Susquehanna State Park, Harford County, Maryland
Saturday, March 19, 2005
I haven't yet decided if I had fun or not. But, at least now, I can say I've run an ultra. It was the Hinte-Anderson Trail 50 kilometer endurance run (Jeff Hinte and Phil Anderson are the race directors) starting at the Stepping Stone Museum in Susquehanna State Park in Maryland on Saturday, March 19.
I had no idea what to expect with this adventure. My trail running experience up to this point totaled about five miles. (That doesn't include the real easy stuff I did while coaching high school cross country the last several years.) And I don't know when I first started thinking in this direction. I do know that I'm getting a little tired of the Ironman triathlon environment. The increasingly large number of entrants. Having to enter some races a year in advance. The seemingly cut-throat competitiveness in trying to qualify for Ironman Hawaii. The swimming. (Did I mention that I don't really like to swim?) So, I decided that this year would be my last for Ironman for a while. The race in Lake Placid in July will be my 15th at the distance and that's a nice enough number for now. Instead, I figured I'd dip a toe into the world of ultra-running and see how that feels. And, as new as all this was for me, it was also new for Renate. First of all, we had to get the terminology straight. She wouldn't be a "sherpa" for this race, she'd be a "crew". And, unlike a triathlon, she could hand me stuff and take stuff from me without me getting disqualified for outside assistance.
Pre-race packing was a lot easier than for a triathlon, although I still managed to fill up a large workout bag with about eight different clothing options to go along with a couple pairs of shoes and several bottles and flasks of nutrition. At least I didn't have to worry about a wetsuit or a bike. I had been watching the weather all week. Initially rain was forecast for race day, so I put a jacket and tights in my bag, along with an extra shirt. Then it was supposed to be a pretty nice day, so I tossed a sleeveless t-shirt as well as a regular one into the bag, leaving the rain stuff in there. The last forecast I saw said rain in the afternoon, so I was glad I left the rain stuff in the bag. It turned out to be about a perfect day for running. Mostly sunny with temps in the low 50s. I ended up wearing shorts with a long sleeved shirt. I pinned my number onto the sleeveless shirt and put that on top. I figured if I got too warm I could get rid of the long sleeve shirt. (I know this is way more than anybody cares about. It's just that I tend to use these reports as references. Besides, Bob talked about his clothing choices in his last race report and that was called a classic.)
It was nice that this race was just south of the Mason-Dixon Line. That meant that I could sleep in my own bed and, with the 9 AM race start, not have to worry too much about rushing. But, since I still have this fixation about being one of the first people there, it was an early 5:30 AM departure for the 90 minute drive. As to be expected, very little traffic and we made good time. I had printed out the map of the course and read through the instructions so we decided to drive to the picnic area that would be the site of the main aid station and crew access spot. (That turned out to be a doubly good thing since there were bathroom facilities at the picnic area and I could take care of pre-race business without a line.) I checked out the aid station set-up a little, we visit it twice per lap, and then we drove back to the starting area.
I picked up my number and goodies (a nice long sleeve running shirt and a stocking cap) and slowly worked on getting ready for the run. Mostly, it was just time to kill time. I threw most of the stuff I had packed into the back of the jeep, just keeping an extra shirt and running shoes, along with my nutrition and a change of clothes for after the race. And then we wandered over to the start/transition area. I found a good spot to put my bag, hopefully one that I would remember when chugging through the pavilion prior to starting the second lap. Since this was the 17th edition of the HAT Run, Jeff and Phil gave away 17 hats from a variety of places and/or companies. I didn't get one, but that's ok. I have more than enough caps. There were some last minute instructions and then we eased over to the start area.
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And then it was time to start running. Jeff (or Phil) dropped the green flag and yelled "Boogity, boogity, boogity boys. Let's go racing." And we were off. Not really. He counted backwards from ten and said "Go" so we went.
I went out way, way, way, way, way too fast. I should have listened to Rick Smith and turned the competitive switch off for this event. Or at least paid even a modicum of attention to my pre-race plan. Which was to run the first loop of the two loop course as kind of a reconnaissance mission. Easy on the uphills and downhills and learn what this trail running stuff was like. Instead, I looked at the pictures of last year's race that were on display at the starting area and pre-panicked. I had visions of getting trapped behind hoards of people on the single-track trail. So, I changed my plan and ran the first mile relatively hard (just about 7:00 pace) so that I could get up with the front runners. And, once there, my little competitive switch went to the on position and I, of course, had to stay in contact. That first mile was an out and back section on the road and the paved path from the parking lot. Then the first loop began through the pavilion and into a field. Through a gap in a stone wall and across another field. Renate was standing right near the gap in the wall and she said I was looking good. Eight minutes into a five plus hour day, I hoped I still looked good. I wasn't following my original plan, but, at the time, I was happy with where I was. |
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Soon enough we were in the woods and not too long after that it was time for my very first stream crossing. I opted to stay out of the water by leaping from rock to rock. It was early and I didn't really want wet feet right off the bat. Cross over Rock Run Road and up some steps in the trail. Up hills and down hills. Jumping over logs on the trail. Having a relatively good time. Ramping up my level of stupidity by passing a couple of guys that were trotting along carrying on a conversation. Running the up hills hard and the down hills harder. I went through the main aid station for the first time, at about 4.5 miles, and Renate said I was in the top ten. That was good, but it really wasn't. I was somewhere I didn't really belong and I would soon start my backward plunge through the field. Shortly after the aid station, three guys go past, including the two who had been having the conversation. (At least at this point they weren't talking, so that was good.)
| The course was well-marked with yellow plates with black arrows pointing in the correct direction. At times I struggled with my anal engineering background. "Where are the mile markers?", I thought. "How am I supposed to figure out my pace?" Though, mostly, I did fine. At times, with all the twists and turns of the trail and the woods and hills, it was as if I was running all by myself. Nobody in sight. I know we passed through some more sections of meadow, but I don't recall exactly where. And there was a semi-long bit on Craigs Corner Road, paved then turning into some gravel/dirt stuff, pretty much all gradual downhill. (I was thinking that this section would be great on the second lap.) Then it was a turn into the picnic area and the main aid station, from the other direction. This is a little over nine miles into the day. Renate is there so I get a quick smooch. I decide that I like outside assistance. I'm still fine with my nutrition, so I don't take anything from the volunteers. Renate is going to take a walk along the road and see me back at one of the future road crossings. |  |
Then comes the second stream crossing, maybe 11 miles into the run, I didn't see a convenient set of rocks so I plunged in and sloshed across. That actually felt pretty good. The ice cold water effectively cooled all the hot spots on my feet. I could feel the emergence of some blisters, but nothing that was feeling too bad. The ball of my right foot, on the other hand, was a constant dull ache. (Some of you may recall that I had done something to it a few weeks ago. It cost me about a week of training, including my last couple of long runs, but felt about 95% healthy starting the race. Regularly stepping on rocks, though, aggravated it and, while it wasn't enough to make me stop, it did bother me pretty much the whole run.)
After the stream it was back across Rock Run Road. And more hills along with rocks and roots and logs to negotiate. I think it was somewhere in this section when I started walking the steep uphills. Somebody had gone past me and when he walked the uphills it dawned on me that that's what I should be doing. So, I did. I guess sometimes it takes a whack upside the head with the obvious stick before I learn anything. Eventually we come to the unmanned aid station, 14 miles into the day. It's at the entrance to the Stepping Stone Museum, a simple right would take us back to the starting pavilion. But, no, a left is called for and more running through meadow. Across Quaker Bottom Road and more running of exactly which kind I don't recall. Then again across Quaker Bottom Road, this time near the intersection with Rock Run Road. Renate is here taking my picture. Still more hills and such. Then out into a meadow, up the last little bit of drive way into the museum, and, lo and behold, the starting pavilion.
I hit the split button on my watch. It's taken me just under two hours and five minutes to cover the starting out and back mile as well as the first loop of the course, 16 miles total. I know that's entirely too fast. The second lap is going to be pretty painful. I swap out my empty water bottle and gel flasks for full ones. I'm not in the transition area very long and I start chatting with a guy as we're heading through the initial field. I mention that I know I've gone out too fast and he says that it's easy to do. He says that he came in fourth last year by running even splits and that we're on pace for a 4:10 finish. He does seem impressed that this is my very first ultra, but I think he's just being nice. Especially when I tell him I've now quadrupled my lifetime mileage on trails. He quickly runs ahead.
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Soon enough I come to the first stream crossing. I remember how good my feet felt, on the last one, after running through the water so this time I decide to slip and put my hands in the water, as well. Not that I had any hot spots on my hands. Of course, Renate was standing right there at the time, though she said she didn't get a picture of me with all ten toes and all ten fingers in the water.
The middle of the loop is vague. There were some mountain bikers out on the course and they were very considerate of the runners, even pointing out to me where I was supposed to go once. (That could just as easily have been on the first loop, as the second.) I know there was lots of walking, mostly the uphills. Once, while actually running, a seemingly benign little rock decided to lift itself a quarter inch above the trail just as my foot was passing over. It grabbed my toe. "Whoa, Cap'n, we're going down" shouted the suddenly aware command center. "Brace yourself for impact." Supplementary landing gear raise up and out. Primary ambulatory systems are pin wheeling, trying to restore some semblance of balance to the situation. Fortunately, the stabilizers resumed stabilizing and I continued on my merry way without getting up close and personal with the trail. |
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That long gradual downhill on Craigs Corner Road didn't do anything for me. In fact, it seemed to be more gravelly than I remembered from the first time through and every little stone managed to meet up with the ball of my right foot. Then it was back into the picnic area. Renate is there and I tell her it's going to be a slow six miles to the finish so she can take her time driving back. I do get another smooch or two before heading out. I glance at my watch and notice that I've been making forward progress for 3.5 hours. Six miles in 90 minutes, 15 minutes per mile, would get me to five hours. And five hours had been my unspoken goal for the day. But, I wasn't sure how it was going to go.
After passing the main aid station for the last time, the cramping really started to get bad. Hamstrings and quads took turns. Kind of an equal opportunity thing. And both legs got into the act. All that made getting over any fallen trees an adventure. And then my right foot started cramping. Now, I've never had a foot cramp in all my miles of running. But I know I was striding differently from normal because of the pain on the ball of my foot, so I'm not too surprised. I also know my electrolyte balance was a bit off. It was a warmer day than I was used to, plus I kept the long sleeved shirt on all day. Next time I'll do a better job of supplementation.
It was also during this section where I was passed regularly by folks moving with the grace and ease of experienced trail runners. Everybody was encouraging and positive and nice as they went trotting by. I always made sure to step off the trail when someone came along, figuring they were making better use of it than I. I did try and run as much as possible on the flat sections of trail. Eventually I reached the unmanned aid station, which was manned and womanned this time, and I was told that there was just about two miles to go. Being the wise-ass I am, I wanted clarification of the "just about" modifier. They replied that it was more than two, but less than three. I know I glanced at my watch, but I don't remember what I saw. I do remember feeling fairly confident that I was going to break five hours.
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At some point I could hear noise that I figured was coming from the finish area. And, soon enough, I was out of the woods, running across the last section of meadow, onto the bit of road leading to the main pavilion (which, by the way, had a bit of a steep hill right at the end), and finally to where I could see the big clock. I got to the line and stopped. The nice volunteer lady took the tag off my number. Somebody handed me a finisher hat. Which I promptly dropped and struggled mightily to bend over and pick back up. But, I was done. I could stop moving with purpose.
The finish area was well stocked with lots of goodies - peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, hot dogs, chili, soup, M & M's, cookies, potato chips, pretzels, etc - but the thought of eating anything solid was turning my stomach. I grabbed a couple cups of Coke and went to go stand in the sunshine. Eventually, with much assistance from my expert "crew" I managed to change my shirt, socks, and shoes. I went into the men's room to change out of my running shorts and put on sweat pants. Renate took my bag to the jeep and brought back a jacket for me to put on. Then we stood around a little bit waiting for the awards. I knew I didn't place, but I just wanted to hang around a bit. My official time was 4:50:58, well enough under my five hour goal, and I ended up 41st out of 409 starters (355 finishers). The out and back first mile and the first 15 mile loop took 2:04:34 (7:47.1 per mile pace) and the second 15 mile loop took 2:46:24 (11:05.6 pace). The whole thing was done in 9:23.2 per mile pace. After completing the race and recovering a little bit, I wasn't sure I ever wanted to do another 50k, let alone anything further. But, after a little reflection, I think I will go back and do this race again next year. I don't necessarily want to run it faster. I just want to run it smarter. |
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Some final observations and notes:
I couldn't believe how sore my upper arms were getting during the second loop of the run. Obviously I was way too tense. I'm guessing I was using my arms much more for balance and just didn't notice that I wasn't relaxing.
As I mentioned, the course was marked with yellow plates that had black arrows. I thought it was well-marked, though there were some instances when I was just slightly unsure if I missed a turn. Usually a plate would pop up in the distance and I'd continue. On a couple of occasions, when I didn't see an expected sign, I looked behind me to see if anybody else was on my course, figuring it was better if at least two of us were lost. I did almost miss a turn back into the woods because my head was down and I was in a dazed state.
Pretty early on the first lap, a couple guys came speeding towards us. It was right at a turn. They missed it the first time. I don't know how far down the wrong way they went, but they weren't too happy.
Running towards the end of the first lap alongside a fellow runner. He asked if the hills got any steeper. I said that I didn't know, that I hadn't run this course before, but that I thought all the really steep hills would be on the second lap. And they were. It's funny how they can grow taller from one lap to the next.
There was a bit of mud on the course, but not much. I could see how, with a little rain, it could have turned in to shoe-sucking muck pretty easily.
Without any mile markers and, really, only the one aid station that we hit twice per lap and the unmanned aid station I decided to do my running in 15 minute blocks, just take things 15 minutes at a time. That seemed to work out well. Every 15 minutes I’d take a good drink from my bottle of perpetuem. On the half hour I would take a hit from my flask with the mix of hammer gel and endurolytes with just a little water in the flask to help with liquification of the gel.
I have decided that I did have fun.