Hood To Coast!

Hood To Coast! A 200 mile, two day, relay run starting from Mt. Hood, and going all the way to the Oregon coast. I’d heard of it even before moving to Portland, and knew at some point that I wanted to do it, but with all the apartment hunting and exploring of the city, I didn’t realize the race was actually happening this week until, like, a week ago, by which time it seemed impossible to me that I could sign up. But, I was informed by certain running contacts that teams sometimes need runners at the last minute, and that the best thing I could do was leave my weekend open and tell everyone I knew I was interested, and to check online.

Both the H2C forums associated with the race website, and the FaceBook page, had teams and runners posting info. The forums page didn’t seem to be working, but through sheer chance, I came across a guy named James on FB posting that his team needed a runner, yesterday, the day before the race! I put my name and number and lo and behold, he called, asking if I’d be interested. I of course said yes, and after quickly signing up through the website, I was in! With a group of complete strangers!

The H2C website explains the race, and the rules, and there’s a recent documentary about the race, for those interested. The basics are that each team has twelve runners, who each run three ‘legs’ of varying lengths (four to seven miles) and difficulty (uphill, downhill, length, etc.). Each team submits their estimated pace times beforehand, and based on the overall team pace, is assigned a start time on Friday. I think the way it goes is that slower teams start earlier, so that, ideally, everyone finishes on the beach in Seaside at roughly around the same time, Saturday afternoonish.

Each team has two vans. Our van number #1, with runners one through six, started at 12:15 at Mt. Hood, which is wonderful because, as runner #9, I don’t have to meet up with my fellow van members until 2:30 this Friday afternoon. Finally a race where I don’t have to get up at crazy-thirty!

I get to the house of the Van #2 leader, Bud, a little early, but not too early, and am surprised to be the first one there. I thought he would be one of the runners, but it turns out a recent medical problem has bumped him out, though he will still drive. Instead, his wife Veronica is running his spot, though she’s run the H2C before as well. She doesn’t like running it anymore because she doesn’t like running at night, but is willing to help out, and as runner #12, not only does she get what’s called the ‘glory leg’ (finishing the race) but her night leg is actually only right after sunset.

Gradually the other members arrive, and I find out that actually, none of them really knows each other either. Some are connected in some way to James, who isn’t here (he’s in charge of Van #1), but two, Jen and Christy, seem to just have been signed on somehow, which I hear is common.

We hop in our huge van, donated from Bud’s workplace, and head to the town of Sandy, where we’ll make the exchange with Van #1. And this is why no one is in a big hurry. Runner #7, Christy, isn’t due to start until 5:30-ish, whenever our first six runners get through their first legs. I’m still just trying to learn all this, but most everybody has run H2C before. Christy has done it like three times, and Jen I think nine. Julie has done it a lot too, and usually runs her own team, but didn’t make the luck of the lottery draw this year. I think she’s related to James in some way too though. The other beginner is Donald, our youngest member, at 22, a marine reservist. He’s filling in for his boss, who is injured, and who knows James somehow.

The Sandy Safeway parking lot is a madhouse, filled to capacity with team vans and SUVs, Since the first teams started at like 4:30 this morning, teams have been hanging out for hours already.

We somehow find a parking lot and get out and...wait. This is what I wondered about, the waiting. But it’s also a time to get to know each other, and to zip into the store for last minute items, or just for food and drink. Also just to soak up the atmosphere. Many teams really get into this, with funny names, and themes, and costumes.

Supposedly the names and van decorations aren’t supposed to be too risqué, so as not to offend the sensibilities of some of the more conservative small towns that we basically invade for two days, but there seem to be many that are pushing the boundaries, like for example the all women’s team van decorated with lingerie, or the team called the Human Centipede, based on that movie, and the South Park satire of it, with an actual picture of said human centipede on the side of the van.

Van #1 arrives and I get to briefly meet the folks, including James, who is about the best guy to have as a leader in a large gathering of people, because he’s like seven feet tall, therefore easy to find. I didn’t think about it until now, but I’m not really going to see any of these people, except maybe at the few van trade offs. Which is weird, but ok. I ask Lucas, and another guy who’s name I don’t even remember, how their first legs went, and they both smile and shrug and say they went well. I think they’re both regular marathoners, and James has a Portland Marathon Pacer t-shirt, so this team actually seems pretty strong.

Finally, the runner #6 from our team comes in, and hands off the team wristband to Christy, and she’s off! Now I finally feel like we’ve started, even though it’s been about five hours for Van #1. The good news is that they ran their whole section a half hour faster than predicted. So yay, even though, who knows, by tomorrow surely we’ll be dragging a little?

Our group gets in the van. Van 1 can now afford to rest and take their time, while we must scoot to the next exchange area. Christy is only running about five miles, and by the time we get out of the parking lot chaos, and on the road, and then park in the new parking lot chaos, there’s actually not much time to stand around before she catches up to us and Julie take the wristband on. I’m next! I don’t even go out to see them hand off, wanting to just be ready to go when we get to the next station, so having my Vibram Five Fingers on and using a Honey Bucket for like the third time in an hour.

At the next exchange station, I have a little time, but surprisingly not much. It’s about 6:30 in the evening. My section is almost seven miles, one of the longer legs, and will get on to the beginning of the Springwater Corridor, and huge long bike trail that cuts across most of the east Portland area. I’ve already ridden my bike on it way down in Sellwood, but up here it’s not even in Portland proper. And of course, as the one minimalist/barefoot runner, I get a section marked as my old enemy: Gravel. Thus the VFFs.

One of the volunteers yells out our team number, Four Nine Nine!, and here comes Julie at a good clip! I’ve been pretty calm so far, but now I’m suddenly, strangely, nervous. I mean, it’s only seven miles. I run that almost daily. But, I get the wristband and take off. At this point I’m running on the side of a road, with traffic, no bike lane or anything. Weird that we don’t get lanes closed off for us, but thankfully most of the local traffic seems to be aware of us, and everyone is driving slowly.

I’ve started off super fast, like at 5K pace, which is not sustainable. It’s the team dynamic—I don’t want to let down the team! Must. Run. Fast. To impress. People. I don’t. Know. But, I’m breathing way too heavy, way past aerobic level, so I take some deeps breaths, slow down, and relax a bit. I just can’t go all out for seven miles, though I’m still faster than marathon pace. More like half marathon pace, with the idea of speeding up as I get within two miles.

Another oddness: I get to a traffic light, and it turns red. I’m used to being able to run through these things during races, but apparently not here. There is a volunteer across the street, smiling about me, and I give him a spread-arms gesture, like, Wtf dude? Can I go? But he just keeps smiling, and there are cars, so I stop. Another runner comes up behind me and asks me, ‘Do we have to stop?’ and she doesn’t, just goes right in front of some cars, passing me. After those cars have gone, and the road is clear, I scoot across against the light, past the still smiling volunteer. Later dude!

And with a right turn, I’m suddenly on a gravel road, which turns into a two-track, which is the Springwater Corridor Trail. Oh, speaking of getting passed—there is apparently a term for passing someone during this race: roadkill. Some teams keep track of their roadkills and mark them off on the sides of their vans, though of course no one keeps track of how many times they’ve been passed themselves. As for me, I roadkill a couple guys, but have already been passed by a couple people. One guys labors up to me and says, ‘Wow, it took me an effort to catch up to you.’ I’m not clear why he’s telling me this, but then he asks about the VFFs, and seems shocked when I tell him I actually usually run barefoot.

The trail turns to pavement, of the smooth bike trail variety, which I actually don’t like running on in VFFs. Something about losing the sensitivity in my feet feels like I striker harder, and my feet get sore. There’s a little unofficial dirt trail off to the side, which some shod runners are using, though it’s gravelly. Finally, I’m like, screw this, why am I not running barefoot? So I stop, getting roadkilled twice, and pull off the VFFs, carrying them both (a little awkwardly) in one hand, with my Amphipod bottle in the other. But aahhhh, the sweet feel of barefoot running! And I’m running faster now too! I even roadkill those who roadkilled me!

The trail is mostly deserted except for us runners. No conversation, not like in marathons. We’re all running too fast to talk, and the whole thing feels very competitive. But I do pass a father and his daughter out for a walk. She seems to really be getting into cheering the runners, yelling, ‘Reach the beach!’ to each of us, except with me. After I pass her, she yells, ‘Where’s your running shoes?!’

And again, I reach a stoplight, where the path crosses a main road, and I have to stop and wait while the cars go, though one women remains stopped and waves me across. I wave a thank you and get going, because, looking at my watch, I can’t have far to go. There are no mile markers or anything, but I know I can run seven miles in under an hour. Time to finish strong!

And then I hear cheering up ahead. The exchange station! Then a volunteer, who turns and yells our team number. And there’s Jen! She looks intense and ready to go! I hand off the wristband and she’s off!

And quick to the van. She’s only running like four miles, so we have to scoot to get to the next station in time. And here I was concerned that we would be standing around a lot. Instead, we’re sitting in the van a lot. Ok, well, seems to make time go fast. Sun is getting low on the horizon. Weird that I’ll be running again, but not too soon. At like four in the morning or something!

I didn’t realize how much Jen was creating a fun atmosphere until she’s not here. It’s quiet, none of the rest of us are real good conversationalists, whereas Jen has had a steady stream of funny commentary since we all met up with us. At first I was worried the Bud didn’t really like us, he hasn’t said much, but I think that’s just the way he is. He doesn’t even play the radio, nor has he had any coffee or any form of caffeine. But, that might be about the perfect person for a driver: super serious and focused on his job. I suspect he’s missing the running part, but I’m glad the driver knows where he’s going without too much help.

That said, being both the driver and the timekeeper for the team is a little much, so Christy has stepped up to help out, including writing down our individual times, and doing some kind of math, adding them together somehow. There’s a whole official chart that needs to be filled out and handed in at the end of the race. I’m glad I didn’t get volunteered to do it. I would, without public complaint, but I get motion sickness really bad, and having to read times, and driving directions, would make it that much worse.

At the next station, Julie hands off to Donald, who’s doing like I just did, and starting off super fast, super pumped. But, when we pick him up at the other end, he’s going just as fast. And then he hands off to Veronica, who will take the trail up through Sellwood (and past the Portland roller derby girls playing tonight! I am sad I’m missing that). We proceed into the city and park under Hawthorne Bridge, which is...very industrial. Along with all the cars going by over us, there’s some kind of construction going on, with big diesel graters moving dirt right next to the parking lot. I try opening my door to get some fresh air in, but it’s just too annoying.
We actually do have some time to wait, Veronica is doing a seven mile leg, and here is where the group dynamic comes in, at least for me, because after sitting there for a while, Jen says she wants to get out and stand for a while, and I, wanting to be useful, and maybe being a little tired already, try to inform her that it’s really noisy out there, and she looks at me like, Who the hell are you? And I realize that oops, I have overstepped my bounds. I’m the type of personality that likes to offer suggestions, but that tends to come off as me being pushy or know-it-all. I gotta remember I’m a newbie here, and should just keep my mouth closed and enjoy. So, oops. But it just shows that part of the challenge of this race isn’t the running, but the getting along with each other. Jen and Julie have both shared horror stories of teams that have bumped heads with each other, and that sounds awful. So, I hope I haven’t ruined things and been ‘that guy.’

But, we all get out soon anyway, because the other van is here, to start their second leg. We all meet up and walk out to the river edge, where the runners are coming in. Cool to see the city at night across the river, and weird to have so many people gathered in this area, at night. In fact, the area is so crowded that I don’t even see the switch off. Suddenly there’s Veronica, looking tired and happy, and the Van 1 person is gone. I don’t even know who it is.

We all amble back to the vans. Us Van 2ers are not in a hurry anymore. Now is our rest time, where we’re to proceed to some fairgrounds and supposedly sleep while the Van 1ers go into action. I’m tired. Everyone is tired, except, seemingly, Bud, who is just a driving machine.

We get on I-5, then take the 30 highway west, which goes by all the industrial warehouses in north Portland, and the huge spider-looking machines that unload ships. Very post-apocalyptic in this area, though I’ll soon be moving into my new apartment, only a short ways away, in a nice quietish neighborhood near Forest Park, a huge, tree-filled park, with miles of running trails. But yeah, out here, industrial. And yet, here is the race course, again with runners running on the right side of the road, their backs to traffic, on the side of a highway. No way would I ever run on this road, at any time, and yet people are doing do, with all the regular Friday night traffic, plus the endless vans. It’s now ten-thirty, and I’m just amazed at the stream of runners. Never-ending!

And speaking of traffic, we’re getting a little backed up. It seems there’s been a fire up in St. Helens, and in fact that route has been re-routed an extra mile and a half! That includes all traffic too. The cops have closed off the highway, so we’re all just crawling along, which is brutal, because it’s cutting into and sleep/rest time we’re going to get. We have to be up at 2:30! And the re-route route is a back road, with two way traffic, no shoulder, and runners. In the dark. Crazy. If traffic were actually moving fast, it would be dangerous, but no, we’re barely moving. Fortunately we have Christy with her iPhone, so she can find us a sneaky back way to the fairgrounds.

When we first get to the fairgrounds, I see a huge open grassy area with a few tents and I think, whew, plenty of room to go find a dark quiet corner. But we go past that, and past some kind of other event going on, unrelated, and finally into a big parking lot. And more parking lot chaos. Not only do we have chaos, but people are sleeping (!) in their sleeping bags right in parking spots next to their van, so that when Bud is about to pull into one, he almost runs over some people! Wtf?! That’s fricking crazy!

After Bud parks, I ask, ‘So, where do we go to sleep?’

He looks kind of surprised and says, ‘Here. I’ll probably just catch a catnap here.’

Oy. Wow, this is worse than any fire camp I ever slept in back in my firefighting days. I get out and explore. There are no official sleeping areas, not only that, the whole area is noisy. The runner exchange is on one side of the parking lot, with someone continuously yelling out team numbers through a PA. Next to the lot is some kind of high school event, or church, I’m not sure, but teenagers are doing kareoke (I can’t say singing exactly) up on a stage, also through a loud PA. Plus a generator going, and vans coming and going, with honks, and people yelling to each other. Zoiks.

With a little exploring, I find a strip of pine trees along one side of the parking lot, under which is surprisingly a lot of clear area. And with soft pine needles to lay down on. I’m shocked that the whole area isn’t filled with sleepers, but there’s only a few. Well, if we really can’t go use that whole big empty grassy area only two hundred yards away, then this will have to do.

I go back to the van and grab my bag o’ stuff, making sure to tell Julie and Bud where I’ll be. Everyone seems surprised that I’ve actually found a spot, and only Donald and Jen decide to join me. We find a flat spot, behind the trees, right up against a chainlink fence and spread out our sleeping bags. We have about three hours. We have to get up at 2:30 to be ready to go at three.

And though the pine needles are soft, we are only ten feet from where cars are parking, so that sometimes headlights are shining right on us. Kareoke is going strong—some girl is singing “I Love Rock and Roll” and there’s just noise: People coming and going, talking right by us, yelling at each other. Jesus, do they not realize that some people are trying to sleep? And my favorite: a car alarm goes off, and no one seems to be near to turn it off. Sweet. Yeah, I’m not sure I’m going to sleep.

I set my watch alarm, hopefully correctly. Jen and Donald are relying on me to wake them up. Great. Still, despite the continuous noise, I kinda sorta manage to drift off every once in a while, and for a blessed amount of time, there’s even a moment of relative calm. Still, I’m getting continuously woken. But at least I’m able to stretch out and at least relax my body. I’m way more sore than seven miles should make me. It’s not the running, it’s the running then sitting in a van for hours.

Finally I’m just kind of up, and look over at our van, and see Julie (or Katherine? Argh, I’m getting names mixed up) getting ready. It’s only two o’clock, so I quietly get up and go over and ask her what’s going on, only to find that Christy is already out at the exchange area, ready to run. Wow, we’re early.

So I go back over and gently wake up Donald and Jen, both of whom seem to have slept better than I. Jen sits up straight, dazed-looking, not even knowing where she’s at. We gather our stuff and head over to the fan. Jen says that’s the first time she’s ever actually slept during a H2C.

And somehow Bud is ready to go. I have no idea if he even slept at all, but he just looks calm and focuses still. A machine!

I don’t even see the other van this time. We gotta get going. Christy will be done in less than an hour.

And traffic continues to be slow, and even backed up. The problem (or, one problem) seems to be that some of the parking areas at the exchanges are on the opposite side of the road, so that vans have to cut across the running line to get in. So if there’s runners coming, we have to wait, while more vans pile up behind. Not only that, but the parking areas are small and crowded, with varying degrees of volunteer competence in getting people in and out (though for the record, all the volunteers rock for doing this, especially those who drew this late night lot).

But the backed up traffic becomes such a problem that runners and time keepers have to get out of the vans and run up to the exchange areas. Sometimes people running the leg run by with the person they’re supposed to exchange with! It’s madness. And yet, getting out of the van early is apparently against the rules, with a penalty of a half hour added to total team time. Which is crazy, because what else is a team supposed to do? It’s not like we’re dicking around getting a pizza or something between stations.

At exchange 21, Bud tells me to hop out and proceed up. Fortunately I’m ready to go. So I say good bye to everyone and Christy and I head up. Julie comes in, and I’m off.

Again, this section is gravel road. All gravel. So I’ve got the VFFs on, but I think I should’ve at least brought my Merrell Trail Gloves. This is going to be brutal on my feet, because I can’t even see where my feet are landing. I don’t have a headlamp, just carrying a flashlight, but even then, with all the vans going by, there’s a huge dust cloud. So, I’m basically running blind. The only advantage to the vans is that their headlights let me see a little. Despite all that, I still feel the urgency of running fast and not letting down my team. This leg’s only five miles, there’s no way I’m going to take more than an hour.

But man, sometimes I’m just slamming down on rocks. Trying to run light and quick, but it’s fricking four-thirty in the morning.

At one moment, one glorious moment, no vans are around, and no other runners nearby, and I am alone, with the stars huge and bright above me. Up ahead, the small red and white lights of runners, though they seem like fireflies, or fairies, or elves. Magic.

Then another convoy of vans comes through, and a couple super fast runners roadkill me easily. Grr. Really, for this section, a barefoot runner needs the right tool, and the right tool is something with a thick, perhaps cushiony, sole. Hate to say it, but true. Although, that said, throughout the day I have seen a fair amount of VFFs, plus some folks in zero-drop shoes, and at least one person in huaraches. So, there are others out there.

Although I was groggy before, once I’ve been running, I warm up, and wake up. In fact, I’m in total mindfulness mode, trying to get all my focus on the feet, avoiding pokes as best I can. And then, lights ahead, and the yelling of numbers. A volunteer asks my number, I yell it to her, and she yells it to someone else, and there is Jen, ready to go again. Good to see her. I hand off and she’s gone.

Christy is the only one here, everyone else is back at the van, catching cat naps. We hop in quick and get on the road, because Jen doesn’t have far to go, and it’s mostly all downhill too. But again, traffic is just slow and backed up. Bud is getting frustrated. Everyone is. The veterans say that this is the worst the traffic has ever been. It certainly makes things less fun, being trapped in the van all the time. We, and other teams, just have our runners hop out of the van and run up the road to the exchange areas. At this point, the runners are all moving faster than the vans.

People in back are dozing off, but since I’m sitting in the front passenger seat, I kinda feel obligated to stay awake and help Bud stay awake, though I’m too groggy to come up with any kind of small talk, really. And I’m not sure Bud even needs or wants that. In fact, that might even annoy him. But I at least want another set of eyes awake. But man am I tired. I’m glad that last year I ran the Burning River hundred mile ultra—there are a lot of similarities. I think that race helped me with the mental stuff for this race, and I can also see how this race would help someone prepare for an ultra. Just shows how races in general help make us better, stronger, runners. Even for example, a marathon. If someone can get through Hood To Coast, I think they’ll have enough physical and mental strength to get through one.

After finally rotating through our Van runners, we head to the next van exchange area, but again, by the time we actually get there and parked, we only have at most two hours before our first runner has to go again. But we take advantage of it. Bud and Veronica go to the sleeping area. Others get in line for the Honey Buckets, which is so long, it might possibly take two hours to get through.

Me? I’m getting breakfast. I need real food, not another Clif Bar. There’s a place here, not even a restaurant, seems like a family kinda selling stuff out of their garage, where one can get french toast and muffins and chips and stuff. I’m totally down for french toast at this point. If fear getting sick later, but my body seems to say it’s ok now. I go minimal on the Mrs. Butterworth though. I even break my vegetarian diet and consume some bacon. Just sounds fricking good right now.

After another Honey Bucket stop, at a different parking lot, with a little less people, when I arrive back at the van, Christy is the only one there, and she’s worried. The other van is here, and their runner is coming in early, and no one else is around. Plus she’s only running like four miles, so we need to really scoot to make the next exchange. She goes off to be ready to run. Donald finally shows up and agrees to stay at the van while I go try to find people, but the only one I find is Julie.

The exchange is made. James finds our van, be we haven’t found anyone else. We’ve texted Bud, but I bet he’s off sleeping somewhere. James finally makes a round and finds them, and the others drift in. So, later, we pull out and try and get to the next station, though again, we have no time to even park, our next runner just gets out of the van and goes.

The sun is out, and heating things up. My third leg is another seven miles, this time on pavement, but so far the roads have been fairly shady. So, I’m thinking barefoot. My only worry is that the pavement will get too hot and I’ll get blisters. But I think it’ll be ok. Still, I start off with VFFs. Not sure why, since after about 100 meters, I’m like, grarrr! get me out of these things! And it’s fine, wonderful even. Shady, plus the pavement is new, and there’s a brand new white line along the side which will keep things even cooler. Some hills. I end up going back and forth with this woman. She roadkills me on the uphills, then I catch her on the downhills.

Things are going so great that when the van drives by and Bud yells out, ‘Want us to take your shoes?’ I’m like, yes, let’s do it.

But a quarter mile after they leave, the pavement suddenly turns very rough and point. Argh! No! I mean, like painful. My speed suffers, and that woman roadkills me for the final time. I’m still running, even fairly quick, but not like before, and I’m not sure I can take another five miles of this. Damn. Damn damn damn. Plus the road gets less shady, and therefore more hot. Plus more little pebble grit things. Argh. I’m getting roadkilled now.

But then, a miracle: the pavement turns smooth again! Yes! I just pour on the power, following that cool white line! I will not be passed anymore. This is it, my last leg, and I’m full of energy. Time to leave it all out on the course. Roadkill time! By the time I see the exchange area, I’m almost sprinting. My feet may regret it later, but that’s ok.

After Jen heads off, I wobble-follow Veronica through the crowd. People are just now seeing my feet and gasping. Ok, I feel good that I’ve done some representin’! Veronica is amazed. She’s apparently not even heard of barefoot running before this.

I’m done. Now I just have to wait it out, while we do the last few exchanges. Now that the Van 1s are all done, and headed to Seaside, the route is much much clearer. In fact, those bastards in Van are now at the beach, swimming, while we’re still running!

Donald’s last leg is seven miles, and he comes in dripping sweat and kinda of pale looking. I’m a little worried, but he doesn’t faint or anything. Veronica heads off, and so do we. Next stop, the coast!

We park in Seaside, and walk six blocks through town to the huge tent city out on the sand, where the runners are coming in. But by the time we get there, and find James and crew, Veronica is already there! And, though she’s really already officially finished, time-wise, there’s this weird process where we all get into a chute, wait for our name and number to be called, then trot out in the sand to run the celebratory hundred feet to the celebratory finish line. Kinda of anti-climatic. I thought we would actually wait for her out on the course and run in with her for the last quarter mile maybe. But oh well. We’re done! We collect our medals! Does feel good to have us all gathered together, though some of the Van 1ers are already in bathing suits and seem already mentally ready to go.

I too am ready to go. My sister and her family have come out and are waiting for me down the beach. But, we go through another chute, get an official group photo taken, and then gather at a table in the food court while James groggily tries to figure out all the times, and add them together and compare it to the stopwatch time. I’m not sure what exactly that entails, but he apparently has to turn in our time. Turns out we finished an hour earlier than anticipated! I guess that has to do with all the substitutions, but that’s ok. In fact, weirdly, we’ve done so well that we’ve pushed ourselves out of the time, a half hour on either side of the predicted time, in which the group earns a guaranteed place for next years race! I don’t understand that quite, but ok.

The big question, which Donald and I have been asking each other, is, Will we do it again next year? And at this point, I don’t know. Has this been fun? I think so, though the traffic was awful, and I didn’t like spending most of my time in the van. But, I don’t know, the whole experience has been fascinating, and challenging. The mental aspect more than the physical. I think to, although overall this group has been great, that to do the race with a group of people you actually know would be even funner, as would getting more into the fun and humor and having a funny group name and theme. Not sure. Not saying I want to wear a red dress the whole time, but some groups just seemed to be having an awesome time. I think though, once I’ve recovered, it’ll be like a marathon, and I’ll think, Hell, yeah, I gotta do that again!

PS-We finished 31/360 teams in our division and 177/1068 overall!

Prepare To Die! Pacific NW(ish) meet-up

Photo: Mike, Janson, Jen, Chris, Katherine, John (me)

Perhaps it’s the name of the run that keeps the numbers down: “Prepare To Die!” sounds, well, intimidating. As is the description: twenty miles total. Ten miles up to the top of Larch Mountain, and then back down, on apparently very rocky trails, the kind that would be intimidating to regular shod runners, only we’re a bunch of crazy barefoot runners. Not only that, but this isn’t even a ‘real’ paid-for event. We’re all volunteers. Madness. Only weirdoes from Oregon would do something like this!

As a newly arrive transplant from Michigan, I am gradually becoming a weirdo. I ran with some of the people on this run last week, for a much shorter jaunt: Jen, Mike, and Chris, all of whom have driven a ways—an hour past the other side of Oregon to be here. The new faces are Katherine, who is not even a Barefoot Running Society member, yet, but who somehow came across the FaceBook announcement. She’s from Gresham/Portland, and has had the shortest drive.

Also joining us is Janson, from Washington, who drove like three hours to be here. After coming down for a few meet-ups in the Portland area, he and Jen came up with the idea of doing a meet-up run somewhere between the Oregon and Washington folks, so as to make this an actual Pacific Northwest-ish meet-up. Alas, all the other possible Washington folks have bailed. Bawk bawk!

We are in ‘The Gorge’, along the Columbia River, east of Portland about a half hour, meeting at Horsetail Falls, one of many falls along the southern ‘cliffs’, including the more well-known Multnomah Falls down the road. There’s a small parking lot, with the falls right here, pouring off a cliff right next to the road. My fear/prediction for this run is that it will actually end up a hike, since from the maps Jansen printed up, it looks like we’re just going uphill the whole way.

And I’m definitely going minimalist for this one. A quick scout trip up our trail shows that it’s very rocky. Perhaps doable barefoot, but at a slow slow pace, and I want to be able to hang with people. Plus, twenty miles of that would be brutal. Well, shoes are a tool, right? I think I need a tool for this one. The others opt for minimalist as well. Katherine and I both have VFFs, the rest have various forms of huaraches. Only Mike is going to try barefoot, though he’s packing both a pair of huaraches and his Merrills Trail Gloves in his backpack. We’ll see how far he gets!

After a quick review of the route, we’re off. The trail does go uphill immediately, but after a hundred feet or so levels off, and parallels the road, side hill, though still with plenty of up and down. Jansen, Katherine and I seem to be the ones willing to go a little quicker, with Chris and Mike sometimes catching up to us. Jen steadily brings up the rear, making sure there are no stragglers!

We run over to Multnomah Falls and turn left, uphill. I’ve actually been here before, on a family trip, and there are plenty of families and people in general along this part of the (paved) trail, which takes us up to the very top of the falls. Basically we’ll follow this trail all the way to Larch Mountain. As we leave the river behind, less and less people are on the trail, though notably we’re already seeing other (shod) runners coming downhill.

Mike quickly changes into huaraches, and while not as weird as all of us being barefoot, all of us being minimalist is still cool. People notice, some even ask polite questions. This is the value of these meet-ups: being with other like-minded folks, and also having ‘normal’ people see us in action, so they can see minimalist running isn’t just for lone nut-jobs. In fact, nut-jobs run in packs.

We have definitely formed into two packs: the fast folks and the slowpokes, though us fast folks take occasional breaks so as to allow the others to catch up. And yes, now we’re doing more hiking/walking than running. Which is still ok, but at one point, an hour and a half in, we figure out that we’re only like three miles in. Yikes. This is going to be a long day.

Fortunately the area is gorgeous. Besides the falls and running water, I still can’t get used to the HUGE trees here. Perhaps not super tall necessarily, but thick. They have girth. The whole place is lush, and this is in the dry part of the summer. In the winter this must be like a rainforest.

And yeah, this trail is rocky, in many senses of the word. Both with gravelly grit, and rough rocky bumps. At this point, we all seem to be ok with that, if the going is a little slow, but if all twenty miles are like this, my feets will be a little sore. This is where I might bust out my Merrills, or my soon to arrive Luna Leadvilles. I wonder out loud if Barefoot KenBob would really run over this stuff? Apparently trying to make ourselves feel better, we begin to disparage all the California barefooters, claiming they just run on the beach all the time.

After hiking for so long, going back into run mode is both mentally and physically hard, but with two miles to go to the top, we get into thicker pines, and the trail turns to dirt and needles. Excellent! At this point, Jansen has dropped behind and Chris has come up with Katherine and I, and we soon arrive at first a picnic grounds in the trees, then a parking lot. Yes, kind of takes away from the feeling of glory, coming all this way on foot, and then being in a parking lot with a bunch of people who just drove. Or maybe not. Maybe feeds my ego and helps me feel superior.

After a short wait, the rest of the pack arrives, and we take a small quarter-mile detour to go out to the vista point at the very top of the mountain, which is totally worth it: We can see for miles, including up to Mount Ranier in Washington, but with Mt. Hood huge to the east. And down into the Gorge, which seems to have its own weather going on, filled with clouds. And way to the south east is a large wildfire plume. Ah...I used to go to those things. No more. But what a wonderful view, and a wonderful way to see Oregon, for someone newly arrived like me.

And now the easy part, we hope. Down. We’re doing a loop, taking a different trail on our return, which we catch a little ways down the paved road. And yes! It too is dirt and pine needles. I think all of us are so relieved to have good running terrain that we just take off, barreling down. We quickly cover two or three miles this way, before the trail started to get more rocks, and be a little bit overgrown. Hm, way less used. As point man, I’m getting all kinds of spider webs in my face. Fortunately I mostly spot the really big spiders, the kind that look like they could catch birds. Or, as Newt says in the movie Aliens, ‘Mostly:’ After going face first through one, I feel something skittering across my neck, and a little prick. Argh! Scheisse! Of all the places to be bit by a large poisonous spider! The poison with go right to my brain! But then nothing seems to happen, I don’t black out or anything.

I’m now in the fast pack with Jansen and Katherine, and the trail is just getting more and more overgrown. I’d almost say we weren’t even on an official trail except that we come upon a Forest Service log bridge over a big river. We check our maps and guestimate where we are. We should be on one main trail for the majority of the way down, and we haven’t seen any turn-offs, no other trails, so we think we know where we’re going, but man, the trail just gets thick, with eroded out holes, barely visible through the underbrush. We are walking slowly. Yeah, this is going to be a long day.

Finally we reach a Forest Service sign at an intersection, with an arrow pointing us to Multnomah Falls. After consulting our maps once again, we proceed on. The trail clears, but it’s back to rockiness, and our legs and feet are just so hammered that running on anything but the most minimal rocks is just painful. So, we’re still walking a lot.

And walking.

And walking.

We’re definitely in a ravine, that definitely leads out to the Gorge, and we think we’re almost out, when we get to another intersection, which says Multnomah Falls is still three miles away. Wtf?! We check our maps again, and Jansen finally figures out that we actually took a wrong turn way way back at the top of the mountain, and have in fact taken a different trail, which, though it got us to where we want to be, added three miles. Doh. Wow, I can’t believe I didn’t catch it, me the former wildland firefighter, and backpacking enthusiast, but, I think we were all too happy to be running at the top to really stop and check and see if we needed to be taking any turns. Nor did any of us ever see any intersection or turn offs, but I know with how fast I was going, and how in the zone I was, that I could have easily passed something. Luckily we didn’t end up half way to Albuquerque or something. I only hope the slow pack didn’t do what we did. If they didn’t, they may even finish before us. If they did, I’m a little worried they’ll eve make it out by dark. Gulp.

And still, we’re walking. My legs are hammered, especially the tops of my calves. Shin splints? Not sure. Just really sore. And yeah, the bottoms of my feets are a little sick of getting poked and prodded. Katherine is the same way, though Jansen has on Mike’s Merrills, so may be in a little better shape. Still, the three of us are all marathoners, so I know we can make it. I’m still just a little worried about the other pack, since twenty miles is the longest some (or all) of them have ever done. I feel mother hen-ish, but what if someone falls and gets injured? Argh. Well, this was called ‘Prepare To Die!’.

Even when we’re almost to the bottom, and turn right to go the last mile and a half side-hill, even then we can’t run. I know we ran through on our way up, but the rocks are now just too much, too painful. We’re walking, picking our way through the worst of them. I can’t even appreciate the waterfalls. I just want to be done!

And then, finally, we are done. There is the parking lot. Yes! But uh oh, Mike’s car is still there. I fear they may have taken our scenic route as well. Seven o’clock. Man. Nine hours. Long day. And Jansen still has to drive three hours home. We decide to leave a note (as well as Mike’s shoes) on his car, telling them to call or text me that they’re still alive, and we figure also that Jen will post on FaceBook. Originally, before, when we all thought this run wouldn’t kick our collective asses, we’d discussed meeting at a brewery down the road, but the three of us decide to just get going. We’re like hours past when we thought we’d finish.

So, with an exchange of contact info, and a hope that we will all run together again, we bid adieu. And man, the drive back to Portland is even more spectacular, with the sun setting on the Gorge, and all the ospreys hanging out in their big nests on the water. I look up at those cliffs and think, I hiked up way past those things today! Overall, even with the added miles and hours, a wonderful day, most especially because of being with like-minded minimalist weirdoes.

PS-Mike texts me later so say they made it out! And yep, they took the wrong turn too.

The disinformation continues....

If you can bear it, here's another article by a so called expert doctor who claims to have done research on barefoot running, without, apparently, checking any of his info with, say, a barefoot runner.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/rami-hashish/barefoot-running-the-science-behind-the-fad_b_1773692.html?utm_hp_ref=fb&src=sp&comm_ref=false#sb=2356509,b=facebook

If he'd bothered, he would have been informed that barefoot runners do NOT land on the forefoot. We come down flat on the whole foot, using our arches for what they were evolved for.

Coming up: A review of my "Prepare To Die!" 20 mile run/meetup with BF runners from Oregon and Washington!

Cheers,

John

Missoula Marathon

Wow, where are we going? I’m on the shuttle bus, heading west on I-90, to the start of the Missoula Marathon. The course is point-to-point: We basically start 25 miles west of town and make our way back following the Clark Fork River Valley (The Clark Fork of the ____ River). But the ride seems really really long. I mean, I guess twenty five miles does take a half hour, but it’s an unexpected reminder that yep, a marathon is a long way.

I stumbled on this race by chance—just in town to visit my friend Jena on my way out to Portland. And, since the race wasn’t sold out, I was able to sign up yesterday at the expo. And I figured, why not the full? Only costs ten more dollars than the half. The only problem being that I haven’t really trained, or run, much in the last month, with being on the road. But I have been doing a lot of backpacking, carrying fifty pounds on my back for ten miles, for three days, surely must count for something! But, I’m fairly certain that I will finish—I did run a marathon about a month ago, and I did some others before then, and at this point, three years into running heavily, I have the ‘mental’ part down (meaning that I may be ‘mental’ to want to run marathons, but ok). No, really, it’s just a question of how much time this will take.

We arrive in Frenchtown, a little village with a gas station, some restaurants, some bars, and a small casino (which are ubiquitous in Montana). The bar even looks open at five o’clock in the morning Because, oh yeah, the race starts at six. Brutal. Although giving the advantage of cool temps Supposed to get up in the 90s late in the afternoon, but right now it’s about 60, and I’ll be done sometime after ten. Still early!

I’m starting to like the organizers, because they have arranged for a plethora of ‘blue lagoons’ here—I don’t even have to get in line! Yes! And, fireworks! Which, the announcer dude says, will go off on every quarter hour. These are going off to start the five o’clock start for the marathon walkers: silhouettes right now, though some of those silhouettes seem to be running!

And...we just wait around. I’ve come in on one of the early busses, more pull in every ten minutes or so. I’m got a ‘shell’ jacket on, and my moccasins, and am warm enough. The race organizers have given us drop bags, so we can ditch our cold weather clothes and pick them up at the finish. Nice. I wait through two more sets of fireworks before stuffing the jacket and mocs in and dumping my bag in a box, leaving me with just shorts and a t-shirt. Yep, no shoes. I have barely an idea of what this course is like, but I feel it a moral imperative to run this barefoot, and show these Montucky folks how we do things back in Michigan.

I think we are under five hundred runners, though not sure on exact numbers. There are also relayers. I did hear that the halfers, who are starting at the same time only half-way up the line, number close to 3,000! But, at the expo I asked, and was told, that the course is all on pavement. Good enough! No gravel! I think my feet bottoms are actually in good shape, since much of the hiking and backpacking I’ve being doing has been barefoot. But, we’ll see what kind of pavement actually happens. The course is overall flat though, and we are basically going downriver, so a long gradual downhill overall. Yes, with all the gorgeous mountains around here, we are sticking to the flatlands.

Did I say gorgeous? This is good country. My impression of the people who live here are of folks who like the outdoors: hikers, boaters, mountain bikers, campers—plus ranchers, and those most filthy of all beasts, wildland firefighters.

As an added bonus, Missoula is apparently 60% women, and as my friend Jen told me, ‘They’re all cool.’ The ones gathered here are certainly pleasing to the eye. I will say no more, at the risk of saying something inappropriate. But goddamn, women who run are just...yowza.

We finally line up. I’m already hearing the faint, and not so faint, whispers of, ‘That guy’s barefoot!’, although, it’s respectful, followed sometimes with, ‘That’s awesome!’

BOOM!

We all duck. What the hell was that? Oh, there is apparently a starting cannon. I thought Al-Quaida was attacking. Bout gave me a heartattack!

We’re off! I’m back in the 4:30 zone. I’d be happy to finish in this time, but I’m also just going to warm up and maybe speed up after a while. And yeah, the road is....well, it’s not super rough, but if the whole course is like this, I may be going a little slow at the end. It’s ok now, but I’m just thinking about when my feets get more on the raw side later on. We’re also running in one lane, so that running on the paint line is not as convenient, though ha, that said, people seem to be spreading out to both lanes anyways. Kinda have to, since some people, especially those darn Marathon Maniacs!, tend to run four abreast, so that we solo folks have to scoot around them. But even the paint line isn’t that much more smooth. Oh well. It is what it is.

Some more comments from runners. I wave when I hear them. Some people, guys, sometimes sidle up to me and half ask, half comment, on the bare feet. Stuff like, ‘That must hurt, huh?’ Well, no, it must not if I’m doing it, right? I never know if they’re being sincere, or kind of passive-aggressive, but I try to be polite. I’d be more than happy to talk and explain my reasons for running barefoot, but nobody ever asks why. I think they just assume I’m trying to be a badass, when really it’s the opposite: two years of plantar fasciitis made me incapable of running in shoes without pain, so I just got rid of the shoes.

Orange cones sit in the middle of the road, with ‘Runners Keep Right’ signs on them. One guy, obsessed with staring down at his GPS watch, runs right into one and does a face plant on the pavement. He’s ok, so it’s funny. I think there’s a lesson there though. Jena and I had convo yesterday about ‘associative’ and ‘disassociative’ runners, or running, and how associative types are the ones who are good at discipline, and keeping track of speed, and distance, and planning, whereas she and I are disassociative types, where running becomes a form of meditation, a place to ‘zone out’ and think. The associative types are the ‘better’ runners, but I think we have more fun. And, you know, we don’t fall over cones.

As I warm up, I’m moving up in the pack, passing the 4:15 mob, and then there’s the 4:00 mob up ahead. Do I dare? Why not? I push it, getting ahead of them, though really, despite my multiple potty breaks before the race, I’m having to urinate again. Argh. Well, the good thing is that out here there is forest and trees to do so. Poor women. They simply can’t take advantage of this. Though, of course, I’m the wimp who can’t hold his bladder.

Meaning I end up back behind the 4:15 mob again, but grr, no, I will pass them a second time! The 4:00 pacer dude is actually wearing Five Fingers, and I’ve heard some rumors that one of the other pacers up ahead is wear flips-flops, which I suspect are actually huaraches. I also overhear a convo, inspired by me, about a previous Missoula Marathon, in which the woman who came in third overall did so barefoot. Right on!

Good news: the road gets a lot smoother! Yes! Oh please let it be like this all the way in!

The community seems to be getting into this race. We’re still out in boonies, with cows and horse and ranches, though also with ‘regular’ homes with grass lawns surreal-y plopped down in the middle. But people are coming out and sitting in chairs, or in backs of pickups, cheering us on. And even better, they’re setting out their sprinklers to give us some cool misting. The air isn’t super hot, but still feels good.

And lo! As we get on in miles, a hill! And then it plateaus out. And then it’s a hill again. The road gets a little rougher in here, and I’m zig-zagging back and forth to find the smoothest parts, and I end up kinda cutting off a woman behind me, who’s just coming up straight. I apologize, and try to explain, and she’s cool about it. We talk a little She’s down from Helena, and has a funny line about ‘seizing the hill’ though the hill seems to be seizing us. But we do not walk!

She zips on ahead, alas, as the course levels out. Somewhere in here is where the halfers joined in. They started on a side road, ran a couple miles, then merged in here, and are way up ahead by now. I’ve been passing walkers this whole time. Gotta give it up for them. They’re going to be out here all day. Seems like if I were going to walk 26 miles, I’d go out in the woods, but the view is still gorgeous, and I can tell that this is a goal for many of them. The ‘signing up’ part, and spending the money, helps motivate them to actually do it.

Aid stations are every two miles here, and will turn into every mile later on. Very cool. Another kudo to the organizers. I’m carrying my Amphipod bottle, but really didn’t need it for this one.

13.1! Check the stopwatch: 1:58. Ok, well, that’s ok. If I can maintain any semblance of this pace, I’ll actually be doing a lot better than I expected! Legs are feeling a little weak—they haven’t been used like this in a while. Am I heading to a total blowout? As of now, I’m basically neither passing nor being passed, mostly. Except for the damn relayers, who come sprinting by. Or, I think they’re relayers. Can’t see their bibs, but because of that, they make me feel like I’m slowing down. Grr.

Yes, the slog has begun. We are getting more into the suburb-ish area of Missoula, with house and lawns, though there are of course the occasional ponderosa pines, and a fair amount of shade. Heat still not a problem, especially with the still generous sprinkler set ups from some people.

I pass a house where a large family is hanging on their porch watching, and a little girl says, loudly, ‘Daddy, why is that man have no shoes?’ I laugh, which the family sees, which makes them all laugh.

I’m getting a lot of ‘Good jobs’ and ‘Wow, barefoot!’s’ both from other runners, but a lot now from the onlookers. People love it. Maybe for the wrong reasons (i.e. that it’s hardcore and difficult and something they could never do) but I’ll take it. I’m feeling good though. Haven’t been caught by the 4:15 pacer, so am somewhere behind a 4:00 finish. Nice! And, I think I can even sustain this pace. I’m going to do better on this marathon, which I didn’t train for, than the Ann Arbor marathon a month ago, which I at least made some semblance of training for. Go figure.

Except, with our entry into the burbs, the roads get a little rougher. Again, not paralyzing, yet, but not my precious smooth road from earlier. But, more paint lines, and even sometimes some sidewalks. But also sometimes just having to grin and bear it, bending my legs, getting my cadence up, and trying not to spend too much time touching the ground. Ha.

There hasn’t been much music so far—nothing organized anyway, but now we’re getting the occasional single person, men and women, playing an african drum. One in particular has a good steady beat, really gets me in a different state of mind. Hard to describe, but it seems to summon some energy in me. Not so much that I’m up for speeding up, but a steady kind—I’m going to be able to keep this pace. Probably even speed up at the end, as I like to do.

As I’m coming up on one man standing on the sidelines, he yells out, “Hey, another barefoot runner!”

I do a double take. “There’s more of us up ahead?”

“Yep. Another guy.”

“Ok, thanks.”

Cool. I wonder if I’ll seem him.

More people lining the roads, cheering us on. With about four miles to go, the course does a bunch of zigging and zagging in town south of the river, so friends and relatives can be out here and still be able to head to the finish line before their runner. My name gets called out, which surprises me. It’s one of Jena’s friends who I met the other night, sitting on the curb. I don’t’ remember her name, but I say hello. Nice to be recognized. And a little ways up, one of the volunteers says hello—another friend of Jena’s. Nice to know someone in the know!

And at the 24 mile mark, what should I hear but, “Hey barefoot runner!” Here’s Jena herself, done with the half and still finding the energy to come out and cheer me on. She gives me a hug real quick, an energy boost for the final stretch, and she says she’ll see me at the end.

Feels like the runners around me are feeling the same way as I. Seems like we’re all picking up our pace a bit Except for one young woman who is walking. Her boyfriend is on a bicycle next to her, talking to her. “Come on, don’t get discouraged.” Which, to my mind, sounds like the last thing she needs to hear right now. But who knows, I don’t know them. Seems like he could be more positive though.

Passing lots of walkers too, from the halfer pack. One older woman has just way too much energy, singing and raising her arms, talking with onlookers. But cool.

I’m picking up my pace, though unsure when to kick in the afterburners, we’re making so many turns, I don’t have a clear sense of how far out we are, until I see the street sign coming up: Higgins. That’s it! That’s the home stretch up into downtown. I make the left and yep, there’s the Finish Line up across the bridge. With the sounds of ‘Go barefoot runner!’ I switch into leave-it-all-out-on-the-course mode. Fortunately the road it blessedly smooth. I can increase my stride, and my foot strike.

Onlookers on both sides now, and when they see me sprinting in barefoot they cheer. I’m passing some trudgers and walkers. There’s Jena on the right. We give each other a double thumbs up, and I sprint on in! There’s a preliminary chip-reader strip, so the announcer can call out people’s names as they come in, but I’m going too fast. He does get in a, “And here comes a barefoot runner!’ right before I cross.

And I cross!

Whew! Kinda woozy, but I get my medal—in the shape of a horseshoe, ha. I think I’m a little bit more dehydrated than I thought—the thought of drinking even water makes me nauseous, and ditto for food, except that (and this is the best thing about the race, and another kudo to the organizers) along with the more traditional free food, they have popsicles made out of real watermelon. So good.

My time: 4:06. Heck yeah I’ll take that. That’s pretty good for me, and about a half hour better than I thought I’d do. I’ll have to not train for marathons more often.

Jena finds me. We hang out in the tent and eat multiple popsicles while I rest and let my muscles totally stiffen. A couple fellow finishers approach me and congratulate me on the barefoot finish. A few people are walking around barefoot, though I think they’re just airing out their feets after the race. Still, I’d argue that if it feels so good to shed the shoes after the race, why not shed them before? But I don’t spot that other barefoot runner.

Jena and I head over to the nearby park, where they’re already handing out trophies to the various winners, for age and overall. And man, the men and women in their 60s and 70s do not look like they’re in their 60s and 70s at all. I want to be like them when I grow up. Everybody looks young and fit, especially the young and fit ones. Over all winner was around 2:30, a tall skinny guy in his early twenties, but most impressive are the two women who won second in their age categories, and this was their first marathon!

My feets are ok. Dirty of course, but not that raw, except for my usual soft spot on left ball of my foot, and even then that’s not too bad. Overall, a very fun marathon!

Being Barefoot Podcast Interview

Please head on over to Chris Yourkin's Being Barefoot site to hear his interview with me about the barefoot living. This is less about barefoot running and more about just living barefoot. It's Episode 3:

http://www.beingbarefootpodcast.com/bbp-episodes/

Ann Arbor Marathon

I wish I could say I have a home town advantage today for the Ann Arbor Marathon, but the only advantage I really have is knowing where to park. Still, I’m happy to be here, though a little sad because this is my last race in Michigan. I’m glad to leave on a high note like this.

I guess I feel more confident going into this, knowing that I’ve run most of the route at some point in my three years in Ann Arbor, so that I know I’ll be able to run this barefoot with no problem, despite my not being in the shape I’d like, and not having my 100% summer hobbit feet.

The race starts outside The Big House, the U of M Stadium, and will end here on the fifty yard line, which will rock. In the meantime, we’ll be running all over Ann Arbor. This isn’t a loop course, there’s a lot of ‘out and back’. It’s also early, 6:45 (!), with the halfers starting at seven. We seem a meager bunch of marathoners lining up. When I picked up my bib and t-shirt yesterday, the list of people signed up was only like three columns, and it’s possible to sign up even this morning. I’ve been told that’s normal for a first marathon, but still, given the size of the city, and the proximity to the Detroit area, I would’ve thought more folks would be here. The price might have something to do with that, at a whopping $100, though that seems to be getting the norm. At least for this one I think most of that money goes to charity, not to the race directors.

I’m trying something new-ish: starting towards the back, and slower. I’m tired of starting super fast, then getting passed the whole race. That’s just mentally brutal on my ego. I’m going to see what it’s like to pass people for most of the race. I think though, that that will put me at a slower pace overall, because there does seem to be an advantage to starting fast and strong and taking advantage of the adrenaline. But not this time! I’m lining up right behind the 4:20 pacer, and see where that takes me.

The weather is warm, already this morning. There was a thunderstorm last night west of here, but the streets are dry in this area. Very muggy though. Even with the cloud cover, I think we’re going to running through hot soup. Many guys are already going shirtless, though one poor muslim woman is dressed head to toe, including a head scarf. Brutal.

And, with the ringing of the air horn, we are off. No starting in stages for this one. And everyone around me seems to be doing the same strategy—starting slow. I feel no adrenaline rush at all, really, maybe due to the familiarity of the terrain, and/or the smallness of the pack.

I was wondering if there’d be any more barefooters here, and soon I start hearing comments from some of the onlookers about a barefoot guy just ahead of me. We take a right on Liberty, a street I’ve walked many a time, particularly to go to Jerusalem Garden here on the right. Best mideastern food in the city, and maybe best food period. This is the point where the halfers break off. I haven’t seen any of them, I was wondering if some of the faster ones might catch us, but it’s still really early. They’ll all be done before I even get to Mile 20.

We do a zig and a zag and end up on Geddes, downhill, heading for the river area, I spot the barefooter. He’s someone I haven’t seen before. I shuffle up and say, “Nice shoes.” (Barefooters can say that to each other, because it involves irony).

He looks down at my feet and laughed. “Hey! Nice! Now they can’t say I’m a freak out here.”

“Well, I think we’re still freaks.”

He’s running with a friend, who’s name I don’t catch, who’s running in some kind of minimalist shoes. They’re from Grand Haven area and actually not part of the Barefoot Running Society Michigan Chapter, though I do my best to sell it. The barefoot guy is Mike, and this is his first full barefoot marathon. We chat a while, exchanging info, then I move on ahead for a little bit.

Geddes is kinda rough. I’m trying to run on the middle paint line, which is much smoother. But once we get on Huron River Parkway, it’s smooth smooth brand new pavement. Doesn’t get better than this. Yes!

Interesting: this is one of the ‘out and back’ areas, so I finally get to see the frontrunners of a race. The guy in first has a hundred foot lead on everyone else, and he looks effortless, smiling and waving to us. Also noticeable with the whole front pack of dudes is how little body fat they have. Probably not a coincidence. None of them seem like in a ‘balls out’ sprint at this point, but that may be deceiving, they may just be relaxed, while their legs are ‘busy working overtime’ (as the Beatles song goes).

We move into the North Campus of the University of Michigan, deserted on a Sunday in summer. There are a bunch of mini out-n-backs in here, where we just slow down, run around a cone, and head back the other way, so I get to see people twenty minutes ahead, and behind, and lo, here comes another barefooter coming at me, in the ahead-of-me category. He smiles and points at my feet. “Rocking the barefoot!” I don’t recognize him either. Another rogue barefooter, not associated with the BRS website. Michigan seems to have its share of them.

Barefoot Mike and his friend has passed me at some point, and now I catch up to them. So really, all three barefooters (that I know of) are running around the same (medium) pace.

Another guy I run next to for a while kinda looks around and says, “There doesn’t seem to be that many people running anymore.”

I smile. “What are you saying? That we’re some of the last people?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying!”

We shoot back out on to Huron River Parkway and my heart kinda breaks, because I’m seeing the real last of the pack come through the other way, stragglers who are already walking, and/or doing the ‘penguin waddle’. Man, they’re just going to be out here forever.

I gotta say though, that even if I’m on the slower side, I’m enjoying not being passed. For the most part I’m running with people at the same pace, and gradually, slowly, passing others. I’m not full of energy, but not tired either. Slow and steady. I AM sweating my ass off though. Time to pull off the t-shirt, the sky is still overcast, I won’t get burned and I can even out my farmer’s tan.


We head toward the University Hospital, which requires a hill, ugh. And, now the moment I’ve been dreading, The Arb, a wooded park north of Ann Arbor. I did many a run in here a few years ago, so I know what’s coming, my old enemy: gravel. There’s a flat gravel road that parallels the Huron River for a while, and it just sucks. Or, it did. There seem to be less of the bigger stones than there were before. That’s a bonus, though there’s still many smaller ones, and grit, which at this point, basically halfway, is kinda...gritty on my feets. They’re not raw, but they’re not at their toughest anymore. So, ouch ouch ouch.

And then there’s a steep hill, also gravelly, though with some sandy parts, and dead leaves, so I at least don’t slow and walk. I anticipated getting beaucoup passed at this point, but the hill, and the heat, and the humidity seem to be getting to people. Lots of sweaty flushed faces. And then behind me I hear, “Hey, it’s Tarzan! Hey Tarzan!”

Grr. It’s one of the pacers, the 4:10 guy, with a small cadre, trying to be way too upbeat with me. He points down to the gravel. “Hey Tarzan, did you have a clue that we’d get this stuff?”

I grit my teeth. “Yes. I knew.”

“Man, I sure didn’t!

They continue on and we pop out on the hill, exit The Arb, and head into the main campus area, which is blessedly smooth and clear cement sidewalks. Aaahhhh.....

The pack is noticeably spread out by now. So, well, if I’m just behind the 4:10 pack, that’s ok. I’m not sure I’ll be able to step the pace up, but as long as I stay ahead of the 4:20 pack, I’ll be happy.

We head out on to Washtenaw, a main thoroughfare between Ann Arbor and it’s small sister, Ypsilanti. We go out that far, but this is one of the longer out and backs, with hills. This pavement is kinda rough, enough that I’m sticking to running on the paint lines. The 4:00 pacer and his group pass going the opposite way, so that pretty much seals the deal—I’m not gonna catch them. As long as—

Huffing and puffing behind me. A large group. No! Is it? Yes, the 4:20 group has caught me. Argh. Well, ok. It is what it is. But I try and stay right behind them.

Two lanes of traffic are coned off for us, but we’re all mostly a single stream of runners, no big wide groups. I get to the farthest point out and simply loop around the cone. Surprisingly, there are people stopping and walking at this point, which seems odd for this part of the pack, this early, but I think it’s that heat and humidity combined with the hills. I’m still good, able to maintain on the hills, though I’m definitely starting to feel ‘it’, meaning the legs are a little stiff. I’m trying to be good on hydrating, carrying my own bottle, plus using the stations, sometimes dumping water over my head. I’ve brought some Paul Neuman organic raisins this time, two little boxes. I was eating them a lot for my recent backpacking trips, and I thought, huh, why not for races too? Natural energy. They certainly taste good!

And then south, on State Street, another main road that connects the downtown Ann Arbor, and the university, with I-94. A couple miles, runners even more spread out, though a nice mellow downhill, which I take advantage of by just leaning forward and doing my best Barefoot Ken Bob imitation, lifting my feet as fast as possible.

State takes us down to the huge Briarwood Mall. We’ll do a complete clock-wise circuit of it’s outer circle, and in fact the main road in and out is cut off for us, so the detour brings cars heading to I-94 in the opposite lane. There’s a lot of them, and they don’t look happy with us for this inconvenience. Sorry ladies and gentleman!

Somewhere in here, maybe it’s the raisins?, I get some energy. Or, maybe it’s just that I’m maintaining energy, and others around me are tiring, but I’m passing some people. One couple, stops completely, the guy saying that he can’t even breathe in the humidity.

Out of the parking lot, and back onto Main Street, south of where we started. This too is a main road into town, and we have one lane of traffic coned off for us. The road is rough. That and my feet are getting tender. But we’re close! Somewhere in there we went over Mile 20! And we actually pass the stadium again, where we were this morning. I was wondering about that. I can’t remember the details of how we end up back inside the stadium, but something is odd, because I’m seeing people with half-marathon medals on the sidewalk, walking back south towards us. That’s weird, shouldn’t the be coming out of the stadium? Maybe I misunderstood. Wouldn’t be the first time.

The road feels rougher this time around! No paint lines to run on, but there are long strips of tar that have been used to fill in cracks, which is nice and soft. Feets are gonna be black at the end, but that’s ok.

Instead of taking a right on Liberty, this time we stay on Main and continue north for another ‘out-n-back’ in two traffic lanes. So, we’re close. Now that’s it’s later in the morning, there are people out on the sidewalks, walking and eating breakfast outside at some of the restaurants. Plus more onlookers.

And then, suddenly, oddly, there’s that one barefoot runner, the one that was way out in front. He’s stopped, talking to a guy on a bike who must be his brother. I slow down when I get to him. “Hey man, what happened?”

He looks at me and, as if he had been waiting for me, says, “Oh. Alright. Let’s go.”

He’s been dealing with some kind of injury. “Might be a pulled muscle, or something in my knees joint.”

I smile. “Well, it can’t be your knee. Barefooters don’t have knees problems, right?”

He smiles. Turns out he’s from Ann Arbor, has been running barefoot for three years, but this is his first marathon.

“Dude, you were going fast for a while.”

“Yeah, I think I started a little too fast.”

I like seeing the ‘double-whammy’ looks on spectators when they see two barefoot runners. Kevin and I chat about how hard it is to find a sense of community, to find other people to run with. As we’re talking, we’re zigging and zagging through some back roads that I’ve never been on before. I can see the Stadium to the south, but, seemingly suddenly, there’s smaller football field coming up, with lots of people around. It’s like the U of M band practice field. “Oh, is this it? Are we at the end?”

“Yeah.”

“Well then let’s go! Finish strong!”

I see a moment of ‘oh shit I thought I was just going to jog in’ flash across his face, but when I start sprinting, he’s right there with me. And we get onto the field, grass, so we can just let loose with longer harder strides. He actually pulls ahead a little, which pushes me to push myself to catch him. I’m also aware of how awesome a moment this is: two barefoot runners pumping it out at the end. The crowd goes wild. We cross at the same time. Yes!

I check my watch. Ha. So, in honor of the new Bob Marley documentary out, I’ve run the race in 4:20!

I get my medal and turn to give Kevin a fist pump or high five or something, but he’s bent over, breathing hard, looking pale. Come to think of is, I’m feeling kinda a little nauseous. Like, heat stress-ish. A woman medic comes over to me and asks how I’m feeling, looking very concerned. Someone else hands me a water bottle, the thought of drinking water makes me almost vomit. Yeah, that’s kinda bad.

But, poor Kevin has his family and a couple medics hovering around, not for his heat stress, but because his left foot is covered in blood. Wow. He had a HUGE blood blister going, I didn’t know about it, maybe he didn’t either, but the sprint at the end popped it. I check in with him and he says it’s fine, and I actually agree. There’s blood trapped inside the blister, making it look like a huge bloody gash. I tell him he’s earned his Red Badge of Courage, though I’m more concerned with how pale he looks, though I suspect I look just as bad.

Anyway, he’s got his family there. I wander off on the grass to stretch a bit, testing myself. Still don’t want to drink, but I do spot the tables where the food goodies are, and wander over. Oranges. Yes. THAT sounds good. And, just on general principle, since they have it, I take a slice of pizza.

I sit on a curb, next to two amazing hot barefoot women. Alas, they’ve just taken off their shoes after the race, as have many runners, making me think, well, if it feels so good to take off those shoes, maybe you don’t even need them!

My feet are ok. They don’t actually seem that raw, not even the normally easily raw spot on the ball of my left foot. Though, they are really black from all that tar. I guess it’s that they don’t feel raw.

Ok, I don’t think I’m going to pass out. And now a light sprinkle has started. Where have you been, rain?

I walk back out to Main and there’s still people coming north. Man, the people at the end are kinda more incredible than that fast ones, to stay with it that long, to be on their feet that long. Also, to maybe do that plus have the doubt of, Am I going to be able to do this? That’s brave. I offer a raised fist to them as they pass. As for me, time to head into town, for a huge mango smoothie at Espresso Royale, and later, some fatoush and hummus at Jerusalem Garden. A great last race in Michigan!

Slate article on long distance running

Hey folks,

Haven't done any races recently. I've been travelling, and backpacking, and camping. Doing plenty of barefoot and minimalist hiking, but have been working on other writing projects. In the meantime, here's a link to a new article on running at Slate.com:

http://mobile.slate.com/articles/sports/sports_nut/2012/06/long_distance_running_and_evolution_why_humans_can_outrun_horses_but_can_t_jump_higher_than_cats_.html