Capitol Peak FAT ASS 34M

Ugh. Getting up at four in the morning is brutal. More so when you have a head cold. But, it was necessary to get up here to Capitol Peak National Forest just outside of Olympia, Washington. I'm actually early. Like, way early, arriving with all the Search and Rescue folks who are putting on this FAT ASS 17/34 Miler, as a fundraiser for their group, Friends of Capitol Peak. Being Search and Rescue dudes (and they're mostly dudes) they've all got their personal vehicles tricked out with extra lights and winches and tires. But heck, I'm glad they're out here. If I get lost, they'll be right here to find me.

They seem to be running this FAT ASS run as some kind of training day—a good idea I think, meaning that there will be smaller groups of them spread out along the course, with radios and water and First Aid kits. This is going to be WAY more organized than the FAT ASS I did last week. I feel in capable hands.

I check in at the main tent, and they even have bib numbers for us. Classy! The main organzier dude asks me if I want to do the early start at 7. I think about it, tempted, but then realize I can't, I didn't bring my headlamp. It's 6:30, and still dark, because 1. Dense fog, and 2. Dense fog in a dense forest. Instead, I head back to my rental car and crank up the classic rock station and watch more cars come in. At seven, a group of early starters start, maybe about ten of them, with headlamps and looks like backpacks, or maybe Camelpacks, though they look big. I just haven't ever gotten into lugging a bunch of stuff on long runs, IF I know there will be water stations, and actually, here, on a mountain, there maybe be some lovely mountain streams to drink from.

Finally 8 o'clock rolls around, and light is filtering through the trees and fog, though the fog doesn't look like it's going to lift anytime soon. Still, enough light to run by. Temperature is maybe just above freezing. I'm wearing my Merrill Trail Gloves—the best tool for this job, mainly to keep the feets warm. I do see some other minimalist shoes here and there, and actually saw a bunch last week too, so, at least for trail running, minimalist shoes are becoming almost normal. Maybe. There's also one crazy guy in some kind of huaraches I've never seen before, and he's also just wearing short shorts and a 'barely there' sleeveless shirt. He looks like a cross country star somehow. I bet he's fast, but brr, looking at him makes me colder.

The Organizer Dude gathers us all up at the Start line to go over directions, though many people don't seem to be paying attention, more concerned with saying hello to old friends. After last week's fiasco, I want to hear everything, so I get right in front of him. And yes, he is way more dialed in. He shows us a bit of orang and red flagging that they've used out there, and says they've also marked all turns with orange spray paint. The 17 Miles is an out and back, from the first aid station, which, do I hear this correctly?, will also be a Tequila Station? Wtf?

As for the 34 Milers, we will run up a mountain, run around the top of it, and back down. No problem. There was some worry about snow, but he says it's packed down and not that bad. Sounds cold, but ok.

And, with the typical FAT ASS 'not much ado', he says go, and we go!

I'd say there's maybe 50 of us? Or maybe up to 75? I'm terrible with judging numbers (and mileage)(and time), but anyways, I let the faster folks go on ahead. We get a little dirt road to filter us out, but then we're all on trails, going uphill switchbacks like the 75 Dwarves. Many people seem to know each other, or else it's my luck (such as it is) to be around them. I can tell I'm tired, because I'm grumpy, and annoyed already that a woman right behind me is yelling back her end of a conversation with someone else five places back. Call me crazy, but in the situation, I'd just drop back five spots to talk to the person. But ok, breathe John, breathe. Relax. This is a wonderful day, the sunlight filtering through the icy trees and fog. And you're running! And the cold isn't really that back. I feel a little congested, but I'm not draining, or sneezing, or coughing. I just feel like, with a cold, I feel better when I get out and stay busy, rather than moping back in my apartment, so this is gonna be pretty active. We'll see. I could very well overdo things and send myself into pneumonia by the end of this! Ha! But no, I have faith in running! Running makes us feel good. Running heals. That plus a tequila shot or two.

But there are occasional bumpings out onto dirt roads and wider trails, so people can pass as is their wont. And I wont. I'm barreling down the downhill sections—Part of my new running style, trying to run a little faster. When I get in long-distance mode, I tend to lock into one rate for up and downhills, so I'm trying to use the downhills more, to use gravity, to speed me up. So right now I'm zipping along, passing lots o' folks, but I may regret it later, since, despite trying to use gravity while maintaining a light 'lifting the feet' mode, versus a 'slamming the feet down' mode, my quads do still seem to take a beating.

In overhearing more (sometimes loud) convos, most people seem to be doing the 17 Miler, and in fact, the fast ones (including crazy half-naked dude in huaraches) now are heading back on the same (sometimes narrow) trail. The thought strikes me that maybe the 34 Milers should all have started an hour earlier? Just to clear us out, and to get us all back sooner, so everyone can head home sooner? Might make for a lonelier run though. Having all these people around makes this seem like a 'real' race, meaning that our competitive natures kick in and we all are running faster than if we just went for a run on our own. That's one of the reasons I decided to do this race, as part of my training for the upcoming Badger Mountain 100 Miler Challenge.

I get to the first aid-station/turn around and yep, some guys have set up a tent, with some tables, and some bottle of tequila, along with some Mexican decorations. Wow. And yet, I know I'm going to have to take a shot on my way back. Just because. But I have many miles to go before I drink.

I continue on and up. And yes, without the 17 Milers, the pack was been widdled (? whittled?) down significantly. I'm now alone. How sad. But, I break out into a old clear cut area and voilà, the sun! The fog has lifted! No, actually, once I get way out into the clearing I see that in fact, I've just gained enough elevation to be above the fog, because now I can see out for miles and miles, all the way out to Mt. Rainier! And below, just a white fluffy sea of cloud/fog. The whole valley is socked in, but up here, glorious sunshine. In fact, it's now warmer, and with snow on the ground, brighter.

The snow is either fairly packed down, or melted off, so that running isn't bad. But, the trail is now a bunch of switchbacks going up another clearcut. So, not running anymore. This has become a hike. I see some radio towers way up on the top of a mountain and wonder, Hm, Am I going all the way up there?

The trails have been well-marked, no doubt I'm on the correct route. Still, nice to see some other runners out here, even if it's two guys passing me. I could probably be hiking faster, but I keep getting distracted by the view: The higher I get, the more I can see of this huge fog-sea, with occasional hilltops peaking out, looking like islands. What a beautiful day. Minus one little thing: someone has come out to the State Park to shoot their guns. Damn. Doesn't seem fair that one or two people can disrupt the serenity of a whole valley of people. But, who knows, they probably feel the same way about a bunch of crazy runners hogging the trails. Hopefully though they're get tired of shooting their guns. I mean, how much fan can it be?

Onward. Upward. The water from the aid station is nasty, so I opt for something much better: Creek water. Snowmelt from right off the mountain. Nothing better. And plentiful along this route.

Organizer Dudes instructions come back to me when I get to a fork on a high dirt road, with orange paint arrows pointing both ways. This is where we'll basically run around the top of the mountain and come back. The snow up here is thicker, though still packed down, at least on this logging road. I feel a little like Legolas from The Fellowship of the Ring, running over the top of snow. It's the kind of snow that, if just a little better warmer, I might crash through up to my knee or thigh and really tweak something badly, so I'm trying to be careful, and with the icy crust I'm still slipping a lot. I pass one woman who has stopped to adjust her Camelpack or something. I figure she'll catch me soon, but I don't see her again. Still, again, good to see another runner. I just don't want to be last, to have everyone waiting for me back at Base Camp.

The route goes in a large circle around the top of the mountain, and on the backside I come on some Search & Rescue guys at their truck. There's also a woman, who's asking where the bag drop is, and they're trying to explain that is was back at the first aid station, at the Tequila Station, but she seems kind of out of it. Man, she's like eleven or twelve miles off. I wonder if she's going to just quit. Something doesn't seem right about how she's acting, though maybe it's just frustration/anger at not knowing where the bagdrop was. Yikes. Still, I do maybe see her point: why have the bag drop 8.5 miles in, and not further up, more at the halfway point?

I don't know. I keep going. More up, on an old old steep steep road/path. Just hiking best I can, slipping on the ice and snow. But this road takes me up to the very top of Capitol Peak, and man, the view is just....amazing. Mt. Rainier on one side, and Mt. St. Helens on the other. Surrounded by the sea of fog below, in all directions. This may get my vote for most scenic race/run I've ever down. Makes me really appreciate having moved out here to the Pacific Northwest.

In fact, I have a new worry: with all the snow, and sun, I may be in danger of getting sunburned! Who'd've thunk?

I bail down the other side, almost falling on my ass a few times, on this ice-covered dirt road. In fact, there's a State vehicle off to the side: Looks like it actually slid off and almost turned over. I check inside. No one there. Must have happened earlier. I guess they're just going to leave it until the snow melts down. Seems like the Search & Rescue guys could winch it out, though maybe even they can't get their trucks up in this snow.

Back to that original fork. Ok, I've looped around the mountain. I'm now over half-way. And: it's all downhill (mostly) from here! Man, if I could slam down those switchbacks I could really make up for time. Check my watch: 4:20. Hm. Not sure if that's good. With that massive hill, I think so. My average time for a 50K is six hours, but this is a little more. I think I may be out here for more than six hours. Ok, well, I hope I'm not last.

I'm now running again, though as I feared, I'm tired, and my quads are stiff, so although I'm getting a little boost from gravity, I'm not zooming down. Still, a great day to be out running, and I'm not super exhausted. I'm not sure I'd be up for running a full Hundo, which gets me mildly worried about Badger Mountain: I have two months to be ready for it, and I don't think I'm ready for it. But oh well, stay in the moment John. Enjoy this.

On the way down, there are more Search & Rescue teams at the road crossings. Part of their training day more than anything, doing a little traffic control, which isn't really necessary. But still good to see them, and they assure me that I'm not last. Ok. Whew. I don't see anybody coming up though: Everyone must at least be running around the top of the mountain by now, which gives me a little boost to maintain speed. Would be a little disheartening to be passed by someone now. But I don't see any runners at all.

There's still guys shooting guns though. In fact, I end up getting a wee bit misplaced, going down a main dirt road that doesn't look familiar, but which takes me right to the shooter dudes, who, to give them credit, are friendly, and confirm that they haven't seen any other runners come by. Oops. So I turn around and run back up the road, and yep, I ran right by some big orange paint arrows. Not paying attention. Zoned out and tired. This is my big fear about a Hundo: getting majorly lost due to my own delirium. This is why I need pacers.

But yeah, having guys shooting right by me is a little unnerving. And, they were firing pistols as paper targets twenty feet off the road. And they've been doing that for hours. That just doesn't seem fun. I guess they want to get as much practice in as they can before Obama takes away their guns. And, ha, now there seems to be some other groups of target practicers, one of them with what sounds like an automatic rifle. “The hills are alive / with the sound of gunfire....”

I am tired. The cold isn't helping. I fear I'm on the edge of getting chilled. I just feel congested, like my ears have been popped. Plus my stomach is rumbling, alien chest-burster style. But lo! Looks like a Tequila Station!

It is. There's a bunch of what looks like mountain biker dudes, and one dudette, huddled around a fire, with the table full of tequila bottles. Wow. But strangely, the thought of tequila doesn't make me want to vomit. In fact, in some way, I feel like it might feel good. I'm not a big drinker at all, but I feel like my sinuses might get cleaned out. And/or maybe it'll kill the alien in my stomach. So ok, I order one up.

The guy behind the table pours me a shot, along with one for him and a friend who comes over. I ask, “How many shots have you had today?”

He smiles. “Oh, only one for every runner that's come by.”

That can't be possible. He wouldn't be standing. But anyways, it's good to actually talk to this folks, to see people in general, and they seem genuinely enthused to see me. They confirm again that I'm not last. Whew.

Onward. The tequila feels ok actually. I feared suddenly having to vomit, but it, plus the lime (nice touch!) take actually good. Again, who'd've thunk?

Ok, well, 8.5 miles to go. Or, maybe a little less, since they said something about the route back being slightly shorter (I'm still not clear why). I'm at 6:20. Wow. Ok, well, I wanted a long run, and I'm getting it. I feel super slow though.

I'm off the mountain though. The route is back to short ups and downs. Still no one. I'm on my own. Ugh. Slog mode. Mentally tough more than anything: I feel the twinges of “I just want this to be over.” Yeah, if I'm feeling this, then the Hundo is gonna be tough.

The route IS slight different, rerouted. Maybe not a full 8.5, and most glorious is seeing a State Park sign with the name of the campground where I started on it, and a big '.5' next to it. Almost there!

Without a lot of fanfare, I come into the Finish, almost taking the volunteers by surprise, but they give me a cheer, which is nice. Time: 8 hours almost on the dot. Wow. Whew. Man. I'm sixth from last, with only 30 people signed up for the 34 Miler, though that doesn't take into account the early starters, so I'm actually more in the middle of the pack, which makes me feel a bit more respectable.

I thank the Organizer Dude for a good race, and head to the food. I'm going to go into hypothermia soon now that I've stopped, but wee bit o' hot soup helps, along with some salty potato chips, and why not, a bite-size Snickers bar. Or two.

One other runner is there, a woman who came in like fifteen minutes before me, though she's one of the late-starters (time 8:30ish). We chat for a while. She seems as eager as I to actually finally talk to someone. We also chat with an older gentleman ladling out the soup, who is friendly up until I let slip a comment about all the people out shooting guns. He immediately makes a face and walks away. Wow. People must really like their guns out here.

But yes, body cooling down fast. Must. Change. Clothes. To talk at. Normal. Speed. I thank all the crew once again and head to my car, so I can sit down for the two hour drive back home, and my legs can tighten up nicely. Tonight, a big bowl of guacamole and chips and a hot bath, and tomorrow a nice yoga class! Wonderful run. Wonderful day.

Results: 18th out of 25 finishers. Not last!
http://ultrasignup.com/results_event.aspx?did=18069

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!

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)

Fat Ass Marathon, Brighton MI December 2011

I probably shouldn’t be here. I’m recovering from a bad cold this week, even though the fever broke, I’m still not feeling well, aggravated by having to get up early, and whenever I have to get up early, I end up not sleeping well the night before, thus effectively putting me at only a few hours of sleep.

But I can’t help it. I’m curious. I’m at my first “FAT ASS” marathon. Although it’s being put on by the ‘RUT’ (Running Fit Ultra-Running Team), as I understand it, this is a growing nation phenomenon, in which someone with a little bit of time on their hands, enough to make some flyers and make a FaceBook group page anyways, invites anyone that wants to come out and run an unofficial race. For free. Yep, let me repeat that: For free.

And, a bunch of local runners have come out to do just that. We’re in the Island Lake Recreation Area, near Brighton, Michigan, so there are lot’s o’ folks from here and Ann Arbor, plus some from the outer Detroit burbs, and even a couple of us from wee ole Jackson, an hour away. We’re gathering in the parking lot of the trailhead, or a trailhead. Running Fit, the local running store chain, has actually donated their van, and some logistical items like flagging and a sign up/in sheet. The organizers seem to be upper management, or at least managers, from the local stores. Running Fit hosts a ton of ‘real’ races during the warmer months around here, so it’s very cool of these folks to donate their time to doing this. I suppose Running Fit gets some free promotion, but really I think it’s because they, and the RUTsters, just love running, and love getting runners together.

And, I’m seeing some familiar faces. There’s Mark, a fellow teacher at JCC, and all around crazyassfast distance runner. And there’s Sweet Melissa, my running partner from the Woodstock 50M, back from her finish at the Javelina Jundred down in Arizona. And here’s Jocelyn, another member of the Barefoot Running Society, who I keep bumping into (and sometimes just missing) at various and sundry races.

Those folks, plus others, faces, that I recognize from other events in the last two years. Many people seem to know each other really well, from the weekly RUT runs, but even they are saying that there’s a lot more people here than normal. Word is out I guess.

This does feel race-ish. The nervous chatter. The insider jokes. The war-stories and semi-bragging of when everyone’s next ‘real’ race is. I put my name on the big sign in sheet, where there’s a space for my distance and time when I get done, so they at least might have an idea if someone is out lost and wandering in the woods. Everyone (except, like, me) has brought food or something to drink, and it’s all mostly junk food, though some fruit.

One of the organizers explains the route is a combo of the two biggest trail loops in the rec area: the longer ‘blue’, which is I think around 8 miles, combined with the yellow, which is around 5 miles, which then hooks back up to the blue for a little bit at the end, making for a big loop of 13.4 miles (at least, according to on RUTster I spoke with). So, people can opt to run one or two loops, with the option to run the yellow loop again to make it 50Kish. It sounds and looks complicated on the map. I’m sure I’ll get lost. I’m sure I’ll be running by myself and be in my zen zone and completely miss a turn-off, but Mark assures me that it’s super easy. As for how long I’ll go, the way I’m feeling, I’m not sure if I’ll be up for more than a half-marathon today, though on the other hand, knowing my stubborn self, who knows.

By the way, it’s cold! Below freezing now, though supposedly going to be sunny and in the high 30s by the end of the day. I’m wearing a wicking shirt, an Ibex wook shirt, and my Bigfoot 50K warm up long sleeve, plus gloves and a knit hat. I have on my regular running shorts, some running pants over them, and then my warm-up ‘shell’ pants, which I was going to take off for the race, but Sweet Melissa and I both decide to keep that extra layer on.

My big new thing is my pair of Merrell ‘Glove’ minimalist shoes, which I’ve bought basically for this very purpose: cold weather. I’m a barefoot guy mostly, and even ran barefoot all one winter, but only in short spurts. Now that I’m more used to longer running, I just want to stay warm, and keep the snow and slush off a little.. The VFFs don’t cut it, at all, and in some ways seem to make my feet colder than when I’m barefoot. So far, my feet have been ok, wandering around, but the toes are starting to get a little cold. I hope we start running soon!

We all gather for a group photo. I’m bad at judging crowds, but it seems like there’s 40 of us? Maybe? Being with a bunch of other crazy people that would run a race in the cold feels great.

Then, people start running. Jocelyn and I look at each other. I ask, “Is that the start of the race, or are people running to the start line?”

“I’m not sure!”

Finally we just figure out that the ‘race’ has indeed begun. Ok, fine, I wanted to start out slow. I just don’t want to get all hot and sweaty right at the beginning. So, I jump in behind someone and we’re off down a trail.

Seems many people have the same idea as I, except for like Mark who I know took off sprinting. It’s actually kind of funny, I’ve never seen a ‘bottleneck’ this long, with about ten people in front of me and 20 behind, all of us in one long line. It actually reminds me though of why I like these races, because they’re less a competition than some kind of primal reenactment of a tribal hunt. Here we are all, the tribe, lined out and ready to isolate and run down an antelope.

There’s about an inch of snow on the ground and in the trees, which is nice. The trail is either packed down snow and ice, or sometimes melted off to reveal dirt. We’re certainly not in the wilderness, zigging and zagging over one road already, and then skirting another parking lot, but it’s quiet. Our pace is slow, enough to get me warmed up. I feel ok. I actually feel like my body is responding to running. Like, my cold felt worse just sitting around the house. Now that I’m outside with fresh air on my face, exerting myself, I’m feeling good.

So good that when the trail eventually widens into a two-track that I break out and pass the folks ahead of me. I’m not the only one: the whole long line dissolves as people find their pace. I end up with three others. We pass yet another parking area and zip out onto a road. And, get passed by one of the organizers, who must be getting a quickie in, since he’s going fast. I bet that one, he’s some kind of superfast ultra god, and two, he’s just going to run a half-marathon real quick and be there waiting for the majority of us back at the start. He smiles at us as he goes by. “Well, no one’s got lost yet! That’s good!”

The trail takes us over what I think is the Huron River, through some forest, over some fields, “where the winds hit heavy” and back into forest. It’s nice. I’m still feeling good. I like knowing that even if I’m feeling kinda crappy that I can still run at least a half-marathon, almost literally in my sleep! And my new minimalist shoes are working perfectly, keeping me warm and dry. Wouldn’t want to run on pavement with them, since I have absolutely no sensation down there, and am therefore striking harder than I would, but on a trail that’s ok. Or, at least not that bad. I’m still trying to run in good barefoot form: bent knees, lifting the feet, and relaxing my upper torso. It’s just amazing how tense I get, and amazing how much better/faster I run when I simply take a deep breath and exhale, letting my shoulders drop.

As aid stations, the organizers have left some big water jugs sitting on chairs as a couple places, but so far my water bottle has been enough. I should probably be drinking more, but when the air is cold like this, I hardly feel like I’m sweating at all.

And lo! There’s the turn off onto the yellow loop. I didn’t miss it! Yay! This section is a wee bit more hilly, but nothing too bad. It’s Michigan, it can’t ever be that hilly. More forest, river(s) (ie maybe the same one), and small lakes. Mostly low-lying swamp, with ‘sandhills’. And, the sun is out, for sure, reflecting brightly off the snow. An actually really good day for a run.

Through a parking lot filled with dudes and their mountain bikes. Not a woman to be seen. Biking has always seemed like a dude sport to me, because guys just seem to get into toys, like leaf blowers and chainsaws. They like have some machine that makes them feel manly. I just can’t get into it. I have two bikes actually, which I use to bike to work, and was a bike messenger at one time, but road biking just seems like an never-ending money trap. I mean, you can buy rims for $2000! Just rims!

And back on to the blue loop for not more than a mile before popping out back at the start, where other runners are gathered under the nearby pavilion, eating and drinking. I stop in for a banana and some orange slices, resisting the junk food until at least after I’m done. There is some homemade chicken soup though, so I break my vow of vegetarianism and partake. Thank you Chicken! I take you into me, so that you become a part of me, and I of you. We are one. I am Chicken Man.

Invigorated, I go to my truck to change clothes. Because yes, I’m going to do a second loop. I feel good. My three top layers are all soaked though, which throws a small wrench in my plans. I was sort of planning on using the top two layers and just changing out the shirt, but no. Hm. Well, I guess I’ll wear the second shirt, plus the hoodie I was just going to where after. It’s certainly warm enough, but it’s cotton, and if it gets really wet, will one, not hold heat, and two, be really annoying to run in. But it’s all I got.

After another cup of Mr. Chicken, energized now with Chicken Power, I head off for round two. Bwock bwock!

And I’m alone. I’m thinking a lot of folks just ran the half. Or are going to. I think I’m about half-way in the pack. I feel a hell of a lot more alone, and now I start having thoughts like, Crap, what if I’m one of the only slow people to do the second loop? Then they’ll be waiting on me.

But, wait, there’s someone coming up behind me. I remember seeing her in the parking lot. We exchange pleasantries, I tell her I’m glad I’m not the only one out here, and then she scoots on by, leaving me alone again.

The fields are a bit more windy this time around, creating a windchill factor, but once back in the trees, with the sun getting higher, the air is getting warmer, and the snow is melting a bit. A guy catches up to me and we run together for a while. He’s not sure he can do the whole loop again, having run 30 miles on his own recently, and with a ‘real’ race to do next weekend. He tells me about the short cut: that instead of taking the yellow loop, if one stays right on the blue, it’s only less than a mile back to the start.

“Man, I wish you hadn’t told me that! Now it’s going to be very tempting!”

We laugh, and despite his reservations, he’s on a faster pace than I am and takes off.

There are some more people out here though, because here comes two more. They run a little behind me for a while, so I can hear their convo, and the guy is telling the woman that he’s going to speed up a little. They say goodbye, he passes me with a hello, and is gone. Gotta admire all these people who can pick up the pace on the second loop, but anyways, the woman and I start talking. Her name is Hong, I remember her from the pavilion. She too is not sure about doing the whole loop the second time around, but seems ok with running my pace, which helps pass the time and in fact probably keeps me from bogging out. She’s one of the RUT people and has some ultras planned for winter and spring. We exchange histories and race info and I talk her into doing the yellow loop portion.

Another woman catches up to us, Melissa I think her name is, and she and Hong are friends. They’re going to a race somewhere soon together, along with a bunch of other women RUTsters. After handing with us for a while, she feels the energy and scoots on ahead. Again, admirable.

She seems to get Hong worked up, as she picks up the pace just a little bit. And...then I start to lose it. I friggin know that since we’re on the yellow loop that we can’t have more than a few miles at the most to go, yet, I just start to bog down. My stomach feels weird, like an alien chestburster might be lurking there, and the water I filled up on tastes weird and...I simply may not be in the shape I need to be. I’m trudging. Not walking, but not running too fast either.

Finally the parking lot with all the mountain biker dudes, though they’re all mostly gone now. Less than a mile! I still can’t pick it up though. Crazy.

But, then, finally, there’s the pavilion! I made it! Check my time: 5:33. Ok, I’ll take it! That’s about my normal time for a trail marathon, and this was actually a little longer.

Hong and her friends are there and I have to admit that it’s nice to have people know your name. The Cheers effect I guess. Now the eating of the food begins. Plus, why not, a Coke. Tastes friggin great. And the last slice of pumpkin pie!

I check the sign in sheet. Man, there was 91 people! Some of them must have started late. And I think the majority of folks ran just the half-marathon. Mark ran the 50K and in fact finished like 25 minutes before me. And actually, Hong finished in 5:03. Man, if I could have just stayed with her! But that means I lost most of my time in those last 3 miles, when she took off.

Most people have come and gone, most of the parking lot is empty. The organizer dudes are staying until 4pm (It’s like 1:30), but while I’m there, three guys come in and go back out for the shorter yellow loop to get their 50Ks in. So, I wasn’t even last!

But, I’m done. I’m fine with a marathon. Now that I’m starting to cool down, I’m beginning to cough a little. Interesting: I’ve been fine all this time. But, this may explain my bog down right at the end. I best be getting changed out of these clothes. Merrells did good though. Some blisters on the heels, but they’re still new.

I big adieu to everyone and the organizer shakes my hand and thanks me for coming out. How friggin cool is that? These guys rock! There’s another FAT ASS scheduled for New Year’s day up around here. I’m totally in. To run, free, with a bunch of other people who love running as much as I do. I hope this FAT ASS idea spread more.

And, now, I’m going to head on into Ann Arbor and hang out for the day. Hopefully there’s a good movie playing, as that’s about all I have the energy for. Sign me up for a nice hot green tea....

www.johnyohe.com

[photo courtesy of Mark McCaslin]