I never planned on doing Boston again. It was amazing to do it once, but I've still got 22 states left to get done on a finite income and with limited vacation time, and Boston is not cheap and takes an extra day of vacation because it's held on a Monday. While I had thought I probably had another BQ in me -- especially since I move up to a new age group with five more minutes of cushion next year -- I did not think it was imminent. I knew Pocatello was a fast course and I knew I was in pretty good shape, but I was not as skinny as I was when I qualified in 2010, and I had never had a long run at BQ pace.
Pocatello went surprisingly well. Not looking at my watch the whole race, and then looking at it when I had the finish line in sight and seeing the beautiful numbers 3:33 on my Garmin (when I needed 3:40 to qualify) was an amazing feeling, one of the best in all my years of marathons, something I will remember again and again and privately rejoice over every time I think of it. But even when I finished Pocatello, I did not think I would be going to Boston next year, for the reasons I mentioned above.
I got home and started googling Boston registration, and found that my registration window opened up two weeks after Pocatello. Wow, the whole process has changed since 2010. In 2010, it was still a given that if you qualified for Boston, you could register. The online buzz that year was that it was expected to fill up fast and that you shouldn't delay in registering. But no one suspected it would fill up as fast as it did -- eight hours. I remember my single-minded determination that day in 2010 --NOTHING was going to stop me from registering, not if I had to sit at my computer all morning and try again and again. My registration was smooth and by the end of the day I had my confirmation email and a lot of people were bitterly disappointed because they were shut out. Following that day, registration procedures were changed and qualifying times were dropped by five minutes for every age group. There now exists a Facebook group called "Team Squeaker Strong Run for Boston One!" It is for "squeakers", those who beat their BQ time by five minutes or less.
Here is how the registration works now. On Monday, September 14, everyone who beat their qualifying times by 20 minutes or more was able to register. All of these people got in. On Wednesday, September 16, it opened for people who beat their time by ten minutes or more. All of those people got in. On Friday, September 18, it opened for people who beat their time by five minutes or more. All of those people got in. Then, on Monday, September 21, it opened for the masses -- people who had beat their time by less than five minutes. Registration opened at 10:00 a.m. and I submitted mine at 10:01 even though it is no longer a race to see who can Internet the fastest. For this last, biggest group, everyone can submit during the same time period -- September 21 through September 23 -- and then the race organizers were going to sort through the thousands of entries, order them by time, and establish the official cutoff (which depends on race capacity and number of people wanting to register).
There was endless, rampant Internet speculation on what the cutoff time was going to be. In the Squeaker group, you are identified by the minutes and seconds by which you are under your cutoff time. For me it was -4:33, a pretty good squeaker time. The people who were less than -1:00 know they were not going to get in; the people over -2:30 pretty much thought they would, but the people between -1:01 and -2:30 had to sweat it out for the last week, waiting for today when the announcement went out. Even though I was relatively safe with a -4:33, I have been sweating too and wishing I didn't have to wait. This morning the announcement came, no doubt hurried along by my obsessive checking and rechecking Facebook and the BAA home page every few minutes, practically every time I came to a down curb while I was working a dog. At 11:15 my name wasn't on the entrant list, and at 11:16 it was, and at 11:20 I had an email confirmation.
The cutoff time this year was -2:28, the toughest it's ever been. I don't think anyone was anticipating that. There were an awful lot of disappointed people out there, and a couple real heartbreakers with times of -2:27 and -2:25. Ouch! To think you were well under the cutoff and were surely going to get in, and then to get shut out... wow. But if that had happened to me, I think I would've been okay with it. Boston is supposed to be competitive, and getting in is supposed to mean something. It's really about how you measure up to all other runners finishing marathons during the qualifying window. Every year besides this one and 2010, I have not measured up. This year and 2010, I did. Next year I probably won't. Either way is fine with me.
So why did I sign up for it after all, when it's expensive and complicated and won't help me finish 50 states? Well, because... it's Boston. It's epic and iconic and thrilling. I am going to do better this year than I did in 2011; I am going to bring a sleeping bag to the start line and curl up inside it until 15 minutes to gun time as opposed to shivering away all my energy sitting outside in the cold for three hours, and I am going to train on hills and I am NOT going to get a layer of Michigan winter fat and I am going to carry salt with me. I can actually wear my Boston Marathon jacket and shirt from 2011, which I hardly ever wear because I've always been afraid I would wear them out and there would never be a chance to replace them. Sure, I should be able to qualify again but there are absolutely no guarantees, ever for people like me when it comes to BQ'ing. I could never be that fast again; I could get a running-ending injury; I could have a car accident or get some disease and never be able to run again at all. Some things you just have to do when you get the chance, and Boston 2016 is one of those things.
Wednesday, September 30, 2015
Saturday, September 5, 2015
Surprise B.Q.! Pocatello Marathon Race Report
I signed up for this marathon, my 28th state and I think 33rd or 34th marathon overall, way back in February. It is my sixth marathon of the year. Getting to Idaho was a pretty big pain in the neck logistics-wise -- an expensive flight, eight hours in airports, a rental car, and a two and a half hour drive through country that was not as pretty as I had expected. But at least Pocatello is a cheap town to stay in, and all the hotels are close to the marathon hotel, the Clarion Inn. I got into town in plenty of time to go pick up my race packet. Although the expo was so tiny I didn't even bother to walk through it, they did give us a pretty cool race backpack, that was already tagged with our name and number and was to be used for our gear check bag in the morning. Also, the shirt was cool -- long-sleeved and Day-Glo yellow, which is a color always desirable for visibility but seriously underrepresented among race shirts. I actually went to the pasta dinner, mostly because nothing else sounded good, and ended up sitting with several other Marathon Maniacs and 50-staters. There were lots of them at this race. It seems like I hardly ever meet first-time marathoners anymore; I only meet people who are on their 20th or 30th marathons. Surely there are first-time marathoners out there, but I never seem to run into them.
My running has been going pretty well lately, with the exception of the nagging Achilles pain, which I was actually pretty worried about even though it has not (yet) done anything other than nag. I am pretty sure that the biggest reason I've been running well is that I am 27 pounds lighter than I was on January 1 of this year. Nothing fancy, just watching calories. It is easier to run fast when you're not schlepping around the equivalent of a bag of dog food on your body, just my opinion. I really didn't know whether the tendon would blow up in this marathon or not, but I knew that if it did I would be out of marathons for many months, probably well into next year.
The marathon started at 6:15. We had to catch a shuttle bus that took us up the mountain to the race start, which was about a fifteen-minute ride from the hotel. This is one of the few marathons I've done where you have to shuttle both to the start and from the finish. The start was at a little farm. It was chilly, with a good wind blowing. Luckily there was a barn for us to wait in. I was immediately sucked into a crowd of Maniacs, and soon we were pressed shoulder-to-shoulder and no one was cold anymore. Into this crowd walked "Larry, 1400 Marathons" who had also been at Shires of Vermont. I think I read somewhere that he was now "Larry, 1500 Marathons" but I couldn't say for sure. I cannot wrap my mind around 1500 marathons. Does this guy do anything besides run marathons? He must be independently wealthy, or something.
It was still dark and cold when the gun went off. This marathon is well known for having a fast downhill first half, 1500' drop over 13 miles (and a vast improvement over my last three marathons, which have had about the same amount of elevation gain). The conventional advice is "Don't go out too fast, or you won't have anything left for the second half" (which was still downhill, with a drop of 150', but mostly flat). Bullshit, I say. I will always go out too fast, bank some time, and then walk at the end if I feel like it. Anyway, the first many miles -- probably eight or nine at least -- were a delightful romp down beautiful winding roads with spectacular mountain views and a gentle, cool sunrise. My Achilles was sore but no more than usual. My bigger problems were that my fingers were frozen and that I could not keep my phone armband on my arm. I've lost so much weight that even when it's pulled to its tightest it still slides down. Finally I took it off and held it in my hand, where it served as a quasi-glove until the feeling in my fingers finally came back around Mile Five.
The weather was absolutely perfect, with light cloud cover, temperature around 50, and what felt like no humidity at all. It has been a long time since I've run any distance without feeling like I was swimming through a murky pool of moisture in the air. The perfect conditions plus the downhill plus the fact that my Achilles wasn't acting up at all had me feeling great. I was passing all kinds of people and not breathing hard at all. I passed the 3:35 pace group knowing they would pass me later but not caring.
It seemed like we were at the half-marathon start before I knew it. In this race, the half-marathon starts at 8:00, an hour and 45 minutes after the marathon, and the two races share the same course. I had been looking forward to passing the half-marathon start and picking off slower half-marathons one at a time, but actually I got there right before it started, which meant I was doing way better than I thought I would be doing. A 1:50 is the first-half time I would need for a 3:40 marathon, which is my Boston qualifying time. I had not for a second thought I would Boston qualify in this marathon, and still didn't. I only wanted to run at a pace that caused me moderate exertion for as long as I could, until I got tired or sick or injured. I was about 2/10 of a mile past the half start when I heard the gun go off, and instead of me passing slow half-marathoners, the fast half-marathoners began passing me.
This was also when the course changed direction. It turned onto a road that was sort of like a frontage road off I-15. I'm glad I hadn't looked at the course map at all, because if I knew that we would be running basically straight on this road for pretty much the rest of the race, I would have despaired. We now had a head wind, for one thing, a fairly strong one. Also, I could see so far ahead on this basically flat road that the runners in front of me looked like a giant line of ants disappearing into the distance. I so much prefer a winding course where I can always tell myself that around the next corner is a downhill. Here there was no doubt that there was no serious downhill for a long time. Still, I told myself that I would just keep running as long as I could, to get it done as quickly as possible.
My Achilles flared up around Mile 14, and I had a moment of panic before it subsided again, not to be heard from again for the rest of the marathon. I can't explain why it didn't cause more of a problem. Maybe because I finally got new shoes? (And the guy at the running shop had me go up one full size, which I thought was ridiculous -- are my feet EVER going to stop expanding? -- but was so, so grateful for today, since I finished a race for the first time this year with no painful blisters.) Anyway, I never got sick, never got injured, never really had anything happen. The road went along a valley between two mountain ranges. There was lots of beautiful Western scenery, like a freight train running alongside us for a while and some beautiful horses running along a fence line, throwing up their heads when they reached the end of the fence, and then turning and running back the way they came. The sun was out but the strong headwind kept us from getting hot. That wind was more than a little discouraging because I could see from looking ahead that we wouldn't be changing direction any time soon, so the wind wasn't going to quit either.
I hadn't looked at my watch this whole time, not once. I got to 20 miles and realized the 3:35 pace group hadn't passed me yet. I knew it was inevitable that they would because I was getting mentally tired of the headwind and was slowing down. I also knew I wasn't going to qualify because there was no way I would have enough energy to stay strong to the finish. This didn't really bother me because I knew I was going to get my best time this year by far, and it's not like I set out to qualify at all or even thought it was a possibility. Still, the 3:35 pace group didn't pass me till well into Mile 23. I tried to keep up with them but absolutely couldn't. Oh well.
Another pace group passed me toward the end of Mile 24: the 1:50 half, which should have been going the same pace as the 3:40 full. I knew the 3:40 pace group would be coming soon, but then suddenly it was Mile 25 and 3:40 still hadn't passed me. Maybe I could pull this off after all. I was superstitiously afraid to look at my watch. We changed direction -- out of the headwind with a long, easy downhill in front of us. At the very end of the downhill, tiny in the distance, was the finish sign. I finally looked at my watch: 3:33. I realized that even if I walked now, I was going to qualify. But I didn't want to walk, I wanted to beat 3:35 so I could beat my qualifying time by more than five minutes and get to register for Boston in the second wave instead of having to wait for the third one. Well, that did not happen. I finished with a Garmin time of 3:35:27, still 4:23 under my qualifying time but not enough to put me in the second wave for registration. But who cares -- I qualified!
A surprise qualifying time has to be one of the best feelings on earth. I could hardly believe it. Still can hardly believe it. Even more unbelievable is the fact that I felt great at the end of the race. No nausea at all. I could hardly wait to stuff my face at the post-race spread, which was unbelievable. Everything from the standard peanut butter, bagels, fruit, and chocolate milk to steak-ka-bobs and rice pilaf and gourmet popcorn. They even opened up the showers at the community pool for us to use. So I was able to make the drive down to Salt Lake City without having to smell myself; that was nice.
The Pocatello Marathon was all-around a great experience. Beautiful course and great weather, well-organized, great shirt, nice medal, and the best post-race food ever. What a nice surprise. I am going to be basking in the glow of surprising myself with my second-best time ever for quite a while.
My running has been going pretty well lately, with the exception of the nagging Achilles pain, which I was actually pretty worried about even though it has not (yet) done anything other than nag. I am pretty sure that the biggest reason I've been running well is that I am 27 pounds lighter than I was on January 1 of this year. Nothing fancy, just watching calories. It is easier to run fast when you're not schlepping around the equivalent of a bag of dog food on your body, just my opinion. I really didn't know whether the tendon would blow up in this marathon or not, but I knew that if it did I would be out of marathons for many months, probably well into next year.
The marathon started at 6:15. We had to catch a shuttle bus that took us up the mountain to the race start, which was about a fifteen-minute ride from the hotel. This is one of the few marathons I've done where you have to shuttle both to the start and from the finish. The start was at a little farm. It was chilly, with a good wind blowing. Luckily there was a barn for us to wait in. I was immediately sucked into a crowd of Maniacs, and soon we were pressed shoulder-to-shoulder and no one was cold anymore. Into this crowd walked "Larry, 1400 Marathons" who had also been at Shires of Vermont. I think I read somewhere that he was now "Larry, 1500 Marathons" but I couldn't say for sure. I cannot wrap my mind around 1500 marathons. Does this guy do anything besides run marathons? He must be independently wealthy, or something.
It was still dark and cold when the gun went off. This marathon is well known for having a fast downhill first half, 1500' drop over 13 miles (and a vast improvement over my last three marathons, which have had about the same amount of elevation gain). The conventional advice is "Don't go out too fast, or you won't have anything left for the second half" (which was still downhill, with a drop of 150', but mostly flat). Bullshit, I say. I will always go out too fast, bank some time, and then walk at the end if I feel like it. Anyway, the first many miles -- probably eight or nine at least -- were a delightful romp down beautiful winding roads with spectacular mountain views and a gentle, cool sunrise. My Achilles was sore but no more than usual. My bigger problems were that my fingers were frozen and that I could not keep my phone armband on my arm. I've lost so much weight that even when it's pulled to its tightest it still slides down. Finally I took it off and held it in my hand, where it served as a quasi-glove until the feeling in my fingers finally came back around Mile Five.
The weather was absolutely perfect, with light cloud cover, temperature around 50, and what felt like no humidity at all. It has been a long time since I've run any distance without feeling like I was swimming through a murky pool of moisture in the air. The perfect conditions plus the downhill plus the fact that my Achilles wasn't acting up at all had me feeling great. I was passing all kinds of people and not breathing hard at all. I passed the 3:35 pace group knowing they would pass me later but not caring.
It seemed like we were at the half-marathon start before I knew it. In this race, the half-marathon starts at 8:00, an hour and 45 minutes after the marathon, and the two races share the same course. I had been looking forward to passing the half-marathon start and picking off slower half-marathons one at a time, but actually I got there right before it started, which meant I was doing way better than I thought I would be doing. A 1:50 is the first-half time I would need for a 3:40 marathon, which is my Boston qualifying time. I had not for a second thought I would Boston qualify in this marathon, and still didn't. I only wanted to run at a pace that caused me moderate exertion for as long as I could, until I got tired or sick or injured. I was about 2/10 of a mile past the half start when I heard the gun go off, and instead of me passing slow half-marathoners, the fast half-marathoners began passing me.
This was also when the course changed direction. It turned onto a road that was sort of like a frontage road off I-15. I'm glad I hadn't looked at the course map at all, because if I knew that we would be running basically straight on this road for pretty much the rest of the race, I would have despaired. We now had a head wind, for one thing, a fairly strong one. Also, I could see so far ahead on this basically flat road that the runners in front of me looked like a giant line of ants disappearing into the distance. I so much prefer a winding course where I can always tell myself that around the next corner is a downhill. Here there was no doubt that there was no serious downhill for a long time. Still, I told myself that I would just keep running as long as I could, to get it done as quickly as possible.
My Achilles flared up around Mile 14, and I had a moment of panic before it subsided again, not to be heard from again for the rest of the marathon. I can't explain why it didn't cause more of a problem. Maybe because I finally got new shoes? (And the guy at the running shop had me go up one full size, which I thought was ridiculous -- are my feet EVER going to stop expanding? -- but was so, so grateful for today, since I finished a race for the first time this year with no painful blisters.) Anyway, I never got sick, never got injured, never really had anything happen. The road went along a valley between two mountain ranges. There was lots of beautiful Western scenery, like a freight train running alongside us for a while and some beautiful horses running along a fence line, throwing up their heads when they reached the end of the fence, and then turning and running back the way they came. The sun was out but the strong headwind kept us from getting hot. That wind was more than a little discouraging because I could see from looking ahead that we wouldn't be changing direction any time soon, so the wind wasn't going to quit either.
I hadn't looked at my watch this whole time, not once. I got to 20 miles and realized the 3:35 pace group hadn't passed me yet. I knew it was inevitable that they would because I was getting mentally tired of the headwind and was slowing down. I also knew I wasn't going to qualify because there was no way I would have enough energy to stay strong to the finish. This didn't really bother me because I knew I was going to get my best time this year by far, and it's not like I set out to qualify at all or even thought it was a possibility. Still, the 3:35 pace group didn't pass me till well into Mile 23. I tried to keep up with them but absolutely couldn't. Oh well.
Another pace group passed me toward the end of Mile 24: the 1:50 half, which should have been going the same pace as the 3:40 full. I knew the 3:40 pace group would be coming soon, but then suddenly it was Mile 25 and 3:40 still hadn't passed me. Maybe I could pull this off after all. I was superstitiously afraid to look at my watch. We changed direction -- out of the headwind with a long, easy downhill in front of us. At the very end of the downhill, tiny in the distance, was the finish sign. I finally looked at my watch: 3:33. I realized that even if I walked now, I was going to qualify. But I didn't want to walk, I wanted to beat 3:35 so I could beat my qualifying time by more than five minutes and get to register for Boston in the second wave instead of having to wait for the third one. Well, that did not happen. I finished with a Garmin time of 3:35:27, still 4:23 under my qualifying time but not enough to put me in the second wave for registration. But who cares -- I qualified!
A surprise qualifying time has to be one of the best feelings on earth. I could hardly believe it. Still can hardly believe it. Even more unbelievable is the fact that I felt great at the end of the race. No nausea at all. I could hardly wait to stuff my face at the post-race spread, which was unbelievable. Everything from the standard peanut butter, bagels, fruit, and chocolate milk to steak-ka-bobs and rice pilaf and gourmet popcorn. They even opened up the showers at the community pool for us to use. So I was able to make the drive down to Salt Lake City without having to smell myself; that was nice.
The Pocatello Marathon was all-around a great experience. Beautiful course and great weather, well-organized, great shirt, nice medal, and the best post-race food ever. What a nice surprise. I am going to be basking in the glow of surprising myself with my second-best time ever for quite a while.
Monday, July 13, 2015
Mostly Uphill But Really Pretty and Perfect Weather -- Grandfather Mountain Marathon Race Report
I've been excited about two marathons this year -- Nashville and Deadwood. I was not excited about Trailbreaker, Shires of Vermont, or this one, Grandfather Mountain (North Carolina), even though I registered for it a long time ago. The more I heard about it, the less I looked forward to it. Reports were mostly in agreement that it was 1) hot, 2) humid, 3) difficult, 4) not exactly runner-friendly. I hadn't trained on hills at all (because we don't have any in Michigan) and had only done one post-work run in high temps and humidity, and that one did not go well. So it was a nice surprise that I ended up really enjoying the race.
The start line is at 3300' and the course goes up to almost 4300'. Originally I had thought that 1000 feet over 26 miles wasn't that bad, but then I looked at the elevation profile for the first time (morning of the race) and realized that the course wasn't exactly straight up. There was quite a bit of downhill mixed in there with the uphill: down 200' here, up 500' there, switching from down to up every few miles. This changed it from a steady slog into something a little more interesting, although it is admittedly hard to appreciate the downhills quite as much when you know they are just losing you elevation that you had already gained once and now would have to gain again. On the other hand, at least now I would know that no uphill would last forever. (Except the last three miles at the end of the race, which did last forever, or at least till the finish line.)
We got so, so lucky with the weather. I was planning on this being a 4.5-5-hour race, and only the perfect weather allowed me to get a slightly better time than I had hoped for. The marathon started in Boone, North Carolina, in the stadium of the GOOD A.S.U. (Appalachian State University) as opposed to the NO-GOOD A.S.U.; we all know which one I'm talking about. Stadium start = lots of real bathrooms, about the best thing you can hope for at a marathon start line. It was also a small race, 320 runners, so there were no bathroom lines. Humidity was 96% but temperature was only 66, so it was wet but not steamy. One more good thing -- the race started at 6:30 a.m. Shires of Vermont, Deadwood, take note! 6:30 is the correct start time for a summer marathon.
The gun went off and we did two laps around Kidd Brewer Stadium before leaving campus and running a little over 2 miles downhill through the town of Boone. Then we turned onto a residential road that went up, up, up into the hills. It was a beautiful road, narrow and winding and sort of hidden in a tunnel of trees. Every time we passed a small clearing in the trees, we were rewarded with grand views of the Appalachians and mist rising from the hollows. The running was moderately difficult but it just made me miss living near mountains more. Even though these are green, wet mountains that could not be more different from Tucson's brown, dry mountains, the point is that the difficulty of slogging up them is rewarded with 1) the feeling of looking down on everything else, and 2) the feeling that you are a badass. Man, I would have to run a hundred miles in Michigan before I ever even began to get that feeling.
We topped out and then got to a screaming downhill, so steep I was worried about falling on my face. It didn't last long before we got to another long, steep climb, a few miles. It still wasn't hot, though. There was a nice, cool breeze that kept us from being absolutely miserable despite the slog. Then downhill again, then up, up, up to the Blue Ridge Parkway.
I was excited about the part of the course that was on the Parkway. That is a great American road that I have never seen or driven on. But it turned out to be one of the few disappointments on the whole course. The views weren't that great, mostly grass and trees on either side of the road with occasional glimpses of the mountains in the distance. Kind of like Stony Creek plus mountains, pleasant but nothing to get excited about. It was also a really, really long downhill, over two miles. My toes, shins, and stomach were all starting to bother me, and I was relieved when it finally leveled out and we turned off the Parkway onto some other road and started climbing again.
Let me mention my foot problem du jour. I had one dead toenail from Deadwood that was almost, but not quite, ready to come off. It was hanging on by a flap and the other night I had caught it on the blanket and woken up from the sharp pain. The only thing to do was tape it down for the marathon and deal with it afterwards. So I did, with a Bandaid, and that was fine except that the Bandaid was now rubbing up against my big toe and causing a blister. I had totally anticipated this but figured a blister was something I could just deal with. Most of the time I could, but sometimes I would step on the foot the wrong way and get that feeling like I was scraping a cheese grater along the side of my foot. While this was not debilitating, it was very demoralizing. It got worse when I left the paved road for what the website said was three miles of gravel road. The uneven gravel surface meant that my feet rolled around a lot more, so my blister hurt a lot more. I started looking ahead to pick out places where I could stop and remove my sock and shoe and Bandaid and... I wasn't sure what I would do once it was off -- the original nail would still be painful. So instead I just kept going instead of sitting down on a fencepost or a flat rock or the open tailgate of someone's pickup truck. This was really the only place where I walked for more than a short distance. To my relief, the gravel road ended after barely a mile, and the blister hurt a lot less once I got back on asphalt again.
Here, at Mile 17 or so, began the most beautiful part of the course. According to the elevation profile, it was a steady climb up to the finish, but the elevation gain was so gradual I barely noticed it. It felt flat. The road was winding and shaded, a cool breeze was blowing, there was light cloud cover but also plenty of bright blue sky, and there was a more beautiful mountain view around every curve. The Mile 18 aid station had banana halves and a jar of salt to dip the banana into, only the second marathon I have ever seen this at (the first was Pikes Peak). I was thrilled to see the bananas and salt. I was just beginning to feel like I maybe needed a little more electrolytes than what I had in me, because of how much I was sweating, but the thought of GU made my stomach roll over. I swear, just when I think I have the perfect water-GU equation down, my system changes again. Today I was chugging Gatorade at almost every station, when for years I could barely drink it at all because it made me so nauseous. Anyway, the salty banana recharged me and I was okay running for a few more miles to the next aid station.
Somewhere in here I caught up to a guy wearing a shirt with the acronym SCROTUM on the back (South Carolina Runners Of Trails and Ultra Marathons, of course). I laughed and said, "Nice shirt! That's just what I need at this point in the race." Then I realized how that sounded and so did some other much older guy running right ahead of me who had also just passed the SCROTUM guy. This guy started laughing and said, "You need a scrotum?" I thought about explaining but decided I didn't have the breath to spare, so I kept on going, but I was still laughing.
This marathon ends at the top of Grandfather Mountain, where the Highland Games (second largest Highland Games in the world) are taking place. You can hear the bagpipes from a mile or two away. It was a very cool finish, if a little overwhelming. After miles and miles of peace and beauty, you leave the mountain road for a dirt and gravel track, and there are volunteers every few steps pointing the way through the parking lot and people wandering around, and you go up a short but incredibly steep little hill, and suddenly you are smack in the middle of a gigantic crowd and roar of noise. All the different clans have their family tents set up, and there are bleachers full of spectators all around the field. There is a track running around the field, and you run a lap around it past all the cheering spectators. Man, that track feels reeeeaaaaaallllly long but there is no way I could've walked, not with the crowd. I finished with a time of 4:22, moderately crappy but better than I had expected considering my total lack of mountain training. The medal is really cheap-looking, flimsy with nothing specific to Grandfather Mountain except the name. It's one of the worst medals I have ever gotten from any race, not even worth putting a picture on Facebook.
The funniest thing about this marathon is what was on the refreshments table. There were bananas and oranges and bread and peanut butter, but there was also an entire table full of Little Debbie cakes of all different kinds. Probably 1/3 of the available finish line food was Little Debbie, which I found absolutely hilarious. I mean, I am not by any means a strictly healthy eater or anything, but seeing that spread of Nutty Bars and Swiss Rolls and Zebra Cakes simultaneously cracked me up and made my stomach turn. I am trying so hard not to blame that display of junk food on the fact that this marathon was in the South, but it's really difficult.
That Bandaid did a nice job of shredding off a good-sized flap of skin on the side of my big toe, but other than that I didn't feel too bad. I wasn't sick, my legs didn't hurt, and I even felt all right the day after, good enough to run five miles after getting back to Michigan. I now have 27 states done, with three more planned for this year to bring me to a total of 30 by October. This was also my fifth marathon this year, which is the most marathons I've ever done in a year. (I had lots of years where I did four, but never did five until now.) I am really enjoying this one-marathon-a-month schedule; it is making it totally unnecessary to ever do any other long runs besides marathons.
The start line is at 3300' and the course goes up to almost 4300'. Originally I had thought that 1000 feet over 26 miles wasn't that bad, but then I looked at the elevation profile for the first time (morning of the race) and realized that the course wasn't exactly straight up. There was quite a bit of downhill mixed in there with the uphill: down 200' here, up 500' there, switching from down to up every few miles. This changed it from a steady slog into something a little more interesting, although it is admittedly hard to appreciate the downhills quite as much when you know they are just losing you elevation that you had already gained once and now would have to gain again. On the other hand, at least now I would know that no uphill would last forever. (Except the last three miles at the end of the race, which did last forever, or at least till the finish line.)
We got so, so lucky with the weather. I was planning on this being a 4.5-5-hour race, and only the perfect weather allowed me to get a slightly better time than I had hoped for. The marathon started in Boone, North Carolina, in the stadium of the GOOD A.S.U. (Appalachian State University) as opposed to the NO-GOOD A.S.U.; we all know which one I'm talking about. Stadium start = lots of real bathrooms, about the best thing you can hope for at a marathon start line. It was also a small race, 320 runners, so there were no bathroom lines. Humidity was 96% but temperature was only 66, so it was wet but not steamy. One more good thing -- the race started at 6:30 a.m. Shires of Vermont, Deadwood, take note! 6:30 is the correct start time for a summer marathon.
The gun went off and we did two laps around Kidd Brewer Stadium before leaving campus and running a little over 2 miles downhill through the town of Boone. Then we turned onto a residential road that went up, up, up into the hills. It was a beautiful road, narrow and winding and sort of hidden in a tunnel of trees. Every time we passed a small clearing in the trees, we were rewarded with grand views of the Appalachians and mist rising from the hollows. The running was moderately difficult but it just made me miss living near mountains more. Even though these are green, wet mountains that could not be more different from Tucson's brown, dry mountains, the point is that the difficulty of slogging up them is rewarded with 1) the feeling of looking down on everything else, and 2) the feeling that you are a badass. Man, I would have to run a hundred miles in Michigan before I ever even began to get that feeling.
We topped out and then got to a screaming downhill, so steep I was worried about falling on my face. It didn't last long before we got to another long, steep climb, a few miles. It still wasn't hot, though. There was a nice, cool breeze that kept us from being absolutely miserable despite the slog. Then downhill again, then up, up, up to the Blue Ridge Parkway.
I was excited about the part of the course that was on the Parkway. That is a great American road that I have never seen or driven on. But it turned out to be one of the few disappointments on the whole course. The views weren't that great, mostly grass and trees on either side of the road with occasional glimpses of the mountains in the distance. Kind of like Stony Creek plus mountains, pleasant but nothing to get excited about. It was also a really, really long downhill, over two miles. My toes, shins, and stomach were all starting to bother me, and I was relieved when it finally leveled out and we turned off the Parkway onto some other road and started climbing again.
Let me mention my foot problem du jour. I had one dead toenail from Deadwood that was almost, but not quite, ready to come off. It was hanging on by a flap and the other night I had caught it on the blanket and woken up from the sharp pain. The only thing to do was tape it down for the marathon and deal with it afterwards. So I did, with a Bandaid, and that was fine except that the Bandaid was now rubbing up against my big toe and causing a blister. I had totally anticipated this but figured a blister was something I could just deal with. Most of the time I could, but sometimes I would step on the foot the wrong way and get that feeling like I was scraping a cheese grater along the side of my foot. While this was not debilitating, it was very demoralizing. It got worse when I left the paved road for what the website said was three miles of gravel road. The uneven gravel surface meant that my feet rolled around a lot more, so my blister hurt a lot more. I started looking ahead to pick out places where I could stop and remove my sock and shoe and Bandaid and... I wasn't sure what I would do once it was off -- the original nail would still be painful. So instead I just kept going instead of sitting down on a fencepost or a flat rock or the open tailgate of someone's pickup truck. This was really the only place where I walked for more than a short distance. To my relief, the gravel road ended after barely a mile, and the blister hurt a lot less once I got back on asphalt again.
Here, at Mile 17 or so, began the most beautiful part of the course. According to the elevation profile, it was a steady climb up to the finish, but the elevation gain was so gradual I barely noticed it. It felt flat. The road was winding and shaded, a cool breeze was blowing, there was light cloud cover but also plenty of bright blue sky, and there was a more beautiful mountain view around every curve. The Mile 18 aid station had banana halves and a jar of salt to dip the banana into, only the second marathon I have ever seen this at (the first was Pikes Peak). I was thrilled to see the bananas and salt. I was just beginning to feel like I maybe needed a little more electrolytes than what I had in me, because of how much I was sweating, but the thought of GU made my stomach roll over. I swear, just when I think I have the perfect water-GU equation down, my system changes again. Today I was chugging Gatorade at almost every station, when for years I could barely drink it at all because it made me so nauseous. Anyway, the salty banana recharged me and I was okay running for a few more miles to the next aid station.
Somewhere in here I caught up to a guy wearing a shirt with the acronym SCROTUM on the back (South Carolina Runners Of Trails and Ultra Marathons, of course). I laughed and said, "Nice shirt! That's just what I need at this point in the race." Then I realized how that sounded and so did some other much older guy running right ahead of me who had also just passed the SCROTUM guy. This guy started laughing and said, "You need a scrotum?" I thought about explaining but decided I didn't have the breath to spare, so I kept on going, but I was still laughing.
This marathon ends at the top of Grandfather Mountain, where the Highland Games (second largest Highland Games in the world) are taking place. You can hear the bagpipes from a mile or two away. It was a very cool finish, if a little overwhelming. After miles and miles of peace and beauty, you leave the mountain road for a dirt and gravel track, and there are volunteers every few steps pointing the way through the parking lot and people wandering around, and you go up a short but incredibly steep little hill, and suddenly you are smack in the middle of a gigantic crowd and roar of noise. All the different clans have their family tents set up, and there are bleachers full of spectators all around the field. There is a track running around the field, and you run a lap around it past all the cheering spectators. Man, that track feels reeeeaaaaaallllly long but there is no way I could've walked, not with the crowd. I finished with a time of 4:22, moderately crappy but better than I had expected considering my total lack of mountain training. The medal is really cheap-looking, flimsy with nothing specific to Grandfather Mountain except the name. It's one of the worst medals I have ever gotten from any race, not even worth putting a picture on Facebook.
The funniest thing about this marathon is what was on the refreshments table. There were bananas and oranges and bread and peanut butter, but there was also an entire table full of Little Debbie cakes of all different kinds. Probably 1/3 of the available finish line food was Little Debbie, which I found absolutely hilarious. I mean, I am not by any means a strictly healthy eater or anything, but seeing that spread of Nutty Bars and Swiss Rolls and Zebra Cakes simultaneously cracked me up and made my stomach turn. I am trying so hard not to blame that display of junk food on the fact that this marathon was in the South, but it's really difficult.
That Bandaid did a nice job of shredding off a good-sized flap of skin on the side of my big toe, but other than that I didn't feel too bad. I wasn't sick, my legs didn't hurt, and I even felt all right the day after, good enough to run five miles after getting back to Michigan. I now have 27 states done, with three more planned for this year to bring me to a total of 30 by October. This was also my fifth marathon this year, which is the most marathons I've ever done in a year. (I had lots of years where I did four, but never did five until now.) I am really enjoying this one-marathon-a-month schedule; it is making it totally unnecessary to ever do any other long runs besides marathons.
Saturday, June 27, 2015
Run Detroit!
There are a lot of things I don't like about living in Michigan, but of the few things I do like, most of them have something to do with running. Running along rivers and around lakes in summer, running through showers of falling leaves, and now I can add running in Detroit.
I love urban running. Marathon courses through manicured downtown tourist loops are all well and good, but I actually prefer the grittier sections that take you through the parts of town where the factories are and where pit bulls live in the front yards and old cars are up on blocks and there is no HOA to care whether you cut your lawn or not or whether you do driveway oil changes. Detroit is like the epicenter of ruin porn in America, with its hundreds? thousands? of abandoned buildings, and I have always wanted to run in and around Detroit. One time a few months ago I ran from Royal Oak to downtown Detroit, down Woodward Ave the whole way. It was early enough that hardly anyone was out although I did see a few hookers in Highland Park, and no one at all bothered me. I didn't exactly feel safe -- I never let my guard down -- but I never felt directly threatened, either. Most of the few people I did see were so visibly impaired that they couldn't have run alongside me for a car-length, let alone long enough to catch me and do anything to me. And the streets were so empty you could have run or biked right down the middle of them, ignoring traffic lights, and only had to move a couple times in that whole 13-mile stretch.
I have also run the loop around Belle Isle followed by an out-and-back to Cobo Center, mostly on the Riverwalk but partly on Jefferson. The stretch on Jefferson is not exactly a nice neighborhood but also not a place where you feel like your life is in danger all the time. But still, my knowledge of the geography of Detroit, especially the running geography, is extremely limited, which is why I was so happy to find out about Run Detroit.
Run Detroit is a running store in midtown Detroit. "Midtown Detroit" is another term that I am ashamed to say I did not know the definition of until now. My previous knowledge of Detroit geography was limited to what I could see from the People Mover loop. Midtown Detroit is a part of Detroit that is doing okay. It's not close to Greektown or the Renaissance Center, the tourist places where we train dogs; it's close to Wayne State University and Detroit Institute of the Arts. Literally every business on the street that Run Detroit is on is cool. There is not a single one that would be out of place in the downtown parts of any of the coolest cities in America. I had never been to Run Detroit because I've always gone to the Hanson Running stores. For one, I thought they were closer. (They're not; Run Detroit is actually closer, or at least easier to get to.) Also, they're bigger, but I don't think bigger means better in this case. Run Detroit didn't have a ton of inventory, but what they did have was better, and their prices were definitely better. I haven't really liked Hanson's the last few times I've been there, whether we're talking about the one in Royal Oak or the one in Utica or the one in Lake Orion. Their salespeople were just okay, but didn't seem that interested in helping me find a better shoe or that passionate about running. (And one of them told me it was normal to lose toenails regularly and that changing shoes wasn't going to help with that. Really? I mean, I was too lazy to try on a bunch of different shoes and prove him wrong -- I will just live with losing toenails -- but I don't think it is true that if you lose a lot of toenails it could not possibly have anything to do with your shoes.) So I was totally ready to find a running store that I like better than Hanson's, and I am pretty sure this one is it.
Every weekend they host a 3-mile run, a 6-mile run, and a 10-mile run. The runs aren't supported -- they're so short they don't need to be -- but the store prints up and hands out little pieces of paper with the routes marked on them. They rotate each weekend between the Red Loop, the Green Loop, and the Blue Loop, each of which has a different loop for each of the three different distances. I actually ran the Green Loop a month ago, the one that goes out to Hamtramck and back (I defy anyone who doesn't live here to pronounce that!), and sort of got lost because I was following 6-milers who I thought were 10-milers. Today I was determined not to do that, and memorized the 10-mile Red Loop the night before.
It was pouring rain this morning when I woke up, a wild, windy, wet, chilly grey day that just screamed "Stay in bed! Watch Netflix!" And I so almost did. But then I thought of the chorizo macaroni and cheese and whiskey I had last night, and knew if I stayed in bed I would feel like a big, fat slob, and hate myself, and probably be unmotivated to get any of the other stuff I had to do done today. Besides, I always claim to be able to "Embrace the suck." That means when you KNOW you have to do something that will suck (like bad-weather marathons, or any marathon at elevation or that is all uphill, or any ultra-marathon at all), the best strategy is simply to get excited about how much it will suck. "I wonder if I'll hallucinate? I wonder if I'll cry? I wonder if this will be the one where I finally throw up? I wonder if I'll actually get a little frostbite and have a cool story for everyone?" It is best to work yourself up into a frenzy of morbid curiosity at the start line so that you're dying for the gun to go off so that you can start finding out whether it will suck epically or just be a drag. So that is what I did with this run.
When I did the Green Loop a month ago, there were probably 50 people in the tiny store and hanging out on the sidewalk in front. The weather was much nicer that day. Today there were maybe 20 people, if that many. Most of them were doing the 6-mile loop, but there were a handful for the 10-mile. I didn't know any of them. We set off for the first mile and a half down Cass. The rain had actually lightened up a little and there was a sweet tail wind. All but the most out-of-it street people had sought shelter elsewhere, and we only had to dodge a few sidewalk sleepers. Most people ran in the road. The roads of Detroit are bad, but the sidewalks are often worse. There is really no reason not to run in the road because there are hardly any cars at all.
I have to say that I like Detroit very much. I like that it is gritty and unpretentious. I feel like if Detroit could talk, it would say something like, "I'm Detroit -- f*** you." I even like the empty high-rises and the abandoned old houses that were obviously really beautiful when they were first built. This route showcased all of those things. Honestly, I fantasize about buying something in Detroit. Like a house or a warehouse or something. I don't know how to renovate anything, couldn't afford it, and know anything I tried to fix would be vandalized immediately, but I still want to own a piece of it. I don't know why. Maybe buy a falling-to-pieces old house and sit inside it and write this blog? Or run a training class for thugs with pitbulls? Or... or...or... so many possibilities. I especially like Detroit in the rain and gloom. That is kind of like the natural look for it in my opinion.
I know where a lot of things are in Detroit -- Wayne State University, the Renaissance Center, Greektown, Mexicantown, Michigan Central Station -- but I totally do not know how to get from any one of those places to any other ones. I don't know at all how the city fits together. These runs are great for that. After running a mile and a half down Cass, we turned right on Michigan, and I realized this is how you get to Corktown on surface streets. (I have driven to Corktown for the Corktown 5K, GPS'ing it and staying on the freeway the whole way, but again, I had no idea of where it actually was in relation to the rest of Detroit.) In Corktown the road is part brick and part paved. I think it is actually less uncomfortable to run on it than to drive on it. We were on Michigan until 16th, where we turned left and suddenly there was Michigan Central Station, Detroit's most-famous, most-iconic ruin, towering over me. When I got to Michigan Central, there was another runner in front of me taking pictures of it. He asked me if I knew what it was, and it was cool to be able to say that I did! He was from China, here in the U.S. for two years. I never did quite understand why. Something about his brother. We didn't talk a lot because we were both busy gasping for breath. I stayed with him the whole rest of the run (six more miles). We ran down Vernor Highway to Mexicantown, another destination I could only reach from the freeway until today. We turned left again at Clark and left again at Fort, where we picked up a headwind in our faces that was just as nasty as the earlier tailwind had been nice.
It felt like we were on Fort forever, though I think it was only a mile and a half. The whole time, I was carrying the piece of paper with the run instructions on them. The paper had gotten wet and was unreadable, and I wanted to throw it away, but there were no trash cans anywhere to be seen. Finally the paper just kind of disintegrated in my hand and I let it fall to the ground. I mean, I felt bad but what was I supposed to do with it? No trash cans on the sidewalk = trash on the ground.
We turned right on Rosa Parks, which became Jefferson, and ended up on the Riverwalk, where we waved "Hi" to Canada. We left the Riverwalk at the Detroit Princess Riverboat and ran the rest of the way back up Woodward to Canfield, where we turned and ran back to the store. The wind had picked up by now to bend-trees-in-half strength, and it was nice to be inside looking out at it instead of outside running in it.
I did not get the name of the guy I ran with, but I thanked him and told him without him I would've been slow. He told me he was slow when he ran by himself. We were well under 8:00 pace, and it felt pretty good the whole time. I know if I was by myself I would've been at least a minute a mile slower. This is why group runs are the best!
Also, as soon as I came into the store I got a drink, then walked out to my car and got my wallet, then came back in to buy stuff. Another couple of guys finished their run and came in as I was picking out Gu. "You do the six-mile?" one of them asked me. "Nope, ten," I said casually, whereupon the guy raised his eyebrows and said, "Wow, good job!" That felt pretty darn good. I was not that fast at all and if I was still in Tucson at WOG, half the other runners would have beat me at that pace, but still... it feels good to have a fast-looking, good-looking dude say "Wow" about my running.
I love urban running. Marathon courses through manicured downtown tourist loops are all well and good, but I actually prefer the grittier sections that take you through the parts of town where the factories are and where pit bulls live in the front yards and old cars are up on blocks and there is no HOA to care whether you cut your lawn or not or whether you do driveway oil changes. Detroit is like the epicenter of ruin porn in America, with its hundreds? thousands? of abandoned buildings, and I have always wanted to run in and around Detroit. One time a few months ago I ran from Royal Oak to downtown Detroit, down Woodward Ave the whole way. It was early enough that hardly anyone was out although I did see a few hookers in Highland Park, and no one at all bothered me. I didn't exactly feel safe -- I never let my guard down -- but I never felt directly threatened, either. Most of the few people I did see were so visibly impaired that they couldn't have run alongside me for a car-length, let alone long enough to catch me and do anything to me. And the streets were so empty you could have run or biked right down the middle of them, ignoring traffic lights, and only had to move a couple times in that whole 13-mile stretch.
I have also run the loop around Belle Isle followed by an out-and-back to Cobo Center, mostly on the Riverwalk but partly on Jefferson. The stretch on Jefferson is not exactly a nice neighborhood but also not a place where you feel like your life is in danger all the time. But still, my knowledge of the geography of Detroit, especially the running geography, is extremely limited, which is why I was so happy to find out about Run Detroit.
Run Detroit is a running store in midtown Detroit. "Midtown Detroit" is another term that I am ashamed to say I did not know the definition of until now. My previous knowledge of Detroit geography was limited to what I could see from the People Mover loop. Midtown Detroit is a part of Detroit that is doing okay. It's not close to Greektown or the Renaissance Center, the tourist places where we train dogs; it's close to Wayne State University and Detroit Institute of the Arts. Literally every business on the street that Run Detroit is on is cool. There is not a single one that would be out of place in the downtown parts of any of the coolest cities in America. I had never been to Run Detroit because I've always gone to the Hanson Running stores. For one, I thought they were closer. (They're not; Run Detroit is actually closer, or at least easier to get to.) Also, they're bigger, but I don't think bigger means better in this case. Run Detroit didn't have a ton of inventory, but what they did have was better, and their prices were definitely better. I haven't really liked Hanson's the last few times I've been there, whether we're talking about the one in Royal Oak or the one in Utica or the one in Lake Orion. Their salespeople were just okay, but didn't seem that interested in helping me find a better shoe or that passionate about running. (And one of them told me it was normal to lose toenails regularly and that changing shoes wasn't going to help with that. Really? I mean, I was too lazy to try on a bunch of different shoes and prove him wrong -- I will just live with losing toenails -- but I don't think it is true that if you lose a lot of toenails it could not possibly have anything to do with your shoes.) So I was totally ready to find a running store that I like better than Hanson's, and I am pretty sure this one is it.
Every weekend they host a 3-mile run, a 6-mile run, and a 10-mile run. The runs aren't supported -- they're so short they don't need to be -- but the store prints up and hands out little pieces of paper with the routes marked on them. They rotate each weekend between the Red Loop, the Green Loop, and the Blue Loop, each of which has a different loop for each of the three different distances. I actually ran the Green Loop a month ago, the one that goes out to Hamtramck and back (I defy anyone who doesn't live here to pronounce that!), and sort of got lost because I was following 6-milers who I thought were 10-milers. Today I was determined not to do that, and memorized the 10-mile Red Loop the night before.
It was pouring rain this morning when I woke up, a wild, windy, wet, chilly grey day that just screamed "Stay in bed! Watch Netflix!" And I so almost did. But then I thought of the chorizo macaroni and cheese and whiskey I had last night, and knew if I stayed in bed I would feel like a big, fat slob, and hate myself, and probably be unmotivated to get any of the other stuff I had to do done today. Besides, I always claim to be able to "Embrace the suck." That means when you KNOW you have to do something that will suck (like bad-weather marathons, or any marathon at elevation or that is all uphill, or any ultra-marathon at all), the best strategy is simply to get excited about how much it will suck. "I wonder if I'll hallucinate? I wonder if I'll cry? I wonder if this will be the one where I finally throw up? I wonder if I'll actually get a little frostbite and have a cool story for everyone?" It is best to work yourself up into a frenzy of morbid curiosity at the start line so that you're dying for the gun to go off so that you can start finding out whether it will suck epically or just be a drag. So that is what I did with this run.
When I did the Green Loop a month ago, there were probably 50 people in the tiny store and hanging out on the sidewalk in front. The weather was much nicer that day. Today there were maybe 20 people, if that many. Most of them were doing the 6-mile loop, but there were a handful for the 10-mile. I didn't know any of them. We set off for the first mile and a half down Cass. The rain had actually lightened up a little and there was a sweet tail wind. All but the most out-of-it street people had sought shelter elsewhere, and we only had to dodge a few sidewalk sleepers. Most people ran in the road. The roads of Detroit are bad, but the sidewalks are often worse. There is really no reason not to run in the road because there are hardly any cars at all.
I have to say that I like Detroit very much. I like that it is gritty and unpretentious. I feel like if Detroit could talk, it would say something like, "I'm Detroit -- f*** you." I even like the empty high-rises and the abandoned old houses that were obviously really beautiful when they were first built. This route showcased all of those things. Honestly, I fantasize about buying something in Detroit. Like a house or a warehouse or something. I don't know how to renovate anything, couldn't afford it, and know anything I tried to fix would be vandalized immediately, but I still want to own a piece of it. I don't know why. Maybe buy a falling-to-pieces old house and sit inside it and write this blog? Or run a training class for thugs with pitbulls? Or... or...or... so many possibilities. I especially like Detroit in the rain and gloom. That is kind of like the natural look for it in my opinion.
I know where a lot of things are in Detroit -- Wayne State University, the Renaissance Center, Greektown, Mexicantown, Michigan Central Station -- but I totally do not know how to get from any one of those places to any other ones. I don't know at all how the city fits together. These runs are great for that. After running a mile and a half down Cass, we turned right on Michigan, and I realized this is how you get to Corktown on surface streets. (I have driven to Corktown for the Corktown 5K, GPS'ing it and staying on the freeway the whole way, but again, I had no idea of where it actually was in relation to the rest of Detroit.) In Corktown the road is part brick and part paved. I think it is actually less uncomfortable to run on it than to drive on it. We were on Michigan until 16th, where we turned left and suddenly there was Michigan Central Station, Detroit's most-famous, most-iconic ruin, towering over me. When I got to Michigan Central, there was another runner in front of me taking pictures of it. He asked me if I knew what it was, and it was cool to be able to say that I did! He was from China, here in the U.S. for two years. I never did quite understand why. Something about his brother. We didn't talk a lot because we were both busy gasping for breath. I stayed with him the whole rest of the run (six more miles). We ran down Vernor Highway to Mexicantown, another destination I could only reach from the freeway until today. We turned left again at Clark and left again at Fort, where we picked up a headwind in our faces that was just as nasty as the earlier tailwind had been nice.
It felt like we were on Fort forever, though I think it was only a mile and a half. The whole time, I was carrying the piece of paper with the run instructions on them. The paper had gotten wet and was unreadable, and I wanted to throw it away, but there were no trash cans anywhere to be seen. Finally the paper just kind of disintegrated in my hand and I let it fall to the ground. I mean, I felt bad but what was I supposed to do with it? No trash cans on the sidewalk = trash on the ground.
We turned right on Rosa Parks, which became Jefferson, and ended up on the Riverwalk, where we waved "Hi" to Canada. We left the Riverwalk at the Detroit Princess Riverboat and ran the rest of the way back up Woodward to Canfield, where we turned and ran back to the store. The wind had picked up by now to bend-trees-in-half strength, and it was nice to be inside looking out at it instead of outside running in it.
I did not get the name of the guy I ran with, but I thanked him and told him without him I would've been slow. He told me he was slow when he ran by himself. We were well under 8:00 pace, and it felt pretty good the whole time. I know if I was by myself I would've been at least a minute a mile slower. This is why group runs are the best!
Also, as soon as I came into the store I got a drink, then walked out to my car and got my wallet, then came back in to buy stuff. Another couple of guys finished their run and came in as I was picking out Gu. "You do the six-mile?" one of them asked me. "Nope, ten," I said casually, whereupon the guy raised his eyebrows and said, "Wow, good job!" That felt pretty darn good. I was not that fast at all and if I was still in Tucson at WOG, half the other runners would have beat me at that pace, but still... it feels good to have a fast-looking, good-looking dude say "Wow" about my running.
Sunday, June 7, 2015
Beautiful Run in the Black Hills -- Deadwood-Mickelson Trail Marathon Race Report
Wow, this one was a stunner as far as natural beauty. In fact, I can't say that I've ever seen a prettier course, with the exception of Pikes Peak, but they're really close. I've been in South Dakota for three days and cannot believe how amazing it is out here and how it is that I never knew that South Dakota was so awesome. I wish I could stay another week because I definitely would not run out of things to do here.
Anyway, this was State #26 for me. My mom and sister came out here for vacation and to be spectators, and Thomas and his girlfriend Andrea also came. I think it's State #27 for Thomas. I am going to tie him next month and then pass him in September, and then annihilate him next year. At least that is my plan. We rented a big, beautiful house right in Deadwood. I literally did not know a single thing about Deadwood before coming here. I thought it was just a small town, and had no idea it was a Wild West tourist town like Tombstone, but that's totally what it is. I really need to start researching these things before I arrive.
The day before the race, we were tourists and went to Mt. Rushmore (very cool but somehow not quite as awesome-looking in real life as it is in pictures) and Crazy Horse (a total rip-off to which I shall never return, ever). The Black Hills appeared to be a mountain runner's paradise: innumerable trailheads every couple miles, grand vistas in every direction, perfect mix of brutally steep hills and peaceful valleys. I have never heard anything about the Black Hills other than that Mt. Rushmore is there. Like, no one ever mentioned that they are some of the most beautiful mountains in the country, seriously. The only bad thing was the weather. There have been a lot of severe storms in this part of the country in the last week, one of them resulting in a road closure that added three hours to our drive from Denver on Friday, and there was yet another one on Saturday which also closed roads and caused a four-hour-long downpour along with enough hail to look like it had snowed. The forecast for race day was much better, thankfully, and we just got lucky that the downpour/lightning/hail happened on Saturday and not Sunday.
This is a point-to-point marathon, and race organizers strongly preferred that everyone take the shuttle from the finish line to the start to limit traffic in the tiny town of Rochford where the race started. Thomas and I could have gotten a ride from Mom but we decided to take the shuttle 1) so that they wouldn't have to get up so early, and 2) because we were concerned just in case some of the rain from yesterday had caused road closures we didn't know about. It turned out the roads were all fine.
You can't really even tell that Rochford is a town. The start line area was just a gravel parking lot outside a tiny wooden church with a few Porta-Potties (plenty for the small number of runners, though). It was chilly enough at the start, which is around 5300' elevation, I think, that I was glad I brought a long-sleeved shirt, but it wasn't really cold. Anyway, at a summer race you definitely want to be a little cold at the start or you will roast later. The forecast was for start temps in the 50's, end temps around 70, and a mix of sun and clouds, which was pretty much what we got.
The first two miles of the race were on the road that went through Rochford, and then we got on the Mickelson Trail and stayed there for the rest of the race. The Mickelson Trail is a 109-mile long rail-trail that starts in the southern part of South Dakota and ends in Deadwood. Running surface is crushed limestone and gravel, which was wonderful underfoot. The first 14 miles are described as "a grind" in most race reviews because there is an uphill grade around 3% most of the way. At first I was a little short of breath which I think was due to the altitude or the climb or the headwind (okay, "head breeze" is more accurate), but then I got used to it and did all right for quite a while. I would agree with the "grind" description. It was never intolerable, but it got more and more noticeable the longer it went on. Thank goodness for the beautiful views to distract me! Because of all the rain on Saturday, all the little brooks were running in the meadows, and most of the course had at least some shade from pine trees. I managed to run the entire uphill grade. (I ran with Thomas for maybe the first four miles, and then he started to feel bad and dropped back, and never really had a good time on the course, I don't think. There was puking involved. Glad I missed it.)
Once we got to Mile 14, the descent began. Miles 14-18 were glorious -- smooth surface, perfect grade for running freely, lots of shade, not too steep, just really nice recovery miles. After the Mile 18 relay exchange, though, I suddenly got tired. I had been doing pretty well considering the early climb; I was at 2:43 at Mile 18, but suddenly I started to feel hot and queasy. I slowed to a walk and ate some Tums and managed to run again after a while. I ran (slowly) to Mile 20 where my time was 3:02. I simultaneously knew I could be under 4 hours because I knew 100% of the remaining course was downhill, and knew I wouldn't be under 4 hours because of how I felt. I was really surprisingly nauseous, in a way I haven't been in a while. Who knows why. The humidity was 94% at the start line though it did not feel that bad at all. My skin was dry the whole time, not sweaty like it was in Vermont. I didn't feel like I was sweating but I must have been. I had taken my third GU at Mile 18 and knew I could not get another one down. I'd been drinking at every aid station, which I never do, but this time I had to because I felt parched, like the way I used to feel when I first moved to Arizona.
Every runner I talked to between 20 and 26 was complaining about being dehydrated even though all of us were drinking every time we had a chance. The downhills were steep enough that my knees started to hurt. Once I passed Mile 23 (at 3:32) I suddenly felt so sick I thought I was going to puke whether I wanted to or not. (I didn't want to. I have not puked since 1999. I have TRIED to puke during other marathons and been unsuccessful, but I don't try anymore because I no longer care that much about my time in marathons. I would always rather walk it in than suffer the indignity of puking on-course.) So I walked almost 2 whole miles. The scenery just got more grand, with towering cliffs and mountain slopes covered with fallen trees, but absolutely no shade on this section. I forgot to mention that there was a creek or river running alongside the trail almost the whole way. It was full of lovely, bubbling, fresh, clear water and the thought of jumping into it and immersing my whole overheated body became an obsession over the last few miles, so much so that I thought the desire might overwhelm my rational brain and I might just do it. (I didn't. But I did feel compelled to mention it to every runner who passed me or who I passed, all of whom were locked up in their own pain caves and unable to care too much about mine.)
I was able to run again after one more shot of Powerade around Mile 24, and managed to jog the rest of the easy downhill into town. I was feeling all right at the finish line, which surprised me considering how sick I had felt for the last six miles. I am so thankful for whoever discovered and popularized the idea of chocolate milk being the perfect recovery food. It is. I can always tolerate it no matter how I feel, at times when I absolutely could not tolerate any real food. I chugged my chocolate milk, then went back to the finish line to watch Thomas finish (and point out gleefully that he was chicked in the last 50 yards of the finish chute). Neither one of us got good times but I am satisfied with my time. This was a stunningly beautiful course, but definitely not an easy one.
I think I have five weeks until my next marathon, Grandfather Mountain in North Carolina, which by all accounts is a bitch of a marathon that will make this one look like a jog in the park. I can't wait.
Anyway, this was State #26 for me. My mom and sister came out here for vacation and to be spectators, and Thomas and his girlfriend Andrea also came. I think it's State #27 for Thomas. I am going to tie him next month and then pass him in September, and then annihilate him next year. At least that is my plan. We rented a big, beautiful house right in Deadwood. I literally did not know a single thing about Deadwood before coming here. I thought it was just a small town, and had no idea it was a Wild West tourist town like Tombstone, but that's totally what it is. I really need to start researching these things before I arrive.
The day before the race, we were tourists and went to Mt. Rushmore (very cool but somehow not quite as awesome-looking in real life as it is in pictures) and Crazy Horse (a total rip-off to which I shall never return, ever). The Black Hills appeared to be a mountain runner's paradise: innumerable trailheads every couple miles, grand vistas in every direction, perfect mix of brutally steep hills and peaceful valleys. I have never heard anything about the Black Hills other than that Mt. Rushmore is there. Like, no one ever mentioned that they are some of the most beautiful mountains in the country, seriously. The only bad thing was the weather. There have been a lot of severe storms in this part of the country in the last week, one of them resulting in a road closure that added three hours to our drive from Denver on Friday, and there was yet another one on Saturday which also closed roads and caused a four-hour-long downpour along with enough hail to look like it had snowed. The forecast for race day was much better, thankfully, and we just got lucky that the downpour/lightning/hail happened on Saturday and not Sunday.
This is a point-to-point marathon, and race organizers strongly preferred that everyone take the shuttle from the finish line to the start to limit traffic in the tiny town of Rochford where the race started. Thomas and I could have gotten a ride from Mom but we decided to take the shuttle 1) so that they wouldn't have to get up so early, and 2) because we were concerned just in case some of the rain from yesterday had caused road closures we didn't know about. It turned out the roads were all fine.
You can't really even tell that Rochford is a town. The start line area was just a gravel parking lot outside a tiny wooden church with a few Porta-Potties (plenty for the small number of runners, though). It was chilly enough at the start, which is around 5300' elevation, I think, that I was glad I brought a long-sleeved shirt, but it wasn't really cold. Anyway, at a summer race you definitely want to be a little cold at the start or you will roast later. The forecast was for start temps in the 50's, end temps around 70, and a mix of sun and clouds, which was pretty much what we got.
The first two miles of the race were on the road that went through Rochford, and then we got on the Mickelson Trail and stayed there for the rest of the race. The Mickelson Trail is a 109-mile long rail-trail that starts in the southern part of South Dakota and ends in Deadwood. Running surface is crushed limestone and gravel, which was wonderful underfoot. The first 14 miles are described as "a grind" in most race reviews because there is an uphill grade around 3% most of the way. At first I was a little short of breath which I think was due to the altitude or the climb or the headwind (okay, "head breeze" is more accurate), but then I got used to it and did all right for quite a while. I would agree with the "grind" description. It was never intolerable, but it got more and more noticeable the longer it went on. Thank goodness for the beautiful views to distract me! Because of all the rain on Saturday, all the little brooks were running in the meadows, and most of the course had at least some shade from pine trees. I managed to run the entire uphill grade. (I ran with Thomas for maybe the first four miles, and then he started to feel bad and dropped back, and never really had a good time on the course, I don't think. There was puking involved. Glad I missed it.)
Once we got to Mile 14, the descent began. Miles 14-18 were glorious -- smooth surface, perfect grade for running freely, lots of shade, not too steep, just really nice recovery miles. After the Mile 18 relay exchange, though, I suddenly got tired. I had been doing pretty well considering the early climb; I was at 2:43 at Mile 18, but suddenly I started to feel hot and queasy. I slowed to a walk and ate some Tums and managed to run again after a while. I ran (slowly) to Mile 20 where my time was 3:02. I simultaneously knew I could be under 4 hours because I knew 100% of the remaining course was downhill, and knew I wouldn't be under 4 hours because of how I felt. I was really surprisingly nauseous, in a way I haven't been in a while. Who knows why. The humidity was 94% at the start line though it did not feel that bad at all. My skin was dry the whole time, not sweaty like it was in Vermont. I didn't feel like I was sweating but I must have been. I had taken my third GU at Mile 18 and knew I could not get another one down. I'd been drinking at every aid station, which I never do, but this time I had to because I felt parched, like the way I used to feel when I first moved to Arizona.
Every runner I talked to between 20 and 26 was complaining about being dehydrated even though all of us were drinking every time we had a chance. The downhills were steep enough that my knees started to hurt. Once I passed Mile 23 (at 3:32) I suddenly felt so sick I thought I was going to puke whether I wanted to or not. (I didn't want to. I have not puked since 1999. I have TRIED to puke during other marathons and been unsuccessful, but I don't try anymore because I no longer care that much about my time in marathons. I would always rather walk it in than suffer the indignity of puking on-course.) So I walked almost 2 whole miles. The scenery just got more grand, with towering cliffs and mountain slopes covered with fallen trees, but absolutely no shade on this section. I forgot to mention that there was a creek or river running alongside the trail almost the whole way. It was full of lovely, bubbling, fresh, clear water and the thought of jumping into it and immersing my whole overheated body became an obsession over the last few miles, so much so that I thought the desire might overwhelm my rational brain and I might just do it. (I didn't. But I did feel compelled to mention it to every runner who passed me or who I passed, all of whom were locked up in their own pain caves and unable to care too much about mine.)
I was able to run again after one more shot of Powerade around Mile 24, and managed to jog the rest of the easy downhill into town. I was feeling all right at the finish line, which surprised me considering how sick I had felt for the last six miles. I am so thankful for whoever discovered and popularized the idea of chocolate milk being the perfect recovery food. It is. I can always tolerate it no matter how I feel, at times when I absolutely could not tolerate any real food. I chugged my chocolate milk, then went back to the finish line to watch Thomas finish (and point out gleefully that he was chicked in the last 50 yards of the finish chute). Neither one of us got good times but I am satisfied with my time. This was a stunningly beautiful course, but definitely not an easy one.
I think I have five weeks until my next marathon, Grandfather Mountain in North Carolina, which by all accounts is a bitch of a marathon that will make this one look like a jog in the park. I can't wait.
Sunday, May 24, 2015
The Next 25
25 states done means 25 states left, and I have actually planned out a surprising number of them, as in, picked out which race I will do and maybe even which year. This seems like a good time to put out my list to see if any of the runners I know have any of the same races on their lists.
Alabama: First Light Marathon in Mobile, planning to do a back-to-back with Mississippi Blues in January 2017.
Alaska: I really, really want to do the Equinox Marathon in September. That is going to be a huge, expensive trip but... I want it. Probably it will be in my last year of marathons.
Arkansas: I think Hogeye in Fayetteville, in March. Even though Little Rock is way easier to get to, I am totally turned off by the medal, which is like the size of a dinner plate and would totally look out of place with my other medals. Haven't picked the year yet.
Connecticut: Hartford, this October, done as a back-to-back with Newport, Rhode Island.
Delaware: Leaning towards Rehoboth Beach in December, because it would be an "easy" drive and because there are hardly any other marathons in December so it is a good fit schedule-wise.
Florida: I have my heart set on the Southernmost Marathon in Key West, in October. Probably 2017 since there are too many other marathons I want to do in October before this one.
Georgia: Rock and Roll Savannah, in November. Maybe 2016?
Hawaii: Honolulu in December, no idea what year. Probably my last year of 50 states, which is looking like it will be 2018 if I keep up this pace.
Idaho: Already registered for Pocatello in September 2015.
Iowa: Des Moines in October. Hoping to double it with Kansas City, MO, in 2016 if my class schedule permits.
Kansas: Torn between the Eisenhower in April in Abilene and the Prairie Fire in Wichita in October. I have a soft spot for Abilene because I remember driving through it on my first cross-country drive to New York back in 1999. It was the first place I saw soda called "pop" on a menu, and also the first (and last) place I saw gas for under $1.00/gallon in my adult driving life. Prairie Fire seems to be more popular with the Marathon Maniacs crowd. I don't know; maybe I will skip Prairie Fire just because it's in October and there are too many other races in that month.
Kentucky: Hatfield-McCoy in June, hopefully 2016 but I think I might be in class then, so it might have to wait till 2017.
Maryland: Totally undecided, but it will probably be a last-minute sign-up to fill in a gap in my schedule, since Maryland is a drivable state.
Minnesota: Grandma's in June, but no idea what year. I want to say 2016, but, same as Kentucky, it all depends on when I'm in class.
Mississippi: Mississippi Blues back-to-back with First Light, January 2017.
Missouri: Kansas City 2016, doubling with Des Moines.
Nebraska: Don't know, haven't even begun to research it.
New Jersey: Really not sure. There aren't a lot of choices in New Jersey; it's pretty much either Atlantic City or the New Jersey Marathon in Oceanport. I wish they had one in Morristown but so far they don't.
North Carolina: Grandfather Mountain, July 2015. Not looking forward to this one since it will be hot and there are no hills here to train on.
North Dakota: Same as Nebraska, I'll probably let the calendar decide. Maybe Fargo, since it's in May when there aren't a lot of other marathons.
Oklahoma: It has to be Oklahoma City in April. I'm hoping to do this one in 2016.
Rhode Island: As mentioned above, it's going to be Newport in October 2015.
South Carolina: Myrtle Beach in February, hopefully 2016.
South Dakota: Deadwood, June 2015. Two weeks from now!
Wyoming: Haven't decided yet. I know this will be one of my most expensive marathons to get to and also one of the most difficult ones because of the elevation, so I haven't really been in a hurry to pick my Wyoming marathon.
All right, who wants to join me for any of those? Don't everyone volunteer at once!
Alabama: First Light Marathon in Mobile, planning to do a back-to-back with Mississippi Blues in January 2017.
Alaska: I really, really want to do the Equinox Marathon in September. That is going to be a huge, expensive trip but... I want it. Probably it will be in my last year of marathons.
Arkansas: I think Hogeye in Fayetteville, in March. Even though Little Rock is way easier to get to, I am totally turned off by the medal, which is like the size of a dinner plate and would totally look out of place with my other medals. Haven't picked the year yet.
Connecticut: Hartford, this October, done as a back-to-back with Newport, Rhode Island.
Delaware: Leaning towards Rehoboth Beach in December, because it would be an "easy" drive and because there are hardly any other marathons in December so it is a good fit schedule-wise.
Florida: I have my heart set on the Southernmost Marathon in Key West, in October. Probably 2017 since there are too many other marathons I want to do in October before this one.
Georgia: Rock and Roll Savannah, in November. Maybe 2016?
Hawaii: Honolulu in December, no idea what year. Probably my last year of 50 states, which is looking like it will be 2018 if I keep up this pace.
Idaho: Already registered for Pocatello in September 2015.
Iowa: Des Moines in October. Hoping to double it with Kansas City, MO, in 2016 if my class schedule permits.
Kansas: Torn between the Eisenhower in April in Abilene and the Prairie Fire in Wichita in October. I have a soft spot for Abilene because I remember driving through it on my first cross-country drive to New York back in 1999. It was the first place I saw soda called "pop" on a menu, and also the first (and last) place I saw gas for under $1.00/gallon in my adult driving life. Prairie Fire seems to be more popular with the Marathon Maniacs crowd. I don't know; maybe I will skip Prairie Fire just because it's in October and there are too many other races in that month.
Kentucky: Hatfield-McCoy in June, hopefully 2016 but I think I might be in class then, so it might have to wait till 2017.
Maryland: Totally undecided, but it will probably be a last-minute sign-up to fill in a gap in my schedule, since Maryland is a drivable state.
Minnesota: Grandma's in June, but no idea what year. I want to say 2016, but, same as Kentucky, it all depends on when I'm in class.
Mississippi: Mississippi Blues back-to-back with First Light, January 2017.
Missouri: Kansas City 2016, doubling with Des Moines.
Nebraska: Don't know, haven't even begun to research it.
New Jersey: Really not sure. There aren't a lot of choices in New Jersey; it's pretty much either Atlantic City or the New Jersey Marathon in Oceanport. I wish they had one in Morristown but so far they don't.
North Carolina: Grandfather Mountain, July 2015. Not looking forward to this one since it will be hot and there are no hills here to train on.
North Dakota: Same as Nebraska, I'll probably let the calendar decide. Maybe Fargo, since it's in May when there aren't a lot of other marathons.
Oklahoma: It has to be Oklahoma City in April. I'm hoping to do this one in 2016.
Rhode Island: As mentioned above, it's going to be Newport in October 2015.
South Carolina: Myrtle Beach in February, hopefully 2016.
South Dakota: Deadwood, June 2015. Two weeks from now!
Wyoming: Haven't decided yet. I know this will be one of my most expensive marathons to get to and also one of the most difficult ones because of the elevation, so I haven't really been in a hurry to pick my Wyoming marathon.
All right, who wants to join me for any of those? Don't everyone volunteer at once!
Sunday, May 17, 2015
Heat, Hills, and Humidity -- Shires of Vermont Marathon Race Report
State #25, Marathon #32, halfway there!
I started running in 2005, and it has taken me ten years to get to the halfway point. This year I've sped it up some. I've done three marathons already this year, and am registered for three more, and am planning to register for two more on top of that if I can bring myself to sign up for another back-to-back in October. Anyway, this one, Vermont, was not a planned marathon even two weeks ago. But I thought that maybe I could squeeze in another one between Nashville and Deadwood next month. My thinking was that 1) if I didn't do a marathon, I should probably do a longish run of 15-18 miles this weekend anyway, so might as well do the drive and add a few more miles and get credit for another state rather than doing another double Kensington or something else boring, 2) if I did Vermont, I could then have almost all of New England done, all but Connecticut and Rhode Island, which, coincidentally, have back-to-back marathons in October! If I do the back-to-backs, New England could be the first region of the U.S. that I finish. We all know it was inevitable that once I thought "Maybe I should add another marathon", I was going to. So I did.
Vermont is beautiful; everyone knows that. But I kind of don't get the whole existence of Vermont. I don't get how it can have so many perfectly adorable little towns whose economies appear to be based entirely on antique shops, artisan soap companies, and rustic furniture makers. I don't get how every single view in every direction looks like a postcard. I don't get how residents seem to automatically understand exactly how to make sure that their yards have natural-looking wildflowers but also perfect mowing jobs with diagonal stripes and everything. Vermont is almost too precious. (I like New Hampshire better. Same natural beauty but doesn't look like it's trying too hard to look like peoples' mental picture of perfect small New England towns.) Anyway, just because Vermont looks almost contrived sometimes doesn't mean I don't love it. It would almost be un-American not to love it!
The Shires of Vermont Marathon is a point-to-point course starting in North Bennington at Bennington College, and meandering through the back roads of North Bennington, Shaftsbury, Arlington, and Sunderland before finishing in Manchester Center. This is a very well-run race. Every single thing about it was perfectly organized. I stayed in Bennington. There was no expo, but there was packet pickup the night before, at the 13.5-mile aid station on the course, which happened to be a church (naturally, a white church with a steeple). At packet pickup, the church was hosting a $10 all-you-can-eat pancake dinner with locally made maple syrup. I should have stayed but I didn't feel like being social. Marathon road trips to me are like my perfect time to just closet myself in my hotel room and read, read, read for hours, what I always want to do at home but never seem to have time for. So I just picked up my number and T-shirt and went straight back to my hotel.
On race morning you can park at either the start or the finish. If you park at the finish, there is a morning shuttle back to the start. This is what I did. This race has an 8:00 a.m. start time, which to me seems late and is really my only complaint about this race. A 7:00 a.m. race start seems like it would be so much better, considering the high temps usually experienced here. I drove to the finish at 5:00 a.m. through green mountains and a beautiful misty sunrise. I knew it was going to be hot because I was already warm even at 5:00 a.m. I didn't really mind because I like heat, but I definitely have not run in the heat at all this year. The marathon in Nashville had the highest temps I've experienced so far, but even that was only about 70, and had cloud cover the whole way. This one was supposed to be 80 with a mix of clouds and sun that turned out to be 100% sun.
On the shuttle to the start line was the famous Marathon Maniac Larry. His shirt said "1400 marathons" (though I am pretty sure he has more than that now). He's done the 50 States nine times and has or maybe at one time had the Guinness Record for most lifetime marathons. I am a Maniac too but as usual was incognito. I decided this is the last marathon I'm doing without Maniac gear. I like the Maniacs more and more the more marathons I do. (And trust me, 32 marathons may sound like a lot to readers of this blog but it is NOTHING in Maniac World, where hundreds of marathons is not uncommon.)
The start line at Bennington College was very laid-back. We were able to wait inside the VAPA (Visual and Performing Arts) building, which had not only bathrooms but also couches. I am getting spoiled by being able to wait inside for marathon starts since my last four marathons have all had this feature. Some day I will have to wait outside again and will not enjoy it. My Michigan Realtor, Andrea, was also doing this marathon, and, oh, wait, she was also doing three more marathons in a five-day stretch. The Shires of Vermont was the first marathon in a stretch of five New England races designed for 50 Staters. Not me, no, never, no thank you. Anyway, I met up with Andrea and we discussed the heat. I really wanted to take my sleeveless shirt off and just run in a sports bra, but it was see-through so I decided against it. I know science says you stay cooler if you cover up with more clothing, but I simply do not agree. I feel better with LESS clothing no matter what science says.
The whole race was pretty much hills, hills, hills from start to finish. I like hills, a lot, but not so much with the blazing sun in my face. I was really hot and sweaty just a couple miles in, and right in the beginning were some long sections with no shade at all. Luckily they didn't last long, and within a few miles we were on hard-packed gravel roads with a lush canopy of trees and plenty of shade. I did not like the gravel roads, not at all. I know I have said before that I am like the princess and the pea when it comes to running on rocks. The tiniest rock that I land on while running feels like a torture device stabbing my foot. Seriously, these eight or so miles of gravel roads made me wish for my Hokas. I was glad to see pavement again.
Earlier I said my only complaint about this race was the 8:00 a.m. start time, but I just realized that is not strictly true. My other complaint is that the course was open to traffic. I mean totally open. At a few points there were cones separating us from the cars, but most of the time there was nothing, even when we were running with traffic. Even though this is small town New England where all drivers are conscientious and pay attention, it still made me a little nervous. As the race goes on longer, my brain gets stupider and I stop thinking about stuff like cars. All it would take is one driver not paying attention and BOOM! runner down! That did not happen and has not ever happened, but still, it made me nervous.
I got to the half feeling basically okay aside from the heat, and even that wasn't bothering me too much. There was a really big hill between Mile 14 and Mile 15 that took me down a notch, even though there was a sweet covered bridge right in the middle of that hill (red with white trim). I walked a lot of that, the first time I walked in the whole race (but not the last!). Then there was a really nice downhill to make up for it. Then the course became totally exposed to the sun, and suddenly I was really, really hot.
I slowed to a walk, fanned myself with my shirt to try to get some air, wiped the salt crust off my face, and touched the bandanna on my head to find that it was, like, sizzling hot. I felt like I was on fire. Screw it! Shirt was coming off, see-through sports bra or not. I took it off and immediately felt better but still in danger of spontaneous combustion. The sun pounded down on me like I was back in Arizona, only with 95% humidity instead of single digits. It seemed like around every single bend in the road was another cheerful little brook running over a perfect gravel bed with perfect wildflowers all along the edges (did I also mention the course smelled like lilacs the whole way?). I wanted nothing more than to go lie down in every bit of running water we passed. It was like torture.
I had not looked at my watch the whole time, as usual. I always try to just run moderately hard no matter what pace I'm actually going. But just before I got to Mile 20, a volunteer at an aid station told me, "You're the third place woman! Second place is tired! Run, you can catch her!" Then I did look at my watch and saw that my time at almost 20 miles was 2:45, which was a crazy good time considering the difficulty of the course. Unfortunately for me, my race was pretty much done. My stomach was really bothering me even though I had stuck to my tried and true fueling plan (gel at 7, 13, 19, no Gatorade, just water). I'd even popped a salt tab at Mile 15 because of how much I was sweating. My legs felt pretty much okay but between my stomach, the sun, the fact that I knew the last 6 miles consisted of a long, gradual uphill, and my absolute lack of desire to try any harder, I decided I was going to take it easy. So I did. (You do the math: 2:45 just before 20 miles, finish time of 4:07. That is all.)
Pretty soon I wasn't the third place woman anymore as a few women passed me. I didn't care about that either. Most everyone was walking now, and bitching about the heat and the hills. I was actually tired of the scenery, no matter how beautiful it was, and just wanted this experience to be done. The temps were fine when I was walking. I managed a slow jog sometimes, but not often. The aid stations started handing out ice, so every time I passed one -- and there was one every mile after 20 -- I stuffed handfuls of ice down my bra at every station and it usually lasted almost till the next one, which was nice and kept the suffering to a minimum.
The finish line was inside some kind of community building in Hunter Park in Manchester Center. Naturally, this being Vermont, the medal was handmade by a local ceramics company. Of course it was! Finish line food was nothing short of spectacular. They had absolutely everything, from soup and chili and sandwiches to pizza, fruit, chips, bagels, chocolate milk, yogurt and granola, and every kind of beverage you can imagine. I wish my stomach hadn't been in such turmoil so I could've eaten more. Andrea finished shortly after me and we watched age group awards. Astonishingly, even with all that walking I still won my age group, something that has never happened at any marathon ever. I got a cool slate serving plate with the name and date of the race engraved on it. (Second and third place age group winners got local maple syrup, which I would have preferred to my plate but I figured it would be awkward to ask to do an exchange.)
I really thought this would be one of my favorite races, but I can't quite say that it was. The hills were okay, but along with the heat were a little much. I just can't figure out why the late start. I would say 7:00 is the normal start time for marathons, especially warm-weather marathons. The lack of separation from traffic was a little disturbing. And finally, when I read in the course description that the course went through five towns, I thought it meant, like, the center of all of those towns, but that really didn't happen. The great majority of the course was rural residential, and mostly looked the same. Even beautiful views can get boring after that many miles. So it was a good marathon and well-organized but I don't think I would do it again.
(This blog was written during a bout of post-marathon insomnia and fueled by mint Oreos and Diet Coke.)
I started running in 2005, and it has taken me ten years to get to the halfway point. This year I've sped it up some. I've done three marathons already this year, and am registered for three more, and am planning to register for two more on top of that if I can bring myself to sign up for another back-to-back in October. Anyway, this one, Vermont, was not a planned marathon even two weeks ago. But I thought that maybe I could squeeze in another one between Nashville and Deadwood next month. My thinking was that 1) if I didn't do a marathon, I should probably do a longish run of 15-18 miles this weekend anyway, so might as well do the drive and add a few more miles and get credit for another state rather than doing another double Kensington or something else boring, 2) if I did Vermont, I could then have almost all of New England done, all but Connecticut and Rhode Island, which, coincidentally, have back-to-back marathons in October! If I do the back-to-backs, New England could be the first region of the U.S. that I finish. We all know it was inevitable that once I thought "Maybe I should add another marathon", I was going to. So I did.
Vermont is beautiful; everyone knows that. But I kind of don't get the whole existence of Vermont. I don't get how it can have so many perfectly adorable little towns whose economies appear to be based entirely on antique shops, artisan soap companies, and rustic furniture makers. I don't get how every single view in every direction looks like a postcard. I don't get how residents seem to automatically understand exactly how to make sure that their yards have natural-looking wildflowers but also perfect mowing jobs with diagonal stripes and everything. Vermont is almost too precious. (I like New Hampshire better. Same natural beauty but doesn't look like it's trying too hard to look like peoples' mental picture of perfect small New England towns.) Anyway, just because Vermont looks almost contrived sometimes doesn't mean I don't love it. It would almost be un-American not to love it!
The Shires of Vermont Marathon is a point-to-point course starting in North Bennington at Bennington College, and meandering through the back roads of North Bennington, Shaftsbury, Arlington, and Sunderland before finishing in Manchester Center. This is a very well-run race. Every single thing about it was perfectly organized. I stayed in Bennington. There was no expo, but there was packet pickup the night before, at the 13.5-mile aid station on the course, which happened to be a church (naturally, a white church with a steeple). At packet pickup, the church was hosting a $10 all-you-can-eat pancake dinner with locally made maple syrup. I should have stayed but I didn't feel like being social. Marathon road trips to me are like my perfect time to just closet myself in my hotel room and read, read, read for hours, what I always want to do at home but never seem to have time for. So I just picked up my number and T-shirt and went straight back to my hotel.
On race morning you can park at either the start or the finish. If you park at the finish, there is a morning shuttle back to the start. This is what I did. This race has an 8:00 a.m. start time, which to me seems late and is really my only complaint about this race. A 7:00 a.m. race start seems like it would be so much better, considering the high temps usually experienced here. I drove to the finish at 5:00 a.m. through green mountains and a beautiful misty sunrise. I knew it was going to be hot because I was already warm even at 5:00 a.m. I didn't really mind because I like heat, but I definitely have not run in the heat at all this year. The marathon in Nashville had the highest temps I've experienced so far, but even that was only about 70, and had cloud cover the whole way. This one was supposed to be 80 with a mix of clouds and sun that turned out to be 100% sun.
On the shuttle to the start line was the famous Marathon Maniac Larry. His shirt said "1400 marathons" (though I am pretty sure he has more than that now). He's done the 50 States nine times and has or maybe at one time had the Guinness Record for most lifetime marathons. I am a Maniac too but as usual was incognito. I decided this is the last marathon I'm doing without Maniac gear. I like the Maniacs more and more the more marathons I do. (And trust me, 32 marathons may sound like a lot to readers of this blog but it is NOTHING in Maniac World, where hundreds of marathons is not uncommon.)
The start line at Bennington College was very laid-back. We were able to wait inside the VAPA (Visual and Performing Arts) building, which had not only bathrooms but also couches. I am getting spoiled by being able to wait inside for marathon starts since my last four marathons have all had this feature. Some day I will have to wait outside again and will not enjoy it. My Michigan Realtor, Andrea, was also doing this marathon, and, oh, wait, she was also doing three more marathons in a five-day stretch. The Shires of Vermont was the first marathon in a stretch of five New England races designed for 50 Staters. Not me, no, never, no thank you. Anyway, I met up with Andrea and we discussed the heat. I really wanted to take my sleeveless shirt off and just run in a sports bra, but it was see-through so I decided against it. I know science says you stay cooler if you cover up with more clothing, but I simply do not agree. I feel better with LESS clothing no matter what science says.
The whole race was pretty much hills, hills, hills from start to finish. I like hills, a lot, but not so much with the blazing sun in my face. I was really hot and sweaty just a couple miles in, and right in the beginning were some long sections with no shade at all. Luckily they didn't last long, and within a few miles we were on hard-packed gravel roads with a lush canopy of trees and plenty of shade. I did not like the gravel roads, not at all. I know I have said before that I am like the princess and the pea when it comes to running on rocks. The tiniest rock that I land on while running feels like a torture device stabbing my foot. Seriously, these eight or so miles of gravel roads made me wish for my Hokas. I was glad to see pavement again.
Earlier I said my only complaint about this race was the 8:00 a.m. start time, but I just realized that is not strictly true. My other complaint is that the course was open to traffic. I mean totally open. At a few points there were cones separating us from the cars, but most of the time there was nothing, even when we were running with traffic. Even though this is small town New England where all drivers are conscientious and pay attention, it still made me a little nervous. As the race goes on longer, my brain gets stupider and I stop thinking about stuff like cars. All it would take is one driver not paying attention and BOOM! runner down! That did not happen and has not ever happened, but still, it made me nervous.
I got to the half feeling basically okay aside from the heat, and even that wasn't bothering me too much. There was a really big hill between Mile 14 and Mile 15 that took me down a notch, even though there was a sweet covered bridge right in the middle of that hill (red with white trim). I walked a lot of that, the first time I walked in the whole race (but not the last!). Then there was a really nice downhill to make up for it. Then the course became totally exposed to the sun, and suddenly I was really, really hot.
I slowed to a walk, fanned myself with my shirt to try to get some air, wiped the salt crust off my face, and touched the bandanna on my head to find that it was, like, sizzling hot. I felt like I was on fire. Screw it! Shirt was coming off, see-through sports bra or not. I took it off and immediately felt better but still in danger of spontaneous combustion. The sun pounded down on me like I was back in Arizona, only with 95% humidity instead of single digits. It seemed like around every single bend in the road was another cheerful little brook running over a perfect gravel bed with perfect wildflowers all along the edges (did I also mention the course smelled like lilacs the whole way?). I wanted nothing more than to go lie down in every bit of running water we passed. It was like torture.
I had not looked at my watch the whole time, as usual. I always try to just run moderately hard no matter what pace I'm actually going. But just before I got to Mile 20, a volunteer at an aid station told me, "You're the third place woman! Second place is tired! Run, you can catch her!" Then I did look at my watch and saw that my time at almost 20 miles was 2:45, which was a crazy good time considering the difficulty of the course. Unfortunately for me, my race was pretty much done. My stomach was really bothering me even though I had stuck to my tried and true fueling plan (gel at 7, 13, 19, no Gatorade, just water). I'd even popped a salt tab at Mile 15 because of how much I was sweating. My legs felt pretty much okay but between my stomach, the sun, the fact that I knew the last 6 miles consisted of a long, gradual uphill, and my absolute lack of desire to try any harder, I decided I was going to take it easy. So I did. (You do the math: 2:45 just before 20 miles, finish time of 4:07. That is all.)
Pretty soon I wasn't the third place woman anymore as a few women passed me. I didn't care about that either. Most everyone was walking now, and bitching about the heat and the hills. I was actually tired of the scenery, no matter how beautiful it was, and just wanted this experience to be done. The temps were fine when I was walking. I managed a slow jog sometimes, but not often. The aid stations started handing out ice, so every time I passed one -- and there was one every mile after 20 -- I stuffed handfuls of ice down my bra at every station and it usually lasted almost till the next one, which was nice and kept the suffering to a minimum.
The finish line was inside some kind of community building in Hunter Park in Manchester Center. Naturally, this being Vermont, the medal was handmade by a local ceramics company. Of course it was! Finish line food was nothing short of spectacular. They had absolutely everything, from soup and chili and sandwiches to pizza, fruit, chips, bagels, chocolate milk, yogurt and granola, and every kind of beverage you can imagine. I wish my stomach hadn't been in such turmoil so I could've eaten more. Andrea finished shortly after me and we watched age group awards. Astonishingly, even with all that walking I still won my age group, something that has never happened at any marathon ever. I got a cool slate serving plate with the name and date of the race engraved on it. (Second and third place age group winners got local maple syrup, which I would have preferred to my plate but I figured it would be awkward to ask to do an exchange.)
I really thought this would be one of my favorite races, but I can't quite say that it was. The hills were okay, but along with the heat were a little much. I just can't figure out why the late start. I would say 7:00 is the normal start time for marathons, especially warm-weather marathons. The lack of separation from traffic was a little disturbing. And finally, when I read in the course description that the course went through five towns, I thought it meant, like, the center of all of those towns, but that really didn't happen. The great majority of the course was rural residential, and mostly looked the same. Even beautiful views can get boring after that many miles. So it was a good marathon and well-organized but I don't think I would do it again.
(This blog was written during a bout of post-marathon insomnia and fueled by mint Oreos and Diet Coke.)
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