K. Show all posts
Sunday, February 17, 2013
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
MAC ASS 50K Fiasco
I had wondered if the ‘FAT ASS’ type of race existed out here on the west coast, and voilà, now I have two in a row here in January. For those who aren’t familiar with them, they’re basically free races, or very cheap, put on by kind souls who like distance running and are willing to put something together for the benefit of the local running community. I’m here at the MAC ASS 50K (and 10K and 25K), in McMinnville, about an hour southwest of Portland. The race is being put on by a local high school cross-country team, as a fundraiser. Free to sign up, but they’re asking for donations. So, I’ve put in forty bucks in the coffee can at the check-in desk.
It’s cold. Just below freezing, with frost on the ground. Fortunately, in this little park picnic area, the organizers have two separate fires going, along with a big outside space heater. The 50K is starting at 8, with the 10K and 25K starting at 9. I’d say there’s about 40 people here now. The other Oregon barefoot runners are all doing the shorter distances, so I don’t think I’m going to know anybody, but no, there’s Janson, down from Washington of all places. He’s doing the 25K but got here early, so has come looking for me. Janson will be one of my pacers for the Badger Mountain 100M challenge. In fact, he’s the one who told me about it. We talk about tentative plans for that race, and I’m surprised to learn that he’s fully expecting to be up all night. I’d been planning to get him pacing me early so he could get back to his family, but now we’re thinking, if and when I get some more pacers, that maybe he can trade off with someone. Anyway, we’ll figure it out.
This race does fall nicely into my training though. Two weeks ago I did my first ‘30/30/45’ and this past week I’ve been doing more ‘normal’ runs. But I do still need one long run a week, and this is it, along with a little practice in getting ready for a race, and with the added bonus of some minor competition in order to get me to run faster. Next week I’ll probably be doing another FAT ASS up near Olympia, with ‘normal’ running in between, and then I’ll do another 30/30/45 week.
The organizer dude calls everyone to the Start line to explain the route. No one wants to be in the front of the pack, so he has a hard time getting everyone to gather up. So he just talks to those of us nearby, explaining that the course if flagged in pink, along with some directional signs, and that we “shouldn’t think too hard” about directions, and not to every backtrack if we see a sign not directly in front of, concluding with, “Don’t worry, you can’t get lost.” Uh oh. Whenever a race director says that, many people get lost.
No official start, really. He just says go. I go slow, letting people pass, not in any hurry, especially since we almost immediately go uphill, up this dirt road, past a huge clearcut. Apparently there is logging allowed in State Parks? Or we’re not in Metsker State Park at this point? Not sure. I am concerned by how slowly I seem to be going, worrying that I might in fact end up last in the pack. I could run faster at this point, but I’m pacing myself.
And we basically go up to a certain point, manned by two volunteer dudes who are drinking beer at 8:30 in the morning (wow) and turn back around. At this point I’m running with this woman, and come to find out she thinks she’s running the 10K! She’s shocked to learn that we’re all 50Kers here. “I was wondering why he didn’t give directions for the 10K course!” So yeah, maybe the organizer dude might have clarified that in his speech.
At least on the way back I get to see that there are in fact people behind me. I’m not last! Yes! We return right back to the park picnic area and Organizer Dude is there at the dirt road that goes back up to the Start. He points in that general direction and says, “Left at the green sign!”
I am by myself at this point, and hesitate, because there’s a fork in the road, with some green flagging off on the right fork. That can’t be right. I stop and hold out my hands. He yells after me, “To the left! To the green sign!”
I look back where he’s pointing, then up the right fork in the road I see a light green sign up in some trees. Oh. Ok. Wow, that bodes ill.
We’re on a trail that circles around the picnic area, and the pond it’s next to. When back within sight of the picnic area, there’s a woman taking photos, and she points me left again and up a small trail. It tops off onto another logging road, and here I kind of get into a group of folks. We follow some pink flagging to the right, back down into some woods, and soon come to a flagged off trail to the left, though the signs are not facing us. The woman in front of me goes, “What should be do?”
I say, “Well, remember, he said not to think about it too much, and not to backtrack. But I’d understand if you didn’t follow me.” She and I continue on the main trail, though the people behind us seem to have taken the left.
We bail down onto another logging road, with no apparent flagging either direction. No, there’s a faint pink flag off to the left. Still, seems not quite right. But we go on, until the woman goes, “Uh oh, there’s my son. And he’s supposed to be at the beginning of the pack.”
Her son and his two freinds say this road leads out to a paved road, which can’t be right. So we all backtrack up to that place where the flagging went to the left, though the youngsters soon lose us. How embarrassing, to run a race with your mom!
This newer trail takes us up into an old clearcut area, where there’s lots of ‘reprod’—younger trees. And here is where chaos ensues: There’s a fork, with either a trail, or a smaller logging road, and there are groups of people coming and going both directions on both forks. I’m starting to feel like I’m in the movie The Poseidon Adventure, with my group unsure of where to go, but asking other groups, who seem equally unsure. This can’t be right. There’s a green sign that says 50K and points up the logging road, so we decide to try that.
Which takes us onto some other trail through the woods, flagged though, and not unpleasant, though we’re still seeing people going both directions, though nobody can confirm this is some kidn of ‘out-and-back’ or not. And then we get dumped right back at that trail/road fork. Well shoot. What’s going on here? We turn around, and meet another group coming the way we just came, who say this is their first time through.
We continue, going out and about, and getting dumped out right back at the same trail/road fork. Und scheisse. Was machen wir? Que diablos hacemos?
We finally meet at guy on the trail who turns us around yet again, claiming he’s just done what we’ve done, twice. He takes us back to the fork, where one of the organizer dudes is now standing, directing people. He points us back up the trail. I ask about the 50K sign, and he goes, “Remember, only follow a sign if it’s facing you.” Yeah, well dude, this trail sign says ‘50K’.
I’m getting annoyed and even angry, but then I think, you know what? This is an opportunity. I’m training for a Hundo, and this is an opportunity to run even more than 50K today. Still though, to put people out here running around lost, in really cold weather, feels a little irresponsible.
And
I lose the woman I was running with, but gain a couple other folks for a while, and not that we’re lined our properly, though we end up at the fork yet again! This time the two young beerdrinkers are there instead of the other guy, and they point us up the logging road. I say, “Are you sure? This will be the second time I’ve gone this way.”
They’re suddenly not so sure. “Yeah, we heard something went wrong.”
Great. But this time that first guy is farthur up, and he points me up the road, instead (!) or following the flagging. “Just head straight up until this road hits another logging road, and turn right. Don’t follow any flagging, follow the green signs from now on.”
Ok....And of course this logging road turns into a trail. Did I just get lost again? Goddammit. And there’s still people coming down in the other direction. But I find a green 50K sign, and see that this there’s another sign facing the other direction, meaning this is a place with traffic in both directions, and by now, the 10 and 25Kers are out on the course as well. Ok....
But I do in fact bump out onto a larger dirt road, with flagging to the right. Ok....
More people running the other way, but also a couple of folks running my way too. I ask them, “So do you have confidence in where you’re going?”
They both give a fairly confident affirmative, though then I find out that they’re running the 25K. So yes, now I’m being lapped by people who started an hour later than I. Great.
On a side note: the guy I’m running with points out a young man coming towards us as the worlds champion trail runner, though I don’t catch his name.
But, finally, we get to a water station. I’ve been running 2.5 hours now, my water bottle long empty. That can’t be right. But the two good ole boys running the station can’t confirm any directions about the course, except to point me up this STEEP side road a little ways back. As I turn back towards it, one yells out, “It’s just a .4 mile out-and-back.”
I almost stop. .4??? At this point, that’s almost insulting. I’ve been running around in circles and you want me to run uphill, on a super rocky road, and then back? Grrr...
But I do it. I guess I see why it’s on the course, because it takes runners up to the highest point in the area, with a view of the two large valleys on either side. Ok fine.
Back down, heading back to the station for a top off. The good ole boy tells me, “Back down the road. Look for the green signs.”
The good news is that there’s still people coming the other direction, so I’m not last. Though, actually, they could all be 25Kers by now. Argh. But there is indeed a green sign, pointing down and to the left, onto a kind of...trail. More like a trailblazing route through the trees. This isn’t an official trail, though it’s becoming one with how many people are running over it. I wonder if the State Park officials know about this?
Basically I’m sidehilling along under that road I just ran along, but then the trail bails downhill. At least I’m pretty sure that the route is all downhill from here, so I’m having fun just running fast, making up for lost time, even finally passing some people.
Not too much later, I get to the second water station. Ok, that’s weird, but I top off. The guy there points me back up hill for a four mile loop. At this point, I’m walking the uphills, to this is kind of a long walk. But that’s fine. I use it to down a Clif Bar. And then, I reach the peak of the trail and barrel back down, ending up right back at that water station. More water, then he points be to a hidden downhill trail. Unflagged. Good thing someone was here to show me.
Down down down. Then an evening out, and some slight up uphill as I follow a trail paralleling a river. I suspect that this is the river that goes up to the picnic area. Wierd to have those two water stations crammed together right at the end. And my confirmation is correct: I come out into the open, a little downhill from the Start.
Still plenty of people under the rotundra, and now there’s food! I cram in some chips and hummus, a deviled egg, and some tangerine juice. Most 50Kers I’d talked to along the way said they were just going to bail when they got back. Me, I’d really like to run a 50K. I mean, I need/want a long run. Yet, I check my watch: Oy. It took me 4 hours and twenty minutes to run this first loop! That’s crazy!
I check in with Organizer Dude, going over with him the route, and the flagging and signs. A young woman volunteer says/claims that there was some mischief, that some “mountain bikers” has switched signs around. I’m not so sure. Feels like incompetence to me, but maybe they’re right. Organizer Dude tells another guy that they’ll be out here until dark. Well, ok, if someone’s going to be here, I guess I’ll try a second loop. Especially if others are going to be out there.
I head out after that one guy. Thankfully we don’t have to run that first out-and-back up the logging road, just arond the pond and up. And man, this time the route is clearer, and I see that I got lost way way early. This time I end up at the trail/road fork way faster, and know which way to go. I pass that one guy somewhere in there, but he catches up to me just as I’m about to do the long uphill that’s the end of this little maze area. He stops though, asking, “Should we follow the flagging?”
I explain that at this point we just follow the green signs, and that I’ve been through this whole area like three times. He kind of doubts me, which is totally understandable, but follows me up, and when we bail out onto the top dirt road, he says, “Wow. Thanks for lining me out back there. I would’ve been lost forever.”
“Believe me, I know how you feel!”
We run together down the road, and turns out this guy has run Western States! I don’t get what he’s doing so far back in the pack (if there is indeed a pack at this point—I’m starting to feel like we’re the only two people out on the course). But I get to pick his brain a little about running a Hundo.
I’m checking my watch though, and even though we got through that maze part with no problem, and much much faster than I did the first time, it’s now six hours in: which is my usual finishing time for a 50K! And at the first water station, the good ole boys are gone, though they left a gallon of water behind.
We top off, and I make my decision: I’m not going to do that .4 out-and-back. This is just taking too long.
The other guy is going to do it though. So we part ways. I say he’ll probably catch me, and the shakes his head. “I doubt it.”
So, interesting. But, onward. And now it’s all mostly downhill. At the second water station, there is nobody. No water. Check my bottle: almost empty. Ok, screw this. I’m not going to run around without water. So, I skip that extra four mile loop. I’m just heading for the Finish.
This second time through has gone MUCH faster. I feel like I could’ve PRed if I hadn’t got lost. And man did I get lost! I think I lost an hour or an hour and a half!
And soon I’m back at the Finish. And yeah, everything is packed up. The volunteer guys clap when they see me. I tell them that there’s still another guy, maybe an hour behind me (because I suspect he’ll run that four mile loop too). They’re surprised. Organizer Dude checks the list. They thought I was the only person out there. In fact, my name got checked off already. They think I’m him! Good thing I said something.
At this point, they organize and send guys out on motor bikes to find him and get him back, because they all want to leave.
Me? I head to the little food still left out and chow down on more chips and hummus and juice. Organizer Dude give me my 50K finisher hat: a camouflage hunting cap that I’m never going to wear, yet which I feel I’ve earned still.
Like I said, I normally run a 50K in six hours. My watch says 7:20. Crazy. Thinking about it now, if I had been Organizer Dude, I would have shut the race down and prevented me and that other guy from heading out for a second loop. I’m not sure he even realizes how badly many of us got lost. Oh well.
Despite my earlier annoyance and anger, I feel good. I got a good long run in, and adapted and overcame. It’s actually been a wonderful day! And now to do the worst thing possible: sit down in a car for an hour and a half and have my muscles all freeze up. Woo hoo!
It’s cold. Just below freezing, with frost on the ground. Fortunately, in this little park picnic area, the organizers have two separate fires going, along with a big outside space heater. The 50K is starting at 8, with the 10K and 25K starting at 9. I’d say there’s about 40 people here now. The other Oregon barefoot runners are all doing the shorter distances, so I don’t think I’m going to know anybody, but no, there’s Janson, down from Washington of all places. He’s doing the 25K but got here early, so has come looking for me. Janson will be one of my pacers for the Badger Mountain 100M challenge. In fact, he’s the one who told me about it. We talk about tentative plans for that race, and I’m surprised to learn that he’s fully expecting to be up all night. I’d been planning to get him pacing me early so he could get back to his family, but now we’re thinking, if and when I get some more pacers, that maybe he can trade off with someone. Anyway, we’ll figure it out.
This race does fall nicely into my training though. Two weeks ago I did my first ‘30/30/45’ and this past week I’ve been doing more ‘normal’ runs. But I do still need one long run a week, and this is it, along with a little practice in getting ready for a race, and with the added bonus of some minor competition in order to get me to run faster. Next week I’ll probably be doing another FAT ASS up near Olympia, with ‘normal’ running in between, and then I’ll do another 30/30/45 week.
The organizer dude calls everyone to the Start line to explain the route. No one wants to be in the front of the pack, so he has a hard time getting everyone to gather up. So he just talks to those of us nearby, explaining that the course if flagged in pink, along with some directional signs, and that we “shouldn’t think too hard” about directions, and not to every backtrack if we see a sign not directly in front of, concluding with, “Don’t worry, you can’t get lost.” Uh oh. Whenever a race director says that, many people get lost.
No official start, really. He just says go. I go slow, letting people pass, not in any hurry, especially since we almost immediately go uphill, up this dirt road, past a huge clearcut. Apparently there is logging allowed in State Parks? Or we’re not in Metsker State Park at this point? Not sure. I am concerned by how slowly I seem to be going, worrying that I might in fact end up last in the pack. I could run faster at this point, but I’m pacing myself.
And we basically go up to a certain point, manned by two volunteer dudes who are drinking beer at 8:30 in the morning (wow) and turn back around. At this point I’m running with this woman, and come to find out she thinks she’s running the 10K! She’s shocked to learn that we’re all 50Kers here. “I was wondering why he didn’t give directions for the 10K course!” So yeah, maybe the organizer dude might have clarified that in his speech.
At least on the way back I get to see that there are in fact people behind me. I’m not last! Yes! We return right back to the park picnic area and Organizer Dude is there at the dirt road that goes back up to the Start. He points in that general direction and says, “Left at the green sign!”
I am by myself at this point, and hesitate, because there’s a fork in the road, with some green flagging off on the right fork. That can’t be right. I stop and hold out my hands. He yells after me, “To the left! To the green sign!”
I look back where he’s pointing, then up the right fork in the road I see a light green sign up in some trees. Oh. Ok. Wow, that bodes ill.
We’re on a trail that circles around the picnic area, and the pond it’s next to. When back within sight of the picnic area, there’s a woman taking photos, and she points me left again and up a small trail. It tops off onto another logging road, and here I kind of get into a group of folks. We follow some pink flagging to the right, back down into some woods, and soon come to a flagged off trail to the left, though the signs are not facing us. The woman in front of me goes, “What should be do?”
I say, “Well, remember, he said not to think about it too much, and not to backtrack. But I’d understand if you didn’t follow me.” She and I continue on the main trail, though the people behind us seem to have taken the left.
We bail down onto another logging road, with no apparent flagging either direction. No, there’s a faint pink flag off to the left. Still, seems not quite right. But we go on, until the woman goes, “Uh oh, there’s my son. And he’s supposed to be at the beginning of the pack.”
Her son and his two freinds say this road leads out to a paved road, which can’t be right. So we all backtrack up to that place where the flagging went to the left, though the youngsters soon lose us. How embarrassing, to run a race with your mom!
This newer trail takes us up into an old clearcut area, where there’s lots of ‘reprod’—younger trees. And here is where chaos ensues: There’s a fork, with either a trail, or a smaller logging road, and there are groups of people coming and going both directions on both forks. I’m starting to feel like I’m in the movie The Poseidon Adventure, with my group unsure of where to go, but asking other groups, who seem equally unsure. This can’t be right. There’s a green sign that says 50K and points up the logging road, so we decide to try that.
Which takes us onto some other trail through the woods, flagged though, and not unpleasant, though we’re still seeing people going both directions, though nobody can confirm this is some kidn of ‘out-and-back’ or not. And then we get dumped right back at that trail/road fork. Well shoot. What’s going on here? We turn around, and meet another group coming the way we just came, who say this is their first time through.
We continue, going out and about, and getting dumped out right back at the same trail/road fork. Und scheisse. Was machen wir? Que diablos hacemos?
We finally meet at guy on the trail who turns us around yet again, claiming he’s just done what we’ve done, twice. He takes us back to the fork, where one of the organizer dudes is now standing, directing people. He points us back up the trail. I ask about the 50K sign, and he goes, “Remember, only follow a sign if it’s facing you.” Yeah, well dude, this trail sign says ‘50K’.
I’m getting annoyed and even angry, but then I think, you know what? This is an opportunity. I’m training for a Hundo, and this is an opportunity to run even more than 50K today. Still though, to put people out here running around lost, in really cold weather, feels a little irresponsible.
And
I lose the woman I was running with, but gain a couple other folks for a while, and not that we’re lined our properly, though we end up at the fork yet again! This time the two young beerdrinkers are there instead of the other guy, and they point us up the logging road. I say, “Are you sure? This will be the second time I’ve gone this way.”
They’re suddenly not so sure. “Yeah, we heard something went wrong.”
Great. But this time that first guy is farthur up, and he points me up the road, instead (!) or following the flagging. “Just head straight up until this road hits another logging road, and turn right. Don’t follow any flagging, follow the green signs from now on.”
Ok....And of course this logging road turns into a trail. Did I just get lost again? Goddammit. And there’s still people coming down in the other direction. But I find a green 50K sign, and see that this there’s another sign facing the other direction, meaning this is a place with traffic in both directions, and by now, the 10 and 25Kers are out on the course as well. Ok....
But I do in fact bump out onto a larger dirt road, with flagging to the right. Ok....
More people running the other way, but also a couple of folks running my way too. I ask them, “So do you have confidence in where you’re going?”
They both give a fairly confident affirmative, though then I find out that they’re running the 25K. So yes, now I’m being lapped by people who started an hour later than I. Great.
On a side note: the guy I’m running with points out a young man coming towards us as the worlds champion trail runner, though I don’t catch his name.
But, finally, we get to a water station. I’ve been running 2.5 hours now, my water bottle long empty. That can’t be right. But the two good ole boys running the station can’t confirm any directions about the course, except to point me up this STEEP side road a little ways back. As I turn back towards it, one yells out, “It’s just a .4 mile out-and-back.”
I almost stop. .4??? At this point, that’s almost insulting. I’ve been running around in circles and you want me to run uphill, on a super rocky road, and then back? Grrr...
But I do it. I guess I see why it’s on the course, because it takes runners up to the highest point in the area, with a view of the two large valleys on either side. Ok fine.
Back down, heading back to the station for a top off. The good ole boy tells me, “Back down the road. Look for the green signs.”
The good news is that there’s still people coming the other direction, so I’m not last. Though, actually, they could all be 25Kers by now. Argh. But there is indeed a green sign, pointing down and to the left, onto a kind of...trail. More like a trailblazing route through the trees. This isn’t an official trail, though it’s becoming one with how many people are running over it. I wonder if the State Park officials know about this?
Basically I’m sidehilling along under that road I just ran along, but then the trail bails downhill. At least I’m pretty sure that the route is all downhill from here, so I’m having fun just running fast, making up for lost time, even finally passing some people.
Not too much later, I get to the second water station. Ok, that’s weird, but I top off. The guy there points me back up hill for a four mile loop. At this point, I’m walking the uphills, to this is kind of a long walk. But that’s fine. I use it to down a Clif Bar. And then, I reach the peak of the trail and barrel back down, ending up right back at that water station. More water, then he points be to a hidden downhill trail. Unflagged. Good thing someone was here to show me.
Down down down. Then an evening out, and some slight up uphill as I follow a trail paralleling a river. I suspect that this is the river that goes up to the picnic area. Wierd to have those two water stations crammed together right at the end. And my confirmation is correct: I come out into the open, a little downhill from the Start.
Still plenty of people under the rotundra, and now there’s food! I cram in some chips and hummus, a deviled egg, and some tangerine juice. Most 50Kers I’d talked to along the way said they were just going to bail when they got back. Me, I’d really like to run a 50K. I mean, I need/want a long run. Yet, I check my watch: Oy. It took me 4 hours and twenty minutes to run this first loop! That’s crazy!
I check in with Organizer Dude, going over with him the route, and the flagging and signs. A young woman volunteer says/claims that there was some mischief, that some “mountain bikers” has switched signs around. I’m not so sure. Feels like incompetence to me, but maybe they’re right. Organizer Dude tells another guy that they’ll be out here until dark. Well, ok, if someone’s going to be here, I guess I’ll try a second loop. Especially if others are going to be out there.
I head out after that one guy. Thankfully we don’t have to run that first out-and-back up the logging road, just arond the pond and up. And man, this time the route is clearer, and I see that I got lost way way early. This time I end up at the trail/road fork way faster, and know which way to go. I pass that one guy somewhere in there, but he catches up to me just as I’m about to do the long uphill that’s the end of this little maze area. He stops though, asking, “Should we follow the flagging?”
I explain that at this point we just follow the green signs, and that I’ve been through this whole area like three times. He kind of doubts me, which is totally understandable, but follows me up, and when we bail out onto the top dirt road, he says, “Wow. Thanks for lining me out back there. I would’ve been lost forever.”
“Believe me, I know how you feel!”
We run together down the road, and turns out this guy has run Western States! I don’t get what he’s doing so far back in the pack (if there is indeed a pack at this point—I’m starting to feel like we’re the only two people out on the course). But I get to pick his brain a little about running a Hundo.
I’m checking my watch though, and even though we got through that maze part with no problem, and much much faster than I did the first time, it’s now six hours in: which is my usual finishing time for a 50K! And at the first water station, the good ole boys are gone, though they left a gallon of water behind.
We top off, and I make my decision: I’m not going to do that .4 out-and-back. This is just taking too long.
The other guy is going to do it though. So we part ways. I say he’ll probably catch me, and the shakes his head. “I doubt it.”
So, interesting. But, onward. And now it’s all mostly downhill. At the second water station, there is nobody. No water. Check my bottle: almost empty. Ok, screw this. I’m not going to run around without water. So, I skip that extra four mile loop. I’m just heading for the Finish.
This second time through has gone MUCH faster. I feel like I could’ve PRed if I hadn’t got lost. And man did I get lost! I think I lost an hour or an hour and a half!
And soon I’m back at the Finish. And yeah, everything is packed up. The volunteer guys clap when they see me. I tell them that there’s still another guy, maybe an hour behind me (because I suspect he’ll run that four mile loop too). They’re surprised. Organizer Dude checks the list. They thought I was the only person out there. In fact, my name got checked off already. They think I’m him! Good thing I said something.
At this point, they organize and send guys out on motor bikes to find him and get him back, because they all want to leave.
Me? I head to the little food still left out and chow down on more chips and hummus and juice. Organizer Dude give me my 50K finisher hat: a camouflage hunting cap that I’m never going to wear, yet which I feel I’ve earned still.
Like I said, I normally run a 50K in six hours. My watch says 7:20. Crazy. Thinking about it now, if I had been Organizer Dude, I would have shut the race down and prevented me and that other guy from heading out for a second loop. I’m not sure he even realizes how badly many of us got lost. Oh well.
Despite my earlier annoyance and anger, I feel good. I got a good long run in, and adapted and overcame. It’s actually been a wonderful day! And now to do the worst thing possible: sit down in a car for an hour and a half and have my muscles all freeze up. Woo hoo!
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Pot O' Gold Fat Ass 50K-ish
The drive over to Pinkney is a little foggy, but nothing like two days ago when a tornado set down nearby in Dexter and wiped out ten houses, as well as damaged dozens of others. No one was hurt thankfully, but I'm wondering what the area is like, and if the trail we'll be running will be covered with downed trees. In fact, on that last main road there is a MDOT sign announcing simply that Pinkney-Dexter is closed. Yipes, the whole towns? But I don't see any wreckage and the side road up into the recreation area is open.
I'm early. The weather is, and has been, unusually warm for March in Michigan. Last year at this time I think we had two feet of snow. Now, it's spring, with birds and bugs out and about. My fellow runner from work, Mark, pulls up and says hello. While we're talking, the organizer of this Fat Ass, Lisa, pulls up and informs us that we're all supposed to meet up in the upper parking lot. Which, I didn't even know there was an upper parking lot. Good thing I got here in plenty of time, otherwise I'd be hanging out down here wondering where everyone was.
This is my second “Fat Ass” race, which is only kinda sorta a 'race'. Running Fit, the local running store company, has a Running Fit Ultramarathon Team (RUT for short), a group of hardcore runner in Washtenaw Country, and occasionally one of them organizes a longer race, though I think the Fat Ass concept is a national trend and concept, which I'm all for. There is as small sense of competition, enough to make one run at 'race pace' vs. a usual mellow run speed, though it's more about having other people to run with. This morning we seem to have about twenty people, all of whom have brought some kind of food or drink, ranging from healthy (bananas, salted almonds (my contribution)) to not (doughnuts, Mountain Dew).
I'm a little worried about getting lost. I've run in this area before, for Running Fit's Trail Marathon (and I'll be back in a few weeks to do so again) but I'm just worried about taking a wrong turn at Albequerque, even though Lisa goes over the layout. We're running the larger outer trail, the Potowatami, from which we get the name of this race, since the trail is lovingly known as, and marked as, the “Poto,” thus, “Pot o' Gold,” in keeping with the fact that it's St. Patrick's Day.
There are plenty o' trails in this rec area, but each intersection is numbered, with a map, and arrows pointing to the next trail markers. And, I'd thought that the Poto was about 13.1 miles, so that we'd run it twice, and those who wanted to make it a 50K would simply run an extra smaller loop, but Lisa explains to everyone that actually the Poto is about 14 miles, but can be made longer by adding on an extra side trail, making it 17 miles. So, since this is a RUT group, most people want the 50K, so will run the first loop at 17, then do the 14 miler. Me, I'm not so sure. This is actually my first long run of the year (I don't like running in the cold) so I'm going to just do the marathon option. Or, I guess now it will be 28 miles. Yikes. Well, ok.
I'm wondering if there are others down in the lower parking lot, but no one seems worried about it. I guess it's the Myers-Briggs INJT personality kicking in, wanting to make sure everything is organized precisely so as to help everyone. But, well, everyone here seems to know each other mostly. I live the next county over, just a little too far to take part in the regular long runs.
And, after a group photo, without much ceremony, Lisa says, “Go.” I hang back because, sure enough, Mark and all the other hardcore runners take off, leaving a few of us slowpokes in the dust. Actually I end up fairly quickly with one guy in front of me, and the two of us separate from the others behind us. He's going at a pace that's slightly slower than I'd want to be going, but instead of passing him and going off by myself, I hang back and start slow to pace myself a little. I always tend to start races faster than I normally would, and therefore tend to bog down at the end, though I think I'm going to bog down at the end of this no matter what.
His name, I think, but am not sure, is Rick. Name's are exchanges fairly quickly on these things, with everyone knowing we may separate at any point and not see each other again, and neither of us are regular RUTsters. But, he's interested in going beyond marathons, so when he hears about my experiences last year with my DNF at the Burning River 100M and the two 50 Milers I actually did finish, he picks my brain about what went wrong and right, which I'm happy to oblige. As much of a loner as I am, I now know that talking helps pass the time on these races, and keeps my mind off of, say, how sore my calves are from last weekend, when I really pushed myself.
At the first major intersection we stop to check the map. Basically we're supposed to take a right at every sign, except number 12, which is on the other side of the course. But neither one of us is familiar with the area. While we're looking, a group of three runners catches up to us and one of the women confirms that we go right, she's obviously run this route a lot, so we follow behind them for a while, until we hit some hills and end up passing them.
The trail heads north, following a long swampy lake. Canadian geese are honking away and I can hear some Sandhill Cranes somewhere. No bugs. I do have to say that it's turning into a warm day. I'm carrying my Amphipod water bottle, but I'm thinking it's not going to get me through 14 miles. Hm. The last Fat Ass I was in, a cooler of water was place at the halfway point, but that's not happening this time. Maybe I should have come a little better prepared, like with my bat-utility belt that holds to water bottle. Ah well.
I'm wearing my VFF KSOs, my old pair, still going strong after three years of abuse. I'm just not sure my feet are toughened up enough at this point in the year to get through a whole marathon. I considered doing the first loop bare, but I'm glad I didn't. If the trail were wetter and muddier, I might be able to go as fast as in VFFs, but it's just dry enough, and rocky enough, to make me feel thankful I've got that slab o' rubber there. I'm going to be slow enough, I don't need anything else holding me back.
At the northern most point, just when the trail turns west, we hit “Jurassic Park,” the nickname given to what is a University of Michigan Preserve. It just looks weird: a fifteen foot fence, with barbed wire on top, out in the middle of the woods. They really really don't want people sneaking in. That or they really really don't want any raptors getting out.
The trail looks like it goes straight south from here, but this is actually where it gets hillier, and there are many curves as the trail switchbacks up and down. We cross some roads, and some of the places along the route look familiar from the Trail Marathon, though we're actually running it in reverse, or, as some people said, not the “normal” way, which would be clockwise. Since this is a well used mountain bike route, where the bikes all go clockwise, Lisa's thinking, which I agree with, is to run facing them, so we can see them coming, because sometimes those guys come tearing around curves. Strangely though, we come across a group of like nine runners coming the other way, who say they're Fat Assers too. They must have arrived late? That's too bad, I would've liked more people out on the trail running in the same direction, especially since, after we hit trail marker 12, the guy I'm with decides to take off, which is fine, I certainly haven't been gaining speed on this thing. But, that puts me on my own. Which is fine, but I know I'll start zoning out and just running my mellow pace.
But man, I check my watch and I'm at two hours. This is a loooong half marathon, or 14 miles. That, and/or I'm waaaaay out of shape, which could very well be. But still, this trail seems to go on forever. I get to the next major trail intersection, the one where we could opt to add on an extra four miles to make it 17, and there's no way I'm going to do that. Fortunately there's a biker there two. He asks, “Did you just come from 12?”
“Yep.”
“Ok, well, I just came from the parking lot.” He points out the trail to take. That was easy and helpful. Glad we could help each other out.
I keep running. And running. Check my watch: Two and a half hours?! Really? For 14 miles? Man, I'm out of shape.
Finally finally finally I come down into the lower parking lot and head up to where all the goodies are stored. No one around. I check the sign-in sign: Only Mark and one other guy have checked in and gone on for loop two. Wow. Really? Does that mean everyone else (because most people have got to be ahead of me) took the 17 mile option? And therefor I'm now ahead of all them? I don't know, but I am going to eat some orange slices and bananas, and pound some water. Also some salty almonds. Mm, salt.
Man, 2:54 for a 14 mile loop? That is pathetic. Should I even attempt the second loop? But, I'm here, nothing else going on today. My big fear is being last, and having to keep Lisa and others waiting around for me, to make sure I haven't died or something. I was thinking that I'd finish my marathon around the same time as some people's 50Ks, but now I'm not so sure. Except no one else seems to be going that fast either, except Mark, damn him.
Well, the good news is that there are plenty o' shortcuts I can take I really really don't feel up to it. And so, after topping off with water, I head out again.
Almost immediately I start wondering if I've taken a wrong turn at ABQ. Stuff just doesn't look familiar, like for example that phone line that been knocked off the poles, I assume by the tornado weather, and is hanging across the trail at head level. How did I not see that before? Weird. Really shows how distracting, in a good way, talking to someone while running can be. But, there's the lake, and the shortcut, which I opt not to take, feeling, if not ok, then determined, at this point. And, here's Jurassic Park! Ok, I'm on the right trail. Hello raptors!
And I'm out of water. Shit. Well, I remember seeing a handpump at a campsite we ran through, but where is it? But, then, out of nowhere, an older gentleman in running gear is walking towards me, and he says, “Hello! Do you need any water? Or a Coke?”
I take a bottle of water and down it in one long chug. He fills up my bottle and offers me a bottle of Coke again. He's one of the people from that other group running the other way. He says he and some others ran the 17 mile loop, and that was enough, but that he'd put a 'stash' of drinks here on the opposite side, just in case, and since he didn't do the second loop, he's got some left over. I love minor miracles. I thank him profusely and run on. Just having this extra water has given me energy. Not sure if it's merely psychological, but I feel good. The calves aren't bothering me. I'm tired, yes, and not moving too fast, but I know I'm going to finish.
And I even run out of water again, but it's right before the campground, so I do stop at the pump, which actually works, with cold water! Yes!
Shortly after, around trail marker 12, two runners catch up to me. It's Lisa, the organizer, and another guy, a friend of her's. Rather than despairing that they may pass me, I actually get some energy, and we all run together. Turns out, they took the short cut, skipping the Jurassic Park section, which will make their second loop around ten miles, combined with the 17 mile loop the first time, that makes still more than a marathon. The guy as a GPS watch, and reveals that the loop I'm running is actually more like 15.5 miles! A ha! So, I'm actually running more like a 50K today. By accident. Well, that explains some things. Doh. Lisa apologizes, but actually I'm ok with it. I kinda like that I was tricked into running longer than I thought I could run.
And man, with the two of them, the last section goes by super quick. Amazing. Before I know it, there's the parking lot. Whew. Check the watch. Man. 6:56. Still an hour longer than I've run 50Ks before, but for March, with not having run more than 15 miles for since last December, I'll take it. I check the sign in list, which is now filled in. There's actually some folks still out on the trail, so I'm not last!
And now begins the gorging: more orange slices, bananas, almonds, and yes, a few doughnut holes, and some fig newtons, and someone made homemade oatmeal cookies. I'm probably eating back all the calories I just burned, but oh well, I feel good. I deserve a reward.
Overall, I almost kind of like these Fat Ass races more than some organized races. One, they're free, but there seems to be more camaraderie. And better food. I highly encourage others to hold these. If I weren't moving soon, I might consider hosting one in the Jackson area. Races are getting so expensive, especially out of town ones, that I just can't justify going to them. Yet, I like races, I run better at them, and become a better runner because of them. Or, looked at another way, they just create more races for people, because I'm fairly certain that everyone who ran this Fat Ass will also be in Running Fit's Trail Marathon, same area, in a few weeks. Having some free races throughout the year helps create more runners period.
Now, the drive back to Jackson, with my leg muscles already starting to tighten....
(I'm fifth from the left, in back)
I'm early. The weather is, and has been, unusually warm for March in Michigan. Last year at this time I think we had two feet of snow. Now, it's spring, with birds and bugs out and about. My fellow runner from work, Mark, pulls up and says hello. While we're talking, the organizer of this Fat Ass, Lisa, pulls up and informs us that we're all supposed to meet up in the upper parking lot. Which, I didn't even know there was an upper parking lot. Good thing I got here in plenty of time, otherwise I'd be hanging out down here wondering where everyone was.
This is my second “Fat Ass” race, which is only kinda sorta a 'race'. Running Fit, the local running store company, has a Running Fit Ultramarathon Team (RUT for short), a group of hardcore runner in Washtenaw Country, and occasionally one of them organizes a longer race, though I think the Fat Ass concept is a national trend and concept, which I'm all for. There is as small sense of competition, enough to make one run at 'race pace' vs. a usual mellow run speed, though it's more about having other people to run with. This morning we seem to have about twenty people, all of whom have brought some kind of food or drink, ranging from healthy (bananas, salted almonds (my contribution)) to not (doughnuts, Mountain Dew).
I'm a little worried about getting lost. I've run in this area before, for Running Fit's Trail Marathon (and I'll be back in a few weeks to do so again) but I'm just worried about taking a wrong turn at Albequerque, even though Lisa goes over the layout. We're running the larger outer trail, the Potowatami, from which we get the name of this race, since the trail is lovingly known as, and marked as, the “Poto,” thus, “Pot o' Gold,” in keeping with the fact that it's St. Patrick's Day.
There are plenty o' trails in this rec area, but each intersection is numbered, with a map, and arrows pointing to the next trail markers. And, I'd thought that the Poto was about 13.1 miles, so that we'd run it twice, and those who wanted to make it a 50K would simply run an extra smaller loop, but Lisa explains to everyone that actually the Poto is about 14 miles, but can be made longer by adding on an extra side trail, making it 17 miles. So, since this is a RUT group, most people want the 50K, so will run the first loop at 17, then do the 14 miler. Me, I'm not so sure. This is actually my first long run of the year (I don't like running in the cold) so I'm going to just do the marathon option. Or, I guess now it will be 28 miles. Yikes. Well, ok.
I'm wondering if there are others down in the lower parking lot, but no one seems worried about it. I guess it's the Myers-Briggs INJT personality kicking in, wanting to make sure everything is organized precisely so as to help everyone. But, well, everyone here seems to know each other mostly. I live the next county over, just a little too far to take part in the regular long runs.
And, after a group photo, without much ceremony, Lisa says, “Go.” I hang back because, sure enough, Mark and all the other hardcore runners take off, leaving a few of us slowpokes in the dust. Actually I end up fairly quickly with one guy in front of me, and the two of us separate from the others behind us. He's going at a pace that's slightly slower than I'd want to be going, but instead of passing him and going off by myself, I hang back and start slow to pace myself a little. I always tend to start races faster than I normally would, and therefore tend to bog down at the end, though I think I'm going to bog down at the end of this no matter what.
His name, I think, but am not sure, is Rick. Name's are exchanges fairly quickly on these things, with everyone knowing we may separate at any point and not see each other again, and neither of us are regular RUTsters. But, he's interested in going beyond marathons, so when he hears about my experiences last year with my DNF at the Burning River 100M and the two 50 Milers I actually did finish, he picks my brain about what went wrong and right, which I'm happy to oblige. As much of a loner as I am, I now know that talking helps pass the time on these races, and keeps my mind off of, say, how sore my calves are from last weekend, when I really pushed myself.
At the first major intersection we stop to check the map. Basically we're supposed to take a right at every sign, except number 12, which is on the other side of the course. But neither one of us is familiar with the area. While we're looking, a group of three runners catches up to us and one of the women confirms that we go right, she's obviously run this route a lot, so we follow behind them for a while, until we hit some hills and end up passing them.
The trail heads north, following a long swampy lake. Canadian geese are honking away and I can hear some Sandhill Cranes somewhere. No bugs. I do have to say that it's turning into a warm day. I'm carrying my Amphipod water bottle, but I'm thinking it's not going to get me through 14 miles. Hm. The last Fat Ass I was in, a cooler of water was place at the halfway point, but that's not happening this time. Maybe I should have come a little better prepared, like with my bat-utility belt that holds to water bottle. Ah well.
I'm wearing my VFF KSOs, my old pair, still going strong after three years of abuse. I'm just not sure my feet are toughened up enough at this point in the year to get through a whole marathon. I considered doing the first loop bare, but I'm glad I didn't. If the trail were wetter and muddier, I might be able to go as fast as in VFFs, but it's just dry enough, and rocky enough, to make me feel thankful I've got that slab o' rubber there. I'm going to be slow enough, I don't need anything else holding me back.
At the northern most point, just when the trail turns west, we hit “Jurassic Park,” the nickname given to what is a University of Michigan Preserve. It just looks weird: a fifteen foot fence, with barbed wire on top, out in the middle of the woods. They really really don't want people sneaking in. That or they really really don't want any raptors getting out.
The trail looks like it goes straight south from here, but this is actually where it gets hillier, and there are many curves as the trail switchbacks up and down. We cross some roads, and some of the places along the route look familiar from the Trail Marathon, though we're actually running it in reverse, or, as some people said, not the “normal” way, which would be clockwise. Since this is a well used mountain bike route, where the bikes all go clockwise, Lisa's thinking, which I agree with, is to run facing them, so we can see them coming, because sometimes those guys come tearing around curves. Strangely though, we come across a group of like nine runners coming the other way, who say they're Fat Assers too. They must have arrived late? That's too bad, I would've liked more people out on the trail running in the same direction, especially since, after we hit trail marker 12, the guy I'm with decides to take off, which is fine, I certainly haven't been gaining speed on this thing. But, that puts me on my own. Which is fine, but I know I'll start zoning out and just running my mellow pace.
But man, I check my watch and I'm at two hours. This is a loooong half marathon, or 14 miles. That, and/or I'm waaaaay out of shape, which could very well be. But still, this trail seems to go on forever. I get to the next major trail intersection, the one where we could opt to add on an extra four miles to make it 17, and there's no way I'm going to do that. Fortunately there's a biker there two. He asks, “Did you just come from 12?”
“Yep.”
“Ok, well, I just came from the parking lot.” He points out the trail to take. That was easy and helpful. Glad we could help each other out.
I keep running. And running. Check my watch: Two and a half hours?! Really? For 14 miles? Man, I'm out of shape.
Finally finally finally I come down into the lower parking lot and head up to where all the goodies are stored. No one around. I check the sign-in sign: Only Mark and one other guy have checked in and gone on for loop two. Wow. Really? Does that mean everyone else (because most people have got to be ahead of me) took the 17 mile option? And therefor I'm now ahead of all them? I don't know, but I am going to eat some orange slices and bananas, and pound some water. Also some salty almonds. Mm, salt.
Man, 2:54 for a 14 mile loop? That is pathetic. Should I even attempt the second loop? But, I'm here, nothing else going on today. My big fear is being last, and having to keep Lisa and others waiting around for me, to make sure I haven't died or something. I was thinking that I'd finish my marathon around the same time as some people's 50Ks, but now I'm not so sure. Except no one else seems to be going that fast either, except Mark, damn him.
Well, the good news is that there are plenty o' shortcuts I can take I really really don't feel up to it. And so, after topping off with water, I head out again.
Almost immediately I start wondering if I've taken a wrong turn at ABQ. Stuff just doesn't look familiar, like for example that phone line that been knocked off the poles, I assume by the tornado weather, and is hanging across the trail at head level. How did I not see that before? Weird. Really shows how distracting, in a good way, talking to someone while running can be. But, there's the lake, and the shortcut, which I opt not to take, feeling, if not ok, then determined, at this point. And, here's Jurassic Park! Ok, I'm on the right trail. Hello raptors!
And I'm out of water. Shit. Well, I remember seeing a handpump at a campsite we ran through, but where is it? But, then, out of nowhere, an older gentleman in running gear is walking towards me, and he says, “Hello! Do you need any water? Or a Coke?”
I take a bottle of water and down it in one long chug. He fills up my bottle and offers me a bottle of Coke again. He's one of the people from that other group running the other way. He says he and some others ran the 17 mile loop, and that was enough, but that he'd put a 'stash' of drinks here on the opposite side, just in case, and since he didn't do the second loop, he's got some left over. I love minor miracles. I thank him profusely and run on. Just having this extra water has given me energy. Not sure if it's merely psychological, but I feel good. The calves aren't bothering me. I'm tired, yes, and not moving too fast, but I know I'm going to finish.
And I even run out of water again, but it's right before the campground, so I do stop at the pump, which actually works, with cold water! Yes!
Shortly after, around trail marker 12, two runners catch up to me. It's Lisa, the organizer, and another guy, a friend of her's. Rather than despairing that they may pass me, I actually get some energy, and we all run together. Turns out, they took the short cut, skipping the Jurassic Park section, which will make their second loop around ten miles, combined with the 17 mile loop the first time, that makes still more than a marathon. The guy as a GPS watch, and reveals that the loop I'm running is actually more like 15.5 miles! A ha! So, I'm actually running more like a 50K today. By accident. Well, that explains some things. Doh. Lisa apologizes, but actually I'm ok with it. I kinda like that I was tricked into running longer than I thought I could run.
And man, with the two of them, the last section goes by super quick. Amazing. Before I know it, there's the parking lot. Whew. Check the watch. Man. 6:56. Still an hour longer than I've run 50Ks before, but for March, with not having run more than 15 miles for since last December, I'll take it. I check the sign in list, which is now filled in. There's actually some folks still out on the trail, so I'm not last!
And now begins the gorging: more orange slices, bananas, almonds, and yes, a few doughnut holes, and some fig newtons, and someone made homemade oatmeal cookies. I'm probably eating back all the calories I just burned, but oh well, I feel good. I deserve a reward.
Overall, I almost kind of like these Fat Ass races more than some organized races. One, they're free, but there seems to be more camaraderie. And better food. I highly encourage others to hold these. If I weren't moving soon, I might consider hosting one in the Jackson area. Races are getting so expensive, especially out of town ones, that I just can't justify going to them. Yet, I like races, I run better at them, and become a better runner because of them. Or, looked at another way, they just create more races for people, because I'm fairly certain that everyone who ran this Fat Ass will also be in Running Fit's Trail Marathon, same area, in a few weeks. Having some free races throughout the year helps create more runners period.
Now, the drive back to Jackson, with my leg muscles already starting to tighten....
(I'm fifth from the left, in back)
Monday, September 27, 2010
Woodstock 50K
I've been called a freak for running barefoot before, but now I guess it's a official: I'm running the Woodstock 50K today, one of many different races being run, all with a hippy-themed title, such as the 'Hallucination 100 miler.' Mine is the 'Freak 50K.'
Why? you may ask. Why in God's name would you run more than a marathon (or, why even run a marathon?). Well, after teaching a class at JCC that's designed to help my students think about their lives, and develop life plans, along with a list of goals, and specific steps to achieve them, I decided that one of my own goals is to run a 100 miler next summer. On top of that, I wanted to show, to them and myself, that it is possible to push beyond what we think is possible. So when I saw that the Woodstock events featured a 50K starting at the same time, I thought, ok John, do it.
Trouble is, I'm not sure I can. I've been contemplating at possible 'DNF' (Did Not Finish) every since I signed up. The problem being that, being American, I have no idea how long fifty kilometers actually is. One the race website, the description says that the marathon is two thirteen mile loops, and the 50K adds on a third loop, so I've been thinking 50K is like, 39, 40 miles. That is, until one of the organizers announces that the half-marathoner, the marathoners and 50Kers should follow the blue flagging, and that the 50Kers should then follow the white flagging for an additional five mile loop.
Five miles? Is that right? Oh hell, then I know I can do this! No worries, 'ees very possible!'
The other concern, of course, is my feet. I'm fairly sure I can do a marathon barefoot, since I did the Pinkney Trail Marathon this last Spring, and it's basically in the same area: DNR land northwest of Ann Arbor, and northeast of Jackson (my new home)(no comment). And, coolest of all, I had to drive through Hell to get here. Hell, Michigan that is.
The Woodstock organizers have rented a private campground, Hell's Creek Campground, for a three day running fest in the Michigan woods. Many people are camping out for the all three days, and as I'll learn later, many are even from out of state. The festivities began yesterday, Friday, when the 100 milers and the 100kers started, at 4 PM. Meaning, they're been running all night. Crazy. Also, the 50 milers started a bit earlier this morning, at 6:30. They'll be running all day. Crazy.
I'm here at 7:00. At 7:30 the halfers, the marathoners, and us 50Kers will start, and then a little later, a 5K and 10K will be held. Not a huge crowd, seems like maybe a hundred folks to me, but I'm horrible with numbers. Still, I saw a list of all the 50Kers, and there was only like twenty of us, so maybe. I'm not entirely sure how Running Fit, the sponsors, are making money at this. But, they recycle their running chips, and the trails are there, and everyone paid, and for camp grounds too, so maybe it's worth it. I myself would drop the lame Woodstock theme and go with something about Hell. The 'Runs from Hell,' something like that. But, being Michigan, that would probably offend somebody.
The weather about perfect: mid-50s, overcast all day. Threatened rain last night, and there was a high wind advisory, but everything's dry. I was actually hoping for mud, since, 1. it's fun to run in, and 2. it would ease my concerns about the feet.
My plan for the race had been to just run slow and finish, because it's an experiment in something longer, but, now that I know I only have an extra five miles, I'm suddenly re-evaluating that. Doesn't help that I'm starting with the half-marathoners, who will be going fast right from the start. Or, most of them. Ok, some of them.
After dropping off my bag in the runners' tent, which holds dry shirts and my huaraches and VFFs in case I need a Plan B for the feet, I wander up to the port-o-potties for a last purging. They're located right where the trail into the woods starts. There's a short line, nothing too bad. As we're all waiting there, a woman runner comes walking up the road from the tent. I notice some dirt on her shins and think, 'Huh.' It's only after she walks by us and off into the trees that I wonder out loud, “Was that one of the 100 milers??”
The woman in front of me in line turns to me. “I think it was. I didn't realize either. We must look like the most horrible fans ever.”
After that a couple more runners come walking by, and we clap and give encouragement. They're so quiet, and they look like us, except just a little dirty. Ok, maybe a little tired looking, that should be my big clue.
The campground is set up in a circle, with campsites around the perimeter and inner circle, and with a large grass field in the middle. Two tents are set up right next to each other, one for runners' (mostly the hardcore ones that started yesterday I think) to store things, and the other for registration and perhaps food later. Next to the ten is the Finish line, with a large banner over it. To finish, runners have to veer off to the right into a flagged off 'chute'. Otherwise they go through a side entrance in runners' tent, with timing pads laid out in front.
On the far side of the grass field is a large stage with amps and a drum set, though no bands are playing yet. Classic rock music is blaring through the PA though, and one of the organziers, dressed long black wig, with tie-dyed t-shirt and John Lennon sunglasses, gets up to start us off, and it's about as low-key as I've experienced, even more low key than the Somerset Stampede. The only interesting thing is that some runners are dressed up, vaguely, as hippies. I'm not, I already have long hair and have suffered enough hippy taunts for the rest of my life. For the record: I'm not a hippie, I'm a metalhead.
But, we start. No gun, no nothing really. And ouch, the first part is on the gravel road right in the campground. Made harder by the clumping of people. I like to have some clearance, so I can see a few steps ahead, especially for gravel roads. Not happening. But soon, we're up on the grass and on the trail and into the woods!
A guy next to me says out of the blue, “Hey, are you John?”
I look down, he's got some hauraches on. A ha! And yes, he confirms that he's Ryan (? I think?), and on the Barefoot Running Society website. Also from Ann Arbor it turns out, though we never saw each other there. He's running the half. “I'm only used to running 5Ks!” And he's got a good pace going already, so I wish him luck.
So, yes, at first I sorta kinda try to pace myself and go slow(er), but everyone is pumped up, and that's infectious, and it just feels damn good to be out in the woods running, so eventually I'm up to what I'd consider my half-marathon pace. Not sprinting, but a good trot, passing people when possible on the trail, though also of course getting passed.
The trail is just like it was for the Pinkney Trail Marathon: soft dirt, sand, leaving, with only a little bit o' rockage. Hills for sure, which I'm running up, instead of doing the Hill Walk. I'm feeling good. I can do this. I've been running some pretty rough trails near my new apartment in Jackson, in Ella Sharp Park, with a lot of twigs and acorns and other pokey things. This? This is cake.
One part of the course actually dumps us out on a long straightaway, a bike/horse trail perhaps, almost a dirt road, though not gravel, just kind of larger sand chunks. Very doable, and with the the wide lane, and what looks like flat ground for miles, I go into fast mode, bending my legs and leaning forward, the 'falling forward' technique I've been working on. I know I shouldn't be doing this, that I should just pace myself, but I can't help it. I'm passing a lot of people, some of them half-marathoners, so I think I'm getting a sense of superiority. Selfish I know, but it feels good.
And yes, the shocked gasps, the comments: “Barefoot?” “Holy shit!” “Man, look at that guy!”
Interesting, I didn't think about it at the time, but in the Somerset Stampede a month ago, there didn't seem to be as many of these comments, I think in part because I was wearing huaraches. I got some, but not a lot. Apparently, some kind of footwear is ok, but barefoot just freaks people out.
By the way, never have I seen so many VFF wearers in one spot. I saw like two guys wearing them at the Pinkney Trail Marathon last Spring, but here, I've already seen, I swear, like ten people in VFFs. Are they finally catching on? Or is this event in a different group of folks? Not sure, but I'm glad to see them out here, and give them some 'good jobs' though even they are shocked to see a real barefooter. I'm telling you guys, you could be out here barefoot next year! You're so close!
At the first refreshment station, business is brisk, as we're all going out to a point and turning around and coming back. I grab some water and one of the women asks me my number and what race I'm in, noting something on a clipboard. I can't quite tell if she's doing this for everybody, or just the 50Kers, but I think it's to make sure people are indeed running their proper distances. Though, if I hadn't stopped for water, she wouldn't have noticed me.
Back to running. With people already on their way back, we get to look at each other. Lots o' men, at least up front, though with some hardcore females. Once again I have to say the runner women just look amazing. Just lean and tough and healthy and I love them.
My feet continue to create a stir. Amusing. Lot's of comments like, “Oh, I could never do that.” or “My feet aren't tough enough to do that.” But, you could! With a little time, they would be! Anyone can do this! I swear! That's what I want my students to know: if they want to do something, and take the steps to do it, there will be a pay off.
We run out to an arbitrarily placed-looking pole in the middle of the road, with a sign that says, 'Circle around.' No observers, but there are timing mats, hooked up to some kind of battery-powered counter sitting off in the weeds. Does it actually work, or is it just for looks? Probably works, and I wouldn't want to be the poor sap who might've had to stand out here all day making sure people ran around the poll.
We return back to the refreshment station and I drink some more water. The woman again notes my number and writes something on her clipboard. A little ways past we shoot back onto a forest trail. People are more spread out now, finding their pace. Less talking, more heavy breathing, though there are still some energetic individuals coming up strong from behind. Me, I'm starting to regret my fast start. My legs have been feeling a little, how can I say? wobbly. The way I felt at the end of the half-marathon, which is about where I'm at, though my last marathon I was feeling strong at this point. I feel it all may be a penguin waddle from here on out.
Still, that said, I'm not the slowest, and I'm still passing some folks. And, on that bike path there was a loooong line of folks behind me. So, confidence John, confidence.
Another little side trail/loop, this one going into an Enchanted Pine Forest. Actually an old tree farm looks like, with the trees in rows. But, nice soft needles to run on. Interestingly, so far the race officials have been fairly good about keeping track of us runners, with race pads at the major turn arounds, but here in the pines we're kind of on our own, and the course zigs and zags so that, when I see runners ahead of me, I actually almost run right by the blue flags signaling a left turn.
But, feeling plenty of space now, no bottle-necks on the trail at all. Surprisingly not a lot of chatter on this race. I wonder if that's because I started fast, putting me up with the serious folks? If so, that's another argument for the fast start! I know the value of conversation during a race (check out my Somerset Stampede post) but when I'm on my own, two loud guys jabbering behind me is annoying.
But no, this is a fairly quiet race, and soon we're out of the Enchanted Forest and back on the main trail, past a mean looking crevasse that I would NOT want to come across in the middle of the night after running 50 miles. I hope those guys got a more mellow route.
I end up behind two more VFFers. Post college guys, still athletic, are obviously still pounding the protein powder (Beefcake! Beefcaaaake!) with these big arms, yet here they are with almost dainty-looking feet. The second guy keeps catching his feet on roots, which is what happens to me in my VFFs, and finally he trips and takes a huge spill, but he's up in a second, pretending it didn't hurt.
They're going at a good pace, so I lock in behind them. They don't even know I'm there, since none of us is clomping away in shoes, but then we come across the coolest thing: a mud bog. One guy with shoes is already trying to creep around the edge of it, and VFFers try to do the same. Me? I go straight through, squishing up to my ankles, and coming out with grey muddy feet stuck between my toes. One of the guys goes, “Holy shit! Barefoot!”
The other I hear faintly: “No way!”
Dude, way.
And I leave them behind still trying to stay non-muddy.
A couple more miles. Another drink station with more kind, generous, folks helping us running fools. Another couple more miles et voilà, I come up a hill into the campground! Some people standing there, some of them camping right there, clap and cheer me on. “Way to go barefoot runner!”
And back on the cursed gravel road. My feets are getting a little tender by now, so this gravel is even more hurt-like. I hop onto the grass berm, but there are big chunky gravel bits hidden in it, so that running in the actual dirt is less painful, or a least less painfully surprising.
I go around one bend in the road and there's the Finish area, I'm the only runner coming in here at this point, looks like. Instead of taking the Finish chute, I take the side route that goes through the main tent, but before I get inside, I hear someone yell my name, or something somewhat close to it: “Vaugh! Hey Vaughn!”
It's Rob, my running buddy from The Somerset Stampede! We'd talked about both being here, and I'd looked for him at the start, but figured he'd had a change of plans. But no, he's just run the half, already wearing his medal. To confess, I also don't have his name quite right, but we re-introduce ourselves, and he hits me with some surprising news: I actually won the Stampede for my age category. I hadn't planned on that, so after the race I'd just left, but he stayed around. And, he went above and beyond the call of duty by bringing my medal out to me. He was waiting around hoping to see me. What an awesome guy.
I show him wear my bag o' stuff is in the runners' tent and tell him to leave it there, along with his email so I can properly thank him later. Unfortunately, I can't really hang out and chat. I'll be running for a few more hours (!) and he's of course getting ready to take off.
Also unfortunately, I'm so psyched with this double pleasant surprise that I completely forget to drink any water or eat anything and don't realize it until I'm back out on the trail. Doh. But I check my watch for my half-marathon time: Almost two hours exactly. Ok, that's cool, that's good. Can I sustain that pace? Not a chance in Hell. On the other hand, I'm feeling ok. Trotting now, but it's a good trot. Not a penguin waddle. Yet. Feet feel a wee bit tender, but ok. Nothing painful. No cuts, no bruises, no dislocated toes. Just a little bit like the soles have been worn down a little. If anything, it's the rest of my body that hurts, especially my inner thighs.
Now that all those pesky half-marathon critters are out of the way, the trail is much more open. In fact, I'm alone for a while. And, since I've not going as fast, most of the people I see are people passing me, though after a while I start to pass people walking and/or barely trotting, and then I remember that there was a 5K/10K starting later in the morning, so that must be those people. Also, at one point I come across a whole line of people from the campground, who I guess are just out for a hiking excursion. Probably friends and family of runners. That's what I'd do too I guess, if I had to wait around, just go out for a hike.
At one point I pass a couple of women running and one of them, seeing my feet, asks me if I'm on the Barefoot Runners Society website. BFS members everywhere! She tells me her handle, which I think is Buzzy, though I'm not sure. I don't look back to check, but I think she was actually shod, so must still be in a transition period. Maybe next year she'll be doing this barefoot!
I'm sore. Definitely. Still moving forward, but bending my legs is starting to hurt, so that, interestingly, I'm starting to run with straighter legs, which puts me more in shod-running posture, and makes me feel like my feet are less likely to be coming down flat. Not sure I'm explaining that very well, but anyways, having to do something like bend down to get under a tree across the path is almost agony.
Back at the first refreshment station, I stop for water and Gatorade, but this time, holy crap, I'm noticing some of the other things on the table: In addition to orange slices and banana halves, they've got a bag of Doritos, and some other chips and, miracle, Fig Newtons! These guys know how to throw a race. I grab some Doritos, just because it's funny to be eating something so bad on a super healthy activity, and they taste wonderful actually. I guess they're scientifically designed by corporations to be that way. I also eat some fruit, lovely fruit. And then grab a handful of the Newtons. I heart figs!
The gravel/sand road is now sparsely populated, though still with folks going both directions. I pass a big football-looking guy, going pretty slow, with a pained expression on his face. I say hey and we exchange pleasantries about the weather. I don't ask, but after I pass him, I start to wonder if maybe he and some of the other slower people out this far are actually either half-marathoners or still on their first loop for the marathon? Could I actually be lapping people? Not sure.
We return back, I grab some more Newtons, thinking 1. I'm not going to burn any calories today, and 2. I hope I don't cramp up from eating too many of these. And I shoot back onto the forest trail. I don't know how many miles into the loop I'm in, but I still find it amazing that there are sometimes people passing me at a good clip. They must have just been really holding back for the first half of the race. I'm still not sure on that strategy, because it seems like even after pacing myself for thirteen miles I'd still be beat at this point, but man, how great would going that fast for the rest of the marathon be?
Two slightly odd things: First, there are hunters out. Or, people with guns dressed in orange and camo. Is it hunting season? I thought that was later? What's in season? Not good to have guys shooting guns with runners all over the place.
Second, I come across two women riding horses through the trees, onto the path. As per trail etiquette, I call out to them way before I get there that there's a runner on the trail. Good thing too, since the front horse gets startled and jumps backward, almost throwing the woman. Hate to think what might've happened if I hadn't said anything and just come up right next to them. If I was wearing shoes he probably would have heard me clomping. I tell them that there's going to be runners going back and forth, and this seem to be the first they've heard this, and I'm the first runner they've seen. They seem a little disappointed at the news. Understandable, but I wonder, along with the hunters, if there were announcements about the races made? Signs posted?
I'm alone again, to the point where if I wasn't absolutely sure I was on the right trail, with the blue flagging everywhere, I'd be feeling like I'd taken a wrong turn. But, when I enter the Enchanted Forest again, suddenly there's a whole bunch of us running together. Again, almost mysteriously, once we exit the Forest, I go back to, seemingly, running alone.
I say that, but actually there are guys passing me. After all those people I passed earlier, the tide has turned, and now some of them are passing me back. I'm both a little leg sore, plus my soles are starting to get sensitive. Rocky places that I remember cruising over the first time around are now feeling kind of rough, enough that I slow down and tip-toe through the stones.
But there are still plenty o' sandy spots, soft dirt spots, and yes! the mud bog! Once more into the mud!
Which means, I'm getting to the end of loop #2. I hear what sounds like an elk off in the forest, but then realize that it's a guy at the last refreshment station with one of those vuvuzelas (sp?). Not so funny: I do hear rifle shots off in the distance.
Funny how 'getting to the end' takes on a different meaning in a long race. I still run about another two mile maybe before coming up the hill into the campground. Lots of spectators out now. some looking to the stage, others hanging around the tents, and others in lawn chairs out on the grass. One of my favorite songs, “Gimme Shelter” by the Stones, is just starting, right when the drums and bass come in. What an awesome groove. Just sends shivers up my spine and fills me with energy.
A band seems to be setting up, and someone with a mike on stage goes: “That guy's got no shoes!” and so everyone hanging around turns to look at me and starts cheering and clapping. Eep. I feel I should give them a show, so, a little out of character for me, I raise my hands above my head in a double devil's horn salute. Hey, we're in Hell. Plus I have to look strong, maybe make some new converts to the barefoot cause.
This time through the tent, I stop at the refreshment station, and man, do that have all kinds of stuff: Water, Gatorade, three different kinds of pop. M&Ms, chips, licorice, and even peanut butter and jelly sandwiches! This is where the 100 milers come through too, and I can't imagine how wonderful this stuff would be after seventy-five miles.
Btw, where are the 100 milers? I haven't seen them. They must be on a completely different, route, though I've seen signs giving directions, therefore I think they must overlap at points, like at the first refreshment station, but I guess they just blend in. I think though that they must have begun to filter in finish? Also, the 50 milers must be out and about too? I have no idea.
Ok, this is it, uncharted territory for me. I've never run this long, or for this much time. Surprisingly, I feel ok, like I've got a little burst of energy, which is bizarre, since if I'd run the marathon I'd be standing back there thinking that I was exhausted and that I couldn't have gone any further. I think it really is psychological.
And now I follow the white flags, which at first go along with the blue flags, but soon I see what's going on. I now get to skip that whole sand/gravel road section. On sections where it's just white flags, I'm alone. Makes sense, since that list of 50Kers I saw only had like twenty people. Chances are we're spread out all over the place.
But then the white flags join back up with the blue flag route and I'm amongst people again. And this time it's true, I'm actually passing people on their second loop of the marathon.
At a point where I'm by myself, I stop for a quick piss break. I casually look down to check my urine color, just to see if I'm on the more dehydrated side. What comes out is red. I'm pissing blood! Uh oh. This can't be good. Wtf? Is that extreme dehydration? Or am I about to die? I feel ok. Shit.
Well, I'm halfway through my last loop, might as well finish, but, eep!
Turns out I also get to skip the Enchanted Forest section this time around, and I come in right where some marathoners are coming out of it, and to my woe, behind a guy with a beeping watch. I still do not get this, this fascination men have with toys, nor do I understand what this beeping is gaining him. They come every couple seconds, and he seems to still be varying his pace with the hills. Is it a heart monitor? But, it's not beeping every heartbeat, so what good is the beep? Just seems like more of an egotistical thing, to show off to others that he has money to buy a toy, and is therefore a 'serious' runner. Dude, seriously? On a trail marathon even? Just turn off your watch and enjoy the ride.
But, that's just me, and yes I know I'm getting dehydrated and tired and feeling grumpy, and possibly going to die soon from blood loss through my penis. So I channel my annoyance and pass him on a hill.
But then, there are the two women on horses again. Or, are they two different women? Not sure, they're just sitting there in the trail, the horses facing each other. I call out that I'm passing through, and go around off the trail, giving the rear horses hooves a large leeway. One of them gasps. “You're barefoot!”
I yell back, “Yes. I am,” and continue. But, I hear her ask beeping guy, “Why's he barefoot?”
And, he answers, “Oh, some people just think it's cool.”
Grr. Motherfucker. Fuck you you fucking fuck. Why don't you just say you don't know? Grr.
I hope he doesn't end up being around me for the rest of the race. That would suck mightily. Fortunately, I hit a kind of rough downhill area, where I have to slow down. So, instead of fighting him and trying to outrun him, I just step to the side and let him pass. Bye bye beeper. But know this: I'm going to be finishing my 50K a few minutes later than your marathon. With no shoes, and no beeping watch.
Ok, so maybe I am kind of a superior-sounding barefooter. Righteous even. Breathe John. Concentrate on important things.
Like the two attractive women I'd noted earlier, on the first loop, who I'd thought were running the half, but who now breeze on by me. Lovely. Wearing tight black running shorts and t-shirts that say 'Mongo' which I don't understand. Do they work at Mongolian barbeque? Anyways, they're gone. Visions. Angels.
I'm ok. I'm going slow, but not waddling. That initial energy burst is gone, perhaps pissing blood will do that, but I'm not trudging either. I'm looking forward to being done though. But, there is no doubt that I'm going to finish, which in itself kind of gives me energy.
And, as a last treat, I get to go through the mud bog a third time. If predator space aliens ever hunt me through the woods, I know to come here and cover my whole body in the stuff, in order to avoid their infra-red sensors. It's important to know these things.
And if I'm at the mud bog, that means, yep, I'm almost done. One last refresh station, couple more miles, getting passed by a couple small groups of people. One guy running with two attractive women: “Boy, he's going to have to wash his feet when he gets home!” Har har dude, you're overwhelming the ladies with your wit.
But, basically alone for the last bit. I come up the hill into the campground. By now, the gravel road is just brutal on my feet. No strong fast sprint finish here, though I feel I could have. I just try to keep a decent pace and aim for the less rocky bits.
A band is playing, lots of people out on the grass field watching, though I pass by almost unnoticed. I take the Finish shoot and people there do clap and cheer. There's a photographer on the other side of the finish line, so I stop and raise my right foot in a Karate Kid crane position, trying to look fierce, which gets some laughs and cheers. Then I playfully hop on and over the running mats.
A woman with a clipboard is waiting for me. “Well, since you have so much energy, maybe you should've run a longer race.” Indeed, that's exactly what I'm thinking.
She takes my name and race and age. She's handing out top finisher prizes for each age and race category, but alas didn't place anywhere close to first in this one. No surprise, seemed like any 50Ker I met out there was a forty-something male.
She cuts my chip off (duct-taped btw), and her daughter hands my my medal: A peace sign with rainbow ribbon. Of course.
And then....A real feeling of anti-climax. People are watching the band, or wandering around. I'm the only one to have come in for a while it seems. I see other runners with medals, but they look like they're been sitting around. I don't know. Weird, but I guess it's the fact that the half-marathoners finished long ago, and even most of the marathoners will have finished by now.
I wander down to the tent, where there's free food for finishers. I down two bottles of water, still worried that I may be extremely dehydrated and not know it, though again, I feel ok. The food they have, sandwiches and salads, is kind of stale and unappetizing. I'd rather have some more PB&Js and Fig Newtons.
Another runner comes in. He looks exhausted, and since he's got some people there to greet him, I presume he is one of the 100 milers. Or, 100K? Or 50 miler? And, nobody but his crew is paying attention to him either. Dude, the guy just ran 100 miles. There should be cheering, balloons going off. I know it would be hard to have some sustained celebration for all the finishers coming in all day, and I don't know how the organizers could do this any better, but still, it seems almost disrespectful to not acknowledge this courage.
And, there are still people running: two women come through for another loop. Man, there's just going to be people finishing for hours maybe.
Ok, well, I feel kind of weird just standing around. I go into the tent and grab my bag o' stuff that I didn't end up needing at all. But at least I can slip on my huaraches and some dry shirts. I was hoping I'd run into some of the people I met on the trail, but no. I do, however, run into a woman sitting with one leg raised and an ice pack wrapped over her knee. She notices my muddy feet and asks which race I've done. Turns out she's just finished the 100K. You wouldn't think it from looking at her. She's petite, thin, quiet, with white hair. She must be over fifty, maybe over sixty. As we're chatting, she lets slip that she used to run 100 milers, “back in the day,” though nowadays she says she always gets 'timed out' in them (meaning she's a bit too slow and can't make the mandatory cut-off times). She likes this race, which she drove 800 miles to be in, because the 100Kers are given the same time to finish as the 100 milers, so she can make it. Amazing. I tell her that she's my hero. I want to be like her when I grow up. Unfortunately I don't get her name. She's probably somebody famous in the running community. Maybe I've just missed the opportunity to crew for somebody cool.
My priority is to talk to an EMT, and I'm directed to a fire department truck up near the parking lot. They inform me that pissing blood has nothing to do with dehydration, that I may be passed a kidney stone, or have some kind of infection. I should monitor it and if I'm concerned, get my urine tested. They offer to give me directions to a nearby medical station that's open on Saturdays, but since they don't seem overly concerned, meaning that I don't seem to be in imminent danger of dying, I decide to wait.
And, since I'm basically almost to the parking lot, I decide, well, to just get heading back home. I'm not exhausted feeling. I'm tired, but certainly up for driving. One of these days I'm going to need to get a girlfriend to do these things for me, so I can allow myself to suffer.
When I get to the parking lot, it's mostly deserted. All the people who are left seem to be the ones who came for the whole weekend. Farewell Woodstock! Perhaps next year for something longer?
So, to re-cap: I remain undecided about the fast start. Seems like it works psychologically at least, tapping into the initial adrenaline burst.
As for the question of how possible running a 50K is, I say,in my best Russian accent, 'ees very possible!' For all you Americans out there, according to 'teh internets,' 50 kilometers equals 31.07 miles. Seriously, if someone can run a marathon, they can do a 50K no problem. I can now see myself running 50 miles. I think it really is a mental thing after a certain point.
Final note: my next urination is yellow. All is apparently well.
Why? you may ask. Why in God's name would you run more than a marathon (or, why even run a marathon?). Well, after teaching a class at JCC that's designed to help my students think about their lives, and develop life plans, along with a list of goals, and specific steps to achieve them, I decided that one of my own goals is to run a 100 miler next summer. On top of that, I wanted to show, to them and myself, that it is possible to push beyond what we think is possible. So when I saw that the Woodstock events featured a 50K starting at the same time, I thought, ok John, do it.
Trouble is, I'm not sure I can. I've been contemplating at possible 'DNF' (Did Not Finish) every since I signed up. The problem being that, being American, I have no idea how long fifty kilometers actually is. One the race website, the description says that the marathon is two thirteen mile loops, and the 50K adds on a third loop, so I've been thinking 50K is like, 39, 40 miles. That is, until one of the organizers announces that the half-marathoner, the marathoners and 50Kers should follow the blue flagging, and that the 50Kers should then follow the white flagging for an additional five mile loop.
Five miles? Is that right? Oh hell, then I know I can do this! No worries, 'ees very possible!'
The other concern, of course, is my feet. I'm fairly sure I can do a marathon barefoot, since I did the Pinkney Trail Marathon this last Spring, and it's basically in the same area: DNR land northwest of Ann Arbor, and northeast of Jackson (my new home)(no comment). And, coolest of all, I had to drive through Hell to get here. Hell, Michigan that is.
The Woodstock organizers have rented a private campground, Hell's Creek Campground, for a three day running fest in the Michigan woods. Many people are camping out for the all three days, and as I'll learn later, many are even from out of state. The festivities began yesterday, Friday, when the 100 milers and the 100kers started, at 4 PM. Meaning, they're been running all night. Crazy. Also, the 50 milers started a bit earlier this morning, at 6:30. They'll be running all day. Crazy.
I'm here at 7:00. At 7:30 the halfers, the marathoners, and us 50Kers will start, and then a little later, a 5K and 10K will be held. Not a huge crowd, seems like maybe a hundred folks to me, but I'm horrible with numbers. Still, I saw a list of all the 50Kers, and there was only like twenty of us, so maybe. I'm not entirely sure how Running Fit, the sponsors, are making money at this. But, they recycle their running chips, and the trails are there, and everyone paid, and for camp grounds too, so maybe it's worth it. I myself would drop the lame Woodstock theme and go with something about Hell. The 'Runs from Hell,' something like that. But, being Michigan, that would probably offend somebody.
The weather about perfect: mid-50s, overcast all day. Threatened rain last night, and there was a high wind advisory, but everything's dry. I was actually hoping for mud, since, 1. it's fun to run in, and 2. it would ease my concerns about the feet.
My plan for the race had been to just run slow and finish, because it's an experiment in something longer, but, now that I know I only have an extra five miles, I'm suddenly re-evaluating that. Doesn't help that I'm starting with the half-marathoners, who will be going fast right from the start. Or, most of them. Ok, some of them.
After dropping off my bag in the runners' tent, which holds dry shirts and my huaraches and VFFs in case I need a Plan B for the feet, I wander up to the port-o-potties for a last purging. They're located right where the trail into the woods starts. There's a short line, nothing too bad. As we're all waiting there, a woman runner comes walking up the road from the tent. I notice some dirt on her shins and think, 'Huh.' It's only after she walks by us and off into the trees that I wonder out loud, “Was that one of the 100 milers??”
The woman in front of me in line turns to me. “I think it was. I didn't realize either. We must look like the most horrible fans ever.”
After that a couple more runners come walking by, and we clap and give encouragement. They're so quiet, and they look like us, except just a little dirty. Ok, maybe a little tired looking, that should be my big clue.
The campground is set up in a circle, with campsites around the perimeter and inner circle, and with a large grass field in the middle. Two tents are set up right next to each other, one for runners' (mostly the hardcore ones that started yesterday I think) to store things, and the other for registration and perhaps food later. Next to the ten is the Finish line, with a large banner over it. To finish, runners have to veer off to the right into a flagged off 'chute'. Otherwise they go through a side entrance in runners' tent, with timing pads laid out in front.
On the far side of the grass field is a large stage with amps and a drum set, though no bands are playing yet. Classic rock music is blaring through the PA though, and one of the organziers, dressed long black wig, with tie-dyed t-shirt and John Lennon sunglasses, gets up to start us off, and it's about as low-key as I've experienced, even more low key than the Somerset Stampede. The only interesting thing is that some runners are dressed up, vaguely, as hippies. I'm not, I already have long hair and have suffered enough hippy taunts for the rest of my life. For the record: I'm not a hippie, I'm a metalhead.
But, we start. No gun, no nothing really. And ouch, the first part is on the gravel road right in the campground. Made harder by the clumping of people. I like to have some clearance, so I can see a few steps ahead, especially for gravel roads. Not happening. But soon, we're up on the grass and on the trail and into the woods!
A guy next to me says out of the blue, “Hey, are you John?”
I look down, he's got some hauraches on. A ha! And yes, he confirms that he's Ryan (? I think?), and on the Barefoot Running Society website. Also from Ann Arbor it turns out, though we never saw each other there. He's running the half. “I'm only used to running 5Ks!” And he's got a good pace going already, so I wish him luck.
So, yes, at first I sorta kinda try to pace myself and go slow(er), but everyone is pumped up, and that's infectious, and it just feels damn good to be out in the woods running, so eventually I'm up to what I'd consider my half-marathon pace. Not sprinting, but a good trot, passing people when possible on the trail, though also of course getting passed.
The trail is just like it was for the Pinkney Trail Marathon: soft dirt, sand, leaving, with only a little bit o' rockage. Hills for sure, which I'm running up, instead of doing the Hill Walk. I'm feeling good. I can do this. I've been running some pretty rough trails near my new apartment in Jackson, in Ella Sharp Park, with a lot of twigs and acorns and other pokey things. This? This is cake.
One part of the course actually dumps us out on a long straightaway, a bike/horse trail perhaps, almost a dirt road, though not gravel, just kind of larger sand chunks. Very doable, and with the the wide lane, and what looks like flat ground for miles, I go into fast mode, bending my legs and leaning forward, the 'falling forward' technique I've been working on. I know I shouldn't be doing this, that I should just pace myself, but I can't help it. I'm passing a lot of people, some of them half-marathoners, so I think I'm getting a sense of superiority. Selfish I know, but it feels good.
And yes, the shocked gasps, the comments: “Barefoot?” “Holy shit!” “Man, look at that guy!”
Interesting, I didn't think about it at the time, but in the Somerset Stampede a month ago, there didn't seem to be as many of these comments, I think in part because I was wearing huaraches. I got some, but not a lot. Apparently, some kind of footwear is ok, but barefoot just freaks people out.
By the way, never have I seen so many VFF wearers in one spot. I saw like two guys wearing them at the Pinkney Trail Marathon last Spring, but here, I've already seen, I swear, like ten people in VFFs. Are they finally catching on? Or is this event in a different group of folks? Not sure, but I'm glad to see them out here, and give them some 'good jobs' though even they are shocked to see a real barefooter. I'm telling you guys, you could be out here barefoot next year! You're so close!
At the first refreshment station, business is brisk, as we're all going out to a point and turning around and coming back. I grab some water and one of the women asks me my number and what race I'm in, noting something on a clipboard. I can't quite tell if she's doing this for everybody, or just the 50Kers, but I think it's to make sure people are indeed running their proper distances. Though, if I hadn't stopped for water, she wouldn't have noticed me.
Back to running. With people already on their way back, we get to look at each other. Lots o' men, at least up front, though with some hardcore females. Once again I have to say the runner women just look amazing. Just lean and tough and healthy and I love them.
My feet continue to create a stir. Amusing. Lot's of comments like, “Oh, I could never do that.” or “My feet aren't tough enough to do that.” But, you could! With a little time, they would be! Anyone can do this! I swear! That's what I want my students to know: if they want to do something, and take the steps to do it, there will be a pay off.
We run out to an arbitrarily placed-looking pole in the middle of the road, with a sign that says, 'Circle around.' No observers, but there are timing mats, hooked up to some kind of battery-powered counter sitting off in the weeds. Does it actually work, or is it just for looks? Probably works, and I wouldn't want to be the poor sap who might've had to stand out here all day making sure people ran around the poll.
We return back to the refreshment station and I drink some more water. The woman again notes my number and writes something on her clipboard. A little ways past we shoot back onto a forest trail. People are more spread out now, finding their pace. Less talking, more heavy breathing, though there are still some energetic individuals coming up strong from behind. Me, I'm starting to regret my fast start. My legs have been feeling a little, how can I say? wobbly. The way I felt at the end of the half-marathon, which is about where I'm at, though my last marathon I was feeling strong at this point. I feel it all may be a penguin waddle from here on out.
Still, that said, I'm not the slowest, and I'm still passing some folks. And, on that bike path there was a loooong line of folks behind me. So, confidence John, confidence.
Another little side trail/loop, this one going into an Enchanted Pine Forest. Actually an old tree farm looks like, with the trees in rows. But, nice soft needles to run on. Interestingly, so far the race officials have been fairly good about keeping track of us runners, with race pads at the major turn arounds, but here in the pines we're kind of on our own, and the course zigs and zags so that, when I see runners ahead of me, I actually almost run right by the blue flags signaling a left turn.
But, feeling plenty of space now, no bottle-necks on the trail at all. Surprisingly not a lot of chatter on this race. I wonder if that's because I started fast, putting me up with the serious folks? If so, that's another argument for the fast start! I know the value of conversation during a race (check out my Somerset Stampede post) but when I'm on my own, two loud guys jabbering behind me is annoying.
But no, this is a fairly quiet race, and soon we're out of the Enchanted Forest and back on the main trail, past a mean looking crevasse that I would NOT want to come across in the middle of the night after running 50 miles. I hope those guys got a more mellow route.
I end up behind two more VFFers. Post college guys, still athletic, are obviously still pounding the protein powder (Beefcake! Beefcaaaake!) with these big arms, yet here they are with almost dainty-looking feet. The second guy keeps catching his feet on roots, which is what happens to me in my VFFs, and finally he trips and takes a huge spill, but he's up in a second, pretending it didn't hurt.
They're going at a good pace, so I lock in behind them. They don't even know I'm there, since none of us is clomping away in shoes, but then we come across the coolest thing: a mud bog. One guy with shoes is already trying to creep around the edge of it, and VFFers try to do the same. Me? I go straight through, squishing up to my ankles, and coming out with grey muddy feet stuck between my toes. One of the guys goes, “Holy shit! Barefoot!”
The other I hear faintly: “No way!”
Dude, way.
And I leave them behind still trying to stay non-muddy.
A couple more miles. Another drink station with more kind, generous, folks helping us running fools. Another couple more miles et voilà, I come up a hill into the campground! Some people standing there, some of them camping right there, clap and cheer me on. “Way to go barefoot runner!”
And back on the cursed gravel road. My feets are getting a little tender by now, so this gravel is even more hurt-like. I hop onto the grass berm, but there are big chunky gravel bits hidden in it, so that running in the actual dirt is less painful, or a least less painfully surprising.
I go around one bend in the road and there's the Finish area, I'm the only runner coming in here at this point, looks like. Instead of taking the Finish chute, I take the side route that goes through the main tent, but before I get inside, I hear someone yell my name, or something somewhat close to it: “Vaugh! Hey Vaughn!”
It's Rob, my running buddy from The Somerset Stampede! We'd talked about both being here, and I'd looked for him at the start, but figured he'd had a change of plans. But no, he's just run the half, already wearing his medal. To confess, I also don't have his name quite right, but we re-introduce ourselves, and he hits me with some surprising news: I actually won the Stampede for my age category. I hadn't planned on that, so after the race I'd just left, but he stayed around. And, he went above and beyond the call of duty by bringing my medal out to me. He was waiting around hoping to see me. What an awesome guy.
I show him wear my bag o' stuff is in the runners' tent and tell him to leave it there, along with his email so I can properly thank him later. Unfortunately, I can't really hang out and chat. I'll be running for a few more hours (!) and he's of course getting ready to take off.
Also unfortunately, I'm so psyched with this double pleasant surprise that I completely forget to drink any water or eat anything and don't realize it until I'm back out on the trail. Doh. But I check my watch for my half-marathon time: Almost two hours exactly. Ok, that's cool, that's good. Can I sustain that pace? Not a chance in Hell. On the other hand, I'm feeling ok. Trotting now, but it's a good trot. Not a penguin waddle. Yet. Feet feel a wee bit tender, but ok. Nothing painful. No cuts, no bruises, no dislocated toes. Just a little bit like the soles have been worn down a little. If anything, it's the rest of my body that hurts, especially my inner thighs.
Now that all those pesky half-marathon critters are out of the way, the trail is much more open. In fact, I'm alone for a while. And, since I've not going as fast, most of the people I see are people passing me, though after a while I start to pass people walking and/or barely trotting, and then I remember that there was a 5K/10K starting later in the morning, so that must be those people. Also, at one point I come across a whole line of people from the campground, who I guess are just out for a hiking excursion. Probably friends and family of runners. That's what I'd do too I guess, if I had to wait around, just go out for a hike.
At one point I pass a couple of women running and one of them, seeing my feet, asks me if I'm on the Barefoot Runners Society website. BFS members everywhere! She tells me her handle, which I think is Buzzy, though I'm not sure. I don't look back to check, but I think she was actually shod, so must still be in a transition period. Maybe next year she'll be doing this barefoot!
I'm sore. Definitely. Still moving forward, but bending my legs is starting to hurt, so that, interestingly, I'm starting to run with straighter legs, which puts me more in shod-running posture, and makes me feel like my feet are less likely to be coming down flat. Not sure I'm explaining that very well, but anyways, having to do something like bend down to get under a tree across the path is almost agony.
Back at the first refreshment station, I stop for water and Gatorade, but this time, holy crap, I'm noticing some of the other things on the table: In addition to orange slices and banana halves, they've got a bag of Doritos, and some other chips and, miracle, Fig Newtons! These guys know how to throw a race. I grab some Doritos, just because it's funny to be eating something so bad on a super healthy activity, and they taste wonderful actually. I guess they're scientifically designed by corporations to be that way. I also eat some fruit, lovely fruit. And then grab a handful of the Newtons. I heart figs!
The gravel/sand road is now sparsely populated, though still with folks going both directions. I pass a big football-looking guy, going pretty slow, with a pained expression on his face. I say hey and we exchange pleasantries about the weather. I don't ask, but after I pass him, I start to wonder if maybe he and some of the other slower people out this far are actually either half-marathoners or still on their first loop for the marathon? Could I actually be lapping people? Not sure.
We return back, I grab some more Newtons, thinking 1. I'm not going to burn any calories today, and 2. I hope I don't cramp up from eating too many of these. And I shoot back onto the forest trail. I don't know how many miles into the loop I'm in, but I still find it amazing that there are sometimes people passing me at a good clip. They must have just been really holding back for the first half of the race. I'm still not sure on that strategy, because it seems like even after pacing myself for thirteen miles I'd still be beat at this point, but man, how great would going that fast for the rest of the marathon be?
Two slightly odd things: First, there are hunters out. Or, people with guns dressed in orange and camo. Is it hunting season? I thought that was later? What's in season? Not good to have guys shooting guns with runners all over the place.
Second, I come across two women riding horses through the trees, onto the path. As per trail etiquette, I call out to them way before I get there that there's a runner on the trail. Good thing too, since the front horse gets startled and jumps backward, almost throwing the woman. Hate to think what might've happened if I hadn't said anything and just come up right next to them. If I was wearing shoes he probably would have heard me clomping. I tell them that there's going to be runners going back and forth, and this seem to be the first they've heard this, and I'm the first runner they've seen. They seem a little disappointed at the news. Understandable, but I wonder, along with the hunters, if there were announcements about the races made? Signs posted?
I'm alone again, to the point where if I wasn't absolutely sure I was on the right trail, with the blue flagging everywhere, I'd be feeling like I'd taken a wrong turn. But, when I enter the Enchanted Forest again, suddenly there's a whole bunch of us running together. Again, almost mysteriously, once we exit the Forest, I go back to, seemingly, running alone.
I say that, but actually there are guys passing me. After all those people I passed earlier, the tide has turned, and now some of them are passing me back. I'm both a little leg sore, plus my soles are starting to get sensitive. Rocky places that I remember cruising over the first time around are now feeling kind of rough, enough that I slow down and tip-toe through the stones.
But there are still plenty o' sandy spots, soft dirt spots, and yes! the mud bog! Once more into the mud!
Which means, I'm getting to the end of loop #2. I hear what sounds like an elk off in the forest, but then realize that it's a guy at the last refreshment station with one of those vuvuzelas (sp?). Not so funny: I do hear rifle shots off in the distance.
Funny how 'getting to the end' takes on a different meaning in a long race. I still run about another two mile maybe before coming up the hill into the campground. Lots of spectators out now. some looking to the stage, others hanging around the tents, and others in lawn chairs out on the grass. One of my favorite songs, “Gimme Shelter” by the Stones, is just starting, right when the drums and bass come in. What an awesome groove. Just sends shivers up my spine and fills me with energy.
A band seems to be setting up, and someone with a mike on stage goes: “That guy's got no shoes!” and so everyone hanging around turns to look at me and starts cheering and clapping. Eep. I feel I should give them a show, so, a little out of character for me, I raise my hands above my head in a double devil's horn salute. Hey, we're in Hell. Plus I have to look strong, maybe make some new converts to the barefoot cause.
This time through the tent, I stop at the refreshment station, and man, do that have all kinds of stuff: Water, Gatorade, three different kinds of pop. M&Ms, chips, licorice, and even peanut butter and jelly sandwiches! This is where the 100 milers come through too, and I can't imagine how wonderful this stuff would be after seventy-five miles.
Btw, where are the 100 milers? I haven't seen them. They must be on a completely different, route, though I've seen signs giving directions, therefore I think they must overlap at points, like at the first refreshment station, but I guess they just blend in. I think though that they must have begun to filter in finish? Also, the 50 milers must be out and about too? I have no idea.
Ok, this is it, uncharted territory for me. I've never run this long, or for this much time. Surprisingly, I feel ok, like I've got a little burst of energy, which is bizarre, since if I'd run the marathon I'd be standing back there thinking that I was exhausted and that I couldn't have gone any further. I think it really is psychological.
And now I follow the white flags, which at first go along with the blue flags, but soon I see what's going on. I now get to skip that whole sand/gravel road section. On sections where it's just white flags, I'm alone. Makes sense, since that list of 50Kers I saw only had like twenty people. Chances are we're spread out all over the place.
But then the white flags join back up with the blue flag route and I'm amongst people again. And this time it's true, I'm actually passing people on their second loop of the marathon.
At a point where I'm by myself, I stop for a quick piss break. I casually look down to check my urine color, just to see if I'm on the more dehydrated side. What comes out is red. I'm pissing blood! Uh oh. This can't be good. Wtf? Is that extreme dehydration? Or am I about to die? I feel ok. Shit.
Well, I'm halfway through my last loop, might as well finish, but, eep!
Turns out I also get to skip the Enchanted Forest section this time around, and I come in right where some marathoners are coming out of it, and to my woe, behind a guy with a beeping watch. I still do not get this, this fascination men have with toys, nor do I understand what this beeping is gaining him. They come every couple seconds, and he seems to still be varying his pace with the hills. Is it a heart monitor? But, it's not beeping every heartbeat, so what good is the beep? Just seems like more of an egotistical thing, to show off to others that he has money to buy a toy, and is therefore a 'serious' runner. Dude, seriously? On a trail marathon even? Just turn off your watch and enjoy the ride.
But, that's just me, and yes I know I'm getting dehydrated and tired and feeling grumpy, and possibly going to die soon from blood loss through my penis. So I channel my annoyance and pass him on a hill.
But then, there are the two women on horses again. Or, are they two different women? Not sure, they're just sitting there in the trail, the horses facing each other. I call out that I'm passing through, and go around off the trail, giving the rear horses hooves a large leeway. One of them gasps. “You're barefoot!”
I yell back, “Yes. I am,” and continue. But, I hear her ask beeping guy, “Why's he barefoot?”
And, he answers, “Oh, some people just think it's cool.”
Grr. Motherfucker. Fuck you you fucking fuck. Why don't you just say you don't know? Grr.
I hope he doesn't end up being around me for the rest of the race. That would suck mightily. Fortunately, I hit a kind of rough downhill area, where I have to slow down. So, instead of fighting him and trying to outrun him, I just step to the side and let him pass. Bye bye beeper. But know this: I'm going to be finishing my 50K a few minutes later than your marathon. With no shoes, and no beeping watch.
Ok, so maybe I am kind of a superior-sounding barefooter. Righteous even. Breathe John. Concentrate on important things.
Like the two attractive women I'd noted earlier, on the first loop, who I'd thought were running the half, but who now breeze on by me. Lovely. Wearing tight black running shorts and t-shirts that say 'Mongo' which I don't understand. Do they work at Mongolian barbeque? Anyways, they're gone. Visions. Angels.
I'm ok. I'm going slow, but not waddling. That initial energy burst is gone, perhaps pissing blood will do that, but I'm not trudging either. I'm looking forward to being done though. But, there is no doubt that I'm going to finish, which in itself kind of gives me energy.
And, as a last treat, I get to go through the mud bog a third time. If predator space aliens ever hunt me through the woods, I know to come here and cover my whole body in the stuff, in order to avoid their infra-red sensors. It's important to know these things.
And if I'm at the mud bog, that means, yep, I'm almost done. One last refresh station, couple more miles, getting passed by a couple small groups of people. One guy running with two attractive women: “Boy, he's going to have to wash his feet when he gets home!” Har har dude, you're overwhelming the ladies with your wit.
But, basically alone for the last bit. I come up the hill into the campground. By now, the gravel road is just brutal on my feet. No strong fast sprint finish here, though I feel I could have. I just try to keep a decent pace and aim for the less rocky bits.
A band is playing, lots of people out on the grass field watching, though I pass by almost unnoticed. I take the Finish shoot and people there do clap and cheer. There's a photographer on the other side of the finish line, so I stop and raise my right foot in a Karate Kid crane position, trying to look fierce, which gets some laughs and cheers. Then I playfully hop on and over the running mats.
A woman with a clipboard is waiting for me. “Well, since you have so much energy, maybe you should've run a longer race.” Indeed, that's exactly what I'm thinking.
She takes my name and race and age. She's handing out top finisher prizes for each age and race category, but alas didn't place anywhere close to first in this one. No surprise, seemed like any 50Ker I met out there was a forty-something male.
She cuts my chip off (duct-taped btw), and her daughter hands my my medal: A peace sign with rainbow ribbon. Of course.
And then....A real feeling of anti-climax. People are watching the band, or wandering around. I'm the only one to have come in for a while it seems. I see other runners with medals, but they look like they're been sitting around. I don't know. Weird, but I guess it's the fact that the half-marathoners finished long ago, and even most of the marathoners will have finished by now.
I wander down to the tent, where there's free food for finishers. I down two bottles of water, still worried that I may be extremely dehydrated and not know it, though again, I feel ok. The food they have, sandwiches and salads, is kind of stale and unappetizing. I'd rather have some more PB&Js and Fig Newtons.
Another runner comes in. He looks exhausted, and since he's got some people there to greet him, I presume he is one of the 100 milers. Or, 100K? Or 50 miler? And, nobody but his crew is paying attention to him either. Dude, the guy just ran 100 miles. There should be cheering, balloons going off. I know it would be hard to have some sustained celebration for all the finishers coming in all day, and I don't know how the organizers could do this any better, but still, it seems almost disrespectful to not acknowledge this courage.
And, there are still people running: two women come through for another loop. Man, there's just going to be people finishing for hours maybe.
Ok, well, I feel kind of weird just standing around. I go into the tent and grab my bag o' stuff that I didn't end up needing at all. But at least I can slip on my huaraches and some dry shirts. I was hoping I'd run into some of the people I met on the trail, but no. I do, however, run into a woman sitting with one leg raised and an ice pack wrapped over her knee. She notices my muddy feet and asks which race I've done. Turns out she's just finished the 100K. You wouldn't think it from looking at her. She's petite, thin, quiet, with white hair. She must be over fifty, maybe over sixty. As we're chatting, she lets slip that she used to run 100 milers, “back in the day,” though nowadays she says she always gets 'timed out' in them (meaning she's a bit too slow and can't make the mandatory cut-off times). She likes this race, which she drove 800 miles to be in, because the 100Kers are given the same time to finish as the 100 milers, so she can make it. Amazing. I tell her that she's my hero. I want to be like her when I grow up. Unfortunately I don't get her name. She's probably somebody famous in the running community. Maybe I've just missed the opportunity to crew for somebody cool.
My priority is to talk to an EMT, and I'm directed to a fire department truck up near the parking lot. They inform me that pissing blood has nothing to do with dehydration, that I may be passed a kidney stone, or have some kind of infection. I should monitor it and if I'm concerned, get my urine tested. They offer to give me directions to a nearby medical station that's open on Saturdays, but since they don't seem overly concerned, meaning that I don't seem to be in imminent danger of dying, I decide to wait.
And, since I'm basically almost to the parking lot, I decide, well, to just get heading back home. I'm not exhausted feeling. I'm tired, but certainly up for driving. One of these days I'm going to need to get a girlfriend to do these things for me, so I can allow myself to suffer.
When I get to the parking lot, it's mostly deserted. All the people who are left seem to be the ones who came for the whole weekend. Farewell Woodstock! Perhaps next year for something longer?
So, to re-cap: I remain undecided about the fast start. Seems like it works psychologically at least, tapping into the initial adrenaline burst.
As for the question of how possible running a 50K is, I say,in my best Russian accent, 'ees very possible!' For all you Americans out there, according to 'teh internets,' 50 kilometers equals 31.07 miles. Seriously, if someone can run a marathon, they can do a 50K no problem. I can now see myself running 50 miles. I think it really is a mental thing after a certain point.
Final note: my next urination is yellow. All is apparently well.
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