The St. George Marathon is my favorite race at the distance, so it stands to reason that I’ve run it more times than any other marathon (12 times total).  There’s lots of reasons….for instance, it’s the site of my only lifetime sub-3 hour marathon (1996, a 2:57) so that probably helps.  But there’s other stuff to like…..first, this area of the country is just gorgeous, with red rock, blue skies, desert flora and even some black lava mixed in.  There are national parks close by (Zion / Bryce / Capitol Reef), so it’s good vacation country.  We brought our kids here in 1993 and 1996, combining the race with family vacations.  The weather is generally gorgeous in early October, cool at the start, and pleasantly warm by the finish.  And the race organization is superb.  My wife (Kathy) and I like the area so well we’re building a house and moving here in 2012.

Gratuitous picture of St. George scenery, this one in Snow Canyon State Park.

But enough gushing….this is supposed to be a race report, right?  Actually, it was a bit unusual for me to be running a marathon–in 2010, I ran zero, none, nada, zip for the first time since 1990.  For the past couple of years I’ve been focused on ultras, and this was my first marathon since the same race in 2009.  Ultras, particularly the longer variety, are so much different than marathons that it’s almost like a different sport.  The main thing that takes some getting used to is the sheer size.  St. George is far from a mega-marathon, i.e., Boston, New York, Vegas, etc., but it’s much bigger than the garden variety ultra.  (The Hawk 50 that I ran in May, 2011 had 12 total starters.  Even the well-established Lean Horse 100, in August 2011 had only 77 finishers, and maybe 130 starters).  So the 7,000 or so starters, the school buses, etc. were all a bit foreign to me.

My focus on ultras results in a lot of long, slow distance, training with the result that my running times have slowed.  Of course, my advancing age doesn’t help either.  So I didn’t have any real illusions that this would be a fast race.  Looking back at my race times here, I see that I ran 3:20, 3:21, and 3:22 in 2005, 2006 and 2007.  In 2008, my time ballooned to 3:38, but I was coming off a stress fracture.  In 2009, my last trip here, I was back to a 3:26.  However, the 2011 training did not indicate a time anywhere near these levels.  As in 2009, I ran the Lean Horse 100 in late August, about six weeks before St. George.  (See prior blog entry).  In summary, the 2011 race just beat the crap out of me….to use the battery analogy, it ran the reserves down very low, and they needed to be recharged.

I left a business meeting in Indianapolis on Friday, September 30 for an early flight to Las Vegas, where I met Kathy.  We drove up to St. George and spent the day surveying the house construction, picking up my race packet, etc.  Given the limited number of hotel rooms in St. George, I opted to stay in Mesquite, NV (the availability of legal gaming on college football perhaps having had some impact on my hotel choice).  Nevada is on Pacific time, and Utah on Mountain time.  Given the early start time and earlier bus-loading time, I set me alarm for 2:15 AM(!) for the drive up I-15.

The St. George race course is pretty simple–you pile onto school buses and ride up Utah 18 for 26 miles or so.  Then you run into town.  St. George itself is about 2,600 ft. elevation, while the race start is maybe 5,500 ft. elevation.  Typically, the runner needs warm clothes at the start (in spite of the multiple fires built by race organizers) and much less clothing later in the race.  This year, the fires were plenty to take off the early morning chill.

Fires provided an opportunity to keep warm and relax before the race start.

A crowded start, especially for someone used to smaller races.

I wedged myself into the starting crowd, somewhere near the signs for 8:00 or 8:30 pace per mile, not that anyone really obeys those things.  My standard start for a 100-miler is to walk for the first 10 minutes.  But, this being a marathon, I figured I should run.  So I did.  The race starts in the dark, which is a bit surreal–thousands of runners heading off down a dark highway.

St. George is known for being a net downhill marathon, which it is (see the beginning and ending elevations above).  The first seven miles drop nicely, but miles seven to 12 actually are a net uphill…and a couple of tough uphills even.

The sun cresting the Utah countryside.

St. George Marathon scenery, somewhere in the first 10 miles.

With my focus on ultras, its sorta hard to get back in the swing of running hard for 26 miles.  I mean, generally I mix walking and running.  It’s not uncommon to go a few miles with another runner, at a pleasant conversational pace, discussing all sorts of things.  In the marathon, runners seem much more focused on splits, pace, etc.   Plus, hell, everyone has their earphones in.  Difficult to have much of a conversation in one of these things.

But I was enjoying the scenery and remembering the days when my pace was much faster and when I too was really focused on splits and pace per mile.  I had sorta hoped I might be in the 3:30 time frame, an eight minute pace, but that was clearly not going to happen.  I just settled in to enjoy the day and the scenery.

Probably my favorite point in the race (other than the finish, of course) is about the 12 mile mark.  Snow Canyon state park begins to come into view, and the course takes a decided turn to the downhill.

I told you it headed downhill.

Headed downhill, approaching Snow Canyon state park.

Having run a 100-miler about six weeks earlier, one might think that “just” a marathon would be easy.  Au contraire.  As described earlier, the Lean Horse event just beat the hell outta me, and I was not recovered for this event.  Plus, as one might have guessed from the early morning temperatures, it was getting warm with the sun fully out.

As a result, the last 10 miles or so were pretty uncomfortable.  I took regular walking breaks, something that would have mortified me a few years ago.  But what the hell….I wasn’t setting any records, personal or otherwise.  My finishing time was 3:43 and my feet hurt at the end.  Really.  All that pavement pounding left my feet sore.

For an ultra runner, marathons are pretty intense.  But I’ll probably keep running St. George, pace notwithstanding.  In 2012 it will be my hometown marathon, I get guaranteed entry, so why not?  After all, it is like an old friend.

My mentor.

I’m a relative newbie to ultra running, but I’ve discovered one thing:  I don’t do well in hot weather.  I’ve run Lean Horse twice before.  It was hot both times, I had stomach problems and felt like crap during the day.  I signed up again.  This exchange from “The Couch” episode from Seinfeld pretty well explains the logic gap:

JERRY: You’re not very bright, are you?

GEORGE: No, I’m not. I would like to be, but I’m not.

More and more I feel like George Costanza–a dim-witted bald man working his way through life (and in my case, through ultra running).

The Lean Horse Hundred is run along the Mickelson Trail starting in Hot Springs, SD.  It’s generally considered an “easy” 100, with an ideal running surface and limited / gradual elevation gains and losses.  Plus, it’s almost impossible to get lost or make a wrong turn.  (“Almost” being the key word.)  Race director Jerry Dunn is a really nice guy, and works hard to promote a family atmosphere, as in the “Lean Horse family,” or more broadly the “ultra running family.”  There are a lot of first-timers in the event each year.

For those flying to the race, Rapid City is the closest major airport, about an hour north.  I selected early flights out of Kansas City, which seem to have a better chance of on-time arrival than those later in the day.  As a result, I landed in Rapid City at about 9:30 AM on Friday.  Rather than head directly to Hot Springs (a town so small there is no McDonalds or Wal Mart) I hung around Rapid City for a bit, getting some food and last minute supplies.  I remembered a very nice neighborhood park from a previous trip, and lounged in the shade before heading to Hot Springs.

The race headquarters is the Mueller Center, kind of an all-purpose facility and the site of check-in, pre-race briefing and the finish line.  Jerry provided an update on the course change for 2011.  In the past two years, the course had started at the Mueller Center, then headed out of town five miles to Argyle Road for another 11 miles before picking up the Mickelson Trail.  That version of the course was a pure out-and-back.  This year the start was moved to the Minnekahta trailhead a few miles out of town.  This would provide more time on the Trail itself, but would require taking a spur trail in the town of Custer and moving the turnaround to Hill City to achieve the 100 mile distance.  The return trip followed the previous version, taking Argyle Road and winding through town.  The revised start location would also require buses, scheduled to leave at 5:15 AM.

Jerry’s update was uneventful.   He queried how anyone could get lost or make a wrong turn on such a well-marked trail.  I almost raised my hand to explain, having sailed past the 95 mile turnoff to Hot Springs two years ago.  Hell, it was 3 AM, dark and my mind was fuzzy…..that’s how you make a wrong turn.  Jerry also noted that sometimes “shit happens” out on the trail, and you just have to go with it.

Cuisine from “Chez Pizza Hut” for pre-race pasta and an early bedtime marked Friday evening in Hot Springs.  I again stayed at the Best Western directly next door to the Mueller Center, very convenient for the start and finish.  The first snag in the race occurred pre-start:  the buses that were supposed to leave at 5:15 AM didn’t show.  This has to be an RD’s worst nightmare.  But, as Jerry said, shit happens.  We all carpooled to the start.  (I believe the buses ultimately arrived at the Mueller Center–apparently there was some confusion over the departure time.)

Runners getting last minute instructions at the Minnekahta trailhead.

The predawn weather was pleasant, but it was apparent it would warm up quickly.  As is my current practice, I started out walking for the first 10 minutes, putting me close to the back of the pack in the early going.  Out on the trail, pretty scenery, feeling good.  Who could ask for more?  I was very thankful for the opportunity to participate.

Sunrise on the Mickelson Trail.

An early morning trek through the South Dakota prairie.

I’d opted to use a large capacity Camelbak for the first time during a race.  A two-bottle waist belt had been my previous choice, but I got tired of the extra weight around my midsection.  Plus I’d run out of water one year between aid stations.  To avoid carrying the extra weight of the Camelbak the whole way, I opted for a single handheld in the cool temps until the Pringle aid station (16.3 miles), then picked up the Camelbak.  It was already getting warm at 9:15 AM when Pringle arrived.

One more view of the early race scenery.

The course generally grinds upwards until about the 38 mile mark, drops to the turnaround then climbs back up.  With the out and back, the peak is at about the 55 mile mark, with the course then gradually dropping to the finish.  For me, the toughest part of the course was probably the stretch from Harbach Park (28.7 miles outbound) in Custer to the Mountain aid station (37.2 miles).  This portion included the Custer spur trail, and as a result the distance between aid stations was about 9.5 miles (albeit with an unmanned water bottle after the spur trail).  At my pace, this stretch was done in about the noon – 2PM time frame.  It was hot from the outset, and temperatures continued to rise.  At Harbach I’d been able to get some food down, primarily fruit.  As the afternoon ground on, the familiar “nothing looks good” feeling was there.  My first thoughts of dropping were in this part of the course–I felt that bad and it was still only 2 PM!  But I knew that a downhill and cooler temperatures would ultimately arrive, and I kept slogging on.  Slowly.

This innocuous looking trail was a hot grind in the early afternoon.

Sure enough, we reached the high point at Crazy Horse and started heading downhill.  There’s a bit of shade on this portion of the course, and additionally a cloud cover appeared.  Temperatures dropped, and even a few drops of rain fell!  I thought we might have caught a break…..but the clouds cleared up and we were back in the sunshine and heat.  My aid station stops were limited to ice for my bandana, ice water for the Camelbak and some Coke on ice for refreshments.  No sports drink and no food….my stomach was seemingly on strike.  I hit the halfway point at about 10:45 elapsed time, about 30 minutes slower than the last couple of years.

Keith Straw of Malvern, PA heading back while I was still outbound. Dude in a pink tutu kicked my butt and finished third overall!

The climb back up towards Crazy Horse and the Mountain aid station was long and warm, with the sun hanging stubbornly in the sky.  I covered much of this stretch with Stephanie James, an Auburn grad with multiple graduate level degrees.  It’s always fun to talk to other runners, especially when you feel like crap.  I kept telling myself it would cool down and I’d feel better.  Last year I’d barfed in the Mountain aid station, but this rather seamy exercise marked a turning point when I started feeling better.  I was hitting this aid station a bit later in the day this year and was hoping history would repeat itself.  I had some noodle soup and Coke….and everything stayed down!  What’s the old saying?  “Thank God for small favors”?

The Mountain to Harbach Park is the opposite of the outbound route, except it skips the Custer spur.  In contrast to the hot slog uphill, this was a very pleasant part of the race.  Darkness falling, cooler temps and a gentle downhill.  I was preparing for a pleasant evening heading back to Hot Springs.

Darkness beginning to fall, downhill on a gentle surface. Life is good again. Isn't it?

Harbach Park was planned as a major aid station for me.  A change of shirts, a band-aid for a blister (one of three on my toes) and exchanging my Camelbak for another handheld.  I had a cup of hot tomato soup and was ready to keep going.

The famous ultra saying goes something like, “It never always gets worse…but sometimes it does.”  As it turned out, my hopes of a strong finish were not to be.  I headed out of Harbach and within a mile felt…..well, rather urgent lower gastrointestinal distress.  It was a bit like what happened to George as he described it in the “Chinese Restaurant” episode:  “And I begin to perceive this impending… intestinal requirement, whose needs are going to surpass by great lengths anything in the sexual realm. So I know I’m gonna have to stop. And as this is happening I’m thinking, even if I can somehow manage to momentarily…extricate myself from the proceedings and relieve this unstoppable force, I know that that bathroom is not gonna provide me with the privacy that I know I’m going to need…”  Fortunately, in my case it was dark by now, there was no one around and plenty of weeds off course.  My privacy requirements were met, and I continued on.

Carrol Creek, famous for grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup, was the next aid station at 69.4 miles.  I rambled in sometime around 10PM and sat in a chair while the nice volunteers provided me with the house specials.  It tasted pretty good and went down pretty well until…..that awful feeling that, “this ain’t staying down” hit.  I lurched out of the chair to the edge of the aid station and had  a rather violent episode of nausea.  Embarrassingly, I’ve barfed in a number of aid stations in different races.  Most notably, no one even says anything!  I guess it’s just part of volunteering in the late miles of an ultra.  I had brief thoughts that I might have to drop at 70 miles, which I absolutely did not want to do.  I slogged off down the trail, determined to finish and to never run another 100.

The Pringle aid station was next at 76 miles.  Water and out.  Here I became confused about the next aid station.  I knew at the Argyle aid station we would drop off the Mickelson Trail and head down Argyle Road towards Hot Springs.  I hit the Lime Kiln aid station convinced in my 80-mile fatigue that this was Argyle.   I started to head off on a gravel road, thinking it was Argyle Road.  It took three people (one crew member and two runners) to convince me to head back down the Trail.  After a couple of miles, it dawned on me the Argyle aid station was still to come.  Duh.

Of course, we did (finally) hit Argyle Road.  I remembered how hilly the damn thing is.  Additionally, we were treated to a lightening show in the middle of the night, although the rain stayed away. This time, I was watching for the 95 mile turnoff.  Of course, as slow as I was moving, it would have been hard to miss.  I switched off my headlamp and turned on my flashlight for the return trip though Hot Springs.

As noted, Hot Springs is a small town.  There is one primary road going through town, which I’ve probably driven 20 times.  The official course, however, takes runners along bike paths and sidewalks rather than the road.  It’s not terribly well marked, but there are flags and an occasional glow necklace to guide the runners.  As I approached the turnoff to the Mueller Center, I saw RD Jerry Dunn.  He was heading out to replace some glow sticks, but congratulated me and yelled where to turn off.  Somehow, I missed the damn turn.  I started roaming around the streets of Hot Springs, but couldn’t find the street with the Mueller Center, finding myself in parking lot of the Black Hills Credit Union instead.  Took another pass, and still no luck.  Finally, I saw what appeared to be pair of locals stopped at an ATM machine.  I ran towards them, hoping to get some help with directions.  In my haste, I stumbled over the curb and took a nasty fall in the bank parking lot, skinning my knee and elbow, with my light and water bottle scattering.  (I think I also invented some new expletives).  But I caught them before they got away, and got directions back to the finish.  All in all, kind of a fitting wrap up for the event.  Official time was 23:20, town tour included.

The finish of a 100 is always a lovely sight.

Facts and figures.

I finished 23rd out of 75 official finishers.  I’m not sure the number of starters, but I believe it was something over 100.  According to weather.com, the high in Hot Springs on Saturday was an even 100, although it may have been a bit cooler out on the Trail.

Wrong turns.

I ran with one guy (I didn’t get his name) with a pace pretty consistent with mine.  In fact, we left the Custer spur trail about the same time (33 miles or so).  The next time I saw him was post-turnaround, when he was a good five miles behind me.  After the race, he explained he turned around too early, and didn’t discover it until after the five mile climb back up toward the Mountain aid station.  Race officials drove him back down to the spot of his misfortune so he could continue the race…..thus resulting in five bonus miles.  Good job to finish!

Final note.

Running 100 miles is really fun.   Seriously.

To quote George one more time (from “The Beard”):   Jerry, just remember. It’s not a lie… if you believe it.

Brew to Brew is a 43 mile race from the Boulevard Brewery in Kansas City to the Free State Brewery in Lawrence, KS.  It is primarily a relay event, with 10 legs which can be shared by a team of runners, but can also be run solo.  The race director is Lou Joline, an accomplished ultrarunner himself.  B to B was my first ultramarathon in 2005, and I’d only missed one running since then.   It’s just a fun event, with a beer theme taken to heart by many relay team members.

Pre-race libations. Anyone for a Boulevard Wheat at 5:30 AM?

Of course, Mother Nature sometimes throws challenges at early season events.  This year’s baseball home opener on Thursday, March 31 was played in less-than-ideal baseball weather:  50 degrees, an occasional light rain and wind.  (The Royals lost, surprise, surprise).   But the weather warmed dramatically in three days, and Sunday’s race day forecast was calling for temperatures in the mid-to-upper 80′s, very warm for running.  Plus, as a bonus, a 30+ MPH wind from the Southwest, directly in the face of the runners on the trek from Kansas City to Lawrence.  If we could have just exchanged weather for these events…..

Last year’s race report on this event was titled “Through the Past, Darkly” with the sub-heading “What a drag it is getting old.”  The full report can be found earlier in this blog, but basically it’s a story of moving from a sub-7 hour pace a few years ago to damn near dying in a journey lasting 7:30.   Amazing how much a guy can slow in a few post-50 years.  So this year, I was determined to run within my diminishing abilities and not melt down.  Further, I knew the weather / wind was going to be tough, but I would just work through it.

As in past years, the solo runners started at 6 AM at the Boulevard Brewery.  I was on my usual run / walk split, broken down into 10-minute increments.  I started with a run 7, walk 3 minute split, planning to hold this as long as possible.  Normally, 6 AM in early April brings really brisk weather.  Ominously, I was very comfortable in my short sleeved shirt.

The first few miles of the event traverse the Kaw River levee, and are perfectly flat and a very fine running surface.  Who doesn’t like the early miles of a long run?   Comfortable pace, everything feels good, you just know it’s going to be a good day.  The course exits the Levee for the third leg, which is kind of tour of the mobile home parks in Kansas City, Kansas.

You think I was kidding about the mobile home parks?

And yet another.

The course continues through KCK, with a train crossing thrown in.

I didn't get delayed at the train crossing, but things quickly went downhill otherwise.

Legs three through five are not my favorites and represent the more urban sections through Edwardsville and Bonner Springs.  There’s also a fair amount of traffic on this section.  Somewhere in the stretch at the two hour mark, I realized I was already warm.  Jeez….8AM in early April and I’m noticing the heat and humidity?  Not good for a race that would last until the early afternoon.  After the fifth leg, we’d covered just a bit more than half the course at 22.1 miles.  I hit this in 3:56…..definitely on pace for a personal worst in this event, but given the warm weather and the relentless headwinds, I was just focused on doing the best I could.

I didn't ask this guy about his team....seemed best to avoid the subject.

Leg six began the more rural sections of the course…..with a long, steep uphill.  A minor benefit was that it started out headed north, with a temporary break from the wind.  I covered the long hill with a guy who was planning a “journey run,” a 240 mile run along the Katy Trail, a “rails to trails” conversion in Missouri.  He had reservations at inns along the way, and was planning on taking six days to cover the trek.  Sounds like fun!

The sixth leg ends with an aid station at a pig farm.  Really.  At this stop, the wind was blowing so hard the supplies at the aid station were weighted down to keep from blowing off the table.  This was just short of marathon distance at 25.4 miles.  My pace had slowed, I was hot and tired and had a gale blowing in my face…..with 18 miles to go.

End of leg six--at the pig farm.

Leg seven features another unique B to B feature–the boat ride.  The course heads off on a gravel road which abruptly ends with a bridge that has been out for years.  Volunteers operate a boat to transport runners across the appropriately-named “Stranger Creek.”

Taking a ride across Stranger Creek.

Legs eight and nine are run on hilly gravel roads.  By this time, the heat was building and the winds were relentless.   Grinding up a long hill, the wind seemed to take a break…..until I reached the crest and received a hot blast of dust in my face.  That’s about the time I saw these guys:

Having a brewski with these guys was much more appealing than grinding out the last 12 or so miles.

The end of the ninth leg is always appealing.  It means there are only 4.7 miles to go, which is back on a flat, crushed gravel levee surface, and the aid station is manned by the Kansas City Trail Nerds.  The Nerds are always fully equipped.  I had some Coke, refilled with ice and water and headed towards the Free State Brewery.

The perfect running surface had a downside:  it was right into the teeth of the wind, with nothing to break its force.  My pace had slowed even more.  One relay runner motioned me to draft behind him…..a nice gesture, but there was no way I could keep up with him.  I slogged on towards the finish.

A perfect running surface, but nothing to break the wind.

I finally hit the finish line in 8:13, a personal worst by 43 minutes (almost exactly one minute per mile).  I took a bottle of water and lay down on the north (shady, wind-protected) side of the Lawrence City Hall.  Within about 10 minutes I felt much better, ready for some refreshments.

A festive crowd of (mostly relay) runners enjoying food and beer in Lawrence.

The conditions for the 2011 B to B were very difficult–temperatures approached 90 degrees and there was a relentless headwind.  As a result, it was difficult to judge the quality of my effort other than the personal worst in terms of finish time.  Then, weeks after the race, this arrived in the mail:

I'm not even sure what a "grandmaster" is....must be a really old dude!

I loved this event.  Pretty plain and simple, I just loved it.  Not that I’m terribly satisfied with my performance (see the title…more on that later), but it was just a helluva good time.

ATY is a fixed-time event with 72, 48 and 24 hour events ongoing..  In contrast to races of a given distance, the objective in a fixed-time event is to cover as much distance as possible in the allotted time.  ATY has a long and venerable history, with 2010-2011 being the 27th running.  Rather than attempt to even summarize it, the following is a link to the FAQ section of the event’s website.  http://acrosstheyears.com/faq.html At any point in time, multiple events are going on.  The 72 hour event participants started on December 29, with 48 hour participants starting on either December 29 or 30.  Those of us slackers in the 24 hour category started on any one of the three days.

The 2010-2011 version of ATY was held at the Nardini Manor outside of Phoenix, AZ.  Even more than ATY, the Nardini Manor has a long history, dating back to its construction in the early 1900′s.  It is a stately facility located at the edge of development in Buckeye, AZ, complete with gardens and a gazebo on the grounds.

Nardini Manor on December 31.

Walled gardens with citrus (orange? grapefruit?) trees.

View from inside Nardini Manor. Lots of open spaces.

For runners, of course, the best feature of the facility is the certified 500 meter track around the perimeter.  The surface is described as crushed gravel, and when combined with a world-class aid station and timing equipment, along with porta-potties adjacent to the track, it was the perfect setting.  Essentially, it removed all of the variables from a runner’s performance.  All of the variables except weather, that is.  And that would prove to be a big variable, at least on day one.

ATY was my first attempt at a fixed time event.  Despite my advancing age (let’s say I’m squarely in AARP’s marketing sights) I have a lot to learn about ultras, and this was another lesson.  It’s no secret that ultras have become more popular in recent years, with many events holding lotteries for entrance.  ATY is no exception, and I was very happy to get in.  Even though there are no DNF’s (“did not finish”) in fixed-time events, I felt that it was important to respect the event and put forth a solid effort.  (I’m not quite satisfied I accomplished this but, again, more on this later).  Even better, I got my first choice, the 24 hour event starting on December 31.  I would, indeed, go “across the years” running.

I’ve found that one real luxury in life is scheduling a full day with nothing to do prior to a long running event.   I chose to fly from my home in Kansas City, MO to Phoenix on the evening of December 29.  By arriving late that evening I would have all day on the 30th to rest, drink beer and watch college football bowl games.  (Once I concluded that drinking wheat beer was “carbo loading,” much of the conflict in my life disappeared).  So rather than go to the office on the 29th, I worked from home, periodically checking the ATY webcams, the constantly updating leader board and the weather.  It was, of course, the weather causing issues.  The desert has relatively few days of rain, and December’s average rainfall was around .92 inches of rain.  Averages don’t mean much when it’s raining, of course.  And raining it was through much of December 29, leaving parts of the track muddy and slick.  I heard from runners that it rained well into the night, followed by a drop in temperature.  As to my December 29 evening, it consisted of Leinenkugel Sunset Wheats along with the Arizona/Oklahoma State football game.

As noted, December 30 was an “off day,” so I decided to take a trip to Nardini Manor to get sort of a feel for the course and event.  First note…..it’s a long way out there, relatively speaking.  I was staying in Surprise, AZ and it was a full 30 miles to the race site, passing through farm ground, stalled housing developments and even a cattle feedlot.  I stopped outside the Manor and just observed the proceedings.  Wednesday’s rain had been replaced by wind, and it seemed to be blowing like hell.  I could see the runners circling the grounds, battling through the wind.  After my visit, I headed back for some lunch, beer and the K-State football game.  Carbo loading can be fun!

My race day, December 31 dawned cold…..I had to scrape the windshield of my rental car.  I arrived at the Nardini Manor more than an hour before the 9 AM start time and wandered around, surveying the grounds.  Pretty simple really.  A track on the edge of the grounds.  A sort of headquarters area, with a series of tents, one housing an aid station, one housing the timing facilities and then a larger tent where runners have “camped out,” with sleeping bags, tents, air mattresses, etc.  Within the larger tent is a smaller heated tent.

The aid station near the timing mat. I would grow to love the cuisine.

Runners completing yet another lap. The yellow tag signifies a 72-hour participant.

Those of us starting on December 31 listened to a pre-race briefing, and just waited for 9 AM to arrive.  When it did, we took off heading counter clockwise around the track.  (In this event, the direction is reversed every two hours to sort of average out the stresses on the runners’ legs.)  What I discovered about this event is that it is perfect for an accountant.  Imagine…..a fixed distance per lap, a timing chip to measure the number of laps completed, and a running total of distance in kilometers and miles.  It’s an accountant’s dream!  Unfortunately, I’m metrically challenged.  I did not do the basic research before starting to determine that there are 1,609.344 meters to the mile.  (This means a 500 meter lap is .3106 miles).  If I’d realized this, my simple mind would have been continuously engaged in calculations and extrapolations.

Continuously updated lap counter, color coded by event (blue for 24 hr, green for 48 hr, red for 72 hr).

My goal for the event was 100 miles, which I thought would take 23-24 hours.  Since late August, I’d completed two 100′s (Lean Horse and Heartland) and one 50 (JFK) with the latter followed by ATY, with events being spaced by about six weeks each.  The detriment to this schedule is that between recovery and tapering, I didn’t get much actual training.  So I really didn’t have a good feel for how the day would play out.

Under my current theory of running 100 miles, I start by walking the first 10 minutes.  After that, I try to mix running and walking with a goal pace (for a flat course) of around 12 minutes per mile.  Ideally, this gets me to 50 miles at around 10 hours (usually somewhat longer given aid station stops, etc.).  If I can hit this, I’ve got 14 hours to cover the last 50 miles for a 24-hour hundred.  For ATY, I opted for a strategy of running two laps then walking one.  And that was it.  No course changes, no terrain changes, no questionable footing.  Just around and around.  Early running laps were about 3:15, with walking laps being a minute longer.  This meant that it took 10:45 to cover three laps, or .9318 miles.  This was a pace per mile of about 11:32.  Throw in an aid station visit, porta-pottie stops, etc. and I was on goal pace or a bit ahead as the day started out.

The weather, a definite issue on days one and two, was benign on day three with temperatures in the high 40′s.  The track was filled with runners going at varying paces.  Many, especially the 72-hour participants, were simply trying to keep moving forward.  Others were lapping me on a regular basis.  Overall the mood was quite social–runners were issued bibs emblazoned with their names and instructed to wear them so they were visible from the rear.  As a result, it was easy to greet fellow participants and strike up a conversation.  I was generally focused on my pace and spoke just briefly to the other runners.

A participant with an eye for style and color.

At Lean Horse and Heartland I battled nausea for extended periods, and went for long stretches with no nutrition.  That was not an issue here.  Hell, I ate everything in sight, from chocolate cupcakes to pizza to peach cobbler, along with more traditional ultra foods: soup, pretzels, grilled cheese and fruit.  The aid station was truly outstanding.

The cool daytime temperatures were obviously going to drop when the sun went down.  I decided to stick with my shorts and light top until 7 PM if at all possible.  That would be the 10 hour mark when I should be approaching 50 miles.  I planned to change clothes and then alter my walk / run ratio to one each to take into account my tiring state.  Consistent with the convenience of the event, I had left my bag at the side of the track, and simply stopped off to change clothes.  It is surprisingly difficult to execute a simple clothes change after just 50 miles.  My fingers were stiff, and untying and tying shoes took a few minutes, as did pulling off and putting on shirts.  But after a struggling a few minutes, I was back in business, with long pants, two fresh shirts and a jacket.  As temperatures dropped further, I had packages of “Hot Hands,” a chemical warmer to drop in my gloves.

The night wore on, and I kept grinding out the laps.  My pace had begun to suffer a bit with running laps of 3:40 and walking laps of 4:40.  It dawned on me….I was getting sleepy!  At 9 PM?  Well, I am an early morning guy, and 10 PM is my bedtime.  So I popped a No-Doz (the first of three over the course of the night) and kept going.  Aided by caffeine, lap time dropped to 3:30 and 4:30 for running and walking.

As midnight approached, the noisemakers were broken out and fireworks arranged.  Everyone was encouraged to pull off the track and celebrate the New Year.  I didn’t.  I had a good run going and just kept grinding.

This event reminded me once again how hard it is to cover 100 miles on foot.  Good weather (albeit cold), flat track, great support notwithstanding, it’s just a hard grind to cover the distance.  My pace was holding up OK, but it was tiring.  I promised myself that I would take a break and warm up once I hit the 100 mile mark.  A few minutes in the heated tent, maybe even a short nap would put me in shape to close out the event.  Sometime around 5:45 or so, one of my partners / friends stopped by to log a few laps with me.  Steve Toomey has a second home in Phoenix and was spending some holiday time there.  His company was welcome and made the laps to the 100.3 mile point go quite nicely.  I had hit the century mark at 6:15 AM, for an elapsed time of 21:15.  This was a personal best at the distance by 38 minutes.

In hindsight, I should have kept going as long as Steve was willing to stay.  But I was fatigued, a bit cold and had promised myself a break.  Steve took off, and I headed to the heated tent for a break.  However, one of the heaters was broken and the one remaining heater was not adequate to warm the tent.  Instead of getting warmer, I started getting colder.  And stiffer.  I began to lose the resolve to go back out.  I even sat in the car and tried to warm up a bit.  No luck.

There is an old adage in ultra running:  “beware the chair.”  If a runner is not careful a few minutes in a comfortable chair can spell a DNF.  I’d fallen victim to “the chair.”

As noted earlier, there are no DNFs in fixed time events.  Many runners establish a goal, whether it’s 100k or 100 miles and quit when they achieve it.  No shame in that.  I was happy with my performance in getting to the 100 mile mark.  However, I wasted the opportunity to grind out some additional miles….maybe another five or 10.   So I’m sorta disgusted with my lack of resolve to continue to the end.  As Yogi said, “Half this game is 90% mental.”  I need to remember this.

I’ll close this report the way I opened:  I loved this event and would do it again in a heartbeat.  What better way to welcome the New Year?  Next time, of course, I’ll stay out of “the chair.”

Ultra events can be described as physically punishing, but psychologically/spiritually rewarding.  Recently, I’ve focused on spending a few minutes before a long running event simply being thankful.  Remaining healthy and having the ability to train and participate in these events are gifts none of us should take for granted.  While obvious, this has really been brought home to me this year.  A few months ago, one of my partners  dropped dead of a heart attack at age 51.  Another partner, 55, is at M.D. Anderson Cancer Center in Houston, TX fighting cancer for the third time.  The former lived a sedentary lifestyle, the latter a former national class runner dedicated to a healthy lifestyle.  Here I was, on what promised to be a beautiful day in Maryland, getting ready for a 50-mile run.  My good fortune, however undeserved, is appreciated.  Life is good.

You know, lots of “real” ultra runners diss the JFK race.  Too big.  (Well, there are a lot of people there….the largest ultra in the country). Too expensive.  (The entry fee is a bit steep).  The race director gets paid (would you work on a big event with multiple government agencies for nothing?).  It’s not a real trail run.  The towpath is boring.  (More on these later).

This was my second trip to Boonsboro for the JFK, the first being in 2007.  Broadly speaking, there are really three parts to the race.  The event starts in Boonsboro, MD and , after a short stint on paved roads, about 14 of the first 16 miles are on the Appalachian Trail (AT).  The next 26 miles are on the towpath along the Potomac river, with the last eight on paved roads rolling into Williamsport, where the race ends.  The course is a point-to-point horseshoe shape.  The event is one of the oldest and largest of its type.   The organizers provide the following background:

Although open to the public, the JFK 50 Mile is in spirit a military race.  It always has been and always will be.  In 1963, the initial inspiration behind the event came from then President John F. Kennedy challenging his military officers to meet the requirements that Teddy Roosevelt had set for his own military officers at the dawn of the 20th Century.  That Roosevelt requirement was for all military officers to be able to cover 50 miles on foot in 20 hours to maintain their commissions.  When word got out about the “Kennedy Challenge”, non-commissioned military personnel also wanted to take the test themselves as did certain robust members of the civilian population.

Like all runners, I have a litany of excuses ready for a poor performance before the race even starts.  My primary excuse this time was “racing fatigue.”  Please note this excuse is only applicable to old, undertrained runners.  I had run two hundred-milers since late August (Lean Horse and Heartland) and my interim training was poor.  In each case, I did (or tried to do) a modest 20-miler three weeks after the 100 and really struggled.  Heart rate stratospheric, pace slow, muscles tired afterward.  My expectations for the JFK were modest.  I’d run 9:23 last time, but I was now older and fatter, two conditions that would imply a slower time.  Add the aforementioned “racing fatigue” and 10 hours was my forecast.  I had no pacer or crew, and a single drop bag for the finish, containing a towel and clothes for a post race shower and change.

Runners gathered in the Boonsboro High School gym for the pre-race briefing.

Scene from the start. Looks like the NYC Marathon to me.

The AT section. I’m a really poor trail runner.  Clumsy, to say the least (see scars on chin for evidence).  So I was determined to take the AT portion of the course very easy….just picking my way through the rocky sections, running when I could, and getting to the non-technical part of the race.  The trail portion requires concentration….what’s the old saying, “If you look up, you’re going down?”  Definitely true here.  The trail is very rocky.  I would love to watch an elite runner navigate this portion of the course, just to see how it’s done.  Hell, I sprained my foot once and had a stumbling, pinwheeling incident, and I was being careful.  Seriously, people get hurt on this section.  I helped one guy to his feet when he went down right in front of me.  I saw a young lady sitting at the side of the trail crying, being attended by her friends.  Post race, I saw a guy whose face was badly bruised and bandaged…..my guess is the AT.  I was careful through this section, and had lots of runners pass me.  No problem.  I was ready for the mindless, flat running section.  Hell, that’s my specialty. I stumbled off of here somewhere in the 3:40 time frame.  Not fast, but I was upright!

The conga line heading up the AT early in the JFK.

The crowd thins out. Watch out for the rocks!

The towpath section. The next section of the course is almost completely flat, and tracks the Potomac River.  It’s called a “towpath.”  The following is taken from Trails.com:

A view of the Potomac River at the start of the towpath section.

Perfect running surface, gorgeous day, tree lined course. This is boring?

A really big house(?) on the bluffs overlooking the Potomac.

This section of the course is perfect for an accountant.  Mile markers, baby.  You can calculate pace on an individual mile, average pace over a number of miles, impact of a porta-john stop on average pace….well, you get the idea. During this easily-measured section, my pace-per-mile lagged my hopes but met my expectations…..generally somewhere between 10 and 11 minutes per mile.  I would have liked a “personal listening device” on this section of the trail, but they are strictly prohibited by race rules. The upside is that no one is so zoned out they won’t talk to you.  I like to have conversations during a race, and this was the perfect opportunity.  I did meet a runner I’d only known through email…he goes by “Steve de la Sleeve.”  I recognized him from, well, his sleeves. Steve is a musician, and teaches composition at George Washington University in D.C.  We talked about running (surprise), kids, educating kids, etc.  What a nice guy!  We had a good visit until our paces diverged.

The JFK features lots and lots of aid stations, particularly from the AT on.  My stomach has caused problems in recent events, but not here.  Hell, I ate everything offered, although I focused on the pretzel sticks and the black and white cookies.  Everything went down fine.  The noodle soup at about the 34 mile mark was outstanding.  I hit the road section right about 8:30 into the race, with 8.2 miles to go.  A sub-10 hour finish was close enough to shoot for, but would take actual effort.

On to Williamport. I really liked the road section also.  I train mostly on roads, so the surface was fine.  I had heard the locals were a bit pissy about the race, and their actions would tend to reinforce this.  Traffic, and people driving too damn fast given the runners on the road.  Very little shoulder area.  But it was rolling hills, with some sorta pretty countryside.

Not much shoulder, so watch for traffic.

I ran for a while with a guy named Alex, 32 years old.  He had just run his first marathon (Marine Corps) and was doing a 50-miler just a few weeks later.  We had a nice conversation…..his wife is expecting (boy), but she was out crewing for him.  He dropped back ( I see he finished in 10:01, a nice performance in a first 50) as I slogged on.

There were lots of first-time 50-milers in the group.  Virtually all were in uncharted territory by this time, i.e., having run longer than they’ve ever gone before.  I passed quite a few runners, but not because I was fast by any means.  I suppose one of the benefits of having run 100′s is that the last few miles of a 50 are not terribly daunting, unless one has just misjudged their pace badly.  I hit the 48 mile mark at 9:35 and the finish line at 9:55.  Not a particularly good performance, but in line with my conditioning.

The race finishes at a school in Williamsport.  I enjoyed a shower, change of clothes and a very tasty made-to-order burrito.  For more fuel……

Twinkies and chocolate cupcakes.....post race fuel at its best.

For better or worse, I wolfed down a Twinkie…..my first since the 2007 version of this race.  My daughter tells me there’s no expiration date on Twinkies, a fact I find a bit unnerving.  But dang, it was good.

Post race ramblings.

A trifecta. My daughter Sara lives in Baltimore, so a trip to the JFK means a visit to see her.  By chance, Jerry Seinfeld was in town.  An aficionado of the Seinfeld sitcom, I had to attend, albeit the early show.  Lessee…..visit my daughter, see Jerry Seinfeld and run a 50-miler.  That’s what I call a trifecta!

Logistics. Most people choose to stay in Hagerstown, a short drive to the Boonsboro start.  The Seinfeld experience had me staying in Baltimore and leaving my hotel at 4 AM for the drive to Boonsboro and check in.  Worked fine.

Early starters. The race allows runners to sign up for a 5 AM start for those concerned about the 12 hour cutoff.  I hit Boonsboro about 5:15 AM and at first thought I’d missed the start.  I later heard there were 200+ 5 AM starters, and I’d believe it.

Next up. I lucked into the “Across the Years” event in Phoenix over New Year’s.  I’m more excited about this than any event in recent years….a fixed time 24 hour event, my first of the type.

Summary. A gorgeous day, a 50-miler, a visit with my daughter.  Life is good.

Kansas gets kind of a bad rap from a sightseeing standpoint.  No oceans, no mountains, no forests.  Instead, there’s the Barbed Wire Museum in Lacrosse.  Truckhenge (yes, like Stonehenge) in Topeka. The World’s Largest Ball of Sisal Twine in Cawker City.  But there is an area of natural beauty, at least in its own way:  the Flint Hills.  An area of natural prairie that once covered much of the Midwestern United States remains largely intact in this area.   The Heartland 100, billed as the “Spirit of the Prairie,” begins and ends in Cassoday, KS in the heart of the Flint Hills.

OK, OK, I couldn't resist...it is the prairie chicken capital of the world, after all.

The race packet describes the area as follows:

Much of the race is run through Chase County.  According to the latest census information 2,886 people live in the county, along with 66,000 head of cattle.  To give you an idea of the remote country you will be running through, that comes to 4 people and 85 head of cattle per square mile and over ½ of the population, is located in two towns.

There were 98 runners signed up in the 100 and another 33 in the 50 mile run.  Many were from the Midwest, but there were a handful from the coasts, including the California owners of this vehicle:

I like the vanity plates, but more impressive is that they would travel from San Jose in a near-vintage Z-28.

One of my partners in our Wichita, KS office (fifty miles or so from Cassoday) described the four seasons in this part of Kansas as, “hot, hotter, cold and colder.  And always windy.”  Last year’s Heartland featured high temperatures of about 39 degrees, with a cold wind.  In contrast, my car thermometer indicated it was 89 degrees on Friday afternoon.  Saturday was forecast to be only slightly cooler.  I had run the Lean Horse 100 six weeks before Heartland, where it was also hot (temperatures into the 90s) and this was looking like a repeat.

Given the size of and lack of facilities in Cassoday, I stayed in Emporia 37 miles up the turnpike from the race start.  With a 6 A.M. start, I was up shortly after 4 A.M. and on the road within the hour.  As I got on the turnpike (there are no exits until Cassoday) it occurred to me that I’d left my bandanna / scarf in my suitcase.  This was sort of important, in that it was designed with a chamois sewn in and also to hold ice.  In previous warm weather events, I thought this was effective in keeping reasonably comfortable.  Lacking this, I decided to wear a hat (which I never do in warm weather) and planned on keeping it wet and adding ice to it as available.

The second critical item of equipment was a dependable light source.  There was literally no moonlight this weekend, and the prairie promised to be quite dark overnight.  I had two Fenix flashlights, one with fresh batteries, a headlamp and spare batteries for the headlamp.

We were off promptly at 6 A.M., and it was gorgeous:  a dark early morning sky, loaded with stars.  My current theory on 100s starts with walking the first 10 minutes.   There is absolutely no point in going out too fast in the early minutes of a 24 hour event.  Plus, it presumably helps the muscles warm before starting to run.   The early miles were cool, and I’d kept one of my Fenix lights for use in the first hour.  I planned on securing in my waist pack as it became light.  The first hour or so allowed us to watch for the sunrise over the prairie.  I snapped a number of pictures of the horizon as the sky lightened.  Unfortunately, my lack of photography skills botched virtually all of the photo-ops, including this one:

A windmill against the early morning prairie sky.....jeez, it could have been good.

I settled into my half-baked plan of a run / walk mix with a goal time of 12 minutes per mile.  In the big picture, I would like to hit the turnaround somewhere around 10 – 10 1/2 hours, and then take 12 hours or so on the back half.  Of course, 100 mile events have a way of making mincemeat of plans like this.  But I settled in, chatting with other runners (college football is always a good topic) and snapping more pictures.  A couple of the sunrise shots:

Sunrise on the Kansas prairie.

And another one.

The early miles of the race were great, but what would I expect?  I’m a morning person / runner from many years of training.  A major annoyance was the recognition I’d lost my flashlight.  A tight-fisted accountant does not like losing a $60 light due to carelessness.  I inwardly groused about this for miles.

I spent a few of the early miles with Jesse, who is in the Army stationed at Ft. Leavenworth.  Jesse was making his 100 mile debut and had a goal of 20 hours.  That was way faster than me, but he looked like he could do it.  He pulled away from me around the 18 mile mark.

You know the saying, “unless you’re the lead dog, the scenery never changes”?  Well, the scenery on this course varies very little.  After all, it’s run on the prairie.  A few shots as the day unfolded:

I like the sign, but this is actually on a road that is not part of the course.

An expanse of prairie, with a rarity: a sprinkling of trees!

At a recent spot price of $82/bbl, this seems like the best way to make money on the prairie.

As expected, the day began to warm up.  I was right on goal pace, or slightly ahead at Teeterville (25 mile mark and turnaround point for the 50-milers), at Texaco Hill (31.3) and Ridgeline (36.5).  But I was starting to get the sense of overheating.  I left Ridgeline walking with a handful of fruit and my hat filled with ice.  By mile 40 I began to think about going into survival mode….just slowing down and waiting for the cooler night hours.   I eased into the 42 mile aid station, staffed by the KC Trail Nerds and “Bad Ben” Holmes.  Ate some fruit, drank some soft drink, walked across the road and barfed up everything.  As they say….deja vu all over again.  Lean Horse revisited, except that it took 60 miles to get sick there.

The trip to the turnaround at Lone Tree was slow and uncomfortable.  Just hot and not feeling well.  The aid station workers at Lone Tree were great….cooking burgers and pasta, handing out drop bags, filling bottles.  I nibbled on an apple from my drop bag and headed out.  Rather than hitting the turnaround at 10 hours, the wheels had wobbled (a lot) and I was at about 10:50 starting back.  I had a long sleeved shirt and lights at Lone Tree….a bit early since it was 4:50 PM, still warm and still light.

I slogged back to the 42/58 mile aid station, grabbed a piece of watermelon and a saltine cracker and…..barfed it up again.  Jeez, I should be feeling better by now.  I eased out of the aid station, the sun finally dropping low in the sky.  It had to get better, didn’t it?  I mean, it never always gets worse, does it?

Actually it did get better.  The cooler temps were a relief.  I started running with Dick, an attorney from Hutchinson, KS.  We chatted about taxes (well, yes, that’s my profession), the government’s profligate spending, not spoiling your kids, etc.  We hit the Ridgeline aid station together, the one famous for its beans.  I heard the captain say that many runners were on the verge of dropping and the beans brought them back.  I’m not sure I was quite that bad off, but the beans (vegetarian for me, vs the “beanie weenie” alternative) were tasty and the first food I’d been able to keep down for hours.

Dick and I headed out together towards Texaco Hill.  We were just getting into a religious discussion (Dick was a solid Christian, I haven’t been in a church in years) as our paces began to differ.  The Texaco Hill aid station featured hot potato soup, which along with the night air was invigorating.  I left by myself, headed towards Teeterville and the 75 mile aid station.

By the time I got to Teeterville, both my headlamp and flashlight were weak.  I replaced the batteries in the headlamp while a nice young aid station worker unscrambled my iPod headphones, which were a tangled mess.  Some lentil soup and I headed off again, really enjoying the night miles and solitude.  I did run into a couple of creatures…..

The glowing objects were nothing more than a startled black calf and a glowstick, marking yet another cattle grate crossing.

The remaining miles were pleasantly uneventful, with hot food at the aid stations and my energy levels remaining constant.  I rambled into the finish in 23:09.  There are few things in running as welcome as the finish line of a 100 miler.  I finished in 16th place, out of 98 starters and 55 finishers.

A few parting shots…

Overall.  Heartland 100 is a very nice event with wonderful volunteers.  The surface ranges from a very smooth,  almost crushed stone to some pretty good sized loose rocks, but it’s all runnable.  It is not completely flat as one might think but there are no severe hills.  The weather can be a factor, hot or cold….note this year’s DNF rate.  My splits were 10:50 / 12:19.

Old guys rule. The top 10 finishers list is flush with 50 year-olds, including the overall winner.  By my count, six of the top 10 men were 50-plus.

The ultra community is loaded with nice people. Curtis Scott, a 50-mile runner from Oklahoma, found my flashlight, tracked me down through the RD and shipped it back to me.  Thanks Curtis!

Next up. A trip to Maryland for the JFK 50-miler, to visit my daughter, and to see Jerry Seinfeld.  Now that’s a trifecta!

If there was a “state pastime” in South Dakota, it would be biking.  No, not Cannondale or Treks.  We’re talking Hogs.  Fat Boys.  Gold Wings.  The famous Sturgis motorcycle rally was a couple of weeks earlier and drew an estimated 400,000 bikers.  Helmet law?  Naaaah (18 and over, that is).  The town of Hot Springs, SD is about 90 miles south of Sturgis and is the host city for the Lean Horse Ultramarathons.  At least on this weekend, runners were also welcome in South Dakota.

Hot Springs is a small town, with a population is only about 4,100.  But even more telling?  There’s no Wal-Mart.  And no McDonalds.  But there are taverns, which reflect the motorcycle influence:

Bikers welcome in this local watering hole.

And this one. I hope my Blue Moon with an orange wasn't too sissy for the local biker crowd.

Even more telling was the first sign I saw when entering the Best Western motel:

Match this, Ritz-Carlton!

On to the race……

Background

The Lean Horse races include a 100 miler, a 50 miler and a 50k.  The 100 and 50 mile events each begin at 6 AM on Saturday, work their way though town for a couple of miles, then traverse the hilly, graveled Argyle Road to about the 16 mile mark.  The course then picks up the Mickelson Trail, a rails to trails conversion.  The 50 mile runners head to the 25 mile marker and reverse course, while the 100 milers head out 34 miles to the 50 mile turnaround.  The Mickelson Trail is a nearly ideal running surface of finely crushed rock. Grades are gradual, and the course grinds gently uphill to the 42 mile mark, then descends to the turnaround.  Aid stations are roughly every five miles.

Given its friendly terrain, Lean Horse is considered an “easy” 100.  However, it is held in South Dakota in late August, and heat was a factor for the second straight year.  Runners were greeted on Friday with temperatures hitting 105.  Conditions did cool to a high of 95(!) on Saturday.  Coincidentally, these were almost identical conditions to those a year ago.

Despite my advanced age (54) my ultra experience is pretty light.  This was my seventh 100 started, finishing five of the previous six.  I had run my first sub 24 here a year ago with a surprising 21:53….a nearly four hour PR at the time.  I subsequently ran Javelina in 23:00 and Rocky in 23:01 before a DNF at Bighorn two months earlier.  Until the DNF, I thought I was getting a handle on the demands of the event, from food to pacing to attitude.   Bighorn proved that wrong, particularly with the “mental toughness” part.  I really did not want a second consecutive DNF here.

My game plan was pretty simple:  mix in liberal doses  of walking (approximately half, measured by time) from the start, keep moving forward and don’t mess around at aid stations.  I even followed the advice of Karl King and Phil Maffetone and walked the first 10 minutes, with the idea of letting the muscles warm up completely.  The math sorta works out as follows.  Walk five of every 10 minutes at a pace of 13-14 minutes per mile. Run the remaining five minutes at a pace of 9:30 or so per mile.  This works out to about 11 minutes per mile.  Add in some aid station time, and you get maybe 12 minutes per mile or five miles per hour.  This would obviously slow in the later miles and at night.

Last year stomach woes plagued me in this event.  Over the last couple of events I thought I had this figured out:  fruit.  I had begun packing fruit (grapes, oranges, apples) in my drop bags and had not had serious stomach issues in recent events.  So I followed the same procedure this year.  It would not work this time.

The event starts and ends at the Mueller Center in Hot Springs.  The Best Western was literally next door…..I could get ready in my room and walk over for check in.

General milling around and nervousness before the start

The early miles (1-30)

What’s not to like about the first miles of a long run?  The weather was pleasant enough for the 6 AM start, with temperatures at around 70 degrees.  My slow start placed me well back in the group, but that was fine.  We worked our way through town and out to Argyle Road.  The first stretch is very pleasant and wanders through South Dakota farm country.  The early miles are always fun and relaxed.  I spent time talking with a number of runners from all around the country, with a healthy contingent from nearby Midwestern states.

Argyle Road traversing the farm country.

The first sixteen miles heading to the Mickelson Trail passed uneventfully.  I did see a guy wearing VFFs on that gravel.  He’s one tough hombre!  I filled my bandanna with ice, ate some grapes and some solid food, then hit the Mickelson Trail and headed north.

The long, straight Mickelson Trail.

The temperatures did not stay down, of course.  The Trail has very little shade and is a gentle grind higher for much of the outbound trip.  I generally kept my pace and remained reasonably comfortable even as my stomach was beginning to rebel.  I hit the 30 mile aid station in 5:57, right on pace, but wishing some type of food or sports drink would become appealing.

The “diva” miles (30-65)

There’s a Snickers commercial where a guy on a road trip turns into a diva when he’s hungry….cranky, whiney, etc. (The diva is played by Aretha Franklin).  All it takes is for the guy to eat a Snickers to quell his hunger, and he’s back to normal.  I’m pretty sure that’s an accurate description of me with stomach problems in an ultra.  Unfortunately, I’ve yet to find an easy solution.  By mile 30, my food consumption was down to some fruit at aid stations and hydration was water.

While known as an easy course, there are some stretches that can be kind of a grind.  From Herbach Park (mile 35) to Crazy Horse (mile 42) the trail climbs slowly and relentlessly.  For me, this was between about 1 and 2:30 PM, in the relative heat of the day.  My lack of nutrition seemed to be taking a toll as my pace slowed into the turnaround, hitting the 50 mile mark in 10:08.  I tried a couple of Tums at about the midway point, which seemed to help a little.  I was feeling, well, like a diva…..kind of disgusted and sorry for myself.  Best that I was running alone, with no crew.

At times the Mickelson Trail feels very rural with no houses or cars in sight.  Near the turnaround, a busy highway is a few hundred feet away.

On the way to Crazy Horse.

A road sign informing drivers there's 41 miles to Hot Springs. Actually, there's 48, at a time I preferred not to think about it!

As an out-and-back, the runners retrace their steps from the turnaround, starting with the eight mile climb up to Crazy Horse.  When I hit the 60 mile aid station, I saw there was soup available.  Maybe some hot chicken noodle soup would help….what could it hurt?  I sat in a chair and downed a cup.  Instead of helping, as I finished it there was the unmistakable feeling that this wasn’t staying down.  I managed to get across the trail from the aid station and barfed up…..well, whatever.   I collected myself at the side of the trail for a minute before slithering off towards Herbach Park and the 65 mile mark.  I actually felt much better after this episode, nutrition issues aside.  Strangely, my thoughts turned to the Seinfeld episode where Jerry’s multi-year non-vomit streak was felled by a bad black and white cookie (the “Farrakahn / David Duke” cookie).  My more modest streak (since Javelina 2008) had also ended abruptly.

The night miles (65-100)

The night miles in the latter stages of a hundred can be a fun, quiet, beautiful trip, or it can be a death march.  At this point I was guessing the latter.

The next aid station was about when darkness was falling.  I grabbed my headlamp, hat, flashlight and iPod Shuffle, changed into a dry shirt and ate a cup of tomato soup.  Last year, tomato soup was my salvation from ongoing stomach problems, and I was really hoping it would do the same this year.  The weather had become cool and cloudy.  The aid station worker said there was a 30% chance of rain, and offered me a poncho provided by the race director.  I had a trash bag in a drop bag 12 miles away, so I turned down the offer.  Of course, I got a mile outside the aid station and the wind changed and a cold rain started.  Man, if this lasted for a couple of hours I was going to get cold.

Instead, the rain stopped and the cool temperatures remained.   There was a lightning show for the next couple of hours, but the storms stayed to the east.  I worked my way between the aid stations, downing tomato soup and Mountain Dew at each.  My pace varied as did my energy levels.  By the end of the Mickelson Trail (mile 84) I was feeling pretty good, managing to eat some delicious watermelon before heading off on Argyle Road back towards Hot Springs.

The last 16 miles were downright pretty.  A nearly full moon illuminated the starlit sky.  The air was crisp and pleasant.  There were no runners around me, although one crew vehicle kept leap-frogging me, driving ahead and waiting for their runner.  I kept a steady pace on through town and hit the finish at 22:04.

Race director Jerry Dunn provides greetings at my 4 AM finish.

Final ramblings

The gravel on Argyle Road just beat the crap out of my feet.  Note to self:  wear trail shoes in this event……After all my food woes, I decided to do some “Bizarro World” dining Sunday morning, i.e., stuff I don’t generally eat.  So I went to Dales Family Restaurant and had a bacon, egg and cheese omelet, hash browns and a cinnamon roll covered with icing.  It was fabulous!………The winner of this event was in my 46-55 age group.  Mike Vance, 47, of Omaha NE smoked in with a 15:25, two plus hours ahead of anyone else!  I thought my time was respectable at 17th overall, but was only sixth in my age group……Jerry Dunn, the RD, makes a real effort to give Lean Horse a “family” feel, and it works.  Jerry is a heckuva nice guy, and I highly recommend the Lean Horse event.

Race reports are generally fun to write……you can pretend people are actually interested in your event and performance, and you can kind of relive the event, and revel in the completion.  DNF reports are not fun at all, either in the writing or, most definitely, in the reliving.

The previous post in this blog, titled “Skeert,” provides some info on the race.  Generally, it is an out and back course with elevations ranging from around 4,000 feet to 9,000 feet.  The course contains three major climbs and descents, with the initial climb occurring in the first eight miles.  The second major climb is a long grind from miles 30 to 48, with the last climb–appropriately labeled “the Wall”–at about the 66 mile mark.  Temperatures range from warm in the canyons (typically 80+ degrees) to sub freezing on the nighttime ascent.

The “Bighorn Wild and Scenic Trail Runs” actually consist of  a series of races ranging from 30k to 100 miles.  All events except the 100 are held on Saturday and all end in more or less the same window of time (late afternoon to evening) at the very nice Scott Park in Dayton, WY.

The 50-mile course profile is displayed below.   From this diagram, the 100 is run from right to left, then back…..in other words, from “Finish” to “Start” and back.

Course elevation chart

The 100 begins on Friday morning at 11 AM along the Tongue River, following a 9 AM course briefing in Scott Park.  This timing, along with the difficult course pretty much ensures everyone, including the elites, will run though the night.  While the area had seen rain regularly in the two weeks leading up to the race, race morning was gorgeous.  The temperatures promised to be warm during the day, dropping substantially at night.

Awaiting the race start on a lovely morning in Wyoming

I’m not particularly well suited to a course like Bighorn.  I’m a flatlander, and seldom run at elevation.  As can be seen above, the course generally runs between the elevations of 4,000 to 9,000 feet.  Further, there are few hills in northwest Missouri with the size and grade that Bighorn provides.  Finally, I’m not a particularly good trail runner, although the pace I was planning did not make this a major disadvantage.

As with virtually all events of this type, there are interim cutoff times at various points on the course.  Those at Bighorn seemed fairly generous, including the 34 hour finishing time.  However, I had reviewed the prior year splits of runners who had finished in the 32-34 hour range, which was my rather loose goal.  All had been hours ahead of the official cutoffs through at least the first half of the race.  Based on this, I’d developed my own “practical” cutoffs.

As noted above, my view of the course is that there are three major climbs.  The first is about 3,300 feet over about 7.5 miles.  This doesn’t look too severe on the map, but it was a struggle for me.  Hell, I didn’t really expect to have to literally stop to catch my breath so early in the event.  I was way at the back of the pack and amazed how everyone else seemed to move quickly up the incline.  The difficulty of this section reinforced the concerns I had going into the event.  However, somewhere late in the climb I fell in next to Dave Westlake, a multi-year finisher.  He was also shooting for a 32 hour finish, and assured me we were right on pace.  After cresting the top of this first “up” section, I was actually feeling better–both physically and mentally.

The view from my rightful place at the back of the pack.

I really love this part of the country and the Bighorn course is beautiful.  A couple of pictures from the early miles…..

Bighorn scenery.

Wildflowers along the trail.

Dry Fork Ridge was the first major checkpoint.  With a cutoff of 5 hours, I’d set a goal of 3.5 hours and hit it in 3:54.  Acceptable, plus running with a veteran like Dave gave me some confidence in the pace.  My drop bag contained grapes as my food of choice.  Keeping my stomach functioning is typically a real battle over longer events, and fruit is something that (almost) always looks good.  Hit the aid station, had some grapes, some 7-Up, a small amount of “real” food, and politely declined the offered avocado, something unappealing at the best of times.  I was feeling upbeat as the next section contained rolling, gentle downhills.

The trail quality in the first half of this event would probably be considered to go from good to bad to worse.  I was definitely in the “good’ section, as it was dry and clear.  What can be a bit misleading is that the the jeep roads, which one would think would be easily runnable, are actually quite rutted, and there is little in the way of level footing.

Easy footing, yes? Maybe, maybe not.

The next major checkpoint was Footbridge, at mile 30.  Between Dry Fork (13.4 miles) and Footbridge the grades were manageable with a very steep decline leading into Footbridge.  On the map above, this is referred to as “the Wall,” a 2,500 foot decline (outbound) and climb (inbound) over only about three miles.  The trails up to this point were narrow, with some sagebrush and rocks thrown in.  Definitely not technical, but not an area to be on auto-pilot.  Some rolled through shaded forest sections.  All in all, a very nice part of the course.

Typical trail section, Dry Fork to the Wall

As I approached the Wall inbound, the trail quality began to deteriorate.  Heading down the steep incline I dang near fell a few times, from a combination of the mud and slippery, loose rocks.  My mind involuntarily flashed forward to the return trip.  The incline would make the trip up hard enough, but the mud, loose rocks and areas of flowing water would make it very difficult.  But I slipped and slid my way into Footbridge at somewhere around 8:20 elapsed time or 7:20 in the evening.  Thinking I was on pace with my goal times, I checked my cheat sheet to see that my goal was 7.5 hours.  Worse, it took me 20 minutes to get in and out of there.  The warm daytime temperatures were going to give way to sub-freezing temperatures at the higher elevations.  So I changed into long pants, a long sleeve shirt, Gore-Tex jacket, hat and gloves.  Changed into dry socks for the next section, ate some food (grapes, an orange, some real food) weighed in and left.  Not sure how this took 20 minutes, but it did.  I was getting concerned about my cutoffs.

The next section of the course was a long grind upwards, going from 5,000 feet to 9,000 feet over 18 miles.  It was here that the trail ranged from “bad” to “worse.”  Rocky at the bottom, it was also wet, muddy or snow-covered at various times.  Water crossings on makeshift bridges (no handrails, just timbers pulled together).  Some crossings with just some rocks to step on, some that you just slogged through.  Plus, I really didn’t expect it to be so steep in places—while 4,000 feet of climb is significant, it would seem that being spread over 18 miles would limit the incline.  It didn’t seem to.

This section was my undoing.  My stomach wasn’t feeling good, although that wasn’t the determining factor.  The climbs at elevation were just killing me.  I was short of breath, heart racing, stopping frequently just to let my heart slow down and catch some air.  The footing was messy, but I was just slogging along so slow that this factor alone wouldn’t have stopped me.  The course really began getting in my head, thinking about the Wall still awaiting me tomorrow.  By three quarters of the way up the hill, I’d decided to drop.  After all, I could hardly breathe, my heart was racing, how did I know I wasn’t doing some serious damage?

I hit the Porcupine Creek ranger station (48 miles) at about 15:50 elapsed time.  A reasonable time for an 18 mile slog uphill might have been six hours, while my trek had taken seven+.  It was 2:50 AM, my cumulative time was two+ hours behind my goal time.  While the official cutoff was not until 5 AM, based on last year’s splits, I was 10 minutes behind the latest arrival at the ranger station of any runner who finished within the 34 hour cutoff.  I turned in my number and dropped.

The 50-mile runners start from the ranger station at 6 AM Saturday.  Their bus was due to arrive at 5:30 or so, and it would take the ten or so who had dropped back to Scott Park.  I deemed it the “quitters bus.”  So we sat around for couple of hours, near the heater in the tiny building.  The volunteers there were very friendly and helpful.  I rode the quitters bus back to Dayton, where a nice young man named Travis gave me a ride back to Sheridan.  As a final bit of contrast, the winner (Mike Wolfe) who smoked though the course in 18:43 was arriving victorious in Scott Park as the quitters were exiting the bus.

Post-mortem.  I should not have dropped.  Realistically, I had one major challenge left, the Wall.  I could have changed socks and slogged my way down the mountain to Footbridge.  Probably would have hit that aid station at 8 AM, leaving 13 hours to cover the remaining 34 miles.  The Wall would have then decided it.  If I made that, I’m convinced I could have made it back.  Remember, the long climb at the start would be a screaming downhill in the later stages.  As described in the “Skeert” post, I’d mentally conceded I might have to drop before I even started.  Once the course got fully in my head, I was doomed.  The final irony–this year, about 10 runners who hit Porcupine Creek after me finished within the cutoff.

I had no physical woes after the race.  No sore muscles, no lingering problems breathing, no nothing.  It was a lack of mental toughness that cost me a shot at a finish.

Unfinished business. After a DNF, runners often speak of “unfinished business,” vowing to return to complete the course.  I’ve had a number of people tell me that there’s always next year.  All of this brings to mind the old definition of insanity:  doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.  If I come back, I’ll do a couple of things.  First, I’ll come out a few days early and find a place in Burgess Junction, 30 miles or so from Dayton.  This is at 8,300 feet, and a few days there would provide some acclimatization.  Second, I would do substantial climbing training whether on a stairmaster or running the stairs in our 25 story office building.  It was poor planning on my part not to have done this in 2010.  Of course, none of this would matter without the resolve to finish.

Success stories. Dave Westlake finished in 31:36, right on his plan.  Ray Gruenewald, discussed in the “Skeert” post, took care of his unfinished business with a 32:39 finish.  John Adams, from Columbia, MO whom I met at the pasta dinner, finished in 32:34.

The simple answer is that the Bighorn 100 is not an “easy” 100, i.e., the type in which I normally participate: flat, somewhere around sea level, predictable weather.  Bighorn is “none of the above.”  The 50-miler (chronicled in this blog a year ago with the clever title, “Mountain ultras are hard”) just dang near killed me.  I was sure I’d never try the 100 here, which is basically an out and back version of the 50 mile course, although run in reverse.   There are three major (depending on how you define “major”) climbs in the 100 miler, with two of them occurring in the first 50 miles.  A 4,000 foot climb over 18 miles would, based on the projected times, take place sometime between 8 PM and 3 AM, when temperatures would drop to freezing or below.

The 50-mile course sort of “cheats” in that it starts at 8,800 feet with a net decline down to 4,000 feet or so at the finish.  There is one major climb in the 50 mile course, referred to as “the wall,” a very steep portion of the course at about the 18 mile mark.  The 100 mile course equalizes this differential with a 4,000 foot climb starting within a couple of miles of  the start.

The pre-race pasta social offered nothing to ease my concerns.  In fact, quite the opposite.  I sat down with two runners, who coincidentally turned out to be from Missouri.  John Adams, a vascular surgeon from Columbia, and Jake, a prosecuting attorney from Canton, MO near the Illinois / Iowa borders. John said he met a guy who had finished 18 100-milers, but had DNF’d four times at Bighorn.  (DNF = “did not finish”).

We were joined at the table by Ray Gruenewald from Seattle.  Ray was wearing a Western States 100 shirt.  The Western States 100 is sort of the Boston Marathon of 100 milers…..the oldest and the most famous.  Tough, but not the toughest 100 out there.  Ray had finished many other tough mountain races and had one DNF…..yes, you guessed it, Bighorn.  Ray had come out nearly two weeks early to acclimate, staying at a lodge at 8,000+ foot elevation.  Talk about dedication!

So here I sit…..a rugged experience in the 50-miler a year ago, no elevation training, no real training or experience in steep elevation climbs, surrounded by DNF stories of accomplished 100 mile runners.  Skeert.

C Everett Koop, former surgeon general

Elaine Benes, fictional Seinfeld character

Kathy Barnes

The answer may not be obvious to those under thirty or so.  But C Everett Koop was a former surgeon general and strongly against tobacco use.  Elaine Benes, as all Seinfeld devotees know, broke up with NY Mets first baseman Keith Hernandez over his smoking habit.  I just didn’t realize until this trip that Kathy deserves a place right along with them.

The second day of the road trip promised to be….uhhh…dull.  Driving from Sioux Falls to Rapid City across I-90 in South Dakota.  Past endless stretches of ranch land, countless signs for Wall Drug and the Corn Palace, a long and straight interstate with a 75 MPH speed limit.  Sketchy cell phone service and very slow mobile web browsing limited the electronic diversions.  Thank goodness for XM radio and channel 58, E-Street Radio.

The fireworks started when I got a call from the Best Western in Rapid City telling me the only pet friendly room they had was a smoking room.  I said that was OK.  After all, I’d somehow not made a hotel reservation in Rapid City until a couple of days before we left.  Not sure how, but I just missed it.  This being vacation time around Mt. Rushmore, I felt lucky to get a room.  When I relayed the conversation to Kathy, I learned about the depths of her anti-smoking feelings.  She got on the phone (after about three dropped calls) and said she was not staying in a smoking room.  Didn’t want “that stench” for 24 hours, and that it would permeate all of her clothes.  At one point, she said the dogs and I could stay in the room and she’d sleep in the car.  Man, I heard about this for miles.  Combine this with virtually no internet access to dogfriendly.com, limited cell phone service to call for other reservations…….well, let’s just say it was a testy 100 miles or so.

Finally got a call from the Best Western……said they’d moved some things around and we had a nonsmoking room.  Crisis averted.

Other than that, it was a dull day of travel.  Nice tourist spot / rest area / Lewis & Clark historical site where I-90 crosses the Missouri river, but I missed getting a picture.  Warm and sunny, but I’m more concerned about the weather in Sheridan for race weekend.  The pre-race jitters are beginning.  And no matter whether the race goes superbly, I’m not likely to have a celebratory cigar.