2006 Bull Run Run - 50 Mile Trail Run

Bull Run Run - 50 Mile Trail Run
Bull Run Trail near Clifton, Virginia

Saturday, April 8, 2006

Pre-Event Discussion

The Bull Run Run is a 50 mile trail run in Northern Virginia. The 2006 occurrence was to be the fourteenth running, or, as they say, the fourteenth battle. For me, it was to be my first run beyond 50k (31 miles). I was trying to be a little conservative with my expectations and I had set a loose goal of 8.5 hours.

An interesting feature of the Run is the Team Competition. There were four Divisions – Male, Female, Mixed, and Senior (where all teammates had to be over 50) – and each team had five members. All five runners had to finish and all five times were added to get a total. Lowest time wins. I had been talking with Dave after the HAT 50k and, since he was injured, he asked me if I would take his place on the Philly Brigade. I thought it would be fun and agreed. Joe, Chris, Kevin, and Rick were the other guys on the team. (I’d put last names in here, but I’m kind of an informal guy. Plus, if their last names were here, they could get Googled and they might have been doing something else this weekend.) There were seven other teams in the Male category, and 28 teams total. I guess just over a third of the 376 entrants were on a team.

By the way, in this story, I might be attributing certain comments and remarks to the incorrect teammate. They can correct me if so desired.

As usual, I was checking weather forecasts and pondering trail conditions days in advance. I think the final weather forecast ended up being all day rain and temps in the mid-50s and dropping to the low 50s. Which kind of indicated a cold, wet day with a bit of mud. Which might be an understatement.

(I realize I’m getting way ahead of my story by including this here, but I wanted to get it up front and visible.)

I think if you take all the mud I’ve ever seen in my 47+ years of living and add it up, it still wouldn’t equal the amount of mud that was on the course. There was mud, mud, and mud. With some more mud thrown in. Along with rocks and roots covered in mud. At the end, Renate was speaking with a gentleman who has finished all 14 battles and he said this one had the worst conditions ever. A sentiment that was echoed on the BRR results page.

I'm including a linear map of the course (to the right). It’s not to scale. I’m not sure it helps other than to give some indication as to the location of the aid stations.

Now, back to some story format notes.

If the pictures in the story are not attributed to anyone, they were taken by Renate and I use the camera time-stamp as a reference point. Otherwise, I note who took the picture, though I don’t have a time for those. By the way, Aaron’s pictures are way too sharp. They don’t adequately convey the grayness of the day.

There might also be some confusion as to the times that are written, as both run time and pace time will be in the x:xx format. For the running run time it will be hours:minutes. For the pace time it will be minutes:seconds. Generally, it should be fairly obvious as to which I’m referring to. Obviously, it’s not worth losing any sleep over. Just try to remember that I am a bit of a numbers geek. And, to use one of my standard disclaimers, I use my old stories for reference and the more detail, the better.

I probably also get my tenses mixed up and make other, obvious, grammatical errors. Keep in mind that I drink beer when I write and, though, I re-read and edit, I probably make the same mistakes. Just using different words.

Finally, I realize I’m going to use lots of vague-ities in this report. Things like “at some point” and “I guess about now.” I also like “I don’t know” and “I can’t recall” – phrases which can come in handy in a deposition. Among the many things I lack is a photographic memory. So, I kind of cut and paste memories where I think they may have happened. I think I get reasonably close most of the time. At least it’s a plus or minus 25 miles in this report. So, take everything with a bit of salt. Lime and tequila would probably help.

Friday Afternoon and Evening

It was kind of a tedious drive down, leaving our house around 12:30 pm. The worst part was dealing with the I-495 traffic around Washington then a bit on I-66 until we got off that and headed for Clifton. We were still well ahead of the 5:30 pm dinner bell, so we made our way to Centreville Road and the aid station that was scheduled to be there. It wasn’t all that difficult to find. We parked and wandered down to the river. And I got my first glimpse of the blue ribbons that would be marking the trail.

From Centreville Road it was off to Hemlock Overlook Regional Park (which is connected with George Mason University in some way, shape, or form) the main base for the Bull Run Run. We’re driving down the gravel road to the parking area and I notice lots of blue ribbons hanging from trees. I’m relatively confused, wondering why there would be ribbons for parking. I learned later that the opening mile of the run was a loop around the general vicinity and the ribbons were, indeed, marking the course.

We wandered down the trail towards the main buildings and found that there was a closer parking lot. Oh well. We’re not allowed to use the close in parking lot tomorrow, so we might as well get used to parking where we’re supposed to.

Renate and I are following the signs towards registration and dining, when we’re hailed from behind. It’s Dave along with Rick and Kevin. Dave gave me my team bandana – I guess it was official, now – and I was part of the Philly Brigade. Rick and Kevin had already checked in, so Renate and I went down and got my number and t-shirt. I opted not to buy any of the other shirts and things they had. I have more than enough shirts and things.

Now we’re all just standing around, outside the registration building, waiting for dinner to start and/or the appearance of our last couple of teammates. Chris was supposed to be coming down, but nobody was sure about Joe. Between Dave and Kevin, they must know just about everybody so our little group swells a bit. And, hey, there’s even somebody I know. Gerard is milling around. And, lo and behold, Chris shows up wearing his Bucknell sweatshirt.

Soon enough it’s time to wander down to dinner. The food was alright. I’m not really sure what I expected, but it was your basic pre-race feed of salad, pasta, and some other stuff. Chris and I chatted quite a bit about Ironman races and how that world is so much more tense the night before a race than is the ultra crowd. I also chatted with Euihwa, a Bucks County Road Runner with connections to Tim and Mary. Euihwa had done the HAT 50k two weeks ago as his very first ultra and was stepping quickly up to the 50 mile distance with a plan to do the Vermont 100 in July. And I thought I had an aggressive plan.

It started to get a little weathery out so Dave, Rick, and Kevin headed out. Rick and Kevin were veteran enough that they didn’t need to stick around for the pre-race briefing. Fortunately, the meeting was brief and we were out of there a little before 8 pm. Renate and I were staying with Jeff, my oldest brother, about thirty minutes east. The Jeep GPS sent us on a less than perfect route, but we made it ok. It was raining a bit, but not terribly hard.

We socialized with Jeff for a little while. I had a pre-race Guinness. It started thundering and lightening. Just like the weather-weenies had forecast. I pinned my number to my run shirt and then it was time for bed.

Saturday Morning Pre-Run

I really didn’t sleep all that well. I never do the night before an event, but this might have been a little worse than normal. Not much to do about it at o’dark thirty.

I get up and do what I have to. And then I mix up my fuel for the day while munching on a couple of Pop Tarts. Right about 4:30 am we pile into the car and head off into the wild black yonder. It’s not currently raining and it’s really not all that cold. I’m thinking shorts and a sleeveless tee for the upcoming run.

Renate overrides the Jeep GPS without getting lost and about thirty minutes after leaving Jeff’s we’re pulling into our parking space. There are quite a few people already present. More than I expected. I guess the ultra crowd is more of an early arrival group than is the Ironman crowd, where I’m often amongst the top ten in arrival times.

I opt to visit the heated bathroom building before the line gets out of hand. Then just set things up on a picnic table and start getting ready. And another noticeable difference from the Ironman world – there’s no loud music and bright lights. The intelligent people have flashlights. The super intelligent have head lights. Renate has the flashlight from the car and Jeff is shining it on my feet as I change shoes. Then there’s not a whole lot else to do. I don’t have to check my tires for air. I don’t have to squeeze into a wetsuit. At last night’s briefing, the Run Director said that we wouldn’t start until it was light enough to see where we were going, somewhere in the 6:15 am time frame.

Standing At The Starting “Ribbon” (6:14 am)

Soon enough two guys stretch out a piece of red ribbon across the road. A very brief speak, then a countdown and we’re off. I hadn’t seen any of my teammates prior to the start, though I did get a good luck quip from Dave (our non-running teammate).

And we’re off . . .

And this was kind of my first issue of the day. I had picked up a new Garmin GPS a couple of weeks ago. Mostly because I’m of the anal engineering type and I like to have a semi-reasonable exact distance when I run trails in training so I can put everything in my log. I know . . . I know . . . it’s not necessarily healthy, but it’s who and what I am. Anyway, I couldn’t get the GPS to find any satellites prior to the run starting. I forgot that when it moves from the last spot it knew where it was it takes it longer to find out where it is. And I think the extra thick cloud cover was also a contributing factor in non-satellite acquisition. But, it was time to run and I didn’t really feel like hanging around waiting to see if I could be seen by the satellites. Unfortunately, since the contraption is so new to me, I couldn’t figure out how to just get it to stopwatch so I could see time and heart rate. And it didn’t help matters that it’s a bit on the dark side. Finally, I give up fiddling with it and just run. I had given my regular watch to Renate right before I jumped into the starting pit and I figure I can get it back at the first aid station. I’ll just run “blind” until then. (You see, I don’t have to be a slave to the watch.)

I recognize Rick running just ahead of me. He’s a bit, um, distinctive in appearance, but I’m still surprised that I can pick him out from behind. He’s running with a fellow teammate who I take to be Kevin, but it turns out to be Chris. Kevin is just up ahead a little bit and Joe, our stud runner, is probably up with the lead pack. Rick’s race plan is to run with the fourth runner on our team. Right now that’s working as three, four, and five are together. Doesn’t necessarily bode well from a overall team performance, but it’s still only the opening mile.

We’re running up a fairly steep road, back into the main area, when I hear Renate cheering. I decide to stop and get my watch. I give her the GPS and the heart transmitter strap and put on my tried and true timekeeper. Fiddle with the buttons for a bit and then resume running. (I guess I didn’t even go long enough without a time to suffer any withdrawal symptoms.)

First stop, Centreville Road Aid Station (going north) . . .

I don’t think I was running that quickly, but I caught back up with Rick and Chris. Did they stop to visit a tree five minutes into the day? They accused me of doing interval sprints and that was why I was able to catch them. Whatever. We were now back in a row as we headed into the woods and off on the northern branch of the Bull Run Run.

We’re running along, single-file. I have no idea how many are in front and how many are behind. At least it’s getting light enough to see and, though it’s heavily overcast, it’s not raining and the trail is dry and in good shape. There’s a bit of rock running early. Well, running is not a valid description. More like picking and choosing where to put one’s foot. I get reassurance from Rick and Chris that we get to do this section on the way back to Hemlock Overlook. I also get reassurance that there’s not a whole lot of this stuff. Nothing to do but follow the others, one step at a time. And there are quite a few others.

In the team competition, we know the Philly Brigade is pretty much fighting for second. There’s a stacked team (Babies, Boomers, and Beyond) that has first place sewn up. That is, if they can all finish the race. (Remember, the team competition requires that all five members of the team complete the race and all their times are combined.) It becomes more apparent that the B, B, & B team is a ringer when Rick starts conversing with their fifth place runner. Three, four, and five of the Philly Brigade are behind number five of B, B, & B. I can’t let that go on too long.

I don’t know where exactly, but I decided to get ahead of this little train of maybe ten runners and I’m able to do so with little difficulty. A bit further on, heading up a hill, I catch a guy who’s struggling some. We chat and he mentions that he did something to his knee earlier in the week and it’s going to be a long 50 miles today. He’s going for his “five year hat” and is planning on walking it in if he has to. As I pass, I get a time check from him and find that I had started my watch about seven minutes into the run. Since I wanted to be on a 15 minute nutrition schedule, I had to do some math. (Eventually, I just got it to the point where I was using the normal 15, 30, 45, and 60 minutes as the watch read so I didn’t have to do math. Except towards the end, but I’ll get there some time towards the end.)

There are some little wooden bridges in this stretch along with three stream crossings that involve hopping from concrete pylon to concrete pylon to concrete pylon . . . No major problem and I’m sure the real runners are able to run right across these things without breaking stride. I get across the first set and start to go right. The course, though, goes left and I get whoa’d up by the guy behind me and pointed in the proper direction.

(The picture to the right is from the first stream crossing, Popes Head Creek. Notice how clean my shoes and legs are. And, no, it’s not because I fell in the creek.)

At some point I hear footsteps behind me and I look back to see if the person wants to pass. The guy says something like “No way do I want to be ahead of you.” I’m momentarily confused. Then I recognize the person as Chris. He mentions that we had passed Kevin a bit back, so now we’re running two and three for the Philly Brigade. I’m not sure about his pacing so I just kind of decide to run my own and go from there. If he wants to be faster, he can pass.

According to Google Maps (which I’m using as reference as I write this story), I’ve been running alongside some railroad tracks and then I went under a railroad bridge. I vaguely remember more rock running.

And somewhere about now it starts to rain lightly.

Photo by Aaron Schwartzbard

A little over an hour into the event, I reach the Centreville Road aid station. The aid station itself is up a set of stairs and in the parking lot. I mentioned to Chris that I wasn’t planning on stopping and I asked if he was and he said no. So, even though we don’t need anything, the requirement is still to run up the stairs, around the cones, and back down the stairs. Renate and Jeff are standing there. I don’t change out fuel bottle and flask here, it’s only 7.2 miles into the day, I just get a smooch from Renate. Jeff mentions that I’m in about 20th place. I can’t see 19th, but it’s no major deal.

Second stop, Centreville Road Aid Station (going south) . . .

Now, it’s a little over two miles to the north turnaround. Chris and I are just one foot in front of the other. It’s getting a bit muddy and slippery, though not intolerable. I’m kind of curious when the lead pack is going to run into us. There’s a longish bouncy wooden bridge to cross and under another road (Ordway Road) with more rock running. Then back to regular trail. It’s getting a bit muddy in spots. (Oh, I see I just wrote that. Maybe it’s a trend for the day.)

The course trail makes a turn to the right. I can’t turn on a dime because of the slickness of the trail. Chris says to go right. I know that, I’m just in the wrong lane and the wrong gear for the conditions. I have to semi-stop before I can make the turn.

And about now the lead pack of guys comes hurtling towards us. There seem to be about eight in there. Just out for a Saturday run. Having a nice conversation and running easily.

If Jeff’s calculations were correct, there should be about ten others ahead of Chris and me. We reach another wooden bridge and runners are heading towards us. They’re telling Chris and me to turnaround. Not really sure why. Is there danger ahead? Nope. Just a volunteer telling us we’ve gone past the scheduled turnaround and should head back now. I get the impression it’s right before the bridge, so Chris and I didn’t do too much extra. I have no idea about the others right in front of us and especially about the lead pack. (I think I was talking with Joe in the Lodge after the run. I believe he mentioned that he was in a group of about five runners that made it all the way to a parking lot. They had no idea what to do next and were kind of milling around. Several other runners joined them before a volunteer appeared and told them they had gone too far. I’m sure there were some less than happy people at that point. Nothing much for them to do but retrace their steps and resume the run.)

I ask Chris if it would be rude to pass all these people right away. He says to go for it. I just settle in and run for a bit, gradually closing the gap on the people directly ahead of me. I catch a couple and ask how far beyond the bridge they had run. They say just to the other side, so they didn’t do much more then we did.

So, now we’re heading back towards the Centreville Road Aid Station and the trail is starting to get crowded with people heading in both directions. I’m not sure when I lost Chris, but I did. And I had another instance of heading off trail and getting whoa’d back in by the guys following me. There were getting to be lots of sections of mud, I guess 300+ people heading out had helped churn things up, and I was paying more attention to where I was putting my feet than to the trail. It didn’t help that the off-limits ribbons were red. I’m red-green color deficient and the red doesn’t leap out at me. As it turned out, that was my last instance of missing the trail.

I make it safely back to Centreville Road. It’s 11.6 miles into the run, about one hour and forty-five minutes have passed since I first started running with purpose. Renate and Jeff are standing before the aid station so I stop and get a fresh bottle of perpetuem and a new gel flask. I get rid of the rain jacket I’ve been carrying in my water bottle holder. It’s raining, not all that hard, and I’m not really cold, so there’s no sense in hauling it around. I get a quick smooch. Jeff mentioned my place and how far behind the leaders I was, but I don’t recall that information. I vaguely remember being a bit surprised at how close to the front I was. The pace (roughly 9:00 per mile as calculated after the fact) didn’t seem overly aggressive, but I’ve dropped Chris and I’m wondering if I’m going a little too hard. My semi-goal had been to be right around 10:00 per mile, which would have been about 1:55 on the race clock. (Mind you, I’m not doing any of this number crunching while I’m participating. I’m doing it all after the fact, as I write up this little adventure.) I go up the steps, around the cones, down the steps and back under Centreville Road commenting to the spectators that it looks warm and dry under the bridge. Weenies. (Just kidding.)

Heading South at Centreville Road (7:59 am)

Third stop, Hemlock Overlook Aid Station (going south) . . .

It’s five miles back to the Hemlock Overlook Aid Station. And more running just like the earlier running. Kind of to be expected since I’m on the same trail I was earlier, just heading in the opposite direction. Things are pretty spaced out, runner-wise, and there’s really not much to do except run. So, I run. And run. And run. I don’t recall this section being overly muddy.

There are still the random rock sections. And the three streams with concrete pylons. Along with some wooden bridges. Not to mention the roots and ruts. Just your basic run through the woods.

The other members of the Philly Brigade said we went up a long, steep, stair-step hill to get back into the Hemlock Overlook Aid Station. I don’t remember that at all. Then a section of field and some more woods and finally the main area. Even though it had only been five miles since the last stop, I got a fresh bottle and flask from Renate. (She was going to start combining partial bottles and flasks for later in the day.) And the regular smooch. I think Jeff said I was in about 12th place. I noticed the run clock had a time of 2:32 (roughly a 9:10 pace for the first 16.6 miles) and I took off down the hill so that I could start on the southern leg of the Bull Run Run.

Returning to Hemlock Overlook (8:46 am)

Fourth stop, Bull Run Marina Aid Station (going south) . . .

I ran the very first part of the downhill with another guy. We introduced ourselves. Turns out he was Scott Mills, the former Run Director, who would go on to finish 9th. (He was the fourth finisher for the B, B, & B team. Talk about stacked. They had four guys finish in the top nine.) He was moving fairly quickly, so I just let him go. My thought process was that the day was going to take 8.5 hours. I had just completed 2.5 hours. I figured I wouldn’t truly be on my way back until after the “Do Loop” which was about 35.5 miles into the day. I was roughly guessing that it would take 3.5 hours to get to that point. (I had been told that the northern leg was potentially muddier, but the southern leg was tougher with more ups and downs.) I had told myself to go brain-dead for this time. Not to worry about anything, but just take things aid station to aid station. I didn’t really want to focus on the time or the distance or the pace. I told myself to be steady, to make steady forward progress. The next aid station, at Bull Run Marina, was less than five miles away. Stay steady.

And, that’s what I did. Rocks . . . mud . . . roots . . . mud . . . ups . . . mud . . . downs . . . mud . . . flats . . . mud. Mud . . . mud . . . mud. We break into the clear and run in a field along the tree line. At least it’s not mud here. It’s just very squishy grass. Out here in the open it seems like it’s raining harder. Around a couple of soccer fields. Down a gravel road. And back into the woods. Or what might be more accurately termed a swamp. I’m not sure this section would be dry under drought conditions. It’s alongside Kincheloe Road. There are, maybe, three foot sections of logs about the diameter of telephone poles side by side by side. Since they’re wet, they’re slippery. I don’t want to fall off, there might be gators lurking in the swamp. I take my time crossing these. There might be four or five sections of these logs with some semi-normal running in between. Eventually, it’s the aid station at the Bull Run Marina.

Philly Brigade at Bull Run Marina Aid Station (21.1 miles)
Sleepy Steve (9:27 am)	Shivering Chris (9:38 am)	Standing Rick (9:40 am)

For me, it’s been about 3.25 hours into the day. I’m still mostly in control. I’m still all about making forward progress. I replenish supplies and then ask “Which way do I go?” “Down the steps, through the parking lot, and across the street,” the nice volunteer says. I get to the street, Old Yates Ford Road, and I am, once again, temporarily clueless. It’s a fairly big street and I’m not entirely sure I heard the volunteer correctly. Then I spy some blue ribbon draped over the guardrail on the other side. Carefully looking both ways, as Mom and Dad taught me, I manage to make it across safely. Now, do I hurdle the guardrail? Or is there a path further down? I’m sort of standing there when I see somebody coming out of the woods. He motions for me to come on down. Still confused, I ask if he’s on his way back. That’d be pretty quick for the leaders, but I had no real concept of time or space. He said he was a volunteer checking course markings. At least I knew I was where I was supposed to be. I proceed onwards. Towards the next aid station, Wolf Run Shoals, which was five miles away.

Fifth stop, Wolf Run Shoals Aid Station (going south) . . .

Nothing much sticks in my mind about this section. I know there were twists and turns, ups and downs, minor stream crossings on rocks and major crossings on bouncy bridges, including one that seemed to be sloped a bit precariously. Another instance when I was happy to be running alone. And, alone I was. Nary a person in sight. When I left Bull Run Marina, one of the volunteers said I was just a couple of minutes behind Joe and another couple of minutes behind Scott. Basically, I had the woods to myself. I would have liked a few more blue ribbons dangling from trees. There were instances when I wasn’t entirely sure I hadn’t crossed over a red boundary that I couldn’t see and was were I wasn’t supposed to be. (I just re-read that and I think it says what I want it to say.) But, the trees had blue blazes, which was the secondary indication for us, and I just followed them. Soon enough a blue ribbon would appear and I would relax.

(Just so you all know, that previous paragraph can be cut and pasted into just about any section of the run.)

The Wolf Run Shoals Aid Station was one of the two aid stations crew couldn’t get to. And they do a “theme” every year. Nobody knows what to expect until they get to the aid station. And, for somebody like me running the BRR for the first time, I wasn’t entirely sure where the station was. I kind of figured I was nearing civilization of some sort when a couple of damp cardboard signs with various comments started appearing. And underwear in the trees. Ok. Up another set of mud steps and there’s the aid station. It’s the Fruit of the Loom Aid Station and all the volunteers are dressed as fruit. There’s a banana, an orange, some grapes, and who knows what else. I stop and get a cup of Pepsi and another of water. I’m a little bit chatty. Kind of surprising to me. I ask how far I’ve gone. The volunteer says 26 miles, you’re over half way done. “So, I just turn around here?” I ask. “Um, no. But you’re only a couple of minutes behind Joe.” Right about that time, the first place chick starts up the mud steps. Whoa. I better skedaddle.

Sixth stop, Fountainhead Aid Station (going south) . . .

Somewhere during the run we entered an archery range. Well, we didn’t actually go in. At least I don’t think so. There were signs posted warning of the archery range and that we shouldn’t enter.

Next up is the Fountainhead Aid Station, only a couple of miles ahead. Since it was only a couple of miles, I’m not sure a whole lot happened. I saved that for where there were spectators.

I had my first total and complete trail splat right at the entrance to the Fountainhead aid station. Lots of people around, it’s always nice to have an audience, and right into a mud puddle. Renate and Jeff told me after the run that, though I was the first, I was not the only person to fall there. And, surprise surprise, I have a theory about that.

I think the trail-gremlins are just like the runners. They’re paying attention to the weather forecast and making plans accordingly. I think when it got to be an expectation of rain, and the resulting mud, the trail-gremlin that lives right at that spot called up all his friends and said “Party at my rock on Saturday.” If a runner is going to fall down in a cloud of dust, sure, that’s fun, but if a runner is going to fall in a splat of muddy water, well, that’s great fun. And the more trail-gremlins, the merrier. I think all the trail-gremlins took turns making the rock go up and down, or side to side, and they would keep score of the resulting splats. I think chest mud would be worth the most points. And, since these were all guy trail-gremlins (I’m sure the girl trail-gremlins were in the burrow making nachos) chest mud on a chick was the royal flush of splats.

I’m happy to report that I only had back right shoulder mud. I don’t know how I know to do it, maybe from my bike riding, but I know that when I’m on my way down, the best thing is to tuck and roll. So, I don’t put my hand out to brace my fall, but I generally try to fall on my shoulder. And, I guess, it’s the right side so that I don’t fall into traffic.

Fountainhead Aid Station (28.1 miles)
Hey, Sweetie, did you get a picture of me falling? (10:35 am)	Yuck. (10:36 am)

By the way, the bandana dangling like a tail is our team colors. All the teams had a different one. It was just supposed to be visible. How it was worn was up to the individual. Joe and Kevin looped theirs around their running belts. Chris and Rick put theirs on their wrists. Some people wore them looped around their necks. I was the only one that I noticed that wore it like a tail. I wanted to be running fast enough that it would stream out behind me. Yeah. Like that was ever going to happen.

According to the map I’m referencing as I write this it’s 28.1 miles into the run. According to the picture time-stamps it’s about 4:20 into the day. According to my calculations that’s about a 9:15 per mile pace. I never did any figuring while I was out on the course. Not until later, anyway. Mostly I was just running. Conditions were pretty bad. And they were deteriorating. I was aware of the existence of mile marker posts for awhile, not sure when exactly after Hemlock Overlook, but I wasn’t doing anything with that information. I figured the best I could realistically expect to do for my first 50 miler was an 8:20 which would have been 10:00 per mile. So, had I been aware of the 9:15 pace after 28 miles, I might have been more aware of having gone out a bit too quick. This is all week after the run analysis, so take it for what it’s worth.

I suppose I should get back to the run. Here’s a block of pictures Renate took of the rest of the Philly Brigade.

Philly Brigade at Fountainhead Aid Station (28.1 miles)
Joe (10:16 am)	Chris (10:50 am)	Kevin (10:55 am)	Rick along with Dave (10:58 am)
They managed to stay upright.

Intermission – The White Loop (going in a circle) . . .

After leaving Fountainhead, we do the “White Loop”. The first place girl had left the aid station and entered the loop right before me. I remember the White Loop as being somewhat tedious. But it had to be done. And I guess it was only about two miles. Run, run, run. Slop, slop, slop. I don’t think there were any bridges in the loop, but, other than that, I think my generic paragraph from above can be re-read if someone wants any more detail.

Joe

Steve

Chris	Kevin	Rick
Photos by Aaron Schwartzbard I think this is somewhere in the white loop. Notice how the others are running and I’m walking. If the picture order is any indication, Joe is 9th, I’m 14th, Chris is 26th, Kevin is 36th, and Rick is 43rd. (By the way, I had a big enough lead on the person following me that Aaron was able to get a picture of my back after I passed him.)

Seventh & Eighth stops, Do Loop Aid Station (going south then north) . . .

Next up was the Do Loop Aid Station. That would be at 32.5 miles which would make it the furthest I had ever run. I’m pretty sure the lead runner passed me heading back somewhere in the couple of miles after the White Loop and before the Do Loop Aid Station. And there may have been another or two. Looking at Google maps, which sort of refreshes my memory, I see we cross over a road and then immediately another road. There were volunteers there making sure the way was clear. Thanks, guys. There would have probably been a longish bouncy wooden bridge just a bit before those road crossings.

And then the Do Loop Aid Station. Chris Scott, the Run Director, is here. He shakes my hand and tells me I’m doing great. I thank him for a fine day. After I turn from Chris, a volunteer says, “Hey you’re Steve Noone. I recognize you from your HAT report.” We shake hands and chat while I enjoy a cup of Pepsi’s finest. He says he liked the report, he was glad I included pictures so he could see what I looked like, and that it wasn’t too long. (I have no idea if he’s going to say the same nice things about this report.) It’s a nice conversation, but I have to get going. I tell him I’ll be back in about a half hour as I head into the Do Loop.

It’s kind of like a sucker. There’s a little stick section, then counterclockwise around a loop. The whole thing is about three miles. I get to the end of the stick and there’s a volunteer. He makes a joking comment about runners running in the rain. I jokingly reply back that it beats just standing around in the rain. He chuckles and agrees. Thanks, buddy, for being out there. He points to the left, which is my right. And, off I go.

I think the Do Loop was one of those sections where I would have preferred many more blue ribbons. I was pretty much alone, and the trail, to me, wasn’t as obvious as the other trails had been. And, though I don’t remember it as being all that muddy, it had it’s fair share of ups and downs. I got to the far edge of the loop, pretty much as far south as I was going to run for the day, and I noticed a row, row, row your boat contest in the river below. I thought about watching for awhile, but, as it didn’t appear that the beer vendor was going to make it all the way to where I was, there was really no sense in hanging around. So, I continue looping around the Do Loop.

Eventually, I complete the circle and even come out on the path I’m supposed to. (And you all mock my woods navigation skills.) I greet the direction guy like a long lost buddy. Hey, I haven’t seen any other human for, what, 25 minutes. I ask, and he tells me, but I forget how many people had entered the loop. I head down the stick and back to the Do Loop Aid Station. Shortly before getting there, I see Kevin coming towards me. He’s doing kind of so-so. He tweaked his calf early and wasn’t having as good a time as he’d of liked. Still, he was going to finish.

At the aid station, I ran into Rick. He was also not having a very good day. I mentioned that I had seen Kevin a couple of minutes ago, but that didn’t do anything for him. He filled up his bottle and headed off. I chatted with the same volunteer I had met on the way out. He asked if my wife was out taking pictures and I replied yes. A really nice guy. I wish I had gotten his name. I’ll blame it on being brain-dead and/or brain-washed. But, thanks for being there and thanks for recognizing me. I finished my Pepsi and headed back onto the course. Only 15 miles to go.

Ninth stop, Fountainhead Aid Station (going north) . . .

I don’t remember the time, but I’m guessing it was close to six hours into the run. Probably about 2.5 to go. This was kind of when I wanted to start paying attention. To pace. To nutrition. To how I was feeling. So, pretty promptly after leaving the aid station and vowing to be on top of my game, I fell down in the mud again. I’ll blame this one on a chick.

I heard someone behind me so I turned to take a look. It was the second place girl and she was running well. Much better than I. I moved over to the right side of the trail, such as it was, to give her room to pass me on the left. Well, a trail-gremlin decided that I should be much more chivalrous so, probably, she stuck a stick between my feet and made me splat. Again, I was able to rotate as I was falling and I landed on my right shoulder. I think the trail-gremlin was hoping I’d land flat on my chest and stomach so the runner girl could just run down my back so she wouldn’t have to get her feet dirty. (I can’t take credit for the chivalry idea. I got it the other day from Jan as she was massaging my legs. She was doing a great job on my quads. Unfortunately, she was going through my hamstrings to get to them.)

As the second place girl goes trotting by, she tells me to be careful because it’s slippery. Not being in a position to make a witty retort, I pick myself out of the mud, tuck my tail between my legs, and vow to pay attention. And head back to the Fountainhead Aid Station and a visit with my personal crew.

Since we don’t do the White Loop on the return trip, getting back to Fountainhead is by a slightly different route. When we come to a chain link fence, the girl in front of me is momentarily confused. I notice all the blue ribbons and figure it’s the back way to the aid station so I tell her to go ahead. Soon enough we’re back in sight of civilization. It’s hard to see in the picture to the right, but I’m in gray with the white hat. The runner in the baggie is heading out on the White Loop. The volunteer in the red jacket is directing traffic.

According to the run map, the aid station is at 37.9 miles. According to the picture time stamp, run time is about six hours and eight minutes. According to my calculator, run pace to this point is about 9:43 per mile. I’m obviously way off the pace. Again, after the fact calculations shows about one hour and forty minutes to go the 9.8 miles from Fountainhead back to Fountainhead. That’s just over eleven minutes per mile pace. The last 12.5 miles are not going to be pretty.

Returning to Fountainhead (12:23 pm)

Tenth stop, Wolf Run Shoals Aid Station (going north) . . .

I refuel, smooch, and head to the Wolf Run Shoals Aid Station.

Insert generic running paragraph here. Except that the mud is getting deeper, gooier, slipperyier, muddier. It was damn near impossible to run the downhills, they were so slippery I wasn’t able to make the turns if I had any speed. On more than one occasion I had to run into a small tree halfway down the hill in order to stop. I’d then make a slight course correction and continue down to the next tree. It was also damn near impossible to run the uphills. I couldn’t get any traction, my feet kept slipping. I’d get halfway up the hill and pray that I didn’t slip and fall all the way back down to the bottom. Rocks and roots weren’t a whole lot of help since they were also covered in mud. And, of course, the downs and ups were made infinitely more exciting whenever there was two way traffic. Oh, by the way, it was damn near impossible to run some of the flats, the mud was so deep and sticky in spots that I wondered if my shoe was going to come out with my foot each time I plunged in.

I probably exaggerated a little bit just now. There were sections that were very run-able and some of the sloppier sections could be skirted or edged around. And some sections just had muddy standing water that helped cleanse the sticky gooey mud off my shoes.

At least I didn’t have to worry about course markings. I just followed the muddy trail. Whenever I had the slightest doubt, I just looked to see if there were footprints heading in the same direction as I.

And, I made it back to the Wolf Run Shoals Aid Station. Where I got teasingly chastised by one of the volunteers. There was a guy who had just reached the aid station from the other direction, he was still on his way out. I asked if the sun was shining back where he came from, where I was going. The volunteer told me I wasn’t being nice since I was at least on my way to the finish. Honestly, I was just joking. I finished my Pepsi and left. Heading off to the Bull Run Marina Aid Station.

Eleventh stop, Bull Run Marina Aid Station (going north) . . .

I think the five miles between Wolf Run Shoals and Bull Run Marina were about the bleakest of the run for me. I was starting to get seriously cold. (Others mentioned that the wind kicked up sometime during the day, but I didn’t really notice that.) I regretted not taking gloves from Renate back at Fountainhead. My legs were functioning fine, but they were cold and a bit stiff. My feet were wet, but blister-free (knock on wood). I wasn’t taking in nutrition every 15 minutes like I was supposed to. I tried to use my “steady” mantra, and that worked a bit. Mostly I just tried to keep making relentless forward progress. I was passed by a few people (I’m not sure where the third place girl passed me) and that’s always a bit of a mental hit. I did pass a couple of others, so I wasn’t totally plunging back through the field.

I think I started to notice the mile marker posts again and I was able to make a pace calculation. Twelve minutes per mile. Not pretty, but it’ll get me home. I knew the finish was about five miles from the Bull Run Marina Aid Station. Since I wasn’t entirely sure what run time was because of my watch snafu at the beginning, I was using a seven minute variance, I figured I had to be out of the Bull Run Marina by 7:23 on my watch to have a shot at 8:30 for the day.

Ok. Calculations time. 44.9 miles in 7:27 equals 9:57 minutes per mile. If you’ll remember, I had reached the 16.6 mile point in 2:32 and was running a 9:10 pace. The 28.3 miles since the Hemlock Overlook Aid Station had taken 4:55, a speedy 10:25 pace. And I was going to be happy with 12:00 pace from here on out.

I honestly don’t think I went out too quickly. The northern section of the run is more run-able so that pace will be a bit faster anyway. I think the muddy conditions really sucked the energy out of me. Add in the cold, rainy weather and the poor nutrition habits and that will result in a dismal pace. I think I still had the physical ability to move more quickly, I just didn’t have the mental ability to do so.

(Oh, wait, I forgot something. When I was crossing Old Yates Ford Road to get to the marina, there was a police car and an officer. He was putting out flares and helping with traffic. Somebody said he was there in the morning, but not at 9:30 am when I went through the first time. But, it was great. He was friendly and didn’t seem to mind being out there. Now, back to your regularly scheduled run.)

Returning to Bull Run Marina (1:43 pm)

But, I only had five more miles to go. Five miles I had seen before from the other direction. Thoughts of Guinness started popping into my head. You know, I thought, I could really go for a Guinness right about now. Might as well start moving in that direction. My fuel situation was full so I didn’t bother with anything. I got a quick smooch from Renate, some words of encouragement from Jeff and Dave, as well as the volunteers, and headed back into the woods.

Final stop, Hemlock Overlook Finish Line (going north) . . .

I had to re-negotiate the side by side by side logs in the swamp alongside Kincheloe Road. But that area didn’t seem to be any worse in the afternoon than in the morning. I guess once a swamp, always a swamp. I’m sure there were the usual ups and downs and flats, all covered in mud. But, it wasn’t all that long until I broke through the woods and reached the soccer complex. And more momentary confusion.

I had re-passed the third place girl, she had to make an unscheduled stop, and I came out of the woods. I had vague recollections of the gravel road that was right there. But, I didn’t remember a bright yellow gate across it the first time. I stopped. Looked around. Looked some more. Finally I noticed the blue ribbons dangling from the trees alongside the gravel road. I went around the gate and carried on. The girl had caught back up to me while I was pondering and I figured it wouldn’t be long before she went zooming by. But, she never did.

I trotted down the gravel road, around the soccer fields, through a strand of trees, and down a field next to the tree line. Some may remember that this was just squishy grass on the way out. Well, it had long since turned to shoe-sucking muck. But, I survived with my shoes intact.

And, just kept on going. I knew Chris was somewhere behind me, I was figuring anywhere from five to ten minutes. I really didn’t want him to pass me so I just tried to make a little faster and steadier progress.

I guess I can insert more generic running right about here. Except there were a couple of instances, I may have mentioned them, where horses were told to go on the uphill trail, the one without lots of big rocks, while runners had to take the lower trail with the aforementioned big rocks. I remember thinking that it’d be nice to take the road less rocky. But I didn’t. I just took my time, watching where I was putting my feet. At least it wasn’t muddy.

Now, I’m starting to look at my watch, wondering if 8.5 hours is possible. I know I must be getting close to the end. But, another rocky section right alongside the river. And I hear footsteps. I look behind. Someone is closing quickly. I move to the side, without falling down, and let the person pass. It’s a new third place girl. I look back but don’t see anybody else.

Finally, and I mean finally, we come to the “big hill at the end.” The others said we went up this after the northern end of the course. I don’t recall it being as steep, nor as long. Heck, I don’t recall it even being there. One foot in front of the other. I know this is the last real tough bit.

Into the field near the lodge. There’s a couple playing croquet. Wickets to the left of me . . . wickets to the right . . . here I am, stuck in the middle with you . . .

The last little bit of path, complete with dangling blue ribbons. I can hear the finish line, the girl has just finished. A quick glance back to make sure I don’t have to sprint the last 100 yards of a 50 mile run.

There’s a chalk line on the road. A big clock. A smattering of spectators and volunteers. And Chris, the RD. I cross the line. Chris shakes my hand. I ask if it’s ok to stop now. He says yes. I’m done. My first 50 miler.

Finish Line at Hemlock Overlook (50.4 miles)
Photo by Aaron Schwartzbard	I made it. (2:48 pm)

Post Finish
Just a little bit of mud on my legs and feet. (Photo by Aaron Schwartzbard)	With the Love Of My Life (Photo taken by Jeff Noone)

Post-Run

I manage to walk down to the picnic table area where I left my bag many hours ago. I’m not feeling all that badly. I’m a little bummed about the extra three minutes, but not overly so. I’m not cold. I’m not hungry. I just am. I’m done. It feels pretty good to sit. Renate hands me a Coke. She’s also brought up a couple of pints of Guinness from the car, but, believe it or not, I’m not really ready for one. I think I’ll go up to the bathhouse and take a shower.

Deciding not to wear my mud-encrusted shoes up, I take them and the top layer of socks off. I’m instantly twenty pounds lighter. My formerly bright white under layer of socks is now a nice mud brown. I walk, in my stocking feet, up to get a shower. And warmth. I find a spot on the bench and take off my mud, sweat, and rain soaked clothes. I turn the shower to hot and just stand under it for a few minutes. I scrape the layer of mud off my legs. I’m starting to feel human again. Reluctantly, I leave the hot water of the shower, freeing it up for someone else. I’m stiff and sore, but I can move. I put on clean, warm clothes and head on over to the lodge where Renate and Jeff are waiting.

I walk in. There’s a fire in the fire place. It’s toasty warm. I get my fleece finisher’s jacket – blue, since I’m representing the north in this battle – and wander over to where Renate and Jeff are sitting. I’m not real hungry. I opt for a cup of coffee and some potato chips.

Joe is there, with his wife and kids, and we chat for a few minutes. Joe and his family take off, they’re going to D.C. for the night and the day. Jeff has eaten all my potato chips while I was talking to Joe. No problem. I decide to try and eat something. I get a couple of sandwiches from the food table, and some more chips. I give Jeff a sandwich so he’ll leave my chips alone. The food goes down ok. I decide it’s time for a pint.

Supposedly there’s a no alcohol policy here. I subtly pop the top on my can of Guinness. I’m sure Todd heard it, wherever he was. Nobody else seems to notice. Or to care. I pour it into a cup, so I don’t have any “visible” alcohol. Ah, Guinness. I decide that I want to go down to the finish line and see if Kevin and Rick are done. I knew Chris was done since I had seen him in the shower room. Jeff hangs back in the lodge so we leave most everything there.

Close to the finish line I decide I’m ready for my second pint of Guinness. Another successful hidden pour and then we walk over. Dave and Chris are there. Kevin has finished. We’re waiting on Rick. Soon enough he appears on the path. And then he’s done. All five members of the Philly Brigade have completed the muddiest Bull Run Run in the history of the Bull Run Run. We’re not really sure where we’ve placed as a team. Dave seems to think we came in second.

Chris, Renate, and I head back to the lodge. Rick is heading to the showers and Dave is carrying Rick’s bag.

Chris fills up a plate with food and starts inhaling it. Jeff, Renate, and I are sitting around starting to think about wrapping it up. Kevin walks in and sits down with us. Dave goes over to the list of finishers and tries to calculate our team placement. Again, he thinks we’re second. Rick walks in, still looking slightly dazed.

The Philly Brigade - Kevin, Steve, Rick, Chris (4:46 pm)
Kevin, Rick, and I are all wearing our nice, new blue finisher’s jackets.
Chris is very attached to his old Bucknell sweatshirt.

We chat for a bit longer, then it’s time for me to leave. My crew has been stellar all day and they’re starting to nod off. I’ll leave it for the others to see if we’ve placed as a team. Dave jokingly says that the first two finishers from the Philly Brigade are the first two to leave. I guess it’s a first in – first out system.

I do want to give a big “thanks” to Jeff. Renate has been following me around races for years and she has a good idea of what to expect. I think Jeff was a little bit surprised about what was involved in playing crew. And, how long the day really was. But, thanks Jeff, for keeping Renate company, for cheering, for being out there in the cold and damp. And, also, for putting us up for two nights. Oh, yeah, and for the beer and pizza.

And, as usual, to the Love Of My Life: Renate, I could do this without you, but it’s a whole lot more fun with you. Thanks for being the best sherpa at Ironman races and, now, for being the best crew at ultraruns. I’m looking forward to taking you to Arkansas in October.

And, that’s about it.

After The Fact Analysis

All eight teams entered in the Male Division finished and we ended up in second. We each received a nice red fleece blanket with “Second Place Team” on it. (Thanks, Rick, for picking it up and sending it out to me.) We lost to the “stacked” first place team by five hours and beat the third place team by about 28 minutes. Fourth place was another five hours back, so it was a fairly close battle between second and third.

I’m not really sure what the mud did to my overall time. If I compare it to last year, my 8:33 would have been 23rd. If I look at overall placing, 16th last year was 8:14. I kind of thought I had the ability to go 8:15, which would be just under ten minutes per mile.

I don’t know why I didn’t do a very good job with nutrition, but I didn’t. I had four bottles of perpetuem mix prepared and four gel flasks, pretty much twice as much as I used two weeks ago at the 50k run. I had very little intake for the last hour to hour and a half. It was cold and damp and dreary and I just had no desire to ingest anything. I know it had a negative effect on my performance, but I wasn’t thinking all that clearly.

Although I never really questioned my sanity while I was out there, I did have a couple of sections of “am I having fun, yet?” And, I remember thinking, maybe six hours in, do I really want to do a 100 mile run? By the time I had finished, gotten cleaned up, and had a Guinness, I was feeling ok with the goal of a 100 miler in October. I do know I’m going to have to do better with nutrition. And I’m going to have to take in some solid foods from the aid stations. I don’t think I can exist on just perpetuem and hammer gel. Not unless they’re going to sponsor me.

I guess I can experiment a little with my next run, which is the Laurel Highlands 70.5 Mile Ultra on June 10, 2006. Maybe I’ll see you there.

Thanks, everybody, for reading. Hope you had a good time. By the way, if anybody has any comments, queries, suggestions, corrections, etc., please pass them along.

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