What better way to spend a free day than running around the deserted streets of my town, especially when it’s with 400 other crazy runners. Yes, this year’s Jackson Turkey Trot is actually kinda halfway serious, with sponsors and everything, so that I believe attendance has like, quadrupled. There’s a 5K, 10K and a 5K walk, as well as a kids run to start things off.
And, they’ve even got swag bags, with some stuff I’ll actually use, like a pen, a travel size toothpaste (? for a run? alright....) and, in addition to the obligatory t-shirt, they’ve included a pair of light wool gloves, which I think is nice, and appropriate for the Michigan climate right now.
It’s in the 40s, and overcast, though the sky it supposed to clear up today and be sunny. We’ll see about that, but at least the streets are dry this year. My feet are a little raw from all the BF running I did last weekend, trying to get all the days in I can before the snow really gets here, and wet pavement would make running just that much more uncomfortable. I think I’m going to be ok, even though I remember some parts of this route are a little rough.
I’ve arrived early, and obtained a good parking space, twenty feet from the start/finish line, right outside the YMCA, so I can hang out in my truck and stay warm. In getting my swag, I also heard that the kids run will be at 9, then the adults will run at 9:15, so I know I can stay in a little longer. I also saw the line for late registerers inside, and I suspect we’ll start even a little later. I could actually probably bear standing around outside except that my feet are bare, and the pavement is cold, so I’m going to wait until the last minute.
So, from my truck I get to see the gaggle o’ kids that do the run. There’s only about ten of them, but they’re all insanely cute as they start off, most of them too young to even really know how to run yet, just doing their best imitation of what adults do. They run around the block and come trickling back in, to a huge roar from the adult crowd, which I’m sure they love.
I figure I better get out and join the horde standing around in the street, though instantly regret it because, well, it’s cold. I see Steve, the guy who organizes this run, standing up by the door, looking back inside through the window at the people who are still trying to sing up. Kinda annoying, that those of us who signed up ahead of time are having to freeze while we wait for these slowpokes, but ok John, let it pass. It’ll all work out.
I see the JCC cross country team is all here so, not that I had any aspirations at winning this thing, but I just know they, and I think I see the hoodies from some other cross-country teams here too, are just going to tear this thing up, probably finishing it before most of us get halfway. It’s weird. I know I have no chance of winning, yet somehow I’m all pumped to give it my all, to run as fast as I can. I guess I don’t see it as a competition so much as some kind of ritual, with all of us runners participating and pushing each other. Ah hell, who am I kidding? I’m also competitive, and I’m sure I’ll be trying to beat the majority, especially since I’m the only barefoot dude here. Gotta represent!
Interestingly, I do see two VFFers: a guy about my age maybe, and a young teen boy. For Jackson, that’s significant. I, of course, am getting the odd looks. Nobody’s being blatant, but they’re all kind of looking at me when they think I can’t see them, then whispering to each other. Ah well. I’m used to it. I do hear them using the term ‘barefoot runner,’ (vs. “that dude has no shoes!”) so I once again think that that ‘idea’ or ‘concept’ is now in the public consciousness. Even in little ole Jackson, MI.
Ok, the last of the late signer-uppers finally comes out the door and Steve starts to talk into the mic, but the PA isn’t that loud, and everyone is talking, so that most people don’t even notice. I just kind of read his lips as he begins the countdown and bam, we’re off!
We head east on Wesley. This year we even have cops blocking off the streets! I hear some more comments about me, like, “Are you serious?” “Look at that guy!” and (my favorite) “Oh my gosh!” Only in the midwest do people still say ‘gosh.’
We cut over to Washington, a two-lane one-way street. No cars, but we stay in the southern lane. The road is kinda rough. I stay out towards the middle, where there are less cracks and potholes. The crowd thins quickly, and I’d say I’m towards the front of the pack, though I can see the cross-country youths (or, ‘yoots’) way out ahead. And, I’m running pretty steady. Just slightly under out of breath, trying to keep good barefoot running form, lifting the feet, fast cadence, bending the legs. I’m trying to be better about upper body form too, since I’ve now been able to see pics of myself running, and when I go fast, my torso tends to go straight up and down and, embarrassingly, my head tends to tilt backwards! I look awful when I do this, so I’m really trying to lean forward slightly with my torso, and bend my neck forward. Thing is, I’m not sure doing so really gets me anything. That is, I feel like I run just as fast in that wacked-out posture. But, ‘better to look good than to feel good.’
We cross South West Ave., the main north/south artery through town, where cars are waiting patiently for us to get the hell out of the way. More cops here too! We must be the only game in town right now. And, so far I’m hanging with the crowd. There’s not a lot of position changing, everyone has now settled into a steady, but fast pace. My idea is to just go balls out for the 5K, which is what most people are running, and then see what I have left for the second loop (which makes it a 10K).
And here’s that nasty road. We turn left, south, for a block, over all kinds of potholes and cracks and chunks. I can’t help but slow down a little and get passed by a couple shodheads. Grr. Oh well. But then we turn left again and head back east, on Division, another one-way road, and it’s nice and smooth. And, it’s downhill, so I actually pass the passers!
The streets have been deserted mostly, and quiet. Even all the houses just look empty, but by now some people have realized there’s a race going on and are coming out on their porches in their jammies and giving us some words of encouragement. There’s even someone from an apartment building, who I can’t see, but who yells out, “Go on, y’all!”
We come back into the downtown area, out back of the Y, and turn left, then another quick left, and voila, there’s the finish line three blocks away! Everyone guns it, though again, we’re all kind of at the same pace, so there’s no last minute passing. Most people head into the flagged off chute to end the 5K, but a few of us keeping going. And again, just like last year, Steve, the organizer, who has done Iron Man Triathalons, looks at me and shakes his head, saying, “I could never do that.”
I shrug and smile, but then a young woman onlooker suddenly yells out, “Woo! Somebody’s rocking the bare feet! Yeah!” Sounds like she’s maybe even a BFers herself. And doh! I forgot to check my time on the clock!
Onward. I’m still keeping a good fast past, and steady, though maybe yes, a wee bit slower. Feeling the urge to pace myself a little. I’ve got two guys up ahead of me, and I can hear someone right behind me, she seems to be pacing off of me. I hate when people do that, but on the other hand it does kind of kick in my competitive nature and keep me moving.
And yep, the feet are feeling a little raw. I don’t usually, actually, never, run this fast on pavement. Last time I ran this fast was for the Naked Foot 5K over in Grand Rapids, but that was mostly on grass! But, it’s not affecting my speed, I’m feeling good actually, until we take the left onto that horrible road between Washington and Division. I can just feel the grit, and have to slow down, so that the runner behind me finally passes me. But again, once I’m on the smooth pavement, heading downhill, I pass her.
We’re running into the 5K walkers now, and sometimes have to duck and weave around them. They seem surprised that we’re still running, though surely there have been more than a few that have already come by. I get some more shocked gasps about my feet at this point.
One guy passes me, and at one point he tries jumping up on the curb to run in the grass. Ah, I remember when I ran shod and did stuff like that. I bet he gets plantar fasciitis. Come join the forces of light, Sir!
I don’t feel like I’m slowing down, but maybe I am, because the woman following me makes her move and passes me again, and this time puts some distance between us. Then I really do feel like I slow down a bit, with no one on my ass challenging me. But, not far now. Road’s kinda rough as we come back into downtown. I try running on the paint lines in the middle, but then the road seems to get smoother, and I’m coming up on a couple lefts anyways, so I decide to just tough it out.
And there’s the finish! There’s a long line of walkers, including some groups with strollers, but I zig and zag, not quite what I’d call sprinting, but pushing my cadence, and zip into the chute at almost 45 minutes exactly! I’m not sure if that’s good or not, but it feels good! I feel good.
I wander inside the Y, grab a banana and a bottle of water, talk to someone I know for a little bit, then head to my truck.
Driving home, I realize the time is only 10:30, so when I get home, I throw on the VFFs and go for a half hour trail run, just because I can. Tomorrow, another day off, and a LSD run. Foot check: I actually have a couple little blisters on the bottoms of my feet, which is new for me, but which I know is from running fast on pavement. I didn’t even get blisters on the Detroit Marathon, so speed really does change the way I’m running I guess. Perhaps a little bit more on the sloppy side. Perhaps inevitable?
John Yohe
www.johnyohe.com
www.johnsbarefootrunningblog.blogspot.com
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Detroit Marathon 2011
Detroit, where the weak are killed and eaten. This is my fourth Detroit Marathon, my third barefoot, and it’s become kind of my ‘test’ for my running skill, since it’s the only race I’ve run where the course has mostly been the same, and paved. There are still variables, like especially the weather, but it’s the last long race I’ll do in the year, barefoot at least. So, this year, after attempting a hundred miler and bogging out at mile 70, and then running two fifty milers, I feel like I should be able to do better here, since my mileage has been way up. The qualifier on that though is that I maybe haven’t been keeping the high mileage up since the Dances With Dirt 50M a month ago, and even before that I had started to slack off. As a teacher, I had the summer off, so could run all I wanted, but once the Fall semester kicked in, my running time was cut drastically. An excuse? Yes, maybe. But I’m hoping that my body is still ‘charged’ after Dance With Dirt, enough so that a measly marathon will be no problem, and therefore I can go a bit faster.
The weather this morning is surprisingly warm. Yesterday a big windstorm went through lower Michigan, with some rain, and we’re supposed to have similar conditions today, but right now, at 6 in the morning, the air feels the warmest it’s been for any Detroit Marathon. In fact, I have no problem with ditching my warmer gear, my jacket and moccasins, and putting them in my gear bag, to be reclaimed later. In fact, I’m almost wondering if I need my running ‘shell’ jacket or not, since it doesn’t breathe. But I only have a wicking t-shirt on underneath, and from past experience I know the Ambassador Bridge can be bitter windy cold.
Other than that I have a pair of compression shorts, with some old running pants on over them. I’m also wearing two pairs of old cotton socks until the race starts, which are bright white compared to all my other black clothing, so getting some odd looks. People can see that I have a race bib on, but where are my shoes? Odd....
A little after 6:30 I get in the monstrous line already forming. It’s blocks long, so getting to where I want takes some time. Even now I’m unsure of my strategy. Usually my MO is to start in a faster pace than I anticipate, and take advantage of the adrenalin to run a fast first half, then penguin waddle my way to the end. After talking to some other marathoners, particularly my friend Mark from work, I’m considering starting slower, so that I can kick out the jams on the second half and feel good. Problem with that is, I tried that once, on my first barefoot Detroit Marathon, and ended up with a dismal 4:45. I kinda feel like after two hours my body just goes into ‘trudge’ mode, that no matter how slow I run, the act of being on my feet, even running slow, creates a fatigue that is hard to dispel in the second half. But I’m not sure on any of this.
Still, my tentative goal is to get under 3:50. My PR for this race is 3:59. As it happens, weaving through the crowd, I end up by the 3:50 pacer dude, so I decide, ok, I’ll start at the time I’d actually like to finish, the Middle Way, and see where I end up.
Since there’s so many people, thousands running the half and full, plus walkers in the back, the organizers start the race in waves. I’m in the ‘D’ wave, so even with the official start, we take some minutes to walk to the start line. The whole process seems to be going more smoothly this year, maybe because I’m a little farther up than usual? And when we cross, there’s no log jam, where we have to walk again. Everyone starts running and keeps running. The pace is a good warm up, doesn’t seem too fast, though the adrenaline has kicked in. We head down Congress I believe for a mile, with some onlookers coming out to cheer on their friends and relatives before heading back and meeting us when we come out of the tunnel.
Still dark, but with some street lights. I’m scanning the pavement for glass, trying to keep some space ahead of me, though people move into it as they jockey for position. A guy from the sidelines yells, “Go barefoot dude!” Which causes some guys behind me to notice. “Hey, look at that!” “Man, we should stick with him!”
Other than that, the comments have been minimal. Usually there’s shocked whispering. But maybe up here with the quick people, barefoot running is more heard of? Or maybe it’s just more in the public consciousness at this point? Or maybe I’m thinking too hard about it?
I happen to get in front of another group of people and one guy, with a noticeable southern accent, yells out as the continuation of some conversation, “I think they outta have forced sterilization for anybody on welfare!”
There’s kind of a chilled hush from everybody. He continues: “That’s right, I said it! I’m running a goddamn marathon so I’m going to speak my mind!”
The guy he’s running with, I’m not sure if he’s a friend or just ended up unlucky, tries to joke. “Aw no, we’re not going to talk about politics for 25 miles are we?”
“I just think anybody taking money from the government like that outta not have children!”
A guy ahead of me yells back, “Well, you’re sure making want to run faster than you! So I can get away!”
Laughter.
After the first mile, the route starts to curve, as we make our way up to the Ambassador Bridge. Something’s wrong though. A volunteer lady is yelling, “Be careful! You’re on gravel now!”
Gravel! My old enemy. And yep, there is is. Why is there gravel here? Or we not on the main ramp up? Youch! I try to maintain my same pace, invoking the spirit of Barefoot Ken Bob: “Play with the gravel John!”
Yeah right. Thing is, the gravel goes on for a while. We’re making a second loop around! What gives? This is very different. The only thing that give me hope is that the gravel surely can’t last. And then it does end, thankfully, and we get on cement and pavement, with a definite incline. Both lanes heading to Canada are blocked off for us. There doesn’t seem to be any traffic heading east at all? Hm. Oh well.
One thing I’m trying right from the start is running on the painted lane lines whenever possible. Along with my reduced mileage in the Fall, I also tend to run barefoot less, so I’m a little bit worried about rawness. I was fine for the Wild Life Half Marathon last week, but I just want to give my feets any help they can get for the long haul.
The sun is trying to come up and out from behind some clouds. Downtown Detroit looks awesome with all the building lights still on. And the buildings and lights going up each side of the river. No boats, looking kind of tranquil. It’s funny and kind of embarrassing maybe, but there’s an Occupy Detroit demonstration supposed to be happening this weekend as well. I’m not sure where they are, but I heard it’s ‘only’ five hundred people. So, 20,000 people will come out to run around the streets, but only 500 will come out to actually protest corporation take over of our government. And hey, I know, I’m one of those runners.
Oh, and the wind? Yeah, it’s bitter. I’m glad I have my shell jacket. Some people, women especially it seems, are in shorts and t-shirts. That’s gotta be uncomfortable.
The pavement feels rough. Or, rougher than I remember from last year. Even when we come down into Canada (where the first thing you see is a McDonalds sign-so, they’re civilized) the pavement seems rough. Do I just have a selective memory? Probably. But, I swear I remember the road along the river being one of the smoothest places on the course, but it sure doesn’t feel that way. Hm, maybe my feets aren’t as tough as I’d like? Eep!
At least the crowd has more room here. The Canadians still seem normal in every way. Perhaps a little quiet, but it is after all 8 in the morning. They don’t have any extra limbs or anything, and they even seem to know English.
The first relay switch is here, which hardly seems that long, really. What are we at? Five miles? Six? And then we curve around and descend into the Tunnel! The only underground mile in any marathon on the continent!
Just the echo-y sound of heavy breathing and the clomp clomp of shoes. Still a quick pace. In fact, faster than I run on my own, for sure. So, will I be able to sustain this for another three hours? I’m starting to have some doubts.
On the way up and out of the tunnel, there are some Homeland Security folks yelling to make sure everyone has their bib’s visible. Notice that the Canadians didn’t care at all. Much to my surprise, when I round a small bend, I see two ‘migras’ heading towards me! But then one says into his radio, “No, hold on, he’s got his bib on his left leg.”
Wow, I was almost detained!
And then back in the USA. And, it’s raining. Uh oh. Rain is not good on the feets. Softens them up so they get scraped raw quicker. Drat. Am I going to have to bag any shot at a PR? Hm. But, well, it’s not a downpour, just a shower. Still, I make sure to try and keep running on the painted lines. Kinda tough sometimes when shodheads are hogging them. I learn why, potentially, when I overhear a woman say to her boyfriend/husband to stay in the middle of the road in order run the least amount of distance. True? I’m not sure. Doesn’t seem like it, but I’m just a dumb English major. I could write a poem about it though!
Fortunately the rain seems to stop, though the sky is still grey. The roads are still wet though. I find myself behind the 3:45 pacer. Excellent! If I could just stay with him for the rest of the race, I’d be fine. But, he and his group gradually pull ahead. I’m feeling a tightness in my upper thighs, right by the hips. Grr. Is this left over from the half marathon last week? Seems too early to be getting sore.
In the course of what seems like only fifteen minutes, I feel like everyone has started to be passing me, and then, with a loud rumble behind me, a huge group of 10:55ers passes. Really? That quick? I just lost ten minutes that quick? Argh. So I vow to stay with them.
Until, wait, what do I see but another barefoot guy up ahead! The first I’ve seen. There’s supposed to be at least five of us today, but I haven’t seen the others. So, I kick in the overdrive in order to catch up to him. And, it’s Brandon! From Burning River and Dances With Dirt! I pound him on the back and say hey. He says hello and I notice he jaw isn’t wired shut any more. But when I mention that, he looks at me kinda of strangely and says, “I think you have me mixed up with someone else. Must be a good looking guy though.”
I take a second look and I swear it looks like him, but it isn’t. Wow. Ok. I apologize and ask what he’s running. Turns out he’s doing the half, and, he’s only been running BF since September! Wow. He says he was having problems with his Achilles tendon (I think?) and that, and this is hard to believe, his doctor actually recommended that he try barefoot running! Oh how the tides are turning, that a doctor would actually recommend this.
I explain my plantar fasciitis woes from three years ago, and by then we’re coming up on the 13.1 mark. Also, we seem to have fallen a little behind the 3:55 folks. I apologize again, this time for slowing him down. He’s says it’s fine and we part ways, the halfers going off to the right for the last .1, and us marathoners going left.
That thins the herd a bit. We’ve also go a lot of spectators at this point too. My legs are still bogging out. I’m trying the whole relax the upper body thing, but bending my legs is the problem. Still, just focusing on going back to quick short steps seems to help a little.
The route winds into Indian Gardens, the cool, seemingly secret, nice neighborhood right near downtown Detroit. I don’t know how it exists, but there are plenty of trees, and cool big old houses. As usual, the inhabitants have come out to cheer us on, few in number, but loud in voice and stereos. The roads are better here. I don’t know, maybe running on the painted lines makes the roads just feel rougher? And if I just ran on the pavement my feet would get used it, like it seems they are now? The thing about barefoot running is the speculation and experimentation never end. Every run is a new adventure.
While I’ve only seen that one other barefoot guy, I continue to see minimalist runners, almost all of them VFFers. Some pass me, others I pass. One woman in VFFs stops to run a bit with me, saying, “You’re the inspiration to the rest of us out here!” Meaning I guess the other minimalists. That is very kind of her. I thank her, though I’m feeling a little down on myself for getting no where near that 3:50 goal. And, she passes me. So much for inspiration.
I feel I’m not being consistent with my running, but at least I seem to not be getting passed anymore, or not too much. I even decide to take off my shell, feeling a little too warm. But then we get out on Jefferson, right next to the river, with Belle Isle coming up, and the wind immediately gets stronger. So, I put the shell back on, having to feel how wet and slimy the inner lining is. But, as soon as it’s zipped up I feel better. I don’t know, maybe if I let myself be a little cooler I’d run better? Am I sweating more because of the shell? Lots o’ self doubt now as we head over the bridge onto the isle.
And, I seem to slow down again. Pre mental wall? We’re at Mile 19. What I usually like about Belle Isle there’s not mile markers, so we pass over Mile 20 almost without noticing, and we come out at Mile 22, with only four miles to go! Four miles is nothing! I should be able to kick in the overdrive for this.
Yet I can’t. I’m not penguin waddling, but somewhere in there the 4:00 pace team got ahead of me. I was still thinking if I could stay with them until the end, then just kick out the jams right at the end to slip in under 4:00, but....I fear there will be no PR today.
But then it seems like I’ve got some energy and I’m passing people again as we head out onto the Riverwalk, a nice cement pathway, ideal for barefoot running.
We turn back into the city, onto streets. A little uphill. Everyone straining. I can feel people digging deep. I’m trying to maintain a good posture. I’ve noticed in some photos and videos of my running that I tend to lean my head back, and I wonder if that has something to do with my speed, that I’m not leaning forward enough, and therefore not as efficient as a could be, so I’m really trying to keep the head tilted a little bit.
We’re close. Under two miles out. Other runners are bogging out, just stopping and walking. I want to tell them that they’re almost there! Maybe they know already. I don’t know. I’m trying though. Trying to keep steady, wondering if I’ll have a last minute sprint in me.
A left. Two blocks. A right. Slight uphill. I know that next left is the last one and the finish will be right there. I don’t know if I have it.
Then a hand pats me on the shoulder. I don’t know who the guy is, but he’s wearing VFFs and says, “You’re my hero!”
I thank him. He starts to pass me, kicking in, so I kick in too. “Alright! I’m following you in!”
That seems to inspire him. He speeds up. We’re getting to the last turn. Unlike myself, I yell, “Alright man, take me home!”
And we run. We make the turn, and there’s the finish a couple blocks away! We weave and duck between trudgers, and I even end up ahead of him, though just.
The course is now lined with people, but no one is really making much noise. Again, very unlike me, but I decide to try and get them going, lifting my hands and arms, signaling them to start some noise!
It’s works! Everyone starts cheering. I keep signaling as I sprint to the end! A roar of applauders! I finish!
I high five the VFFers dude and thank him.
Check the watch. Ouch. 4:06:59. Basically 4:07. Ok. I’m kinda sad, kinda down on myself, even though that’s basically a normal time for me. Same as my second marathon over 10 years ago. I guess too it’s just feeling emotional, having given my all. Also too seeing everyone finishing and having a family member or someone they know there. I gotta get a girlfriend. But then, she’d probably be running this with me. That would be ok too.
I get my medal, super heavy this year, and a reflective space blanket. A reporter for the Free Press stops to interview me, having noticed my feet. He seems guilty, because I’m eyeing the water bottles behind him, but I’m actually glad to have someone to talk to, and to represent the barefoot running lifestyle. I even give him my email in case he wants to follow up on anything. He’s just shocked when I tell him about my plantar fasciitis woes, and how they vanished. Turns out he too has the dreaded PF, and can’t quite seem to make himself believe me. “It’s just really counter-intuitive!”
While I’m talking, I hear someone call my name. It’s Katie, a coworker! She ran the half, and watched me come in. Good to see a familiar face.
I finally get some water, then two bananas. There wasn’t any fruit at any of the stations, that’s the only thing I didn’t like. Ah well.
I wander to the gear drop and get my bag, glad to sit down and put on my moccasins. My feet actually don’t feel as raw as they have in the past. I guess the run-on-paint-lines strategy worked?
Katie comes by, with her husband and two friends, who all ran the half it looks like. She congratulates me. I’m still down, so I thank her, but then go into how I’d had the 3:50 goal. After they leave, I realize how dumb that was. I should have just said thank you and shut up. No excuse. And also, I mean, I just ran a marathon barefoot in 4:07! That’s pretty damn good! I represented! Maybe I should just drop the whole PR thing and run to enjoy the run. But, how else to challenge myself? Not sure. I’ll have to think about this some more.
Shod, with another jacket layering me, I stand up slowly and start to hobble to my car.
Feet and Medal, post race
Post Race Foot, bottom view
The weather this morning is surprisingly warm. Yesterday a big windstorm went through lower Michigan, with some rain, and we’re supposed to have similar conditions today, but right now, at 6 in the morning, the air feels the warmest it’s been for any Detroit Marathon. In fact, I have no problem with ditching my warmer gear, my jacket and moccasins, and putting them in my gear bag, to be reclaimed later. In fact, I’m almost wondering if I need my running ‘shell’ jacket or not, since it doesn’t breathe. But I only have a wicking t-shirt on underneath, and from past experience I know the Ambassador Bridge can be bitter windy cold.
Other than that I have a pair of compression shorts, with some old running pants on over them. I’m also wearing two pairs of old cotton socks until the race starts, which are bright white compared to all my other black clothing, so getting some odd looks. People can see that I have a race bib on, but where are my shoes? Odd....
A little after 6:30 I get in the monstrous line already forming. It’s blocks long, so getting to where I want takes some time. Even now I’m unsure of my strategy. Usually my MO is to start in a faster pace than I anticipate, and take advantage of the adrenalin to run a fast first half, then penguin waddle my way to the end. After talking to some other marathoners, particularly my friend Mark from work, I’m considering starting slower, so that I can kick out the jams on the second half and feel good. Problem with that is, I tried that once, on my first barefoot Detroit Marathon, and ended up with a dismal 4:45. I kinda feel like after two hours my body just goes into ‘trudge’ mode, that no matter how slow I run, the act of being on my feet, even running slow, creates a fatigue that is hard to dispel in the second half. But I’m not sure on any of this.
Still, my tentative goal is to get under 3:50. My PR for this race is 3:59. As it happens, weaving through the crowd, I end up by the 3:50 pacer dude, so I decide, ok, I’ll start at the time I’d actually like to finish, the Middle Way, and see where I end up.
Since there’s so many people, thousands running the half and full, plus walkers in the back, the organizers start the race in waves. I’m in the ‘D’ wave, so even with the official start, we take some minutes to walk to the start line. The whole process seems to be going more smoothly this year, maybe because I’m a little farther up than usual? And when we cross, there’s no log jam, where we have to walk again. Everyone starts running and keeps running. The pace is a good warm up, doesn’t seem too fast, though the adrenaline has kicked in. We head down Congress I believe for a mile, with some onlookers coming out to cheer on their friends and relatives before heading back and meeting us when we come out of the tunnel.
Still dark, but with some street lights. I’m scanning the pavement for glass, trying to keep some space ahead of me, though people move into it as they jockey for position. A guy from the sidelines yells, “Go barefoot dude!” Which causes some guys behind me to notice. “Hey, look at that!” “Man, we should stick with him!”
Other than that, the comments have been minimal. Usually there’s shocked whispering. But maybe up here with the quick people, barefoot running is more heard of? Or maybe it’s just more in the public consciousness at this point? Or maybe I’m thinking too hard about it?
I happen to get in front of another group of people and one guy, with a noticeable southern accent, yells out as the continuation of some conversation, “I think they outta have forced sterilization for anybody on welfare!”
There’s kind of a chilled hush from everybody. He continues: “That’s right, I said it! I’m running a goddamn marathon so I’m going to speak my mind!”
The guy he’s running with, I’m not sure if he’s a friend or just ended up unlucky, tries to joke. “Aw no, we’re not going to talk about politics for 25 miles are we?”
“I just think anybody taking money from the government like that outta not have children!”
A guy ahead of me yells back, “Well, you’re sure making want to run faster than you! So I can get away!”
Laughter.
After the first mile, the route starts to curve, as we make our way up to the Ambassador Bridge. Something’s wrong though. A volunteer lady is yelling, “Be careful! You’re on gravel now!”
Gravel! My old enemy. And yep, there is is. Why is there gravel here? Or we not on the main ramp up? Youch! I try to maintain my same pace, invoking the spirit of Barefoot Ken Bob: “Play with the gravel John!”
Yeah right. Thing is, the gravel goes on for a while. We’re making a second loop around! What gives? This is very different. The only thing that give me hope is that the gravel surely can’t last. And then it does end, thankfully, and we get on cement and pavement, with a definite incline. Both lanes heading to Canada are blocked off for us. There doesn’t seem to be any traffic heading east at all? Hm. Oh well.
One thing I’m trying right from the start is running on the painted lane lines whenever possible. Along with my reduced mileage in the Fall, I also tend to run barefoot less, so I’m a little bit worried about rawness. I was fine for the Wild Life Half Marathon last week, but I just want to give my feets any help they can get for the long haul.
The sun is trying to come up and out from behind some clouds. Downtown Detroit looks awesome with all the building lights still on. And the buildings and lights going up each side of the river. No boats, looking kind of tranquil. It’s funny and kind of embarrassing maybe, but there’s an Occupy Detroit demonstration supposed to be happening this weekend as well. I’m not sure where they are, but I heard it’s ‘only’ five hundred people. So, 20,000 people will come out to run around the streets, but only 500 will come out to actually protest corporation take over of our government. And hey, I know, I’m one of those runners.
Oh, and the wind? Yeah, it’s bitter. I’m glad I have my shell jacket. Some people, women especially it seems, are in shorts and t-shirts. That’s gotta be uncomfortable.
The pavement feels rough. Or, rougher than I remember from last year. Even when we come down into Canada (where the first thing you see is a McDonalds sign-so, they’re civilized) the pavement seems rough. Do I just have a selective memory? Probably. But, I swear I remember the road along the river being one of the smoothest places on the course, but it sure doesn’t feel that way. Hm, maybe my feets aren’t as tough as I’d like? Eep!
At least the crowd has more room here. The Canadians still seem normal in every way. Perhaps a little quiet, but it is after all 8 in the morning. They don’t have any extra limbs or anything, and they even seem to know English.
The first relay switch is here, which hardly seems that long, really. What are we at? Five miles? Six? And then we curve around and descend into the Tunnel! The only underground mile in any marathon on the continent!
Just the echo-y sound of heavy breathing and the clomp clomp of shoes. Still a quick pace. In fact, faster than I run on my own, for sure. So, will I be able to sustain this for another three hours? I’m starting to have some doubts.
On the way up and out of the tunnel, there are some Homeland Security folks yelling to make sure everyone has their bib’s visible. Notice that the Canadians didn’t care at all. Much to my surprise, when I round a small bend, I see two ‘migras’ heading towards me! But then one says into his radio, “No, hold on, he’s got his bib on his left leg.”
Wow, I was almost detained!
And then back in the USA. And, it’s raining. Uh oh. Rain is not good on the feets. Softens them up so they get scraped raw quicker. Drat. Am I going to have to bag any shot at a PR? Hm. But, well, it’s not a downpour, just a shower. Still, I make sure to try and keep running on the painted lines. Kinda tough sometimes when shodheads are hogging them. I learn why, potentially, when I overhear a woman say to her boyfriend/husband to stay in the middle of the road in order run the least amount of distance. True? I’m not sure. Doesn’t seem like it, but I’m just a dumb English major. I could write a poem about it though!
Fortunately the rain seems to stop, though the sky is still grey. The roads are still wet though. I find myself behind the 3:45 pacer. Excellent! If I could just stay with him for the rest of the race, I’d be fine. But, he and his group gradually pull ahead. I’m feeling a tightness in my upper thighs, right by the hips. Grr. Is this left over from the half marathon last week? Seems too early to be getting sore.
In the course of what seems like only fifteen minutes, I feel like everyone has started to be passing me, and then, with a loud rumble behind me, a huge group of 10:55ers passes. Really? That quick? I just lost ten minutes that quick? Argh. So I vow to stay with them.
Until, wait, what do I see but another barefoot guy up ahead! The first I’ve seen. There’s supposed to be at least five of us today, but I haven’t seen the others. So, I kick in the overdrive in order to catch up to him. And, it’s Brandon! From Burning River and Dances With Dirt! I pound him on the back and say hey. He says hello and I notice he jaw isn’t wired shut any more. But when I mention that, he looks at me kinda of strangely and says, “I think you have me mixed up with someone else. Must be a good looking guy though.”
I take a second look and I swear it looks like him, but it isn’t. Wow. Ok. I apologize and ask what he’s running. Turns out he’s doing the half, and, he’s only been running BF since September! Wow. He says he was having problems with his Achilles tendon (I think?) and that, and this is hard to believe, his doctor actually recommended that he try barefoot running! Oh how the tides are turning, that a doctor would actually recommend this.
I explain my plantar fasciitis woes from three years ago, and by then we’re coming up on the 13.1 mark. Also, we seem to have fallen a little behind the 3:55 folks. I apologize again, this time for slowing him down. He’s says it’s fine and we part ways, the halfers going off to the right for the last .1, and us marathoners going left.
That thins the herd a bit. We’ve also go a lot of spectators at this point too. My legs are still bogging out. I’m trying the whole relax the upper body thing, but bending my legs is the problem. Still, just focusing on going back to quick short steps seems to help a little.
The route winds into Indian Gardens, the cool, seemingly secret, nice neighborhood right near downtown Detroit. I don’t know how it exists, but there are plenty of trees, and cool big old houses. As usual, the inhabitants have come out to cheer us on, few in number, but loud in voice and stereos. The roads are better here. I don’t know, maybe running on the painted lines makes the roads just feel rougher? And if I just ran on the pavement my feet would get used it, like it seems they are now? The thing about barefoot running is the speculation and experimentation never end. Every run is a new adventure.
While I’ve only seen that one other barefoot guy, I continue to see minimalist runners, almost all of them VFFers. Some pass me, others I pass. One woman in VFFs stops to run a bit with me, saying, “You’re the inspiration to the rest of us out here!” Meaning I guess the other minimalists. That is very kind of her. I thank her, though I’m feeling a little down on myself for getting no where near that 3:50 goal. And, she passes me. So much for inspiration.
I feel I’m not being consistent with my running, but at least I seem to not be getting passed anymore, or not too much. I even decide to take off my shell, feeling a little too warm. But then we get out on Jefferson, right next to the river, with Belle Isle coming up, and the wind immediately gets stronger. So, I put the shell back on, having to feel how wet and slimy the inner lining is. But, as soon as it’s zipped up I feel better. I don’t know, maybe if I let myself be a little cooler I’d run better? Am I sweating more because of the shell? Lots o’ self doubt now as we head over the bridge onto the isle.
And, I seem to slow down again. Pre mental wall? We’re at Mile 19. What I usually like about Belle Isle there’s not mile markers, so we pass over Mile 20 almost without noticing, and we come out at Mile 22, with only four miles to go! Four miles is nothing! I should be able to kick in the overdrive for this.
Yet I can’t. I’m not penguin waddling, but somewhere in there the 4:00 pace team got ahead of me. I was still thinking if I could stay with them until the end, then just kick out the jams right at the end to slip in under 4:00, but....I fear there will be no PR today.
But then it seems like I’ve got some energy and I’m passing people again as we head out onto the Riverwalk, a nice cement pathway, ideal for barefoot running.
We turn back into the city, onto streets. A little uphill. Everyone straining. I can feel people digging deep. I’m trying to maintain a good posture. I’ve noticed in some photos and videos of my running that I tend to lean my head back, and I wonder if that has something to do with my speed, that I’m not leaning forward enough, and therefore not as efficient as a could be, so I’m really trying to keep the head tilted a little bit.
We’re close. Under two miles out. Other runners are bogging out, just stopping and walking. I want to tell them that they’re almost there! Maybe they know already. I don’t know. I’m trying though. Trying to keep steady, wondering if I’ll have a last minute sprint in me.
A left. Two blocks. A right. Slight uphill. I know that next left is the last one and the finish will be right there. I don’t know if I have it.
Then a hand pats me on the shoulder. I don’t know who the guy is, but he’s wearing VFFs and says, “You’re my hero!”
I thank him. He starts to pass me, kicking in, so I kick in too. “Alright! I’m following you in!”
That seems to inspire him. He speeds up. We’re getting to the last turn. Unlike myself, I yell, “Alright man, take me home!”
And we run. We make the turn, and there’s the finish a couple blocks away! We weave and duck between trudgers, and I even end up ahead of him, though just.
The course is now lined with people, but no one is really making much noise. Again, very unlike me, but I decide to try and get them going, lifting my hands and arms, signaling them to start some noise!
It’s works! Everyone starts cheering. I keep signaling as I sprint to the end! A roar of applauders! I finish!
I high five the VFFers dude and thank him.
Check the watch. Ouch. 4:06:59. Basically 4:07. Ok. I’m kinda sad, kinda down on myself, even though that’s basically a normal time for me. Same as my second marathon over 10 years ago. I guess too it’s just feeling emotional, having given my all. Also too seeing everyone finishing and having a family member or someone they know there. I gotta get a girlfriend. But then, she’d probably be running this with me. That would be ok too.
I get my medal, super heavy this year, and a reflective space blanket. A reporter for the Free Press stops to interview me, having noticed my feet. He seems guilty, because I’m eyeing the water bottles behind him, but I’m actually glad to have someone to talk to, and to represent the barefoot running lifestyle. I even give him my email in case he wants to follow up on anything. He’s just shocked when I tell him about my plantar fasciitis woes, and how they vanished. Turns out he too has the dreaded PF, and can’t quite seem to make himself believe me. “It’s just really counter-intuitive!”
While I’m talking, I hear someone call my name. It’s Katie, a coworker! She ran the half, and watched me come in. Good to see a familiar face.
I finally get some water, then two bananas. There wasn’t any fruit at any of the stations, that’s the only thing I didn’t like. Ah well.
I wander to the gear drop and get my bag, glad to sit down and put on my moccasins. My feet actually don’t feel as raw as they have in the past. I guess the run-on-paint-lines strategy worked?
Katie comes by, with her husband and two friends, who all ran the half it looks like. She congratulates me. I’m still down, so I thank her, but then go into how I’d had the 3:50 goal. After they leave, I realize how dumb that was. I should have just said thank you and shut up. No excuse. And also, I mean, I just ran a marathon barefoot in 4:07! That’s pretty damn good! I represented! Maybe I should just drop the whole PR thing and run to enjoy the run. But, how else to challenge myself? Not sure. I’ll have to think about this some more.
Shod, with another jacket layering me, I stand up slowly and start to hobble to my car.
Feet and Medal, post race
Post Race Foot, bottom view
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Wildlife Half-Marathon 2011
I like having races almost in my back yard: I get up at six o’clock and that feels like a luxury. After a ten minute mediation session and a somewhat leisurely breakfast (plain yoghurt with almonds, dried cherries, a spoonful of chia seeds, and another spoonful of honey for sweetener), I head out the door at 6:45, and the ride over to Concord is only 15 minutes! Plus they have a more reasonable start time of 8:00.
What a day for a race! What a season! Fall in Michigan is the best, with the leaves all turning color, and a predicted temp of 80. I’m in shorts and a cotton t-shirt and feel fine.
I’m also feeling good because I had a great dinner last night, over at Mark’s. He’s a coworker and monster runner, getting 10th in the Burning River 100. A couple of Mark’s Marathon Maniac friends are up from Missouri to run the Wildlife Marathon, plus Joel, a JCC student, runing his first marathon, with Mark pacing him through for a good quick pace. I rarely get to talk to other runners, and never more than some quick banter before a race, so it was nice to hear all kinds of ‘war stories’ over delicious pasta, courtesy of Mark’s wife, Misty. Made me regret not signing up for the marathon, instead of the half-marathon. But, I’m running the Detroit Marathon next week and want to be in tip-top shape, so I can try for a PR.
I get to Concord High School at 7:00-ish, and zip in to get my bib and chip and t-shirt. Since I ran this last year, I figured they’d have a chip, so this time I planned ahead and brought some duct tape, to form a sticky ankle bracelet so the chip will register when I pass over the mats.
About quarter to eight I spot Mark and the crew hanging out in the Marathon Maniac t-shirts, so I close up the car and head over, barefoot, already getting some neck-snapping second looks. There’s more runner conversation, like about why ultra marathons aren’t represented in the Olympics, and why it shouldn’t be possible to qualify for the Olympic marathon try outs by running a half-marathon, which one guy is going to do today. I also learn that I qualify to be a Marathon Maniac, because I’ve run two marathons within 13 days of each other! Sign me up!
A quick kids dash starts things off right at eight. There’s about twenty of them, in all sizes, from small to super small, though the girl who wins, easily, is decked out in the latest running wear. I think she must be 12, so wow, that’s an early start. Future Olympic marathoner probably.
Then the marathoners are called to the the Start line. I wish everyone good luck. There’s about 40 of them, maybe a little more. Man, that’s going to be a long lonely marathon once they all spread out.
And without much fanfare they begin, Mark and Joel right at the beginning. Man, Mark looks determined. I hope he doesn’t run Joel into the ground!
Next up are us halfers, both runners and people who are walking the whole way, which is going to take all day. I put myself somewhat towards the front. I’m kinda not sure what kind of time I’m going to do this race in, but I’m thinking at least under 1:45. My PR is 1:39, but I’ve been pretty slow this year. Still, I’ve run a couple of 50 Milers recently, and I’m wondering if the upped mileage will help. That’s Mark’s claim: that running faster on marathons comes from upping overall mileage. Still, runing ultras, I tend to go at a fairly slow penguin waddle, which doesn’t really use the faster running muscles. I think. Not sure.
Anyways, I end up next to a woman who teaches yoga. She says she’s not built for barefoot running, even though she says she goes barefoot 90 percent of the time. That stuns me, that someone so much into the barefoot lifestyle, and who runs marathons, would be resistant to even trying barefoot running. I think I convince her to at least try it. Hopefull she does before the weather gets too cold. I don’t think anyone in Michigan is going to try barefoot running during the winter months.
And we’re off! I try not to start too fast, but the adrenaline is hard to resist. Still, even with holding myself back, I end up at the front. We go through a few twists and turns through little Concord, and the roads are pretty rough. Fortunately I know we’ll spend most of our time on the Falling Waters trail, which I’ve run many a time, and which is a nice smooth bike path. Still, to save my feetsies, I run on long strips of rubber/tar that have been laid over road cracks. Nice and soft cushy surface.
And, another plan-ahead moment, when we reach the Falling Waters trailhead, I know enough to zip around the gravel parking lot, along the outer grass edge, which I didn’t do last year. Much better this way, and I don’t lose much time at all, way less than if I tried to man-card up over the rocks.
And onto the paved path. Man, gorgeous day. Sunny, warm, but not too warm, with the leaves en regalia, and our first lake on the right. Us halfers are scooting pretty fast, so we actually end up catching some of the marathoners, who at this point are still on the same route, making for a, if not crowded, then full trail, which is about car width. I even pass one of the Marathon Maniacs from last night, who’s name I forget already. But, we exchange pleasantries. If I were running the marathon, I might be running about his pace, but for now I wave and move onward. I wish I could keep this pace for a whole marathon. Maybe I’ll be closer to doing that next week.
In the meantime, I’m loving having the home field advantage. I’m not sure why, or if it’s even really true, but I just feel like seeing all this familiar territory helps me relax a little? Which lets me run faster? Not sure, but I’m still really trying to relax into my pace. Relaxing the upper body, but keeping a good swift cadence. And, after getting a little out of breadth back through Concord, now that I’m out on the trail and basically just going straight and flat, I’m only just a little bit into anaerobic mode. That is, I probably couldn’t hold a conversation, but don’t feel winded either. I feel good. I feel like the more I relax, the faster I run, which is weird, but cool.
Through a couple aid stations. I’m carrying my Amphipod bottle, so I don’t even have to slow down. I’m liking not drinking Gatorade anymore, at least not for these shorter races, so I have all the water I need for the whole race, probably.
One guy comes up next to me and goes, “Well sir, I’ll say one thing, you’re certainly not making a lot of noise!”
And it’s true, one of the main sounds, the main sound, is the thump thump of running shoes on pavement. In fact, another guy comes up behind me and he just sounds like he’s SLAMMING his feet down: THUMP THUMP THUMP. I hate picturing what’s happening to his knees right now. There’s not way he can keep that up for years. I don’t know, maybe he’s just really giving his all, trying to catch the barefoot dude, since he seems to be kind of hanging out right behind me. Maybe not, but he’s that loud that I want to kind of get away from him. But again, instead of tensing up and forcing myself to run faster, I try to relax, breath deep, lower the shoulder, and without feeling that I’ve increased my cadence, I move faster. Relaxation = better efficiency.
At about Mile 5, the marathons split off to the right, south, to go run around the back country roads of Jackson County. Again, I feel the tug to go, but I’m enjoying the half too, the feeling that I’m going to run a fast race and still have most of my day ahead of me, without feeling exhausted! Only because I still have some student essays to grade, but still, I’m going to be in Ann Arbor to do it, with all the Ann Arbor hotties to stare at longingly.
But no, John, concentrate on the race! Man, I didn’t realize how many marathoners I’d been surrounded by. With them gone, the pack has dwindled considerably. And here comes the lead halfer, coming back the other way, well ahead of everyone else. Well, if he can keep that up, then I guess he would make a good Olympic marathoner!
There’s a final aid station at the half turn-around, with youths (or, ‘yoots’) passing out bottled water and Coca Cola. I pass on both, but thank them for being out there, since they’re not by any road.
The comments on my bare feet have been non stop. The best up to this point was one woman who said, when I passed her and her husband, “He’s barefoot! I couldn’t stand stepping in all those micro-organisms!”
But now that I’m heading back, right along all the runners behind me, which is most of the pack (not that I’m anywhere close winning this thing, no sir) everyone gets a full view of me running back towards them. And everyone is super supportive! There are many shocked, “He’s barefoot!”’s but I don’t hear any “He’s crazy!”’s. I guess since I’m ahead of all of them. This especially goes on when we start getting back to the walkers. I also see the woman I’d been talking to before the race, way at the back. I smile and point to my feet. She smiles back and yells, “Ok!”
My time at the split was 53 minutes. So, yikes, I gotta at the least maintain that pace to get any kind of decent finish time. I’m actually feeling good, no ‘bogging out’, no loss of energy. I’m wondering if indeed all the high mileage I’ve been doing is helping me out here. In fact, again weirdly, I’m kinda feeling like I have more energy than my body can use. That is, I feel like I could be running faster, yet don’t feel I can really make my feet go at a faster cadence. With five, then four, miles to go, I’m not feeling the my body is physically taxed at all. I only kind of maybe slow down just because I’m sort of by myself and can’t really gauge where I should be, speed-wise, until a woman I’d seen going the other way catches up to me, going at a good clip. Interestingly, she’s wearing shoes, but taking really short steps, and a really fast cadence. Basically, a barefoot running from almost. That’s inspiring, reminding me to get my own cadence back up, and I do, but I also go through another ‘relax’ moment, and slowly scoot back ahead of her.
After that, I don’t see anybody passing anybody, though the people ahead of me are all way strung out from each other. We get back to the gravel parking lot and I re-take the outer grass edge, not even being overtaken by the woman I recently passed. I think she slowed down to get some Gatorade at the aid station.
Back on city roads. And here comes someone just hauling ass, a guy I don’t remember seeing. He must have really been playing it slow because now he’s coming through with power. I tell him, Nice pace!, as he goes by and he’s nice enough to look back and say, “Stay with it! We’re almost there!”
Indeed, we are. We make a left, where a race volunteer informs us, “Only about a 1,000 meters to go and I can’t believe you just ran this barefoot!”
Up a short hill. That guy is way gone. I can hear someone behind me a little ways, I think it’s the swift shod woman. Again, the roads are a little rough. I at first try to run on the tar strips, but then decide, phuk it, just go for speed and take the pain for two more minutes. Not that it’s really pain even.
A twist and a turn, and another turn, with some Concordites out to cheer everyone on, and there’s the high school! Push it John! I don’t want to go into an all-out shod-type sprint, but I again feel like I can’t get my feets to move as fast as I’d like them to in proper BF form. Still, I speed up a little. I always have the fear that someone’s going pass me right at the end, probably because that’s what I would be trying to do if anyone was anywhere close. Nobody is though.
I pass over the initial chip scanner, which allows the announcer to call out my name, “John Yohe! From Jackson! Looks like you lost you’re shoes somewhere along the way!”
A round of applause from the onlookers and I cross! Check the watch: 1:44. Hm, ok. I’ll take it. Actually, let me do the math: If I was at 53 at the half, that means....Holy crap! My second half was faster than my first! 51 minutes! I also don’t feel exhausted. A little tight around the inner thighs, but not like I ‘left is all out on the course.’ Hm....
I hang out, get some water, a banana, and a muffin, and just wander around barefoot a little. A woman walks by barefoot and I joke, asking if she ran barefoot too. She smiles and says no, but that she’s tried wearing VFFs, but that she didn’t like them because they made her lower calves sore. I tell here that that’s normal, just using some new muscles, and to give it 2 or 3 weeks. I think I may have convinced her to try again.
As with a lot of races I’ve been to lately, the most up to date results are posted as soon as someone can print them up. At first they only have one guy in my age division, who finished at 1:33. Yeah, I wasn’t going to catch him. Then, the next sheet that comes has me at 5th in my age group, with the 2-4 guys anywhere from 2 to 4 minutes ahead. Ok, I’ll take it.
I also meet a guy in his 50s who finished at around 1:30 or so. I want to be like him when I grow up. He expresses interest barefoot running, saying he’s try it except that it attracts too much attention and he prefers to go unnoticed. I tell him to at least try it out on some wooded trail where no on can see him. He nods and smiles and says maybe.
No minimalist runners that I saw. Hm, well, Jackson County is always a little behind the times. Well, I think I did a good job of representin’. I’m not up for waiting around for Mark and crew to finish, I’ll check in later via text to see how they did. As for me, I’m headed back home, with another medal, for a nap, a shower, then a sunny afternoon still left ahead. I think I’m even going to go for a run tonight.
What a day for a race! What a season! Fall in Michigan is the best, with the leaves all turning color, and a predicted temp of 80. I’m in shorts and a cotton t-shirt and feel fine.
I’m also feeling good because I had a great dinner last night, over at Mark’s. He’s a coworker and monster runner, getting 10th in the Burning River 100. A couple of Mark’s Marathon Maniac friends are up from Missouri to run the Wildlife Marathon, plus Joel, a JCC student, runing his first marathon, with Mark pacing him through for a good quick pace. I rarely get to talk to other runners, and never more than some quick banter before a race, so it was nice to hear all kinds of ‘war stories’ over delicious pasta, courtesy of Mark’s wife, Misty. Made me regret not signing up for the marathon, instead of the half-marathon. But, I’m running the Detroit Marathon next week and want to be in tip-top shape, so I can try for a PR.
I get to Concord High School at 7:00-ish, and zip in to get my bib and chip and t-shirt. Since I ran this last year, I figured they’d have a chip, so this time I planned ahead and brought some duct tape, to form a sticky ankle bracelet so the chip will register when I pass over the mats.
About quarter to eight I spot Mark and the crew hanging out in the Marathon Maniac t-shirts, so I close up the car and head over, barefoot, already getting some neck-snapping second looks. There’s more runner conversation, like about why ultra marathons aren’t represented in the Olympics, and why it shouldn’t be possible to qualify for the Olympic marathon try outs by running a half-marathon, which one guy is going to do today. I also learn that I qualify to be a Marathon Maniac, because I’ve run two marathons within 13 days of each other! Sign me up!
A quick kids dash starts things off right at eight. There’s about twenty of them, in all sizes, from small to super small, though the girl who wins, easily, is decked out in the latest running wear. I think she must be 12, so wow, that’s an early start. Future Olympic marathoner probably.
Then the marathoners are called to the the Start line. I wish everyone good luck. There’s about 40 of them, maybe a little more. Man, that’s going to be a long lonely marathon once they all spread out.
And without much fanfare they begin, Mark and Joel right at the beginning. Man, Mark looks determined. I hope he doesn’t run Joel into the ground!
Next up are us halfers, both runners and people who are walking the whole way, which is going to take all day. I put myself somewhat towards the front. I’m kinda not sure what kind of time I’m going to do this race in, but I’m thinking at least under 1:45. My PR is 1:39, but I’ve been pretty slow this year. Still, I’ve run a couple of 50 Milers recently, and I’m wondering if the upped mileage will help. That’s Mark’s claim: that running faster on marathons comes from upping overall mileage. Still, runing ultras, I tend to go at a fairly slow penguin waddle, which doesn’t really use the faster running muscles. I think. Not sure.
Anyways, I end up next to a woman who teaches yoga. She says she’s not built for barefoot running, even though she says she goes barefoot 90 percent of the time. That stuns me, that someone so much into the barefoot lifestyle, and who runs marathons, would be resistant to even trying barefoot running. I think I convince her to at least try it. Hopefull she does before the weather gets too cold. I don’t think anyone in Michigan is going to try barefoot running during the winter months.
And we’re off! I try not to start too fast, but the adrenaline is hard to resist. Still, even with holding myself back, I end up at the front. We go through a few twists and turns through little Concord, and the roads are pretty rough. Fortunately I know we’ll spend most of our time on the Falling Waters trail, which I’ve run many a time, and which is a nice smooth bike path. Still, to save my feetsies, I run on long strips of rubber/tar that have been laid over road cracks. Nice and soft cushy surface.
And, another plan-ahead moment, when we reach the Falling Waters trailhead, I know enough to zip around the gravel parking lot, along the outer grass edge, which I didn’t do last year. Much better this way, and I don’t lose much time at all, way less than if I tried to man-card up over the rocks.
And onto the paved path. Man, gorgeous day. Sunny, warm, but not too warm, with the leaves en regalia, and our first lake on the right. Us halfers are scooting pretty fast, so we actually end up catching some of the marathoners, who at this point are still on the same route, making for a, if not crowded, then full trail, which is about car width. I even pass one of the Marathon Maniacs from last night, who’s name I forget already. But, we exchange pleasantries. If I were running the marathon, I might be running about his pace, but for now I wave and move onward. I wish I could keep this pace for a whole marathon. Maybe I’ll be closer to doing that next week.
In the meantime, I’m loving having the home field advantage. I’m not sure why, or if it’s even really true, but I just feel like seeing all this familiar territory helps me relax a little? Which lets me run faster? Not sure, but I’m still really trying to relax into my pace. Relaxing the upper body, but keeping a good swift cadence. And, after getting a little out of breadth back through Concord, now that I’m out on the trail and basically just going straight and flat, I’m only just a little bit into anaerobic mode. That is, I probably couldn’t hold a conversation, but don’t feel winded either. I feel good. I feel like the more I relax, the faster I run, which is weird, but cool.
Through a couple aid stations. I’m carrying my Amphipod bottle, so I don’t even have to slow down. I’m liking not drinking Gatorade anymore, at least not for these shorter races, so I have all the water I need for the whole race, probably.
One guy comes up next to me and goes, “Well sir, I’ll say one thing, you’re certainly not making a lot of noise!”
And it’s true, one of the main sounds, the main sound, is the thump thump of running shoes on pavement. In fact, another guy comes up behind me and he just sounds like he’s SLAMMING his feet down: THUMP THUMP THUMP. I hate picturing what’s happening to his knees right now. There’s not way he can keep that up for years. I don’t know, maybe he’s just really giving his all, trying to catch the barefoot dude, since he seems to be kind of hanging out right behind me. Maybe not, but he’s that loud that I want to kind of get away from him. But again, instead of tensing up and forcing myself to run faster, I try to relax, breath deep, lower the shoulder, and without feeling that I’ve increased my cadence, I move faster. Relaxation = better efficiency.
At about Mile 5, the marathons split off to the right, south, to go run around the back country roads of Jackson County. Again, I feel the tug to go, but I’m enjoying the half too, the feeling that I’m going to run a fast race and still have most of my day ahead of me, without feeling exhausted! Only because I still have some student essays to grade, but still, I’m going to be in Ann Arbor to do it, with all the Ann Arbor hotties to stare at longingly.
But no, John, concentrate on the race! Man, I didn’t realize how many marathoners I’d been surrounded by. With them gone, the pack has dwindled considerably. And here comes the lead halfer, coming back the other way, well ahead of everyone else. Well, if he can keep that up, then I guess he would make a good Olympic marathoner!
There’s a final aid station at the half turn-around, with youths (or, ‘yoots’) passing out bottled water and Coca Cola. I pass on both, but thank them for being out there, since they’re not by any road.
The comments on my bare feet have been non stop. The best up to this point was one woman who said, when I passed her and her husband, “He’s barefoot! I couldn’t stand stepping in all those micro-organisms!”
But now that I’m heading back, right along all the runners behind me, which is most of the pack (not that I’m anywhere close winning this thing, no sir) everyone gets a full view of me running back towards them. And everyone is super supportive! There are many shocked, “He’s barefoot!”’s but I don’t hear any “He’s crazy!”’s. I guess since I’m ahead of all of them. This especially goes on when we start getting back to the walkers. I also see the woman I’d been talking to before the race, way at the back. I smile and point to my feet. She smiles back and yells, “Ok!”
My time at the split was 53 minutes. So, yikes, I gotta at the least maintain that pace to get any kind of decent finish time. I’m actually feeling good, no ‘bogging out’, no loss of energy. I’m wondering if indeed all the high mileage I’ve been doing is helping me out here. In fact, again weirdly, I’m kinda feeling like I have more energy than my body can use. That is, I feel like I could be running faster, yet don’t feel I can really make my feet go at a faster cadence. With five, then four, miles to go, I’m not feeling the my body is physically taxed at all. I only kind of maybe slow down just because I’m sort of by myself and can’t really gauge where I should be, speed-wise, until a woman I’d seen going the other way catches up to me, going at a good clip. Interestingly, she’s wearing shoes, but taking really short steps, and a really fast cadence. Basically, a barefoot running from almost. That’s inspiring, reminding me to get my own cadence back up, and I do, but I also go through another ‘relax’ moment, and slowly scoot back ahead of her.
After that, I don’t see anybody passing anybody, though the people ahead of me are all way strung out from each other. We get back to the gravel parking lot and I re-take the outer grass edge, not even being overtaken by the woman I recently passed. I think she slowed down to get some Gatorade at the aid station.
Back on city roads. And here comes someone just hauling ass, a guy I don’t remember seeing. He must have really been playing it slow because now he’s coming through with power. I tell him, Nice pace!, as he goes by and he’s nice enough to look back and say, “Stay with it! We’re almost there!”
Indeed, we are. We make a left, where a race volunteer informs us, “Only about a 1,000 meters to go and I can’t believe you just ran this barefoot!”
Up a short hill. That guy is way gone. I can hear someone behind me a little ways, I think it’s the swift shod woman. Again, the roads are a little rough. I at first try to run on the tar strips, but then decide, phuk it, just go for speed and take the pain for two more minutes. Not that it’s really pain even.
A twist and a turn, and another turn, with some Concordites out to cheer everyone on, and there’s the high school! Push it John! I don’t want to go into an all-out shod-type sprint, but I again feel like I can’t get my feets to move as fast as I’d like them to in proper BF form. Still, I speed up a little. I always have the fear that someone’s going pass me right at the end, probably because that’s what I would be trying to do if anyone was anywhere close. Nobody is though.
I pass over the initial chip scanner, which allows the announcer to call out my name, “John Yohe! From Jackson! Looks like you lost you’re shoes somewhere along the way!”
A round of applause from the onlookers and I cross! Check the watch: 1:44. Hm, ok. I’ll take it. Actually, let me do the math: If I was at 53 at the half, that means....Holy crap! My second half was faster than my first! 51 minutes! I also don’t feel exhausted. A little tight around the inner thighs, but not like I ‘left is all out on the course.’ Hm....
I hang out, get some water, a banana, and a muffin, and just wander around barefoot a little. A woman walks by barefoot and I joke, asking if she ran barefoot too. She smiles and says no, but that she’s tried wearing VFFs, but that she didn’t like them because they made her lower calves sore. I tell here that that’s normal, just using some new muscles, and to give it 2 or 3 weeks. I think I may have convinced her to try again.
As with a lot of races I’ve been to lately, the most up to date results are posted as soon as someone can print them up. At first they only have one guy in my age division, who finished at 1:33. Yeah, I wasn’t going to catch him. Then, the next sheet that comes has me at 5th in my age group, with the 2-4 guys anywhere from 2 to 4 minutes ahead. Ok, I’ll take it.
I also meet a guy in his 50s who finished at around 1:30 or so. I want to be like him when I grow up. He expresses interest barefoot running, saying he’s try it except that it attracts too much attention and he prefers to go unnoticed. I tell him to at least try it out on some wooded trail where no on can see him. He nods and smiles and says maybe.
No minimalist runners that I saw. Hm, well, Jackson County is always a little behind the times. Well, I think I did a good job of representin’. I’m not up for waiting around for Mark and crew to finish, I’ll check in later via text to see how they did. As for me, I’m headed back home, with another medal, for a nap, a shower, then a sunny afternoon still left ahead. I think I’m even going to go for a run tonight.
Saturday, October 1, 2011
RunBarefootGirl interview
Caity from RunBarefootGirl.com recently sent me some questions for her site. I was happy to answer. I'm putting them here for the curious. Her site is very interesting. I'm going to link her here. She has a big picture, historical, outlook on barefoot running, and also talks about the barefoot lifestyle, which I'm a supporter of. Enjoy.
You've been blogging since 2009 - what inspired you to start? Your
passion for running? Something else?
I started blogging soon after I started running barefoot. It was, and still is, and experiment. I had been interested in blogging, but didn’t, because I didn’t feel I had anything unique to offer. My philosophy about a blog is it must have a unique ‘thing’, and idea or twist, something beyond just ‘I did this today’. The first things I posted were some essays I’d been working on about barefoot running, and the reason why I started, but then I ran a race and decided to just right about that one event, and that’s been the focus of the blog, mostly. This year I’ve run a lot more races than previous years, so my blog posts are up!
I like writing about the action, and my thought process(es), and even though they may be filled with action, I also try to reflect on what worked, and what didn’t, and to share with others my mistakes. But, I think it’s the action that people really like, and that’s fine. I now have 30 followers, most of whom I don’t know. I’m glad to have inspired people to try barefoot running.
What's the craziest thing that's ever happened to you while bf running?
At first I’d say it was that whispered comments at races, by people who thought I couldn’t hear them (although I also have a theory that they actually want me to hear them, so they can know that they really do think I’m crazy!)
After that, ‘crazy’ moments might be the ‘firsts’, like first barefoot marathon, first barefoot trail marathon, first barefoot 50K. I recently did two 50M, one of which, the Woodstock, was a complete mudfest! The other, Dances With Dirt, I have to walk upstream through a river, and walk through a lake! Those were wearing VFFs.
It looks like you mostly run bf - is that right? Do you have a fav
minimalist shoe brand? Do you go bf when you're not running?
Yes, mostly, though this Summer/Fall I tried ultra-marathons: Burning River, Woodstock, and Dances With Dirt, all of which I ran in VFF KSOs.
I’m not sure I’m entirely a fan of VFFs, though they’ve served me well. They’re good for trail running, but my feet end up hurting if I have to run on level pavement. They just kill the sensitivity in my feet.
I also have a pair of Barefoot Ted’s Luna huaraches, which are thinner than the KSOs, and more comfortable in warm weather. For any regular non-race running where I feel the need to use footwear, like when my feet are just too raw, I opt for the Lunas, but for races the VFFs are better. Lunas don’t work well went wet.
Also: A friend of mine just made his own huaraches with about 5 dollars worth of material from Home Depot. I’m not sure I’d ever buy a pair of Lunas again.
Nest next purchase is probably going to be a pair of Merrills: they look like regular shoes, but have the same bottoms as VFFs. I’d like something warmer in the cold weather! VFFs are not warm at all!
I love your documenting people's responses to your bare feet. What
would you like to tell people who are barefoot-curious?
If you mean barefoot running curious, I’d urge them to go ‘all in’, and not try to switch back and forth between shoes and bare feet. There’s potential for injury there, since the running style is different for both. I’d also say give it three weeks. The guy from Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me (Peter Segal?) wrote a negative review of VFFs after only wearing them a week. His problem was that his calves ached. That’s natural because we’re using different muscles. The ache goes away after about a week.
That said, I’d also urge people to run barefoot first, then incorporate minimalist footwear if necessary. Also, ideally, try to start in warm weather!
Do you foresee a world of barefoot people - or at least bf becoming
more popular?
I would love this, but I’m not sure. The corporations have really brainwashed people, to the point where going barefoot may always be considered by most people as something ‘dirty’. There are places where BFing is more acceptable. I hear Hawaii is good, and the west coast. But here in Michigan, people are pretty socially conservative. I lived in Ann Arbor and could mostly walk around barefoot, but now that I live in Jackson, I’ve had people go out of their way to get angry with me, so I’ve opted to not be as barefoot as I’d like. I do see the barefoot lifestyle becoming more popular, though I also anticipate a corporate/government crack down. It happened in the 60s.
What would you like listeners of The Living Barefoot Show podcast to
know about you?
If you’re a runner, please check out the Barefoot Running Society website! It’s nice to make connections with others, as barefoot running can be isolating: http://barefootrunners.org/
Also, please check out my blog: http://johnsbarefootrunningblog.blogspot.com/
And, please feel free to check out my website, where you can find more info about me, and read samples of my poetry, fiction, and creative non-fiction: http://www.johnyohe.com/
I just got back from the New York City Barefoot Run. Any reason why you didn't go? I've participated in the Merrill Naked Foot 5K (I
noticed you attended one, too), which was so wonderful - and NY is
like that and then some. Next year?
I can’t afford it! I spent all my money going to Spain this summer! The Merrill Naked Foot in Grand Rapids, MI this summer was awesome. Barefooters were in the majority for once! I’d love to go to NYC, I lived there for two years, but I’d want to go longer than one weekend. I’m a teacher and can’t take off time in the Fall.
You've been blogging since 2009 - what inspired you to start? Your
passion for running? Something else?
I started blogging soon after I started running barefoot. It was, and still is, and experiment. I had been interested in blogging, but didn’t, because I didn’t feel I had anything unique to offer. My philosophy about a blog is it must have a unique ‘thing’, and idea or twist, something beyond just ‘I did this today’. The first things I posted were some essays I’d been working on about barefoot running, and the reason why I started, but then I ran a race and decided to just right about that one event, and that’s been the focus of the blog, mostly. This year I’ve run a lot more races than previous years, so my blog posts are up!
I like writing about the action, and my thought process(es), and even though they may be filled with action, I also try to reflect on what worked, and what didn’t, and to share with others my mistakes. But, I think it’s the action that people really like, and that’s fine. I now have 30 followers, most of whom I don’t know. I’m glad to have inspired people to try barefoot running.
What's the craziest thing that's ever happened to you while bf running?
At first I’d say it was that whispered comments at races, by people who thought I couldn’t hear them (although I also have a theory that they actually want me to hear them, so they can know that they really do think I’m crazy!)
After that, ‘crazy’ moments might be the ‘firsts’, like first barefoot marathon, first barefoot trail marathon, first barefoot 50K. I recently did two 50M, one of which, the Woodstock, was a complete mudfest! The other, Dances With Dirt, I have to walk upstream through a river, and walk through a lake! Those were wearing VFFs.
It looks like you mostly run bf - is that right? Do you have a fav
minimalist shoe brand? Do you go bf when you're not running?
Yes, mostly, though this Summer/Fall I tried ultra-marathons: Burning River, Woodstock, and Dances With Dirt, all of which I ran in VFF KSOs.
I’m not sure I’m entirely a fan of VFFs, though they’ve served me well. They’re good for trail running, but my feet end up hurting if I have to run on level pavement. They just kill the sensitivity in my feet.
I also have a pair of Barefoot Ted’s Luna huaraches, which are thinner than the KSOs, and more comfortable in warm weather. For any regular non-race running where I feel the need to use footwear, like when my feet are just too raw, I opt for the Lunas, but for races the VFFs are better. Lunas don’t work well went wet.
Also: A friend of mine just made his own huaraches with about 5 dollars worth of material from Home Depot. I’m not sure I’d ever buy a pair of Lunas again.
Nest next purchase is probably going to be a pair of Merrills: they look like regular shoes, but have the same bottoms as VFFs. I’d like something warmer in the cold weather! VFFs are not warm at all!
I love your documenting people's responses to your bare feet. What
would you like to tell people who are barefoot-curious?
If you mean barefoot running curious, I’d urge them to go ‘all in’, and not try to switch back and forth between shoes and bare feet. There’s potential for injury there, since the running style is different for both. I’d also say give it three weeks. The guy from Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me (Peter Segal?) wrote a negative review of VFFs after only wearing them a week. His problem was that his calves ached. That’s natural because we’re using different muscles. The ache goes away after about a week.
That said, I’d also urge people to run barefoot first, then incorporate minimalist footwear if necessary. Also, ideally, try to start in warm weather!
Do you foresee a world of barefoot people - or at least bf becoming
more popular?
I would love this, but I’m not sure. The corporations have really brainwashed people, to the point where going barefoot may always be considered by most people as something ‘dirty’. There are places where BFing is more acceptable. I hear Hawaii is good, and the west coast. But here in Michigan, people are pretty socially conservative. I lived in Ann Arbor and could mostly walk around barefoot, but now that I live in Jackson, I’ve had people go out of their way to get angry with me, so I’ve opted to not be as barefoot as I’d like. I do see the barefoot lifestyle becoming more popular, though I also anticipate a corporate/government crack down. It happened in the 60s.
What would you like listeners of The Living Barefoot Show podcast to
know about you?
If you’re a runner, please check out the Barefoot Running Society website! It’s nice to make connections with others, as barefoot running can be isolating: http://barefootrunners.org/
Also, please check out my blog: http://johnsbarefootrunningblog.blogspot.com/
And, please feel free to check out my website, where you can find more info about me, and read samples of my poetry, fiction, and creative non-fiction: http://www.johnyohe.com/
I just got back from the New York City Barefoot Run. Any reason why you didn't go? I've participated in the Merrill Naked Foot 5K (I
noticed you attended one, too), which was so wonderful - and NY is
like that and then some. Next year?
I can’t afford it! I spent all my money going to Spain this summer! The Merrill Naked Foot in Grand Rapids, MI this summer was awesome. Barefooters were in the majority for once! I’d love to go to NYC, I lived there for two years, but I’d want to go longer than one weekend. I’m a teacher and can’t take off time in the Fall.
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Dances With Dirt 50M 2011
With a name like Dances With Dirt, I’m expecting a mud fest today. I’ve heard rumors and snippets, of mud and swamps, and there was a light rain last night. At least if it’s muddy, I can use that as an excuse if I don’t do very well on this fifty miler! It’s been three weeks since the Woodstock festivities, where I ran a muddy 50 miles also, but since then, some new classes have kicked in at work, so I’ve been a lot busier, and not at all running as much as I was able to do this summer. I’m hoping that my body is still in shape enough from Woodstock to be able to power through. And, I did get to run the Capital City Half Marathon last week, with no problem, so I’m hoping that helped keep me in shape for this monster race as well. If I can do this, I’ll be able to comfortably call myself an ultra-marathon runner.
I get to the Start area early, up in the Pinkney Recration area, near where the Woodstock festivities were, and the same spot as the Trail Marathon in the Spring, all put on by Running Fit. I still need to pick up my bib, so I head over to the dimly lit tents, getting my VFF KSOs soaking wet already. Poor things. They’re three years old now, with a bunch of rips and holes, and the straps basically useless.
I check in, get my bib number, 790, and return to my truck to wait until closer to start time. The air is cool. Not cold, but having my Ibex wool shirt is comfortable, though I’m still in shorts at this point in the Fall. In fact, weirdly, when I get out of the truck a half hour later, the air seems even cooler.
Also, I now realize that I’ve forgotten my watch. Wow. I thought I’d packed everything last night. But no. Well, ok. I mean, I’m not one of those super obsessive people who have to know every minute of the race (although I acknowledge that that seems to help people) so ok, I’ll just run and get my time at the end. I even kind of like the purity of that somehow.
By now, people have been gathering. There are two main activities today, the ultra-marathons of 50K and 50M, who start at 6:15, and a team relay of 100K, which starts at 7:30. I’m not entirely sure what the relay entails, but I know my friend Mary is on one of the teams, so I’m hoping to run into her today.
But, speaking of people I know, here’s Brandon, another barefooter/minimalist ultra runner who I keep running into at races. He’s the one who ran Burning River in RunAmocs, and who has apparently been getting his 15 minutes of fame for running the North Country 50M with his mouth wired shut, which he told me about, through clenched teeth, the day after at the Naked Foot 5K. He says his story has been picked up by newspapers and running magazines, as a kind of ‘holy crap!’ interest story. Hopefully they’ll include that he’s a minimalist runner. That tends to be a ‘holy crap’ idea for most folks anyway!
Since we run about the same pace (except that, you know, Brandon can actually finish a 100 miler, unlike yours truly....) we agree to run together, at least as long as we can.
It’s funny, at something like the Detroit Marathon, people will be lined up 45 minutes before the start. Here, the director has to actually announce that they’re going to start in five minutes before any ultra runner even starts heading towards the Start. Brandon and I kind of wander up to about twenty feet before the actual sign, because neither of us expects to be up front for any portion of this race, but no one goes ahead of us. Everyone just lines up about 15-20 feet away. It’s odd, because I know there are a bunch of faster runners here. But, too late to move back farther, the horde is now all bunched up.
And, surprise surprise, here is sweet Melissa, from the Woodstock 50M, who I had the pleasure of running with on the first two loops. After her finish there, she felt good enough to sign up for the 50K race today, and she says she’s be talked into going down to Arizona to run the Javelina 100M this Fall. I wonder if we’ll end up running together on this one, though I kind of doubt it, since I’m not going to be in any hurry to compete with the 50Kers.
And here we go! The headlamps come on and we lope out onto the wet grass, along the parking lot, and up the road entrance to this Half Moon Park, passing along a row of vehicles waiting to get in, which would be the relay folks just getting here. And then, into the woods. Everyone going about the same pace, nobody in a hurry to try passing in the dark. It’s nice to have Brandon along, just to have someone to talk to and pass the time, and also so I can pick his brain a little. The one thing he says that really helped at Burning River was that, even and especially at the beginning, he walked the hills on the road section, and walked all hills the whole race. So, I’m going to try that this race. I’m usually gung ho at the beginning, about the small hills at least, but this time I’m going to see what a little conserving of energy gets me in the long run.
The trail bails out on a dirt road and Brandon and I stop to take off our wool layers. The good thing about the Ibex wear is that it’s thin, so I can roll it up easy and tie it around my waist without feeling it’s getting in the way. Maybe coulda just gone without.
As we run, I look back at a glowing line of lights through the woods. The dwarves coming back from the mine. At this point people are still enthusiastic, there are occasionally whoops, and when Brandon yells out, “Marco!” he gets a lot of “Polo”’s. Surely this can’t last.
At one point Brandon stops to gulp a Gu or something and tells me to go on, so I do, knowing he’s the stronger runner. And after going on more trail, and coming back out on another dirt road, he does catch me. We run some more, then make another pit stop, and since he’s running with a pack, has to take it off to get something out, and tells me to go on. So I do again, thinking he’s right behind me, though I think I hear him cough, kind of unhealthily. Jesus, is he ok? Should I go back and check? Am I being like the climber who abandons his climbing partner?
We head down, I think, into lower lying swamp area, and since cold air tends to go down, the air is actually chillier here, so much so that I put my Ibex wool back on. No Brandon yet. Oh man, what if he had a heart attack? And I left him to die!
Onward. We have light now. I’m actually not sure running that half marathon last week ‘helped’ now, since I’m feeling an ache in my inner thighs. Running fast made me use some other muscles. Or, that doesn’t make sense, since I wouldn’t be using them now, right? Still, I kinda feel like I haven’t quite recovered from last week. Maybe. Maybe my body is already going through it’s list of excuses why it shouldn’t have to run fifty miles. Still, now I’m wondering if I should really run the Wildlife Half Marathon a week before the Detroit Marathon in October. Hm, oh well, let’s worry about today.
And lo! Brandon appears! He checks his watch and says we’re making good time, which is good because I was thinking we weren’t exactly all going balls out. We’re going a good slow and steady, for the long haul, I guess. And then, we get on a trail, and a group of runners passes me and slip into the space between me and Brandon. And then some more. And then I lose him. Ah well. These things happen in long races. I’m sure I’ll seem again farther up.
After doing the Trail Marathon twice, and Woodstock twice, I’m now starting to recognize certain sections of trails. They’re not the same routes, but all a part of the Pinkney Recreation area, which is huge, with plenty o’ trails to make all kind of routes it seems, though for some of this I’d swear we were kind of trailblazing, enough where I’m like (and say out loud), “Is this really a trail?” To which someone replies, “It is once a year!”
But yes, here we are out on that long straight sandy trail from Woodstock, and some runners are coming the other directions, with yellow bibs instead of white, so they must be the relay folks, and they seem to be having more fun than us, since many are in costumes, including, notably, the young man wearing only (including his shoes of course) black panties and pink fishnet tights. At least, I think he’s in costume....
I check in to an aid station. They’re keeping track of our numbers, to ensure that people are actually still on the course and not wandering lost in the woods. I fill up on water. I’m still experimenting with nutrition. This race I’m abstaining from Gatorade, trying to avoid sugars so they don’t mess with my blood sugar levels. Also going to avoid the potato chunks dipped in salt, which seem to be the latest ultra trend. I want the salt, but I’m not sure on the starchy, insulin producing potato. Instead, I’m putting pieces of pretzel rods in my mouth and sucking the salt off them, then just spitting the bread part out. So, that, plus just water, and all the fruit I can get.
This route is different than I’m used to on these trail runs out here. Instead of smaller loops that we’d repeat, meaning that I would come into the Start area multiple times, and therefore be able to stash stuff in a bag, this race is two big loops. The first will be 50K in entirety, and then another loop, in new territory, of 18 miles or so. Meaning I’m a little more dependant on the aid stations, but fortunately they’re doing a great job of stocking them with fruit, which is all I really need. I’m not sure of any of this, since, for example, many runners are like Brandon, who pops a Gu pack every hour or so. As a hedge, I’m still carrying a packet of Clif Blok Shots, the little gummy bear-like things that supposedly work like the Gu packs. They don’t have high fructose sugar, but do have rice syrup, so I may indeed still be just eating sugar. I’m saving those for later in the race though.
So far the route has been fairly dry. There’s even one section, the infamous mud bog near the Halls Gate Campground, where the Woodstock races were, which is barely a little muddy puddle. But, I’ve spoken too soon, since here’s something different, the route ends right at a twenty foot wide river. And yep, there’s the pink flagging we’ve been following on the other side. We are supposed to cross this. Ok...
I think about maybe taking off my VFFs and Injinjis, just to keep them dry, or even just the Injinjis and walking across in my VFFs, remembering my firefighting days in Idaho when we learned that getting boots wet was ok if the socks were dry, but the KSOs are just a little too tricky getting on and off, and hell, this is Dances With Dirt, and the shod people are just slogging across, so ok, here we go. The water is only knee high, and the current isn’t strong at all. It’s actually kind of pleasant. I’d like to be out here backpacking or something. Why don’t I do that more?
Turns out we cross the river two more times after that. We’re doing a lot of zigzagging. That is, crossing the river wasn’t necessary, the race director just purposefully put the route that way. Ok, ha ha. Actually, if I had known how long this section was, I would’ve maybe just taken off my VFFs and run the whole way barefoot.
But, after some more trail running, we come to the river one more time. And, right when I get to the water, a woman, with whom I exchanged pleasantries with earlier, is neck deep in the water. Holy crap! We have to go that deep? But no, something’s wrong. As I get closer, I realize she has fallen into a deep part of the river. The problem is, she has a water bottle in one hand, and her GPS in the other, and she’s got her arms raised above her trying to keep them out of the water, so she can’t, or won’t, swim. Fortunately, she finds some footing and kind of pulls herself out to waist deep water. Another guy and I get in the water and ask her if she’s ok, and she is, more seeming to be embarrassed than anything. And the whole time there was a photographer on the other bank taking pictures of us.
And no, the pink flagging is not on the other side, it’s up river. Yes, we’re to walk upstream, looks like for a ways. Wow, ok. The good news is that the VFFs seem to make walking through running water a little easier than with shoes. That plus I’m trying to find the shallower areas off to the sides rather than some folks who try to plow right up the middle and get mid-thigh high.
We pass some buildings and I realize where we are: Hell. Hell, Michigan that is, the ‘downtown’ of which is composed of a general store and a bar, which are these buildings. And as we crawl out and up the bank (yes, on the same side we came in) we are greeted by a crowd of folks, including what looks like at high priest and priestess at a Satanic ritual. The high priest smiles and says, “Welcome.” I say, “Am I hallucinating?”
This is one of the two drop points on the whole race, for those smart people who actually knew they’d get their footwear wet and have a dry pair waiting. Actually, I feel ok about my VFFs and Injinjis. Yes, they’re wet, but I just don’t feel that uncomfortable in them. They don’t have any padding to feel soggy in.
And well well well, who should be here but Brandon, sitting in the grass changing shoes. He yells over and friendly “You suck!” as I’m getting ready to take off. There’s an aid station here, so I’ve devoured some oranges and bananas sections, and have stashed some more pretzel rods in my pockets to suck on. There’s a whole crowd of runners sitting on the grass but no one seems in an hurry to get going. Ok, well, I’m off! Of course, once I’m gone I think of the reply I should I yelled back to Brandon, something like, “Hey, what are you doing sitting on your butt? We’ve got a race to run!” I’m so clever in my own mind.
I expect Brandon to catch me again but instead, I end up with a bunch of 50Kers, which makes me feel good, that I’m still going fast enough to keep up with them. Though actually, I’d probably be running the same pace if I were in the 50K.
At one point I and a guy right behind me are following a main trail, and come to a Y, with no flagging either way. Hm. That’s odd. We go right, the wider trail, but no flagging. The guy goes, “This ain’t right,” and turns around and sure enough, back a ways there was a double ring of pink flagging going off on a thin little game trail.
A little way later, the same thing: I’m on a main trail with some other guys and suddenly the flagging runs out. We stop, look around, back track, and there’s some double pink flagging taking us off into more bushwacking. I’m not sure why I’m missing these turn offs. I guess I get in the zone on main trails and just expect to stay on main trails, and maybe i’m busy staring in front of my feet that I’m not paying attention to the flagging at eye level. Plus like maybe no sleep last night.
But, as we get back on trails, and even again sort of bushwacking, I end up at the front of a group of four of us and some kind of weird energy happens where we’re all going the same pace, and kind of feeding off each others’ paces. I’m reminded of my firefighting days, being a squad boss leading my folks to or from a fire out in the woods, where we used the same exact flagging. I’m trying to keep a smooth steady pace but still pay attention to the flagging, which sometimes doesn’t seem to have a logic to it. For example, the route may take us up a hill, only to move over 20 feet and go back down again.
Eventually I see another runner up ahead of us and follow him and whoops! No flagging. I did it, I did what the DWD website warned us all not to do: I followed the runner not the flagging. It wasn’t much, we backtrack easily, but that seems to break the spell. The guy right behind me takes off ahead of us, and the woman with us slows down and falls behind. But the other guy, about my age, stays with me, saying I set a good pace. Other people have said that, but I feel weird because it doesn’t feel that way to me. I feel like I trudge slowly mostly, and tend to slow down, but I don’t know, maybe not. I certainly never train for consistency, except for the good ole barefoot 180/190 cadence in my head. Which maybe works. Anyway, so this guy, Jerry? (I think?) and I end up talking, which helps pass the time. He’s from Wisconsin. He’s done the DWD 50K over there, and is going to run the DWD in Florida, looking to do all four DWDs and get that fancy belt buckly. And he’s interested in coming over to the forces of light and trying minimalist running. Oddly, he claims he’s not at all in shape for a 50K and is surprised he’s come this far, but yet he runs way faster marathon times than me, and in fact qualified for and ran the Boston Marathon. I ask him what the secret of fast marathon times is and he claims he doesn’t know, that he’s just kind of stubborn and when he wants something, he forces himself to do it. Sounds easy!
Chatting like that about many other things, we bring it on home back to Half Moon Park, to a sizable crowd waiting for us. I wish him and his wife a good stay in Michigan and we shake hands, and then split off, him going into the finishers chute, and me winding around the edge to the 50M aid station, where my bag awaits me with a strawberry banana smoothie with my name on it.
And here is the tough mental part. Running Fit has a policy where a runner can always stop wherever they’re at and just switch to a shorter race. So, I could technically just say I’ve had enough and still get the same exact medal for running the 50K, and then go on to have a nice saturday lounging about relaxing. Or, I could run 18 more miles and five to six more hours. Ugh. And it’s not like those 19 miles are in smaller loops. Once I get out on it, I’m out on it and there’s no easy stopping halfway along. So, gotta commit. Which I do. I don’t know why. What am I proving. I don’t know. I guess don’t overthink it John. Just pound the smoothie, eat some fruit and some PB&J sandwich, grab some more pretzels, and head on out. There’s not even anyone to cheer us 50Mers on from here, since we kind of leave out the back way, along the edge of the parking lot.
At first I’m not even sure I’m going the right way. I’m following some pink flagging, but it’s not on trail, it’s through some tress paralleling the parking lot. Only the fact that I’m passed by some relay people, going real fast, kind of assures me that I’m going ok. In fact, we’re trailblazing at this point, which kind of equalizes everybody since we kind of have to walk, since the forest is so thick with downed trees, which are pleasant to have to step over at this point, though the hardest is to crouch down to go under some trees. Bending legs=pain at this point.
A woman passes looking fresh and energetic, and since she has to go a little slow, I ask her, because I’m curious, how far she’s running, since I’m not clear at this point how long the relay folks are running.
“Oh, I’m a fifty-miler like you.”
“Oh. Wow. Where’s you get the energy?”
She laughs. “Um, I think it’s an uncontrolled burst. Not sure how much longer it will last!”
We catch up to another two 50 Milers, who I remember running with earlier. The four of us navigate over a mud bog. Many people seem to be just running right through it, but I guess we’re all feeling dainty because we pick our way around the edge, walking on logs. Still getting a wee bit muddy though.
Once we’re back on trail, they speed up. Argh, I’m going into penguin waddle mode, I fear. In fact, I’m on a main trail and suddenly can’t see any flagging either way and hesitate, thinking I probably missed another turn off, but I see two hikers up ahead, so I scoot up to them and ask if they’ve seen any runners come this way. Fortunately they describe the “fresh” woman, so I know I’m ok.
Then, an odd thing. I’m on a main trail, I see the three people ahead of me. A couple turns later, still on the same trail, I can’t see them anymore, but hear some sticks breaking uphill, in the trees, and hear them talking. I can actually see some pink flagging up in there, but I can also see some pink flagging still going along the trail. Hm. Uh oh. Ok, don’t follow the runner, follow the flagging, so I stay on the trail. The flagging takes me left, uphill, then left again, going back the way I just came, only farther uphill. Ah ha, this is the flagging I saw earlier, meaning those three people just cut. On purpose? Not sure, since the flagging was visible down on the main trail. If I’d lost track of it on the main trail for even a second I might have gone uphill too. But hm, I just did a half mile more than them. Oh well.
After that, I don’t see any more 50 Milers with the white bibs. Instead, I start to have a steady stream of relay folks, in the yellow bibs, passing me hauling ass because they’re fresh. Which is not good for my confidence right now, making me feel I’m going slower than I really am. I have to say though, that they are all amazing polite and encouraging, almost all of them giving me at least a “good job!” or “Right on Ultra!” on their way by.
And then the trail ends at a lake.
And then I see people walking in the water.
Yep, the flagging actually goes out into the water and along the shore of a lake. The shoreline is too thick with brush to navigate. We simply must walk in the water. Looks like for a ways too.
Wow. Ok. I wade in. The water is about thigh high, and cold, which actually feels good on my sore feet and legs. There’s no question of running, though one guy behind me sounds like a boat crashing in when he comes in and he’s doing his best to actually run in thigh-high water, expending vast amounts of energy. He passes me and the folks in front of me. He rounds a patch of weeds and suddenly sinks down to his neck. Climbing out, he looks back at us and yells, “There’s a hole here!” And then immediately sinks down again. I can’t help it, yelling, “There’s another one!”
So, I follow behind these two guys in front of me, letting them find any more holes. Just like in the rice paddies back in ‘Nam.
I swear we go for like a half mile. Feels like a half hour, though I’m sure it’s like 15 minutes. And when I swish out, my legs have frozen up. Fortunately there’s no room to run, so we have to walk through brush and mud and yes, now, we have true mud. No getting around it either, with huge weeds on either side. Time to sink the feet in up to their ankles.
And when I finally get back on solid ground, it’s the hardest thing to get me feet moving again. I fall back to the basics: just running in place, getting the feet moving at a decent cadence. Then, the slight lean forward and I’m trotting again. Trying to get back into good barefoot running form, legs bent, but man, bending the legs at this point is hard.
And still the continuous stream of fast relay runners. I’m starting to think I’m like the last 50 Miler out on the course. And what the hell happened to Brandon? He better not have bailed out with just a 50K!
And here I’m not sure if forgetting my watch was a good thing or not. I have no frame of reference for how far I’ve come, or need to go, nor even what my finishing time will be, since I feel slow, and that damn lake sucked up a good chunk. And the relayers are going by too fast to be able to ask them how much farther. Even when I do ask one of the slower ones, she says, “Six miles!” And what does that mean to me? Nada. That must be the length of this leg for her.
I do start to here cheers though, and I think, No, can’t be the finish already. Can it? Maybe? Hope? I start to run faster, wanting to finish strong. And when I run out of the trees into a clearing....it’s only an aid station. Or, an aid station for me, and a transfer station for the relayers, so there’s a huge contingent of them, awaiting their respective runners. They give up a huge cheer for me though, which rocks. I refill my water, eat fruit, and find of it’s 2.9 miles to the next aid station, then 4 miles to the finish. Seven miles. Ok, I can do that. I can run seven miles in my sleep. Ugh. Well, I can make it 2.9 miles for sure, then it’s only four. That’s how I gotta do it, just break the course down to little chunks. But man, seven miles. And, ridiculously, I know that’s going to be like a couple hours more of running at the pace I’m going. Ugh.
As I set off, the relayers send me off with clapping and a bunch of “What to go Ultra!” so I raise my fists in salute. I so much want to stop and give the line from the movie They Live: “I came here so kick ass and chew bubble gum. And I’m all out of bubble gum.” But I fear they might not get it, and I’d look silly. Oh well. At least I’m still clever in my own mind.
Trudge trudge trudge....and the relayers go streak streak streak! Just like that old Muppets skit. My sister is the only one who probably would understand and remember it. I am in a serious mental head space now. Not talking to anybody except a continuous series of ‘thank you’’s to the passing runners’ ‘good job’’s. I just want this to be done. I know I’m going to finish, but I just wish I could run faster so I could end it sooner. One small part of me is interested in the fact that, exhausted, I can somehow maintain a basic slow cadence. Thinking about just running in place really helps me, my body seems to be able to do that forever, so just adding that little leans makes me go forward. I’m not sure I’m being as efficient with it as I could be though.
The next aid station. It’s another transfer point too, so another crowd of relay people. More awesome encouragement. Seems like I should have run into Mary some time today, but no go. Too bad. Would really help to see a familiar face out here. I load up on more water, then head out to more clapping, and with a fresh stream of relayers passing me.
Waddle waddle waddle...March of the penguins here. Or, penguin. Singular. Tortoise and the hares. The good news is much of this section of trail is either sand, or grass. Meaning softer on my sore feet. And lordy mama, I forgot, there’s pizza waiting for me! Now that is a motivator. And I’m going to drink a couple glasses of nasty old Mountain Dew, too.
Onward onward. I hear some relayers talking about time or something, so I yell to the guy who passes me, “Hey, how much farther?!”
He checks his GPS watch. “Less than a mile!”
Oh. Wow. Holy crap. Right on. Hell yeah! Done! Time to give it some gas and finish strong!
I run. I run fast enough that I’m keeping pace with the relayers. No more passing. And then we bust out at the top of a grassy hill, where I can see the finish about 200 yards away, and there is a ton of people there! All the relay groups are there! This is it, this is the end my beautiful friend!
Downhill over grass, the route lined with onlookers and people already eating pizza and drinking beer. And having people recognize my white bib number and call out “Way to go Ultra!” really feels good. Usually on races like this by the time I’m finishing most people are gone. Not here. Everyone stays. Nice to be given some respect. Some acknowledgment of effort put in.
I cross the finish.
A woman takes me name and age. As usual, I’m nowhere close to finishing in the top three of my age division. Lots o’ men my age running these things. I ask my time, and they don’t have it. Their official clock is running the relay teams’ times. But one worker gives me the time, 6:30, and in my groggy mental state I realize that that’s 12:45. Not bad! Better than I thought, especially since at least fifteen of those minutes where in that damn lake! Almost exactly my time for the Woodstock 50M.
Ok, I did it. Now where the heck is the pizza?
I get to the Start area early, up in the Pinkney Recration area, near where the Woodstock festivities were, and the same spot as the Trail Marathon in the Spring, all put on by Running Fit. I still need to pick up my bib, so I head over to the dimly lit tents, getting my VFF KSOs soaking wet already. Poor things. They’re three years old now, with a bunch of rips and holes, and the straps basically useless.
I check in, get my bib number, 790, and return to my truck to wait until closer to start time. The air is cool. Not cold, but having my Ibex wool shirt is comfortable, though I’m still in shorts at this point in the Fall. In fact, weirdly, when I get out of the truck a half hour later, the air seems even cooler.
Also, I now realize that I’ve forgotten my watch. Wow. I thought I’d packed everything last night. But no. Well, ok. I mean, I’m not one of those super obsessive people who have to know every minute of the race (although I acknowledge that that seems to help people) so ok, I’ll just run and get my time at the end. I even kind of like the purity of that somehow.
By now, people have been gathering. There are two main activities today, the ultra-marathons of 50K and 50M, who start at 6:15, and a team relay of 100K, which starts at 7:30. I’m not entirely sure what the relay entails, but I know my friend Mary is on one of the teams, so I’m hoping to run into her today.
But, speaking of people I know, here’s Brandon, another barefooter/minimalist ultra runner who I keep running into at races. He’s the one who ran Burning River in RunAmocs, and who has apparently been getting his 15 minutes of fame for running the North Country 50M with his mouth wired shut, which he told me about, through clenched teeth, the day after at the Naked Foot 5K. He says his story has been picked up by newspapers and running magazines, as a kind of ‘holy crap!’ interest story. Hopefully they’ll include that he’s a minimalist runner. That tends to be a ‘holy crap’ idea for most folks anyway!
Since we run about the same pace (except that, you know, Brandon can actually finish a 100 miler, unlike yours truly....) we agree to run together, at least as long as we can.
It’s funny, at something like the Detroit Marathon, people will be lined up 45 minutes before the start. Here, the director has to actually announce that they’re going to start in five minutes before any ultra runner even starts heading towards the Start. Brandon and I kind of wander up to about twenty feet before the actual sign, because neither of us expects to be up front for any portion of this race, but no one goes ahead of us. Everyone just lines up about 15-20 feet away. It’s odd, because I know there are a bunch of faster runners here. But, too late to move back farther, the horde is now all bunched up.
And, surprise surprise, here is sweet Melissa, from the Woodstock 50M, who I had the pleasure of running with on the first two loops. After her finish there, she felt good enough to sign up for the 50K race today, and she says she’s be talked into going down to Arizona to run the Javelina 100M this Fall. I wonder if we’ll end up running together on this one, though I kind of doubt it, since I’m not going to be in any hurry to compete with the 50Kers.
And here we go! The headlamps come on and we lope out onto the wet grass, along the parking lot, and up the road entrance to this Half Moon Park, passing along a row of vehicles waiting to get in, which would be the relay folks just getting here. And then, into the woods. Everyone going about the same pace, nobody in a hurry to try passing in the dark. It’s nice to have Brandon along, just to have someone to talk to and pass the time, and also so I can pick his brain a little. The one thing he says that really helped at Burning River was that, even and especially at the beginning, he walked the hills on the road section, and walked all hills the whole race. So, I’m going to try that this race. I’m usually gung ho at the beginning, about the small hills at least, but this time I’m going to see what a little conserving of energy gets me in the long run.
The trail bails out on a dirt road and Brandon and I stop to take off our wool layers. The good thing about the Ibex wear is that it’s thin, so I can roll it up easy and tie it around my waist without feeling it’s getting in the way. Maybe coulda just gone without.
As we run, I look back at a glowing line of lights through the woods. The dwarves coming back from the mine. At this point people are still enthusiastic, there are occasionally whoops, and when Brandon yells out, “Marco!” he gets a lot of “Polo”’s. Surely this can’t last.
At one point Brandon stops to gulp a Gu or something and tells me to go on, so I do, knowing he’s the stronger runner. And after going on more trail, and coming back out on another dirt road, he does catch me. We run some more, then make another pit stop, and since he’s running with a pack, has to take it off to get something out, and tells me to go on. So I do again, thinking he’s right behind me, though I think I hear him cough, kind of unhealthily. Jesus, is he ok? Should I go back and check? Am I being like the climber who abandons his climbing partner?
We head down, I think, into lower lying swamp area, and since cold air tends to go down, the air is actually chillier here, so much so that I put my Ibex wool back on. No Brandon yet. Oh man, what if he had a heart attack? And I left him to die!
Onward. We have light now. I’m actually not sure running that half marathon last week ‘helped’ now, since I’m feeling an ache in my inner thighs. Running fast made me use some other muscles. Or, that doesn’t make sense, since I wouldn’t be using them now, right? Still, I kinda feel like I haven’t quite recovered from last week. Maybe. Maybe my body is already going through it’s list of excuses why it shouldn’t have to run fifty miles. Still, now I’m wondering if I should really run the Wildlife Half Marathon a week before the Detroit Marathon in October. Hm, oh well, let’s worry about today.
And lo! Brandon appears! He checks his watch and says we’re making good time, which is good because I was thinking we weren’t exactly all going balls out. We’re going a good slow and steady, for the long haul, I guess. And then, we get on a trail, and a group of runners passes me and slip into the space between me and Brandon. And then some more. And then I lose him. Ah well. These things happen in long races. I’m sure I’ll seem again farther up.
After doing the Trail Marathon twice, and Woodstock twice, I’m now starting to recognize certain sections of trails. They’re not the same routes, but all a part of the Pinkney Recreation area, which is huge, with plenty o’ trails to make all kind of routes it seems, though for some of this I’d swear we were kind of trailblazing, enough where I’m like (and say out loud), “Is this really a trail?” To which someone replies, “It is once a year!”
But yes, here we are out on that long straight sandy trail from Woodstock, and some runners are coming the other directions, with yellow bibs instead of white, so they must be the relay folks, and they seem to be having more fun than us, since many are in costumes, including, notably, the young man wearing only (including his shoes of course) black panties and pink fishnet tights. At least, I think he’s in costume....
I check in to an aid station. They’re keeping track of our numbers, to ensure that people are actually still on the course and not wandering lost in the woods. I fill up on water. I’m still experimenting with nutrition. This race I’m abstaining from Gatorade, trying to avoid sugars so they don’t mess with my blood sugar levels. Also going to avoid the potato chunks dipped in salt, which seem to be the latest ultra trend. I want the salt, but I’m not sure on the starchy, insulin producing potato. Instead, I’m putting pieces of pretzel rods in my mouth and sucking the salt off them, then just spitting the bread part out. So, that, plus just water, and all the fruit I can get.
This route is different than I’m used to on these trail runs out here. Instead of smaller loops that we’d repeat, meaning that I would come into the Start area multiple times, and therefore be able to stash stuff in a bag, this race is two big loops. The first will be 50K in entirety, and then another loop, in new territory, of 18 miles or so. Meaning I’m a little more dependant on the aid stations, but fortunately they’re doing a great job of stocking them with fruit, which is all I really need. I’m not sure of any of this, since, for example, many runners are like Brandon, who pops a Gu pack every hour or so. As a hedge, I’m still carrying a packet of Clif Blok Shots, the little gummy bear-like things that supposedly work like the Gu packs. They don’t have high fructose sugar, but do have rice syrup, so I may indeed still be just eating sugar. I’m saving those for later in the race though.
So far the route has been fairly dry. There’s even one section, the infamous mud bog near the Halls Gate Campground, where the Woodstock races were, which is barely a little muddy puddle. But, I’ve spoken too soon, since here’s something different, the route ends right at a twenty foot wide river. And yep, there’s the pink flagging we’ve been following on the other side. We are supposed to cross this. Ok...
I think about maybe taking off my VFFs and Injinjis, just to keep them dry, or even just the Injinjis and walking across in my VFFs, remembering my firefighting days in Idaho when we learned that getting boots wet was ok if the socks were dry, but the KSOs are just a little too tricky getting on and off, and hell, this is Dances With Dirt, and the shod people are just slogging across, so ok, here we go. The water is only knee high, and the current isn’t strong at all. It’s actually kind of pleasant. I’d like to be out here backpacking or something. Why don’t I do that more?
Turns out we cross the river two more times after that. We’re doing a lot of zigzagging. That is, crossing the river wasn’t necessary, the race director just purposefully put the route that way. Ok, ha ha. Actually, if I had known how long this section was, I would’ve maybe just taken off my VFFs and run the whole way barefoot.
But, after some more trail running, we come to the river one more time. And, right when I get to the water, a woman, with whom I exchanged pleasantries with earlier, is neck deep in the water. Holy crap! We have to go that deep? But no, something’s wrong. As I get closer, I realize she has fallen into a deep part of the river. The problem is, she has a water bottle in one hand, and her GPS in the other, and she’s got her arms raised above her trying to keep them out of the water, so she can’t, or won’t, swim. Fortunately, she finds some footing and kind of pulls herself out to waist deep water. Another guy and I get in the water and ask her if she’s ok, and she is, more seeming to be embarrassed than anything. And the whole time there was a photographer on the other bank taking pictures of us.
And no, the pink flagging is not on the other side, it’s up river. Yes, we’re to walk upstream, looks like for a ways. Wow, ok. The good news is that the VFFs seem to make walking through running water a little easier than with shoes. That plus I’m trying to find the shallower areas off to the sides rather than some folks who try to plow right up the middle and get mid-thigh high.
We pass some buildings and I realize where we are: Hell. Hell, Michigan that is, the ‘downtown’ of which is composed of a general store and a bar, which are these buildings. And as we crawl out and up the bank (yes, on the same side we came in) we are greeted by a crowd of folks, including what looks like at high priest and priestess at a Satanic ritual. The high priest smiles and says, “Welcome.” I say, “Am I hallucinating?”
This is one of the two drop points on the whole race, for those smart people who actually knew they’d get their footwear wet and have a dry pair waiting. Actually, I feel ok about my VFFs and Injinjis. Yes, they’re wet, but I just don’t feel that uncomfortable in them. They don’t have any padding to feel soggy in.
And well well well, who should be here but Brandon, sitting in the grass changing shoes. He yells over and friendly “You suck!” as I’m getting ready to take off. There’s an aid station here, so I’ve devoured some oranges and bananas sections, and have stashed some more pretzel rods in my pockets to suck on. There’s a whole crowd of runners sitting on the grass but no one seems in an hurry to get going. Ok, well, I’m off! Of course, once I’m gone I think of the reply I should I yelled back to Brandon, something like, “Hey, what are you doing sitting on your butt? We’ve got a race to run!” I’m so clever in my own mind.
I expect Brandon to catch me again but instead, I end up with a bunch of 50Kers, which makes me feel good, that I’m still going fast enough to keep up with them. Though actually, I’d probably be running the same pace if I were in the 50K.
At one point I and a guy right behind me are following a main trail, and come to a Y, with no flagging either way. Hm. That’s odd. We go right, the wider trail, but no flagging. The guy goes, “This ain’t right,” and turns around and sure enough, back a ways there was a double ring of pink flagging going off on a thin little game trail.
A little way later, the same thing: I’m on a main trail with some other guys and suddenly the flagging runs out. We stop, look around, back track, and there’s some double pink flagging taking us off into more bushwacking. I’m not sure why I’m missing these turn offs. I guess I get in the zone on main trails and just expect to stay on main trails, and maybe i’m busy staring in front of my feet that I’m not paying attention to the flagging at eye level. Plus like maybe no sleep last night.
But, as we get back on trails, and even again sort of bushwacking, I end up at the front of a group of four of us and some kind of weird energy happens where we’re all going the same pace, and kind of feeding off each others’ paces. I’m reminded of my firefighting days, being a squad boss leading my folks to or from a fire out in the woods, where we used the same exact flagging. I’m trying to keep a smooth steady pace but still pay attention to the flagging, which sometimes doesn’t seem to have a logic to it. For example, the route may take us up a hill, only to move over 20 feet and go back down again.
Eventually I see another runner up ahead of us and follow him and whoops! No flagging. I did it, I did what the DWD website warned us all not to do: I followed the runner not the flagging. It wasn’t much, we backtrack easily, but that seems to break the spell. The guy right behind me takes off ahead of us, and the woman with us slows down and falls behind. But the other guy, about my age, stays with me, saying I set a good pace. Other people have said that, but I feel weird because it doesn’t feel that way to me. I feel like I trudge slowly mostly, and tend to slow down, but I don’t know, maybe not. I certainly never train for consistency, except for the good ole barefoot 180/190 cadence in my head. Which maybe works. Anyway, so this guy, Jerry? (I think?) and I end up talking, which helps pass the time. He’s from Wisconsin. He’s done the DWD 50K over there, and is going to run the DWD in Florida, looking to do all four DWDs and get that fancy belt buckly. And he’s interested in coming over to the forces of light and trying minimalist running. Oddly, he claims he’s not at all in shape for a 50K and is surprised he’s come this far, but yet he runs way faster marathon times than me, and in fact qualified for and ran the Boston Marathon. I ask him what the secret of fast marathon times is and he claims he doesn’t know, that he’s just kind of stubborn and when he wants something, he forces himself to do it. Sounds easy!
Chatting like that about many other things, we bring it on home back to Half Moon Park, to a sizable crowd waiting for us. I wish him and his wife a good stay in Michigan and we shake hands, and then split off, him going into the finishers chute, and me winding around the edge to the 50M aid station, where my bag awaits me with a strawberry banana smoothie with my name on it.
And here is the tough mental part. Running Fit has a policy where a runner can always stop wherever they’re at and just switch to a shorter race. So, I could technically just say I’ve had enough and still get the same exact medal for running the 50K, and then go on to have a nice saturday lounging about relaxing. Or, I could run 18 more miles and five to six more hours. Ugh. And it’s not like those 19 miles are in smaller loops. Once I get out on it, I’m out on it and there’s no easy stopping halfway along. So, gotta commit. Which I do. I don’t know why. What am I proving. I don’t know. I guess don’t overthink it John. Just pound the smoothie, eat some fruit and some PB&J sandwich, grab some more pretzels, and head on out. There’s not even anyone to cheer us 50Mers on from here, since we kind of leave out the back way, along the edge of the parking lot.
At first I’m not even sure I’m going the right way. I’m following some pink flagging, but it’s not on trail, it’s through some tress paralleling the parking lot. Only the fact that I’m passed by some relay people, going real fast, kind of assures me that I’m going ok. In fact, we’re trailblazing at this point, which kind of equalizes everybody since we kind of have to walk, since the forest is so thick with downed trees, which are pleasant to have to step over at this point, though the hardest is to crouch down to go under some trees. Bending legs=pain at this point.
A woman passes looking fresh and energetic, and since she has to go a little slow, I ask her, because I’m curious, how far she’s running, since I’m not clear at this point how long the relay folks are running.
“Oh, I’m a fifty-miler like you.”
“Oh. Wow. Where’s you get the energy?”
She laughs. “Um, I think it’s an uncontrolled burst. Not sure how much longer it will last!”
We catch up to another two 50 Milers, who I remember running with earlier. The four of us navigate over a mud bog. Many people seem to be just running right through it, but I guess we’re all feeling dainty because we pick our way around the edge, walking on logs. Still getting a wee bit muddy though.
Once we’re back on trail, they speed up. Argh, I’m going into penguin waddle mode, I fear. In fact, I’m on a main trail and suddenly can’t see any flagging either way and hesitate, thinking I probably missed another turn off, but I see two hikers up ahead, so I scoot up to them and ask if they’ve seen any runners come this way. Fortunately they describe the “fresh” woman, so I know I’m ok.
Then, an odd thing. I’m on a main trail, I see the three people ahead of me. A couple turns later, still on the same trail, I can’t see them anymore, but hear some sticks breaking uphill, in the trees, and hear them talking. I can actually see some pink flagging up in there, but I can also see some pink flagging still going along the trail. Hm. Uh oh. Ok, don’t follow the runner, follow the flagging, so I stay on the trail. The flagging takes me left, uphill, then left again, going back the way I just came, only farther uphill. Ah ha, this is the flagging I saw earlier, meaning those three people just cut. On purpose? Not sure, since the flagging was visible down on the main trail. If I’d lost track of it on the main trail for even a second I might have gone uphill too. But hm, I just did a half mile more than them. Oh well.
After that, I don’t see any more 50 Milers with the white bibs. Instead, I start to have a steady stream of relay folks, in the yellow bibs, passing me hauling ass because they’re fresh. Which is not good for my confidence right now, making me feel I’m going slower than I really am. I have to say though, that they are all amazing polite and encouraging, almost all of them giving me at least a “good job!” or “Right on Ultra!” on their way by.
And then the trail ends at a lake.
And then I see people walking in the water.
Yep, the flagging actually goes out into the water and along the shore of a lake. The shoreline is too thick with brush to navigate. We simply must walk in the water. Looks like for a ways too.
Wow. Ok. I wade in. The water is about thigh high, and cold, which actually feels good on my sore feet and legs. There’s no question of running, though one guy behind me sounds like a boat crashing in when he comes in and he’s doing his best to actually run in thigh-high water, expending vast amounts of energy. He passes me and the folks in front of me. He rounds a patch of weeds and suddenly sinks down to his neck. Climbing out, he looks back at us and yells, “There’s a hole here!” And then immediately sinks down again. I can’t help it, yelling, “There’s another one!”
So, I follow behind these two guys in front of me, letting them find any more holes. Just like in the rice paddies back in ‘Nam.
I swear we go for like a half mile. Feels like a half hour, though I’m sure it’s like 15 minutes. And when I swish out, my legs have frozen up. Fortunately there’s no room to run, so we have to walk through brush and mud and yes, now, we have true mud. No getting around it either, with huge weeds on either side. Time to sink the feet in up to their ankles.
And when I finally get back on solid ground, it’s the hardest thing to get me feet moving again. I fall back to the basics: just running in place, getting the feet moving at a decent cadence. Then, the slight lean forward and I’m trotting again. Trying to get back into good barefoot running form, legs bent, but man, bending the legs at this point is hard.
And still the continuous stream of fast relay runners. I’m starting to think I’m like the last 50 Miler out on the course. And what the hell happened to Brandon? He better not have bailed out with just a 50K!
And here I’m not sure if forgetting my watch was a good thing or not. I have no frame of reference for how far I’ve come, or need to go, nor even what my finishing time will be, since I feel slow, and that damn lake sucked up a good chunk. And the relayers are going by too fast to be able to ask them how much farther. Even when I do ask one of the slower ones, she says, “Six miles!” And what does that mean to me? Nada. That must be the length of this leg for her.
I do start to here cheers though, and I think, No, can’t be the finish already. Can it? Maybe? Hope? I start to run faster, wanting to finish strong. And when I run out of the trees into a clearing....it’s only an aid station. Or, an aid station for me, and a transfer station for the relayers, so there’s a huge contingent of them, awaiting their respective runners. They give up a huge cheer for me though, which rocks. I refill my water, eat fruit, and find of it’s 2.9 miles to the next aid station, then 4 miles to the finish. Seven miles. Ok, I can do that. I can run seven miles in my sleep. Ugh. Well, I can make it 2.9 miles for sure, then it’s only four. That’s how I gotta do it, just break the course down to little chunks. But man, seven miles. And, ridiculously, I know that’s going to be like a couple hours more of running at the pace I’m going. Ugh.
As I set off, the relayers send me off with clapping and a bunch of “What to go Ultra!” so I raise my fists in salute. I so much want to stop and give the line from the movie They Live: “I came here so kick ass and chew bubble gum. And I’m all out of bubble gum.” But I fear they might not get it, and I’d look silly. Oh well. At least I’m still clever in my own mind.
Trudge trudge trudge....and the relayers go streak streak streak! Just like that old Muppets skit. My sister is the only one who probably would understand and remember it. I am in a serious mental head space now. Not talking to anybody except a continuous series of ‘thank you’’s to the passing runners’ ‘good job’’s. I just want this to be done. I know I’m going to finish, but I just wish I could run faster so I could end it sooner. One small part of me is interested in the fact that, exhausted, I can somehow maintain a basic slow cadence. Thinking about just running in place really helps me, my body seems to be able to do that forever, so just adding that little leans makes me go forward. I’m not sure I’m being as efficient with it as I could be though.
The next aid station. It’s another transfer point too, so another crowd of relay people. More awesome encouragement. Seems like I should have run into Mary some time today, but no go. Too bad. Would really help to see a familiar face out here. I load up on more water, then head out to more clapping, and with a fresh stream of relayers passing me.
Waddle waddle waddle...March of the penguins here. Or, penguin. Singular. Tortoise and the hares. The good news is much of this section of trail is either sand, or grass. Meaning softer on my sore feet. And lordy mama, I forgot, there’s pizza waiting for me! Now that is a motivator. And I’m going to drink a couple glasses of nasty old Mountain Dew, too.
Onward onward. I hear some relayers talking about time or something, so I yell to the guy who passes me, “Hey, how much farther?!”
He checks his GPS watch. “Less than a mile!”
Oh. Wow. Holy crap. Right on. Hell yeah! Done! Time to give it some gas and finish strong!
I run. I run fast enough that I’m keeping pace with the relayers. No more passing. And then we bust out at the top of a grassy hill, where I can see the finish about 200 yards away, and there is a ton of people there! All the relay groups are there! This is it, this is the end my beautiful friend!
Downhill over grass, the route lined with onlookers and people already eating pizza and drinking beer. And having people recognize my white bib number and call out “Way to go Ultra!” really feels good. Usually on races like this by the time I’m finishing most people are gone. Not here. Everyone stays. Nice to be given some respect. Some acknowledgment of effort put in.
I cross the finish.
A woman takes me name and age. As usual, I’m nowhere close to finishing in the top three of my age division. Lots o’ men my age running these things. I ask my time, and they don’t have it. Their official clock is running the relay teams’ times. But one worker gives me the time, 6:30, and in my groggy mental state I realize that that’s 12:45. Not bad! Better than I thought, especially since at least fifteen of those minutes where in that damn lake! Almost exactly my time for the Woodstock 50M.
Ok, I did it. Now where the heck is the pizza?
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Capital City River Run Half Marathon Half Marathon
I can think of no better pump up song than Jimi Hendrix’s version of “All Along The Watchtower” to come on the radio right before I hop out of my truck to head for the start of the Capital City River Run Half Marathon. Thank you anonymous radio DJ with the early Sunday shift, thank you Jimi, and thank you Mitch Mitchell for some kick ass drums to get the blood pumping. All right. As Vasquez says, Let’s rock!
New territory today. And a beautiful day. I’ve barely run up here in Lansing at all, just a little over on the MSU campus. This will be all paved, and I’m going barefoot. Feels good to get the cement and asphalt under my feet after so many minimalist races lately. My main goal for the race is to just try and run it with the best running posture I can. I know I’m not going to win, and I know I’m not going to get a PR (Under 1:39) but a minor goal is to at least get under my yucky time at the Somerset Stampede a while back.
We’re starting right in front of the Lansing Center, on Michigan Ave, a few block east of the state capital. I’m always bad at estimating numbers of people, but there has to be over a thousand, including the 5Kers, who start at the same time, but run a different route. One cool fun thing this race seems to do is have their pacers wear costumes. So, there’s a couple pirates, and slutty girl scout, a sexy ladybug, two Cary Grants, and a couple ballerinas.
The sun has risen over the buildings, the temperature must be about in the upper 50s or low 60s.. I’m in shorts and wicking t-shirt, with the race long sleeve shirt over the top. I’m already getting some odd looks for the feet. This is back in civilization, not with the hardcore trail runners, so some of these folks won’t have even heard of barefoot running yet. Like this woman, who comes up and says, “Are you really going to run this race with no shoes?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Seriously?!”
“Seriously.”
“Aren’t you scared you’ll get hurt?”
I give her my spiel about how I had plantar fasciitis for two years and couldn’t run at all, then tried going barefoot and could run immediately. She nods when she hears the words plantar fasciitis, though stares like she doesn’t believe me, but says, “Well, good for you.”
I wish her a good race and wander away. The crowd is gathering. I’m not sure where to start, since I know we’re going to get log-jammed up here at the start, but I end up between the 9:00 and 9:30 pacers, a ballerina and a ladybug. I can here the whispers behind me already: “Dude’s barefoot!” “Oh my god!” “That’s hardcore!” “That’s really minimalist!” Sigh. Ah well, that’s part of why I’m here I guess. To represent and spread the gospel. Repent, shodheads! Join the forces of light!
But, just to show how far we’ve come already, I happen to be standing right night to a VFFer and a woman in Merrills.
And we’re off! The expected log jam happens through the start gate, but then we get two lanes of traffic to spread out a little. I’m able to keep a space in front of me so I can see where the heck I’m putting me feet. And youch, Michigan Ave. is wee bit rough through here. I hope the whole route isn’t like this? That’s going to a be a long slow painful run if so. To take some of the edge off, I run on the paint lane-markers when I can.
More whispers, so not-so whispers: “Look at that!” “That’s crazy!” Well, I may be crazy, but I’m ahead of you!
I’m concentrating on posture, which helps with the rough road. A little. Straight back, head high, but relaxing the whole upper body, especially the shoulders. Bending the knees. Lifting the feet to the 180/190 cadence of Joan Jett’s “Bad Reputation”: “I don’t give a damn ‘bout my bad reputation! You’re living in the past, it’s a new generation.” Sing it Joanie.
And, when I’m really relaxing and lifting the feet and getting a little forward lean at the waist (though that’s the hard part, how to lean with bent legs) I can actually feel myself go faster even though I feel like my legs are moving slower and with less power. I can’t claim to maintain that feeling, but it’s there, in and out. That’s my goal for today, to stay in that zone as much as possible. I feel doing this in a race is actually better, because I have the challenge of other people moving fast around me, keeping me honest.
We head east, into the sun, into familiar territory: Michigan State campus, my old old stomping grounds. Man, I can’t believe I didn’t run back when I was a student. Right before we turn onto the campus proper, we can see where the route comes back out and crosses this same street farther down, and the super fast insane guys are just crossing it already, going all out sprint. As one guy behind me puts it, “That’s sick!”
Anyways, we zip in and along the Cedar River for a little bit, on mercifully smooth cement and pavement, then surprisingly, we’re back out of the campus grounds pretty quick. I would have though we’d take the Cedar River bike path all the way to the other side of campus. But, we’re on some other bike path, following the river back west. Man, was this here when I was a student? Looks old, but then, so am I. Seems like I would’ve found this just walking around back then. But, nice just to be off the road and in the trees.
I’m already seen a couple other VFFers, but lo! There ahead of me is another barefoot runner! Gotta catch up and say hello! I don’t recognize him from another other races, nor from the Barefoot Runners Society Website, I think he may be a rogue. He’s actually caught up in a convo with two shod folks who are grilling him: “But what about when it gets cold?” It’s funny, I’m right behind two women who are right behind the other barefoot dude, and I hear them say, “Oh my goodness, would you look at that!” Then I pass them and it’s like, “Oh! There’s another one!” Like we’re Marfa Lights or something.
Anyways, I slip around the rogue barefooter and give him a wave, and we share a look of understanding. The secret brotherhood of barefoot dudes. Then I’m off, actually getting a burst of energy.
We seem to be going through a whole series of bike paths in parks I never knew existed here in Lansing. Seems like a whole green beltway. It’s nice. Lots of bridges though, with wooden railroad ties and such, so I’m like pleasenosplinterspleasenosplinters! But I’m fine.
One older shod guy comes up next to me and asks, quite earnestly, “Are you doing ok?”
I turn it around and say, “Yes, I’m fine. Are you ok?”
He laughs, caught in his condescension. We run together for a while, he’s breathing heavy, then gradually I pull away. Or, he drops back more like it. In either case, I’m doing ok.
There’s one section where the route is two-way for a little bit, so we can see the faster folks coming back from a loop. I get a couple surprised exclamations from them of “Barefoot!” Or maybe it’s like, “Barefoot?!”
I get a moment of fear when we turn left onto a gravel trail. No, please flying spaghetti monster, no! But it’s only for 100 feet or so, then back bike trail. Whew! See? Ask FSM and he shall care for thee!
And then we curve around and come back to the two-way section, which seems strangely longer going this direction. Lots o’ people behind me, just a steady stream of folks. Just awesome to see so many people out running and being fit and feeling good.
As we curve around a pond-ish lake, another younger shod guy comes by me a little later and says, no intro, no hello, “How are your feet?”
I shoot back, “Fine. How are yours?”
He looks at me sideways, to see if I’m joking or not. I am, but he can maybe see I’m not amused, so gives a grimace/grin to show he knows I’m making fun of him and pulls ahead.
Then, ack, we shoot out into a residential area, meaning back on roads, meaning back on rough ground. So, all those smartass remarks I say to people, when they ask, ‘Doesn’t that hurt?’ and I reply, ‘If it hurt, I wouldn’t do it’? Well, sometimes it hurts, gotta admit. My hope is that the hurtness doesn’t ever last very long, but this stuff seems to. Argh. I feel myself slowing down. Getting passed. Argh argh argh. Posture John, posture. And cadence! “I don’t give a damn ‘bout my bad reputation...” La la la....
We take a zig and zag through a city park, Potter Park?, where I think the BRS runner meetup was earlier this summer. Seems to be many people out and about by this hour, including what looks like an antique car show. Pace-wise I seem to be about even with folks around me, maybe dropping a wee bit. Always surprises me at this point in a half –marathon where dudes comes powering by. Like, where have they been the whole race?
Cadence. Posture. Relax. Bent legs. Raised feet. Joan Jett.
A guy in VFFs passes me, and he kind of defies the argument that VFFs will give you better running posture, since is feet seems to be going in circles, and his left arm just sticks out to the side and both his arms move side to side with each stride. Kinda odd, but hey, he’s ahead of me!
We pop out on a main street, I’m not sure which, but I can see the city center buildings in the distance. And we wind back down onto a bike path along the Grand River. This is it, the home stretch. Only a couple more miles! I check my watch. Hm, 1:25ish. Two ten minute miles and I’m at 1:45, well under Somerset Stampede time. Ok, I can do this!
And I run into a guy from the Naked Foot 5K! I think his name is Eric. When I say hello he recognizes me immediately. “Hey brother! How goes it?”
He’s wearing some homemade huaraches that look pretty durable. Cost: 8 bucks. He tells me to go on, that he’s slowing down, so I do. But good to see a familiar face.
But dagnammit, the bike path uses its wonder twin superpowers to take the form of angry rocks. Argh. Bend the knees John! I am John! Lift the feet John! I am John, would you shut up?! Ok, here’s where I swallow my pride, and bump out onto the grass edge. Or, I mean, that’s legal right? I’m not morally obligated to run on the pavement. It’s not cheating.
We hit a wood boardwalk and I can hit my pace again. Trying to pick it up while still maintaining good posture. But guy man dude, it’s hard. Bending the legs when tired is hard. So is keeping a good cadence. We’re actually passing under Michigan Ave, right where we started. Almost there! Let’s rock! But no! More angry bird-rocks! Argh! But yes! Cement! Run! Then rough path. Argh! Run anyway!
There’s the finish. I can here the announcer calling off finishers’ names. Just gotta go past and cross this bridge. All the runners around me are pushing, I can them breathing, grunting, moaning. No wait, that’s me.
Over the bridge! The sides of the route lined with people clapping and cheering. “Go barefoot runner! Woo hoo!” Cadence! Cadence! Lean! Lean! Rocks! Rocks! Argh! Argh!
I cross....
Whew. Lordy mamma. Check my time: 1:45. Ok, I’ll take it. I collect my finisher medal from a woman shocked to see me barefoot and wander over onto the soft grass of the small park, where a band is playing some cool classic rock tunes and there’s a tent with all the bananas and pizza I can eat, plus cold apple cider. Aw yeah!
New territory today. And a beautiful day. I’ve barely run up here in Lansing at all, just a little over on the MSU campus. This will be all paved, and I’m going barefoot. Feels good to get the cement and asphalt under my feet after so many minimalist races lately. My main goal for the race is to just try and run it with the best running posture I can. I know I’m not going to win, and I know I’m not going to get a PR (Under 1:39) but a minor goal is to at least get under my yucky time at the Somerset Stampede a while back.
We’re starting right in front of the Lansing Center, on Michigan Ave, a few block east of the state capital. I’m always bad at estimating numbers of people, but there has to be over a thousand, including the 5Kers, who start at the same time, but run a different route. One cool fun thing this race seems to do is have their pacers wear costumes. So, there’s a couple pirates, and slutty girl scout, a sexy ladybug, two Cary Grants, and a couple ballerinas.
The sun has risen over the buildings, the temperature must be about in the upper 50s or low 60s.. I’m in shorts and wicking t-shirt, with the race long sleeve shirt over the top. I’m already getting some odd looks for the feet. This is back in civilization, not with the hardcore trail runners, so some of these folks won’t have even heard of barefoot running yet. Like this woman, who comes up and says, “Are you really going to run this race with no shoes?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“Seriously?!”
“Seriously.”
“Aren’t you scared you’ll get hurt?”
I give her my spiel about how I had plantar fasciitis for two years and couldn’t run at all, then tried going barefoot and could run immediately. She nods when she hears the words plantar fasciitis, though stares like she doesn’t believe me, but says, “Well, good for you.”
I wish her a good race and wander away. The crowd is gathering. I’m not sure where to start, since I know we’re going to get log-jammed up here at the start, but I end up between the 9:00 and 9:30 pacers, a ballerina and a ladybug. I can here the whispers behind me already: “Dude’s barefoot!” “Oh my god!” “That’s hardcore!” “That’s really minimalist!” Sigh. Ah well, that’s part of why I’m here I guess. To represent and spread the gospel. Repent, shodheads! Join the forces of light!
But, just to show how far we’ve come already, I happen to be standing right night to a VFFer and a woman in Merrills.
And we’re off! The expected log jam happens through the start gate, but then we get two lanes of traffic to spread out a little. I’m able to keep a space in front of me so I can see where the heck I’m putting me feet. And youch, Michigan Ave. is wee bit rough through here. I hope the whole route isn’t like this? That’s going to a be a long slow painful run if so. To take some of the edge off, I run on the paint lane-markers when I can.
More whispers, so not-so whispers: “Look at that!” “That’s crazy!” Well, I may be crazy, but I’m ahead of you!
I’m concentrating on posture, which helps with the rough road. A little. Straight back, head high, but relaxing the whole upper body, especially the shoulders. Bending the knees. Lifting the feet to the 180/190 cadence of Joan Jett’s “Bad Reputation”: “I don’t give a damn ‘bout my bad reputation! You’re living in the past, it’s a new generation.” Sing it Joanie.
And, when I’m really relaxing and lifting the feet and getting a little forward lean at the waist (though that’s the hard part, how to lean with bent legs) I can actually feel myself go faster even though I feel like my legs are moving slower and with less power. I can’t claim to maintain that feeling, but it’s there, in and out. That’s my goal for today, to stay in that zone as much as possible. I feel doing this in a race is actually better, because I have the challenge of other people moving fast around me, keeping me honest.
We head east, into the sun, into familiar territory: Michigan State campus, my old old stomping grounds. Man, I can’t believe I didn’t run back when I was a student. Right before we turn onto the campus proper, we can see where the route comes back out and crosses this same street farther down, and the super fast insane guys are just crossing it already, going all out sprint. As one guy behind me puts it, “That’s sick!”
Anyways, we zip in and along the Cedar River for a little bit, on mercifully smooth cement and pavement, then surprisingly, we’re back out of the campus grounds pretty quick. I would have though we’d take the Cedar River bike path all the way to the other side of campus. But, we’re on some other bike path, following the river back west. Man, was this here when I was a student? Looks old, but then, so am I. Seems like I would’ve found this just walking around back then. But, nice just to be off the road and in the trees.
I’m already seen a couple other VFFers, but lo! There ahead of me is another barefoot runner! Gotta catch up and say hello! I don’t recognize him from another other races, nor from the Barefoot Runners Society Website, I think he may be a rogue. He’s actually caught up in a convo with two shod folks who are grilling him: “But what about when it gets cold?” It’s funny, I’m right behind two women who are right behind the other barefoot dude, and I hear them say, “Oh my goodness, would you look at that!” Then I pass them and it’s like, “Oh! There’s another one!” Like we’re Marfa Lights or something.
Anyways, I slip around the rogue barefooter and give him a wave, and we share a look of understanding. The secret brotherhood of barefoot dudes. Then I’m off, actually getting a burst of energy.
We seem to be going through a whole series of bike paths in parks I never knew existed here in Lansing. Seems like a whole green beltway. It’s nice. Lots of bridges though, with wooden railroad ties and such, so I’m like pleasenosplinterspleasenosplinters! But I’m fine.
One older shod guy comes up next to me and asks, quite earnestly, “Are you doing ok?”
I turn it around and say, “Yes, I’m fine. Are you ok?”
He laughs, caught in his condescension. We run together for a while, he’s breathing heavy, then gradually I pull away. Or, he drops back more like it. In either case, I’m doing ok.
There’s one section where the route is two-way for a little bit, so we can see the faster folks coming back from a loop. I get a couple surprised exclamations from them of “Barefoot!” Or maybe it’s like, “Barefoot?!”
I get a moment of fear when we turn left onto a gravel trail. No, please flying spaghetti monster, no! But it’s only for 100 feet or so, then back bike trail. Whew! See? Ask FSM and he shall care for thee!
And then we curve around and come back to the two-way section, which seems strangely longer going this direction. Lots o’ people behind me, just a steady stream of folks. Just awesome to see so many people out running and being fit and feeling good.
As we curve around a pond-ish lake, another younger shod guy comes by me a little later and says, no intro, no hello, “How are your feet?”
I shoot back, “Fine. How are yours?”
He looks at me sideways, to see if I’m joking or not. I am, but he can maybe see I’m not amused, so gives a grimace/grin to show he knows I’m making fun of him and pulls ahead.
Then, ack, we shoot out into a residential area, meaning back on roads, meaning back on rough ground. So, all those smartass remarks I say to people, when they ask, ‘Doesn’t that hurt?’ and I reply, ‘If it hurt, I wouldn’t do it’? Well, sometimes it hurts, gotta admit. My hope is that the hurtness doesn’t ever last very long, but this stuff seems to. Argh. I feel myself slowing down. Getting passed. Argh argh argh. Posture John, posture. And cadence! “I don’t give a damn ‘bout my bad reputation...” La la la....
We take a zig and zag through a city park, Potter Park?, where I think the BRS runner meetup was earlier this summer. Seems to be many people out and about by this hour, including what looks like an antique car show. Pace-wise I seem to be about even with folks around me, maybe dropping a wee bit. Always surprises me at this point in a half –marathon where dudes comes powering by. Like, where have they been the whole race?
Cadence. Posture. Relax. Bent legs. Raised feet. Joan Jett.
A guy in VFFs passes me, and he kind of defies the argument that VFFs will give you better running posture, since is feet seems to be going in circles, and his left arm just sticks out to the side and both his arms move side to side with each stride. Kinda odd, but hey, he’s ahead of me!
We pop out on a main street, I’m not sure which, but I can see the city center buildings in the distance. And we wind back down onto a bike path along the Grand River. This is it, the home stretch. Only a couple more miles! I check my watch. Hm, 1:25ish. Two ten minute miles and I’m at 1:45, well under Somerset Stampede time. Ok, I can do this!
And I run into a guy from the Naked Foot 5K! I think his name is Eric. When I say hello he recognizes me immediately. “Hey brother! How goes it?”
He’s wearing some homemade huaraches that look pretty durable. Cost: 8 bucks. He tells me to go on, that he’s slowing down, so I do. But good to see a familiar face.
But dagnammit, the bike path uses its wonder twin superpowers to take the form of angry rocks. Argh. Bend the knees John! I am John! Lift the feet John! I am John, would you shut up?! Ok, here’s where I swallow my pride, and bump out onto the grass edge. Or, I mean, that’s legal right? I’m not morally obligated to run on the pavement. It’s not cheating.
We hit a wood boardwalk and I can hit my pace again. Trying to pick it up while still maintaining good posture. But guy man dude, it’s hard. Bending the legs when tired is hard. So is keeping a good cadence. We’re actually passing under Michigan Ave, right where we started. Almost there! Let’s rock! But no! More angry bird-rocks! Argh! But yes! Cement! Run! Then rough path. Argh! Run anyway!
There’s the finish. I can here the announcer calling off finishers’ names. Just gotta go past and cross this bridge. All the runners around me are pushing, I can them breathing, grunting, moaning. No wait, that’s me.
Over the bridge! The sides of the route lined with people clapping and cheering. “Go barefoot runner! Woo hoo!” Cadence! Cadence! Lean! Lean! Rocks! Rocks! Argh! Argh!
I cross....
Whew. Lordy mamma. Check my time: 1:45. Ok, I’ll take it. I collect my finisher medal from a woman shocked to see me barefoot and wander over onto the soft grass of the small park, where a band is playing some cool classic rock tunes and there’s a tent with all the bananas and pizza I can eat, plus cold apple cider. Aw yeah!
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Woodstock 50M
Up at 3:45 to drive the hour over to Hell, Michigan and be there early for a six o’clock race start. I packed all my stuff last night in order to avoid groggy-morning forgetfulness, like water bottles, or VFFs, or an extra truck key. Anything. I’m capable of forgetting anything at these hours. All I have to do is just get up, make myself a breakfast, and go.
I’m looking for a little redemption after my DNF on the Burning River 100 Miler earlier this summer. Since I DNFed at Mile 70, I’m fairly sure I can finish a 50 Miler. Still, I want to apply a little of what I learned on that experience for this one, mainly in the area of nutrition. I really want to be better about keeping my salt/potassium levels up, so yesterday I was adding extra salt to my food, and ate a couple bananas (which I don’t normally eat) and this morning I eat another banana. I’ve also bought a couple strawberry/banana smoothies to drink during the race, which I’ll keep in my gear bag.
I’ve also bought some salty products to nibble on, unsure of what will be available at the aid stations: some Triscuits, and some pretzel rods. But my latest experiment, nutrition-wise, is ‘Clif Shot Bloks’, which are supposed to work the same way those ‘Gu’ packs, but taste way better, like gummi bears. I’m not exactly sure if the effect is psychological or not, but using them for my longer runs, there seems to be an effect. Anyway, I have two packages’ worth with me, which I’ll carry in my shorts pocket and nibble upon along the way.
The weather is cool, but not too much so, so I’m wearing my compression shorts, with another pair over the top, along with my amazing wicking t-shirt, still going strong after years. I’m still kind of debating footwear, or even wearing footwear period. I ran the 50K at this place barefoot, but they were pretty raw by the end. Just like at Burning River, I’m thinking I’d just like some protection for this longer distance, so I’m going to wear my VFFs, though I throw my huaraches in my gear bag just in case. I’m also thinking of maybe running the first of three loops of the race barefoot, just because, especially now that’s there’s a little rain, and the trails will be soft and muddy.
I’ve been debating whether to use minimalist footwear on longer runs or not. It’s a question of speed versus purism/injury potential: Someone like Barefoot Ken Bob would say that we shouldn’t run races we couldn’t otherwise run barefoot, because of the chance of injury from our feet being desensitized while covered up. On the other hand, I know that I run way slower while barefoot. I too thought I was a purist until running the Pinkney Trail Marathon barefoot last Spring. It was rocky, and slow going, and though I finished, I finished almost at the very end, and my feet hurt anyway. Another rule of Ken Bob’s is to make sure you’re having fun, and to me, finishing towards the back with my feet still hurting just isn’t fun. I know I’m not going to win any races, I’m not that fast, but I enjoy being in the ‘pack,’ both for the mini-competitions that develop, but also being part of the collective pushing of each other’s boundaries that happens in any race.
The long dark drive over on Michigan back roads is confusing, just like last year, and just like last year, I get slightly misplaced, but eventually make it into Hell, and then beyond up into the Hell’s Creek Campground, where then races start. Unlike the rest of the surrounding countryside, the camp seems alive with activity, with lights and generators going. I’d hate to be camping out here, though many people are.
The local chain of running stores, Running Fit, is hosting a weekend of race mania, all around the them of the 60s Woodstock concert, so many employees and attendees will be dressed in hippie garb, like tie-dye shirts and dresses. The 100 Mile and 100K races actually started last night, which I like the idea of, since they were running in the dark at their strongest fitness levels. The 50 Mile race is the first race this morning, and an hour or so after us the marathon, half-marathon, 50K, and 5 Mile will all start. I think there’s even a 5K planned for later in the afternoon, as well as one tomorrow, for those who stay the night.
And when I pull into the parking area it’s raining again. Hm. I put on my rain jacket, wondering if I should maybe wear it for the run, though that would probably make me sweat and get just as wet in the long run. But as I walk from the parking lot to the registration area, the drizzle lets up.
Kinda hard to believe that the 100 Milers and the 100Kers have been running all night. I go into the runners tent, the floor of which, the grass, is soaked. And a runner comes in off the course, looking exhausted. “Congratulations!” says one of the organizers, “You came in fourth!” Wow, I’m assuming she has run the 100K, but even then, wow. Her whole race was basically in the dark. Wow.
There are other 50 Milers puttering around like me. Not a lot of places to sit, since everyone is putting their gear bags on the folding chairs to keep them out of the water. And I don’t just mean the grass floor is slight wet or dewy, it’s sopping, and squishy. Fortunately the organizers have found a large piece of plywood and put it in one corner, so I put my bag there, though even then water is oozing out onto it.
With the cloud cover, the course is going to be dark. It the skies were clear, I’d consider not starting with a light, but for this I’ll carry a flashlight, which fits handily in one hand, balancing my water bottle in the other. Running in the dark convinces me that I need my VFFs. Running barefoot in the dark on rocky trails with only a flashlight does not sound like fun.
And, there’s no getting around it, we’re going to get wet, so no sense trying to stay dry here. So, I put on my Injinji socks, and then my VFFs, and step on the grass and feel the wetness ooze in. But outside the rain has stopped. Conversation consists of speculation on how much rain we’ll get. Most people seem to feel the rain will have stopped, with maybe another shower in about three hours.
Wandering around near the start line, I spot another set of VFFs, and the woman’s hair looks familiar: Is that Jocelyn from the BRS site and from the Naked Foot 5K a couple weeks ago? It is! Only she’s kilt-less this time. Humorously, we end up comparing VFFs right in from of the Running Fit owner, who doesn’t seem to be amused, even though Running Fit now stocks VFFs. He seems to frown and be annoyed and walks away. Lace up, dude!
This is one of about 20 zillion races I’m doing this Fall, and some may wonder why I’m doing so many, especially since they cost money, and I could be doing other things, like having a social life, and/or playing more music, or having more time to write even. I guess my answer is that I feel alive when I run, both on my own, and in a different way when I ‘race,’ though I’m not sure race is the right term for these things. I kind of feel like these are ‘rituals’, or at the very least re-enactments, of some long gone primal activity, when we were all persistence hunters, before we invented the spear or the bow and arrow, and the whole tribe, women and children included, would spread out and run animals down until they dropped. Yes, I am competitive, and feed off of challenging myself against other runners, but really I feel like these ‘races’ are collective experiences, where we collectively push ourselves physically, learning from and, really, helping each other.
But speaking of a social life, another reason to run in these things is the hotties in tight running shorts. It’s not that I have a preference for a certain body type, I don’t, but any athletic woman in tight running shorts just looks amazing, like the one standing in front of me right now, in a blue sports bra and black shorts, with a few visible tattoos, including one kind of flowery design on the back of her neck. Lovely. Unfortunately, running is like writing and tends to be a solitary activity except for tribal gatherings like this. How then shall I meet one of these fit lasses?
But now we’re gathering for the start. I don’t pretend to even think I’ll be fast, so I go towards the middle. There’s maybe 50 of us, maybe a little more, but it’s one of the smallest groups I’ve run in. The marathoners and half-marathoners and the 50Kers will be starting later. For at least a couple hours it’ll just be us and whatever 100 Milers we come across. Us ultramarathoners are running a different route, of about 16.6 miles. The 100 Milers will run it six times. Us, three. With the 100Kers and 50Kers taking special short cuts on their respective last loops.
The Running Fit owner counts us down and we’re off! Up a gravel road, past tents and some port-o-potties and then cut into the woods on a trail. There’s surprisingly not a lot of jockying for position, at least not back here. And the trail is muddy. And I mean muddy. Like, basically no traction muddy. Like, in danger of falling on my face muddy. I hear exclamations of surprise and frustration all around. We’re running through puddles, and now it starts to pour. If my VFFs were damp before, they’re now soaked.
Weirdly, when I look back, the whole back half of the runners seems to have vanished, I guess totally slowed down by the mud and rain. And, after passing a couple of people on muddy downhills, where I just go balls out, I find myself alone in the woods. Like, after five minutes. Everyone ahead seems to have vanished. I can’t see any lights. And no lights behind me. If it weren’t for the plethora of pink flags on the trail I would think I’d taken a wrong turn at Albuquerque or something. I’ve never seen runners dispersed out so quickly.
I hear someone catch up to me and take a quick look back. It’s the lovely from in front of me at the start. I try to make a joke about how I’m glad I’m not the only one out here and she says nothing, so I take that as a hint that she doesn’t want to partake in race banter. She follows behind me for a while and seems to be going pretty strong, so I kind of scoot to the right when the trail widens a little and tell she can go ahead and pass me if she wants, but she says, “No I’m alright.”
So we run like that, even when we pop out onto the sandy bike/horse trail straight-away that I remember from last year. I pick up my pace a little bit, while still trying to keep a good running form, and she stay right behind me, which feels weird, since the trail is wide enough for about four runners. I normally don’t like when people ride right behind me, but since she’s so attractive it doesn’t annoy me, just confuses me, as women are wont to do. I try to start a convo, just basic questions like if she’s run this before, and where she’s from, which, alas, is like two hours from me. Sigh. She just gives short monosyllabic answers, so I don’t want to seem like the overly-talkative guy trying to hit on her (even though I guess I am), so I just keep running and she keeps right behind me.
We do encounter other people finally. One guy we catch up to, who’s driven over from Wisconsin to do this. Another comes up on us and runs with us for a while. Also, we’re starting to find 100 Milers, who are somewhere in the later stages of their races, and now walking like zombies, all of them with plastic parkas that the race officials must have given them. I say hello to all of them, and they do reply, but they have that look, that exhausted-beyond-coherence look. I ask one guy if it’s been raining on them all night, and he says, ‘Yup.’ Wow. That’s a long cold night.
The bike path route keeps going for the marathoners and co., but for us ultramarathoners it cuts left back on a trail into the woods. The guy eventually passes both of us, though we follow him for a while.
The course is wonderful, especially now. Just so quiet. Though I don’t like getting up early, now that I’m out and running my body feels electric. Birds are starting to wake up, but mostly what I hear is the rain, falling on the leave and trees and ground. And me. This section of trail is more sandy, so it’s nice and soft without any loss of traction. The rain feels good on my face, and I like the musty wet forest smell.
I have no idea how many miles I’ve run, and I’m trying not to look at my watch timer, just to run for now. We get to the first Aid Station, a big tent seemingly in the middle of nowhere, but with a big table full of drinks and nibbles. I make sure to have a couple Gatorades, and then to eat both a piece of potato dipped in salt and a couple banana pieces, trying to keep that salt/potassium intake going, even, and maybe especially, at the beginning stages.
Then I hear, “John!” I look up at the group of guys standing off to the side, and who should it be but Jason Robillard! He’s not running, so I ask him if he’s pacing somebody, but turns out his wife Shelly is running this 50 Miler.
I dawdle a little, wondering if I should eat something else, then turn to go, and realize, and I swear I’m not making this up, my lovely companion seems to be stalling, ready to go, but waiting for me. Wow. How odd. So, not wanting to just start running without at least acknowledging her presence, I say, jokingly, so if it’s not true she doesn’t have to feel awkward, “Ready to go?” And she says, kind of monotone, “Yeah.” Ok, so she’s not totally excited maybe. Who knows. Ok, well, again, I’m not going to be ‘that guy’ that likes to talk women’s ears off. So, I’ll just run.
More mud. More rain. Not heavy, but a steady drizzle now. Just feels like it’s going to be going all morning. There’s not wind, so the clouds are just going to sit over us. It’s at least light now, so I can turn off my flashlight.
We dump out onto a larger gravel road, and I again am grateful that I didn’t try this barefoot. I know Barefoot Ken Bob says to go out and have fun on gravel, but I don’t. Maybe if I lived near some I’d play on them more, but as is, I can feel the pebbles even through the VFF soles.
And we go a while on the road. The Wood Nymph follows behind me until I slow down and move to the right, trying to show her that she’s welcome to run beside me, which she does for a while, though we still don’t really talk, until some confusion occurs: We see people coming the other way. We wonder if we’ve taken a wrong turn, but turns out that this portion of the course is two-way, and we’re seeing both some more zombie 100 Milers and now some of the faster 50 Milers.
After some time, I’m not sure on distance traveled at all, we cut back onto a trail to the left. The Wood Nymph motions for me to go first. “You’re probably faster than I am on trails.” I’m not sure about that, and I think she really just wants to pace off of me. Kinda weird, since I feel like I’m running maybe a little faster than normal, and therefore I’m not sure how long I can keep it up, whereas I get a feeling she’s pacing herself and could be going a lot faster if she wanted. But we get to another aid station, the farthest one out on the course, and again, she seems to stall, waiting for me. After more salty potato and a whole banana I set out, though also noting a couple quiet runner guys hanging out in the tent, looking just beat. I realize that they’ve probably decided to stop and are waiting rides back to the camp. Well, I know how that feels, and I would not judge them at all, especially not in this everlasting rain. I just feel bad and want to tell them that it’s ok, that they’re awesome for getting that far.
Anyways, onward. We seem to be more in a mix of 50 Milers, coming back along that two-way section, where, surprisingly, there are still folks heading on their way out, which makes me feel decent that I’m not way at the end. We even get passed by some fast guys, making me suspect that they’ve lapped us already. Is that possible at this point?
And then we get onto another trail and bam, there’s a flood of runners. We’ve hooked back up with the marathoners and half-marathoners and even the five-milers too, all of us on the way back to camp, except, no, some runners seem to be going the other way? That seems weird, and makes for a kind of crowded trail. Why would the organizers do that? But, last year there was a section of the 50K/marathon that was like that, so maybe....
“John Yohe!”
What the hell? Never have so many people known my name in a race. It’s Mark, my coworker and runner extraordinaire, who actually finished 10th at Burning River. He’s running the marathon. We weren’t sure if we’d actually see each other, but here we are. He pats me on the back, we say hello, and he’s off, before I can even ask him how far he’s into the marathon. The dude is fast, so I’m thinking at this point he’s already on his last loop. He’ll be home grading papers before I’m half-way through with this thing.
With all the coming and going of runners, I take a look back and see that The Wood Nymph has fallen behind ways. We make eye contact but I’d feel weird waving or something. Well, these things happen in long races and I’ll probably see her later on.
I catch a bite of conversation between groups going in opposite directions, since apparently someone just ahead of me is wondering what’s going on too, and the woman, in a group of three, who replies says that they’re half-marathoners, but that they went the wrong way by accident. Hm. Odd.
The trail comes to a ‘T’, but there at the end of the trail is a sign that says, “IF YOU CAN READ THIS THEN YOU’RE LOST.” What? And, everyone around me is having the same reaction. We all slow down, and even stop, trying to figure out what’s going on, because right past that sign are flags of all colors, meaning for all the different distances, lined up and going to the left. But a group of three young woman are talking right next to me, and one of them seems to be taking charge by explaining to the others that since they’re five milers that they’ve come the wrong way, that this is for the other distances. Which can’t be right, because the sign makes no distinction about the distances. I decide phuck it and keep going, and they group of young women turns around and head back. That doesn’t feel right and though I normally like someone who takes charge and just makes a decision, in this case I think it might have been the wrong one. Not a good day to have cold, wet, and tired people lost in the woods.
Meanwhile, more mud. Like, crazy amounts of mud. There’s one hill that just one big mud slick and with my VFFs, which have NO traction, I can barely get up. I have to grab onto shrubs at the edge sometimes just to stop from sliding back down hill. Then the trail, or what used to be a trail, goes through a swamp. Only now there’s no trail, just a clear area through the cattails. Some people have tried walking on earth clumps along the edge, but you can see their shoe prints where they slipped sideways into the water. So, nothing to do but walk right through the water, about knee high. Higher in some place. The only thing worse would be if there were leeches. It’s crazy, and kinda fun. I mean, it’s so absurd! We paid money to do this!
Another mud bog, this one deep, which I remember this from last year. Back then, this was the only mud on the whole course. Now, it’s like a mud pond, and this whole section of trail is lined with brush rather than trees or forest, making side-stepping around any of this if not impossible, then time-consuming. The fastest way is right through the middle. And after I get out, my feet just look like lumps of mud. I can barely see the VFF shape. The good thing is that my VFFs are probably lighter than shoes at this point. The shod-heads must be carrying an extra 10 pounds on their feet.
But, that mud bog means that we’re almost back to camp! And soon I can hear classic rock coming from the PA speakers. I bust out into the campground, onto one of the gravel roads, with people waiting there for runner loved ones, but who clap anyways. Around a bend, with more onlookers clapping and past the stage, which at this point doesn’t have a band.
A race worker directs me into the proper chute, the one for people heading out for another loop, after drawing a black mark on my bib to denote one loop done. Inside the tent, which is ridiculously wet and muddy, there are tired and muddy-looking folks. One guy is just now opting out of the 100 Mile. The way Running Fit runs this is, if you DNF in one distance, they still give you a medal for the nearest distance you’ve run. So, for example, he’s still getting a 50 mile medal, though he doesn’t look happy about that. He looks like he just wants to go home and go to sleep after a good cry.
I tell the guy in charge about the sign fiasco, and that there’s probably some confused runners out there. He’s not sure he should believe, even when the Wisconsin guy who I met at the beginning of the race seconds me. I walk away to take care of my stuff and hear the official say to another official that I’m the first one who’s said anything. Ok, fine dude. The people who turned around are still out running. The people like me who figured it out and probably more concerned with just getting on with the race, and/or they finished and just think the problem will solve itself. And they probably won’t want to sign up for this race next year. Just sayin’.
Anyways, I dump my flashlight, gulp down one of the strawberry/banana smoothies, eat a banana, and grab two pretzel rods to nibble on. I also get two glasses of Gatorade, and some ramen noodle soup from the supply table. Also another piece of potato dipped in massive amounts of salt. Gack.
And back out on the course for Round Two!
My ‘split’ for the first loop was three hours. Not bad, if I could keep up that pace, but I’m betting my next loop will be more like four hours. Which means my third loop will be even longer, probably longer than five. So, 3+4+5=12, which was my semi-official goal, since that was about how long it took me to run to 50 in the Burning River. Ok. Maybe no PR today.
Amazingly, now the first part of the trail is even more muddy. It’s had more rain, and hundreds of people pounding over it that it’s just a slippery mess now. Crazy stuff.
I hear somebody coming up behind me, then a “Hey!” and it’s the Wood Nymph! She’s even smiling like she’s glad to see me. I give her a “Hey!” back and as we shoot out onto a dirt road and into another trail on the other side, I ask her name. “Melissa,” she says. Then she actually asks me a question, my name, which I tell her and as we get out on the sandy bike trail we actually run side by side and talk a bit. Turns out she’s taking ultra lessons, her coach is actually running the marathon. I ask her if she has aspirations do to a 100 miler. “Well,” she hesitates, “Yes, but I just want to see how this goes first.”
Fair enough. A third guy kind of catches up to us, and we all run in silence for a while. Melissa actually steps up her pace a wee bit. That, or I’m getting slower, which could very well be, and pull out ahead of us, so we’re all running in single file, which again seems kinda odd on this wide trail.
We’re now seeing people coming at us from the other direction, which just can’t be right. Not a lot, but a significant number. I don’t have the heart to even ask them if they realize they’re turned around. Hell they might not realize even after they get back into camp. I don’t know why I care so much, but I guess if just doesn’t seem safe to make people, especially beginners doing the 5 Mile, to run longer than they planned, especially in the rain.
At this point I’m taking stock of my own pace, and my form. See, I’ve been feeling that my foot placement has been kind of sloppy. My feet seem to be ‘scruffing,’ not moving up and down exactly, but kind of sliding a bit as they come down, making noise, which to me is a warning sign: sound equals wasted energy for the barefoot runner. I’m thinking the desensitization from the VFFs and my tiredness are causing me maybe land either on my heels or maybe my toes rather than the whole foot. Meaning that my feet are getting sore. But...Maybe they’d just get sore after 16 miles anyway?
Anyways, with this long sandy flat straight-away I try to concentrate on really getting a good form, bending the legs, lifting the feet in a steady 180/190 cadence, back straight, but trying also to relax. Bending your legs when you’re tired is actually kinda hard, but, without seeming to increase my cadence more than it had been, nor feeling like I’m exerting any more energy, I actually start to go a little bit faster, such that I pull out to the side of Melissa and gradually pass her. Seems like there’s less scruff and less soreness too.
I at least sustain that along the bike trail, until it cuts back into the woods, though I’m going to try and keep consciously returning to good form for the rest of the race. Again, being tired will make that harder. As will the mud.
I’m now starting to pop the ‘bloks’ and there seems to be an effect, in the sense that I seem to feel energy, while at the same time feeling a weariness with my body. That is, maybe and energy overriding the weariness? Not sure.
Down through trails, and again we pop out on that larger dirt road with the two-way ultra traffic, with more of both 50 Milers already making the return trip on their second loops, and more zombie walker 100 Milers. It’s here that Melissa makes her move and passes me. Not much at first, I keep behind her, which is an amazing view, but she’s gradually pulling away. Alas my fair Wood Nymph, I think I’m losing you. Still, good for her, still going at a steady pace. I know I’ve slowed down, even with my attention to form. Will I see her on Loop Three?
I’ve lost track of time. Feels like eight o’clock at night, but it maybe only noon. Crazy! And I’m only like half way!
I’m feeling slow. I’m getting passed now, like the ‘tide’ has shifted, and if I started at the middle of the pack, I must be getting bumped towards the end. I know I was never going to ‘win’ but I feel like I could be stronger, maybe at least keep the pace I had for the first loop. But, after I hit the farthest aid station and make my way back along the two-way section, there are plenty of other 50 Milers behind me, looking pretty beat.
If anything, the mud bogs are even deeper and more muddier. More rain, and more runners. Just trying to climb up Mud Hill I literally start to slide back downhill just trying to stand up. Then having to wade through thigh high muddy water for about fifty feet. It’s like a levee broke somewhere.
But, that last big mud bog signals the nearness of camp! And, as I predicted, this split is about 4 hours. With most all the marathoners and halfers already done and gone by now, the crowd actually responds louder to my appearance. There’s even a band playing by now, so the field in front if filled with people watching, and they all clap as I go by. Feels good. Much needed boost.
I’m feeling ok. I know this next loop is going to be tough, but I’m fairly sure I can make it. In the runners tent they have pinned up all the bibs of people who have dropped out, and they cover one tent wall. And, that’s just the people who dropped here at camp. It’s a lot of 100 Milers. No surprise. They’ve just been rained on for 15 hours. But there’s 50 miler bibs up there too.
I restock my bloks, pound another smoothie, eat two bananas and a salty potato wedge. More Gatorade. Chicken soup. Sorry chicken! Thank you! And, two more pretzel rods to nibble. I’m still sweating, and still urinating, and the urine is clear, so that’s all good. Ok, onward!
I’m the only one that’s come in recently, and the only one leaving. And on the dirt road up to the trail, I see a familiar face walking towards me. She recognizes me too. “Hey, are you St. John? St. John the Gambler?”
That’s my handle on the Barefoot Running Society website. And I know who she is! “Are you Buzzy?”
“Yeah!”
We crossed paths at last year’s Woodstock festivities, when she was running the 100 Miler, on, she tells me know, a broken foot. Today she’s been running the marathon (I think) but says one “hoof” was just bothering her too much, which is too bad. After being in my head for most of this race, it’s nice to talk to someone I even vaguely know, but when she finds out I’m in the 50 Mile and still have a loop to go, she shoos me off and I go.
For what it’s worth, the rain has stopped and the sun is actually peeking through the clouds. Meaning it’s a little warmer. My wicking shirt is now almost dry. And with the sun out, the ground is drying amazingly fast. This first section of trail is now not really muddy at all, maybe just narrow sections up the middle. If there is any mud, it tends to be, no other word for it, sucky, meaning that it seems to want to hold on to my feet just a little bit more.
I cross a dirt road and see a woman running down it, away from the marked trail. Reminds me of the time I almost ran past a similar trail on the Burning River, so I do what some kind soul did for me and give her a yell. “Hey runner!”
She turns around. I point to the woods. “You passed the trail.”
She looks kinda confused and walks back. “I don’t think I’m supposed to go that way. I’m doing the 50K. I’m on my third loop and supposed to be taking the short cut. Are we near the camp?”
Another guy comes out of the woods and stops. I say, “Yeah, the start is about a mile, mile and a half, back.” He nods confirmation.
She looks even more confused. “Oh, the camp is that way? I should only have a couple miles left. That sounds right.”
Doesn’t to me. I remember the 50K short cut being a long ways to go. But then, the 50K route is different than last year. Still, seems to me she’s not even on the course anymore. There are no flags at all on the road. What I think has happened is that she is one of the people who got turned around by the sign. Anyway, she doesn’t look coherent. The other guy and I tell her that we think she should be running on the trail with us, which I know makes us seem like a couple of know-it-all guys telling the woman what to do. She does follow for a little bit, but then decides it doesn’t feel right, so all I can do is say, “Cool, ok, Good luck!” But I’m thinking that race courses just should not be this confusing, to anyone.
That other guy has taken off way ahead of me. Now I’m back to running alone, which is a strange feeling. I get out on the sandy bike path again, still scruffing along. My feet ache. Like, my arches just feel on fire. I’m just taking really small steps, trying to just keep steady and moving forward. Bending my legs is tough, even though when I do my feet ache less. But then my legs ache more. I’m trying to keep relaxed, but it’s hard to relax when you’re exhausted! Bend the legs: hurts. Straighten the legs: hurts. Breathe: hurts. No, actually telling myself to breathe actually helps in some way, maybe reminding me to keep to the basics. Still going on the small baby steps, with a cadence that maybe isn’t 180 at this point, but at least vaguely steady.
A few more people coming the other way. Going slow and looking tired. I think they got more running in than they anticipated. I hope they actually say something to the organizers before they take off.
So, no wood nymphs this time around. Nor even a lot of 50 Milers. Yep, I think I’m at the back of the pack. Who I find myself running with are the 100 Milers, all now on their last loops. Some are even passing me! One skinny scruffy old guy with a beard smiles as he passes. “Don’t let the jet blast from my wake knock you over!” Because he’s like going 2 miles an hour and I’m maybe doing 1.5. Who knows, but it’s nice to see someone keeping their sense of humor at that point. And he doesn’t have a pacer.
See, at this point even a lot of the 50 Milers have pacers with them now, which seems a little much. But most of the 100 Milers have them, and what I’m noticing, and maybe this is just me, because I know how I think, but the guys all seem to have young hot babe pacers in tight running shorts. I mean, I guess that’s what I’d do if I could. I’d love it if some beautiful woman were right in front of me right now, looking back and smiling and saying softly, “Ready John? How about we try shuffling for a little bit?”
Anyways, I end up kind of bumping back and forth with this guy doing the 100 Mile. Basically I’m just keeping a steady penguin waddle and I’ll pass him and his hottie pacer, but then that’ll cause him to get a burst of energy and he’ll overtake me for a little bit. I don’t think his pacer is going to get up to even a slow jog for the whole 16 miles, but bless her patience. I finally come around a bend and he’s spread out on a bench.
“Stay with me!”
He waves. “Oh, I’ll get there. It just feels so good to sit down, you know?”
I laugh and keep going.
With the rain gone, and the heat, the air actually feels more humid now, strangely. And, the mosquitoes and horseflies have come out. You know it’s bad when you can’t even outrun mosquitoes anymore.
To almost add insult to injury, a woman passes me power walking. She’s doing the 50 Miler, but says her legs has cramped up too much for her to run. Reminds me of Burning River, when that happened to me, except I wasn’t able to even walk that fast. Also, I remember another woman passing me at Mile 60 power walking, and then I saw her finish the next morning doing the same thing. For all I know, she may have just power walked the rest of the race. I gotta learn how to do this. I think this is where having shoes actually helps, since the key to powerwalking seem to be to get the heel to toe roll, which I can’t, and don’t want to, do. But the arm swinging seems to help. I’m walking up even slight hills now, and this seems to speed me up a little. So, thank you Powerwalking Lady!
Onward. Trudge trudge trudge...Mud mud mud. I still have to wade in the water on the back end. The people at the aid stations have traded out, new faces. One bearded guy calls me by name, telling me to keep it up. I think he might be a friend of Jason’s. A friendly touch though. I’m kinda too delirious to strike up a convo at this point though.
Mud bog, where is the mud bog? Mud bog means home. John need mud bog. John need home. John need sleep.
There! There is mud bog! I walk right through the middle, my mud flaps making me look like a muppet at this point. Hi ho, Kermit the Frog here, on the planet Koozebane.
Man, I’m groggy. But a mile and a half left. Time to leave everything on the course. I run. I even go a little faster than a trudge.
Amazingly, this far into the day, there are even more people waiting when I pop out into camp. I know, or I think, that they’re awaiting people they know, but the applause is enthusiastic and genuine and a good last boost. I’m actually feeling a little choked up, like I could almost cry. I round the bend, more clapping, and the whole camp starts clapping and giving me ‘good jobs’. I wave and try to give a good strong finish. If not a sprint, then I at least have enough energy to jump up and land right on the timing pad, which the crowd seems to like.
And then, that’s it. I get my medal. The woman asks me my age, and no I haven’t qualified for any prize for my age category. Didn’t finish in the top five of my category even. That’s fine. I’ll take the finish. Time? 12:30. So, about what I predicted, and good given the course conditions.
The runners tent is gone, looks like they took it down to lay it out in the sun to dry. My bag is one of the last one’s left. Even the food table is gone. At least I have one last banana! And a protein smoothie!
I hate to do it, but I have to check the feets: Yep, a big ole blister on my right foot, right where the ball and big toe meet. I thought I could feel something burning in there. My Injinji socks are just trashed, holes in all the toes, soaked in dirt. They just going in the garbage. For my VFFs fortunately one of the women working there finds me a plastic bag. They’re so muddy I don’t even want to throw them on the floor of my cab.
And yeah, kind of anti-climatic. I take a cool down walk around to see if anyone I know is still here, like Jason or Sweet Melissa, but don’t see anybody. Lots o’ people still camped out though. As for me, I have a bed calling my name back in Jackson. Goodbye Woodstock! Goodbye Hell!
After Action Review
What were my expectations?
Well, to finish, and hopefully get under 12 hours. That didn’t happen, but I’m fine with it. I wanted to be better about nutrition, and I think I did that. I was still sweating at the end, and had energy to drive home. This was also a lot cooler than Burning River though.
What actually happened?
The weather was crazy and uncontrollable.
I did not expect to get a blister from the VFFs, but it didn’t hinder me in any way. I thought wearing socks would prevent that, but I also actually hadn’t run with this pair in a while, opting for some newer ones, so if I know I’m going to be using a pair in a race, I should stick with that one pair.
I probably could have run at least one loop barefoot, but super slow, and I just do not want to be any more slower than I already am. Yes, I think going minimalist makes me run more sloppy, which probably causes some foot ache, yet I think my feets would be aching anyways. There’s a temptation to consider wearing something like racing flats, something with some cushion, but when I think about it, I don’t think it’s lack of cushion that makes my feet hurt, and seeing that 100 Miler guy I was running with come in right when I’m leaving me is a good reminder of the horror of shoes, since his toenails are falling out. No way. I’ll take my achy feet.
www.johnyohe.com
I’m looking for a little redemption after my DNF on the Burning River 100 Miler earlier this summer. Since I DNFed at Mile 70, I’m fairly sure I can finish a 50 Miler. Still, I want to apply a little of what I learned on that experience for this one, mainly in the area of nutrition. I really want to be better about keeping my salt/potassium levels up, so yesterday I was adding extra salt to my food, and ate a couple bananas (which I don’t normally eat) and this morning I eat another banana. I’ve also bought a couple strawberry/banana smoothies to drink during the race, which I’ll keep in my gear bag.
I’ve also bought some salty products to nibble on, unsure of what will be available at the aid stations: some Triscuits, and some pretzel rods. But my latest experiment, nutrition-wise, is ‘Clif Shot Bloks’, which are supposed to work the same way those ‘Gu’ packs, but taste way better, like gummi bears. I’m not exactly sure if the effect is psychological or not, but using them for my longer runs, there seems to be an effect. Anyway, I have two packages’ worth with me, which I’ll carry in my shorts pocket and nibble upon along the way.
The weather is cool, but not too much so, so I’m wearing my compression shorts, with another pair over the top, along with my amazing wicking t-shirt, still going strong after years. I’m still kind of debating footwear, or even wearing footwear period. I ran the 50K at this place barefoot, but they were pretty raw by the end. Just like at Burning River, I’m thinking I’d just like some protection for this longer distance, so I’m going to wear my VFFs, though I throw my huaraches in my gear bag just in case. I’m also thinking of maybe running the first of three loops of the race barefoot, just because, especially now that’s there’s a little rain, and the trails will be soft and muddy.
I’ve been debating whether to use minimalist footwear on longer runs or not. It’s a question of speed versus purism/injury potential: Someone like Barefoot Ken Bob would say that we shouldn’t run races we couldn’t otherwise run barefoot, because of the chance of injury from our feet being desensitized while covered up. On the other hand, I know that I run way slower while barefoot. I too thought I was a purist until running the Pinkney Trail Marathon barefoot last Spring. It was rocky, and slow going, and though I finished, I finished almost at the very end, and my feet hurt anyway. Another rule of Ken Bob’s is to make sure you’re having fun, and to me, finishing towards the back with my feet still hurting just isn’t fun. I know I’m not going to win any races, I’m not that fast, but I enjoy being in the ‘pack,’ both for the mini-competitions that develop, but also being part of the collective pushing of each other’s boundaries that happens in any race.
The long dark drive over on Michigan back roads is confusing, just like last year, and just like last year, I get slightly misplaced, but eventually make it into Hell, and then beyond up into the Hell’s Creek Campground, where then races start. Unlike the rest of the surrounding countryside, the camp seems alive with activity, with lights and generators going. I’d hate to be camping out here, though many people are.
The local chain of running stores, Running Fit, is hosting a weekend of race mania, all around the them of the 60s Woodstock concert, so many employees and attendees will be dressed in hippie garb, like tie-dye shirts and dresses. The 100 Mile and 100K races actually started last night, which I like the idea of, since they were running in the dark at their strongest fitness levels. The 50 Mile race is the first race this morning, and an hour or so after us the marathon, half-marathon, 50K, and 5 Mile will all start. I think there’s even a 5K planned for later in the afternoon, as well as one tomorrow, for those who stay the night.
And when I pull into the parking area it’s raining again. Hm. I put on my rain jacket, wondering if I should maybe wear it for the run, though that would probably make me sweat and get just as wet in the long run. But as I walk from the parking lot to the registration area, the drizzle lets up.
Kinda hard to believe that the 100 Milers and the 100Kers have been running all night. I go into the runners tent, the floor of which, the grass, is soaked. And a runner comes in off the course, looking exhausted. “Congratulations!” says one of the organizers, “You came in fourth!” Wow, I’m assuming she has run the 100K, but even then, wow. Her whole race was basically in the dark. Wow.
There are other 50 Milers puttering around like me. Not a lot of places to sit, since everyone is putting their gear bags on the folding chairs to keep them out of the water. And I don’t just mean the grass floor is slight wet or dewy, it’s sopping, and squishy. Fortunately the organizers have found a large piece of plywood and put it in one corner, so I put my bag there, though even then water is oozing out onto it.
With the cloud cover, the course is going to be dark. It the skies were clear, I’d consider not starting with a light, but for this I’ll carry a flashlight, which fits handily in one hand, balancing my water bottle in the other. Running in the dark convinces me that I need my VFFs. Running barefoot in the dark on rocky trails with only a flashlight does not sound like fun.
And, there’s no getting around it, we’re going to get wet, so no sense trying to stay dry here. So, I put on my Injinji socks, and then my VFFs, and step on the grass and feel the wetness ooze in. But outside the rain has stopped. Conversation consists of speculation on how much rain we’ll get. Most people seem to feel the rain will have stopped, with maybe another shower in about three hours.
Wandering around near the start line, I spot another set of VFFs, and the woman’s hair looks familiar: Is that Jocelyn from the BRS site and from the Naked Foot 5K a couple weeks ago? It is! Only she’s kilt-less this time. Humorously, we end up comparing VFFs right in from of the Running Fit owner, who doesn’t seem to be amused, even though Running Fit now stocks VFFs. He seems to frown and be annoyed and walks away. Lace up, dude!
This is one of about 20 zillion races I’m doing this Fall, and some may wonder why I’m doing so many, especially since they cost money, and I could be doing other things, like having a social life, and/or playing more music, or having more time to write even. I guess my answer is that I feel alive when I run, both on my own, and in a different way when I ‘race,’ though I’m not sure race is the right term for these things. I kind of feel like these are ‘rituals’, or at the very least re-enactments, of some long gone primal activity, when we were all persistence hunters, before we invented the spear or the bow and arrow, and the whole tribe, women and children included, would spread out and run animals down until they dropped. Yes, I am competitive, and feed off of challenging myself against other runners, but really I feel like these ‘races’ are collective experiences, where we collectively push ourselves physically, learning from and, really, helping each other.
But speaking of a social life, another reason to run in these things is the hotties in tight running shorts. It’s not that I have a preference for a certain body type, I don’t, but any athletic woman in tight running shorts just looks amazing, like the one standing in front of me right now, in a blue sports bra and black shorts, with a few visible tattoos, including one kind of flowery design on the back of her neck. Lovely. Unfortunately, running is like writing and tends to be a solitary activity except for tribal gatherings like this. How then shall I meet one of these fit lasses?
But now we’re gathering for the start. I don’t pretend to even think I’ll be fast, so I go towards the middle. There’s maybe 50 of us, maybe a little more, but it’s one of the smallest groups I’ve run in. The marathoners and half-marathoners and the 50Kers will be starting later. For at least a couple hours it’ll just be us and whatever 100 Milers we come across. Us ultramarathoners are running a different route, of about 16.6 miles. The 100 Milers will run it six times. Us, three. With the 100Kers and 50Kers taking special short cuts on their respective last loops.
The Running Fit owner counts us down and we’re off! Up a gravel road, past tents and some port-o-potties and then cut into the woods on a trail. There’s surprisingly not a lot of jockying for position, at least not back here. And the trail is muddy. And I mean muddy. Like, basically no traction muddy. Like, in danger of falling on my face muddy. I hear exclamations of surprise and frustration all around. We’re running through puddles, and now it starts to pour. If my VFFs were damp before, they’re now soaked.
Weirdly, when I look back, the whole back half of the runners seems to have vanished, I guess totally slowed down by the mud and rain. And, after passing a couple of people on muddy downhills, where I just go balls out, I find myself alone in the woods. Like, after five minutes. Everyone ahead seems to have vanished. I can’t see any lights. And no lights behind me. If it weren’t for the plethora of pink flags on the trail I would think I’d taken a wrong turn at Albuquerque or something. I’ve never seen runners dispersed out so quickly.
I hear someone catch up to me and take a quick look back. It’s the lovely from in front of me at the start. I try to make a joke about how I’m glad I’m not the only one out here and she says nothing, so I take that as a hint that she doesn’t want to partake in race banter. She follows behind me for a while and seems to be going pretty strong, so I kind of scoot to the right when the trail widens a little and tell she can go ahead and pass me if she wants, but she says, “No I’m alright.”
So we run like that, even when we pop out onto the sandy bike/horse trail straight-away that I remember from last year. I pick up my pace a little bit, while still trying to keep a good running form, and she stay right behind me, which feels weird, since the trail is wide enough for about four runners. I normally don’t like when people ride right behind me, but since she’s so attractive it doesn’t annoy me, just confuses me, as women are wont to do. I try to start a convo, just basic questions like if she’s run this before, and where she’s from, which, alas, is like two hours from me. Sigh. She just gives short monosyllabic answers, so I don’t want to seem like the overly-talkative guy trying to hit on her (even though I guess I am), so I just keep running and she keeps right behind me.
We do encounter other people finally. One guy we catch up to, who’s driven over from Wisconsin to do this. Another comes up on us and runs with us for a while. Also, we’re starting to find 100 Milers, who are somewhere in the later stages of their races, and now walking like zombies, all of them with plastic parkas that the race officials must have given them. I say hello to all of them, and they do reply, but they have that look, that exhausted-beyond-coherence look. I ask one guy if it’s been raining on them all night, and he says, ‘Yup.’ Wow. That’s a long cold night.
The bike path route keeps going for the marathoners and co., but for us ultramarathoners it cuts left back on a trail into the woods. The guy eventually passes both of us, though we follow him for a while.
The course is wonderful, especially now. Just so quiet. Though I don’t like getting up early, now that I’m out and running my body feels electric. Birds are starting to wake up, but mostly what I hear is the rain, falling on the leave and trees and ground. And me. This section of trail is more sandy, so it’s nice and soft without any loss of traction. The rain feels good on my face, and I like the musty wet forest smell.
I have no idea how many miles I’ve run, and I’m trying not to look at my watch timer, just to run for now. We get to the first Aid Station, a big tent seemingly in the middle of nowhere, but with a big table full of drinks and nibbles. I make sure to have a couple Gatorades, and then to eat both a piece of potato dipped in salt and a couple banana pieces, trying to keep that salt/potassium intake going, even, and maybe especially, at the beginning stages.
Then I hear, “John!” I look up at the group of guys standing off to the side, and who should it be but Jason Robillard! He’s not running, so I ask him if he’s pacing somebody, but turns out his wife Shelly is running this 50 Miler.
I dawdle a little, wondering if I should eat something else, then turn to go, and realize, and I swear I’m not making this up, my lovely companion seems to be stalling, ready to go, but waiting for me. Wow. How odd. So, not wanting to just start running without at least acknowledging her presence, I say, jokingly, so if it’s not true she doesn’t have to feel awkward, “Ready to go?” And she says, kind of monotone, “Yeah.” Ok, so she’s not totally excited maybe. Who knows. Ok, well, again, I’m not going to be ‘that guy’ that likes to talk women’s ears off. So, I’ll just run.
More mud. More rain. Not heavy, but a steady drizzle now. Just feels like it’s going to be going all morning. There’s not wind, so the clouds are just going to sit over us. It’s at least light now, so I can turn off my flashlight.
We dump out onto a larger gravel road, and I again am grateful that I didn’t try this barefoot. I know Barefoot Ken Bob says to go out and have fun on gravel, but I don’t. Maybe if I lived near some I’d play on them more, but as is, I can feel the pebbles even through the VFF soles.
And we go a while on the road. The Wood Nymph follows behind me until I slow down and move to the right, trying to show her that she’s welcome to run beside me, which she does for a while, though we still don’t really talk, until some confusion occurs: We see people coming the other way. We wonder if we’ve taken a wrong turn, but turns out that this portion of the course is two-way, and we’re seeing both some more zombie 100 Milers and now some of the faster 50 Milers.
After some time, I’m not sure on distance traveled at all, we cut back onto a trail to the left. The Wood Nymph motions for me to go first. “You’re probably faster than I am on trails.” I’m not sure about that, and I think she really just wants to pace off of me. Kinda weird, since I feel like I’m running maybe a little faster than normal, and therefore I’m not sure how long I can keep it up, whereas I get a feeling she’s pacing herself and could be going a lot faster if she wanted. But we get to another aid station, the farthest one out on the course, and again, she seems to stall, waiting for me. After more salty potato and a whole banana I set out, though also noting a couple quiet runner guys hanging out in the tent, looking just beat. I realize that they’ve probably decided to stop and are waiting rides back to the camp. Well, I know how that feels, and I would not judge them at all, especially not in this everlasting rain. I just feel bad and want to tell them that it’s ok, that they’re awesome for getting that far.
Anyways, onward. We seem to be more in a mix of 50 Milers, coming back along that two-way section, where, surprisingly, there are still folks heading on their way out, which makes me feel decent that I’m not way at the end. We even get passed by some fast guys, making me suspect that they’ve lapped us already. Is that possible at this point?
And then we get onto another trail and bam, there’s a flood of runners. We’ve hooked back up with the marathoners and half-marathoners and even the five-milers too, all of us on the way back to camp, except, no, some runners seem to be going the other way? That seems weird, and makes for a kind of crowded trail. Why would the organizers do that? But, last year there was a section of the 50K/marathon that was like that, so maybe....
“John Yohe!”
What the hell? Never have so many people known my name in a race. It’s Mark, my coworker and runner extraordinaire, who actually finished 10th at Burning River. He’s running the marathon. We weren’t sure if we’d actually see each other, but here we are. He pats me on the back, we say hello, and he’s off, before I can even ask him how far he’s into the marathon. The dude is fast, so I’m thinking at this point he’s already on his last loop. He’ll be home grading papers before I’m half-way through with this thing.
With all the coming and going of runners, I take a look back and see that The Wood Nymph has fallen behind ways. We make eye contact but I’d feel weird waving or something. Well, these things happen in long races and I’ll probably see her later on.
I catch a bite of conversation between groups going in opposite directions, since apparently someone just ahead of me is wondering what’s going on too, and the woman, in a group of three, who replies says that they’re half-marathoners, but that they went the wrong way by accident. Hm. Odd.
The trail comes to a ‘T’, but there at the end of the trail is a sign that says, “IF YOU CAN READ THIS THEN YOU’RE LOST.” What? And, everyone around me is having the same reaction. We all slow down, and even stop, trying to figure out what’s going on, because right past that sign are flags of all colors, meaning for all the different distances, lined up and going to the left. But a group of three young woman are talking right next to me, and one of them seems to be taking charge by explaining to the others that since they’re five milers that they’ve come the wrong way, that this is for the other distances. Which can’t be right, because the sign makes no distinction about the distances. I decide phuck it and keep going, and they group of young women turns around and head back. That doesn’t feel right and though I normally like someone who takes charge and just makes a decision, in this case I think it might have been the wrong one. Not a good day to have cold, wet, and tired people lost in the woods.
Meanwhile, more mud. Like, crazy amounts of mud. There’s one hill that just one big mud slick and with my VFFs, which have NO traction, I can barely get up. I have to grab onto shrubs at the edge sometimes just to stop from sliding back down hill. Then the trail, or what used to be a trail, goes through a swamp. Only now there’s no trail, just a clear area through the cattails. Some people have tried walking on earth clumps along the edge, but you can see their shoe prints where they slipped sideways into the water. So, nothing to do but walk right through the water, about knee high. Higher in some place. The only thing worse would be if there were leeches. It’s crazy, and kinda fun. I mean, it’s so absurd! We paid money to do this!
Another mud bog, this one deep, which I remember this from last year. Back then, this was the only mud on the whole course. Now, it’s like a mud pond, and this whole section of trail is lined with brush rather than trees or forest, making side-stepping around any of this if not impossible, then time-consuming. The fastest way is right through the middle. And after I get out, my feet just look like lumps of mud. I can barely see the VFF shape. The good thing is that my VFFs are probably lighter than shoes at this point. The shod-heads must be carrying an extra 10 pounds on their feet.
But, that mud bog means that we’re almost back to camp! And soon I can hear classic rock coming from the PA speakers. I bust out into the campground, onto one of the gravel roads, with people waiting there for runner loved ones, but who clap anyways. Around a bend, with more onlookers clapping and past the stage, which at this point doesn’t have a band.
A race worker directs me into the proper chute, the one for people heading out for another loop, after drawing a black mark on my bib to denote one loop done. Inside the tent, which is ridiculously wet and muddy, there are tired and muddy-looking folks. One guy is just now opting out of the 100 Mile. The way Running Fit runs this is, if you DNF in one distance, they still give you a medal for the nearest distance you’ve run. So, for example, he’s still getting a 50 mile medal, though he doesn’t look happy about that. He looks like he just wants to go home and go to sleep after a good cry.
I tell the guy in charge about the sign fiasco, and that there’s probably some confused runners out there. He’s not sure he should believe, even when the Wisconsin guy who I met at the beginning of the race seconds me. I walk away to take care of my stuff and hear the official say to another official that I’m the first one who’s said anything. Ok, fine dude. The people who turned around are still out running. The people like me who figured it out and probably more concerned with just getting on with the race, and/or they finished and just think the problem will solve itself. And they probably won’t want to sign up for this race next year. Just sayin’.
Anyways, I dump my flashlight, gulp down one of the strawberry/banana smoothies, eat a banana, and grab two pretzel rods to nibble on. I also get two glasses of Gatorade, and some ramen noodle soup from the supply table. Also another piece of potato dipped in massive amounts of salt. Gack.
And back out on the course for Round Two!
My ‘split’ for the first loop was three hours. Not bad, if I could keep up that pace, but I’m betting my next loop will be more like four hours. Which means my third loop will be even longer, probably longer than five. So, 3+4+5=12, which was my semi-official goal, since that was about how long it took me to run to 50 in the Burning River. Ok. Maybe no PR today.
Amazingly, now the first part of the trail is even more muddy. It’s had more rain, and hundreds of people pounding over it that it’s just a slippery mess now. Crazy stuff.
I hear somebody coming up behind me, then a “Hey!” and it’s the Wood Nymph! She’s even smiling like she’s glad to see me. I give her a “Hey!” back and as we shoot out onto a dirt road and into another trail on the other side, I ask her name. “Melissa,” she says. Then she actually asks me a question, my name, which I tell her and as we get out on the sandy bike trail we actually run side by side and talk a bit. Turns out she’s taking ultra lessons, her coach is actually running the marathon. I ask her if she has aspirations do to a 100 miler. “Well,” she hesitates, “Yes, but I just want to see how this goes first.”
Fair enough. A third guy kind of catches up to us, and we all run in silence for a while. Melissa actually steps up her pace a wee bit. That, or I’m getting slower, which could very well be, and pull out ahead of us, so we’re all running in single file, which again seems kinda odd on this wide trail.
We’re now seeing people coming at us from the other direction, which just can’t be right. Not a lot, but a significant number. I don’t have the heart to even ask them if they realize they’re turned around. Hell they might not realize even after they get back into camp. I don’t know why I care so much, but I guess if just doesn’t seem safe to make people, especially beginners doing the 5 Mile, to run longer than they planned, especially in the rain.
At this point I’m taking stock of my own pace, and my form. See, I’ve been feeling that my foot placement has been kind of sloppy. My feet seem to be ‘scruffing,’ not moving up and down exactly, but kind of sliding a bit as they come down, making noise, which to me is a warning sign: sound equals wasted energy for the barefoot runner. I’m thinking the desensitization from the VFFs and my tiredness are causing me maybe land either on my heels or maybe my toes rather than the whole foot. Meaning that my feet are getting sore. But...Maybe they’d just get sore after 16 miles anyway?
Anyways, with this long sandy flat straight-away I try to concentrate on really getting a good form, bending the legs, lifting the feet in a steady 180/190 cadence, back straight, but trying also to relax. Bending your legs when you’re tired is actually kinda hard, but, without seeming to increase my cadence more than it had been, nor feeling like I’m exerting any more energy, I actually start to go a little bit faster, such that I pull out to the side of Melissa and gradually pass her. Seems like there’s less scruff and less soreness too.
I at least sustain that along the bike trail, until it cuts back into the woods, though I’m going to try and keep consciously returning to good form for the rest of the race. Again, being tired will make that harder. As will the mud.
I’m now starting to pop the ‘bloks’ and there seems to be an effect, in the sense that I seem to feel energy, while at the same time feeling a weariness with my body. That is, maybe and energy overriding the weariness? Not sure.
Down through trails, and again we pop out on that larger dirt road with the two-way ultra traffic, with more of both 50 Milers already making the return trip on their second loops, and more zombie walker 100 Milers. It’s here that Melissa makes her move and passes me. Not much at first, I keep behind her, which is an amazing view, but she’s gradually pulling away. Alas my fair Wood Nymph, I think I’m losing you. Still, good for her, still going at a steady pace. I know I’ve slowed down, even with my attention to form. Will I see her on Loop Three?
I’ve lost track of time. Feels like eight o’clock at night, but it maybe only noon. Crazy! And I’m only like half way!
I’m feeling slow. I’m getting passed now, like the ‘tide’ has shifted, and if I started at the middle of the pack, I must be getting bumped towards the end. I know I was never going to ‘win’ but I feel like I could be stronger, maybe at least keep the pace I had for the first loop. But, after I hit the farthest aid station and make my way back along the two-way section, there are plenty of other 50 Milers behind me, looking pretty beat.
If anything, the mud bogs are even deeper and more muddier. More rain, and more runners. Just trying to climb up Mud Hill I literally start to slide back downhill just trying to stand up. Then having to wade through thigh high muddy water for about fifty feet. It’s like a levee broke somewhere.
But, that last big mud bog signals the nearness of camp! And, as I predicted, this split is about 4 hours. With most all the marathoners and halfers already done and gone by now, the crowd actually responds louder to my appearance. There’s even a band playing by now, so the field in front if filled with people watching, and they all clap as I go by. Feels good. Much needed boost.
I’m feeling ok. I know this next loop is going to be tough, but I’m fairly sure I can make it. In the runners tent they have pinned up all the bibs of people who have dropped out, and they cover one tent wall. And, that’s just the people who dropped here at camp. It’s a lot of 100 Milers. No surprise. They’ve just been rained on for 15 hours. But there’s 50 miler bibs up there too.
I restock my bloks, pound another smoothie, eat two bananas and a salty potato wedge. More Gatorade. Chicken soup. Sorry chicken! Thank you! And, two more pretzel rods to nibble. I’m still sweating, and still urinating, and the urine is clear, so that’s all good. Ok, onward!
I’m the only one that’s come in recently, and the only one leaving. And on the dirt road up to the trail, I see a familiar face walking towards me. She recognizes me too. “Hey, are you St. John? St. John the Gambler?”
That’s my handle on the Barefoot Running Society website. And I know who she is! “Are you Buzzy?”
“Yeah!”
We crossed paths at last year’s Woodstock festivities, when she was running the 100 Miler, on, she tells me know, a broken foot. Today she’s been running the marathon (I think) but says one “hoof” was just bothering her too much, which is too bad. After being in my head for most of this race, it’s nice to talk to someone I even vaguely know, but when she finds out I’m in the 50 Mile and still have a loop to go, she shoos me off and I go.
For what it’s worth, the rain has stopped and the sun is actually peeking through the clouds. Meaning it’s a little warmer. My wicking shirt is now almost dry. And with the sun out, the ground is drying amazingly fast. This first section of trail is now not really muddy at all, maybe just narrow sections up the middle. If there is any mud, it tends to be, no other word for it, sucky, meaning that it seems to want to hold on to my feet just a little bit more.
I cross a dirt road and see a woman running down it, away from the marked trail. Reminds me of the time I almost ran past a similar trail on the Burning River, so I do what some kind soul did for me and give her a yell. “Hey runner!”
She turns around. I point to the woods. “You passed the trail.”
She looks kinda confused and walks back. “I don’t think I’m supposed to go that way. I’m doing the 50K. I’m on my third loop and supposed to be taking the short cut. Are we near the camp?”
Another guy comes out of the woods and stops. I say, “Yeah, the start is about a mile, mile and a half, back.” He nods confirmation.
She looks even more confused. “Oh, the camp is that way? I should only have a couple miles left. That sounds right.”
Doesn’t to me. I remember the 50K short cut being a long ways to go. But then, the 50K route is different than last year. Still, seems to me she’s not even on the course anymore. There are no flags at all on the road. What I think has happened is that she is one of the people who got turned around by the sign. Anyway, she doesn’t look coherent. The other guy and I tell her that we think she should be running on the trail with us, which I know makes us seem like a couple of know-it-all guys telling the woman what to do. She does follow for a little bit, but then decides it doesn’t feel right, so all I can do is say, “Cool, ok, Good luck!” But I’m thinking that race courses just should not be this confusing, to anyone.
That other guy has taken off way ahead of me. Now I’m back to running alone, which is a strange feeling. I get out on the sandy bike path again, still scruffing along. My feet ache. Like, my arches just feel on fire. I’m just taking really small steps, trying to just keep steady and moving forward. Bending my legs is tough, even though when I do my feet ache less. But then my legs ache more. I’m trying to keep relaxed, but it’s hard to relax when you’re exhausted! Bend the legs: hurts. Straighten the legs: hurts. Breathe: hurts. No, actually telling myself to breathe actually helps in some way, maybe reminding me to keep to the basics. Still going on the small baby steps, with a cadence that maybe isn’t 180 at this point, but at least vaguely steady.
A few more people coming the other way. Going slow and looking tired. I think they got more running in than they anticipated. I hope they actually say something to the organizers before they take off.
So, no wood nymphs this time around. Nor even a lot of 50 Milers. Yep, I think I’m at the back of the pack. Who I find myself running with are the 100 Milers, all now on their last loops. Some are even passing me! One skinny scruffy old guy with a beard smiles as he passes. “Don’t let the jet blast from my wake knock you over!” Because he’s like going 2 miles an hour and I’m maybe doing 1.5. Who knows, but it’s nice to see someone keeping their sense of humor at that point. And he doesn’t have a pacer.
See, at this point even a lot of the 50 Milers have pacers with them now, which seems a little much. But most of the 100 Milers have them, and what I’m noticing, and maybe this is just me, because I know how I think, but the guys all seem to have young hot babe pacers in tight running shorts. I mean, I guess that’s what I’d do if I could. I’d love it if some beautiful woman were right in front of me right now, looking back and smiling and saying softly, “Ready John? How about we try shuffling for a little bit?”
Anyways, I end up kind of bumping back and forth with this guy doing the 100 Mile. Basically I’m just keeping a steady penguin waddle and I’ll pass him and his hottie pacer, but then that’ll cause him to get a burst of energy and he’ll overtake me for a little bit. I don’t think his pacer is going to get up to even a slow jog for the whole 16 miles, but bless her patience. I finally come around a bend and he’s spread out on a bench.
“Stay with me!”
He waves. “Oh, I’ll get there. It just feels so good to sit down, you know?”
I laugh and keep going.
With the rain gone, and the heat, the air actually feels more humid now, strangely. And, the mosquitoes and horseflies have come out. You know it’s bad when you can’t even outrun mosquitoes anymore.
To almost add insult to injury, a woman passes me power walking. She’s doing the 50 Miler, but says her legs has cramped up too much for her to run. Reminds me of Burning River, when that happened to me, except I wasn’t able to even walk that fast. Also, I remember another woman passing me at Mile 60 power walking, and then I saw her finish the next morning doing the same thing. For all I know, she may have just power walked the rest of the race. I gotta learn how to do this. I think this is where having shoes actually helps, since the key to powerwalking seem to be to get the heel to toe roll, which I can’t, and don’t want to, do. But the arm swinging seems to help. I’m walking up even slight hills now, and this seems to speed me up a little. So, thank you Powerwalking Lady!
Onward. Trudge trudge trudge...Mud mud mud. I still have to wade in the water on the back end. The people at the aid stations have traded out, new faces. One bearded guy calls me by name, telling me to keep it up. I think he might be a friend of Jason’s. A friendly touch though. I’m kinda too delirious to strike up a convo at this point though.
Mud bog, where is the mud bog? Mud bog means home. John need mud bog. John need home. John need sleep.
There! There is mud bog! I walk right through the middle, my mud flaps making me look like a muppet at this point. Hi ho, Kermit the Frog here, on the planet Koozebane.
Man, I’m groggy. But a mile and a half left. Time to leave everything on the course. I run. I even go a little faster than a trudge.
Amazingly, this far into the day, there are even more people waiting when I pop out into camp. I know, or I think, that they’re awaiting people they know, but the applause is enthusiastic and genuine and a good last boost. I’m actually feeling a little choked up, like I could almost cry. I round the bend, more clapping, and the whole camp starts clapping and giving me ‘good jobs’. I wave and try to give a good strong finish. If not a sprint, then I at least have enough energy to jump up and land right on the timing pad, which the crowd seems to like.
And then, that’s it. I get my medal. The woman asks me my age, and no I haven’t qualified for any prize for my age category. Didn’t finish in the top five of my category even. That’s fine. I’ll take the finish. Time? 12:30. So, about what I predicted, and good given the course conditions.
The runners tent is gone, looks like they took it down to lay it out in the sun to dry. My bag is one of the last one’s left. Even the food table is gone. At least I have one last banana! And a protein smoothie!
I hate to do it, but I have to check the feets: Yep, a big ole blister on my right foot, right where the ball and big toe meet. I thought I could feel something burning in there. My Injinji socks are just trashed, holes in all the toes, soaked in dirt. They just going in the garbage. For my VFFs fortunately one of the women working there finds me a plastic bag. They’re so muddy I don’t even want to throw them on the floor of my cab.
And yeah, kind of anti-climatic. I take a cool down walk around to see if anyone I know is still here, like Jason or Sweet Melissa, but don’t see anybody. Lots o’ people still camped out though. As for me, I have a bed calling my name back in Jackson. Goodbye Woodstock! Goodbye Hell!
After Action Review
What were my expectations?
Well, to finish, and hopefully get under 12 hours. That didn’t happen, but I’m fine with it. I wanted to be better about nutrition, and I think I did that. I was still sweating at the end, and had energy to drive home. This was also a lot cooler than Burning River though.
What actually happened?
The weather was crazy and uncontrollable.
I did not expect to get a blister from the VFFs, but it didn’t hinder me in any way. I thought wearing socks would prevent that, but I also actually hadn’t run with this pair in a while, opting for some newer ones, so if I know I’m going to be using a pair in a race, I should stick with that one pair.
I probably could have run at least one loop barefoot, but super slow, and I just do not want to be any more slower than I already am. Yes, I think going minimalist makes me run more sloppy, which probably causes some foot ache, yet I think my feets would be aching anyways. There’s a temptation to consider wearing something like racing flats, something with some cushion, but when I think about it, I don’t think it’s lack of cushion that makes my feet hurt, and seeing that 100 Miler guy I was running with come in right when I’m leaving me is a good reminder of the horror of shoes, since his toenails are falling out. No way. I’ll take my achy feet.
www.johnyohe.com
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
