The White Loop is about two miles of twisting, meandering, up and down trail. Randomly I’ll spot a fellow competitor up ahead. I think he might be catchable, but by the time I’ve negotiated all the twists and turns, he’s vanished into thin trail. So it goes. And it does, quite often, it seems. It’s probably about twenty minutes and then I see the bright blue pie plates with arrows (and maybe a paragraph on the back) pointing back to the main trail. I also see the bright blue pie plates with arrows that will tell me not to do the White Loop when I’m heading back home. The White Loop is one way only, apparently or, rather, thankfully. A couple of miles on the main trail and then civilization in the form of the Do Loop aid station.
Oh, wait a minute. Sometime between the end of the White Loop and the Do Loop aid station, I start running into home going runners. I vaguely remember seeing the same leader as last year in about the same spot as last year. That could all be a hallucination, or a made up embellishment, but I wrote it, it will appear on the Internet, so it must be fact.
I topped off my water bottle, since I didn’t do that back at Fountainhead, got directions from a volunteer along with a “see you in three miles” and headed for a trip around the Do Loop. I did succeed in one of my semi-spur of the moment type goals. I wanted to be in the Do Loop before seeing Randy on his way back. I also had a little reward waiting for me when I made it out of the Do Loop. I told myself that I could start drinking Coke once I was on the way home. It wasn’t quite Guinness, but it was a little bit of a carrot. I ran into the Do Loop.
And met the gatekeeper, a lonely volunteer directing runners one way on the way in, and the other way on the way out. I thanked him for being out there and complimented him on his arm waving technique.
The loop itself is probably two and a half miles. Call it a quarter mile to get to the gatekeeper, two and a half miles of loop, and a quarter mile back to the aid station. The loop did seem to be more up and down this year than it was last. There were still some “row, row, row your boat” crewers on the water below, maybe the same ones as last year. The same junk cars – how the heck did they get there in the first place – as last year. But, this year I had company on the loop. Well, if you can call the guys off in the distance and the girl who zoomed past me company.
I guess I was having fun, because time seemed to be flying and I re-met the gatekeeper. I asked if I could go around for another spin, but he said only one per customer. (After all, it was the Do Loop, not the Do-Do Loop.) Unless I had some cash, but I didn’t, so I headed back to the aid station. And my first cup of Coke of the day. Rough race time was 5.5 hours.
And this is when I began to think that I’d be faster than the original nine hour target. Heck, I should have a chance at beating last year’s 8:33. I’d covered 35.5 miles and had 15 to go. Doing some mental calculations – Seeing as to how I was lacking in paper and pencil. Heck, I was lacking in mental, too, but that’s another issue. – told me that ten minute pace would be 150 minutes which would be 2.5 hours which added to the 5.5 I’d already lived would end up with eight. What?? How the heck could that be. Not that I was going to be traveling at ten minute per mile pace, but I had the semi-thought that maybe I could. How hard did I want to work? How hard could I work? How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood? How many bottles of beer on the wall?
And then it started to rain. Great deluges of water falling from the skies washing rocks and small animals away. Noah’s Ark type rain. Wait. That was the next day. It was just dripping a little bit. No harm. No foul. Just the pitter patter of small drops of water plopping amongst the dead leaves on the trail. I didn’t foresee a problem. Kind of surprising, I’m basically a pessimist.
It helped that there were runners running in the direction I was once running but I wasn’t running now. I was going home. They weren’t. Nyah . . . nyah . . . nyah. No. I didn’t say any of that. It was always words of encouragement on both sides. One oncoming guy told me the little blue pie plates with the turn arrows were just up ahead. Good thing not to have to deal with the White Loop a second time.
I wasn’t moving as quickly as maybe I should have been and I pulled into Fountainhead at six hours on the race clock. Or at least the race clock that I was wearing on my wrist. I did more math – 12.5 miles to go, two hours to beat eight – and came up with a number faster than ten minute per mile pace. Well, it was only a pipe dream, anyway.
A couple cups of Coke, a quick smooch and I was back on the trail. And, fortunately out of sight of the aid station, on the trail. Literally. A rock grabbed my shoe and I went down. Hard. The hardest I’ve fallen during a race. I took a few seconds to regroup and recollect. I knew my name. I knew what I was doing. I knew where I was going. So, I got up and went.
I knew the aid station at Wolf Run Shoals was only a couple of miles away. I didn’t remember it as being as tough as it apparently was. Still, I was homeward bound – though I had no ticket for my destination, and I wasn’t sure where the railway station was – and there were more than a few folk who weren’t. (I don’t mean to keep bringing that up. It’s probably tough on them to see what seems like everybody heading back.) It was still the off and on dripping of little drips. Nothing to make me uncomfortable. (Though when I pulled into Fountainhead, I saw Jeff wearing my rain slicker. Candyass, I think I said to him. And he wonders why he can’t drink for free at Noone’s Saloone & Golf Club.)
I successfully make it to Wolf Run Shoals where I’m offered an ice cream bar. I actually consider it, before settling on the Coke. And quickly back on the trail.
I’ve given up on math. I’ll get to where I’m going when I get there. I’m reasonably sure I’ll be faster than last year. I’m still moving steadily and, surprisingly, fairly comfortably. I don’t have the desire, as much mentally as physically, to push the pace. I’m not part of a team, so there’s no added incentive in that regard. And, while the final result is important, this is not a major race for me. (That’s another thing I’m not sure how to include. Some races I run mostly for training purposes. Sure, I want to do well, but I don’t want to push so hard that I have to spend the next week recovering. So, I push, but not as hard as maybe I should.)
I come across a young lady heading out, turns out to be the last person I see heading in that direction. I glance at my watch. It’s 6.5 hours of race time. She says, “I’d give anything to be you right now.” I chuckle and tell her to just keep plugging away. I mention that the aid station is just a couple of minutes up ahead. Man, that’s got to be tough. She’s looking at a 13 hour day at best. I continue on my way to the Bull Run Marina.
I know it’s a bit of a stretch, five miles, between the Wolf Run Shoals aid station and the aid station at the Bull Run Marina, but it’s pretty good running. And, there are actually mile markers. Well, little posts with numbers on them. Although this could just as easily have been somewhere else on the trail. I’m really having a pretty good time. The weather, even with the sprinkling, is just about perfect. The trail is in great shape. I’m pretty much all by myself, but I kind of like it that way. I’m moving at a good pace.
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