2007 HAT Run - 50 kilometer Trail Run

HAT Run - 50 kilometer Trail Run
Susquehanna State Park, Harford County, Maryland

Saturday, March 24, 2007

The third time’s not a charm, but I didn’t really expect it to be . . .

I was walking over to get my number when I was accosted by some guy. “Hey,” he said, “I just love your race reports. I must have read last year’s HAT story five times.” “That’s nice,” I reply. “Thanks for reading them.” He looked harmless and there were plenty of people around, so I didn’t expect any trouble. I stopped and we chatted a bit more, and then he thinks to introduce himself. “I’m Randy and this is my wife, Mara,” he says. And he mentions past and future events he and I have done or are doing together. A light goes off and I remember an email sent to the Barkeep@Noones-Saloone.com that pretty much said the same thing. “Hey,” I say. “Did you send me an email a while ago?” He admits that he’s the guy. We talk a bit longer. Somehow or other it comes up that Mara is a serious cyclist and is going to do a stationary trainer ride while we’re out running. And, I thought we were nuts. As we’re going our separate ways, me to packet pickup, them back to the parking lot, Mara volunteers to crew for me if I need anything. I mention that my wife is here. Randy asks the pronunciation of Renate’s name, having read it in old race stories.

I continue over to packet pickup. I haven’t mentioned this yet, but Jeff, my oldest brother – My only older brother, to be more precise. To totally pin it down, my only older sibling. – was doing today’s run as his first ever ultra event. (I probably don’t need to put the ‘ever’ in there, but I’ve never been one to shortchange my stories. This is, after all, about an ultra.) He preceded me to packet pickup and he’s happy that the normal HAT finisher hat is already in his bag. “I don’t even have to do the run, now.” Well, feel free to sit in the car for the next five hours or so. He doesn’t drink, so I’m not worried about him dipping into my post-run stash of Guinness.

Not for the first time, I realize I’m lacking in intelligence since I didn’t bring my transition bag over to the pavilion when I went to get my packet. So, in order to get a decent spot, Jeff and I had to return to the car, pick up our bags, walk back to the pavilion and stake out a bench. Jeff decided that he’d sit in the car for awhile so I took both of our bags back to the pavilion. When I recognized that I had to go back for the bags, I had Renate sit herself down on a strategic bench so that it would be available when I returned. Kind of the Philly style of staking out a parking place, though I used a warm body and not a lawn chair. The operation was a success and we went back to the car until closer to race time.

(And I told myself, when I was sitting down to start this story, that it would be short and to the point. After all, how much more can I say about a race I’ve done two prior times? Renate asked, “So. How many pages are you up to?” At that point, mostly with just notes as future place holders, I had three pages. “Has the race started, yet?” she asked. Mock me if you will, sweetie. Somebody reads these things. But, I’ll try and pick up the pace.)

I was standing under the pavilion before the run started when I noticed that my vision was a little fuzzy. Sure enough, I was operating without my right contact lens. I had a bit of a problem with it on the drive down, stopping to try and get it re-situated. I guess somehow or other, sometime or other, it popped out. Obviously I’m not totally blind (it’s a -2.50 lens, for all you optical statisticians) and it’s my subordinate eye to boot. I carry a spare pair when I set up my bag for a 100 mile run, but I didn’t bother for this event. Guess I’ll change that philosophy for future runs. As it was, it was going to be an entertaining one-eyed run through the woods of Maryland.

And, since my sight would be a little off, I’ll let my shoes do the talking for this story. I’ll interject with a human point of view where I find it to be necessary, or where the shoes start to get out of hand. Or out of foot, as the case may be. I haven’t figured out the formatting I’ll use, but I’ll let you know when I do. Or, you’ll figure it out. So, without further delay, here’s a low-level point of view of my 3rd running of the HAT Endurance Run.

This is what the Green Hornet would wear if he did trail runs . . .

I am a lean, mean, green machine.

Well, I’m not sure about the lean part. I was bred to go off-road. I’m for sure not some pantywaist little racing flat.

But, I am a mean, green running machine. I can see fear in all the little eyelets of my competition. I leave them with their tongues hanging out. They come untied and they sweat through their uppers. Quite simply, they are no match for me. I am so hot that a female human was trying to pick up my owner in the parking lot before the run just to get closer to me.

Now, if only I could get a damn human worthy of my greenness. My flash. My speed. My nimbleness. But, for this adventure, I got stuck with some guy named Steve. Boooorrrrriiinnng. He was going into this adventure with more excuses than a kid who forgot to do his homework. “I’m just using this as a training run so I don’t expect to do very well,” he whined. Criminy. Sit on the couch and collect dust if all you’re going to do is complain.

And, then, this guy Steve had to go and get a size 11.5. What’s he think, that it’s really true about the size of his feet and the size of his, um, hands. Yeah. That’s it. The size of his hands. There’s enough room in here for another foot. At least another set of toes. But, enough about him.

I am the right shoe of the pair. My brother, the left shoe, is a little slow. Heck, he’s in love with a car tire. Mom told me that I had to watch out for him, so I try to stay within a couple of feet of him. But, man, he has a tough time keeping his lace tied. He always seems to be a couple of inches behind. I really have to concentrate to make sure we’re not going in a big circle.

I got a little bit of the skinny on the race from the shoes that ran it last year. This guy keeps them all in the guest bedroom. I can’t believe how many pairs of shoes he has. There are eleven in various stages of age plus two brand new pairs. He’s worse than a damn girl. Plus, it makes for lots of noise with all the shoe chatter when the lights go out. (What did you think we do with our tongues when we don’t have a foot crammed inside us?) That pair of weight lifting shoes are loud and obnoxious. But, I wish they’d go over and stomp those pantywaist racing flats who think they’re faster than sliced bread.

Believe it or not, there is a race involved here . . .

Anyway, the shoes that did the event last year told me a little bit of what to expect. Right off the bat, they were wrong. We started in a big field and ran across it like an attacking (or retreating?) army. It wasn’t the narrow road they started in last year, but after crossing the field we did the rest of the opening out and back mile on pavement.

Then some more field. Cripes. I’m a trail shoe. Not a road and field shoe. But the trails are soon hit and the mud is pretty much immediate. Ah, well. Mud is good for the complexion. Right? Listen to me. I sound like some women’s shoe.

The first bit of field after the opening out and back mile. (Lap 1 - About 1.25 miles into the run.)
Steve – I’m in the yellow rain jacket.	Jeff – Having some fun.

I’m traveling with a few other shoes, but it’s not too crowded. I can see where I’m going. Having lots of little eyelets helps. Even though they’re covered with these stupid gaiters. I just use my supreme green x-ray vision to pick and poke along the trail.

Some of the shoes seem to be searching for the “best” line through the muddy sections. C’mon guys and gals. Today’s a day to just plunge right in and enjoy the slop.

Wait a minute. One human’s shoe abandons foot. C’mon friend, I tell him, you can’t do that. You signed up for the duration. Get back on that foot and get going. Hey, he says it wasn’t his fault. His human didn’t tie him tight enough for the goopy muck. Quit making excuses and hold on tighter, I tell him.

There were two human guys right behind me, challenging each other. “Let’s pay each other $5 every time one of us falls.” “How about we make it $10.” My human started chuckling and they asked if he wanted in on the game. He declined. He said he’d just have to hand over his ATM card, based on the number of times he expected to kiss the dirt. Hey, man, I thought (and, I literally meant “man”), if we fall it won’t be my fault. I am totally and completely stable. It’d be nice to say the same thing about my human.

About two miles into the day, it’s time for my first ever stream crossing. Last year’s shoes said it was no real problem. Mostly just hopping from rock to rock if you want to be a pantywaist racing flat. He said he just plunged right in. Today, there were no visible rocks, so it was going to be every shoe for him or her self.

Man, that water is cold. And not getting out of it at all while crossing the stream meant I had to hold my breath for quite a while. I did get the benefit of having all the mud cleaned off, allowing my greenness to shine through.

Which was important, because, right after my little bath, I got to walk up the trail stairs next to a hot pair of chick shoes. Look at the uppers on that one, I thought. Hubba, hubba! What a tread! I could go off trail with her and make little baby shoes. Come on in, Honey. I got lots of room up front. Wait, wait. Slow down. Damn human, can’t you see I’m trying to score here? See ya later, Sweet Strings.

Mostly it was up and down, through mud and muck, enjoying being out of the box. There was enough dry running. Dry being a relative term. But there were also a bunch of slimy, twisty downhill sections.

Holy guacamole, Batman. Damn. That tree is getting bigger in a hurry. Better slam on the bat brakes. It’s certainly a weird feeling traveling five feet or more without a shoe leaving the ground. (A human friend referred to it as “mud-skiing” which sounds appropriate. Kind of surprising for a human.) A bit nerve-wracking as well. We better check with management. “Hey! Is anybody in charge up there?”

(These downhills were probably the worst with just one functioning eye. Slippery terrain, at speed, with not much in the way of depth perception added to the excitement of the day. So, to answer the shoes, that’s my answer and I’m sticking to it. Just run, baby. Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum. Arrgh.)

My human was wearing his whiz-bang GPS and I heard him think to himself (he thinks out loud) that it was about 6.75 miles when we reached the pavement. If we were stuck on pavement until the picnic area aid station, that would be almost four miles of road running. Last year’s shoes mentioned something like a mile or so leading into the picnic area. What race were they running?

I was trotting along with a female pair of shoes, making small talk. I remarked that it felt like just another road marathon. I have no idea where that came from, never having participated in a road marathon. I guess I just picked it up from the pantywaist racing flats back in the guest bedroom. I was obviously trying to show off, and mentioned that the course had changed a bit from the previous two years. Good thing she didn’t ask me how I knew that. Telling her I heard it from last year’s shoes might ruin my credibility.

But, the running on the road was good for the average speed and it meant that I didn’t really have to concentrate on what I was doing. I was able to use most of my eyelets to look around. Having spent most of my life in a dark box, it was nice to get out and see the world. It was a nice stretch running alongside some running water before heading into the picnic area. I can understand how running water is about the best thing to be around.

(After looking at the GPS data following the race, it ended up being about 2.5 miles of pavement running for this stretch.)

Heading south through the Picnic Area aid station. (Lap 1 - About 10 miles into the run.)
Steve – All business, as usual.	Jeff – Still having fun.		We had to come to a complete stop while this human got a smooch from his female partner. Plus, she took some pictures, but didn’t get me in them. (Just a little after leaving the picnic area, I caught up with an old friend, Gerard. His running must really have improved for him to be ahead of me. But, he said he wanted to run the first part as quickly as he could to try and avoid the mud being made muddier by lots of foot traffic. He knew he was going to pay for it, but at least he was able to get a third of the way through the day with decent, relatively speaking, conditions. I bid him good luck as I went past.)

Darn human is doing too much socializing. Doesn’t he know this is supposed to be a competitive event? Oh, that’s right. He’s just doing this for fun. Ok. There’s another cute pair of chick shoes that wants to go by. That’ll change the view for a little while and give me something to watch.

Now, it’s time to cross Rock Run (the stream) for the second time. That’s good. I was starting to get a bit more mud in places I don’t like to get mud. As I was trudging along the bottom of the stream, I thought that those pantywaist racing flats back in the guest bedroom are so light they could probably float across. Then it’s onto Rock Run (the road) which helped shake some of the water out of places I don’t like to get water.

(There was a bit more of course changing from past runnings. Running past some buildings and down some steps in, I think, the Historic Area. A little bit of running on Stafford Road, then back onto the trail. Renate had heard that the Park Rangers had ordered Jeff and Phil, the RD’s, to rearrange the course. They had to do this at 4 pm the day before the event. I’m guessing it was to try and avoid damaging some of the more sensitive trails. But, that’s just a guess.)

There’s a nice long stretch of trail running. I was having a ball. Ups and downs. A fair amount of slip-sliding, though I was doing everything I could to keep things under control. I heard my human yelp on one of the slippery downhills and then mutter something about twinging his right knee. Candyass. He was doing his best to smash me into every rock and root he came across. And, as if that wasn’t bad enough, he seemed to like stepping on top of all the sharp stones, trying to drive them completely through my tread. He’ll probably use the excuse about only having one eye.

There’s a little bit of company, but mostly I’m alone, talking to myself. “Squish . . . squish . . . squish.” I didn’t hear too much from the left shoe.

Out of the woods and back into fields. I guess I can deal with this for a while. It is a bit of sideways running though. Good thing I can grip the path and keep this human upright and moving forward.

At the end of the field sections, it’s a complete bog. I hope that shoe that abandoned foot early in the race gets through this part ok. I hate for us shoes to get a bad reputation because of one bad sole.

I remember the human thinking (again, loudly) “Man. If I made a right here, I’d be right back at the finish of the lap.” Damn lazy human. I forced him to turn left, even though that put us on more road, Quaker Bottom Road to be exact.

Fortunately, it wasn’t too much and then it was back into the woods. Which would have been nice except that it was the most technical section I’d had to deal with all day. And this one-eyed human seemed insistent on kicking all the rocks. I had just passed some guy on the road section and he was trotting along behind me. He made some human comment about “dancing through the rocks.” Well, my human is like a lot of white guys and he can’t dance to save his life. Ouch. Do you have to step on ALL the pointy rocks?

And, some more water. Or maybe that was earlier. It seems some of the memories have been kicked out of me. We cross back over Quaker Bottom Road near the intersection with Rock Run Road and into some wooded section that Phil had staked out as his “woods.” I remember last year’s shoes saying that we come out of the woods into a field and that’s pretty much the end of the lap. I kept waiting for the field. Every now and then, it seems like, I heard (and I don’t have ears, just lots of eyes) sounds of civilization. But, it would just be more woods around the bend.

And, then, it’s there. Complete with some squishy sections. And, when the field is done, a brief trip on pavement, that happens to be all uphill, and the end of lap one. Ok. That wasn’t too, too bad. Let’s get some more human fuel and be on our way.

We pull into the picnic area that we started from and my human goes and sits down. Wow. That’s it. I thought this was supposed to be 50k. We only did about half that. Get off your butt and let’s get going. What’s that? A shoe change? But, I know where I’m going. I know all the rocks and roots (damn human made sure of that). I can hold my breath long enough to get through the streams. Those comments I made about the mud and getting dirty. I was just joking. Seriously. Don’t put me in that plastic bag. Don’t you know I’ll suffocate? Waaaaaaaiiiiiittttt. Fine. Be that way. Hey, Your Royal Grayness, how long can you hold your breath? Heh, heh, heh.

A new color to match the day . . .

Huh? What’s that slimy green thing talking about? Never mind. I’m sure it’s of no value.

I am a more dignified gray. A more subtle trail runner. I sneak up on my competition. There is no flash, it’s all muscle. I take whatever human I get and make him or her better.

(It took me about five minutes to do the transition and for my shoes to trash talk each other. Part of the delay was that, even though I knew I was going to take off my tights, I forgot to do it until after I had done the shoe change. So, horsing the tights off over the shoes was more of an adventure than it should have been.)

Man. I gots some giddy-up in me after sitting in that bag all morning. C’mon, human, get a move on. I don’t want to hear any lame-o excuses from you legs and such about already having run 16 miles. I didn’t come all this way sightsee. I want me some roadkill. Or trailkill as the case may be. There’s quite a bit just up ahead. I saw them all go past while you legs were trying to get out of those pants.

(For those not familiar with the term “roadkill” as it’s used here, I’ll extrapolate. Those are the folks you pass towards the end of a race. It is far better to collect roadkill than to be roadkill, knowledge gained from lots of experience as the latter. Or, as the case may be on trails, trailkill. Generally, it doesn’t come into play until at least half of the race is complete. There’s just too much back and forth in the early miles of a run.)

Settle down shoes. There’s plenty of time and plenty of trail for passing folks.

I’m a little quieter than that green thing that you had to listen to. I’m also more intelligent and realize that you, the patient reader, have already been once around the course. I’m sure there’s not much that I can add so I’ll try and hit the highlights.

I guess it’s a good thing that I ran the second lap. That green thing would have driven himself nuts if he didn’t have a bunch of other shoes to talk to. There weren’t all that many shoes around for my lap. I would see some pair up ahead and gradually catch and then pass them. There wasn’t much chatter. Just the “good job” and the “keep it up” type of comments.

I will admit that I probably had a bit more trouble shedding mud on my lap than the green shoe did on his. And the pavement running was more uncomfortable.

After getting back to the guest room, before I wrote up my section of this report, I chatted a bit with the shoes that did last April’s Bull Run Run. Listening to him talk about the mud he dealt with, well, I don’t think ours was as bad. The green shoes did admit that it sounded a bit muddier on my lap, the second one, than on his.

But, I’m getting a little ahead of myself.

I didn’t have any problem with my stream crossing, it was refreshing. The cold water felt good. And, as I noted just up above, it was good to wash the mud off my grippy tread. And I got a hold of my giddiness and went at the speed my human was capable of going. There was really no point in running away from him, after all, we had to cross the finish line together.

The green shoe didn’t mention it – I went back and read what he wrote – but there was a fair bit of field running after the crossing of Rock Run (stream and road) before getting back into the woods leading to the aid station at the picnic area. It was kind of surprising that Greeny didn’t say anything since he got to see a large deer running from the field into the woods.

		Heading north through the Picnic Area aid station. Notice the Team Noone colors. (Lap 2 - About 21 miles into the run.)
Running through the fields wasn’t all that bad. It was nice seeing the shoes out in front of me. A little extra incentive to stay on form. It was hunting season. But first there was some stalking to be done. This was another, of the many, places I had an advantage over that green monstrosity. He stuck out like a stubbed toe. Plus, he’d of been running his tongue. He’d never have been able to stalk silently. I just bided my time and collected trailkill as I came upon it. My human got to see his girl human and do some weird form of human greeting. This was about five miles into my lap, twenty-one miles into the human’s day. Then it was back into the wild, woody, slimy yonder. According to the course map, that I’m randomly referring to as I dictate this to the human, I had to climb the first “big” hill of the lap. Greeny said there were some walkable hills and I guess this was one. And then the pavement. Greeny didn’t mention that it was a campground, complete with little cabins and a playground. A bit loopy, so I got to see shoes in front and shoes behind. “Shoes to the left of me . . . shoes to the right . . . here I am stuck on this human’s foot . . .”		Steve – Is that a smile?	Jeff – Fun? Um, not so much.

I didn’t care much for the pavement running. Through the campground, then the long stretch on Craigs Corner Road. I don’t seem to have a whole lot of cushioning and it just wasn’t all that comfortable. Still, I had to get from point A to point B, so I had to do it. I tried to keep my whining to myself. My human was dealing with his own issues. He was complaining about the onset of cramps. Somehow or other, I got a message up to the brain that this dumb human should pop an extra Succeed! cap to get some electrolytes into his system. It wasn’t hot, but he was still putting in some effort – not enough, but, as Greeny wrote, he was slacking through this run.

I don’t know the name of the creek that dumps into the Susquehanna River, but as I’m running alongside it, I can see some of the shoes up on the hillside. These guys are a short ways out of the picnic aid station and on their way to the campground. It’s nice seeing shoes scattered all over the woods.

(As I was trotting along next to the creek I came up on a guy I thought I recognized. “Bob? Bob Curci?” I asked. I had met Bob back at Laurel Highlands last June and he provided me with lots of information before my first 100 miler in Arkansas last October. We chatted a bit and then I went ahead. He told me Chris – a teammate from my Bull Run team last year – was behind us, running today as a training run, and that Euihwa was a little ahead. Chris and Euihwa are attempting the Grand Slam this year and I wish them the best of luck.)

It was nice getting off the pavement as I did the easy jog into the picnic aid station for the last time. My human insisted on stopping again to deal with his girl. She was at the upper level of the aid area, waiting for his big brother Jeff to come through, so he just yelled that he/we were heading towards the finish and we’d see her there. And, we were off.

It’s roughly five miles back to the end, with a few big uphills. And all the other stuff that the green shoes talked about. There are still shoes to pick over, so I concentrate on stepping lightly. Up ahead I see something yellow moving around. The directional arrows are on yellow plates and the first thought is that somebody is moving the plates around to confuse the humans. As I tow my human a bit closer, we see that it’s a yellow hat and the human underneath is just following the trail. Well, let’s just go catch old yellow-hat guy.

(After passing yellow-hat, I was stalking another guy for quite a while, gradually pulling closer. I figured there was enough time and trail to catch him, as, probably, my last piece of trailkill for the day. As I got closer, and he went around the bend, I recognized him as Euihwa. On a twisty, turny, uphill section of trail, he pulled over to the side and said, “Go ahead. You can pass me now.” He didn’t know it was me, until I used his name and extended a hand in greeting. We talked a little. I wished him well with his summer challenge and I gradually pulled away.)

That was about it for trailkill and for trail. Soon enough, I was out of the woods and crossing the last bit of field. Onto the road that the green shoes had traversed twice before, once on the out and back and again finishing up the first lap. I dragged my human up the hill and across the finish line.

My lap was a little slower than Greeny’s, 2:16:27 to 2:19:55, but I’ll use the excuse that the course was muddier than when he went through. Plus our human was a bit out of shape and didn’t do so well for my lap. But, my day, like Greeny’s, was over. At least I didn’t scream and whine when I was being put into the plastic bag.

Smiling while approaching the drunken cheering fans
on the last hill leading to the finish line.
That’s Euihwa in the background.

Enough with the shoes, already . . .

Ok. That’s about it for shoe talk. This is Steve, the human mentioned here and there by the shoes. I’ll take over and finish this up.

The final time of 4:47:58 (in addition to the two laps of 2:16:27 and 2:19:55, the opening out and back was 7:18 and there was 4:28 of transition) was more than twenty minutes slower than last year. I’m ok with that. I figured I lost about half of that with course conditions and the other half with the way I approached the race. I felt I was fully recovered from the Rocky Raccoon 100 I did back in February, but I knew this was a training run, more than anything. I’m planning on another 100 in Vermont in July and I’m just using these next few ultras as long, catered runs. And, as I mentioned to Renate, it wasn’t too bad of an effort, running, as I was, with one eye tied behind my back.

Anyway, there was a bit of time before Jeff strolled up the final hill. Renate and I walked back to the car so I could change into dry clothes and, more importantly, pop open a pint of Guinness. I had brought along a couple of cans of SlimFast as an immediate post-run recovery drink, at the suggestion of one of my friends (whom I’ve never met), but it didn’t sound nearly as appealing as the Guinness.

Contrary to how some of these stories seem, I don’t recall details with total recollection, so I put things where they may not belong, and I, probably, make some things up as I go along. Anyway, as I was going to say, I forget the exact timing, but Renate and I are walking in one direction and we meet up with Randy and Mara who are walking in the opposite direction. “Hi,” Randy says to Renate, “I’ve seen your picture on the Internet.” Wow! There’s a pickup line if I’ve ever heard one. I find it amusing. Renate has a stunned look on her face. I explain that Randy has read my race reports and that’s where he saw the pictures. Renate nods in agreement and then excuses herself. And, not for the first time, I’m sure, wonders what underworld her husband has dragged her in to.

Changing into dry, warm clothes while quaffing a pint of Guinness – after spending almost five hours running through mud and muck, over hill and dale, wading through crocodile infested waters, and fending off trail gremlins – is the dog’s bark. Sharing the day with the Love Of My Life makes things better than good. I popped the nitro capsule on my second pint.

We chatted with Randy and Mara, who were parked a couple of spaces over. I congratulated him on his run (4:25:43, tenth overall) and we talked a little about upcoming events – we’re both doing the Bull Run Run in April and the Vermont 100 in July. Then Renate and I headed over to where her chair was parked, at the top of the last hill. Near the drunken cheering section. Ah, free entertainment. They’d find out the name of whoever was making their way up the hill and exhort and plead and shame – whatever it took – to get the individual up the hill.

Chris was right there, so we talked with him. It’ll be interesting to track his and Euihwa’s progress through the 100’s this summer. Bob came over and then Euihwa. Gerard stopped by on his way back to the car and Angus, another Internet acquaintance whom I met for the first time at the finish line. Turns out Angus and Gerard drove to the race together. As they say in Disney, “It’s a small world, after all . . .” (Now, get that song out of your head. You’re welcome.)

The drunken cheering fans on the last hill leading to the finish.

I kind of figured that it would happen, it would get to be like Ironman, that Renate and I would start to see some of the same people at the various races. And, it seems, more folks are recognizing me from my various race stories. In addition to Randy, from the beginning of the day, there was a guy who, as I was passing him on the trail in the last few miles, said that he liked my HAT report from the previous year. I thanked him for reading, as I do everyone who reads these. Randy really smoked my butt this year, after reading my stories from the last two years. I may have to sprinkle some “untruths” in to regain my advantage. Either that or train more diligently.

After I finished my second pint of Guinness, I decided I’d try one of those SlimFast meals in a can, chocolate. It went down fairly well. More importantly, it stayed down. Might as well chase it with another pint. Don’t mind if I do.

I only had four total and the last one was at the car. Jeff better make his way here shortly (hey, Mom, remember all the “shortly” stories?) or we might have to leave without him. But, Renate spotted a splash of yellow heading across the final field and we were soon able to confirm a Jeff sighting. As he approached the final hill, I told the cheering section his name so he would get the full benefit, though I think he was dazed enough that he didn’t notice.

He got next to me and I congratulated him. He asked where the finish line was. I told him another five miles. No. Just kidding. I told him up around the bend. Then I slowly walked over there. He ended up finishing his first ultra in 6:49:54.

And, that about finishes up the day.

Here comes Jeff, chugging up the hill
a couple of minutes from finishing his first (and only?) ultra.
(I wonder if he’s still cursing me out.)

Some final observations and notes . . .

I was probably a bit overdressed with the rain jacket. It wasn’t actually raining at the start, but had been right before. I figured I could give it to Renate at the first aid stop about 4.5 miles into the day. As I’m getting near the station, a girl, also overdressed, passes me and says something like “Are you as warm as I am?” Wow! I like this sport. Getting hit on in the parking lot before the race and now on the trail. (Hey. Before anyone gets up in arms, I’m 48.5 years old and very happily married. But, any time a girl talks to me, I like to think I’m being hit on. It’s good for the old male ego.) Anyway, I gave the jacket to Renate as I got my first race smooch of the day.

I really love that Renate steps in and lends whatever assistance is necessary at the aid stations while she’s waiting for me (and/or Jeff). It’s so much more fun to have someone to share the day and the adventures with.

I took a couple of Tylenol about three hours into the run. My right knee was just slightly tender from the downhill twinge earlier in the day. I don’t know how long it took for them to kick in, but I didn’t have any problems with the knee.

I also took a ginger capsule after leaving the picnic area aid station for the final time. Ginger is supposed to be good for an upset stomach. I wasn’t having any issues (I didn’t take any solid food, which is something I still need to test on these runs so that I can do it on my 100’s), but I wanted to see if there was going to be any negatives with the ginger. There wasn’t. At least on this day.

As near as I can recall, nobody passed me on the second lap. Last year’s two laps were 2:05:18 and 2:08:19, so this year’s three minute difference, 2:16:27 to 2:19:55 was comparable.

I ended up drinking my second can of chocolate SlimFast on the drive home. Again, I didn’t have any solid food after the race. Again, something I need to work on. At least the two cans of SlimFast gave me some “better” calories than the four pints of Guinness.

I thought the start was a nice change from the previous years. Beginning all lined up at the edge of a field, as opposed to starting on a narrow road. Of course, that meant sort of an uphill start then a bottleneck to get on the road for the out and back section to the entrance to the Steppingstone Museum.

I chatted a little bit with the race photographer before the event (“Not a real good picture taking day, is it?”) and a little bit while I was waiting for Jeff (“Thanks for being out there taking pictures.”). He mentioned the web site and the pictures being there in a few days. I said something about them being all digital and that he should be able to do it in a couple of hours. He mentioned taking more than 1500 pictures.

There was also a video being made of the day. “Warning” signs where placed around the starting pavilion telling people to leave if they didn’t want to be in the movie. What? Is this going to be shown on “America’s Most Wanted?” That video is here and it’s about 14.5 minutes long. I’m somewhere on the cutting room floor. I didn’t see Jeff, either.

I downloaded (or uploaded) the data from my GPS to MotionBased. As with anything GPS-related, take it with a grain of salt. And, I don't know for how long the link will be in existence.

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

Return to Noone's Saloone & Golf Club.

Originally published on April 4, 2007.