2007 Mount Desert Island Marathon

Mount Desert Island Marathon
Bar Harbor, Maine to Southwest Harbor, Maine

Sunday, October 14, 2007

The End Of "The Year Of Us"

“The Year of Us” was the phrase Renate had taken to using when referring to the time leading up to our 25th wedding anniversary in September of 2007. I guess it kind of got started with a trip to Little Rock, Arkansas back in October of 2006. Lots of things were planned for the year, ending with a trip up to Maine in October of 2007, pretty much all of them focused on one race or another. And in ’07, Renate ended up doing three half marathons along with a 5k and a 15k. She’s really turning into a racing machine. Me? Let’s see . . . in ’07 I did a half marathon, a marathon, a 100 miler, a 50k, a 50 miler, a trail marathon, a double marathon, a 15k, another 15k, another 100 miler, 62.5k of a 100k, and another half marathon – just about 470 miles of racing. And the Mount Desert Island Marathon in Maine was up next.

Renate actually picked this race out. Maybe four years ago, we were wandering through the expo at some marathon or other and she noticed a flyer for the Mount Desert Island Marathon in Maine, held in October. She thought it would be a good idea to go up to Maine as part of our 25th anniversary celebration. Way back in 1982, we honeymooned in Maine, so a return trip would be nice. Throw in a marathon and I’m all over it.

She pretty much made all the arrangements, including a great hotel room with a balcony and a nice view of Frenchman Bay. I just had to enter the race. And, of course, train for it.

Which, the training, went fairly well. I took a bit of a different approach, that I won’t detail here, after my DNF at the Green Lakes Endurance 100k back in August and I was cautiously optimistic that I would be able to achieve my goal of running a sub-2:50 marathon. Guess we might as well head on up and see how it goes. Friday morning, October 12th, we started our journey.

Friday, late afternoon or early evening, on the drive to the hotel in Bar Harbor from the airport, Renate was thumbing through some tourist newspaper thing she had picked up when we landed. It had a section on Sunday’s marathon, including a list of all the entrants. Along with their bib numbers. She told me I was number 6. No, that can’t be right. Even if they numbered folks by when they registered, I couldn’t have been the sixth person to do so. "No," she said, "the numbers appear to be assigned alphabetically." Except for the top . . . and she saw that the “A’s” began at number 41, so the top 40 appear to be seeded runners. (Later I went up and down the columns and figured that the top 20 guys were 1 through 20 and the top 20 girls were 21 through 40.) "Ah #@$%&," I said. I didn’t want any extra pressure of a “seeded” number. I was putting enough pressure on myself with my goal time (breaking 2:50). Now, I felt, it was almost expected of me. I started stewing in my juices.

September 11, 1982

The view of Frenchman Bay from our hotel room balcony.

It ended up that the expo was on the way to the hotel. Since we were running late because of a four hour delay in Boston, I opted to check in there before checking into the hotel. The process was quick and painless and I got my number 6. (By the way, when we picked up the rental car at the airport, it was parked in slot number 6.) I had been trying to figure out which NASCAR driver was number 6 and I was drawing a blank. It used to be Mark Martin in the Viagra car, but that was a couple of years ago. I finally remembered that it was David Ragan, a rookie, driving for AAA. Well, at least I belong to AAA.

Dinner was at the Thirsty Whale Tavern (turns out an Internet friend had recommended the place, but I didn’t remember that) where I sampled a couple of the local brews. The Bar Harbor Real Ale was real good. The Oktoberfest was all right, but there was no need to go back to it. Renate opted to try the Blueberry Ale. Another Internet friend had talked about blueberry beers, complete with one place where there were actual blueberries thrown into the glass. I had no real desire to go bobbing for blueberries in a beer, but, I figured, I could take a sip of Renate’s and get that flavor out of the way. I did and I did and I wouldn’t be having any more of that one, either. All that kind of put an end to Friday, a long day, but we were now in a good place.

Towards the end of the summer, yet another of my Internet buddies decided he was going to come out from Oregon to visit his Vermont dwelling brother and, heck, a quick trip up to Maine for a marathon seemed like a good idea. We exchanged cell phone numbers and agreed to get together for a beer or two. When I mentioned Juan to Renate she asked if I had ever met the guy. I said, “No, but if he’s standing there with a chain saw and a Bud Light, we’ll keep on walking.” (I mentioned that to Juan, the guy from the Internet, and he said that, while he might have a chain saw, no way in hell would he have a Bud Light.)

Turns out, Juan and his brother Chris are great people. We had lunch and a beer, and a bunch of laughs, Saturday afternoon before they headed over to the expo. We made plans to recreate the scene post-marathon on Sunday.

Renate and I had an early dinner at Testa’s. I asked for the pasta and meat sauce and the waiter mentioned about a dozen different kinds of pasta, none of which were spaghetti. As I’m sitting there with this stupid look on my face – hey, I admit it , I don’t get out much – I ask which one is closest to spaghetti. I forget what it’s called, but it was just really skinny spaghetti. That, and my invisible salad (inside joke . . . don’t worry, you all aren’t missing anything), filled me up – heck, I was still a bit full from the late lunch.

It was back to the hotel room to rearrange my stuff and then do it all again. I put the NASCAR race on the TV – the Bank of America 500 from Lowe’s Motor Speedway in Charlotte – and, pretty quickly, saw David Ragan, driving the number 6 car, drive it into the wall. I certainly hope that wasn’t going to be an ominous omen for the number 6 tomorrow. I turned off the TV and went into toss and turn mode.

Race morning . . .

There was something unsettling about staying in a hotel maybe a five minute walk from the starting line. My pre-race routine was all out of whack. I didn’t have to wake up at some inhuman hour. Which, therefore, meant that I didn’t have to go to bed when kindergarteners do. But, there wasn’t anything else to do the night before a race, so I did anyway. So, of course, I woke up just a little bit later than that inhuman hour. Well, let’s putz around and try not to wake up the sleeping beauty.

And, since I woke up early, I’m ready early. Given the option of staring at the four walls of the hotel room or stewing in my juices amongst other nervous runners and their sleepy supporters, Renate and I head over to the starting area.

Once there, I got to check my watch every couple of minutes waiting for the time when I could go on an easy warm up run, visit the facilities (a very, very quick moving line), eat my pre-race gel, search the hordes for Juan (he found me right before the race started for a quick handshake), remove excess clothing (Renate was cold so I rearranged my clothing, putting my long sleeve shirt under my race shirt), and, then, go stand at the starting line waiting for the pre-race speeches, the national anthem, Joan Benoit Samuelson saying “Runners set . . .” and the cannon shot sending us bounding down Main Street of Bar Harbor heading for Main Street in Southwest Harbor. (I just looked that up. It’s true. I originally wrote it as a joke . . . Main Street to Main Street. I crack myself up. But, it really was Main Street to Main Street. Kind of surprised it wasn’t Maine Street to Maine Street. I still crack myself up.)

Miles 1 through 5 . . .

The usual pre-race grrr look.
Five minutes until the race starts.

Running Through The Cannon Smoke (8:00 AM)

The cannon fires and some guy takes off like, well, like he’s shot out of a cannon. As far as I know, this run isn’t being shown on regional, let alone national, TV so there’s no need to try for some face time. Everybody just lets him sprint on down the road at what appears to be four minutes per mile pace. It probably amused the police guy driving the lead vehicle. “Heck,” he’s thinking, “if I get to drive these 26 miles at 15 miles per hour, I’ll be done in time for the first seating at brunch.” Not to mention that the guy would set a marathon world record. After opening a sizeable lead, the sprinter settled down and the lead stayed the same.

I eased into the middle of a pack of about a dozen runners. I’m not sure what was behind us, nor how far behind whatever it was was. I was feeling comfortable and running easily. A couple of the guys in the pack, though, seemed to be breathing a bit hard for so early in the run and it didn’t really take all that long until our group had withered down a little.

All that occurred through the first couple of miles. (Mile 1, which started downhill before heading up, was 6:28. Mile 2 was pretty much all uphill and was 6:41.) About halfway up the mile two hill, one guy, turned out to be David Herr, last year’s winner, started opening up a little gap that slowly got larger. He’s run in the mid-2:30’s on this course, so I wasn’t going to go after him. It didn’t take long for him to run down the opening act.

That might have left five of us trotting along together. One of whom was Andy, a semi-local since everybody seemed to be cheering for him. (Reading the re-cap of the race in the paper, I found out he was the cross country coach at a local high school.) I noticed he was bib number 2, so I wasn’t going to hang with him, either, when he took off. I had a brief moment of concern that I was in a bit over my head, but I was comfortable with my early pace and I didn’t think I was going too hard.

I don’t remember if our group of five caught the lead sprinter before we split into a threesome and a twosome or after, but I’d say that by mile four I was running with Paul Young – we introduced ourselves – and there were four runners in front of us. Paul was on his fourth running of MDI and was able to give me some hints as to what was coming up next. (Mile 3 had some down then a lot of steady up – 6:25 – while mile 4 started up and then went down, fast – 5:55.)

As anyone paying attention to the splits up to this point (6:28, 6:41, 6:25, 5:55) may have noticed, they were all over the place. I knew going into the race that the course was rolly. I knew splits would be inconsistent, there was just too much variety to the terrain. My goal was to run at a 6:30 average pace, but I wasn’t going to do any math until the five mile mark. I felt comfortable doing adding and subtracting, whatever it was, from 32:30. So, Paul and I just ran. He commented that he thought the 5:55 was too fast – and it was – but I mentioned that it was mostly steep downhill and we were staying within ourselves. He had run 2:51, 2:52, and 2:55 his three previous go rounds (though, I don’t know the order) and was hoping to be right around my goal time of 2:50. His concern, and mine, too, after he mentioned it, was that he ran the New Hampshire Marathon two weeks prior (in 2:55) and wasn’t really sure about his ability to bounce back. I just figured I’d run my race and if he wanted to tag along, or if he wanted to go ahead, either was fine.

The fifth mile was also predominantly downhill, but we reined in the pace a little and did that in 6:14. That gave me a five mile split of right around 31:45, about 45 seconds ahead of 2:50 pace. I was feeling fine. It was a good day for running – cool, cloudy, not too windy – and I was running. We were still on Route 3, which started out as Main Street in Bar Harbor and was now Otter Creek Road. I guess we were approaching, or in, or through the booming burg of Otter Creek, Maine. Blink and you missed it.

Tourist Day #1 . . . Monday, October 15

The day after a marathon, I’m usually not up for much and this day was no exception. I didn’t sleep all that well – the usual, things hurt and when I moved, I woke up type of sleep. I’m not sure how the $1.50 worth of Guinness contributed, but it’s probably a good thing that I didn’t have another dollar’s worth. But, there was nothing major on the agenda and, after a good breakfast, we hit the road for Acadia National Park where we were planning a drive on the loop road. Stopping at the stopping stops and maybe doing some loose hiking if the sights called for it. I drove since I didn’t feel like passenging and I let Renate read the map and tell me where to go.

The Start of the Precipice Trail
(I don’t know if the goal was the top of the mountain.)

This might be the view from the Schooner Head Overlook.

One of the first stops is at the Precipice Trailhead parking spot. Renate gets out her little pocket guide to Acadia Hikes and reads “The Precipice Trail to the peak of Champlain Mountain is Acadia’s most challenging.” Throw in some “precipitous shelves” and “iron ladders” and it was obvious this was not a hike for the day after a marathon. And, Renate mutters, “If ever.” I walked up a little bit. It was my first experience with solid slabs of rock and blue blazes actually painted on the rock.

All in all it was a relaxing drive. We got out regularly and walked around. I was aware of the bottom of my left foot and the quads were sore, but, really, there were no major issues. I walked up and down big rocks and Renate took lots of pictures.

Our last stop was at Jordan Pond where we did a little bit of walking and Renate took some more pictures. I think she took the pictures of The Boobs, I mean The Bubbles, just for me. Then we tried to get lunch at the Jordan Pond House (“You do serve beer, right?”) but, after I checked the menu and didn’t see anything edible, we opted to return to Bar Harbor.

Where we had a late lunch while sitting at the bar at the Thirsty Whale Tavern. A couple of young local guys were there. Also an older tourist that I couldn’t tell if she was a cruise boat person or not. She was talking to the local guys and asking a bunch of questions – she did end up buying them a round of drinks – and Renate and I were randomly chiming in. Somehow or other it came up that one of the guys had been married for three months. The tourist asked how it was going so far. And the dude said the marriage was “good and useful.” Damn near made beer come out my nose. Renate suggested he stop at “good” when talking to his new wife.

Sand Beach

Jordan Pond and The Bubbles

Renate’s cold was bothering her a little bit, plus we ate lunch late, so we decided that we’d do room service for dinner. Before that, I went out to the Rite Aid to get cold stuff for Renate and a six pack of Guinness for me. Apparently, Juan and Chris were hanging out at the Thirsty Whale Tavern, just a few doors down from the Rite Aid, at about that time. It’s probably a good thing that I wasn’t aware of that or Renate might still be waiting for her cold medicine.

Miles 6 through 10 . . .

This race allows walkers to start an hour early, at 7 AM, and the Race Director mentioned that 300 folks took him up on the offer. I guess Paul and I started catching the tail end of that train about six miles into the run. It surprised some of them, but most heard us coming and moved over to the side. On a few occasions, they were walking three and four abreast, covering the whole road, so I just ran between them. It they shrieked or jumped, that was even better. I think Paul was right in my footsteps. To be redundant, the sixth mile had some steady ups followed by some steady downs and we covered it in 6:16.

As we went by the 10k sign, Paul noted that it was a sub-forty minute 10k, maybe a bit quick. I agreed, commenting that we were about a minute ahead of 2:50 marathon pace. I didn’t know any real details about the upcoming twenty miles, other than that we would be pretty much always going up or going down. I wasn’t trying to run faster early to get some time in the bank. I really was just trying to run as the course was dictating.

Right near the 10k sign, we made a slight left onto Cooksey Drive, our first foray off Route 3. And, the first section of the course that was closed to traffic. And, maybe the first time I took a little look around. I commented on the nice houses alongside the road and Paul said that Martha Stewart had a place out here. I was looking for the perfect quilted mailbox cover, but I couldn’t see anything. It did appear that if you had a house on the left side of the road, you had a nice view of the water. If you had a house on the right side of the road, you had a nice view of the houses on the left side of the road.

As we’re running along, bobbing and weaving amongst the walkers, Paul mentioned that, in prior years, a couple of runners from the front had fallen back and he was able to pass them. I replied that I thought there were only three guys ahead of us – and a walker promptly said, “No. There are four ahead.” – and that, for sure, two of them probably weren’t coming back. (Rereading that line, how can something be “for sure” and then “probably”?) So, we were racing for fifth. But, the race isn’t over until the finish line is crossed, so we continued our running.

Mile 7 was 6:31 and mile 8 was 6:19. It was nice that we were continuing our up and down pacing to go along with the up and down running.

There was a hairpin bend to the left to start the ninth mile. There was a smattering of spectators here. (Really, all race, there had only been a handful of spectating spectators. Cheering cheerers here and there. Most of the noise was at the aid stations with the fantastic volunteers.) There were also some walking walkers and the immediate downhill plunge following the hairpin turn made it a tad interesting. Fortunately, there were no walker-runner collisions and I bumped it up a gear to take advantage of the terrain.

Right about this time, Paul fell behind and I was alone. I’d imagine the hard 2:55 he ran at New Hampshire two weeks earlier caught up with him. That was fine with me. I’m not much of a talker while racing and I had done more than I usually do. It was nice having the course knowledge Paul provided, but I had a good feel for how the day was going to go. The road would go up. The road would go down. The wind would blow.

The walkers were still pretty steady, so I wasn’t truly alone. They were always very supportive and encouraging. And, at roughly 8.5 miles, in Seal Harbor, there was a spectator location that was fairly crowded. Renate and I had looked at the map ahead of time and decided that this wasn’t a good spot for her to drive to. She’d of been able to get here fine, it would have just been too hard for her to get to the next viewing area.

Also about here, in downtown Seal Harbor, the course made a left turn back onto Route 3. I guess I’ll note it here that all the intersections were well marked with yellow directional arrows painted on the road and/or volunteers pointing the way. There was no real way to get misplaced.

A drawback to getting back on Route 3 was that I was on course that was no longer closed to cars. Things weren’t too bad in Seal Harbor, but there was off and on batches of traffic to deal with. And even then it wasn’t all that bad. There was a wide enough shoulder/bike lane for running. Still, it was a bit different than, say, Disney.

Mile 9, in and out of Seal Harbor, was 6:25. I’d get to do some math at the next mile marker.

And, as I was climbing a hill at the 15k marker, I thought, for the first time during the run, about the wife of an Internet friend. She’s ill and he asked a bunch of us to dedicate whatever miles we were running on the 14th to his wife. I had written her name on my shoes and she just popped into my mind at this point of the run. I thought about the two of them and I wished them the best during their tough times. And, I put my head down and I ran on. Towards Northeast Harbor.

Mile 10 was 6:26. I was staying right around, or just under, that 6:30 per mile target, though, as I mentioned earlier, I wasn’t overly concerned with the mile to mile numbers. Here at ten, the total race time was right about 1:03:45. That gave me a 75 second cushion on my race towards 2:50. Well, let’s see how the next block of five miles goes.

Tourist Day #2 . . . Tuesday, October 16

Tuesday, two days after the marathon, was going to be a bit more of an active day than Monday. One of the main attractions in Acadia National Park is Cadillac Mountain, at 1532 feet, supposedly the highest point on the eastern US seaboard. We could have driven the auto road to the top of the mountain, but Renate wanted to hike up. She had picked up a fancy “waterproof & tearproof” map of all the hiking trails in Acadia and the North Ridge Trail to the top of the mountain was advertised as a little over two miles. The booklet she had said it was a “moderate, all uphill” hike that should take about 1.5 hours. Of course, getting up there was only half the battle. We’d also have to come back down and that should be fun for the quads.

Elevation chart of the up.

Elevation chart of the down.

The hike up wasn’t too bad. A lot of solid slabs of slanting granite with blue blazes painted on them. The regularly placed cairns, as well. Some sections that really resembled hiking trails. Lots of nice views of the water. And, completely devoid of people. Well, we did pass another couple on the way up. And there was a spot or two where we were near turnoff points and we could hear the sounds of civilization – the doors of cars opening and closing, the oohs and ahhs of tourists – but a few more steps and we were back to being alone on the mountainside.

Once at the top, it was hurry up and take a few pictures and let’s go. Bunches of tourist buses and bunches of tourist cars meant bunches and bunches of tourists. Plus it was a bit windy and cold at the top of the mountain. The view up there was nice, but I didn’t need to spend a whole lot of time up there.

When it was time to head back down, a decision had to be made as to which way to go. Renate’s fancy map showed something called the “Gorge Path.” The total distance for that was just under two miles, but then we’d have to walk a little on the Loop Road to get back to the car. The only problem was that the map of trails that was posted at the top of the mountain advertised the Gorge Path as “difficult.” Renate said to go for it, so we started down.

It was a fairly entertaining and challenging trip. I can’t even call it a hike, since it was almost boulder to boulder, granite block to granite block. There were spots where I had to use my hands as I was climbing down and around rocks. I was wondering what Renate was thinking, how she was doing. After about 15 or 20 minutes we were pretty much beyond the point of returning to the top and taking the North Ridge Trail back to the car. It would have been really grubby going back up. Which kind of made me wonder how the dog we saw coming up, along with her human masters, had managed.

The first half mile going down was about the worst, then it settled down a little. There were still lots and lots of huge rocks, but we got along a little stream and the babbling made it a bit better. But, I was glad to get back to the road and finishing up that bit to get to the car. The whole day, car to car, took a little over three hours and now it was time for some recovery beer.

At the top of Cadillac Mountain.

Going down on the Gorge Path.

Once back in Bar Harbor, I just figured we’d find some place on the water for beer and lunch. We ended up sitting at the bar of the Fish House Grill where we had a nice view of the cruise ship tourists boarding their ferry to get back to the cruise ship. Lots of those people milling around made for entertaining people watching. A couple of tall (22 ounce) glasses of Bar Harbor Real Ale helped. Then a haddock sandwich (“the local’s favorite”) and a small (16 ounce) glass of Real Ale.

When we got back to the hotel, I put in a call to Juan to see if he and Chris were up for anything. They had just left the Park and were on their way to Bar Harbor with the plan of going back to the Thirsty Whale. I mentioned a small Irish Pub that I had been trying to get to since Friday. For whatever reason, it just hadn’t happened. I told Juan where it was – across the street from the Thirsty Whale, a little closer to Main Street – and told him to try and grab some stools at the bar and we’d meet him there.

Man, that was a lot of fun. We drank lots. We laughed lots. We watched the Boston Red Sox beat up on the Cleveland Indians while listening to the locals. I think, after the fifth beer, I convinced Juan to sign up for the Rocket City Marathon in Alabama in December.

Miles 11 through 15 . . .

Scenic Interlude In Northeast Harbor (about 8:45 AM)
View Of The Harbor	Reflecting Pond

I was running alongside the water approaching Northeast Harbor and I’m sure it was a very pretty sight. If I had bothered to look around at all. I was still pretty much in my own little zone, passing walkers, and concentrating on that little bit of pavement in front of me. There was a little bit of unnecessary tightness in my right quad, not cramping, that wasn’t really interfering with anything. Just a bit annoying.

Mile 11 was another 6:26. I guess I was getting a little consistent with my mile splits.

The next little bit of excitement was the appearance of my crew at about 11.5 miles into the run. She took a few pictures, we exchanged a few words, an I love you back and forth, and we continued on our ways – me by foot, she by car – towards the next rendezvous point at about 17.5 miles. I run up the little incline, a slight bend to the left, then a hard left turn onto Route 198. (Renate would make the right and continue on Route 3.)

On My Way To Northeast Harbor (about 11.5 miles at 9:11 AM)
Passing An Early Starter	In Fifth Place	Going After Another Early Bird

This little stretch was nice. Lots of cheering spectators. And lots of walkers to run around. Plus the 12 mile aid station. There must have been more up than down, or more congestion than not, because the 6:35 split was a bit higher than what I had been running. Maybe the course was a bit more crowded, but it seemed like this was the last mile that I really had to deal with the early birds.

The thirteenth mile of the race was through the residential section of Northeast Harbor. A fair number of twists and turns. Or so it seemed. I followed the painted yellow arrows on the roads and I was thankful to see the “Official MDI Marathon Route – Drive Slow, Run Fast” signs nailed to the telephone poles. There was a spot where I made a right, then a left, then a right in quick succession. Fortunately there was a helpful volunteer at the first right – “Go to the next corner and make a left.” “Thanks.” – and a volunteer at the second right – “Good job. Looking good.” “Thanks.” – to go along with the painted yellow arrows. Around a couple of bends and the 13 mile marker. The split was 6:13.

(I don’t think I’ve put in my standard disclaimer, yet. Normally, I punch the split button on my watch, but I’m only generally aware of what the actual number is. For this race, I did take more notice of the number that appeared because there weren’t the big digital clocks at every mile. I wanted to have some idea as to how things were going, so I looked at the split and let it register, but I didn’t really sweat it one way or the other. In a race with more even terrain, i.e., flat, I’ll pay better attention as I’ll generally do some math at each mile to see where I stand in relation to my goal time. Here, because of all the ups and downs, I was going to do math every five miles, using 32:30 per five mile block as my target.)

And, then, some seconds later, the 13.1 mile marker. I was halfway through. A quick glance at my watch showed a time of 1:23:45. Still that 75 seconds under 2:50 pace. I was pretty happy with that. I thought I was running fairly evenly. Taking what I could from the downhills and not giving too much back on the uphills. And I was kind of back alongside the water. Still fairly oblivious to my surroundings. In fact, I started to get a little confused. It had been awhile since I had seen anything “race related.” I didn’t remember any yellow arrows on the road nor any signs on the telephone poles. Was I still on course? I hadn’t seen a human in a while. Did I miss a turn? The road was a bit twisty and turny so I couldn’t see very far ahead. I glanced at my watch. Looks like there’s roughly three minutes until I see the 14 mile marker. What to do? What to do? I decided I’d run until my watch showed a split of seven minutes. Then I would panic. I was really hoping I’d seen the mile marker before then, but at least now I had a plan.

And, around the bend, just up ahead, there it was, the mile 14 marker. Time split was 6:37. Back to the usual up and down splits, I guess.

At the 14 mile aid station, there was a race score keeper, sitting in his pickup truck. As I went by, he said I was in sixth place. I was reasonably sure, but not positive, that I was in fifth place. I figured there must be one more early starter out in front of me. How far? Only time and footsteps would tell. I wasn’t going to panic. Heck, sixth would match my bib number, so, if that’s what it was, that’s what it was. I ran on.

A little bend to the left and now I’m running on Sargeant Drive. This was alongside Somes Sound, the only true fjord on the Atlantic Coast. (Or so the local propaganda goes.) It was also nice because the road was closed to traffic. There hadn’t been much in Northeast Harbor, but none is always better than not much. At least where traffic is concerned. It was a little bit not nice in that now I was out in the open and the wind became a little bit of a negative factor.

But, up ahead, was the guy who was in “fifth” place. I passed him with words of encouragement. I approached and went by one of the race photographers. And, then, I was alone again. “All by myself . . .” At least I knew I was on course and I’d get to do some more math at the 15 mile marker.

There it was. A 6:32 split. Race time was one hour, thirty-six minutes, and change. Let’s see . . . take the 1:05 I expected at ten miles . . . add 32:30 to get 1:37:30 . . . subtract 1:36 and, let’s call it, 15 seconds . . . hey, I’m still 75 seconds up on 2:50 . . . I’m really rocking and rolling . . . only 11+ miles to go.

Tourist Day #3 . . . Wednesday, October 17

By Wednesday, I was ready to do some easy running, something in the six mile range. And, the carriage roads in Acadia sounded like a perfect way to go. (Forty-five miles of rustic carriage roads were built by John D. Rockefeller, Jr. in the early- to mid-1900’s.) The roads around Eagle Lake looked like a good, mostly flat, loop, right around six miles and it would allow Renate to take a nice walk while I did my running.

My run ended up being nine miles because I had to do some redundant stuff to get back to the trailhead for the hike we were planning on taking, then, when she wasn’t there, I ran to where Renate was plus a little extra to get to an even number. I mean a whole number. All in all, my legs felt good – a little quad and ball of the left foot soreness – and it was good to get the run in.

And then a bit of hiking. Or boulder walking.

Running on the Carriage Roads around Eagle Lake.

There were going to be two parts to our day’s hiking. We started off on the path around the southwestern edge of Eagle Lake and, pretty immediately, made a right hand turn to take the trail to the top of Conners Nubble. I’m not entirely sure what a “nubble” is, but the map said it was 588 feet above sea level, about a third as high as Cadillac Mountain. Ok. Let’s go climb a nubble.

The Sign At The Top Of Conners Nubble

We had a little snack part way down the nubble, while looking out over Eagle Lake. A pretty nice place to spend a bit of time. Most of the nubble hike, it was about a half mile each way, was comfortable. There were some sections of rock climbing stuff, but not nearly as bad as the Gorge Path of yesterday. We made it back to our starting intersection and made a right to continue around Eagle Lake.

That was mostly tedious. We started off with a good stretch of pine needle trails, but it turned into the huge bolder stuff. Complete with the painted on blue blazes. There were quite a few spots where I had to stop and look around to see where the “trail” went, where the next blue blaze was. Truth be told, it got pretty annoying and I just wanted to get it done with. The entire Eagle Lake stretch was a bit over a mile long and, not knowing how far we had gone, nor how far we had to go (obviously, if I had known one of the numbers, I could have calculated the other), I was just hoping it wasn’t going to be these huge rocks for the entire thing.

The “path” around Eagle Lake.

Fortunately, it wasn’t. It eventually turned into a reasonably decent walk, complete with some “man made” wooden structures through the swampy areas. We did lose the trail towards the end, but, since I could see the carriage road just off to the right, we “bushwhacked” our way out.

Dinner that night was at Stewman’s Lobster Pound. Renate did battle with Notsolucky the Lobster. I should have taken a picture of her wearing her little bib. I continued my post-marathon poor eating habits with shrimp in a basket along with fries. Plus the blueberry pie that came with Renate’s dinner. All served on paper plates while using plastic utensils and plastic cups. Guess that’s how they serve things at the “waterside” places.

Miles 16 through 20 . . .

I will admit to taking a look around at the scenery during this section of the run. I will also admit to doing some negative math. Could I run eight minute miles and still break three hours? No, not yet.

Part of the reason for the negative math was that there was a little bit of discomfort in my stomach region. Then there was a little bit of noise. Finally, a little bit of regurgitation. The interesting thing, if there was such, was that it didn’t taste like anything I had gurgitated so far during the day. It didn’t taste like the blueberry Pop Tarts I had started the day with. Nor did it taste like any of the Hammer Gel I had consumed during the run. It kind of had me concerned. What was down there threatening to come up?

I tried to take my mind off itself by looking at the water. Looking at my map afterwards shows that I was running through Acadia National Park. I don’t remember seeing a guard station. I didn’t pay an entrance fee. The scenery wasn’t doing much for me. I got back into the mile to mile running.

Mile 16 was 6:28. I was down to ten to go. Two hands worth of miles. My stomach hadn’t gotten any better. It hadn’t gotten any worse, either, so that was good. I’m not sure how I felt about running all by myself. I think it would have been good to have somebody up ahead to focus on. I never looked back. For all I know, I was the one up ahead for somebody else.

Mile 17 Marker

First Place (Race Time - 1:41:xx

Second, Third, and Fourth (Race Time – 1:45:xx)

There was the mile 17 marker and there was the Love Of My Life. 6:32 and an “I love you.” Nine to go. I was still, plus or minus a few seconds, hitting the 6:30s I was shooting for. Things were hurting a little bit, though. Nothing seemed to be plunging downhill, but the stiffness in my legs and the distress in my stomach were still a physical presence. And, therefore, also a mental presence. I tried to climb a little bit further into my little zone of pavement. It wasn’t totally working.

Our Hero In Action At 17 Miles (Race Time – 1:49:xx)
Coming . . .	. . .	. . . Going

I noticed what felt like a humungous blister on the bottom of my left foot. Earlier, I had been vaguely aware of some discomfort on the ball of the foot, but I didn’t really think about it too much. Now, with all the other negativity, it became more of a discomfort, more of a pain. Well, I reasoned, at my current pace, I had roughly an hour to go.

I was back on the busy road of Route 3. Renate drove by, attempting to take a picture of me using her cell phone. There was a smattering of spectators, a few cars parked along the road, but it wasn’t long before that was all behind me.

There was a pretty sizeable hill towards the end of mile 18. It was a little bit of a mental hit. I was kind of surprised to see another 6:30 for a split. I thought it might be a little worse. Ok. Eight to go. Two more miles and I could do some math. I figured I still had that 75 second cushion. Maybe a couple less, maybe a couple more. I also remembered, from the course profile that I had seen, that the miles from 20 through 25 trended all uphill. I started figuring out how many more aid stations – they were every two miles – I had to go. Let’s see . . . at 20, 22, and 24. Three aid stations. Let’s run mile to mile, aid station to aid station.

There was a bizarre little hitch where we did the two sides of the triangle instead of the hypotenuse. I was going against something my Grandfather told me many years ago. “Always seek the hypotenuse,” he used to say. “It’s the shortest line between two points.” Well, if there’s a police car blocking the hypotenuse and volunteers and painted arrows directing me towards the left, I really had no choice. I went left. Then right. And, after about a third of a mile, I was back on Route 3. Guess they had to get the .2 for the marathon somewhere.

Most of mile 19 was downhill, but I was only able to run it in 6:27. Well, I didn’t lose as much time going up the hill for mile 18 as I figured, and I didn’t gain as much time going down the hill for mile 19, so, I guess, the hills must have been imaginary.

But the cars weren’t. I was approaching Somesville as a number of people were trying to leave it. Being a lone runner, there was enough room for me, although (whether it was here, or later) I had to hop on the sidewalk a few times. A pack of three or four runners, running together – hence being “a pack” – might have found things a bit tighter. I was just looking for mile markers and aid stations.

And, both appeared soon enough. Mile 20 was 6:26. I was in a good little rut. Race time was right about 2:08:30. I hadn’t really been calculating my 10k times since Paul mentioned the first one being forty minutes. Could I do the last one like the first? When I was tired and sore? While the course trended up? Well, I still had that bit of cushion, about ninety seconds, now, but let’s try not to use it all up at once.

Tourist Day #4 . . . Thursday, October 18

There are a bunch of little islands out in Frenchman Bay and there’s a sandbar to one of them, Bar Island, that’s walkable at low tide. We always saw people walking the little stretch while we were eating breakfast. Today was the day for us to do it. A nice little walk. Once across, we took the Summit Trail up to the summit of Bar Island. Ooh, ah.

Walking over to Bar Island.

The view of Bar Harbor from the summit of Bar Island.

I did an easy nine mile run out to the Schooner Point Overlook and back while Renate went back to Acadia to take more pictures.

It was kind of entertaining talking to all the waiters and waitresses during the week. Most of the places were closing either this weekend or next and all the help was counting down the days. And, lots of them had places they were going – down to Florida and Texas, out to Wyoming – and things they were doing – relaxing, skiing, working. We’d sit down at a table and, instead of telling us what the specials were, they’d tell us what they didn’t have.

Well, I guess it was similar for Renate and me. Tomorrow we’d be leaving Bar Harbor. It has been a nice trip.

Getting up close and personal with the wildlife.

Miles 21 through 26.2 . . .

After going through twenty miles in 2:08:30, I knew all I needed was another forty minute 10k. This is when I started telling myself that now was when all the hard work I had done training for this marathon, now was when all the over-distance runs I had done would pay off.

In “downtown” Somesville, the course makes a left turn onto Route 102 (Main Street) from Route 3. The heavy car traffic continued as I continued. This bit of the course was where friends and families of the runners would be driving to get to the finish line in Southwest Harbor. I got honks and thumbs up from some of them. It was also where tourists would be driving towards Acadia National Park, and, as I was running on their side of the road, I had to pay more attention to them. Attention that I didn’t really want to take away from the task at foot. Still, they were very polite and they also offered the honks and cheers.

There were also more walking folks out and about, cheering while, maybe, heading off to breakfast. All of this was different for me as I’m not used to “sharing” the course so much. And, I thought, it might not be a good idea to toss cookies around here. Fortunately, my rumbling stomach had settled down by this point and I didn’t feel like I was going to ruin somebody’s next meal.

Mile 21 went by in 6:34, not too, too bad all things considered. I was fighting a bit and focusing on time and miles. Miles to go was 5.2 and race time was 2:15:00. Math wasn’t happening, so I just tried to run as steadily as I could. I did know I had to run faster then seven minutes per mile to beat 2:50. How much faster, I couldn’t calculate. Just two more aid stations to go. Deal with the pain and suffering a bit longer.

There was another pretty steady climb for mile 22. A not too great split of 6:38. I was getting pretty tired of going up. Theoretically, according to the course profile I had seen, I still had three miles of going up. Then the last mile plus was all downhill. I wasn’t sure I was going to have any quads left to take advantage of the downhill, but it was supposed to be there. I took my last hit of gel from my flask, grabbed a cup of water from the aid station volunteer, tossed the empty flask and the empty cup into the trash can down the road. One more aid station to go. Four more miles.

Yeah, I was counting down. I was close to counting down the minutes. Guess I’ll wait a few miles to get to that point. I still wanted that sub-2:50. The blister on the bottom of my left foot was getting worse. All the other aches and pains seemed to have reached their limit.

There were the random folks along the side of the road. A pair of kids dressed in Halloween costumes handing out candy. Had they been on my side of the road, I might have been tempted. As it was, they were on the other side and I didn’t want to go play in traffic for some unknown type of candy. I gave them a thumbs up and a thank you and I continued running. I got through mile 23 in 6:29. I was glad to see I had recovered a little from the earlier two miles.

There was a musical couple, he with an accordion and she with a tambourine, along the side of the road. The only musical accompaniment to my running that I could recall all day. It was another steep uphill so I got to hear them a little longer than I would have liked. Not that they were bad, I just wanted to be done. Up ahead was the mile marker and the aid station. The last of the latter. It was a big mental hit when I saw that my split for the 24th mile was 7:01. Race time was a few over 2:35. Could I suck it up and run the last 2.2 miles in less than fifteen minutes? How badly did I want it?

I told myself to just give it all I had. I wasn’t sure what was left with the course, but let’s call that last split an aberration. Concentrate and focus and run. There was pain and suffering, but it wasn’t negatively affecting my stride. I was still running smoothly. Well, all things considered. I couldn’t see fourth place. I had no idea where sixth place was. I didn’t want to get passed in the last couple of miles. Concentrate and focus and run.

Mile 25 is a 6:27 split. See, I told me that seven minute mile I ran was an aberration. I was right. Now, the downhill. Try to run it fast, but under control. No sense running so fast my feet go out from under me. No sense face planting on Route 102. I’m not sure I’d be able to get back up. I had 8.5 minutes left to run and I’d achieve my goal. A measly 1.2 miles left in my day.

Chris drove by, with words of encouragement, as I was nearing Southwest Harbor. I see the sign “Welcome to Southwest Harbor” so I know I’m getting close. Let’s see . . . I started the day in Bar Harbor, I ran through Seal Harbor and Northeast Harbor, and I was going to finish in Southwest Harbor. (How come it was Somesville and not Somes Harbor?) There’s a police presence redirecting traffic, a sign telling MDI friends and families where to park. Mile 26, the downhill mile, is 6:16. At this point, I knew I was going to break 2:50. I had a bit over two minutes to cover two tenths of a mile.

In a final bit of meanness, the course bends uphill for the last bit. Truth be told, after all I had gone through to get to this point, the up didn’t seem too bad. I kept it in a reasonable gear, still not sure if anyone was behind me. I heard the church bells as I neared and then crossed the finish line in 2:49:28. That was good for fifth overall and first in my age group. Looking at the results afterwards, I was three minutes behind fourth and more than seven minutes ahead of sixth. Pretty much locked into where I was since I left Paul back at mile eight.

Crossing the finish line of my 31st career road marathon. (That total includes 15 Ironman marathons.)

And then it was over . . .

And I could stop. I get the Mylar cape of excellence. (I heard that somewhere, or a derivative thereof, so I can’t, and won’t, take credit for it). I help the kind volunteer remove my chip. I get my medal. Volunteers are everywhere, I guess with only five of us in so far, there were plenty available. Drink options were water and Gatorade. Neither of which I really wanted. Nor was I ready for my Guinness. Surprisingly, I had never even thought of it while I was running. I don’t know if that’s a good thing.

Renate came over and I started working on replacing my wet clothes with dry ones. I was kind of surprised that I had kept my gloves on the whole run. I thought I’d be tossing them to the side at an aid station or tossing them to Renate out on the course, but I was never uncomfortable enough to discard them. Nor did I feel too warm with the long sleeve shirt on. It really was, except when the wind was blowing, a very comfortable day to run. And even the wind wasn’t all that bad.

I checked out the food in the finish area tent and didn’t see anything that appealed to me, though I did manage to throw down some type of smoothie in a bottle drink. My stomach was still in some weird state of flux so I got some money from Renate and went in search of Coke, finding some at a small restaurant across the street from the finish line. Renate and I settled in with Chris near the big clock and waited for Juan to come running in. And he did, with a finish time of 3:32:17, good for 85th place overall.

Juan flies across the finish line.

Sharing a laugh with Juan and his brother Chris.

A hunk of granite and a Guinness.

Now, I was ready for my Guinness. Juan wasn’t quite and Chris didn’t want one so I drank alone. Hey, it was close to noon. Besides, now I was on vacation.

After Juan re-grouped, the four of us – Juan, Chris, Renate, and me – walked over to a different little restaurant across a different street, but still near the finish line, for some lunch and beer. For me, the beer went down real well, but the burger not so much. I took a couple of bites and decided it was better left alone. After debating the merits of another beer, I opted for a Pepsi followed by a glass of orange juice. It was fun rehashing the morning’s run, but it was time for Renate and me to head back to Bar Harbor. Juan and Chris were staying in a cabin in Southwest Harbor, so they were pretty much set. We made tentative plans to try and get together on Monday or Tuesday and then went our separate ways.

It’s time to party . . .

Sunday evening Renate and I headed over to McKay’s Public House. They’re one of the sponsors of the MDI Marathon and there was an announcement prior to the cannon firing that McKay’s would have 25 cent pints of Guinness for anybody with a race bib. Well, that’s a no brainer. Heck, I didn’t even have to finish the race. All I had to do was show up with my bib. Where was this place? What time did they open? RENATE . . . can I have a couple of dollars? Ah, heck . . . guess I’ll go ahead and run.

We get to the Pub and pull up a couple of stools at the end of the bar (after verifying that we could have dinner there if we so chose). It’s about an eight stool setup and, after we sat down, maybe half of them are occupied.

There was the guy from Chicago who thought it was a trail run and did the whole marathon in his trail shoes. There was the semi-local Grizzly Adams guy who thought we were all nuts. It was fun chatting with them. I can get pretty social when throwing down 25 cent pints of Guinness. Another marathoner, a girl, sat at the other end of the bar. She wasn’t very talkative. A couple came and went – just waiting until their table was ready. A young guy gingerly walked up to the bar and very slowly took a seat, asking for his 25 cent pint of Guinness.

He might have been the most entertaining individual of the evening. Turns out he was 26 year old Adam Ropp from Bar Harbor. His sister is the Race Coordinator and he was helping out at registration Saturday, late afternoon. He got all excited and, pretty much at the last minute, he decided to enter. Just one little problem. He had never run a marathon before. He had never run a race before. He hated running. Ah, the impetuousness of youth. He did finish, he was very proud that he didn’t quit, in 6:04:21 – after getting some ibuprophen and skittles from a couple of ladies walking the race – but he didn’t anticipate running another marathon any time soon.

The 25 cent pints were starting to work their way through my system so I made a visit to the men’s room. On the way back, a guy, noticing the slow shuffle of a marathoner, asked how my race went and how I liked it. My race went very well and, for the most part, I liked it. The light went on and I recognized him as the Race Director.

We chatted for a bit. I told him I didn’t like the pressure of being number 6 and I meant it as a joke, but I don’t think it came out that way. He was very proud of the seeding, and rightly so. Turns out bib numbers 1, 2, 3, 5, and 6 finished in that order, and number 4 didn’t start (or at least he didn’t finish). I mentioned the traffic in a couple of spots, but noted there really wasn’t anything he could do about it, nor was it all that bad. I said I was semi-concerned a couple of times about whether or not I was on the course, but that was just runner’s paranoia. The course was very well marked and marshaled.

Looking back, it sounds like I was fairly negative about the race and I apologize for that. It was a very well done event, with friendly, enthusiastic, and helpful volunteers. The course is beautiful (from what I’ve been told) and challenging (from what I experienced). It is a great destination marathon and spending some time afterwards touristing and drinking was great. I did say, to the Race Director, that I didn’t think I’d come back (sorry, again) meaning that there are just so many other races to do. But, Renate really likes the idea of walkers getting the early start and she, sort of, implied that she might like to do the Mount Desert Island Marathon one day. So, you never know. We may, indeed, be back. A 30th anniversary trip, perchance.

Miscellaneous links (they are supposed to open in a new window) . . .

Here's a table of the mile splits.

Here’s my MotionBased download of the race, for anybody with too much time on their hands.

Here's Renate's photo album of the race on Kodak Gallery. Registration may be required.

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.

Return to Noone's Saloone & Golf Club.

Originally published on October 29, 2007.