2007 Rocky Mountain Double Marathon

Rocky Mountain Double Marathon
Medicine Bow National Forest near Laramie, Wyoming

Sunday, May 27, 2007

Hey, there’s a double marathon in Wyoming . . .

I don’t know how or when this race appeared on my radar screen, but it’s been on the schedule for quite awhile. I remember speaking with Ted about it the day after the Arkansas Traveller last October. His were more words of caution than enthusiasm. The course wasn’t all that exciting, he said, predominantly graded dirt roads, but with about 25% of it on asphalt. Plus, it was fairly wide open, subject to the vagaries of the weather. And, a fair amount of climbing. Still, I have family out in Cheyenne and it would be a good reason to go out there for a visit. So, I inked it on the schedule and got Renate on board when I told her of the half marathon option.

We decided on extending the trip and spending a week up in the northwest corner of the state, visiting Grand Teton and Yellowstone National Parks. That made the trip attractive to Roger and Mary Ivy and they signed up. Mary Ivy would do the half with Renate and Roger would play sherpa. Some how or other Jeff got wind of what was going on and decided to come out to do the full marathon option. He wasn’t going to do the tourist stuff afterwards, but it would give us four Noones running/walking through the Medicine Bow National Forest in Wyoming on the Sunday of Memorial Day weekend.

I left it up to my Mom to let her sisters, my aunts, know of our plans and of our desire to visit. I passed along our itinerary for the Cheyenne days of the trip and the social side of the week was set up. The big event would be a gathering Sunday evening following the races. As many of my cousins who could fit it into their schedule would be there.

Now, I just had to make arrangements with Brent Weigner, the Race Director, to do eight hours of volunteer work prior to the race to satisfy my service requirement for the Vermont 100 race I’m doing in July. A few back and forth e-mails and tentative plans were in place. It was going to work out well. I’d much rather be running a race than volunteering at it. This way I could do both. I wasn’t sure what the impact would be, come race day, but I was willing to sacrifice a little for this race.

I actually spoke my goal out loud to Brent while we were filling water jugs Saturday afternoon. I told him I wanted to break eight hours. The T.S. Eliot quote – "Only those who risk going too far can possibly find out how far they can go." – is one of my favorites. In this case, it wouldn’t be “how far” but rather “how fast”. I thought the goal was a challenging one, but attainable. And it conveniently fit into my plan to break the double marathon race into eight quarter marathons. The math would be simple, just plus or minus from an hour for each section.

Playing volunteer Saturday evening . . .
“What size shirt would you like?”
(Picture taken by Renate with her cell phone.)

The days before the day of . . .

This section is going to be of no real value to the story. I’m putting it in here for historical purposes. Feel free to jump to the next section. Which, by the way, is also not of much worth.

Another of the reasons I wanted to do this race, was to test myself at altitude. Coming from, basically, sea level to about 8,700 feet was going to be interesting. I felt, that if I couldn’t even handle this, there was no sense thinking about some of the more challenging 100’s, those with time and trails above 10,000 feet. And, to give myself a fighting chance I wanted to get out there about a week before the event.

So, Renate drove me to the airport, pinned a little note to my shirt in case I got lost, and sent me on my way. The travel was uneventful – planes were on time, luggage arrived, the rental car worked (Hot dang! The speed limit is 75 mph out here. That means 85 is legal.) – and about 15 minutes after I checked into my hotel room I got a call from my Aunt Frannie welcoming me to Cheyenne. I won’t bog down this race story with family reunion stuff, but it was nice to feel so welcome.

I will bog it down a little with my training runs:

Sunday, I did an easy five mile run in the fields behind the hotel about an hour after I checked in on the first day. Scared up a herd of the Wyoming equivalent of our white-tailed deer as well as some Canadian geese complete with their goslings. My heart rate was a little high, but I attributed that to the travel and being a little hungry.
Monday, I drove out to the starting area at the Lincoln Monument Rest Area. I then ran five miles out and five miles back on the initial miles of the course. Going out, I had a pace of 7:29 with an AHR of 148. Coming back, the pace was 8:32 and the AHR was 158. Obviously a bit tougher coming back. Uphill mostly. But the biggest problem was the wind. (Link to MotionBased view.)
Tuesday, I went out to Medicine Bow National Forest again. This time I parked somewhere near the far turnaround and ran back towards the start. The wind was pretty tough on the way out (15 mph) and it was pretty chilly (about 43 degrees) so that made it kind of cold. Going out, I had a pace of 8:14 with an AHR of 156. Coming back, the pace was 7:12 and the AHR was 145. So, it was a pretty tough wind. Not much of a problem with elevation or hills. I ended up doing a total of eight miles. (Link to MotionBased view.)
Wednesday, I did the section from the starting line again, but only going out 3.5 miles. Pretty cold and really windy. Car thermometer said it was 39 degrees. MotionBased said it was 45 degrees with about a 15 mph wind. Wind seemed stronger. Just like the first time I did this section, faster on the way out (7:20 pace, AHR of 141) with the downhill trend and a tail wind. Coming back (8:22 pace with an AHR of 158) was pretty tough. And cold. It'll be interesting to see how the comeback section works on race day. (Link to MotionBased view.)
Friday, it was back to the starting line. This time with Renate and Jeff. I probably ran a little harder than I should have. Actual pace was 7:51 (5.13 miles in 40:21). Not quite as cold as the other day, only 45 degrees, but just as windy. Pace on the way out was 7:16 with an AHR of 148. On the way back, it was 8:27 with an AHR of 162. After the run I spent a couple of hours marking the course with Brent, the Race Director. (Link to MotionBased view.)

So, I ended up with 35 miles of “altitude training” as preparation for the Double Marathon. I really didn’t feel like the altitude was an issue. Sure, my training heart rate was a few beats higher than it normally is, but I didn’t have any sense of a shortness of breath. Nor any feelings of nausea or headaches or anything like that. As far as I was concerned, there was enough air in the air. Now, come race day, with race effort, I might be gasping a different tune.

I’ll also throw in my volunteer efforts. As I mentioned above, somewhere, I needed to do some volunteer work for the Vermont 100. This was about the perfect situation. I could volunteer and run the same event. One of the things I did was drive the course with Brent, the RD, two days before the race. He put down flour arrows and I put down flour dots and we both put down flour lines, all at what he deemed to be strategic locations. I spent several days, I mean hours, driving around with him listening to his stories. Man, that guy can talk. But, he was entertaining, and the stories were good, and the time really did go by quickly. That was Friday.

Saturday morning, I helped him retrieve a bunch of jugs, barriers, signs, and other assorted race paraphernalia from some basement from some building in downtown Cheyenne. We loaded up the bed, and the back seat, of his pickup truck and carted it all over to his house. Where we filled up all the jugs with water and loaded them, and all the other stuff, into the bed of his other pickup truck. The one with the big NASCAR-type camping trailer on the back.

That afternoon/evening I helped set up registration and I got to hand out t-shirts. It was fun chatting with all the contestants as they arrived, seeing the confidence in some, the doubt in others. Some had a ton of questions, that I tried my best to answer. Others simply picked up their number and shirt and either headed into the pasta dinner or left with other plans. All in all, it was more time on my feet than I would have preferred the day before a race, but it wasn’t too bad. And, it ended early enough with me helping pack up and carry boxes out to the pickup truck before Sue, Brent’s wife, ordered me to stop.

Then it was up to the room (fortunately, the race registration and pasta dinner were at the hotel we were staying) and a couple of pints of Guinness while pinning my number to my shirt and making sure all the race stuff was ready to go.

Some pre-actual race report comments . . .

I’m getting there, but, before I get to the actual race, let me throw in a couple more comments.

When I mention temperature or wind, it’s information that I got from a weather.com hour-by-hour printout. My GPS watch is capable of many things, but a weather station it is not. Furthermore, when I put pace and distance info for my splits, it’s based on what was downloaded from my GPS. I did take splits every quarter marathon and those numbers are interspersed into the report as well as at the end in a nice, neat chart. I wasn’t paying a whole lot of attention to the numbers during the race, but I was generally aware of how long and how far.

I’m including the course profile from the race web site as well as the course profile I got when I downloaded my GPS data into MotionBased.com.

This is the course profile from the race website: http://www.angelfire.com/wy2/marathon/

This is the profile of the entire 52.4 miles as downloaded from my GPS into MotionBased.com
I particularly like the middle, where it looks like the course is giving me the finger.

Bright and early race morning . . .

Renate and I watched the end of the NASCAR race on TV before turning out the lights last night. Kasey Kahne, driving the number 9 “Country Crock Spread” Dodge crossed the finish line first. Renate said that was a very good sign, since I was wearing number 9 for my race. I have yet to find a willing (i.e., paying) sponsor so I wouldn’t be wearing any logos on my chest. (I really should talk to the folks at Guinness.)

There was nothing much out of the ordinary with the early morning stuff. My traveling/racing companions are used to my idiosyncrasies and everybody was ready on time. Early morning coffee was supposedly taken care of when it was established that the truck stop was open 24 hours. Well, the gas distribution part of the place was open. For those with credit cards. The actual shop part of the place was closed up dark and tight. It wasn’t a major hardship for me, I don’t usually have coffee before a race, but Roger, Mary Ivy, and Renate were starting to bead up with caffeine withdrawal sweat. Jeff? He was contentedly sipping on his first can of Mountain Dew.

The drive over to the Lincoln Monument Rest Area was dark, but uneventful. It seems like I had been making this commute every day since I got to Cheyenne. Guess this would be the last day I’d be on I-80 west. Roughly forty minutes after not getting any coffee, we pulled into an executive parking spot at the race site. We only have about an hour to spend waiting around. Might as well visit the heated rest area for the usual pre-race rituals. And then pose for some pre-race pictures.

Mary Ivy & Roger

Jeff, Mary Ivy, Renate & Steve

Steve & Renate

The day was starting to get brighter and it was time to start getting runnerish. Roger was solo sherpa so, since I didn’t want to overwhelm him with lots of excess clothing, I got rid of as much as I felt comfortable getting rid of and we wandered over to the start area.

I knew it was going to be a road shoe kind of run. Trail shoes weren’t going to be necessary. There was nothing technical about the day. No rocks. No roots. Just graded dirt roads and about six miles each marathon on a paved road. And, the plan was to start off with gloves and a long-sleeve shirt.

A friend of Brent’s was going to be putting together a DVD of the proceedings. He had done some filming (do you still call it filming when it’s digital?) at the dinner the night before the event and was doing some more bright and early race morning. Somehow or other – Jeff, I think, volunteered us to be interviewed as a group – we were coerced into standing there with a camera in our faces. With Renate and Mary Ivy doing the half marathon, Jeff doing the full marathon, and me doing the double marathon, we had the main events covered. I guess that was worthy of being on the DVD, but, pretty quickly, I got bored and/or annoyed with the process. I just wanted to get on with my pre-race preparations. Plus I don’t feel all that comfortable in those situations. There are no new answers to the question of “how can you run that far?” And my favorite answer, something along the lines of “If you’re not a runner, no explanation is possible. If you are, no explanation is necessary.” didn’t come to mind until well after the camera had been turned off. So it goes. Maybe nobody will buy the DVD.

Pre-run Interview
I gotta stop dressing like Jeff.

I went ahead with my pre-run preparations. And I chatted with a few of the guys and gals I had met while handing out t-shirts last night. One guy was doing his first event longer than 50k (31 miles) and was planning on doing the Leadville 100 (one of the tougher 100’s) in August. Another guy, scheduled to run the double, had a flight back to St. Louis in the evening and wasn’t sure how things were going to go. I think he said he needed to finish in eleven hours in order to make the plane. I’m glad all I had to do was finish in time to go drink beer with assorted family members, some of whom I hadn’t seen in thirty years.

I went over and wished Bryon well. Wait, let me back track a second.

I figured, going into the race, that I had an outside chance to win the whole thing. I knew Bryon Powell, last year’s winner of the Rocky Mountain Double Marathon, by face from races we had done together. Then, at Bull Run in April, Dave Burslar introduced us. Bryon mentioned at Bull Run that he was going back to Wyoming to “defend his title.” But, looking at last year’s results, he had smoked the field. So, I thought, if he had a less than perfect day and I had a superb day, I could win. And, I wanted to win. I wanted to be able to go to the big family dinner with lots of cousins as the winner. I have an ego that I normally keep in check, but it can appear to spur me on. And, that’s not necessarily a bad thing. That’s part of the reason I had set a goal of eight hours.

Warning signs at the very beginning of the course. It was nice to know that we weren’t supposed to be shot at.

Now, back to the day at hand. I figured I’d be tracking Bryon at the turnarounds to see how his day was going. And, to see if my goal of winning was, somehow, attainable.

There were some pre-run words. A prayer. A moment of silence to remember what Memorial Day is really about. The National Anthem. A few words from an Army Major, back from his second tour of duty in Iraq. And, we’re all ready to go.

Saddle up and head ‘em out . . .

The magic word is spoken. “GO!” Wait a minute. There was no emphasis. No exclamation. That’s not Brent’s style. It was more like “go.” And the roughly 150 double, full, and half marathoners go trotting down the dusty road. Thoughts were still positive. Goals were still attainable. Hopefully, anyway.

Steve

Jeff

Mary Ivy & Renate

Bryon was competition that I knew of. There were probably others and I’d get a better feel at the marathon turnaround when I could see bib numbers. (The double folks had one or two digit numbers. The full people had numbers starting at 200.) Bryon was in the lead group with, probably, the faster full and half guys. That pack didn’t sprint, they just eased along at a faster pace, but it wasn’t terribly long before they were out of sight. The course started that rolling serpentine thing and the lead guys were probably in a twist while I was in a turn. So, the pack I was in was probably not too far back. Still, none of that mattered. It was going to be a long day and patience was more prudent at this point.

I passed a couple of guys chatting with each other while running along. One guy was doing fine, but the other was gasping a little. Maybe one guy was used to altitude while the other was not. I’m not much of a talker during a race, so the thought of only enough air for either running or talking, but not both, was nothing I considered. I eased on past the guys.

I joined a guy and a gal. Todd was doing the double. Tanya had signed up for the half, but was considering running the full. She mentioned that she thought we, the two of us guys, were going out too fast for a double marathon. This is where I thought, but kept to myself, that you take what the course gives you. My inventory of physical factors – breathing, heart rate, pain and suffering – was all positive, so, even though I was taking the free speed of downhills and tailwinds, I wasn’t being greedy. I continued along at the current pace with the undecided Tanya while Todd drifted back a little.

That wasn’t so good because Tanya was a bit chatty and, since I don’t like to be rude, I had to hold up my end of the conversation. Fortunately, that didn’t require more than the occasional comment or question or grunt. And, I’ll admit, it did help to pass the time and distance.

As we’re running along, Tanya mentions the lack of course markings. Being an “expert” because of my time with Brent on Friday, I assured her we were on track though we wouldn’t see anything as far as markings for awhile. She was still debating with herself on how far she was running. Her acquaintance, boyfriend, husband, or other, that she had driven up from Colorado with was doing the full and she didn’t really feel like standing around waiting for him if she only ran the half.

At about four miles into the day, just over a half hour into the run, we come to the first markings of the course. We’ve been running on FDR (for Forest Department Road, I’m guessing) 705. Also known as Blair Road – whoever he, she, or it was – sort of alongside Middle Crow Creek. (All of those with the Google Maps fired up will know exactly where I am.) There are flour arrows, courtesy of Brent, and flour dots, courtesy of yours truly, showing the proper way to go because we’re at the intersection with FDR 707, Headquarters Road, and we don’t want to go there. Up Headquarters Road, I mean. We want to stay on Blair Road. Now, for those that can’t follow arrows and dots, there’s an aid station positioned here, as well. Neither Tanya nor I need anything so we trot on by, thanking the folks for being out for us.

Tanya had done the race last year, and maybe a couple of other years, so she had a little idea of what to expect. I had run the first five miles in training, but after that, until about the nine mile point, I was going to be on undiscovered roads. Well, other than having ridden in Brent’s truck while marking the course on Friday. But, life looks a whole lot different from the cab of a pickup. (You know, there’s probably a country and western, or one or the other, song in there.) I was kind of in need of a tree. Not desperately, but it would have come in handy.

We made the climb that I remembered around mile five. And then, a whole lot of nothin’. Just more dirt road, mostly going up. No trees. How the heck can you be in the middle of a National Forest and not have any trees? I continued to trot along. Tanya had dropped back a little on some of the uphill. There had been a few of the fast half marathon guys go zipping back to the homestead, so I figured I was sort of close to their turnaround point. We had been mostly climbing for the last couple of miles, it would be entertaining for Renate and Mary Ivy as they approached their halfway point. For me, it was going to be the first split of my day. Again, doing the plus or minus from an hour on my way to an eight hour day. I knew this one, and the next quarter marathon out to the turnaround, were going to be the two fastest splits of the day.

As I approached the flour line making the quarter marathon, I saw a guy toss a shirt to the volunteer. I briefly thought about doing the same thing. It was still cold (according to my weather.com printout, it was 42° with just a little southerly wind) even though the sun was starting to make its presence known. I knew it was going to warm up. But I also knew we’d be dealing with a probable headwind on the way back. I opted to keep my clothing on (heck, I was still wearing gloves) and trotted across the line while punching the button on my watch. 54 and a half minutes (1st Quarter Marathon: 6.60 miles, 54:27, 8:15.0 pace, 149 average heart rate). Ok. That’s a five and a half minute buffer for when the wheels explode.

I was still in the treeless part of the Medicine Bow National Forest and my need for a tree was increasing. I knew the underpass under I-80 was approaching and if I couldn’t find a natural object, I’d settle for something manmade. I pee’d between I-80 West and I-80 East. Several people went by. Including Tanya. Guess she was opting to do the full. And Todd. Actually, it was the other way around. Tanya had stopped to take off some clothes.

Now came the fastest part of the course. About 2.5 miles on the asphalt service road running parallel to I-80. Trending downhill and with a tailwind. I focused on the runners in front of me and started gradually reeling people in. Again, my physical inventory was coming up positive so I wasn’t overly concerned that I was pushing too hard. Was I? Only time and miles will truly tell.

I caught up to Tanya and Todd. She, again, commented that we were running too hard for a double marathon. The old “if you don’t take a chance, then you don’t stand a chance” philosophy bubbled up and I gave a little more gas to the engine and continued on the asphalt. Towards the end of the service road, I pass a guy who’s pretty bundled up and who’s walking. I’m a little surprised and, as I go by, I ask if he’s ok. He says he’s fine. And then it dawns on me. There were a handful (three? four?) folks who started at 5 AM, an hour ahead of the rest of us. I don’t know how many of them were fulls and how many were doubles, but I figured this guy was an early bird.

There’s a left turn, back under the I-80 east and west bound lanes. This is actually the Vedauwoo Road Exit (#329) of I-80, so I had to look and make sure no cars or trucks were barreling down their respective exit ramps. Even though the drivers had stop signs, that’s no guarantee they’ll stop. (But, they did. At least for me. And they even stopped and waited if they saw me approaching the intersection. Not that there were many vehicles involved, and most of them were probably race-related.)

A mini-cultural lesson: Vedauwoo (pronounced vee-dah-voo) is a Native American word meaning earth born spirits and the area was once sacred to many people.

Oh, another thing. There were cattle guards, maybe four feet of parallel bars running from one side of the road to the other. They were designed to keep cattle from leaving the grazing lands and wandering out onto I-80. They must work, since I never saw a cattle on the road. Heck, I never saw a cattle anywhere, so I’m just guessing that they work.

Ok. Back to the running. I’ve just crossed under I-80 and come to the second aid station of the course. It’s roughly ten miles into the day, eighty minutes or so, and I opt to fill up my water bottle with water.

I guess I can clog up this story with an equipment and nutrition report. I had opted to just bring out my single bottle belt instead of the double bottle belt. Packing space was at more of a premium for an air trip than for a car trip. But, that wasn’t the real issue. We were going to be spending the week after the race hiking around in Grand Teton and Yellowstone National Parks and those would be more one bottle days than two. I didn’t want to bring both belts, so I brought the single bottle one as well as my handheld bottle holder contraption. So, I had a bottle of fuel, perpetuem, around my waist and a bottle of water in my hand. I also had my gel flask with hammer gel along with some Succeed! electrolytes in a pouch on my bottle belt. And a flint and some kindling in case I needed to make a fire. Just kidding about the last.

Anyway, I filled up my water bottle, thanked the volunteers out here in the middle of nowhere – heck, it’s Wyoming . . . everywhere is the middle of nowhere – and went running on down FDR 700, Vedauwoo Road.

It’s about another mile of more pavement, there’s an uphill spike, but mostly downhill, and then it turns back into graded dirt road, right near the area for the Turtle Rock hiking trails. There are a couple of spaced out runners in front of me. Well, “spaced out” as in distance between all of us, not “spaced out” as in on drugs. Though, you never know. I still wasn’t sure who was a doubler and who was a singler. And, I still didn’t care.

I was again running on stuff I had run on earlier in the week. I knew it was quick in this direction, mostly downhill and with that tailwind. There were some sections of the dirt road where the dirt was a little loose and more sandy. I tried to run in the packed down car lines, but that didn’t make much of a difference. Fortunately, there wasn’t much of that.

There were a bunch of campsites set up along the way. Not much activity that I could see. It was still before eight in the morning on a holiday weekend, so there was no sense in waking up early.

There was a young lady near a camper with water jugs. I had overheard somebody mention this unofficial aid station, so I knew it was available. It was pretty close to the turnaround aid station and I didn’t really need any water, so I thanked her and ran on.

As I got closer to the turnaround, runners started appearing, heading in the opposite direction. I was looking at bib numbers to gauge where I stood in the double. A half dozen, maybe a couple more maybe not, go homeward. All the numbers are in the 200’s so they’re all single marathon runners. One guy, I couldn’t see his entire bib, but, since what I saw was a leading 24, I figured he was also doing the full. Then Bryon goes past, with exchanged “Good running” words from each of us. I looked at my watch, figuring I’d get a rough estimate of how far ahead he was.

Through the little hollow of South Fork Middle Crow Creek. Seriously. I didn’t make that up. Let me start from the bottom of my map and head north. There’s South Crow Creek . . . South Fork Middle Crow Creek . . . Middle Crow Creek . . . South Branch Crow Creek . . . North Branch Crow Creek . . . Then there’s Lodgepole Creek . . . Middle Lodgepole Creek . . . North Branch Middle Lodgepole Creek . . . and, finally, North Lodgepole Creek.

Anyway, down a bit of downhill, the road crosses over South Fork Middle Crow Creek, and up a bit of uphill. Fortunately, not all the way to the top, as it was fairly steep. But, for us, only part way up. There’s a volunteer with an aid station set up in the back of his SUV. And a cone for us to go around. And he magic-marks a scratch on my bib number to signify my making it this far. This quarter marathon split was 51 and a half minutes (2nd Quarter Marathon: 6.52 miles, 51:27, 7:53.5 pace, 150 average heart rate). I was about 15 minutes ahead of eight hour pace, but I knew this first half marathon was going to be the fastest of the day.

One half done, only three more to go . . .

By the way, it had taken me about a minute to reach the turnaround after I saw Bryon so I was, roughly, two minutes behind at this point. That was fine. There was still a long way to go. So . . . I set out runnin’ but I take my time, a friend of the devil is a friend of mine, if I get done ‘fore I get old, the pints of Guinness should still be cold . . .

Just about the time I was reaching my turnaround, Mary Ivy and Renate were at theirs.
(Picture taken with Renate’s cell phone.)

But, it’s uphill and the wind, though not a stiff one, is a headwind. The temp is only in the low 50s, but the sun is shining and it is starting to get warmer. At this point, everybody on the course is in front of me. There are a handful of folks ahead of me and heading back to the start line. Everybody else is behind me and on their way to the turnaround. Including Todd, who appears to be the closest to me in the double race, and Tanya. And, my big brother Jeff (“get a haircut and get a real job” – I put that in here for my little brother, Morgan . . . who has a haircut and a real job). He’s about a mile from the turnaround, so two miles behind, and he’s looking pretty good.

There’s not much to do here except run, so that’s what I do. The next signs of civilization, as in the aid station, will be about 16.5 miles into the day. It’s approaching 8 AM, maybe a little after, so there’s starting to be some stirring around the campsites. Imagine stumbling out of your tent, with a mild to major hangover, and seeing a bunch of yahoos with numbers pinned to various parts of their clothing running along the dirt roads. Would you swear off alcohol, or would you open up the cooler and chug a beer?

I reached the paved portion of Vedauwoo Road. Because it was so wide open and straight, even though there were ups and downs, I could see the runners running in front of me. Bryon was really the only one I cared about, but there was some guy doing the full between us, so it gave me an intermediate focus point. Although there was one spot where there were a couple of ups and downs and I “lost” them. How the heck could they have put that much distance on me, I thought, more amused than annoyed. Then I saw them and all was right with my little world. I thanked the aid station volunteers, though I didn’t take anything, and crossed the cattle guard, slowly, and made the little hitch under I-80 and the right turn onto the service road.

It wasn’t as fast in this direction as it had been on the way out. Still, I caught and passed the full guy. Now, there wasn’t anybody immediately in front of me. Bryon was a white shirted speck up ahead, though he did not appear to be increasing the gap between us.

I recognized the building on the left side of the road at the top of the hill, as being a building at the top of the hill that had been on the right side going out. That’s how completely barren and open this stretch of road alongside I-80 was. A building or a sign or, heck, a tumbling tumbleweed, became landmarks. God only knows what the second lap was going to entail. I was hoping for hallucinations just to break up the landscape a little. Maybe I should quaff a post-race Guinness mid-race.

I was getting a little closer to that white shirted speck. Criminy. It sounds like I was stalking the guy. Well. I kinda was. I had decided that Bryon was in first for the double and I was in second. I figured that the guy with the semi-readable number was a marathoner, and those five or six guys were out of sight. If the other guy was, indeed, a doubler, then I’d never catch him anyway. So, when Bryon made the right turn to go under I-80, I glanced at my watch.

A minute later I made the turn. I wasn’t entirely sure it was a good thing that I had made up a minute in about six miles. It might have been the first time all day that I thought maybe I was getting a little ahead of myself. When everything is equal, Bryon is faster than I. I still carry around a healthy amount of self-doubt and, rather than thinking he might be having a bit of an off day, I was thinking I was a little over my head.

Still, “if you don’t take a chance, then you don’t stand a chance.”

I approached the half marathon turnaround line. It was time to get my third split of the day, the first that would be in the uphill, headwind direction of the course. 57 minutes (3rd Quarter Marathon: 6.52 miles, 57:04, 8:45.2 pace, 156 average heart rate). Ok. That’s still under an hour. It wasn’t all that pretty. It wasn’t all that comfortable. It was going to be pretty ugly the second time around. But, it was 19.5 miles, give or take, and 2:45, plus or minus, into the day and there was nothing to do but to get back truckin’ on. And boom, right around the bend, there was Bryon.

His father was his crew for the day, and had set up a great aid station. Bryon offered me gels and other assorted items, but I was good to go. I’d get restocked at the end of the first marathon.

Bryon was finished getting refueled and we started running together. And doing a bit of chatting. I mention that there’s a 50% chance I’ll call him Byron – that darn “y” in his name screws me up – and we got a chuckle out of that. He’s twenty years younger than I, but fairly experienced. And, definitely talented. We talked a little about Western States which he’s done several times and I hope to do next year. We talked about Massanutten which I might do if I don’t get into States, but that he’s not sure he ever wants to do. I told him there was an outside chance we could catch my wife and sister-in-law who were walking the half. He cautioned caution. No sense burning the entire run for an intermediate prize. I wasn’t planning on stepping on the gas, but his words were good to hear.

Bryon mentioned that his training hasn’t gone well and he’s probably dropping after one lap. He’s wondering if he can still get credit for a marathon finish even though he entered the double. Part of me is relieved that he’s dropping (“Is there anyone ahead of you?” I ask. “No,” he says, “you’re it.”). Part of me is bummed (I wanted to beat him on his best day). I tell him he can be a marathon finisher, but is he sure he wants to drop? He mentions that he hasn’t done anything longer than 19 miles in training since we did the HAT 50k run back in March. Yeah. That’d make it tough to do a double marathon. Plus, he just doesn’t seem to be into it mentally. And, if you’re not there mentally, physically don’t mean a damn. You can’t fake your way through an ultra.

I stopped to visit a tree and told him to think about it to be sure. When I caught back up to him, I knew he was sure. He asked me to drag him to the finish line, but, when he started to fall off the pace, he told me to just keep going. And, I did.

I never did catch the girls. Renate and Mary Ivy had achieved their stretch goal of finishing their half before I finished my first marathon, crossing the line in 3:27:21.

Renate and Mary Ivy on the home stretch.

Nice smiles, ladies . . . Congratulations!

It was roughly three miles to the end of the marathon. Miles I had run a couple of times earlier. Miles I had seen from the cab of a pickup truck. Miles I would see again. (Though I was trying to put that thought out of my head.) But, now, I was in first place. I was going to be running with a whole different point of view. I didn’t know where second place, Todd??, was. I’d have to wait until I went back for the second loop to get a time split. But, there was still some running to do to finish the first lap.

I knew there was some flat stuff – downhill sections, even – but that it trended up. And up. And up. The last mile was not pretty. But, I ran the whole thing. That was one of my intermediate goals that I didn’t want to give up. I avoided the finish chute . . . I wasn’t done.

The last quarter section of the first marathon took just under 59 minutes (4th Quarter Marathon: 6.60 miles, 58:46, 8:54.2 pace, 157 average heart rate), I was still getting positive time for my eight hour goal, and that gave me about a 3:42 marathon. (First Full Marathon: 26.24 miles, 3:41:44, 8:27.0 pace)

Mile 26.1 – Halfway done with a double marathon.

Mile 26.2 – Transition Time
Roger is playing sherpa

Mile 26.2 – Transition Time
Somebody is happy to be done for the day.

Roger was shanghai’d into sherpa duty – hey, he could have done the 5k if he wanted – and I made things a little more difficult for him than maybe they should have been. If this were a car trip, I would have had a spare fuel water bottle with my mysterious powders already dumped in . . . just add water. Since this was a plane trip, I had a little baggie – honest, officer, it really is just carbohydrate/fat/protein powder with a little bit of electrolytes mixed in . . . it’s supposed to be a white, powdery substance – that Roger had to dump into my water bottle. I had told him before the race that 75% was good enough.

I also took the opportunity to remove my long sleeve shirt. Of course this entailed removing my water bottle belt, taking off my hat, removing my sleeveless shirt, removing my long sleeve shirt, and, then, reassembling. I had taken my gloves off way back the first time I went under the I-80s, cramming them into the pouch of my water bottle belt, and I got rid of them here. It’s a wonder the whole transition process only took two minutes.

Brent had pointed out, at the pre-race dinner Saturday night, that if you finished the full and wanted that to be your race, that was fine. But, if you took one step across the line on the second lap, that was that. You either finished the double or you DNF’d. No retroactive full marathon prize.

You know it’s going to be a long day . . .

. . . when you’ve done two halves of something, but still aren’t done. How many halves make a whole? In this case, it’s four.

I crossed the line and started on another 26.2 miles through the Medicine Bow National Forest. I was in first place. I wanted to stay in first place. I wanted to finish in first place. I was telling myself to run scared, but to run smart. I’d get a time check as soon as second place came into view.

As for my life, temps had picked up to the low 60’s. The wind was still a tail wind for this direction. The old physical inventory was still coming up positive. I knew I was going to be slower. I was happy when Bryon went through the finisher chute and he was done for the day. I wanted to run alone. I didn’t want to talk. I didn’t want to run somebody else’s run. I had never been in this position before – well, ok, there was a local 5k that I was fortunate to win, but, that’s, what?, 17 minutes and change – and I wanted to excruciate, to analyze, to worry, to ponder, to run from the front. I was in first place. I wanted to win. But, I didn’t want to run stride for stride with someone else for 26.2 miles. I enjoy myself. I have some of my best conversations with myself. (Of course, Renate has some great conversations with me, as well. Lots of times, I’m not there and then I get in trouble for something that I only said in her mind.) I was running downhill, looking for second place.

And, Todd, number 35, pops into the picture. I make sure to look like I’m under control and in control. And, truth be told, it wasn’t an act at this point. I glanced at my watch after we exchanged positive vibes. Five minutes since I started the second loop. That meant at least ten minutes. I figured I could run by how I felt – walking the uphills, was my plan – until the turnaround when I’d see him again. I’d come up with a plan for the last 13.1 miles based on when I saw him at that point. For the next bunch of miles, it was just going to be me and my shadow.

How does that bottle of beers on the wall song go?

I was getting lots of positive comments from the folks finishing up their marathons. Tanya and I exchanged fives. I didn’t notice any other double runners following close behind Todd.

About three miles into my second marathon, I see Jeff heading home. He’s struggling a little and he sounds a little anxious to be done when he asks how far to go. At the pace he’s going and with lots of uphill, he’s looking at close to 45 minutes to the finish line. Well, there’s cold Mountain Dew waiting for him.

I had a rough memory of my split time for the next quarter marathon, and it’d be interesting to see how things went.

There were still quite a few marathoners and I was also starting to see a smattering of doublers in the mix. The terrain, it was the same as it was the first time through. I was mentally prepared for the couple of uphill miles leading to my split mark and I was happy that I came in under an hour, but just barely by five seconds. (5th Quarter Marathon: 6.60 miles, 59:54, 9:04.5 pace, 155 average heart rate) I knew I was about five minutes slower than the first time, but I was ok with that. It was getting a little warmer. I was doing a little walking up the hills, trying to conserve some energy as much as anything. I was hoping the plan was going to be enough to keep me in the lead.

Now it was time to do the fastest section of the course. I figured I’d be under an hour, again. And, then, I’d do some calculating. I’d get to see second place. I was hoping to have about a 12 minute lead. That would mean the other guy running a minute per mile faster to the end if he wanted to beat me.

Mile 26.2 – Jeff finishing up his marathon in 4:49:34.

I crossed the cattle guards and got on the I-80 service road. This area was completely exposed to the elements. The sun was shining through scattered clouds and it was a bit on the warm side, not bad, mid 60s climbing to high 60s, but it was just so wide open. I guess this part, technically, wasn’t in the National Forest, so I can’t really complain about the lack of trees. I could tell that the wind had picked up by the way the sparse vegetation on the side of the road was moving back and forth. For this stretch, in this direction, it was a tailwind. I knew it was going to be a bit on the ugly side when I returned to this road in another 90 minutes or so.

There would be the random honking car go driving by on I-80, back towards Cheyenne, that I guessed had a half or full marathoner in it. I don’t even recall seeing any other people, though I know I saw the last marathoner walking her way back to the start somewhere in this stretch. She commented that I’d pass her before the end. I wasn’t so sure about that. I had a reasonable idea as to what was going to happen soon. I’d reach the turnaround point. The hills would become ups and not downs. The wind would become head and not tail. The legs would want to walk and the brain would let them. And, the bottles of beer on the wall? Well, they’d start coming down a whole lot more slowly. But, there was no sense fretting about that now. Not when I could look to the east and see yesterday’s weather. Well, looks like the folks in Iowa might be getting some thunderstorms sometime today.

I saw the big green interstate sign on I-80 east, letting those folks know that the exit for Vedauwoo Road was a mile away. That meant another mile for me on this lonely, barren, wide open stretch of Wyoming. At least there would be civilization in the form of an aid station after I “exited” this service road. And, there was the possibility I’d see Renate there. She had mentioned that she might drive out on the course after Jeff finished. I was starting to crave Coke. Not really a great sign, it was still a little early in the event, but I wasn’t doing as well with my nutrition as I should have been. I didn’t think there’d be any soda (or pop, depending on where you’re reading this) at the aid stations, they were pretty basic, as advertised, but Renate would have some in the car.

So, I took a little mental hit when I got to the aid station and Renate wasn’t there. I stopped to fill up my water bottle, at least I had been doing fairly well at drinking that as well as popping the semi-regular electrolyte capsule, and asked the kind volunteer if she had any Coke. I got the answer I expected, thanked her for being out in the middle of nowhere, and trotted off down the road.

I still wasn’t doing any real calculations, my only real immediate goal was to get to the turnaround. I thought I was doing a pretty good job of pacing, running fairly solidly and comfortably on the downs and flats and walking quickly the ups. There was a couple sitting in chairs outside their camper van as Vedauwoo Road transitioned from paved asphalt to graded dirt. Neither of us could quite figure out what the other was doing, but we exchanged hellos and I trotted on by.

It was after 11 in the morning by this second trip out here, but I didn’t see a whole lot more activity outside the tents and campers set up along the dusty road. There would be the random truck or car go by, in either direction, stirring up a little dust, but, other than having some number pinned to my chest, I could have been just some idiot out for a Sunday morning run. Having the number pinned to my chest made me a “legitimate” idiot.

I stopped and refilled my water bottle at the side of the road campsite with the sign that said “Water for Runners.” I might have been walking and not actually running, but I thought the number allowed me the privilege. I silently thanked the couple who had set this up.

I saw a gray Ford Escape with Colorado plates go by. You know, I thought, our rental car is a gray Ford Escape with Colorado plates. I didn’t expect to see Renate out here so it never totally clicked. Until I came around the bend and Renate and Mary Ivy are along the side of the road.

(Some of the more observant folk – or those who quickly skim my reports looking for them – might notice that there are more pictures all of a sudden. Well, it’s because Renate finished her event and is now following me around.)

Mile 38 (approx) – Is that a mirage? You can’t really see
my face, but I’m a tad surprised to see my crew.

Ah . . . a Coke and a smooch. I’m a lucky guy.
Now, can I get a ride in the car?

Renate said they were just planning on staying at the aid station until I came back, but when the volunteer said I asked about Coke, she decided to drive and find me. Needless to say, I was surprised, and happy. That Coke hit the spot. I told her the turnaround point was just a mile or so up the road and that I’d be back in roughly twenty minutes. If I took longer, I mentioned, come find me.

So, now, I had Coke sloshing round in my belly and a smile on my face. Around a couple of bends, down some downs and up some ups, and I’d be three quarters of the way through the Rocky Mountain Double Marathon. The Guinness wasn’t quite on my mind, but I could sort of, just a little bit, feel as though I had turned a corner.

I think I forgot to mention this during the first lap. I know I mentioned that we crossed the South Fork of the Middle Crow Creek right before the turnaround. I had driven this far a few days before the race to do one of my training runs. There was a crew working down at the creek, so I parked at the top of the hill and ran towards I-80. When I came out with Brent to do the course marking, the road crew had done whatever it was they were doing. And Brent mentioned that they were probably unclogging the pipe under the road that had been clogged by a beaver. And, we could see where the beaver pond had extended. Lots of mucky mud that Cosmo the Running Dog wanted to play in while we took a look around. Brent said that they don’t relocate the beavers, they just destroy their dam (I got to write a legitimate “dam” in my report) and let them do what they want afterwards. We didn’t see any beaver, or any beaver huts.

So, I trotted over South Fork Middle Crow Creek and made my way to the lonely volunteer with the aid station set up in the back of his SUV. We chatted for just a minute while he magic marked another chicken scratch on my bib number. I didn’t really need to fill my water bottle, so I just took off. For the finish line. For the end. Thirteen more bottles of beer on the wall. (I write this here and there in this report, but, truth be told, the bottles of beer song never entered my mind.)

I had gotten a split when I crossed the line, a bit over 55 minutes, and I was happy to still be under an hour for each 6.6 (plus or minus) miles. (6th Quarter Marathon: 6.52 miles, 55:33, 8:31.2 pace, 156 average heart rate) Like the last split, I was about five minutes slower on the second lap and I knew I had about twenty minutes on the positive side of beating eight hours. I knew the next thirteen miles, the last thirteen miles of the day, were going to be ugly, but I thought I could break eight hours. Plus, I’d get to see second place. If he had cut into my ten minute lead, then it was going to be entertaining. I was seriously hoping the run/walk stuff I had been doing up to this point was good enough. I was starting to get a little fuzzy mentally. I had already figured that I’d have Renate and Mary Ivy lead me in. I started on the Coke and I needed to continue with it.

One final half to make a whole . . .

So . . . I set out runnin’ but I take my time, a friend of the devil is a friend of mine, if I get done ‘fore I get old, the pints of Guinness should still be cold . . .

I made it safely back, under the time constraints, to my personal aid station. I had Renate (or Mary Ivy) fill up a small water bottle (not the bike kind, but the regular small, plastic things with the screw on top) with Coke and I told them I’d meet them at the “full service” aid station.

“Where the hell is everyone?” I said. Probably to myself, but I could have screamed it at the top of my lungs. Did everybody drop after the first marathon? Is there something I don’t know? Well, yeah, lots of stuff, but you know what I mean. The DVD guy is out of his car DVD’ing at some point or other. I try to look natural. I haven’t done anything wrong. Not that I’m paranoid or anything, but THERE’S NOBODY OUT HERE!!! I could be bear bait, for all I know. Maybe that’s what happened to all the people that were supposed to be in the tents. Lions and tigers and BEARS, oh my! Let’s see, are you supposed to run from a bear? Or curl up into a ball? I couldn’t even use the logic that I don’t have to be faster than the bear, I just have to be faster than the slowest one around. I WAS THE ONLY ONE AROUND!

Finally, Todd, good old number 35 shows up. I’m running at this point, not that it makes a whole lot of difference to either of us. When he’s past, I glance at my watch . . . it’s been a bit over fifteen minutes since I hit the turnaround. I have at least a thirty minute lead with, at most, twelve to go. Now, I’m thinking about Guinness. And going to the family get-together with a ton of cousins that I haven’t seen since about 1975. I’m not 100%, but I have a nice, warm feeling. And, no, I didn’t just pee myself.

There might have been a couple of others before I get to the aid station, including the leading girl. I get lots of positive comments from them. I’m trying to reciprocate, but I’m doing my best to hang on and words are hard to come by. This running from the front is a whole different animal. And, I realize that, since I caught up with Bryon way back about mile 19.5 and left him a few miles later, I haven’t gotten to pass anybody. I’ve been in first place since, roughly, mile 23. Guess I’ll have to find other methods of motivation.

Mile 42 (approx) – That little white speck you
can kind of see to the left of the sign is a fellow
competitor. He’s at about mile 36 of the run.

Almost to the Vedauwoo Road aid station.

I’ve finished my extra bottle of Coke by the time I get to Renate and Mary Ivy. Renate has filled up her water bottle with Coke and attached Jeff’s hand held contraption to it. So, now, I have a water bottle filled with water in my left hand, a water bottle filled with Coke in my right, and a water bottle filled with perpertuem (that I haven’t come close to touching in I don’t know how long) in the waist belt. And, did I mention a belly full of Coke? This will come into play shortly because . . .

It was a perfect demonstration of what happens when you shake up a can of Coke and then open it. Lots of Coke in . . . some running to agitate things . . . lots of Coke out. Walk a step or two . . . toss . . . walk another step or two . . . toss some more . . . walk another step or two . . . toss the rest. I swear the stuff came out faster than it went in. The good thing, if there was one, was that it wasn’t in my stomach long enough to get partially digested. It tasted about the same going out as it did going in. Heck, if I would have been able to combine the three negative swallows into one, I would have been my own personal mento in a Pepsi bottle demonstration. I might have been able to reach all the way to the east bound lanes of I-80. “What’s that stuff on my windshield, Ester?” “I don’t know, Sherm. Does it rain sideways and brown in Wyoming when the sun is shining?”

As it was, I figured I was about done with Coke for the day.

And a few more runners passed on their way out to the turnaround.

After I removed the excess Coke, heck, all the Coke, I was running pretty well. I still wasn’t doing well with nutrition, but I was taking in water and electrolyte capsules, so I was feeling decent. I was looking forward to hills so I could walk. But, first, I stopped and watered some of the sparse vegetation.

I went by the sign telling me I had a mile, backwards, to the Vedauwoo Road exit. I was dealing with the headwinds and the warmer temperatures as well as I could. I saw the road rise, complete with black waves of shimmering heat, into the distance. I saw, way the heck up there, the building at the top of the hill. There were markers on the side of the road. I picked one out part way up the rise and told myself to run to that one and then I could walk to the top of the hill. I wondered what the abandoned building at the top of the hill was. I wondered what they call tumbling tumbleweeds that aren’t tumbling. I wondered how many figs could a fig plucker pluck.

I took a sip from the Coke water bottle and decided that I wouldn’t try that again.

And, I made it to the top of the hill.

Mile 44 (approx) – The last downhill section of the last time on the I-80 Service Road.

The original race (from 1978 to 1998) ran from the courthouse in Laramie to the state capitol in Cheyenne.

Almost to the rolling aid station. At least I appear to be running.

I had told Renate and Mary Ivy, back at the official aid station to kind of lead me in. I told them to drive to the end of this section and meet me at the I-80 underpasses. When I asked that, I sort of thought the Coke would go in and stay in.

I did take a sip of some Coke from a cup at the car, but I left the extra water bottle with the girls. I also poured some water over my head. And, then, I mentioned to Renate, “See you in three miles.” She countered with, “How about two? You look like sh!t.” All righty, then. See you in a couple of miles and I headed off to the half marathon turnaround spot.

Which was just up ahead a little. My time split showed that I was imploding quite a bit. It had taken just over 70 minutes to cover that 6.5 miles. (7th Quarter Marathon: 6.53 miles, 1:11:48, 10:59.7 pace, 151 average heart rate) I had given up about ten minutes of the twenty I had as cushion for breaking eight hours. And, really, I had the toughest section to travel. I wasn’t sure what the next bunch of running would entail.

Mile 45.5
Mary Ivy: “What can I do for you?”
Steve: “Shoot me.”

But, a funny thing happened along the way. The DVD guy was driving alongside me in his car, DVD’ing me. I think the last time he got me, I was walking, so I tried to do some semblance of a run at this point. I was trying not to be overly self-conscious while a camera was filming me stumbling through the countryside. And, in addition to the self-consciousness, there was enough self-doubt that I asked the DVD guy how far back second was. He said, “I don’t think there’s any way possible he can catch you. He was just about to the aid station when I left there.” Well, stranger things have happened, but I felt confident that I could cover the last six miles at about the same pace I covered the previous six. Now, could I suck it up enough to break eight hours? Did it matter?

This was a downhill section, so I didn’t have to make any decisions. I was still able to run fairly well on the downs. And the flats for the most part, but, after awhile of running, I did start to hope for a bail out uphill. I tried to suck it up here, though, since I knew this was going to be the last sustained downhill bit and I wanted to take advantage of the terrain. My system had also seemed to settle down since the regurgitation episode way back on the I-80 service road. Mostly, I was just trying to cover the dusty dirt road and make it home in one piece. I came around the bend and saw the gray Ford Escape with Colorado license plates along with two lovely ladies.

Mile 47 (approx) – I’m approaching my personal mobile aid station.
A fellow competitor, about 31 miles into his day, is on his way out to the turnaround.

Almost to my aid station.
Maybe Renate was right . . . I do look like sh!t.

I got my water bottle topped off and took a sip or two of Coke. It’s just over seven hours on the race clock. Trying to take everything into account – how I was feeling, how far I had to go, how much time I had to get there – I began to think that eight hours was not going to happen. Plus there was more uphill than level or down. Well, I was confident I could hold onto first place overall. Breaking eight would have been nice, but no one remembers the final time after it’s done.

I thanked Renate and Mary Ivy and went on down the road. The final official aid station isn’t too far ahead. Based on how I looked, I’m sure the girls were going to be parked there. Well, if I didn’t need anything, I’d just smooch and go.

If I base things on the picture time stamps, it took about 12 minutes to cover the little bit of distance. I’m a little more in control of myself and I tell Renate that I can make it home from here, they can drive all the way back, and I’ll get there when I get there. I know it’s roughly four miles until I reach the Guinness. Well, come to think of it, I could have had a pint or two put into my water bottle every time I reached the rolling aid station. Probably a good thing that I didn’t think of it then.

Mile 48.5 – The last official aid station

There really wasn’t much to do but continue to cover ground. So, that’s what I did. And, I talked to myself. I wanted to run when I could, but it wasn’t easy. Things hurt quite a bit and my nutrition had gone to hell way back a long time ago. I tried to tell myself that eight hours was still attainable. It was just a question of hurt. Of how uncomfortable I wanted to get. Could I push for about forty-five minutes? I tried to tell myself that the faster I could run, the more I could run, then the sooner I could stop.

So, I ran. And I walked. And I ran. There started to be some off and on ATV’s. No problems. I just stayed on my edge of the road and tried to avoid the dust. I happened to glance at my GPS as it ticked over to 50 miles covered. Time was seven and a half hours. Breaking eight hours popped back onto the radar screen. Assuming semi-accuracy with the mileage number, there were about 2.5 miles to go and thirty minutes to get there. It was still a question of pain and suffering. And I knew that the last mile was going to be time-consuming. I tried not to look at my watch every few steps. I was already moving pretty close to the edge. I was forcing myself to run all the run-able stuff, but I was begging for a hill to show up. Was I having fun, yet? At 51 miles, according to the GPS, I was at 7:40 on the clock. At 51.5 miles, I came around the bend and saw the road go up. I knew this was it. I had 15 minutes to make it home. I started trotting up the big hill. Lunch started trotting up my throat. I stopped trotting. Lunch went back down. This was going to be entertaining. I finished walking the first bit of uphill and gingerly ran the fairly steep downhill.		The done racers and the crew waiting for me.
I reached the last big hill of the day. It was also to be the last bit of road for the day. I had eight minutes to cover roughly a half mile of straight uphill running. Would I gross out the few spectators if I tossed cookies here? Did I care? I started running. I caught up to the last marathoner. I made sure I was running as I went past her. She reminded me that she said I would catch her as I was on my way out to the turnaround. She was very complimentary towards me. I’m sorry I couldn’t return the kind words. I was worried about lunch. I was worried about the clock. I kept my head down and I ran. If running is the correct term. I made the little turn at the lower level parking area and I knew, that if I looked up, I could see the finish area. Cookies were churning. I thought that there really wasn’t anything in there other than water, but I still decided that I’d just as soon have it stay in as opposed to not. I also decided that if it was required to break eight hours, it could do whatever it wanted.		Mile 52.2 – On the last big hill of the day.

I ran the uphill. I passed my cheering crew. I was still staring at the ground. I saw the arrows pointing to the finish chute. I heard Sue counting time. 7:58:28 . . . 7:58:29 . . . 7:58:30 . . . 7:58:31 . . . I was done. I had done it. (8th Quarter Marathon: 6.60 miles, 1:07:27, 10:13.2 pace, 151 average heart rate) (Second Full Marathon: 26.25 miles, 4:14:42, 9:42.2 pace)

Mile 52.4 – Will cookies be tossed? Nope. 7:58:31! First overall.

Getting my overall award from Brent . . .
A firm handshake and a pat on the back.

Ridden hard and put up wet . . .

I was a hurting cowboy. I had successfully negotiated with my stomach contents and they returned to where they belonged. But, they told me that it wouldn’t be a good idea to add anything new.

I sat down on the step of Brent’s camper. My legs told me that wasn’t such a good idea as they cramped right up.

The DVD guy interviewed me. My brain decided that wasn’t a good idea and I probably sounded like an ass.

At this point, it was a bit of an effort to do much of anything. I thought it would be a good idea to get out of my grubby running clothes. During this process, I became aware of a fairly significant scratch on my right wrist. I have no idea where or how that came about – self-induced in a moment of delirium? – but it didn’t appear to be life threatening.

Jeff (full), Steve (double), Mary Ivy (half)
Doing some post event fluid replacement.

For some reason, I felt worse, internally after this race than I had after the 100’s I’ve done. I guess I’ll have to try and figure that out. But, finally, I felt in control enough to pop open a pint of Guinness.

I was probably done with my second pint and about ready to open up my third when the DVD guy came over. Being the nice guy I am, and, more importantly, knowing we had plenty, I offered him a Guinness. I could tell it had been a long day for him and he was scheduled to remain until all the doublers finished so a pint of Guinness would be appreciated. By the way, Renate, Mary Ivy, and Jeff all ordered DVD’s.

And then we got to the point, it was about 45 minutes after I finished, when we started wondering just when second place would show up. I had somewhere in the neighborhood of a thirty minute lead when I saw Todd near the turnaround point. How much had I gained from there? I didn’t think I ran the last ten miles all that well, but, it looked like Todd was doing even worse. Was he still in second? I thought he had a large enough lead over third.

Fed and watered and ready to go . . .

We were scheduled to attend a family gathering over at Aunt Frannie and Uncle Gene’s around 5:30 PM, but, by this time, we wanted to see when second place would arrive. What the heck, another pint of Guinness. Finally, a runner appeared at the bottom of the hill. And we clapped and cheered as Todd made it up the hill and across the line. His time was just over nine hours. It was kind of amazing that I won. It was even more amazing that I won by more than an hour.

As I was chatting with Todd, third place, and the first girl, crossed the line with a time of 9:16. And, as we were packing up and getting ready to leave, fourth place finished in 9:28. We all made sure to thank Brent and Sue for a fun day and we hit I-80 eastbound to Cheyenne and the next adventure. Which, I’m sure everybody is thankful for, will be another story for another day.

As it was, the Rocky Mountain Double Marathon was my 150th career race and my 10th ultra.

Post report notes . . .

At the end of the run, I showed my GPS mileage reading to Brent . . . 52.49 miles. Pretty damn accurate (99.8%), all things considered. One thing about being in the great wide open was that the satellite reception for my GPS was excellent.

---------------- SPLIT -------------- -------- RACE --------
TIME   DISTANCE   PACE     AHR    MHR       TIME   DISTANCE   PACE
54:27   6.60 8:15.0 149 160 0:54:27    6.60   8:15.0
51:27   6.52 7:53.5 150 157 1:45:54   13.12   8:04.3
57:04   6.52 8:45.2 156 161 2:42:58   19.64   8:17.9
58:46   6.60 8:54.2 157 168 3:41:44   26.24   8:27.0
   2:05 Transition    3:43:49
59:54   6.60 9:04.5 155 168 4:43:43   32.84   8:38.4
55:33   6.52 8:31.2 156 166 5:39:16   39.36   8:37.2
1:11:48   6.53   10:59.7 151 162 6:51:04   45.89   8:57.5
1:07:27   6.60   10:13.2 151 163 7:58:31   52.49   9:07.0

First Marathon 3:41:44   26.24   8:27.0
Transition 2:05
Second Marathon 4:14:42   26.25   9:42.2

The average heart rate (AHR) for the last half marathon shows that I wasn’t working hard enough. Running at a similar effort, about five minutes slower than the corresponding section on the first marathon, probably should have had an AHR in the low 160s.

I’m not majorly upset that the second marathon took more than 30 minutes longer than the first. The sun got shinier, the wind got windier, the hills got hillier.

I don’t think I went out too hard for the first marathon. I knew I wanted to race for the win and that would involve keeping Bryon in range. Did my catching him at about mile 19.5 negatively affect him mentally? Had I been running conservatively, he might have felt he had no choice but to continue on for the second marathon. I think he was in shape, physically, especially since he hammered the Laurel Highlands 70 Mile Ultra course two weeks later with a second place run. Things may have turned out a whole lot differently if I had not run hard the first marathon.

As it was, I think my slowdown was a contribution of many things. You can see by the AHR, that I was doing a lot of walking the last half marathon. Terrain and weather were major factors, but I didn’t do a good job of fueling. Plus, I was reasonably sure I had the win. Could I have run harder if the DVD guy had told me second place was only two minutes behind? Yeah, I think I could have. Breaking eight hours was a nice number, but I had already tossed cookies (Coke) once and I didn’t feel the overwhelming desire to do it again for a number, as Brent mentioned at the pasta dinner, that no one but myself gave a rat’s ass about.

In hindsight, I know I drank too much Coke, too quickly. (I can hear everybody now saying, “Ya think?”) Carrying a water bottle full of it wasn’t too bright. But, it just tasted so good. I know I write this after every ultra, but I’m really going to have to try to get some calories from real food. The gel and the drink solutions just start to wear out, taste-wise, and I seem to ignore them.

I did get my second Marathon Maniacs star. One of the criteria was completing six marathons or longer in six months. In fact, I ended up doing six in five months. I started with the Disney Marathon back in January and followed that up with the Rocky Raccoon 100 in February, the HAT 50k in March, and the Bull Run Run 50 in April. I threw in the Trail Dawgs Trail Marathon at the end of April when I saw how close I was to the silver Maniacs category and, by completing the Rocky Mountain Double Marathon in May, I made it to two stars.

Miscellaneous links (which may or may not work) . . .

Story by Eve Newman, Vedauwoo Road Aid Station volunteer.

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

Here are a couple of MotionBased downloads of our flights. Take these with a grain of salt.
From Jackson Hole to Denver.
From Denver to Philadelphia.

Here are Renate’s photo albums on Kodak Gallery. Registration may be required.
The Race.
Grand Teton National Park.
Yellowstone National Park.

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 June 25, 2007.