Way late on this one...my bad
The JFK 50 Mile marked my entrance into the ultrarunning world in 2007. I had no idea what I was doing 6 years ago. I ran the race in basketball shorts because they had pockets for which I could store M&M's. My red, white and blue headband kept my head somewhat warm, along with my fancy cotton t-shirt. I didn't carry water because I thought I'd be good. I didn't leave my Dad with a map or any information about the race.
(God bless my father, by the way...he found every aid station. He probably used his handy Rand McNally trucker's edition atlas to get around. I would imagine he made a lot of new friends as well, since he had to ask where the aid stations were located. I'm sure he got in a nap or two, but he was there every time. Once he found an aid station he would walk backwards on the course to find me. Once I caught up to him, he would run with me to the aid station...in works boots, blue jeans, a Carhartt jacket and a Nascar hat. He never even bitched about how slow I was, how long he was waiting, or how far he had walked just to find my sorry ass. I love you, Pops.)
Back to the crappy story I was telling...In 2007, I sprinted the first 3 miles up the hill to the AT. I managed to stay on my feet along the AT, but I was pretty gassed once I hit the C&O Canal. I was unfamiliar with the route, so I didn't realize I ran past two major battlefields (Harper's Ferry then Antietam). I didn't know I needed food or salt, so I obviously didn't have any of either. I didn't have a jacket. My basketball shoes held up until my knees started aching. Luckily, I ran into a guy named Dave Snipes who "saved my race." After knowing Dave for 6 years now, I've discovered that he "saved someone's race" every race...But that time, to his credit, he actually did save my race. He picked me up on the AT around mile 9 and stuck with me until mile 35-ish when I decided to wait in line at a port-a-jon in the middle of the woods. At some point he handed me a little pill and told me it would make me feel better. I was in a bad place, so I asked no questions as I swallowed it with some of the delicious tea he carried. What kind of idiot carries a bottle of tea all day? Whatever...down the hatch. After I took my turn in the jon, life got better. My quads felt better and I wasn't struggling as much. Naturally, I took off sprinting. After 3 miles I waited in line at another jon, cursing Snipes and his dumb pills aloud to a girl named Summer. She was also struggling and waiting in line for the jon. I would run the last 20 miles with her.
In any event (this is a classic phrase my grandfather uses routinely, had to fit it in), Summer and I did the walk/run shuffle and finished around 10 hours.
In 2013, I was a little more experienced. I knew that those pills were called Endurolytes, and that they are key to a successful race. Also, I knew that M&M's provide the wrong type of sugar needed to get through 50 miles of running. Basketball shorts were replaced with a comfortable pair of Adidas running shorts (still, they had a pocket). Basketball shoes don't even exist in my house anymore, so I wore my Hoka One One Mafate 3's. No headband - they serve no purpose. Instead, I wore my trademark "I Like it Dirty" snap-back I picked up at Spencer's as a gag gift to myself. Of course, I had to sport my VHTRC, baby blue, long-sleeved technical shirt to represent! And...my photographer had maps, course information, driving directions, extra water bottles (since I'm an "idiot" and carry those now), and a $4 tote from Wally World full of Endurolytes and gels and such. In 2013, I was ready to set a PR at the 50 mile distance...
We left from home in Fredericksburg around 0430, knowing traffic wouldn't be too bad that early in the day. However, I-95 can never be trusted - we still tapped the breaks once or twice as we neared the nation's capital. We arrived early, though, with plenty of time to check in and get to the start line. I knew check in would be crowded, so I had my photographer park by the exit of the Boonsboro High School parking lot. Most people walk from the school to the start line downtown, but I wanted Kari to be able to stay warm as long as possible, so we drove down after I had my race packet in hand. Front row parking was available 30 minutes before the race, so we took the closest spot and watched everyone else walk through the field and flood the streets.
Staying warm in the car
Downtown Boonsboro
Just waiting...
Apparently, there was a national anthem and a count down, but we never heard either. All we heard was "Go!" followed by cow bells and hoots and hollers. After a kiss and a few selfies my photographer dismissed me for the day:
The race had already started...
It was also during my time with Ian that we saw a full-frontal of a female runner squatting to do a #1 on the side of the trail. Her and I were chatting a bit as we climbed the road to the AT earlier in the race, but I won't disclose her name. It's not like she had a choice anyway - November in Maryland means leafless trees with no concealment to do your business. I didn't even mean to look, but some things just catch your eye, ya know?
My journey down the tow path started out just as I had expected - boring, uneventful, yet fast! I was knocking off 8-minute miles and working towards a strong finishing time. Just after the bridge into Harper's Ferry I ran into Mike Campbell, a seasoned vet in the ultrarunning community and a fellow VHTRC-er. Mike - you need to sport your baby blue next year. After we exchanged pleasantries I pressed on. He would finish strong in 9:36, not bad for 63 years old.
Kari and I planned out the day in the morning, so I knew I wouldn't see her until the Antietam Aqueduct aid station at mile 27. Here is her map, drawn to scale, of course:
Her plan was to tour the two battlefields to take sweet pictures; Harper's Ferry in the morning, Antietam in the afternoon. Here are some pictures she took while I was running:
Dang selfie
Near Bloody Lane
Bloody Lane
Burnside Bridge
The plan went accordingly and she met me at mile 27 with goodies and a kiss, as always.
I thought I wouldn't see her again until mile 38, but she surprised me at the next aid station with another kiss. During the short 4-5 mile stretch between those two aid stations I hit a low patch and started dragging my feet, almost literally. A kiss is expected, but it's always the pat on the butt that increases my morale and gets me moving again.
During the next stretch of boring nothingness along the canal, I chatted with anyone willing to converse with a man wearing a hat that says "I Like it Dirty." Chatting with other runners always takes your mind of running. For a mile or so, when my knees and ankles were screaming, I would walk/run and simply try to keep moving. Eventually, I came upon a gentlemen running his 11th JFK 50 miler. He knees were hurting equally as bad as mine. I asked him why he didn't stop at 10 finishes, and he explained that Mike Spinnler (the race director) makes 10-time finishers attend the race one more time in order to pick up their 10-time finisher award. Really? I mean, that's a good marketing technique to ensure people keep coming back for more canal path torture, but this gentlemen came down from Canada! Maybe he didn't want to run it again...does that mean he wouldn't get his 10-time finisher award? Are FedEx shipping prices that outrageous these days, that he couldn't ship it to the guy? Interesting.
At the end of the tow path I took a right and headed up a hill into a residential area. The first house I came upon featured a dedicated JFK fan. He was chilling in his driveway and had erected a table full of Bud Light. He offered me a pounder and it was so hard to refuse. If it would have been a 12-ouncer I might have been willing to carry the lighter load...
Despite the fact that my Mafate 3's are tough, rugged trail shoes, they held their own during the final miles on the roads. Whether it be trail, asphalt, sand, gravel, grass...it's still like running on little pillows.
I saw my photographer one final time at mile 46:
By then it was roughly 3:00 in the afternoon and the wind was howling. I grabbed my $5 Nike Golf jacket I found on the clearance rack at TJ Maxx a few years ago. Yep, I'm a Maxxinista.
The trifecta of struggles
It did the trick and blocked those cold gusts coming across the corn fields and cow pastures towards the end of the race. Kari drove past me just after the aid station and snapped a quick photo:
Mile 46.5-ish
The last few miles were tough, as they generally are in a 50-mile race. Although my core was staying warm, the cold wind was ripping through my gloves which made holding my water bottle a challenge. The sun was bright and squinting made my head pound. I should have taken that dang Bud Light. Around that time a shorter female runner, about 5-feet tall, blazed right past me at a pace equivalent of Mach 7. At mile 46 you're only racing yourself, but that really ticked me off. I tried to catch her but she was way too fast. I laughed at myself for getting so worked up. A few minutes later I came into the last aid station and the upbeat volunteers allowed me to forgot it ever happened. Those kids couldn't have been any happier. I think they were a local high school cross country team. The music was loud so dancing ensued. I think the song was "Thrift Shop" by Macklemore and Ryan Lewis. Man...music had never sounded so good. Headphones pretty much constitute jail time at JFK, and singing to yourself only goes so far. These dudes had it going on. Dangit, I wanted to stay and hang out but I knew I only had 2 miles left. Also, I couldn't see anyone behind me, and I wanted to keep it that way. I pressed on.
To my surprise, the final 2 miles went by in a blink. I came across a guy who started @ 5:00 am and I decided to run alongside him for a minute. Again, I won't use names, but this gentleman spilled the beans to me about some personal issues going on in his life. He explained how he recently caught his wife cheating on him and that he was in the middle of filing for divorce. Only ultrarunners experience such emotional highs and lows. This is something marathoners get introduced to if they survive "hitting the wall," but never really understand because they haven't quite left their comfort zone and stretched the limits of their bodies. In any event (there it is again...), he slowed down and I pressed on to a finishing time of 8:38 - a new 50-mile PR by 33 minutes, and 1:30 faster than 6 years ago. Not really lightning speed by any standards, but it feels good to know I've improved. By the time I'm 70 I should be breaking 4 hours on this course...
My photographer and I hung around a little bit and talked to some folks, but we were both getting cold and restless, so we headed to the CRV to get dry and warm. I sat on my camp stool in the trunk and changed my under garments as I watched fellow runners struggle in the cold wind outdoors. Soon enough, I was wrapped in my sweatpants and sweatshirt. We headed home while it was still light out.
After JFK, I am grateful for trail running, plain and simple. JFK is a fun race with great volunteers, but the canal path can bite the big one. It's the ideal course for PR-setting times, but it is very boring. I spent Dec and Jan running in Shenandoah with Alex P. to help him get ready for HURT - which he finished two weeks ago! Congrats, Alex! Also, I am grateful to be a member of the VHTRC, the country's greatest trail running club (who cares what Trail Runner Mag says). Lastly, I am grateful for my photographer/wife/crew/biggest fan. She continues to tag along with me for these things. She even cleans my dirty underwear afterwards.
End of recount...
Photo credits: Kari Cillo, www.kcillophotography.com, facebook.com/kcillophotography
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