The MMT100 miler is this coming Saturday, 18 May, 2013, the year of our Lord, @ 0400. If you were not aware, there is zero cell phone reception anywhere along the course. The RD has recognized this issue and subsequently created a page on the MMT100 website to provide live updates during the race. Here is the link:
http://www.vhtrc.org/mmtlive/
If you are interested in tracking the progress of a runner simply go to this site anytime during the race. It should list, at a minimum, the time in which each runner entered an aid station. The RD also intends to post the position of each runner at each aid station, split times between aid stations, and possibly upload pictures. If I know my wife at all then I know that she will attempt to load her pictures to the site by driving in circles around the Massanutten Mountains with her phone out the window looking for service. Dedication.
I still owe you all my recounts from the Terrapin Mountain 50k and the Chocolate Bunny run - both will be expert-quality products, just need to find a minute this week to transfer them from brain to blog.
Monday, May 13, 2013
Sunday, May 12, 2013
Recount #3: Dahlgren Trail Half Marathon
Feb 24th, the day before my 27th birthday. It was a fine morning, chilly, but sunny and much warmer than the ICY-8. Pre-race was rather fun. Only three port-a-jons existed, so the male runners (including myself) helped themselves to the nearby treeline for #1's. There was music, bagels, juice and fruit, and the volunteers had a massive bonfire near the starting line with a variety of chairs surrounding it. Some runners warmed up on the road, some on the trail, others elected to do push ups and high knees in the middle of the packet pick-up line. All in all, the atmosphere was very positive and runners were enjoying themselves.
The race director started runners in eight waves, each two minutes apart. The "elite" group started @ 0700, which included runners from all age groups who wanted to compete for prize dollars. I had no business in that group so I elected to start @ 0704 with the 19-29 males. Good choice, because if I had started with the elites I would have been the last male to finish out of that bunch.
At 0704 the RD said "Go" and we started down the out-and-back rail trail course. I ran the Dahlgren Heritage Rail Trail 50k last summer so I was already familiar with the course - straight out, straight back, lined with poison ivy the entire way. As always, a few guys sprinted off the line, probably a full minute ahead of me by the 1-mile mark. I was fine with that and knew I would catch them later in the race. It is rather easy to pick out those who start to fast by watching their form the first 100 meters - if they are flailing about, legs kicking outwards, arms pumping hard, you know they strarted too fast.
One guy let his iPod play without headphones so we could enjoy the Dropkick Murphy's and other Irish punk tunes, whether we liked it or not. Another guy ran in puma soccer shoes and knee socks with two red stripes across the top - he also had a flat top afro, which I thought way cooler than the knee highs. Another in shorts that barely covered his ass cheeks, which I will never begin to understand why guys wear those things. Where do they put it? And how do things not pop out the side during the race? One of the younger guys started way too fast for his ability, which put him right next to me the first half mile, so I talked him through it and reminded him it was a 13-mile race and he needed to pace himself accordingly. Surprisingly, he took the advice and slowed down, and he looked strong when I ran by him on the return route.
At the turn around point I was in 3rd place, I thought. Now, I don't generally talk about placing for multiple reasons - I don't particularly care where I finish, you probably don't care to hear me brag (or complain) about where I finish, and there are enough runners out there who blog about their credentials that you can read for days and still not even cover the Virginia runners. But this race I will mention it since it makes this recount more enteratining for you.
At the turn around point I ate an orange slice and a gel, drank some water, thanked the volunteers, and made my way back down the trail. The best part about this race was shouting motivational slurs at each other on the way back. Since the starting waves were spread out across 14 minutes there were runners spread out across the entire course. I ran past runners almost the entire return to the finish. We said things to each other like "Keep it up" and "Looking good". Two girls high-fived. The tricky part was staying on the trail while passing people - it got thin in some places, and even though poison ivy was most likely dead during Feb in Virgini I still wanted to avoid the brush.
Skipping to the 12-mile point... I approached a guy and a gal running together. She started with the elite runners @ 0700, he was the leader of my wave. I slowly gained on him the entire second half - the rail trail is long and straight so I watched him get closer and closer for a few miles. When I was shoulder-to-shoulder with him I said "who wants it more?" as I made the pass. He said "oh, hell no!" as he scooted back in front of me. He ran in 2nd place the entire race and I knew he was burned out. He was breathing heavy and slowed tremendously after he passed me. I have a habit of being too nice during races - yes, too nice. Cillo at a race is different than Cillo at work. So, I made him a deal... this is where placing becomes pertinent to the recount. We thought I was in 3rd place, thought he was in 2nd, I didn't really care either way because it wasn't a win in either case, so I said "as long as you don't slow down you can take it". He came back with "sounds good man, thanks".
We ran about 200 meters and he slowed down - a moral dilemma for me. Great opportunity for me to make my move. However, I ran next to him again, but this time encouraged him to run faster with the threat of passing him for good - with that he pressed on. That happened two more times within the last half-mile, and I easily could have beaten him by 30-45 seconds. I was still feeling good because I also have a habit of holding too much back on shorter races - I tend to run every race, 5k or 50 miler, as if it is a 50 miler, so I am usually still fairly fresh at the end of shorter races. Haven't quite found the balance.
We finished :01 apart with him in the front. We all hung around after the race, talking about future races and whatnot, and I helped myself to some oranges and gatorade. I wasn't sure when the awards ceremony was to be held but it wasn't important to me, so when I was full and bored I left. The results were posted online a few days later. When I checked to see who finished 1st overall I noticed that I had finished 2nd in my age group, and that when I let my friend finish ahead of me I actually let him win our age group. The runner who won our wave (19-29 males) was a 19-year old college freshman. He won the 19-and-under division. I laughed to myself and wished that I had stuck around for the awards ceremony after the race - it would have been great to see his face when he realized he got first place!
I received my 2nd place award in the mail the following week - $20 gift certificate to the VA Runner store in Fredericksburg. That weekend I used it towards some Honey Stinger waffles, some gels, and a stick of Glide.
Overall, I liked the race a lot and I recommend it to anyone, road runners and trail runners. If you are looking for a tough trail race in the woods with some elevation change then steer clear of this race. But if you are looking for a rather low key trail run that is well-directed with some healthy comradery then this race should be on your calendar in 2014.
This race reminded me that the racing experience is not determined solely by a statistically-appealing finish.
Sorry for not including pictures - I gave my photographer the day off.
End of recount...
The race director started runners in eight waves, each two minutes apart. The "elite" group started @ 0700, which included runners from all age groups who wanted to compete for prize dollars. I had no business in that group so I elected to start @ 0704 with the 19-29 males. Good choice, because if I had started with the elites I would have been the last male to finish out of that bunch.
At 0704 the RD said "Go" and we started down the out-and-back rail trail course. I ran the Dahlgren Heritage Rail Trail 50k last summer so I was already familiar with the course - straight out, straight back, lined with poison ivy the entire way. As always, a few guys sprinted off the line, probably a full minute ahead of me by the 1-mile mark. I was fine with that and knew I would catch them later in the race. It is rather easy to pick out those who start to fast by watching their form the first 100 meters - if they are flailing about, legs kicking outwards, arms pumping hard, you know they strarted too fast.
One guy let his iPod play without headphones so we could enjoy the Dropkick Murphy's and other Irish punk tunes, whether we liked it or not. Another guy ran in puma soccer shoes and knee socks with two red stripes across the top - he also had a flat top afro, which I thought way cooler than the knee highs. Another in shorts that barely covered his ass cheeks, which I will never begin to understand why guys wear those things. Where do they put it? And how do things not pop out the side during the race? One of the younger guys started way too fast for his ability, which put him right next to me the first half mile, so I talked him through it and reminded him it was a 13-mile race and he needed to pace himself accordingly. Surprisingly, he took the advice and slowed down, and he looked strong when I ran by him on the return route.
At the turn around point I was in 3rd place, I thought. Now, I don't generally talk about placing for multiple reasons - I don't particularly care where I finish, you probably don't care to hear me brag (or complain) about where I finish, and there are enough runners out there who blog about their credentials that you can read for days and still not even cover the Virginia runners. But this race I will mention it since it makes this recount more enteratining for you.
At the turn around point I ate an orange slice and a gel, drank some water, thanked the volunteers, and made my way back down the trail. The best part about this race was shouting motivational slurs at each other on the way back. Since the starting waves were spread out across 14 minutes there were runners spread out across the entire course. I ran past runners almost the entire return to the finish. We said things to each other like "Keep it up" and "Looking good". Two girls high-fived. The tricky part was staying on the trail while passing people - it got thin in some places, and even though poison ivy was most likely dead during Feb in Virgini I still wanted to avoid the brush.
Skipping to the 12-mile point... I approached a guy and a gal running together. She started with the elite runners @ 0700, he was the leader of my wave. I slowly gained on him the entire second half - the rail trail is long and straight so I watched him get closer and closer for a few miles. When I was shoulder-to-shoulder with him I said "who wants it more?" as I made the pass. He said "oh, hell no!" as he scooted back in front of me. He ran in 2nd place the entire race and I knew he was burned out. He was breathing heavy and slowed tremendously after he passed me. I have a habit of being too nice during races - yes, too nice. Cillo at a race is different than Cillo at work. So, I made him a deal... this is where placing becomes pertinent to the recount. We thought I was in 3rd place, thought he was in 2nd, I didn't really care either way because it wasn't a win in either case, so I said "as long as you don't slow down you can take it". He came back with "sounds good man, thanks".
We ran about 200 meters and he slowed down - a moral dilemma for me. Great opportunity for me to make my move. However, I ran next to him again, but this time encouraged him to run faster with the threat of passing him for good - with that he pressed on. That happened two more times within the last half-mile, and I easily could have beaten him by 30-45 seconds. I was still feeling good because I also have a habit of holding too much back on shorter races - I tend to run every race, 5k or 50 miler, as if it is a 50 miler, so I am usually still fairly fresh at the end of shorter races. Haven't quite found the balance.
We finished :01 apart with him in the front. We all hung around after the race, talking about future races and whatnot, and I helped myself to some oranges and gatorade. I wasn't sure when the awards ceremony was to be held but it wasn't important to me, so when I was full and bored I left. The results were posted online a few days later. When I checked to see who finished 1st overall I noticed that I had finished 2nd in my age group, and that when I let my friend finish ahead of me I actually let him win our age group. The runner who won our wave (19-29 males) was a 19-year old college freshman. He won the 19-and-under division. I laughed to myself and wished that I had stuck around for the awards ceremony after the race - it would have been great to see his face when he realized he got first place!
I received my 2nd place award in the mail the following week - $20 gift certificate to the VA Runner store in Fredericksburg. That weekend I used it towards some Honey Stinger waffles, some gels, and a stick of Glide.
Overall, I liked the race a lot and I recommend it to anyone, road runners and trail runners. If you are looking for a tough trail race in the woods with some elevation change then steer clear of this race. But if you are looking for a rather low key trail run that is well-directed with some healthy comradery then this race should be on your calendar in 2014.
This race reminded me that the racing experience is not determined solely by a statistically-appealing finish.
Sorry for not including pictures - I gave my photographer the day off.
End of recount...
Saturday, May 4, 2013
No crap, I saw a guy running while carrying one of these today.
I didn't have enough time to snap a photo with my phone, since the red light turned green ahead of me, so this picture will have to do. Not only was he carrying a 90's-era discman, but he was also carrying it like a hot coffee, not pumping his left arm whatsoever. The cord routing his earphones to his outdated music-playing device dangled in front of his chest as he pumped his right arm off to the side of his body, akwardly, in a horizontal motion as to not interfere with the steady sway of the cord. He was also shirtless and running along one of the busiest roadways in this area, route 17, near the route 95 overpass.
There wasn't one thing right about what I saw other than a stellar PT session. Maybe he owns stock in Sony or something...
I didn't have enough time to snap a photo with my phone, since the red light turned green ahead of me, so this picture will have to do. Not only was he carrying a 90's-era discman, but he was also carrying it like a hot coffee, not pumping his left arm whatsoever. The cord routing his earphones to his outdated music-playing device dangled in front of his chest as he pumped his right arm off to the side of his body, akwardly, in a horizontal motion as to not interfere with the steady sway of the cord. He was also shirtless and running along one of the busiest roadways in this area, route 17, near the route 95 overpass.
There wasn't one thing right about what I saw other than a stellar PT session. Maybe he owns stock in Sony or something...
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
Asphalt - any of various dark-colored, solid, bituminous substances, native in various areas of the earth and composed mainly of hydrocarbon mixtures.
Impaired - weakened, diminished, or damaged; functioning poorly or inadequately.
Does this mean that I am weak and dark-colored? Or that I am inadequately native?
Saturday, March 9, 2013
Recount #2: Holiday Lake 50k
The Holiday Lake 50k++ (33-ish miles), 09 February 2013.
First, let me start with a childhood story. Note: "childhood" for me was only about 10 years ago.
Growing up I worked at the Little League World Series complex in Williamsport, PA every summer:
Each year, before the LLWS tournament starts, there are five weeks of summer camp for kids to attend, ages 10-14. My first year I was a counselor - the trusted right-hand man of the coach. Every subsequent year I was a coach - one of the few promotions I have ever received. Some years I coached the 10-12 year olds, other years the 13-14 year olds. That is beside the point. The real meat and potatoes of this portion of the story derives from the activities during the recreational time during the camp. No, parents, no laws were broken, no kids were injured, no need to phone the police after reading this. Although, I think the statute of limitations would cover us.
During lunch the kids would have one hour to eat and one hour for some type of recretional activity - play a card game, watch ESPN, play ping pong, go swimming, etc. Let's focus on swimming for a minute. Keep this picture in mind while reading: (this is the actual pool, by the way)
My friend of 15 years, Josh, was also a coach at the camp. He would always volunteer to supervise the kids in the pool during recreation time. No, he was not a creep - is not a creep! Here is how it started.
The first week of camp Josh decided to do a belly-flop off the diving board in the deep end - a HUGE deal to a 10-year old kid. Shoot, it was a big deal to us coaches, frankly. They hurt, and not just your stomach. But the kids loved it! Josh always exited the pool in the shallow end, after swimming painfully underwater most of the way from the deep end, with the ugliest redish/purplish color on his stomach. The kids would chant "Bel-ly-flop! Bel-ly-flop!" at a slow and steady drum until Josh slowly made his way to the deep end and walked the plank all over again. This repeated roughly 3-16 times on a daily basis. Well, the funny thing is, each summer there was always one kid who decided, or his parents decided for him, that he was going to stay for all five weeks of camp. So when the next group of kids showed up we knew the word would spread fast. The first day of the second week the kids were chanting "Bel-ly-flop! Bel-ly-flop!" before Josh even entered the rectangle of pain. There IS a point to this story, and I will circle around momentarily to bring it all together. Let's press on...
I drove out to Holiday Lake the night before unaccompanied - Kari sat this one out. I did, however, link up with another gentlemen named Phil who also lives in Fredericksburg. Remembering that we were idiots and never reserved lodging at the Holiday Lake bunkhouse, we decided to drive separately and sleep in our cars - not such a bad idea, very cold but the hand warmers did their job and so much more!
On the way to the race we, well, um, got lost. The iPhone, although retailed at $600 or something, still cannot maintain service in the remote backwoods of Virginia. But we were smarter than the iPhone - we had directions in black and white! In the form of a text message from Snipes! After 35 minutes or so of driving in circles around the Holiday Lake State Park in the dark, Phil and I decided we had better re-read the text messages. Which we did, and we found a spot with shotty service and pulled up google maps, and finally we found the road to success. The bunkhouse and cafeteria were very well lit when we arrived, not sure how we missed them initially. I blame Phil.
We went inside the cafeteria, checked in, received our bibs and race packets, walked around aimlessly with our phones pointed at the sky, then retired for the evening. Phil brought a portable DVD player and went off to watch a movie. I brushed my teeth with my feet dangling over the back of my car, spread out my clothes for race morning, activated my hand warmers, and crawled inside my bag for one of the most uncomfortable nights of sleep in my life.
When I woke up there was a thin sheet of ice on the outside of the car...and on the inside. I layered up and brushed my teeth in a similar fashion as the previous evening, then headed back to the cafeteria to warm up and eat a clif bar. Inside I found nobody that I knew, so I made some new friends and chatted to the other runners. Many were running their first ultra, others were road runners trying to get into trail running, and some were there to volunteer at the aid stations.
The start was freezing, and dark, and freezing. We were encouraged to carry headlamps for the first few miles by the race director, Dave Horton, but I allowed everyone around me to light the way for me as I followed in trace. This is Dave Horton:
His name should ring a bell - if not then I recommend you do a quick google search.
I cruised in the back of the pack for a few miles until the sun came up. Here is a neat picture I found on google, since my personal photographer was not with me on this trip, but this is exactly what I saw from miles 8-10-ish as the sun crested the treeline:
Very pretty, and also very annoying when you are trying to dodge iced-over mud puddles. When I reached the next aid station I was ready for a refill of water in my hand bottle. That station was primarily run by college students - Dave Horton is actually "Dr." Horton, a professor at Liberty University, and he brought along some students who volunteered to work the race. God bless those students, but one of them must have skipped the "how to aim while pouring water" course offered back on campus. Without missing a beat, this girl said "Water! Here!" as she took the lid of her gallon jug and walked briskly towards me. I was in a bit of a rush so I took my lid off just as quickly and met her in the middle to execute the refill. Once my bottle was full, I said "when" to let her know to stop. Interpretations are the darndest, because the "when" moment came and gone in a hurry. She was on a mission to give me water! So she gave me water! In my bottle! All over my bottle! On my left shoe! And on my left mitten! Which froze my hand! All day! Yes, I wear mittens!
No worries, I am tougher because of it. Veterans Affairs benefits will hopefully cover frost bite 30 years from now.
So, after the tragic pouring incident and after running through a creek, I was a bit chilly. I linked up with a girl named Annie who I met on the course. We were running about the same speed (she is very, very fast) and we were both frozen, so we kept each other company for 10 miles or so to the turn around point and beyond.
Around mile 26 I was feeling good so I parted ways with Annie and took off. I was running faster than I had run all day. From miles 26-28 I passed a large group of 25-ish runners, then found myself all alone. I didn't see anyone for a mile until I passed another runner, a guy my age. Shortly after I passed him...this is where the Terantino effect comes in.
I made the pass, since he kindly moved to the side for me to go by - thank you Sir. A few seconds later, while I still hear the leaves swishing under his feet behind me, I got attacked by a monster.
Now, I have fallen down before. It's like when you buy a new kitchen appliance and you open the box to find all those papers written in 15 different languages - they just come with it, much like falling pairs with trail running. I have slipped and fallen, tripped and fallen, stubbed my tow and fallen, fallen and fallen, cramped up and fallen, scooted and fallen, tried to run backwards and fallen, jumped followed by tripping and falling...but never have I fallen like I did just then. Somehow, the monster grabbed my right foot with a gnarly root. As I attempted to catch myself with my left foot, the monster grabbed that one too. Airborne is a good word to describe it. Horizontal is also a fitting term. I hit the ground belly first, then bounced back into the air, followed inevitably by another belly flop onto the trail. The spout of my water bottle was covered in dirt, my knee was bleeding, and I was embarrassed. What was I to do? Well, as I was lying on the ground I looked back at the runner behind me, said "Good one, huh?", then got up and ran off. When I got up the runner in front of me was looking back and laughing. I assume he heard the antics going on behind him and wanted to check it out for himself.
Surprisingly, I ran the final four miles with ease and had a solid finish. But by far, hands down, without a doubt, the best part of the race was hanging around afterwards with Dr. Horton. Not because the race was over and there was good chow and gatorade, but because of Dr. Horton. Let me explain how genuine this gentlemen is. He shook the hand of every runner after they finished. Some runners cried as they finished so he offered a hug instead, which all of them accepted. He posed for photos with everyone. He ran around with a megaphone shouting the names of finishers as they crossed the line, congratulating them for their efforts. He handed out shirts and ensured everyone was having a great experience. He was all smiles and more positive than anyone I have ever seen at a race. And, what's more impressive, is that he just had open heart surgery a few months earlier.
Ultrarunning has introduced me to a world I never knew existed, and probably never would have found had they not told me I was crazy. More importantly, it is because of people like Dr. Horton that make this sport what it is. His character, actions, boldness, and humility all serve as the exception to the rule, and the sport is thankful to have him around. Grand ol' man of Ultrarunning - Hear Hear!
End of recount...
First, let me start with a childhood story. Note: "childhood" for me was only about 10 years ago.
Growing up I worked at the Little League World Series complex in Williamsport, PA every summer:
Each year, before the LLWS tournament starts, there are five weeks of summer camp for kids to attend, ages 10-14. My first year I was a counselor - the trusted right-hand man of the coach. Every subsequent year I was a coach - one of the few promotions I have ever received. Some years I coached the 10-12 year olds, other years the 13-14 year olds. That is beside the point. The real meat and potatoes of this portion of the story derives from the activities during the recreational time during the camp. No, parents, no laws were broken, no kids were injured, no need to phone the police after reading this. Although, I think the statute of limitations would cover us.
During lunch the kids would have one hour to eat and one hour for some type of recretional activity - play a card game, watch ESPN, play ping pong, go swimming, etc. Let's focus on swimming for a minute. Keep this picture in mind while reading: (this is the actual pool, by the way)
My friend of 15 years, Josh, was also a coach at the camp. He would always volunteer to supervise the kids in the pool during recreation time. No, he was not a creep - is not a creep! Here is how it started.
The first week of camp Josh decided to do a belly-flop off the diving board in the deep end - a HUGE deal to a 10-year old kid. Shoot, it was a big deal to us coaches, frankly. They hurt, and not just your stomach. But the kids loved it! Josh always exited the pool in the shallow end, after swimming painfully underwater most of the way from the deep end, with the ugliest redish/purplish color on his stomach. The kids would chant "Bel-ly-flop! Bel-ly-flop!" at a slow and steady drum until Josh slowly made his way to the deep end and walked the plank all over again. This repeated roughly 3-16 times on a daily basis. Well, the funny thing is, each summer there was always one kid who decided, or his parents decided for him, that he was going to stay for all five weeks of camp. So when the next group of kids showed up we knew the word would spread fast. The first day of the second week the kids were chanting "Bel-ly-flop! Bel-ly-flop!" before Josh even entered the rectangle of pain. There IS a point to this story, and I will circle around momentarily to bring it all together. Let's press on...
I drove out to Holiday Lake the night before unaccompanied - Kari sat this one out. I did, however, link up with another gentlemen named Phil who also lives in Fredericksburg. Remembering that we were idiots and never reserved lodging at the Holiday Lake bunkhouse, we decided to drive separately and sleep in our cars - not such a bad idea, very cold but the hand warmers did their job and so much more!
On the way to the race we, well, um, got lost. The iPhone, although retailed at $600 or something, still cannot maintain service in the remote backwoods of Virginia. But we were smarter than the iPhone - we had directions in black and white! In the form of a text message from Snipes! After 35 minutes or so of driving in circles around the Holiday Lake State Park in the dark, Phil and I decided we had better re-read the text messages. Which we did, and we found a spot with shotty service and pulled up google maps, and finally we found the road to success. The bunkhouse and cafeteria were very well lit when we arrived, not sure how we missed them initially. I blame Phil.
We went inside the cafeteria, checked in, received our bibs and race packets, walked around aimlessly with our phones pointed at the sky, then retired for the evening. Phil brought a portable DVD player and went off to watch a movie. I brushed my teeth with my feet dangling over the back of my car, spread out my clothes for race morning, activated my hand warmers, and crawled inside my bag for one of the most uncomfortable nights of sleep in my life.
When I woke up there was a thin sheet of ice on the outside of the car...and on the inside. I layered up and brushed my teeth in a similar fashion as the previous evening, then headed back to the cafeteria to warm up and eat a clif bar. Inside I found nobody that I knew, so I made some new friends and chatted to the other runners. Many were running their first ultra, others were road runners trying to get into trail running, and some were there to volunteer at the aid stations.
The start was freezing, and dark, and freezing. We were encouraged to carry headlamps for the first few miles by the race director, Dave Horton, but I allowed everyone around me to light the way for me as I followed in trace. This is Dave Horton:
His name should ring a bell - if not then I recommend you do a quick google search.
I cruised in the back of the pack for a few miles until the sun came up. Here is a neat picture I found on google, since my personal photographer was not with me on this trip, but this is exactly what I saw from miles 8-10-ish as the sun crested the treeline:
Very pretty, and also very annoying when you are trying to dodge iced-over mud puddles. When I reached the next aid station I was ready for a refill of water in my hand bottle. That station was primarily run by college students - Dave Horton is actually "Dr." Horton, a professor at Liberty University, and he brought along some students who volunteered to work the race. God bless those students, but one of them must have skipped the "how to aim while pouring water" course offered back on campus. Without missing a beat, this girl said "Water! Here!" as she took the lid of her gallon jug and walked briskly towards me. I was in a bit of a rush so I took my lid off just as quickly and met her in the middle to execute the refill. Once my bottle was full, I said "when" to let her know to stop. Interpretations are the darndest, because the "when" moment came and gone in a hurry. She was on a mission to give me water! So she gave me water! In my bottle! All over my bottle! On my left shoe! And on my left mitten! Which froze my hand! All day! Yes, I wear mittens!
No worries, I am tougher because of it. Veterans Affairs benefits will hopefully cover frost bite 30 years from now.
So, after the tragic pouring incident and after running through a creek, I was a bit chilly. I linked up with a girl named Annie who I met on the course. We were running about the same speed (she is very, very fast) and we were both frozen, so we kept each other company for 10 miles or so to the turn around point and beyond.
Around mile 26 I was feeling good so I parted ways with Annie and took off. I was running faster than I had run all day. From miles 26-28 I passed a large group of 25-ish runners, then found myself all alone. I didn't see anyone for a mile until I passed another runner, a guy my age. Shortly after I passed him...this is where the Terantino effect comes in.
I made the pass, since he kindly moved to the side for me to go by - thank you Sir. A few seconds later, while I still hear the leaves swishing under his feet behind me, I got attacked by a monster.
Now, I have fallen down before. It's like when you buy a new kitchen appliance and you open the box to find all those papers written in 15 different languages - they just come with it, much like falling pairs with trail running. I have slipped and fallen, tripped and fallen, stubbed my tow and fallen, fallen and fallen, cramped up and fallen, scooted and fallen, tried to run backwards and fallen, jumped followed by tripping and falling...but never have I fallen like I did just then. Somehow, the monster grabbed my right foot with a gnarly root. As I attempted to catch myself with my left foot, the monster grabbed that one too. Airborne is a good word to describe it. Horizontal is also a fitting term. I hit the ground belly first, then bounced back into the air, followed inevitably by another belly flop onto the trail. The spout of my water bottle was covered in dirt, my knee was bleeding, and I was embarrassed. What was I to do? Well, as I was lying on the ground I looked back at the runner behind me, said "Good one, huh?", then got up and ran off. When I got up the runner in front of me was looking back and laughing. I assume he heard the antics going on behind him and wanted to check it out for himself.
Surprisingly, I ran the final four miles with ease and had a solid finish. But by far, hands down, without a doubt, the best part of the race was hanging around afterwards with Dr. Horton. Not because the race was over and there was good chow and gatorade, but because of Dr. Horton. Let me explain how genuine this gentlemen is. He shook the hand of every runner after they finished. Some runners cried as they finished so he offered a hug instead, which all of them accepted. He posed for photos with everyone. He ran around with a megaphone shouting the names of finishers as they crossed the line, congratulating them for their efforts. He handed out shirts and ensured everyone was having a great experience. He was all smiles and more positive than anyone I have ever seen at a race. And, what's more impressive, is that he just had open heart surgery a few months earlier.
Ultrarunning has introduced me to a world I never knew existed, and probably never would have found had they not told me I was crazy. More importantly, it is because of people like Dr. Horton that make this sport what it is. His character, actions, boldness, and humility all serve as the exception to the rule, and the sport is thankful to have him around. Grand ol' man of Ultrarunning - Hear Hear!
End of recount...
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
Recount #1: ICY-8
Everybody has blogs these days, so I figured it was time to start one myself. But no, if everyone jumped off a bridge I would not follow them. I intend to share my experiences on the trail through a series of recounts, listed here, for your lunch-time reading pleasure.
The Icy-8 Hour Adventure Trail Run, 02 February 2013. I don't think it got above 25 degrees all day. A hefty breeze coming off Lake Anna made it even harder to keep my phalanges from turning into this:
We arrived at a small cabin in the middle of the woods, with a group of people we had never met, and in a foreign state park we had never before entered. These strange people were named Alex, Scott, Dennis, and some kid named Morgan, seen here:
To add to my already confused mental state, these people immediately took us next door to another cabin where we were greeted by more strangers (Dave and his wife) holding steaming plates of lasagna. I felt as if I were in some type of concentration camp and was being hoaxed into eating the poison, so that later these people could drag me far into the woods, never to be seen again. We do this with our cat when she needs to take medications - just the poison-filled tasty food, not the whole drag-into-the-woods bit. However, anyone who knows me will tell you that I never turn down any of the following: ice cream, chocolate, spinach dip, or plates of steaming delicious lasagna. We took our Italian cuisine and sat down at the dining room table, only to find even more strangers within the edifice.
To make a long story short, the lasagna was filled with flavor, the beer went down smooth, the salad was fresh, and these strangers were some of the nicest people I ever met. We shared stories from past races, spoke about "back home" and our day jobs, and we got to know one another. Alex and Scott are the race directors for the ICY-8 and a few other adventure trail runs in the northern VA area. Morgan is Scott's son and is one seriously strange cat. Due to his vast and expansive skills with his iPad, distorted outlook on mostly all of life's everyday occurrences, and intensely sarcastic answers to nearly every one of my questions, I knew we had just become friends. He would run my 9th and final 4.7-mile loop with me during the race the following day.
Race morning was extremely cold. Alex, Scott, Morgan, Dennis, Kari and I all headed for the start/finish area around 0500 to begin setting up - not an easy feat with frozen hands, feet, and facial projections. Later in the day, I would suffer from something known as "Hellgate Eye" for a few seconds until the thin layer of ice over my left eye melted and I regained my 5th and most important sense! A very scary moment. Would the doctor really believe my contact froze to my retina?
After setting up the tents, the check-in table, the aid station, etc etc etc, runners began checking in. Kari is probably the best wife ever. Underneath 37 layers of clothing and wrapped in the Spongebob snuggie I received from my friend Tristin in the mail a few years ago, she froze her little tushie off all day as she handed out bib numbers, recorded times and laps for runners, and tended to her race-day photographer duties for Scott and Alex. All the pictures in this blog are from her camera, some of which will be featured in April's issue of Ultrarunning Magazine thanks to Alex and his connections with the magazine folks. On that note, here are a few snapshots:
Scott and Alex giving the pre-race brief
Moments after the start
Well-stocked aid station, thanks to the RDs and all the volunteers
No caption necessary, I think we all know this gentlemen
I have no idea who she was, but we passed each other on the course about 20 times, each time her smile put me in a great mood and got me through the next loop
The course was frozen solid. Horses had recently been on the trails and left an array of hoof prints everywhere, all of which froze solid in the dirt and almost mimicked rocky terrain. Since the race was held on Groundhog Day, Scott and Alex created a race division knows as the Groundhog Division. Runners who volunteered to run in this division were forced to run either the 4.7-mile loop or the 8.0-mile loop all day, the same direction each loop, and could not deviate - you know, like the movie, the same thing over and over again. (Phil? Hey, Phil? Phil! Phil Connors? Phil Connors, I thought that was you!)
So, excited about this new opportunity, I signed up for it. How bad could it be? Well, let me explain. One loop, awesome! Two loops, still pretty awesome. Three loops, it would be nice to run this backwards or something next time. Four loops, I've seen that chick like 12 times already. Five loops, I could run this loop in the dark without a headlamp. Six loops, maybe some music will help. Seven loops, music didn't help. Eight loops, started shouting random motivational slurs to the runners going the opposite direction, things like "go get 'em" and "looking good" and "where have I seen you before?". Nine loops, Morgan fell flat on his face somewhere in the middle of the loop, made it all worth it.
I was aiming for 10 loops, only made 9, there will surely be bigger tragedies. I finished my 8th loop with about 1:15:00 remaining in the race and knew my legs weren't going to cover another 9.4 miles at roughly 8:00 min/mile pace, so Morgan and I walked/shuffled that last loop. We discussed the birds and the bees, lacrosse, running vs ultrarunning, girls, the foot print on my leg where he kicked me en route to the ground, how cold it was, and what we want to be when we grow up. Thanks to Morgan, my last loop was by far the most enjoyable.
It turns out I won the Groundhog Division with 42.3 miles logged during the race. I know, a surprise to me as well. I was merely hoping to stay on the course the full 8-hours, since this was my first timed race. But better yet I met new friends and, again, was reminded how awesome this sport is. Ultrarunning breeds a certain population of people. People with a better appreciation for the meaning of life. People with an increased resistance to adversity. People you can call friends. A group of nut-jobs who get excited about a Saturday together in the woods with some lube and baby wipes.
Huge thanks to Scott and Alex for putting on this race. Thanks to Dennis and Morgan for cooking Ramen, PB&J tortillas, and hot dogs all day. Thanks to Dave and Snipes for the motivation and for kicking me out of the aid station each loop. Special thanks to Morgan for the 22 self-photos you provided on Kari's phone. Last but not least, thanks to Kari for putting up with me and for sporting that Spongebob snuggie all day.
End of recount...
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