tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36727474283471777432024-03-13T07:03:05.159-04:00K E SwabReports on my significant runs, mostly marathons and beyond.Ken Swabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04093841096811631084noreply@blogger.comBlogger99125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672747428347177743.post-66893502682224898532024-03-04T11:51:00.002-05:002024-03-07T10:04:58.116-05:00Black Canyon 60K - February 11, 2024<div><b>Water Crossing I</b></div>"There's a river down there," I note, "and this car isn't getting across it."<div><br /></div><div>We are in line to go to packet pickup for the <a href="https://aravaiparunning.com/network/blackcanyon/" target="_blank">Black Canyon 60K</a> at Deep Canyon Ranch the day before our Black Canyon 60K, but the cars ahead of us hint at a bottleneck on the unpaved road down to the field below. Glancing to the head of the line we see why - cars need to go single file and one at a time to ford Black Canyon Creek, swollen with rain from the previous days. There is no way that I'm going to attempt the ford with our rented Mustang convertible.</div><div><br /></div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt_XbACi3RRbg4BJimhvne7aLazhnNRRfhyXwU7-blB9NyMiYPbQS8-8Br3XCzc_Gr-wh68_Dgz5tkVVQZf7Ut6Na1MSmSok2tNOXDB7BWXtIMu_HCwwlMLm2IJIn6G0Szvs6HxDH6DNEEkooGbt6MaDXMH7yLSajh6tlVTm2nlt2uZS-yepXAiqVBbBqQ/s4608/20240211_065752.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4608" data-original-width="3456" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt_XbACi3RRbg4BJimhvne7aLazhnNRRfhyXwU7-blB9NyMiYPbQS8-8Br3XCzc_Gr-wh68_Dgz5tkVVQZf7Ut6Na1MSmSok2tNOXDB7BWXtIMu_HCwwlMLm2IJIn6G0Szvs6HxDH6DNEEkooGbt6MaDXMH7yLSajh6tlVTm2nlt2uZS-yepXAiqVBbBqQ/w300-h400/20240211_065752.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cold at the start.</td></tr></tbody></table>We park at the top of the road and walk to the creek, where we hitch a ride across with someone willing to risk their somewhat higher rental car.</div><div><br /></div><div>After gathering our bibs and swag we watch some of the leaders of the 100K come thru the aid station at Deep Canyon Ranch before retracing out steps to the creek to hitch a ride back to the other side. At the Mustang with talk with a couple in a BMW Z4 facing the dilemma we had confronted. We give them our parking place so they can hitch a ride, and we head back to the rental car center at the airport to exchange the Mustang for a Ford Escape, which we figure probably can get across the creek in the morning, where we need to be to get the bus to the start of the point-to-point course.</div><div><br /></div><div>At 9:35 Saturday night I get an email that because "the buses will not cross a flowing stream" the parking location has been changed. That's a relief and I can go to bed with one less thing to keep me awake the night before the race. Even so, sleep pre-race takes its usual fitful course.</div><div><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxd2Lj2Ec5JOnen7Awea8YVF6zdr6eiT06lpB08ri6v8wPkZgvpdnlMnzvW0cNyJF3eegyoTMFOG0FeeJ4KRDPN02X_7jDhWhKaqIKi9mRGiPIWc9Faedf7GdfzIl0ZXzzpW2jpDfQagN94x3YDVutARJ4-UWn8-GYGAkFihv4LLkPEtEIYeq061gB1x03/s4608/20240211_070654.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2128" data-original-width="4608" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxd2Lj2Ec5JOnen7Awea8YVF6zdr6eiT06lpB08ri6v8wPkZgvpdnlMnzvW0cNyJF3eegyoTMFOG0FeeJ4KRDPN02X_7jDhWhKaqIKi9mRGiPIWc9Faedf7GdfzIl0ZXzzpW2jpDfQagN94x3YDVutARJ4-UWn8-GYGAkFihv4LLkPEtEIYeq061gB1x03/w400-h185/20240211_070654.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leaving Mayer High School.</td></tr></tbody></table><div><b>Starting Off</b></div><div>Parking and boarding the busses is easy, even in the pre-dawn darkness. It is chilly, and the bus ride is long, at least a half hour. The bus is cold even full of runners. The eastern horizon gradually starts to lighten as the bus labors up the 2000 foot ascent of I-17 toward Mayer High School.</div><div><br /></div><div>Off the bus at 6:40, the temperature is a frigid 26 degrees. I huddle in the lee of the school's doors, trying to stay warm before the start. Finally we go to the start line, and at 7 a.m., run a lap around the dirt track, which is mostly frozen mud with a frozen puddle toward the end. Around the school, onto local streets and we head out a couple of miles to get onto the Black Canyon Trail. The sun is just about peeking over the horizon, but a steady wind from the northeast keeps it chilly. </div><div><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIotS7wKQ50H16JMPhw4KuAT2DdC4Dv-5barBrYKr-eImyPgvjrR2m_6iJ-K9ESp51SruwkARdDnp2eQxkmwKeBwtPZ0Zuys1r5GARCY-yQX7fPOevdEacvCDx83SViSFk6gI53fasQaC2cr-LxDyz_4SAo7Vlshy4HissvQkrg4NBNIgrZnDOJlMXmby1/s4608/20240211_081012.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2128" data-original-width="4608" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIotS7wKQ50H16JMPhw4KuAT2DdC4Dv-5barBrYKr-eImyPgvjrR2m_6iJ-K9ESp51SruwkARdDnp2eQxkmwKeBwtPZ0Zuys1r5GARCY-yQX7fPOevdEacvCDx83SViSFk6gI53fasQaC2cr-LxDyz_4SAo7Vlshy4HissvQkrg4NBNIgrZnDOJlMXmby1/w400-h185/20240211_081012.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Michele leads us early.</td></tr></tbody></table></div><div>It is nice to get off the hard surface of the road, but the trail is reminiscent of running on dinosaur tracks, as the 100K runners on Saturday had churned up mud, which froze overnight. Now we have to navigate over thousands, no tens of thousands, of frozen footprints. Caution is the word for this part, as a misstep could result in a twisted ankle or worse.</div><div><br /></div><div>But after awhile the mud section is finished and the trail is generally smooth with a bit of rolling up and down. Discussions begin with runners travelling at the same pace, including with Michele, who is not only a veteran 100-mile runner, but the owner of <a href="https://www.ornerymuleracing.com/">Ornery Mule Racing</a>, which puts on a number of iconic 100-mile races in the mid-West. We exchange stories, including why trail running is better than road running (no mile markers, better scenery, no repetitive running motion, better aid station food, nicer people).</div><div><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghhNsrE43vZmJaz1Zskm3OJ4NdtFxYhWj21i0hM7G3_BeoShVdJsb8P00anWuvL64r3UyPOXqY78IqAIlgWsZ1XkTzxPXxB6nzwP6SUdUcSQz60U7zxe8YMWdLzktyj0Yz13dPX2FF2E1-QpkUR8KGngDT3uXE1kHkL-CgcBlwpnErbaVS3H4jWkhpXdG2/s4608/20240211_073911.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4608" data-original-width="2128" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghhNsrE43vZmJaz1Zskm3OJ4NdtFxYhWj21i0hM7G3_BeoShVdJsb8P00anWuvL64r3UyPOXqY78IqAIlgWsZ1XkTzxPXxB6nzwP6SUdUcSQz60U7zxe8YMWdLzktyj0Yz13dPX2FF2E1-QpkUR8KGngDT3uXE1kHkL-CgcBlwpnErbaVS3H4jWkhpXdG2/w185-h400/20240211_073911.jpg" width="185" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Welcome to the trail.</td></tr></tbody></table><div>At mile 7.7 we reach the Antelope Mesa aid station. I'm warmed up enough to discard the Little Hottie hand warmers from my gloves. </div><div><br /></div><div><b>Enjoy the Scenery and the Companionship</b></div><div>The first part of the course was a bit of up and down with only about a net down of about 100 feet. Now we have serious downhill, dropping nearly 900 feet over the next 5.2 miles to the Hidden Treasure Mine aid station. Part of the course is alongside a canyon with a creek at the bottom. I inquire if it it Black Canyon. None of the other runners seem to know. (It turns out to be Antelope Creek.) View to the west reveal peaks covered with snow.</div><div><br /></div><div>About a quarter mile from the aid station a female runner comes hustling by. Normally, a dozen miles into a trail race, getting passed, or passing another runner happens infrequently and in slow motion. But she volunteers an explanation that perhaps only is the sort shared by perfect stranger trail runners with each other, "Gotta hurry, gotta get to the portapotty!"</div><div><br /></div><div>At the aid station is a women sitting being attended to by the medical staff. She's suffering some ankle pain and they tell her that they cannot provide any medication to her, but perhaps another runner may have something to offer. I overhear it and offer her a couple of ibuprofen while the medical staff studiously scans the far horizon for coyotes. Hours later she will pass pass us, her ankle feeling better.</div><div><br /></div><div>Over the next stretch Emaad and I spend some time leapfrogging and running with Amanda and Carol, a pair of Canadian runners. Both are using trekking poles. As usual we chat and share stories with them as we go along.</div><div><br /></div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi38N6chQ3X2sFE3uZdsecbuIvaINLcu0xSLrvPuKjCabicdXOR6RLozABDclUNR1tP-xj6GqEwQP-bkeSdERV5EhxA0CQUidxPO04ERpNa6ohF8cMzvGOzsvwhDB7N20cwKwS23oyakUQWlRlOyxInDXKBxWILUDFVk8gaWRDGAMeB993OhgwVODFLYnD2/s4608/20240211_082256.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2128" data-original-width="4608" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi38N6chQ3X2sFE3uZdsecbuIvaINLcu0xSLrvPuKjCabicdXOR6RLozABDclUNR1tP-xj6GqEwQP-bkeSdERV5EhxA0CQUidxPO04ERpNa6ohF8cMzvGOzsvwhDB7N20cwKwS23oyakUQWlRlOyxInDXKBxWILUDFVk8gaWRDGAMeB993OhgwVODFLYnD2/w400-h185/20240211_082256.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Snow covered peaks to the west.</td></tr></tbody></table>As we continue to descent, the vegetation changes, most noticeably with the cacti. Near the top of the course there were only some prickly pear cacti, and maybe some barrel cacti. But a bit further down we start to see the dreaded chollas, notorious for barbs that stick with you. And in awhile with come across the iconic saguaros.</div><div><br /></div><div>It is about 6.5 miles to the next aid station and I pull out my pace card to see how far more we have to travel. I made the pace card to keep track of the cut-off times, but the generous 12 hours to finish should mean there shouldn't be an issue. Indeed, we were 25 minutes ahead of the cutoff at the first aid station, then 35 minutes ahead at Hidden Treasure AS and I stopped thinking about it the rest of the day.</div><div><br /></div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJHMz3sXvV05mGpVA5B5e4JYPmb8e11B-P8EC94ZI9vgWaIVT3kmo_-mzFPFqfRm5gUUPPWyY5Td6FbEJh6CL7TdOK4ZABXbkWolFVQtguHn0Zj5TB4y0w5HgwqYCUIoD0crh39JHrrHvQJKCZDTyMbAOxos2KLZ75KI7VWiA9NlDvuXVrBTIy2vt0FYVl/s4608/20240211_130553.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4608" data-original-width="2128" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJHMz3sXvV05mGpVA5B5e4JYPmb8e11B-P8EC94ZI9vgWaIVT3kmo_-mzFPFqfRm5gUUPPWyY5Td6FbEJh6CL7TdOK4ZABXbkWolFVQtguHn0Zj5TB4y0w5HgwqYCUIoD0crh39JHrrHvQJKCZDTyMbAOxos2KLZ75KI7VWiA9NlDvuXVrBTIy2vt0FYVl/w185-h400/20240211_130553.jpg" width="185" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Emaad in the saguaros.</td></tr></tbody></table>But looking at the pace card means not looking at the trail, and in one misstep gravity pulls me down. I sit on the ground and note blood from my left palm, and some scrapes on the right forearm and right knee, and some soreness in my right shoulder. Emaad picks up the pace card. Amanda and Carol ask if I'm OK. I sit - it is curiously relaxing as I look at the mountains in the distance - and evaluate. I assure them I'm alright and tell them to go on. After a minute I get up and put my left glove on to protect the scrape there. and wrap my buff around my right palm as protection in case I fall again.</div><div><br /></div><div>At the Bumble Bee aid station (mile 19.4) I get my drop bag, dispose of my buff, gloves and two shirts, and realize that I've lost my warm hat, perhaps when I fell. With my shirt off I wave to the medical staff and a tech comes over and cleans my scrapes. I put on a clean shirt from the drop bag and Emaad and I go hit the trail again, where we accompany Amanda and Carol on the climb out of Bumble Bee.</div><div><br /></div><div>Bumble Bee is in a valley, and we have a 300 foot climb out the other side. But once there, it is mostly level, with a little bit of rolling. We pass through some areas with saguaros, The weather is getting warm,</div><div>and I've decided that I'll take my tights off at the next aid station.</div><div><br /></div><div>Arriving at Gloriana Mine aid station (mile 24) I enter a portapotty for the tights removal, and tie them around my waist. It is almost 9 miles to the next aid station and I make sure to fill my pack with a mixture of water and sports drink.</div><div><br /></div><div>Emaad and I leapfrog with a young guy (32 YO; Garrett?) who seems - brave? unprepared? - for an ultra. That is, he is running minimalist, with no water or nutrition. He is relying on the aid stations, but now the day is getting warm, there is no aid station for 9 miles, and at our pace, that is going to take hours (turns out to take 3:03). But he seems content and is making as good progress as we are and goes on ahead.</div><div><br /></div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgtGOO4ZRey6BpZJKuHk8S2G3bjDXZ1XVdAL9g5fH5K6xd796M33HrrpAxn2w6oTui8KvvRBvZHL7K9RwTvDdJVflpcPuSAT5Zj8QDf8-_4IGv2Zg8ShBJgstDjpwUp4HjjZBXRxgid5rD30i-6RF1RSPrVv2cMwoun4ZfkT15HQKUzYmcyEy1bt0bcC_Bs" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1576" data-original-width="1261" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgtGOO4ZRey6BpZJKuHk8S2G3bjDXZ1XVdAL9g5fH5K6xd796M33HrrpAxn2w6oTui8KvvRBvZHL7K9RwTvDdJVflpcPuSAT5Zj8QDf8-_4IGv2Zg8ShBJgstDjpwUp4HjjZBXRxgid5rD30i-6RF1RSPrVv2cMwoun4ZfkT15HQKUzYmcyEy1bt0bcC_Bs=w320-h400" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Creek crossing.<br />(Photo by E. Burki)</td></tr></tbody></table><b>Water Crossing II</b></div><div>The course descends a bit and we spy him ahead. He is taking his shoes and socks off to cross Black Canyon Creek that is flowing fairly rapidly. Observing him we can gauge the depth of the water - about mid calf - and the speed of the flow. As he sits on the other side to put his footwear back on, I veer off a bit to take pictures of Emaad crossing, and once he is on the other side, I enter the water. Neither of us contemplate removing shoes or socks, and look forward to getting out feet cooled off. The water is muddy, and one cannot see the bottom, so I tread carefully, getting each step firmly planted before taking the next step. </div><div><br /></div><div>We overtake our minimalist friend as we proceed through cow gates making sure they are closed behind us.</div><div><br /></div><div>After a few more miles the course heads downhill alongside some drainage. Unfortunately the trail is very rocky, as if itself is sometimes an intermittent watercourse, and the chance to run a nice downhill is lost to avoid the chance of turning an ankle.</div><div><br /></div><div>Off in the middle distance to the east we can see traffic on I-17. And after a bit more we can see structures in Black Canyon City. In a few miles we arrive at the Kay Mine aid station (mile32.8). Although we still have 5.2 miles to go, it almost seems like we are done. We see runners who have completed the out-and-back to the Agua Fria River headed to the finish.</div><div><br /></div><div>I have some Coke and add some water to my pack, Emaad refills his bottles, having run dry on the stretch from Gloriana Mine AS, and an aid station worker insists that our friend carry a water bottle for the journey to the river.</div><div><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQMCj3QoDkj9bD16j3WD8ZRDfGQAZQmPiHe4mtnvpC2jej53nHUfcxna8YqWtdaZR0KhwWyT0tUjNlfThRnEjksnVfdOVthvUEQEEbr6DTQZVSQBVxGFeND7w0bl4RCU1-nzHSJkQY_B70OVbmxUkIVBJrcOzk4rScwVEg4c7LwwsiU0qg4HP95mQreSP8/s2152/20240211_172018.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1721" data-original-width="2152" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQMCj3QoDkj9bD16j3WD8ZRDfGQAZQmPiHe4mtnvpC2jej53nHUfcxna8YqWtdaZR0KhwWyT0tUjNlfThRnEjksnVfdOVthvUEQEEbr6DTQZVSQBVxGFeND7w0bl4RCU1-nzHSJkQY_B70OVbmxUkIVBJrcOzk4rScwVEg4c7LwwsiU0qg4HP95mQreSP8/w400-h320/20240211_172018.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At last!</td></tr></tbody></table><div>Part of the two miles to the river is on mining roads, and we pass active mine shafts (not working on Super Bowl Sunday). Our progress seems glacial, even though we are mostly on roads that are runnable. Finally there is dry Slate Creek ahead and for a brief moment I think it is the river. But no, we descend to the creek bed and have to ascend the other side to cross a small ridge to the Aqua Fria. Finally we get to the riverbank, run around the turnaround sign, and head back.</div><div><br /></div><div>My lack of training is taking its toll. Having run only 52 miles in the entire month of January is not a good base for 60K at the beginning of February. I'm pretty tired and not enjoying the return to Key Mine. But what choice does one have?</div><div><br /></div><div>(When we were initially incoming to Key Mine there was a runner who had been to the river telling a volunteer that he was hurting and wanted to drop. The volunteer told him that he only had 1.3 miles to the finish, downhill and on a dirt road rather than a trail and urged him to go on. The runner started out but was soon back, saying he could not make it. Sometimes there are choices.) </div><div><br /></div><div>We go through Key Mine AS, not stopping. The unpaved road takes us down to Deep Canyon Ranch. We run the downhills, slowly. Onto the flat we can see the finish ahead but resume walking. Finally, with a few hundred yards to go, Emaad begins to run. I keep walking, until with 20 yards or so to go, and a photographer waiting at the finish, I run across the line and receive my wooden finisher's award.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>The Data</b></div><div>Emaad's "sprint to the finish" allows him to be more than a minute ahead of me, in 11:16:48. He could have been much further ahead if he hadn't stayed with me throughout the day. Amanda and Carol are 15 seconds behind me. The minimalist is about five minutes back, and Michele paces herself to an 11:30 finish.</div><div><br /></div><div>I finish in 11:18:00, good for 324 of 341 overall, 187 of 196 males, and 3 of 3 in my age group. I'm tied for oldest finisher. There were 34 DNFs.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Epilogue</b></div><div>I can barely climb into the raised Dodge Ram pickup that takes us across the creek to the parking at <a href="https://www.chilleenson17.com/" target="_blank">Chileens on 17</a>. Emaad and I go inside to get something to eat and have a beer. Although it is Super Bowl Sunday and the game is in full swing, there are no TV's inside and the restaurant is not crowded. We are glad to have the Ford Escape rather than the Mustang, as with our tired legs, getting into, and especially out of, a low ride would have been difficult.</div><div><br /></div><div>We arrive at our friend Sara's house just in time for the coin toss for overtime of the game. </div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz3K4j0owPHHtqdvzbc9f1lyWDe0vTyftqgtYuP2QVzYVw5ClCndhEb_E8tcQEXJKLAXPxCNcJDG4jGOfpGC5uFH-7hHK8ZE8ITLa-bS3t7QftHjuetjkql6AlpuWBQ11nVoxExcFlPS25HZ64mVEnnUyeuike4xcSgel0QJxUXCQO14OmhwUlZNELPfyp/s2592/20240224_143046.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2592" data-original-width="2073" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz3K4j0owPHHtqdvzbc9f1lyWDe0vTyftqgtYuP2QVzYVw5ClCndhEb_E8tcQEXJKLAXPxCNcJDG4jGOfpGC5uFH-7hHK8ZE8ITLa-bS3t7QftHjuetjkql6AlpuWBQ11nVoxExcFlPS25HZ64mVEnnUyeuike4xcSgel0QJxUXCQO14OmhwUlZNELPfyp/w512-h640/20240224_143046.jpg" width="512" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Swag: <br />shirt, buff, waterproof bag, bib, finisher award, Squirrels Nut Butter, pace card. </td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div>Ken Swabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04093841096811631084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672747428347177743.post-455360407856763432023-11-21T13:36:00.000-05:002023-11-21T13:36:39.546-05:00Rosaryville Veterans Day 50K - November 11, 2023<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi954-6pfC1DaLHjuouQ4c1aZgjATwldg-QRRqwJ6kCqcAyAYcP9SC2Y5QH10PCdS4gfayxZI9wPmMPH3nTGzt55vCjY6iO3oN1IT3NyF9qkIH6MxHNYPSWsGPYlYQ42kFIpFJnae9OxiCmRC0ZX52lCbassGOHepobtY74dBWOln-Zy78EOKQcUjyXNgXU/s2492/20231111_075851.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1517" data-original-width="2492" height="390" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi954-6pfC1DaLHjuouQ4c1aZgjATwldg-QRRqwJ6kCqcAyAYcP9SC2Y5QH10PCdS4gfayxZI9wPmMPH3nTGzt55vCjY6iO3oN1IT3NyF9qkIH6MxHNYPSWsGPYlYQ42kFIpFJnae9OxiCmRC0ZX52lCbassGOHepobtY74dBWOln-Zy78EOKQcUjyXNgXU/w640-h390/20231111_075851.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jeanne sings the National Anthem while Justin holds the flag.</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="font-weight: bold;"><b><br /></b></div><div style="font-weight: bold;"><b>Return to Rosaryville</b></div><div>I last ran the Rosaryville Veterans Day 50K five years ago (race report<a href="https://keswab.blogspot.com/2018/12/rosaryville-veterans-day-50k-november.html" target="_blank"> here</a>). Returning is a bit of a last minute decision, delaying registration until I'm certain that the weather will be pleasant. Since I wasn't planning to run it, I haven't done any organized training, but figure that the DC Road Runners 20-miler on September 24, along with my usual weekly running, is adequate. </div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFp0vcMGezQ7HhbKybiW9PDwQIZTExDaDTdDt30vydHya6NpcvMlUyPYIUuTU8A4_VnuQAwGYk2jwXmjw1hstSUzTzahz6I-eEztzJ8QjOGaIomBC8nnzkPQ297ksp6Wis82Cn0JIZOVnInUB1S6nhJyvrSetG7HG0D1db4KTT-A_xaKX67dEIH-tTbkCP/s1633/20231111_082912.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1633" data-original-width="1307" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFp0vcMGezQ7HhbKybiW9PDwQIZTExDaDTdDt30vydHya6NpcvMlUyPYIUuTU8A4_VnuQAwGYk2jwXmjw1hstSUzTzahz6I-eEztzJ8QjOGaIomBC8nnzkPQ297ksp6Wis82Cn0JIZOVnInUB1S6nhJyvrSetG7HG0D1db4KTT-A_xaKX67dEIH-tTbkCP/w320-h400/20231111_082912.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jon and Stephanie <br />with Rebecca in front (obscured) </td></tr></tbody></table>Only after registering do I discover that the course has changed from the course I ran seven times previously. That course was notoriously short, likely 29 miles rather than 31.1 miles. But now the course is much closer to the 31.1 miles that equal 50K. The difference comes from replacing the .7 mile run on the park road to the finish with 2.25 miles on the 3-loop peremeter trail to the finish. </div><div><br /></div><div>In addition, there are now cutoffs. There is an intermediate cutoff of 5:20 to start the third loop (about mile 21.6) and an overall 8 hour cutoff to finish. I email the race director and he says they are hard cu-offs designed to save the volunteers from having to put in an even longer day. I understand, but have concerns about making them, particularly the final cutoff.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Running with Friends</b></div><div>At the start I meet Caroline and Stephanie and Jon, and Stephanie's friend Rebecca. Caroline is her usual outgoing self, talking with old friends and making new ones. Staphanie is there as a training run for a 100-miler in January, as is Rebecca.</div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhucl8usN0Kfr-rE3Qr2IsImgpmRNga6DMiBJU6v0HH8NbGrWKMrVpj7kJvvsnankSqRidJceZISXg3POXEgz5TEkUtT7dmyUsCgFLU6WhVGOu8WJksznqhY29G2x4D-_0iO74uuOjZCZTOCxPeiEV6EUaHYiB6dqF4QOBnTKm-ujsDrf9_jh4_16qpMAqI/s1200/Rosaryville%202023%20bridge.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="800" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhucl8usN0Kfr-rE3Qr2IsImgpmRNga6DMiBJU6v0HH8NbGrWKMrVpj7kJvvsnankSqRidJceZISXg3POXEgz5TEkUtT7dmyUsCgFLU6WhVGOu8WJksznqhY29G2x4D-_0iO74uuOjZCZTOCxPeiEV6EUaHYiB6dqF4QOBnTKm-ujsDrf9_jh4_16qpMAqI/w267-h400/Rosaryville%202023%20bridge.jpg" width="267" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In the first loop<br />(Photo by J. Valentine)</td></tr></tbody></table>The five of us start together and stay together thru the first aid station. On the way Jon takes an easy fall and is quickly up unhurt. I deliver my usual quip, "It isn't a trail run unless you fall down or get lost."</div><div><br /></div><div>Jon tells how he fostered a dog, and then would up adopting it.</div><div><br /></div><div>I figure if I stay with this group I'll make the cut-offs as they are all experienced ultra - and 100 mile - runners and I tell them of my fear of the cutoffs which they pretty much waive off as unfounded. Still, I am concerned that my usual "fly and die" running method could fail me.</div><div><br /></div><div>As part of my plan to conserve time I do not linger at the first aid station. Grab some potato chips and cookies and keep moving, walking while eating.</div><div><br /></div><div>Caroline comes with me while the other three linger. I figure if I stay ahead of them I'm in good shape. The sun starts to break through the bit of overcast and the forest turns to yellow-gold. The two of us exchange trail talk, and it isn't long before the leaders of the 20K race, who started a half hour after us, come flying by.</div><div><br /></div><div>We reach the second aid station at the point where we entered the loop and I repeat my grab and go technique. Caroline lingers, and it is the last I see of her during the day.</div><div><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZG60dcFGxdlFtITFQlzLBw6jOxFYbGuBUh2gIz6KYhCmy7o0uS6iWti1Xxk95jcv96SO_RpG7joLZcwoBBov8bjIkTWk1qk4SZoRiwEbMIWHwuwzcinGtv4JGyoM0NyYoWsPyGD4VXSsDAHa7K26d61grJinqeTGkhPrfURHbxjJ_VvtuTIDJ-iiZqlbU/s3418/20231111_111203.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3418" data-original-width="1779" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZG60dcFGxdlFtITFQlzLBw6jOxFYbGuBUh2gIz6KYhCmy7o0uS6iWti1Xxk95jcv96SO_RpG7joLZcwoBBov8bjIkTWk1qk4SZoRiwEbMIWHwuwzcinGtv4JGyoM0NyYoWsPyGD4VXSsDAHa7K26d61grJinqeTGkhPrfURHbxjJ_VvtuTIDJ-iiZqlbU/w209-h400/20231111_111203.jpg" width="209" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not an aid station</td></tr></tbody></table><div><b>Chasing the Clock</b></div><div>I've taken a few pictures during the first loop, but time for lingering is over. I run with Rebecca and a couple of other runners. One expresses concern that while the pre-race packet said the two-loop cutoff was 5:20, the race director announced it as 5:15 at his pre-race brief.</div><div><br /></div><div>The course is single track, mostly in the woods, with a couple of crossings of a grassy power line right of way. It rolls up and down and has a generous amount of fallen leaves to require one to be alert for hidden roots.</div><div><br /></div><div>The cool temperatures at the start led me to wear my harlequin tights as they are fairly comfortable even when the weather warms up, as it does today. By the second loop I had removed my outer shirt and soon enough had pushed up the long sleeves of the first shirt. But chasing cutoffs allows no time to stop to remove the tights.</div><div><br /></div><div>The tights are distinctive and I get several complements from runners. Always on the prowl for new people to tell old stories to, I tell how they were made for me by Hall of Fame ultrarunner <a href="https://ultrarunninghistory.com/eric-clifton/" target="_blank">Eric Clifton</a>, for whom Hoka Cliftons are named.</div><div><br /></div><div>A little over between the two aid stations the leader of the 50K flies by. He finishes in 4:48, only 12 minutes slower than it takes me to complete two loops.</div><div><br /></div><div>Having completed two loops, I now need to go the quarter loop to get to the start of the third and final loop. It seems to go on forever with the clock ticking closer to the cutoff. Rebecca is confident that we will make it but I'm not, so I push on.</div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYM2_Q3QxMGw8UzbsHslJceBmEiDy2I3J9v3AphuRrn5ARPJpa9rSdQYfHCsH3CRaJdy2kG2vCVnOiSqim0s9J-TFJUPItFp7vseMwpX6BRmqoZewrCLhJX51yWEJSBUOUrl3-zizcbGY6Kux1pW8gsfq9-Wx4ouic-3N1ZpgR5h-GSsfhs-tWVz0B86Mn/s3741/20231111_135142.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2128" data-original-width="3741" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYM2_Q3QxMGw8UzbsHslJceBmEiDy2I3J9v3AphuRrn5ARPJpa9rSdQYfHCsH3CRaJdy2kG2vCVnOiSqim0s9J-TFJUPItFp7vseMwpX6BRmqoZewrCLhJX51yWEJSBUOUrl3-zizcbGY6Kux1pW8gsfq9-Wx4ouic-3N1ZpgR5h-GSsfhs-tWVz0B86Mn/w400-h228/20231111_135142.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The first, third and fifth aid station.<br />Bacon and pireogies the latter two visits.</td></tr></tbody></table>Finally, at about 5:12 I make it. In response to an inquiry the volunteers there say they don't know what the cutoff is. As I go past, the race director appears and I tell him of the discrepency in the cutoff times. Since I'm already on my way, I don't hear his response. But six runners were behind me, and three finished in over eight hours, so I suppose the cutoff was not as strictly enforced as I feared.</div><div><br /></div><div>Into the third loop I continue to consult my GPS device and try to calculate what pace I must maintian to finish in 8 hours. It holds steady in the 17 minute/mile range and then gradually starts to creep upward, meaning I'm going faster that the necessary pace. </div><div><br /></div><div>It is reassuring, but I don't let up. Aid stations are still grab and go, but for the first aid station, that means freshly fried bacon on the second loop and bacon and pierogies on the third instead of chips and cookies.</div><div><br /></div><div>The race is run counterclockwise and there are small groups of mountain bikers riding clockwise. With the exception of an encounter at one blind turn, it gives runners and bikers a good chance to see each other. Both groups of trail users are polite and take turns giving the other the right of way. I encounter one group of riders three times.</div><div> </div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3caCklRLxBcjScfTGUmkEHGl8xOXb6GPMw3QHtXowQB2Gowz-aD6hSs8wFyFGAw859kvW9rmPEeBebrF0HwNkW_94KHA-ICqQ38bq9v9aNGo7KyuGYPNa6fO_Op_BhEraZdxWeA7F2gkjM22bENPjb8iXAk3apqSTbwrrLDlbsL8Y2JUO97ZyTYtaEiQF/s1200/Rosaryville%202023%20finish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="800" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3caCklRLxBcjScfTGUmkEHGl8xOXb6GPMw3QHtXowQB2Gowz-aD6hSs8wFyFGAw859kvW9rmPEeBebrF0HwNkW_94KHA-ICqQ38bq9v9aNGo7KyuGYPNa6fO_Op_BhEraZdxWeA7F2gkjM22bENPjb8iXAk3apqSTbwrrLDlbsL8Y2JUO97ZyTYtaEiQF/w266-h400/Rosaryville%202023%20finish.jpg" width="266" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Running to the camera<br />(photo by J. Valentine)</td></tr></tbody></table><div><b>Finish</b></div><div>Leaving the final aid station (mile 29) I have an hour to finish the final quarter loop of about two miles. While I'm now pretty confident about finishing in under eight hours I keep up the pace. I remain a bit ahead of Rebecca and Marvin. </div><div><br /></div><div>Only when I make the left turn off the trail and onto the field with the finish in sight, do I ease up, stop running and begin walking. Rebecca runs past, then Marvin. A few people cheer as I near the finish line, and I run the last few yards, as one doesn't want the photographer to capture visual proof of walking. Across the mats I run right at the photographer seated in a chair as if about to run into him, veering off at the last second.</div><div><br /></div><div>A volunteer removes the chip from my shoe while I sit in a chair to recover.</div><div><br /></div><div>I get a bit of finish line food, negotiate a trade of the 50K finisher's travel mug for a 20K beer glass and head off to Bojangles for a spicy chicken sandwich before driving home. </div><div><br /></div><b>Results</b><div><div>I finish in 7:37:55 (chip time; 7:38:06 gun time), 54 of 60 overall; and first, last and only in my age group at an average pace of 14:55/mile. Caroline is DFL at 8:16 but still good enough to be first military veteran female and first in her age group. There are eight DNFs, including Jon and Stephanie who complete two loops.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>The timing mats at the entry to the loops give lap times and position for the runners after 0.7 mile. What's particularly remarkable is that finishing position was pretty much determined that early in the race. With the exception of a runner who started late, no one's position at the finish is more than three places different from what it was less than a mile into the race, and most are within one or two positions. I was 52 entering the loops and finished 54.</div><div><br /></div><div>My splits: </div><div><div>The start to the loop: 7:11 (ET 0:7:11)</div><div>First loop: 2:08:21 (ET 2:15:31) </div><div>Second loop: 2:21:26 (ET 4:36:57)</div><div>Third loop: 2:23:55 (ET 7:00:52)</div><div>Quarter loop to finish: 37:02 (ET 7:37:55) </div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMssdB_aPNUwDLq8tHJIMsKDZf5S7NysUzE9sUPeWj5V5ZEKzEc4GZRF2Djeu3AaIxjJMlGNlthhuk5PkNIYLAVTYBUsc83Bjj9I3vRxpEXHntecDUdhgXPcl1mVKFm23zzSbEfwapKH_cHkKdznPzHmdt5CszgeADstOlaOGD8keBaSKMKoEzozafKw4S/s2552/20231117_140233.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2041" data-original-width="2552" height="512" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMssdB_aPNUwDLq8tHJIMsKDZf5S7NysUzE9sUPeWj5V5ZEKzEc4GZRF2Djeu3AaIxjJMlGNlthhuk5PkNIYLAVTYBUsc83Bjj9I3vRxpEXHntecDUdhgXPcl1mVKFm23zzSbEfwapKH_cHkKdznPzHmdt5CszgeADstOlaOGD8keBaSKMKoEzozafKw4S/w640-h512/20231117_140233.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Swag:Buff, sticker, bib, pint glass, wrist band</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div>Ken Swabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04093841096811631084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672747428347177743.post-82970324798667847092023-07-04T00:49:00.004-04:002023-07-04T00:50:49.474-04:00Finger Lakes 50s 50K - June 24, 2023<p><b>We've Been Here Before</b></p><p>This is my third time running Finger Lakes 50s 50K, having done it it 2007 and last year (<a href="http://keswab.blogspot.com/2022/08/finger-lakes-50s-50k-july-2-2022.html">report here</a>). Emaad is doing with me, having done the 25K in 2007.</p><p>He drives us up on Friday, we go directly to packet pickup at the race start/finish at the <a href="https://www.fs.usda.gov/recarea/gmfl/recreation/camping-cabins/recarea/?recid=80817&actid=29" target="_blank">Potomac Group Campground</a> in Finger Lakes National Forest, then take the 20 minute drive to my Watkins Glen house, where we greet Sandy, who came up a few days earlier, and go out to eat. It is Fish Fry Friday, a weekly western New York tradition, but both of us choose alternatives, rather than risk digestive discontent the night before a race.</p><p>Nevertheless, sleep for both of us is unsettled, a normal occurrence before a race, and matches the weather, which threatens showers, thundershowers or rain.</p><p>Up at 0500, we have a bite to eat, and drive to the forest under gloomy skies. We park along Potomac Road as instructed, walk to the campground to check-in and walk back to the road for the 0630 start.</p><p><b>First Loop</b></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKTB9vy1q8nIMatIhJ6lYzWKnjTlPMloXAVjlxZDQcrNR_W5fQDV3da5pYlPE_rtseuBPz94p3kHeCXJLYHBmcJkCT6j4382jYj7j-1jlqzCJwFfkQgPrgp4dHD_09_rewDKj1KcjBG8zPgtydTe3yT2Xrqno3N_BqPV8scynyLKTHCy3vo_kiq_ZwdX47/s4608/20230624_064947.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2128" data-original-width="4608" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKTB9vy1q8nIMatIhJ6lYzWKnjTlPMloXAVjlxZDQcrNR_W5fQDV3da5pYlPE_rtseuBPz94p3kHeCXJLYHBmcJkCT6j4382jYj7j-1jlqzCJwFfkQgPrgp4dHD_09_rewDKj1KcjBG8zPgtydTe3yT2Xrqno3N_BqPV8scynyLKTHCy3vo_kiq_ZwdX47/w400-h185/20230624_064947.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption">View to the southeast from Burnt Hill Trail early on.</td></tr></tbody></table>The race director gives some last minute instructions, including the traditional "don't let the cows out" admonition with the instruction that unless the next runner's hand is on the gate, don't be polite, just close and lock it.</p><p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPCwqmgBFNuG-f3EH252-UhhX7Fq6Vu734JIfN1N7QAfw8p3FnmMtlEj7yZuv6smxGH1OS03ZaZ3BPqJ2tKY7CBa5q-bOFS59RbrHCXoySigNzSFw2jUC2wXyA6q_kb91zsepC8FExicHo1__QPrhAVO2UXJisCgNYJVydT0ZBS1OVRDN_iNt_47tpjEJa/s4032/IMG_2855.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPCwqmgBFNuG-f3EH252-UhhX7Fq6Vu734JIfN1N7QAfw8p3FnmMtlEj7yZuv6smxGH1OS03ZaZ3BPqJ2tKY7CBa5q-bOFS59RbrHCXoySigNzSFw2jUC2wXyA6q_kb91zsepC8FExicHo1__QPrhAVO2UXJisCgNYJVydT0ZBS1OVRDN_iNt_47tpjEJa/w300-h400/IMG_2855.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't let the cows out.<br />(Photo by E. Burki)</td></tr></tbody></table>We head down Potomac Road, allowing the 68 runners in the 50K (from nine states and one foreign country) and the 38 50-milers (eight states) to spread out. Forty-four (?) 25K runners (four states) will start later. A right turn puts us on single track, including through some high grass (I immediately remember I forgot bug spray to fend off ticks), then across a road and through a pasture (without any cows). I snap a picture of what on clear days is a good view, but today is obscured by clouds. </p><p>We run down unpaved Mark Smith Road and at nearly 4 miles there is water-only aid, manned by a volunteer recording bib numbers. A right turn off the road (<a href="https://www.fs.usda.gov/recarea/gmfl/recreation/hiking/recarea/?recid=80781&actid=50" target="_blank">map of the national forest here</a>) puts us on the Gorge Trail. For nearly the next ten miles the course is generally uphill until the final aid station with about 3 miles to go for a total of 16.5 miles.</p><p>So now you are thinking: 50K is 31.1 miles, so one loop should be 15.5 miles, not 16.5 miles. But on this course each loop is 16.5 miles. First, in ultras, the distance is whatever the race director says it is. Secondly, since this course is used for both the 50K and the 50M, three loops of 16.5 makes 49.5 miles, so the additional "baby loop" to get to 50 miles only has to be a half mile. For those doing the 50K, the additional nearly two miles is a free bonus.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipd5K3hOL19j7KyZ7Q0piZxsyyTblHAW1j26NE4proVSm7hcT4YsJQLf3jT4rQc2udeV3-RMiW1tShWwz9ntzZyaquYScUumsSwnNdf62GkbQBYU1QhDboEIfTtg5RtOuzza4ft76RFA9P4DwaNRUjrLtO6EHWG5Ejh5RAIhgBNUzDUm7tCwgTxOhlLgXm/s3824/20230624_075434.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3824" data-original-width="2868" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipd5K3hOL19j7KyZ7Q0piZxsyyTblHAW1j26NE4proVSm7hcT4YsJQLf3jT4rQc2udeV3-RMiW1tShWwz9ntzZyaquYScUumsSwnNdf62GkbQBYU1QhDboEIfTtg5RtOuzza4ft76RFA9P4DwaNRUjrLtO6EHWG5Ejh5RAIhgBNUzDUm7tCwgTxOhlLgXm/w300-h400/20230624_075434.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Humid on the first loop.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>It is a prototypical eastern trail: rocky, rooty, twisty and up and down. It requires a bit of adjustment from <a href="http://keswab.blogspot.com/2023/06/grand-canyon-rim-to-river-june-10-2023.html" target="_blank">our Grand Canyon Rim-to-River journey</a> two weeks earlier. Fortunately the trail is mostly dry and the stream crossings are not a challenge. The views are - well, views of the inside of a forest. Perhaps spoiled by the magnificent vistas of the Grand Canyon, the trail lacks interest for Emaad and me.</p><p>Once in a while there is a chance for a view, but the misty weather takes that away. We experience a couple of light showers, but they are not heavy and the forest canopy catches most of them. Grey clouds are not scenic. The air clears a bit on the second loop, but not enough to provide sweeping sights.</p><p>But you have to play the hand you are dealt (folding is not an option), so we go on, doing the gorge loop, then up the Interloken Trail to the Ravine Trail - steep downhill followed by steep uphill, a bit of Picnic Area Road past another volunteer checking bibs, then onto the Backbone Trail. It is a largely straight and smooth horse trail, but we don't come across any equestrians, and it is a chance to do some actual sustained running.</p><p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_VosuOZBd3GPd-RdlRCHr9mwqiIg3rAHD5100eGBL-bHTHNc0ffTw8_S_0Jpfxu4TumNFDhEiEkBrwqQJ2fuLB_MRtG0sv5LyBiDeS1YYu0mtM6eLHQTGFn8MhXyQOiti_lhLCI-9EYVLOv8ffAafJNVuSgGWJ7fhv63-o2h4OgPbnv1s9GxnIVijlpQZ/s4032/IMG_2861.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_VosuOZBd3GPd-RdlRCHr9mwqiIg3rAHD5100eGBL-bHTHNc0ffTw8_S_0Jpfxu4TumNFDhEiEkBrwqQJ2fuLB_MRtG0sv5LyBiDeS1YYu0mtM6eLHQTGFn8MhXyQOiti_lhLCI-9EYVLOv8ffAafJNVuSgGWJ7fhv63-o2h4OgPbnv1s9GxnIVijlpQZ/w300-h400/IMG_2861.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and cows.<br />(Photo by E. Burki)</td></tr></tbody></table><br />We arrive at the final aid station and go thru a gate into a pasture with cows. Exiting the pasture, I realize that I have lost my Arizona Trail handkerchief. I figure I can look for it on the second loop.</p><p>By now we have been passed by the leaders of the 25K race. No matter. We turn south onto the Interloken Trail, run on the various boardwalks there (being careful of where they are slippery, and occasionally bouncy). We skirt a couple of ponds and shortly arrive at the finish area in 4:19.</p><p>Emaad and I go to our drop bags. He changes socks and shoes while I change my shirt and grab another handkerchief.</p><p><b>Second Loop</b></p><p> We have been running for miles with a local husband-wife couple since early in the first loop. They work at wineries and we chat about wine. One works at Lakewood Vineyards, which makes a <a href="https://lakewoodvineyards.com/wines/lemberger">Lemberger</a> that Sandy is particularly fond of. We get an advance review of the 2022 vintage, which has not yet been released, but is reportedly good, with overtones of white pepper.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDuC2Pomh8C5gsKg2euNYZBc-Yfe1UcOQTvme_NLfAsmFum3Wsg8ha6RZtcZQIRwaefgxmQICMh_FWOnklIZZiN-6tEyoCiABMklt9cZMqZ91hG_CmKxWp3-z8JacQ1nlICNP_Fd_qvDXQqiH_x549foaIOYkdHEzIrCoahXku84XSAksBHDJtOF5csymb/s2809/20230624_115005(0).jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2106" data-original-width="2809" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDuC2Pomh8C5gsKg2euNYZBc-Yfe1UcOQTvme_NLfAsmFum3Wsg8ha6RZtcZQIRwaefgxmQICMh_FWOnklIZZiN-6tEyoCiABMklt9cZMqZ91hG_CmKxWp3-z8JacQ1nlICNP_Fd_qvDXQqiH_x549foaIOYkdHEzIrCoahXku84XSAksBHDJtOF5csymb/w400-h300/20230624_115005(0).jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Juvenile Eastern Newt on Mark Smith Road.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Headed down Mark Smith Road the second time Emaad spots an bright orange gummi on the ground. I see the same thing as a child's toy. We are both wrong, as the <a href="https://www.dec.ny.gov/animals/67022.html" target="_blank">Eastern Newt eft</a> takes some steps away from us.</p><p>At one of the aid stations the volunteer checking bibs tells Emaad he had been recorded as being a DNF at the finish area. Clearly that isn't the case and the volunteer says he will radio in a correction.</p><p>Someplace along the South Slope Trail I find a timing chip that has somehow torn off the back of a runner's bib. Some runner isn't going to be recorded as finishing. In about a mile we reach an aid station and I turn it in. As I do, a runner comes in with a well worn bib and says it may be his. Sure enough, the bib and chip numbers match and the aid station workers give it to him.</p><p>I'm not enjoying the uphill slog again and I repeatedly urge Emaad to go on. Finally he does, and I'm left to go on myself. I don't mind as I'm mostly walking, but I do urge myself to run on the Backbone Trail. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq5mfLZjESqXZJ6CBwRTWieurLzDX_rrYom9bHW0xtDv1bb8utgXEm6ugylmEh1VPQGQF2K9MsBSu9hL-nqEBJlATGtEnsyXGM4dKVdakptjH-vCdRZYUIEmEahz_8AtK8jxIuZ5FlojcQ_o9K0PMRH-5FmbjNcrY51nssWi6ByVY0x2QKsL5XkCbtUr5_/s2898/20230624_134356.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1335" data-original-width="2898" height="184" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq5mfLZjESqXZJ6CBwRTWieurLzDX_rrYom9bHW0xtDv1bb8utgXEm6ugylmEh1VPQGQF2K9MsBSu9hL-nqEBJlATGtEnsyXGM4dKVdakptjH-vCdRZYUIEmEahz_8AtK8jxIuZ5FlojcQ_o9K0PMRH-5FmbjNcrY51nssWi6ByVY0x2QKsL5XkCbtUr5_/w400-h184/20230624_134356.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking west in the afternoon. Still misty and cloudy.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Since it is straight I play games with myself, looking ahead to a point that I will run to. Then, as I approach it, I'll switch to another point further along. It's a under-promise, over-deliver strategy. </p><p>Every now and then I'm passed by z 50-mile runner on their third loop. Ultimately, five of them will finish their race before I've finished mine.</p><p>Approaching the final aid station I search the ground for my missing handkerchief without luck. I enquire at the aid station but no one has turned one in. And a search passing through the pasture is likewise futile.</p><p>I go on the last few miles, pushing a bit to finish under 9:20. Approaching the finish, I see the clock in the high 9:17s. I sprint hoping to be under 9:18, but just fail, finishing in 9:18:01. Emaad was waiting for me, having finished in 9:00:29.</p><p><b>By the Numbers</b></p><p>My splits were 4:19 and 4:59. I was 60 of 68 overall, 35 of 38 males, and first (and only) in my age group. I was the oldest runner by four years. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5LgAwRmmlI6ZH7yNTJCi1IO0DUlUwsBEa0gdaqRSfXonEOHjZ7q-fiVYquAHU5X2wtQ2LAqa7OOdhjEPD6M5kYEKUejEummEaFWy8jtne5f2xUYeMm3S8TXmR9srycyOh7SXxFo7yp4JrkYUFjDY-fkYsHq6xSfwRVN8eu40W3fIDeq4LYm_e20RL1vT8/s2390/20230628_105130.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2390" data-original-width="1969" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5LgAwRmmlI6ZH7yNTJCi1IO0DUlUwsBEa0gdaqRSfXonEOHjZ7q-fiVYquAHU5X2wtQ2LAqa7OOdhjEPD6M5kYEKUejEummEaFWy8jtne5f2xUYeMm3S8TXmR9srycyOh7SXxFo7yp4JrkYUFjDY-fkYsHq6xSfwRVN8eu40W3fIDeq4LYm_e20RL1vT8/w528-h640/20230628_105130.jpg" width="528" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Swag: bib, shirt, glass, wooden medal.</td></tr></tbody></table>Ken Swabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04093841096811631084noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672747428347177743.post-6282335381498128762023-06-30T12:08:00.000-04:002023-06-30T12:08:50.771-04:00Grand Canyon Rim to River - June 10, 2023<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJGfEiOqHnQgLrpayGYhi6p_Z__qiVo3P82B1ToZyCMb1KZK8KHWyQL_fEJNeYx1NA5y7HHv23aHo_9pWaBWZAKaaQVeli8jOnkMdEpemecaQVzAjWeTqZ2DYT7j8Z_zPMPNpU0KNGWw6uItpo0Nbfb_-UdZ4IPeg6Jig2KNQgwW2RveBwZ_nHr231k-Xq/s3119/original_011ebc3d-a15e-4846-b95b-0c88419fb638_20230611_083059_001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3119" data-original-width="2128" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJGfEiOqHnQgLrpayGYhi6p_Z__qiVo3P82B1ToZyCMb1KZK8KHWyQL_fEJNeYx1NA5y7HHv23aHo_9pWaBWZAKaaQVeli8jOnkMdEpemecaQVzAjWeTqZ2DYT7j8Z_zPMPNpU0KNGWw6uItpo0Nbfb_-UdZ4IPeg6Jig2KNQgwW2RveBwZ_nHr231k-Xq/w218-h320/original_011ebc3d-a15e-4846-b95b-0c88419fb638_20230611_083059_001.jpg" width="218" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Good advice</td></tr></tbody></table><p><b> P</b><b>reparation</b></p><p>Our original plan was to run from the South Rim of the Grand Canyon down to the Colorado River and then up to the North Rim, and return the next day. Severe winter weather damaged the North Kaibab Trail and the need for repairs closed the last couple of miles of the trail below the rim. In addition, the rock slides that damaged the trail also destroyed the water line to the Grand Canyon Hotel on the North Rim, closing it until well after our planned arrival on June 10.</p><p>We decided on doing a rim-to-river run from the South Rim instead, as we had flights and the hard-to-get South Rim hotel reservations in place, and it would still give us a change to see the canyon. Deferral risks never doing it.</p><p>Having no experience in running in the Grand Canyon, and only only one brief <a href="http://keswab.blogspot.com/2017/03/antelope-canyon-55k-february-25-2017.html" target="_blank">visit to the South Rim</a> in 2017 we turn to others for advice as to preparation.</p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGL5eyEIuAbt-fOSqiAguqFjSueIcTJ8vknQsNlYTNNGb7yS0djay4auK0sCkcW2h_W_eUVT9MzdkXIEu_xlm8clcJgrnUO0Cs2pgs-mhlNTdhCwlYuJvix61uJE7KpHfxl6uYS2agmVsCNdA1otN7NfQ7ZqPQOw8Ee1d-94DpTRywO1OuJlmPJBXW2GE_/s4608/20230610_050229.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2128" data-original-width="4608" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGL5eyEIuAbt-fOSqiAguqFjSueIcTJ8vknQsNlYTNNGb7yS0djay4auK0sCkcW2h_W_eUVT9MzdkXIEu_xlm8clcJgrnUO0Cs2pgs-mhlNTdhCwlYuJvix61uJE7KpHfxl6uYS2agmVsCNdA1otN7NfQ7ZqPQOw8Ee1d-94DpTRywO1OuJlmPJBXW2GE_/s320/20230610_050229.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ready to go!</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Our Arizona friend Cathy has run rim-to-rim and rim-to-river in the past, and she enthusiastically agrees to join us and recruit others for the adventure. She provides invaluable advice as to preparation, including clothing, hydration, nutrition and equipment. I supplement that by joining several Facebook groups dedicated to hiking and running rim-to-rim in the Grand Canyon.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjsCq_qUMod3bPkWb8ntI0uZri5TkGjNnQnuIm_wlD8GgMBvj1bHaQ4JGkdyeoNahnrGZ3IwqCKd4nvJIwoImAUm331EziaRTFEL0hY613aydE7rIdOhHcrjmNnzHfSztrx2QHbW0VOnVFmVxt1m1iS64DGOOMdu-H_LwLI-qkQigp1k-p32KkAubrmhL2D" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="625" data-original-width="833" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjsCq_qUMod3bPkWb8ntI0uZri5TkGjNnQnuIm_wlD8GgMBvj1bHaQ4JGkdyeoNahnrGZ3IwqCKd4nvJIwoImAUm331EziaRTFEL0hY613aydE7rIdOhHcrjmNnzHfSztrx2QHbW0VOnVFmVxt1m1iS64DGOOMdu-H_LwLI-qkQigp1k-p32KkAubrmhL2D" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On South Kaibab.<br />(Photo by E. Burki)</td></tr></tbody></table><p><br /></p><p>Frequent running partner Emaad and I add some hill work to prepare for the descending and ascending that the run will entail - 4860 feet down South Kaibab Trail, and 4460 feet up Bright Angel Trail, <a href="https://www.nps.gov/grca/planyourvisit/trail-distances.htm" target="_blank">according to the National Park Service</a>, but there really anything we can do to replicate the Grand Canyon. We run once at <a href="https://sugarloafmd.com/" target="_blank">Sugarloaf Mountain</a>, and I spend some time on a treadmill at 20% incline, but it is more like a pro forma effort rather than a serious one.</p><p>The other parts of the preparation are serious. June 10 is summer at the Grand Canyon and temperatures at or above 100 at the bottom are the norm. So hydration involves a backpack filled with 56 ounces of Gatorade and two water bottles, each with 16 ounces of water for the start. Fuel is a waist belt filled with gels, shot blocs and various sorts of bars totaling 2000 calories. A long sleeve shirt, to provide warmth at the start (it can be chilly before sunrise at 7000 feet), then coverage from the sun later, and something to wet down during the climb out. A cooling towel, hat and handkerchief, to block the sun and to provide for wetting down for cooling. Trekking poles, to transfer weight from the legs to the arms during the ascent. Gaiters, to keep sand and dirt out of the shoes.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiCY0yYSbwuXOcRvBWwLeTKZQk1LfocKrZk1fBAbfmv3GBcJsx2ycxgwEgYuFEO12qYt9DfRh9tW2Kzc7Rjsyrh6Jzfl0XdFW4KgI-vzyWXzM9GIGyHWaKf5R6hZj5uTN-5YzC0prRZ3vVeYEMKkWPBTFyVrSDJEP-P7NtXCrPGT3t_bKJkR6ZKmPjbz5Rb" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="625" data-original-width="833" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiCY0yYSbwuXOcRvBWwLeTKZQk1LfocKrZk1fBAbfmv3GBcJsx2ycxgwEgYuFEO12qYt9DfRh9tW2Kzc7Rjsyrh6Jzfl0XdFW4KgI-vzyWXzM9GIGyHWaKf5R6hZj5uTN-5YzC0prRZ3vVeYEMKkWPBTFyVrSDJEP-P7NtXCrPGT3t_bKJkR6ZKmPjbz5Rb" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hard to see South Kaibab switchbacks.<br />(Photo by E. Burki)</td></tr></tbody></table><p><b>Down South Kaibab</b></p><p>Jim, with Cathy beside him, pick up Emaad, Kevin and I outside Maswik Lodge at 0445 and drives us to a trail near the turnoff near Yaki Point Road (closed to vehicles). Native American music plays in the car on the way, surprisingly both soothing and appropriate. We exit the vehicle and thank him, and walk the quarter mile or so to the South Kaibab Trailhead. The temperature is about 40 degrees, but doesn't feel particularly chilly.</p><p>Obligatory photos taken and restrooms used, we head down at 0504. I've brought a headlamp, but there is no need for it in the predawn light. We immediately head down a series of switchbacks as we move away from the rim. The trail is broad and smooth, without any of the rocks and roots that are endemic on eastern trials, but with steps that make developing a running rhythm difficult. Stopping to take photographs also disrupts the running, but we are here to experience the canyon, not to race.</p><p>We pass a Park Ranger headed up. He had gone down in response to a call about a women in distress but whatever was the problem has been resolved. Later, on Bright Angel Trail, we see signs warning hikers and tourists, "down is optional, up is mandatory."</p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgTk-ItKadutk3kVH8VGO22zCPMQxEWE2LW2WxAX-AHF4FwilOiG1gUvLjVVNooU1bIZoATS7jx9Aoj9s8B497vLYw9T829yBpjdoDkNWgoiogMxhuAueskG5m0wRfRUzJ8ixl598R5qhyqEdSyFh9au4qdq9wcGr49pJBIdMd5GXegDozMsV7ORkg5HARI" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="625" data-original-width="1353" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgTk-ItKadutk3kVH8VGO22zCPMQxEWE2LW2WxAX-AHF4FwilOiG1gUvLjVVNooU1bIZoATS7jx9Aoj9s8B497vLYw9T829yBpjdoDkNWgoiogMxhuAueskG5m0wRfRUzJ8ixl598R5qhyqEdSyFh9au4qdq9wcGr49pJBIdMd5GXegDozMsV7ORkg5HARI=w400-h185" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">O'Neill Point.</td></tr></tbody></table><br />South Kaibab does not disappoint in that regard. The descent is along a ridge into the canyon, so there are views in all directions. Ahead and below is O'Neill Butte, and then we skirt around it (about mile 2) and continue down. In another mile we are at Skeleton Point where we pause for more photos before descending another series of switchbacks.</p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjmkLiB1W9iQKbPkP9a0ZYxzCy1ZJXs429Y7oXLaB5gQqLnr0EBt6HXV3K2dmcHsJ9B6GqKv9JPoiIjgA1F3u8EdWm2Jwuf6ArJnznO4hAzKrDiqyHiiK1ZpmazyiGFoaWJElbS6Ub2ZTkWWLaDUchyFhKUC_1pka35j_XZkO533rdoMQWQMoeBO-FJ7lMF" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="625" data-original-width="574" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjmkLiB1W9iQKbPkP9a0ZYxzCy1ZJXs429Y7oXLaB5gQqLnr0EBt6HXV3K2dmcHsJ9B6GqKv9JPoiIjgA1F3u8EdWm2Jwuf6ArJnznO4hAzKrDiqyHiiK1ZpmazyiGFoaWJElbS6Ub2ZTkWWLaDUchyFhKUC_1pka35j_XZkO533rdoMQWQMoeBO-FJ7lMF" width="220" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cathy and Emaad take in the <br />view on South Kaibab.</td></tr></tbody></table><br />I chat with a hiker ascending the trail. He is wearing a shirt remembering his deceased father, and tells me he has hiked down the trail in his memory, as it was something he loved to do.</p><p>A mile and a half later (and 900 feet lower) we arrive at The Tipoff where we take advantage of the toilet facilities. We chat we hikers whom we have been leapfrogging since leaving the rim. </p><p>My legs are feeling wobbly. I'm not feeling dizzy or otherwise exhibiting signs of heat-related or stress issues and am not have trouble moving, but when I stop I'm having trouble balancing. I take out my trekking poles which I was saving for the ascent, figuring they will be useful now.</p><p>Kevin takes off, and we will see him next at Phantom Ranch. Emaad and Cathy are pulling away from me, but the keep an eye out for me and occasionally wait for me to catch up to them.</p><p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzBR5toktNv7lHm54lPT269148DlvB0hNqXIVFH1ayLwiEIPVxyjzbdVELhgqI9uBlNuqEI5wQo-hqbZPFPMT4yaDcdj9sb1EgOKR2nfqQyWk-2XJz4vwFS4ehb9gcL_y71CTC3hFbTDIZhj2bJMUdRs_P6yJRUjgKFxVWm7xL10qwqi5brnBOiNPBO0ss/s2674/20230610_084351.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1796" data-original-width="2674" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzBR5toktNv7lHm54lPT269148DlvB0hNqXIVFH1ayLwiEIPVxyjzbdVELhgqI9uBlNuqEI5wQo-hqbZPFPMT4yaDcdj9sb1EgOKR2nfqQyWk-2XJz4vwFS4ehb9gcL_y71CTC3hFbTDIZhj2bJMUdRs_P6yJRUjgKFxVWm7xL10qwqi5brnBOiNPBO0ss/s320/20230610_084351.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Read the last sentence: "42 men . . ."</td></tr></tbody></table>We finally spot the Colorado River far below, and marvel as to how we will get there. But another series of steeper descents and switchbacks brings us toward the tunnel to the Kaibab Bridge.</p><p>Emaad and Cathy wait for me there, but before I reach them on the switchbacks, I slowly lose my balance and gently fall/sit on one of the steps. I try to use my poles to stand, fail, and try and fail again. A hiker comes by and offers a hand to pull me up, which I gladly accept.</p><p><b>A Community Helps </b></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnmzktkCEmM2G75a3m4akEwmDmF9xNvgacePz67NdDom_2aNw-uojJKeh5v7Xj6UJl5i-M1gDp0y7uUaPoRAY5hhU_iI0S3TEMMKGntQynqSbr4S6lL_mGVABHSEm5ipLMNPuZOt7pQAGvWIpmjsFaja4TRUSXTJA9F0Xwmbvsyy_HXlZxkcVJkGht2pNp/s2753/20230610_084513.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1482" data-original-width="2753" height="172" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnmzktkCEmM2G75a3m4akEwmDmF9xNvgacePz67NdDom_2aNw-uojJKeh5v7Xj6UJl5i-M1gDp0y7uUaPoRAY5hhU_iI0S3TEMMKGntQynqSbr4S6lL_mGVABHSEm5ipLMNPuZOt7pQAGvWIpmjsFaja4TRUSXTJA9F0Xwmbvsyy_HXlZxkcVJkGht2pNp/s320/20230610_084513.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We were not the first here.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>More picture taking and we cross the bridge. I stop to take pictures of Native American ruins and a sign commemorating the construction of the bridge.</p><p>Forty yards later I see Cathy sitting on the ground and blood running down her shin. She had fallen and a rock had sliced an inch-long cut in her leg. Emaad takes out his first aid kit, applies antiseptic and a gauze pad to cover the wound and stop the bleeding. But he doesn't have any tape to hold it in place. We ask a passing hiker and he provides a roll of elastic open weave tape. Emaad wraps it around Cathy's leg, and then discovers that he left his mini-Swiss Army knife in his room. He tries to rip it with his teeth but that does not work. We ask the next hiker if he has a knife and he produces one. First aid successfully completed, we go on to Phantom Ranch (mile 7.5), arriving about 0910, where we meet up with Kevin. He has taken a soak in the Colorado River before going to Phantom Ranch.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirUFX2W3mSw0RwRIOdopwPMD18lXll_LfMqn8AU5L7K5e2tgyxyBWxUV5R7U7scafL99eCyhWnPsBA3k6If4FcAoFdGL_Zu6unMhk__TDZ8_SGlpN1V3VIjQLoiVr3YFG6d3_2HRYVh9SzOCEkvxx_RK8yUOaEwlpEjvuTcBRvRo8mt9y1BYYRytZEke6g/s4608/20230610_081842.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2128" data-original-width="4608" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirUFX2W3mSw0RwRIOdopwPMD18lXll_LfMqn8AU5L7K5e2tgyxyBWxUV5R7U7scafL99eCyhWnPsBA3k6If4FcAoFdGL_Zu6unMhk__TDZ8_SGlpN1V3VIjQLoiVr3YFG6d3_2HRYVh9SzOCEkvxx_RK8yUOaEwlpEjvuTcBRvRo8mt9y1BYYRytZEke6g/w400-h185/20230610_081842.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Approaching South Kaibab Bridge.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>After the traditional lemonade there, and spending several minutes sitting and snacking, I mail pre-written and stamped postcards so they can be carried out by mule (the only way to supply the camp). We top up our water and I add a lemonade to one of my handhelds. Cathy notes that the temperature is 90 degrees, an observation greeted with relief, as summer temperatures there routinely exceed 100 degrees. On the way down the trail, Kevin steps off the trail to soak in Bright Angel Creek.</p><p>We turn right to cross the other bridge across the Colorado and get on the River Trail. Kevin takes off. (We won't see him again until we are having a bite to eat hours later at Maswik Lodge and he comes in clean, dressed and with his wife and son).</p><p>Cathy has warned us that the River Trail is largely level and sandy. I meditate that the river had deposited the sand there when its flow was free, before completion of the Glen Canyon Dam in 1963. We turn up a bit (every step up now is one less later, I think), but then descend again, meaning we will have to reclimb that bit again. There are rafts on the river, and some are pulled to the shore below us.</p><p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhsMzsHLvwvQKV0qTqwCXhqktBeQhtekNK1T5ZSlPOdK2cjChC5_lasV4nq2Aycn_RsNpEqyPga-glRKrzQCzz76G0mZqgrWLbJdeorwoLtfyWwM0MWxF8jHm0EyLPkq0Y0YuvbyZ6a_HILxR65_rdAq1alD7-cs0vsLQyBLzQ_BwxwmgyaQQTwHIvbpkti" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhsMzsHLvwvQKV0qTqwCXhqktBeQhtekNK1T5ZSlPOdK2cjChC5_lasV4nq2Aycn_RsNpEqyPga-glRKrzQCzz76G0mZqgrWLbJdeorwoLtfyWwM0MWxF8jHm0EyLPkq0Y0YuvbyZ6a_HILxR65_rdAq1alD7-cs0vsLQyBLzQ_BwxwmgyaQQTwHIvbpkti" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mules have the right of way.<br />(Photo by C. Blessing.)</td></tr></tbody></table>After about a half mile we step aside for a mule train, headed by a pair of wranglers, on its way to Phantom Ranch. The mules ignore us and pass by.</p><p><b>Up Bright Angel</b></p><p>Finally (about mile 9.5) we reach the River Resthouse. We refill our water, soak our hats, towels and sleeves in Pipe Creek and chat with the ranger stationed there.</p><p>Now it is time to go up. My legs have entirely recovered - going up is easier than going down. Up we go. Bright Angel Trail follows the Pipe Creek drainage and crosses the creek several times, with us wetting ourselves down at every opportunity. </p><p>(An aside here - why is this Bright Angel Trail? Bright Angel Creek is at least a mile upstream and on the other side of the Colorado River. Bright Angel Trail follows Pipe Creek and Garden Creek. The trail that follows Bright Angel Creek is the North Kaibab Trail.) </p><p>Every time we look up, the rim looks no closer, even after we have climbed 2000 feet in elevation. And it looks impossible to get there. There is a large red wall looming near the rim and yet another wall closer to us. Eleven miles in a series of switchbacks gets us up the first wall, and a steady uphill allows us to climb 500 feet over the next mile.</p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq77fx37Szds6laOS_ZlRLMSMjR1bba6nK8qDUQ5IYau1eawWCOQ2w--QR9pz70qIUq9wtgNfCjSI3gFW19gfWkWGW353w3puphXgM69hjPu6Rb-kSlVVCNiwPnKn2SDn5pwKUgcPXuvGJP9zBm9GAI_s_Fs4FcoJV38MkJKkM2sScflm0rNshN-gJ7mOc/s4608/20230610_130036.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2128" data-original-width="4608" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjq77fx37Szds6laOS_ZlRLMSMjR1bba6nK8qDUQ5IYau1eawWCOQ2w--QR9pz70qIUq9wtgNfCjSI3gFW19gfWkWGW353w3puphXgM69hjPu6Rb-kSlVVCNiwPnKn2SDn5pwKUgcPXuvGJP9zBm9GAI_s_Fs4FcoJV38MkJKkM2sScflm0rNshN-gJ7mOc/s320/20230610_130036.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Up Bright Angel.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>The next mile (only 200 feet of climb) gets us to Havasupai Gardens. As always today, we refill our water, soak our hats, towels and shirts, grab a bite and go on.</p><p>Since the trail follows the creek drainage, there are buttes are either side and the views are not as spectacular as those from South Kaibab Trail. Very good, but one has been spoiled by the earlier views, further enhanced by the early morning light. </p><p>I've been lagging behind Emaad and Cathy and they have been waiting for me to catch up. Over the next 1.75 we ascend another 950 feet, including a series of switchbacks, to reach Three Mile Rest. The thermometer there reads 80 degrees at about 1315. Gaining altitude (2300 feet since River Rest) is lowering the temperature. There is a pavilion, toilets and water there and I sit down. A hiker strikes up a conversation about my Leki trekking poles, a brand he highly praises. Emaad grows impatient and is concerned that Cathy may be anxious if Kevin tells Jim about her fall and bloodied leg. I tell him to go on and not wait for me.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhDr8XNHa4cxzndwIsdOGBysOofk2IDpZg95KkiWtdSHrr6B5xLIoiTALYA0F1bBKTd7YwO9EzZyUtfw_EMEHJdOMiQUbzUH0tBpwo5hNjnW8WEwSiPCktxzjozW8h9CYdX9p02EeChY00yZ0PKHQ0KoVyl7ZUFToGcqpwh9ZCeRFVuUNoufGsLn7KqURtY" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="625" data-original-width="469" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhDr8XNHa4cxzndwIsdOGBysOofk2IDpZg95KkiWtdSHrr6B5xLIoiTALYA0F1bBKTd7YwO9EzZyUtfw_EMEHJdOMiQUbzUH0tBpwo5hNjnW8WEwSiPCktxzjozW8h9CYdX9p02EeChY00yZ0PKHQ0KoVyl7ZUFToGcqpwh9ZCeRFVuUNoufGsLn7KqURtY" width="180" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bright Angel Trail.<br />(Photo by E. Burki.)</td></tr></tbody></table><p>By now we are sharing the trail with day hikers. Cathy was playing "bad hiker bingo," filling squares with "person in flip-flops," "person without shirt," "person without water," and the like when she added a new one: a hiker blasting music from a Bluetooth speaker attached to his pack. </p><p>Upward for another 1.5 miles, and more switchbacks (climb another 1000 feet), to One and a Half Mile Rest (16.3 miles at 1405). As always, refill the water, wet down, no hurry, look around at the views, play bad hiker bingo.</p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDj4ftY0YavdOizfg2IUBS2j6LHkMyd1p35VIaae8zm3gibe_pOO4VPbQlyXSyzizzfemohf05BcT4zKy5RD73HXoCIk-QOzMK3EGFsQZiQpUOQhV9mcgPFiGFqSupNRh3FktTy1wyXvgA8kaV6MVZVxos9lndc0TbXt8_226zsPXjTCbAUsxt3ty-WfXT/s4608/20230610_150448.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4608" data-original-width="2128" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDj4ftY0YavdOizfg2IUBS2j6LHkMyd1p35VIaae8zm3gibe_pOO4VPbQlyXSyzizzfemohf05BcT4zKy5RD73HXoCIk-QOzMK3EGFsQZiQpUOQhV9mcgPFiGFqSupNRh3FktTy1wyXvgA8kaV6MVZVxos9lndc0TbXt8_226zsPXjTCbAUsxt3ty-WfXT/s320/20230610_150448.jpg" width="148" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Almost done!</td></tr></tbody></table><p>I fall in with a trio of hiker/campers and we exchange stories in mutual admiration. I tell my usual well worn running stories (Emaad isn't their to roll his eyes at another rendition of "Ken's Greatest Hits") and they tell of their love of hiking and camping. It almost makes me want to camp in the back country, but only if I could get someone to carry all my gear, pitch my tent and cook my food. And that would defeat the wonder of camping in a place far from others.</p><p>The last hour to the rim (another 1000 feet of ascent and more switchbacks) goes quickly. Stops to look back at the trail far below continue to amaze at the beauty of the canyon and the wonder of the journey - I was down there! How was that possible!</p><p>On the rim I find Emaad and Cathy (they were about 10 minutes ahead) and we recruit a tourist to take our picture at the iconic Bright Angel Trailhead rock. </p><p><b>By the Numbers</b></p><p>About 18.1 miles in 10:07, according to my GPS. <a href="https://www.nps.gov/grca/planyourvisit/trail-distances.htm">NPS official distances</a>: From South Kaibab Trailhead to Phantom Ranch, 7.4 miles. Descent from trailhead to the river, 4780 feet, then ascent of about 100 feet to Phantom Ranch. From there to Bright Angel Trailhead, 9.9 miles, ascent of 4460 feet.</p><p>My calves were trashed on Sunday, but still walked a couple of miles along the rim trail from Powell Point back to the village. On Monday ran 3.7 miles at Buffalo Park in Flagstaff.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiJoCq7A4PJ0ntTRPVkJpvSnS0-YKR8MWNjL8K_1BKw68baADq3p7YlYJFM8Mwh0AiSx4rsCPlZJHakPFKJ-SKTvWBL5yQwSaOC-z65JjPlHuO4afHPPmoG5uxKrfco0vyWceNyEttlHf8khOLhSQS3RkB8Uo-j6hTNj62BSkva3V8NFPmrzEKA5HRuc5KJ" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="810" data-original-width="1080" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiJoCq7A4PJ0ntTRPVkJpvSnS0-YKR8MWNjL8K_1BKw68baADq3p7YlYJFM8Mwh0AiSx4rsCPlZJHakPFKJ-SKTvWBL5yQwSaOC-z65JjPlHuO4afHPPmoG5uxKrfco0vyWceNyEttlHf8khOLhSQS3RkB8Uo-j6hTNj62BSkva3V8NFPmrzEKA5HRuc5KJ=w640-h480" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div>Rim to River Complete!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">(Photo by C. Blessing.)<br /><br /><br /></div>Ken Swabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04093841096811631084noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672747428347177743.post-3750772689772699872023-06-06T00:05:00.000-04:002023-06-06T00:05:22.316-04:00Farm Park Challenge Marathon - May 6, 2023<p><b></b></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5isvyeH028gugG0uzQj_ctZxVtxNc4kIaXxvBLRgp4GTvSx8oRLE14XnJNBbAQ1mTYgRexo9LkdK6etMSEIxeqVmxPVpjbqzsrj7G-b3YPRJDSBuUjI5JHNUrWyhtLD9rMrxMempitSH_tkULLKraIDHGF9v8zcWgqIjtsPNbJlD8zcOMqrNNa3ou0g/s3824/20230506_100748.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3824" data-original-width="2868" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5isvyeH028gugG0uzQj_ctZxVtxNc4kIaXxvBLRgp4GTvSx8oRLE14XnJNBbAQ1mTYgRexo9LkdK6etMSEIxeqVmxPVpjbqzsrj7G-b3YPRJDSBuUjI5JHNUrWyhtLD9rMrxMempitSH_tkULLKraIDHGF9v8zcWgqIjtsPNbJlD8zcOMqrNNa3ou0g/w300-h400/20230506_100748.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A beautiful day for a run. </td></tr></tbody></table><p><b>We Live in an Imperfect World</b></p><p>Less than a minute into the first 5.1 mile out-and back-lap of the <a href="https://ultrasignup.com/register.aspx?did=99178" target="_blank">Farm Park Challenge</a> Emaad says he forgot his water bottle. Which immediately reminds me that I did likewise. We both retrieve our bottles at the beginning of the second lap.</p><p>Uncharacteristically, Emaad lags behind me on the first lap. As we pass each other on the out-and-back, he tells me that he isn't feeling well and will likely only do two laps. In the second lap he says he'll do a third, and in the third, catches up with me. But he knows his body and calls it a day after we finish the third lap together.</p><p>As I start to sweat on the second or third lap I'm reminded that I forgot to bring handkerchiefs to wipe the sweat off. My shirt will have to do.</p><p>Going to change my long-sleeve shirt at the end of the second lap I rummage in my bag and curse upon finding another long-sleeve shirt that I thought was a short-sleeve one when I packed it. Fortunately I have another short sleeve shirt in the bag, but for some reason only packed one, rather than extra ones for changing on subsequent laps.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKDBdlaBEHH6RUx-BgzJztbTshJRerW0xISd_Jzgci_ZpSHFDM3QcgzqPVPfy8ggmM3wddNYBbNXYWPl23cvV4gyeJLrxlP4GfPIVUfcIngIQowl-9QGACZNM7LJvTFu3f-3CnMZh0nCQmNZomqPJRcHukjngeqLtWOOah6qv-QspIdQJKFS1TWpnnrQ/s1598/20230506_091052.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1598" data-original-width="1199" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKDBdlaBEHH6RUx-BgzJztbTshJRerW0xISd_Jzgci_ZpSHFDM3QcgzqPVPfy8ggmM3wddNYBbNXYWPl23cvV4gyeJLrxlP4GfPIVUfcIngIQowl-9QGACZNM7LJvTFu3f-3CnMZh0nCQmNZomqPJRcHukjngeqLtWOOah6qv-QspIdQJKFS1TWpnnrQ/w300-h400/20230506_091052.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Who needs shoes if <br />you have ears and a tail?</td></tr></tbody></table>Midway through the fourth lap I feel chafing on my left nipple. I didn't bring tape and don't have Vaseline along, so it could get worse. An inspired thought - I have lip balm with me. That works.<p></p><p> Headed back on the fifth lap I spot a woman runner emerging from the woods. "It's a lot easier for you guys," she says as she heads onward.</p>At the end of the race I collect the beer glass that is the finishers' premium. But unlike previous years, there are no cans of beer to go with it. For whatever reason, the park hasn't granted the race the authority to hand out beer. But Mike offers me a non-alcoholic <a href="https://athleticbrewing.com/collections/shop-all/products/upside-dawn" target="_blank">Athletic Brewing Upside Dawn</a> and I sip it while sitting in his camp chair.<div><br /></div><div><b>Bridges</b></div><div><br />The course has three small bridges to cross. Since the weather has been dry there isn't much water in the streams anyway, but the bridges do enable quick and dry crossings. On the way inbound on one of the laps I notice flagging that indicates that the course wants the runners to go through the stream rather than take the bridge. I only see one person do that, and I use the bridge each time<br /><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxjwok6FkV3g1g_EI6if2clR21TZ2CDKUI9jwww6uf6mhKv0eUkiDDmicVuvOgILC2wgd6DtxyI3UHCK3b8pdrXC0pz9PzvlRymD56t-O1o3_Ut3ZA9f5yXKNHiSR1cuY_8n8Vj8nmLK-BVcsi_ZCW5565yzYEcUpxjnGqP-ZNPvJC5ED1Uf8xf-KvYA/s3786/20230506_081327.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1748" data-original-width="3786" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxjwok6FkV3g1g_EI6if2clR21TZ2CDKUI9jwww6uf6mhKv0eUkiDDmicVuvOgILC2wgd6DtxyI3UHCK3b8pdrXC0pz9PzvlRymD56t-O1o3_Ut3ZA9f5yXKNHiSR1cuY_8n8Vj8nmLK-BVcsi_ZCW5565yzYEcUpxjnGqP-ZNPvJC5ED1Uf8xf-KvYA/w400-h185/20230506_081327.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First bridge<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii_oq3yHaCw6c3TJ4hVLkRIe5rYzYaIzhDJqNe0oFSjF0xGYsNJItg0jsQO_iNn1rFpl3HtV5_V413g0eHpg0DaDzjChrTxFY9wICRsvIaY7oeGIsKzYh2HlixRBhk1yB84lSJWbjfEKBiHgJKrA7S4svdMd4vHKWMbbMW63uOts3AwU25N-UGKI5urA/s1932/20230506_081650.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1932" data-original-width="1449" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii_oq3yHaCw6c3TJ4hVLkRIe5rYzYaIzhDJqNe0oFSjF0xGYsNJItg0jsQO_iNn1rFpl3HtV5_V413g0eHpg0DaDzjChrTxFY9wICRsvIaY7oeGIsKzYh2HlixRBhk1yB84lSJWbjfEKBiHgJKrA7S4svdMd4vHKWMbbMW63uOts3AwU25N-UGKI5urA/w300-h400/20230506_081650.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Second bridge<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmq7-EjSEbvhFTpFh1xxHQs3fAPal5G7R9zcLRghjYxRgdKoht9AR4-jbiK5z9FJei11uqj65PRSOS3nqjOnBxEyEB-6_EciAe86kRuTPpm8Jm26uKihgAlcH3i-W23Ss2paEJ7WcdlErCjMJ3yxzDSJTPH7eZYkSKvKe-hBINGfHyRh0K3LVFve2Juw/s2753/20230506_082142.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2753" data-original-width="2089" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmq7-EjSEbvhFTpFh1xxHQs3fAPal5G7R9zcLRghjYxRgdKoht9AR4-jbiK5z9FJei11uqj65PRSOS3nqjOnBxEyEB-6_EciAe86kRuTPpm8Jm26uKihgAlcH3i-W23Ss2paEJ7WcdlErCjMJ3yxzDSJTPH7eZYkSKvKe-hBINGfHyRh0K3LVFve2Juw/w304-h400/20230506_082142.jpg" width="304" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Third bridge</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><b><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQn8ynhGPrJ_7Y6WlAdWdBbC6jLFmDI_agG2h8WCSWyzP-6LY-sbpil5AfKRoQtoHmBJmL33RJSuuuUNyp8XqodvRbb-gAvZYIsv-ubaMNDN6oGL7lrgPgwXJ40u8pvKmMlgaTZFHnXdaqCX14aaJ3jI9glQuyl8Gd8_UdP9g9rO2qrSMfAfXeFwAwIg/s4608/20230506_082253.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2128" data-original-width="4608" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQn8ynhGPrJ_7Y6WlAdWdBbC6jLFmDI_agG2h8WCSWyzP-6LY-sbpil5AfKRoQtoHmBJmL33RJSuuuUNyp8XqodvRbb-gAvZYIsv-ubaMNDN6oGL7lrgPgwXJ40u8pvKmMlgaTZFHnXdaqCX14aaJ3jI9glQuyl8Gd8_UdP9g9rO2qrSMfAfXeFwAwIg/w400-h185/20230506_082253.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stream crossing headed to the turn-around.</td></tr></tbody></table></b></div><div><b>The Turnaround</b></div><div>The course has only only one small change from last year. The lap has been shortened by about 0.1 of a mile, making it marginally easier for those running the challenges. For the marathon, the final mini-lap has been lengthened accordingly. Also, the last bit of course veers left from Rock Creek Trail and crosses a small stream before the turn-around a hundred yards or so beyond.<br /><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9wuuk97hcRQl6g-OCZrmGcgPuRaf7p2j7mbZF-5D5rXqUlZDZsEo3vHqLCStfgWdRw6Sx0YC2tcVk1QIaaGsLz2vuiRGsjXoBvDOXx0Gx42Rl_Esu4Kjqb2expo0gv4NvRuDQFEM71GlbR80f6593zfQ7cUCs8jUyuzDQG7o9VgS0oOSkdupcPWoakg/s1989/20230506_082403.jpg" style="clear: left; font-weight: 700; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1063" data-original-width="1989" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9wuuk97hcRQl6g-OCZrmGcgPuRaf7p2j7mbZF-5D5rXqUlZDZsEo3vHqLCStfgWdRw6Sx0YC2tcVk1QIaaGsLz2vuiRGsjXoBvDOXx0Gx42Rl_Esu4Kjqb2expo0gv4NvRuDQFEM71GlbR80f6593zfQ7cUCs8jUyuzDQG7o9VgS0oOSkdupcPWoakg/w400-h214/20230506_082403.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption">Turnaround.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjcdRsMvp_cRx_7PCDogcbr20AxgbE8hd_SilfJBH8IT2ZQwlpAfyJooPeWOTjNbDP0jGHSaWZo5IxZMLqRcLolljhPVxpmETtj6fTrnpiW_Igway-4zMhGuJmoIccckKvQ9O5va0Cr-mnRZ6m13BhermFmUokTm_cBlY0zFNgzIWZNtG06Uebk30ang/s2223/20230506_065711.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2223" data-original-width="1667" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjcdRsMvp_cRx_7PCDogcbr20AxgbE8hd_SilfJBH8IT2ZQwlpAfyJooPeWOTjNbDP0jGHSaWZo5IxZMLqRcLolljhPVxpmETtj6fTrnpiW_Igway-4zMhGuJmoIccckKvQ9O5va0Cr-mnRZ6m13BhermFmUokTm_cBlY0zFNgzIWZNtG06Uebk30ang/w300-h400/20230506_065711.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First lap by one of the fields.</td></tr></tbody></table><b>Exceed Expectations</b></p><p>The challenge part of the Farm Park Challenge is to get through each 5.1 mile lap in less than an hour, then wait until the start of the next hour to run another lap in under an hour. There are three challenges: three-, six- and ten-hours. The marathon does not require meeting the one hour per lap, pace, simply finishing 5 laps plus a bit of an extra out-and-back in ten hours.</p><p>I may be able to finish one lap in under an hour but that I could doing even three more is unlikely. Although not necessary for the marathon I want to do the first lap under an hour. And I succeed - barely. I get through the first lap in 59:51, a mere nine seconds to the good. (My subsequent laps are 64:56, 69: 28, 70:20 and 68:31, and 11:14 for the final .8 mile out-and-back.)</p><p>My finishing time is 5:44:27, good for 19 of 30 overall, 10 of 14 males and 1 of 2 in my age group. That is 40:53 faster than last year, when <a href="http://keswab.blogspot.com/2022/05/farm-park-challenge-marathon-march-7.html" target="_blank">rain made the course muddy</a> It is only 2 minutes slower than 2021, on a slightly different, and likely slightly harder course.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCGE6e4WyQ0xz_bWORhd0E9sYYrFJEzGkkbJDEDTjLN77CiKt5HsztRk7q7PRFC8ZSBu_OLDrUa6aJc92fcB-fLG9aQrtH16VJHOIqutuc947wGYbIdUNSyMbFq3NZJ39jkzZsjVaRa8OjZN3a8MHJNWGl97gnkLs4bgj9gFhoZvg03F9G5BkLlIP61g/s2128/20230509_113355.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2128" data-original-width="2128" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCGE6e4WyQ0xz_bWORhd0E9sYYrFJEzGkkbJDEDTjLN77CiKt5HsztRk7q7PRFC8ZSBu_OLDrUa6aJc92fcB-fLG9aQrtH16VJHOIqutuc947wGYbIdUNSyMbFq3NZJ39jkzZsjVaRa8OjZN3a8MHJNWGl97gnkLs4bgj9gFhoZvg03F9G5BkLlIP61g/w400-h400/20230509_113355.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Swag: shirt, glass, bib.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p></div>Ken Swabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04093841096811631084noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672747428347177743.post-78695614551396693122023-05-01T20:57:00.001-04:002023-05-01T20:57:39.405-04:00Gunpowder Keg 25K - April 15, 2023<b>Memory is Fallible</b><div>Several acquaintances from the Muddy Shoes group are gathered in the Bunker Hill Road parking lot at <a href="https://dnr.maryland.gov/publiclands/Pages/central/GunpowderFalls/Hereford-Area.aspx" target="_blank">Gunpowder Falls State Park</a> awaiting the start of the <a href="https://brrc.com/event/gunpowder-trail-ultra-2023/" target="_blank">Gunpowder Keg 25K/50K</a>. I ran the <a href="http://keswab.blogspot.com/2011/10/gunpowder-keg-50k-fat-ass-september-17.html" target="_blank">race in 2011</a>, although a somewhat different course, and they ask me about it. I recall that much of it is along the Big Gunpowder River and isn't too hilly - just "some rolls" I tell them. This contradicts the race website which describes the course as "challenging" - but that doesn't seem to register with me.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb10W7AosYK-eDN7jCXtrY7RD2g6qQe5VySPXljmWtxQOZqg8DDglkhn7pnd3BSmygYZdLxddTtNau46h6aDXn5ZOqYcjIMmLLXkcLxN7kqnqZ3yeZR2zWHrrMcFRmw90FJgYIf7a8kQyLCA6XfenOJcHKX158HlQn1exJ4_KCgZ6xQN80duhs7myp9g/s4608/20230415_073904.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4608" data-original-width="2128" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb10W7AosYK-eDN7jCXtrY7RD2g6qQe5VySPXljmWtxQOZqg8DDglkhn7pnd3BSmygYZdLxddTtNau46h6aDXn5ZOqYcjIMmLLXkcLxN7kqnqZ3yeZR2zWHrrMcFRmw90FJgYIf7a8kQyLCA6XfenOJcHKX158HlQn1exJ4_KCgZ6xQN80duhs7myp9g/w185-h400/20230415_073904.jpg" width="185" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Emaad before the start.</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div>Emaad asks me if we had ever done it together, but I assure him that he was not with me in 2011, and my race report bears that out. It turns out that <a href="http://zhurnaly.com/zhurnal63.html" target="_blank">he ran one lap of three in 2007</a>, on yet a different iteration of the course. Even after being reminded of that he has no memory of it, other than going to MacDonald's for French fries while waiting for two other runners to finish their second loop. He does not remember the "daunting hills, . . . rocky cliffs, [and] plenty of roots and stones to trip over," or his (twice) rolled ankle that Mark's race report recounts.</div><div><br /></div><div>Instead, we are about to run on my false memory that the course is not particularly difficult.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>A Non-Fat Ass Fat Ass</b></div><div>This is a low-key race. Entry is $20 and runners are asked to bring a gallon of water or some treats for the aid stations. There are no shirts, medals or any other sort of swag that accompany other races. It is a bit more formally organized that a typical fat ass run, in that it has an entry fee, minimal as it is, and it has manned aid stations. It will even have pizza at the end. A deluxe fat-ass.</div><div><br /></div><div>The race director gives some instructions before we begin, reminds everyone to get a wrist band to prove they went to the out and back section of the course and sends us on our way.</div><div><br /></div><div>There are about 130 of us who set out. The weather is unsettled, and there is a high chance of showers.</div><div><br /></div><div>We go down a couple of paved switchbacks, then up Bunker Hill Road before turning left onto the Bunker Hill Trail. We chat with a couple of runners - Jason, running his first trail race and Jenny (?, apologies for my forgetfulness if I have the name wrong) - before they and Emaad go on. </div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheSeW4oPXFU9syB3qGNnmpEG8xBzfr7XRY_6ZSkfghK5mHY3AcCruBoMMnDS1k7zdjAfiSYXetKsxcPr-O3uWMg5nD_0UNBMQuWfgm_2ioMabzJUrVauewNIGOlVH0B0CeaG9up5fU6A-chvCxa3tImJtjnlK4ogbTlxft9LGB9nCbDLPtwBQge3dlEg/s4608/20230415_094232.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2128" data-original-width="4608" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheSeW4oPXFU9syB3qGNnmpEG8xBzfr7XRY_6ZSkfghK5mHY3AcCruBoMMnDS1k7zdjAfiSYXetKsxcPr-O3uWMg5nD_0UNBMQuWfgm_2ioMabzJUrVauewNIGOlVH0B0CeaG9up5fU6A-chvCxa3tImJtjnlK4ogbTlxft9LGB9nCbDLPtwBQge3dlEg/w400-h185/20230415_094232.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bridge at Masemore Road; aid station on left.</td></tr></tbody></table>I clearly do not remember the course as I plod up the hills of the various trails. Finally, after a long downhill the trail gets next to the Big Gunpowder River. I splash across Bush Cabin Run to the aid station at Masemore Road (about mile 4.6) and run a bit further upstream - until a left turn takes us onto the aptly named Highland Trail. How did I not remember this? Or was it not on the 2011 course?</div><div><br /></div><div>Regardless, it is uphill, then a bit gently rolling on a gravelly fire road until we come to paved Falls Road, which we run down (quickly and smoothly for a change) to the level trail along the river and back to the Masemore aid station (about mile 7). </div><div><br /></div><div>We cross the bridge over the river and pick up the trail on the other side. I'm running again with Jenny and we trade stories - her of her leaving teaching tech ed in a Baltimore County high school for a position at Goucher College and me of my current reading of <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/isaac-newton-michael-white/1103235423" target="_blank">Isaac Newton, the Last Sorcerer</a>, by Michael White. I tell of Sir Isaac Newton's work as Warden of the Mint at the time of the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Recoinage_of_1696">Great Recoinage</a> (the Wikipedia article is wrong in myriad ways - see my article, <i>Sir Isaac Newton served mint as warden, master</i> in the September 11, 1995 World Coin News.)</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5JyMmdUPtP6bxeJiZjlCO_sP7snja3jHTcdKmLv2k0ET6ck3HJwo_Cpi26R4n4Fb3bSNm0NtpjaHO9cx22WYeFNmX-ZuFH5nK7S8IUtC563fwAKotrKFQzZmlSscE1fnNiG6npnIgioZcWr_87TkUFgc3_NhKo16UBwZ9apwR1Zi24rihQQ7YssILzA/s4608/20230415_083301.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2128" data-original-width="4608" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5JyMmdUPtP6bxeJiZjlCO_sP7snja3jHTcdKmLv2k0ET6ck3HJwo_Cpi26R4n4Fb3bSNm0NtpjaHO9cx22WYeFNmX-ZuFH5nK7S8IUtC563fwAKotrKFQzZmlSscE1fnNiG6npnIgioZcWr_87TkUFgc3_NhKo16UBwZ9apwR1Zi24rihQQ7YssILzA/w400-h185/20230415_083301.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rocky trail to left; small stream to right.</td></tr></tbody></table><div>We nearly make a wrong turn but Jenny keeps us on the trail. We cross under I-83, make a left onto York Road to cross over the river, visit the York Road aid station (mile 9.4) and head across the road to run a loop initially along the river east of I-83. Jenny pulls away and I'm left to run alone again. I cross a small feeder stream, and come to the T-intersection where a sign directs me left. I go to the end of the out-and-back near Big Falls Road where I collect my wrist band (about mile 12) to prove that I was there.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Trail Angel</b></div><div>As I return to the T, there is a runner just crossing the stream. I remind him that he needs to go left to collect his wristband.</div><div><br /></div><div>He holds up his arm. "I already have it," he says, I made a wrong turn and ran the loop a second time."</div><div><br /></div><div>Clay is running without a water bottle or nutrition and is not looking in good shape. To add to his problems we are on the Panther Trail, which follows the small stream we crossed, and it is uphill. </div><div><br /></div><div>I offer him a gel and some water. At first he declines but I assure him I have several and can spare one. Finally he agrees and eats it. I squirt water in his mouth to help wash it down. We mostly walk on and I assure him that I'll stick with him. After a bit he asks for more water and I oblige.</div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlTCQhH9AUAgPv0OPLfkMNO5LugexnJNupF1WiuBIIAMlnxc7HetQYS8UBPYZ7H2Jf7LBqkF96-xFwILOeLCFbiqfIPB55_JsZamrAJAYMuMrhKQDIx99ezhQt2V-N_Mgfyi02gZy9N2Gr5ydAi4jUWAiMfKAWyOpNXysmvG7Yq8Ei7VMGh5KnYjh93g/s4032/GK25K.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlTCQhH9AUAgPv0OPLfkMNO5LugexnJNupF1WiuBIIAMlnxc7HetQYS8UBPYZ7H2Jf7LBqkF96-xFwILOeLCFbiqfIPB55_JsZamrAJAYMuMrhKQDIx99ezhQt2V-N_Mgfyi02gZy9N2Gr5ydAi4jUWAiMfKAWyOpNXysmvG7Yq8Ei7VMGh5KnYjh93g/w300-h400/GK25K.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Smoother than usual trail.<br />(Photo by E. Burki)</td></tr></tbody></table><br />At the top of the climb he says he knows where he is and heads for a shortcut back to the York Road aid station. </div><div> </div><div><b>Trail Angel II</b></div><div>In a little while I come upon Jason. He is limping along.</div><div><br /></div><div>"How are you doing, dude?" I inquire.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Cramping up," he says, "Anytime I try to run my inner thighs cramp."</div><div><br /></div><div>I've experienced that and know that it is painful. "How about a salt tablet," I offer, "It should help."</div><div><br /></div><div>He takes it with thanks. He's also out of water. I offer some but he declines as we are not too far from the York Road aid station (mile 14.8).</div><div><br /></div><div>We review what he had done during the day. As a first time trail runner he has made a few mistakes - not refilling his pack at the aid stations, not eating at the aid stations. He didn't realize that he could get refills. When we get to the aid station he corrects both errors.</div><div><br /></div><div>While he is getting a refill I fill my bottle, drink some cola, grab some chips and candy and go on. A short stretch along Big Gunpowder leads to a steep 300-foot climb away from the river. And then a descent back to the river. A short stretch leads to the morning's paved switchbacks, but the return course skips the final one, and I get back to the start-finish in 4:20:11. This is under the 4:30 cutoff to start the second loop for the 50K, but the race allows the option of stopping after one loop for a 25K finish, and I take it.</div><div><br /></div><div>Emaad had finished the loop in 3:40:29. Jason is about 8 minutes behind me. Clay, I learn later, dropped, probably at York Road. Overall I was 92 of 106 25K finishers, 65 of 72 males and 1 of 2 in my age group. Only 22 people finished the 50K</div><div><br /></div><div><div><b>Epilogue</b></div><div>Emaad and I stop at <a href="https://www.hysteriabrewing.com/" target="_blank">Hysteria Brewing</a> and the attached Bullhead Smokehouse in Columbia for food and refreshment on the way home. While we are there there is a downpour and then another on the drive home. We consider our good fortune in not doing the second loop.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>My GPS reports nearly 1800 feet of climb over 16 miles of course. So much for not remembering any climbs from the previous time.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgITSI4vNtzKRHp1utBv3F3e0Mtrlo09uYoTgmwi5kht43WvUPxoO4NvouOYAqdQDFUfYGbAnbCPECLrd5pMjt9FyLlCN0_0ULISJrdBWHHcM1OFZTLsPeLGHqV8sze2drGb_NDSfU7yFOa7H5voDJ7kaeguF8rUkA6TZ5Ba2XaS2dp1uQsqjc5Okhg3Q/s2847/20230423_100909.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1982" data-original-width="2847" height="279" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgITSI4vNtzKRHp1utBv3F3e0Mtrlo09uYoTgmwi5kht43WvUPxoO4NvouOYAqdQDFUfYGbAnbCPECLrd5pMjt9FyLlCN0_0ULISJrdBWHHcM1OFZTLsPeLGHqV8sze2drGb_NDSfU7yFOa7H5voDJ7kaeguF8rUkA6TZ5Ba2XaS2dp1uQsqjc5Okhg3Q/w400-h279/20230423_100909.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Swag: Wrist Band, recycled bib.</td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div>Ken Swabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04093841096811631084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672747428347177743.post-47017737840489685822023-03-24T11:37:00.000-04:002023-03-24T11:37:10.235-04:00Seneca Creek Greenway Trail Marathon/50K Marathon - March 11, 2023<p><b>Waiting<br /></b>I wait until 18 hours before the race to register as I track the weather for the <a href="https://www.senecacreekgreenwayrace.com/Race/MD/Gaithersburg/MCRRCSenecaCreekGreenwayTrailMarathon50K" target="_blank">Seneca Creek Greenway Trail Marathon/50K</a>. Some rain on Friday, but Saturday's forecast calls for temperatures in the mid-30s to near 50 with blustery winds, but no rain. There is no increased registration fee as the day draws closer, the race is well under its capacity and the registration cut-off is a half hour after the start, so no reason to hurry to sign up. I'll run if the course is muddy, which it often (see my <a href="http://keswab.blogspot.com/2019/04/seneca-creek-greenway-trail-marathon.html" target="_blank">2019</a> and <a href="http://keswab.blogspot.com/2014/04/seneca-creek-greenway-trail-50k-march-8.html" target="_blank">2014</a> reports), but I won't run in cold rain (<a href="http://keswab.blogspot.com/2015/05/madrid-marathon-april-26-2015.html" target="_blank">unless in Madrid</a>).</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTz3iRkpboD3iu6VcvoVFZnTCoXV09dhsidH0sbAjMMhdmkQqRiaAf1wyNFd8I81qoyx_TVqmdfKYI7S3iV2avivqzZnvmDDAshNGIRcE8nSfVbUtd8nhLaII-Qwb_gXPfpFgAW5j69rfqCDrwRaEffk7_KNBnY0MU9cFhsmDQH9mi9PG8MYzZXR_Sjg/s3824/20230311_072803.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3824" data-original-width="2868" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTz3iRkpboD3iu6VcvoVFZnTCoXV09dhsidH0sbAjMMhdmkQqRiaAf1wyNFd8I81qoyx_TVqmdfKYI7S3iV2avivqzZnvmDDAshNGIRcE8nSfVbUtd8nhLaII-Qwb_gXPfpFgAW5j69rfqCDrwRaEffk7_KNBnY0MU9cFhsmDQH9mi9PG8MYzZXR_Sjg/s320/20230311_072803.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Waiting to start</td></tr></tbody></table><p><b>Running</b></p><p>The 230 or so runners gather at the Nut Hatch Pavilion in Seneca Creek State Park for the start and at 0730 we are off down the park road. That helps spread out the field a bit before the turn onto the single track of Long Draught Trail to head south.</p><p>The pace is easy and it is a change to become acquainted with one's fellow runners. As we merge onto the Greenway Trail I get chatting with two runners who ran Rim-to-Rim-to-Rim in the Grand Canyon last September. It is an excellent opportunity to get a briefing on the iconic crossing that I plan to do in June, although the plan is to cross from the South Rim to the North Rim, overnight there, and return the next day. The two runners did it all in one day.</p><p>Inevitably they pull away from me and I run along chatting with others. The pace is easy and the trail is in excellent shape without mud to speak of. Temperatures are in the upper 30s and the day is a blustery, but the wind largely does not penetrate the woods. Only when the course is along fields is the wind felt, and I take my hat on and off several times as the day progresses.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik0ppLxP-ANhoYbLc1_QanF40U6nW8kOhdo_wJuUR5O_1r0MYEM1UZ8hiEYaQU5ufLezKoajwulOeSmgjOFUuTBNRfijYj1Qj1dKEBBw3Bi5kR-mb3pubdyT4CxI3XhX8k8o49owlnENMf_BOxLjki9A12b7nPRVoJcGGpyvLB5jxMK_dUbmO3YCCVIg/s4608/20230311_121339.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2128" data-original-width="4608" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik0ppLxP-ANhoYbLc1_QanF40U6nW8kOhdo_wJuUR5O_1r0MYEM1UZ8hiEYaQU5ufLezKoajwulOeSmgjOFUuTBNRfijYj1Qj1dKEBBw3Bi5kR-mb3pubdyT4CxI3XhX8k8o49owlnENMf_BOxLjki9A12b7nPRVoJcGGpyvLB5jxMK_dUbmO3YCCVIg/w400-h185/20230311_121339.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Volunteers at the Route 28 Aid Station</td></tr></tbody></table><p>A pass through the Route 28 aid station (about mile 8) leads to a crossing of the bridge over Great Seneca Creek to the Seneca Bluffs Trail on the west side of the creek. Before long there is a large tree that has been uprooted and toppled across the trail and it requires a bit of scrambling to get around. The forest does not seem particularly vibrant to me, as there is thick undergrowth everywhere, and vines climb on nearly every tree.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPNcp78qdtmT-tl2U3CAOy9sd_i11L3yWjQ-mYQcxnvymOx2SPmjXsN0ImhO6--4O4LM71dbidSvY-5r4GaQjP0M4rL_ytBFzWC3abyeuujGQvu2GzmcQRDOG_FgfdaIJP7nHcyncceFY9BSfo2h-8mP1RsjhxNSZUoTu8PHN6LTc4qvS30W4ItFSvQQ/s4608/20230311_103246.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2128" data-original-width="4608" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPNcp78qdtmT-tl2U3CAOy9sd_i11L3yWjQ-mYQcxnvymOx2SPmjXsN0ImhO6--4O4LM71dbidSvY-5r4GaQjP0M4rL_ytBFzWC3abyeuujGQvu2GzmcQRDOG_FgfdaIJP7nHcyncceFY9BSfo2h-8mP1RsjhxNSZUoTu8PHN6LTc4qvS30W4ItFSvQQ/w400-h185/20230311_103246.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seneca Bluffs Trail - Note vines strangling trees<br /></td></tr></tbody></table>Crossing Dry Seneca Creek is not a problem for me this year. The stepping stones across the creek are well above the creek and I don't suffer from the hesitancy that I had last year. The reach to the first stone seems a bit daunting but I don't hesitate to take the first step into the shallows by the bank even if it results in one wet foot.<div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR__hxFLnQ6kXLn_IRcZGmHyb8Lng88l8gdoezASTq8cT2tHbkQcBPSxjTZxKy07gcb6vvOjEjVaIezGjnrM6iRBuvHNbOtvNdrgWTEEBZEV3WkLGTu9jXVz74pIXCL0ZbrCr2_DDQhrj8D-VaL7A3Aqfw63xkJeiJrVjVoiGJhFyyeBStip4JNtiRXg/s4608/20230311_113933.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4608" data-original-width="2128" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR__hxFLnQ6kXLn_IRcZGmHyb8Lng88l8gdoezASTq8cT2tHbkQcBPSxjTZxKy07gcb6vvOjEjVaIezGjnrM6iRBuvHNbOtvNdrgWTEEBZEV3WkLGTu9jXVz74pIXCL0ZbrCr2_DDQhrj8D-VaL7A3Aqfw63xkJeiJrVjVoiGJhFyyeBStip4JNtiRXg/w185-h400/20230311_113933.jpg" width="185" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trail Marker</td></tr></tbody></table>After finishing Seneca Bluffs Trail and crossing over Great Seneca Creek on River Road (mile 13.5) I look forward to the very unofficial aid station just before turning onto the Greenway Trail. But the aid station is not there! No adult beverages for fortification! Alas! </div><div><br /></div><div>So on I go to toward the aid station at Berryville Road (mile 15). Fewer runners out here now. A woman passes me while I make a phone call, then I pass her back while a pair of males pass us. Getting to Hooker's Branch just before Berryville Road I spot one of the guys trying to maneuver across the stream. I'm feeling light footed and not particularly concerned about getting wet (I have shoes and socks in a drop bag at the aid station if needed). I bound from rock-to-rock and am almost upon his back when I tell him to keep going. One foot gets a bit wet but I'm unconcerned.</div><div><br /></div><div>I grab some chips and M&Ms at the aid station, miss the peanut and sweet pickle sandwiches, ignore my drop bag and go on. I run the entire section back to the Route 29 aid station alone. Occasionally trees creak in the wind and I wonder if they will topple, but the fear is unfounded.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOxOVnp7ez3_SgPxZr1fj8-0YKQ1xwmDxx79Br9CQcHXC27rZroXCzTz0dIB6r5fhx_jr7GOhh5takSz1nMRGo11PIkvCiS_Ya6GRZ3mDbBAomlloh4CMx5uLKBl-R_w18EDbxGEEGZLXD09QYED2gwcOfNOtnaO4aGcIZQYoM1Kb21updmUjYnLPw1g/s4608/20230311_121648.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2128" data-original-width="4608" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOxOVnp7ez3_SgPxZr1fj8-0YKQ1xwmDxx79Br9CQcHXC27rZroXCzTz0dIB6r5fhx_jr7GOhh5takSz1nMRGo11PIkvCiS_Ya6GRZ3mDbBAomlloh4CMx5uLKBl-R_w18EDbxGEEGZLXD09QYED2gwcOfNOtnaO4aGcIZQYoM1Kb21updmUjYnLPw1g/w400-h185/20230311_121648.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">DNF: Upside down and in a tree (miles 7.5 and 19.7)</td></tr></tbody></table><div>At the aid station I drink a cup of Coke, get a handful of chips and go on. I pass, for the second time of the day, the upside skull.</div><div><br /></div><div>Emaad is waiting for me at Black Rock Mill (mile 21). He has agreed to pace me to the finish. The section on the Seneca Ridge Trail from there to the aid station at Riffle Ford Road (mile 26.8) is one I do not particularly enjoy. I just seems long and lacks any significant landmarks.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi1auTbDd-hNb-_-cmpMTKKd3ImFyn2HysO0a0CI-gZThYkZ5s01uAzP_Tz_XRwnjMrzprlnYhGKkQG_SaW06NjSPkWZ2JAwi2Vn0wWqKTdOfG-s5RwOciX04bZ9wT9Nc3S-owMwie97OFbF6W3l9HcfghnJ5hhl9QiaLJ_ZitAtFHp5xsxBuozASUuw/s2838/20230311_125425.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2128" data-original-width="2838" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi1auTbDd-hNb-_-cmpMTKKd3ImFyn2HysO0a0CI-gZThYkZ5s01uAzP_Tz_XRwnjMrzprlnYhGKkQG_SaW06NjSPkWZ2JAwi2Vn0wWqKTdOfG-s5RwOciX04bZ9wT9Nc3S-owMwie97OFbF6W3l9HcfghnJ5hhl9QiaLJ_ZitAtFHp5xsxBuozASUuw/w400-h300/20230311_125425.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Santa Mariachi Shrine</td></tr></tbody></table><div>Except one, For years the Shrine of the Santa Margaritas has been a welcome sight. There are rumors that the shrine has been desecrated and is no longer there. But it is there! And perhaps better than in the past. The saints are wearing new hats and the decorations look fresh. Later I learn that the acolytes and tenders of the shine (Anton and ML) have restored it to its former glory. Indeed, better than its former glory, for it now has six, rather than the former five, saints.</div><div><br /></div><div>Having paid our devotions at the shrine we proceed. We are now in the company of another five runners, with whom we leapfrog, sometimes ahead, sometimes behind. One is a solo woman runner, and the other two are two pairs of men (waggishly described by Emaad as "the CrossFit guys" and "the Marines"). </div><div><br /></div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr4zo7bZPBAQxwQ3x1k91iZzDnT7X8mwsSehXg0AwxelocXXNzk3_h-MuHkFoiHwPB5FsP_TfHsicFwHqVcK5U_7TRitv26f7vv91QTfUMSuZjhvn9mvjTwCoAMvqIGYCUA1tqGGwtoOt90bhOhI4zP28-VFAAcPSufrkr4b6Aly7PZsN1d6w6n-Mueg/s452/SCGT2023%20stream.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="452" data-original-width="339" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr4zo7bZPBAQxwQ3x1k91iZzDnT7X8mwsSehXg0AwxelocXXNzk3_h-MuHkFoiHwPB5FsP_TfHsicFwHqVcK5U_7TRitv26f7vv91QTfUMSuZjhvn9mvjTwCoAMvqIGYCUA1tqGGwtoOt90bhOhI4zP28-VFAAcPSufrkr4b6Aly7PZsN1d6w6n-Mueg/w300-h400/SCGT2023%20stream.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stream crossing near Riffle Ford Road<br />(photo by E. Burki)</td></tr></tbody></table><br />We are following the red-blazed trail but slowly become aware that we have not seen any of the blue flagging that marks the course. We realize that we haven't seen any since leaving Black Rock Mill. At one point we come to a trail intersection and I plow ahead, but Emaad calls me back. The other runners catch up and there is a brief debate as to the way to go, but the consensus is to stay on Seneca Ridge Trail and follow its red blazes. As we proceed I alternate between "this is familiar" and "this is the not the course."</div><div><br /></div><div>But finally I settle on "this is familiar" and in a mile or so we reach Riffle Ford Road and the aid station (mile 26.8). </div><div><p></p>In another mile or so we reach the decision point where one chooses whether to go left to the finish for the "at least a" marathon or go straight for the loop around the lake for the "at least a" 50K. I'm feeling good, and we are at least 40 minutes ahead of the cutoff for starting the 50K loop. Most times this would be a no brainer and I'd go straight. But I don't really like the lake loop and don't feel any desire to do it so I elect for the left turn to the marathon finish.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Results</b></div><div>My GPS reads 29.3 miles, about 1.2 miles longer than the GPS reading in 2021. The course seemed the same except for the unflagged section, which may have led us astray. The GPS tracks from 2021 and 2023 appear to be about the same. Another runner who dropped out at the Riffle Ford Road aid station had 28 miles to that point, consistent with my finishing distance and the longer distance this year. In any case, it is what the race director says it is.</div><div><br /></div><div>I finish in 7:11:48, good for first, last and only in my age group. I'm the oldest finisher and 63 of 80 overall and 50 of 59 males. There are 117 finishers in the 50K. I collect my wooden coaster finishers' award and a couple of bagged snacks. Then I drive Emaad back to his car at Black Rock Mill and we go off to enjoy a beer and bite to eat.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvAkUPbCrG5Ys3LpznSyUcXH2hx6iSU73wbe6MFudxOQon4ccimjS7UdqWOWAuiPzxJKRrm7Py6X5w4i1AtyBjlYNhfYyGtt8Yna8pWX8rWMaXYY4ztt_6hoWEmK2HtKfSDOQGmncKIhKhEwJ16IlFS05kgpxnbC9_Q6QP1pVdhNP6oe91ozt5ccw5Uw/s2838/20230312_154544.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2128" data-original-width="2838" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvAkUPbCrG5Ys3LpznSyUcXH2hx6iSU73wbe6MFudxOQon4ccimjS7UdqWOWAuiPzxJKRrm7Py6X5w4i1AtyBjlYNhfYyGtt8Yna8pWX8rWMaXYY4ztt_6hoWEmK2HtKfSDOQGmncKIhKhEwJ16IlFS05kgpxnbC9_Q6QP1pVdhNP6oe91ozt5ccw5Uw/w640-h480/20230312_154544.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Swag: bib, wooden coaster</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p></p></div>Ken Swabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04093841096811631084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672747428347177743.post-59431611597545566972022-12-31T23:38:00.002-05:002023-02-21T23:47:22.879-05:00Colossal Vail 50/50 55 K - December 10, 2022<b><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsOirRl4aT_TNJhj76_e1uy_BUSXvwKI67Eaq-wvJaqHNtHqOvtAApg8aiw_i6kzwAsYv4j4m1auiba9Gv3qdr63BPzwU_pXde9RdR0NZ9olHc6qwisi9bqypnPQCPLrQKOlFIz0GIvFVk3xvP5wcBNx3NLHQq9d_5mz4fjWqheocWKURUa_W8O5GNDA/s1024/CV2022%20-%20JP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="683" data-original-width="1024" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsOirRl4aT_TNJhj76_e1uy_BUSXvwKI67Eaq-wvJaqHNtHqOvtAApg8aiw_i6kzwAsYv4j4m1auiba9Gv3qdr63BPzwU_pXde9RdR0NZ9olHc6qwisi9bqypnPQCPLrQKOlFIz0GIvFVk3xvP5wcBNx3NLHQq9d_5mz4fjWqheocWKURUa_W8O5GNDA/w640-h426/CV2022%20-%20JP.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Jim Porter (www.jimporterphoto.com)</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Return to the AZT</b><div>Three years ago Emaad and I ran the Colossal Vail 50/50 50 mile race. We returned in 2022 for the 55K on December 10. The entire course is a double out and back on the <a href="https://aztrail.org/" target="_blank">Arizona Trail</a>, and the 55K is the southbound part of the course, so we know what to expect. The only difference is that the race has moved from November to December and the temperature at the start promises to be chilly.</div><div><br /></div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEinp2KnObQKUoD28BlKs6neQL4n7CTSeHJbV7fHp4eHb3Zt7PVXkpmxihkrB-DG18crHwp4lJjDDxaX1LIEv2LdvUqT2AauC-Wd2dPHy0wm32oJJXsJPj5HRniTdQ0y4N-HjGy4znrvtEEPnaN3ZEEC13Jvoj8IGhQbVIVDcfVCuaXHZ3qEPYCi7HhYXg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="625" data-original-width="1354" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEinp2KnObQKUoD28BlKs6neQL4n7CTSeHJbV7fHp4eHb3Zt7PVXkpmxihkrB-DG18crHwp4lJjDDxaX1LIEv2LdvUqT2AauC-Wd2dPHy0wm32oJJXsJPj5HRniTdQ0y4N-HjGy4znrvtEEPnaN3ZEEC13Jvoj8IGhQbVIVDcfVCuaXHZ3qEPYCi7HhYXg=w400-h185" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Visiting the Desert Museum with Cathy</td></tr></tbody></table><b><br />Eco-tourism</b></div><div>The day before the race we meet up with Arizona friend Cathy, who is an avid gardener and runner at the <a href="https://www.desertmuseum.org/" target="_blank">Arizona-Sonora Desert Museum</a>. She gives us an enthusiastic tour of the outdoor facility where we can view not only desert plants, but many of the animals who inhabit the Sonoran Desert, which stretches to the Gulf of California. The museum also tells how the Tucson area was once home to grasslands watered by riparian waterways, but the arrival of settlers with overgrazing cattle and water diverting plans led to the spread of desert plants in place of the grasslands. Cathy runs the half marathon at Colossal Vail, but because that race starts well after ours we do not see her. She finishes second in her age group even while stopping to take pictures along the way.</div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSEbtapWJiA2Vm5jJbDCdtvFqe0d2l_HQQ5QHHoijx7DpWn99gefAPerdCgLDTsBlFFGwpTQEdTaEs3OtDPgKy0qmWnqWlUsX790H23pJtU6fqDLXjySe6ORHnAxpE0sqL0UJNao560OsOMmxvLXtlJ8Q4ungf_ysNqEsG0fyrkWWAvETBIXzMLwu5IQ/s3824/20221210_071129.jpg" style="display: block; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 1em 0px;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="3824" data-original-width="2868" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSEbtapWJiA2Vm5jJbDCdtvFqe0d2l_HQQ5QHHoijx7DpWn99gefAPerdCgLDTsBlFFGwpTQEdTaEs3OtDPgKy0qmWnqWlUsX790H23pJtU6fqDLXjySe6ORHnAxpE0sqL0UJNao560OsOMmxvLXtlJ8Q4ungf_ysNqEsG0fyrkWWAvETBIXzMLwu5IQ/w300-h400/20221210_071129.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At the start.<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><b>Preparation</b></div><div>I sleep fitfully the night before. I continually worry about being able to make the final cutoff at the final aid station. Also, I worry about the temperature swing. Will I dress for the cold and then regret it as the weather warms up?</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Start</b></div><div>We arrive at the start in plenty of time to see the four dozen or so 50-milers take off 15 minutes ahead of us. Then it is our turn and we are off. I've dressed for the cold - two long sleeve shirts, gloves, hat, buff and tights. The race starts with a long climb of about 300 feet that helps string out the approximately 80 entrants.</div><div><br /></div><div>Cresting the ridge we head downhill. After about a mile Emaad takes off. I don't try to follow. I chat with some other runners, including a 50 miler who has dropped down to the 55K because he has a holiday party to attend later.</div><div><br /></div><div>Soon enough I'm pretty much running alone. I take a gentle fall and land pretty much unscathed. Further good fortune, there are no cacti where I land, especially the dreaded cholla, or jumping, cactus. I'm up and underway in no time.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEXhumBwbhjdk-9MD9Oboc0mSfj4sjuoGTKiGoiqSehlL5Iu6QY5nmprFIWWESPjj0bIh4NiSjKwlBpU01v6vNCmDiJO2LRHO1HUUKnc0HdQ9tlRyu08r79JmctlZZZoB2afnOlizA5lk9ZI5BmeM5Oizf6hJPSBkX7cNL88wmk4MWNB90RIRApYGv6w/s4608/20221210_080807.jpg" style="display: block; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 1em 0px;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="2128" data-original-width="4608" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEXhumBwbhjdk-9MD9Oboc0mSfj4sjuoGTKiGoiqSehlL5Iu6QY5nmprFIWWESPjj0bIh4NiSjKwlBpU01v6vNCmDiJO2LRHO1HUUKnc0HdQ9tlRyu08r79JmctlZZZoB2afnOlizA5lk9ZI5BmeM5Oizf6hJPSBkX7cNL88wmk4MWNB90RIRApYGv6w/w400-h185/20221210_080807.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Saguaros on the course.</td></tr></tbody></table><div>We pass under the railroad trestle over Davidson Canyon and then descend into the canyon itself. There had been rain the previous week, and the creek has water in it that requires some judicious stepping to keep feet dry. I only partially succeed and manage to wet one foot. And the water has a certain fragrance that reminds me that there are probably cattle grazing somewhere upstream.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Gabe Zimmerman Aid Station</b></div><div>A slight climb leads out of the canyon and to the first aid station at mile 4.9. The aid station is located at the Gabe Zimmerman Trailhead, named for <a href="https://visitsouthernarizona.com/gabe-zimmerman-victim/" target="_blank">Gabe Zimmerman</a>, the community outreach director for Rep. Gabrielle Giffords. He was one of six people killed on January 8, 2011, when a gunman shot the Congresswoman and 18 other persons outside a Tucson Safeway at a “Congress on your Corner” event. He liked to hike, run and mountain bike in the Tucson mountains and contributed to the completion of the Arizona Trail and his father and friends helped get him memorialized in a place he loved to visit.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXsPN3HRhSBOoPpEJhGt6bD_cLzG-c7HkB43IhpB925y_wx1T4J9TyJhJG0jp2m8n7UPQCgOT1BHROTgRJW9cctbQxlJtJhoiOl15uB05tM6IBt3nT0mJYp_9UVkUcl71q9ZqQY5sdRtiLkT6HOAtc2ItCEJh99sIxMciuVF-vMnMF1mCVF2w8YTxtrA/s2576/20221210_085458.jpg" style="display: block; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 1em 0px;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="1188" data-original-width="2576" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXsPN3HRhSBOoPpEJhGt6bD_cLzG-c7HkB43IhpB925y_wx1T4J9TyJhJG0jp2m8n7UPQCgOT1BHROTgRJW9cctbQxlJtJhoiOl15uB05tM6IBt3nT0mJYp_9UVkUcl71q9ZqQY5sdRtiLkT6HOAtc2ItCEJh99sIxMciuVF-vMnMF1mCVF2w8YTxtrA/w400-h185/20221210_085458.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The tunnel under I-10.</td></tr></tbody></table><div><b>Southward</b></div><div>In about a mile and a half we go through the snake tunnel under I-10. The course rolls a bit as it heads south and then southwest, crossing the Old Sonoita Highway and then in a bit crossing under Highway 83.</div><div><br /></div><div>By now we have left the range of the majestic saguaro cacti and have only lower varieties to see.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Time for a Change</b></div><div>Reaching the Sahuarita Road Aid Station (mile 11) manned by superheroes ("We were going with a Marvel theme," I'm told, "but then Mrs. Incredible came, so we went superhero."). I sit down and get my drop bag. It has warmed up enough (frankly, warm enough at Gabe Z AS) to switch my two long sleeve shirts for a fresh one, get rid of my hat, gloves and buff, change the (one) wet socks and try to stay modestly covered while I take off my shorts and tights. A towel helps. I note a scape on my knee from my fall and get a alcohol wipe to clean it. I joke that I fear contracting necrotizing fasciitis, but decline to offer of a band aid.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUNKm3y0tiaxkEXl5z3CHUldFrIMhbyf5N8HFS8OmxSsj0qoB5dVVUWLagNXRbJhEvU6ADjufcgXbS6-KYF6ranRS2wnrYxUtTuvLgC3c8n1Q04ezNkflm6fPVdZTmaRNYJESSmGxroaCnaY30877d6cDzx5IhRpMdHBR24Ad-ChQ6NrPsR1Ww_ZkyZQ/s4608/20221210_095159.jpg" style="display: block; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 1em 0px;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="4608" data-original-width="2128" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUNKm3y0tiaxkEXl5z3CHUldFrIMhbyf5N8HFS8OmxSsj0qoB5dVVUWLagNXRbJhEvU6ADjufcgXbS6-KYF6ranRS2wnrYxUtTuvLgC3c8n1Q04ezNkflm6fPVdZTmaRNYJESSmGxroaCnaY30877d6cDzx5IhRpMdHBR24Ad-ChQ6NrPsR1Ww_ZkyZQ/w185-h400/20221210_095159.jpg" width="185" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gate on the trail.</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOQ7Xza7QNoqKI95qkARIR_YzsxG2ZfJkP08xWVv7CB8t1iN9FNPxAtwfSiZ3uFKlCcaJng1bvEJLg2BMB7IRdaNNTtLaKxdLa1A_sMrZS8aHAU9IG0k0v1K-sknVsDwIgnQD_wyG46aYogCpOT31U2UOz9kZxrlPuCPLg8khRck1BW0JksLeE_3YUiQ/s2576/20221210_090929.jpg" style="display: block; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 1em 0px;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="2576" data-original-width="1188" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOQ7Xza7QNoqKI95qkARIR_YzsxG2ZfJkP08xWVv7CB8t1iN9FNPxAtwfSiZ3uFKlCcaJng1bvEJLg2BMB7IRdaNNTtLaKxdLa1A_sMrZS8aHAU9IG0k0v1K-sknVsDwIgnQD_wyG46aYogCpOT31U2UOz9kZxrlPuCPLg8khRck1BW0JksLeE_3YUiQ/w185-h400/20221210_090929.jpg" width="185" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Follow the AZT!</td></tr></tbody></table><div><b>And It is Officially a Trail Race</b></div><div> Going onward, I monentarily lose the trail. But having been here three years previously I realize that the jeep road I'm about to go on is not the AZT, backtrack ten yards and pick up the turn I had missed. Since "it isn't a trail race unless you fall down or get lost'" I have now checked both boxes. And I still have another 20 miles or so to go.</div><div><br /></div><div>The course climbs another 500 feet or as it heads to the ridge crest before dropping down to the Peaks View Aid Station (mile 17). About a mile from the aid station I meet Emaad coming toward me. We exchange greetings and he tells me that only only about 20 minutes behind him. Thinking about it I recalculate what he said and figure he meant I'm 20 minutes from the aid station, or 40 minutes behind.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Turn-around</b></div><div>After using the primitive facilities at the aid station (imagine a child's potty chair surrounded on three sides by a blue tarp flapping in a breeze) I head north. Although I had applied sunscreen at mile 11 I regret not having grabbed a cap. The sun is getting warm.</div><div><br /></div><div>After topping the crest, I enjoy the opportunity to run the long and mostly gentle, mostly rock-free downhill. I feel like I'm making good time.</div><div><br /></div><div>I spend a lot of time walking during ultras. My GPS will say that I walked half the time during this race. I walk the uphills, I mostly walk rocky or rooty sections, and I walk steep downhills. And I walk if I feel tired. So a chance to run for a seemingly long stretch is uplifting.</div><div><br /></div><div>Back at Sahuarita Road Aid Station (mile 23.6), I change shirts again, this time putting on a short sleeve shirt and remembering to take a cap. I chat a bit with a runner who has dropped out due to a hip injury and another runner, who I had passed just before the aid station comes in and announces that he, too, is dropping out.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Facing the Cut-off</b></div><div>I had prepared a pace card so I knew what times I needed to keep up to make the cut off at Gabe Z in-bound. But I had lost it, and would have to rely on being able to calculate time and distance, something ultrarunners know is difficult to do on a tired brain. I had a back of the envelope calculation that I was in good shape, but one is never certain. A fall, a rolled ankle or a wrong turn can lead to failure.</div><div><br /></div><div>I go on and after a bit can see I-10. Cross under it and Gabe Z is only a mile and a half away. But it never seems to get closer. Maybe I'm looking at it on the diagonal. Maybe the trail is veering at an angle. But finally the trail drops down to the tunnel and I'm through. A glance a the watch shows that time is not a problem.</div><div>In the distance I can see another runner. Sometimes I seem to be getting closer, but just a soon she pulls away. The final stretch to the aid station (mile 29.8) seems to take forever but I arrive there with plenty of time to spare. I plunk down in a chair while the helpful aid station workers (dinosaur theme at this aid station) refill my pack, soak my bandana with cold water and generally treat me royally. Now my only concern is getting to the finish before sunset as I don't have a light other than the flashlight on my phone.<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlNFCnZUEDa66X1qqQcRC9ZFi2kbKzottcD9MhwLsgLGge9mOvVCIunHY4MAJ9veZlPPBz-bhtIsQEBsyOi1jj-zh8WXFs5-pKAM6Ko44uGlI6ILBJJIy3i--rP-1Ub-LsfTUomEuTQLxqzrnZu1bj9lmpZb84zUnX9OKIftf9V-3WfftqHLO7Nceehw/s2576/20221210_081149.jpg" style="display: block; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 1em 0px;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="1188" data-original-width="2576" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlNFCnZUEDa66X1qqQcRC9ZFi2kbKzottcD9MhwLsgLGge9mOvVCIunHY4MAJ9veZlPPBz-bhtIsQEBsyOi1jj-zh8WXFs5-pKAM6Ko44uGlI6ILBJJIy3i--rP-1Ub-LsfTUomEuTQLxqzrnZu1bj9lmpZb84zUnX9OKIftf9V-3WfftqHLO7Nceehw/w400-h185/20221210_081149.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Union Pacific railroad bridge (about miles 3.8 and 30.9) </td></tr></tbody></table></div><div><b>Home Stretch</b></div><div>Shortly after leaving the aid station I catch up with Judi. She is signed up for the 50 miler, but has decided to drop down to the 55K. (The race allows 50-mile runners the option to take a 55K finish rather than continuing on to the northern out-and-back when they return to the start-finish area.) We go along together, chatting and trading stories of races we have done, including one we both did in different years.</div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY-LmSwNjjm3iOW0NZSdPZsc8G4UDjL8lsAiss979VW9tCFultX4vZOw55HIGOVV2Z-UX7xpED7DQUAkOMRMHZzPhpsBYgCRCHcfCVCbs2mIz3gS8b3hGZN9s6Q9SxztyFO-1u6LfyPt-ISfuABX8A7Ux0AxMC3E9GngYpMhHV6shrjsbR5KQH95nRfA/s4608/20221210_170703.jpg" style="display: block; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 1em 0px;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="4608" data-original-width="2128" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY-LmSwNjjm3iOW0NZSdPZsc8G4UDjL8lsAiss979VW9tCFultX4vZOw55HIGOVV2Z-UX7xpED7DQUAkOMRMHZzPhpsBYgCRCHcfCVCbs2mIz3gS8b3hGZN9s6Q9SxztyFO-1u6LfyPt-ISfuABX8A7Ux0AxMC3E9GngYpMhHV6shrjsbR5KQH95nRfA/w148-h320/20221210_170703.jpg" width="148" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Food at the finish, with finisher's spike. <br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>Approaching the finish as we cross dry Agua Verde Creek we hear the announcer getting the three dozen entrants in the night half marathon ready to start. If we don't get to the finish quickly they will all be coming at us on on single track. I urge Judi and another runner we have caught up to on. The half marathoners see us coming and cheer us to the finish, less than two minutes before they start.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Results</b></div><div>Emaad is at the finish, having finished in 8:29. I finish in 9:43, good for 72 of 79 overall; 48/51 males and 3/3 in my age group.</div><div><br /></div><div>I enjoy the BBQ sandwich, macaroni salad, potato salad and a beer before we head out.<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNtKOz2MQJLbPYTXmbciJS5Vb7pOKXW7CjCr7XJz8J2CZqXXwWlgre5HMa50HFuR6vXBEGuwtv6GvJk5hhTwMIvV5uXbXs-EigJnYhysJsBexNzTvRYfwY5O1FrBUkX46bOW60v--9kHmWvXEycuVGEaEmRxW3aGiYhRu34HRHne8IBkLddvVh8KWDgA/s2128/20221216_101106.jpg" style="display: block; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 1em 0px; text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="2128" data-original-width="2128" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNtKOz2MQJLbPYTXmbciJS5Vb7pOKXW7CjCr7XJz8J2CZqXXwWlgre5HMa50HFuR6vXBEGuwtv6GvJk5hhTwMIvV5uXbXs-EigJnYhysJsBexNzTvRYfwY5O1FrBUkX46bOW60v--9kHmWvXEycuVGEaEmRxW3aGiYhRu34HRHne8IBkLddvVh8KWDgA/w400-h400/20221216_101106.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Swag: Shirt, bib, finisher's spike, <br />AZT socks and sticker, Huppy bar.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div>Ken Swabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04093841096811631084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672747428347177743.post-66069036693411637502022-11-21T16:12:00.000-05:002022-11-21T16:12:24.162-05:00Patapsco Valley 25K - October 29, 2022<b>Back to Running</b><div>I fractured a bone in my left foot on July 11when I missed a step in the house. No surgery was necessary, but I spend eight weeks in a cast, which didn't come off until September 14. While I could walk, I didn't resume until October 3 when I managed four miles on the treadmill. From then I ran nearly every day, usually 3 - 6 miles per day. Uncertain of my stability on trails, I bought a pair of Leki trekking poles.</div><div><br /></div><div>Emaad had signed up for the two-loop <a href="https://whiteoakrunning.com/events/patapsco-50k/" target="_blank">Patapsco Valley 50K</a> on October 29. Looking at the course map I recognized that I have run on much of it while running the <a href="http://keswab.blogspot.com/2015/08/maryland-heat-race-25k-august-8-2015.html" target="_blank">Maryland Heat Runs in 2015</a> and <a href="http://keswab.blogspot.com/2019/08/md-heat-race-25k-august-17-2019.html" target="_blank">2019</a>. While it is nice to know what the course offers, in this case I know it offers plenty of steep up and downs. I know that I'm not in shape to take on the 50K, but one loop for 25K with a generous cutoff seems doable, particularly with trekking poles. I sign up.</div><div><br /></div><div>I get one ten mile run on trails in with Emaad on October 23. It's a chance to get used to the trekking poles. </div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjImemCSaDKxTBOa-AeL7bkzibOwsc3EIuXqqbgEFimYR36XPewkZO7Mo5vciNbQKRql4MlNizZ44y2jJC-8BIyX_VWMm95shTV5ESNbPVCxE7YLG4p4U14bfEZW7acJaUq2545C_By8U6bGaeXnKPOtdJg38ir2P69C8WsZSwjNPwpSuOToTup5vcXdw/s3456/20221029_094126.jpg" style="display: block; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 1em 0px;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="3456" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjImemCSaDKxTBOa-AeL7bkzibOwsc3EIuXqqbgEFimYR36XPewkZO7Mo5vciNbQKRql4MlNizZ44y2jJC-8BIyX_VWMm95shTV5ESNbPVCxE7YLG4p4U14bfEZW7acJaUq2545C_By8U6bGaeXnKPOtdJg38ir2P69C8WsZSwjNPwpSuOToTup5vcXdw/s400/20221029_094126.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Typical Single Track</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div><b>Race Day</b></div><div>I drive Emaad and myself to the race start at Baltimore County Community College on the edge of the the park. The weather is just about perfect - maybe a tad warm. We chat with fellow runners and he goes off with the 222 50K runners at 730. The 25K starts an hour later. I chat with friend Gretchen as we wait, and once we are off she is quickly gone.</div><div><br /></div><div>We run a few hundred yards on a grassy field before getting on the single track trails in the park. It is a bit of up and down, but mostly down, as we need to wind up at the Patapsco River before crossing over to the other side of the valley.</div><div><br /></div><div>As time goes on the runners spread out and I move further back in the field. The poles help on the steeper rocky and rooty downhills, and at one small stream crossing, save me from slipping from a rock.</div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcETOFnbsmRU1UX9hV4CcLAqdC935UcaAx7QmLvtLF5qLoTi3dH6EK_4p3RjD3PeJRdWBg1SqfWkG7oo6kcRD0DO9zoDstGBiAY4yPB-Uy_M1PtMwSviyyGt-jeaBEs9IAifp8ru_rLhxwqxsMTx0wHGJ39X2LZZnPKf5g9rPrZcrdoIrP9Jwso7gx8A/s3456/20221029_100034.jpg" style="display: block; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 1em 0px;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="3456" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcETOFnbsmRU1UX9hV4CcLAqdC935UcaAx7QmLvtLF5qLoTi3dH6EK_4p3RjD3PeJRdWBg1SqfWkG7oo6kcRD0DO9zoDstGBiAY4yPB-Uy_M1PtMwSviyyGt-jeaBEs9IAifp8ru_rLhxwqxsMTx0wHGJ39X2LZZnPKf5g9rPrZcrdoIrP9Jwso7gx8A/s400/20221029_100034.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tunnel under train tracks (Mile 6)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div>Memories of the course come back from the Maryland Heat Races although we are largely running the trails in the opposite direction. After about 3 miles there is a water-only aid station, but my pack is pretty full so I thank the volunteer and go on.</div><div><br /></div><div>Near the river we cross under the railroad tracks and in a short while come to the first full-service aid station. I get my usual fill of cookies and M&Ms and eat them while going on. </div><div><br /></div><div>We cross the river on a road, pass the Avalon Picnic Area (start-finish for Maryland Heat Races) and turn uphill on the trail.</div><div><br /></div><div>Plenty of climbing and descending small valleys are in store, but I'm in no hurry and am mostly walking anyway.</div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsr9arhu-kT5uM1_uglCC1rlq6V-u3L58ThgiTAW1IpEwwXHkVptIs9bfRd8ngx-GpzSAMyDKmXIQ7VwsjiTac6xVaXUNp_mcdKA37PhjE3NiybhYfgz7mZY0D2dzPm1QohNmxGKU5zpvXNtAu7Xnwp5dJWxG8AqfZh7iI1SkSaw-Z9nTa7VL84c7M4Q/s3456/20221029_102057.jpg" style="display: block; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 1em 0px;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="3456" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsr9arhu-kT5uM1_uglCC1rlq6V-u3L58ThgiTAW1IpEwwXHkVptIs9bfRd8ngx-GpzSAMyDKmXIQ7VwsjiTac6xVaXUNp_mcdKA37PhjE3NiybhYfgz7mZY0D2dzPm1QohNmxGKU5zpvXNtAu7Xnwp5dJWxG8AqfZh7iI1SkSaw-Z9nTa7VL84c7M4Q/s400/20221029_102057.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">John Smith Marker (about mile 8)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div>On top of a ridge overlooking the river I stop to look at a monument by the side of the trail. "Capt John Smith" on one side, and "to the cross hath been discovered A.D. 1608" on the opposite.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm a bit confused as are several other runners. We are a couple of hundred miles from Jamestown, Virginia. the only thing I know about John Smith is the story about Pocahontas. While much about that story is unclear, disputed or romanticized (or all three), it turns out that Smith did visit the place where the monument sits. </div><div><br /></div><div>A year after arriving in Virginia, Smith extensively explored and mapped the Chesapeake Bay, apparently looking for a passage to the Pacific Ocean. The <a href="https://www.nps.gov/cajo/index.htm" target="_blank">Captain John Smith Chesapeake National Historic Trail</a> follows his journey, including his visit up the Patapsco to that site.</div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXyVuEaTQ6KCRi1Vpoij1HP4Vney-4k4gFXII0UfHf5CwPhG9InOXVWTO9WwqnGBysotHMOlybIhKXM5TSTiqMv4lXple7X5JvYTcYo5A9QBDh1Ro6E2HuP4tFvtwhNAqLg_5WnUJDPly99xgusNhCCOYsAbaWd7cnHLh5vSz89j5AXOOARDI9MnK3jQ/s2448/20221029_111518.jpg" style="display: block; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 1em 0px;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="2448" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXyVuEaTQ6KCRi1Vpoij1HP4Vney-4k4gFXII0UfHf5CwPhG9InOXVWTO9WwqnGBysotHMOlybIhKXM5TSTiqMv4lXple7X5JvYTcYo5A9QBDh1Ro6E2HuP4tFvtwhNAqLg_5WnUJDPly99xgusNhCCOYsAbaWd7cnHLh5vSz89j5AXOOARDI9MnK3jQ/s400/20221029_111518.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cascade Falls (mile 10)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div>Onward I go (plod?). I pass the log by a now-dry intermittent stream crossing where <a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/dhAWPQSGCJLxoF0tTzWhMy8ybaH1899p_-WGzcx3hdFPPoQmP_MxQcaIcwlUGpyvQbMNx2J-HvBdnO01sTS2EB_raPPBDYJdrLkO2ddncD5d05YHw6APiGmVOkOYd19Xee5M08850KbuPLpG3Pjx5FeezRM1yl9Lw_Tmo2WCpV9anCEb7gSqF9fxAzk4kI7eIokRKUG1KmDb8F24ho7Ddo3I4O_oTP-meS7Avol7jjB1pTvlE_AxR5O8VHjElZunf21EThku9xR_hd8Fn5FjUmgxvF52j2u78jslMM1x_HbyTwi6s9s3LB7RA74-a6LdBtnuLu2HnjLRTkfSVlTe7rb_Y7kgBc7hV47_SVTypGZmbLml4B6jTqhEruaDHRK7Z_Nn2jKTRzHqGCOukpJLQUkp7S4XgHILxGFBDdfPr1_K-p1OzxjwGeSpys7SioBvOAloKhM8Aq6CPOusqBx3FMIyjtuQP6jVyXuCwCGvnTFjyFIovb9W2Xqbr7rSWZrBpcjx13GUa2Mr6wLwcV-RGmZyik8q8KAFNwCv47igcHQK47Tfr91kWZ40cPG35IwkD0ikJn8QpKFM8S25rI-SuGyOPdPXn9hBBdiNcW8HTZVRMNBrnz4y9wonkt43JjASImPrYferAnqS5HF1CBaII4j0mnwKvTBtkSFxp_0k-VWzATfO_GJ1LHvld16JHbU6Y6bAI2MRUAhrewYiLGlWZh94dw=w469-h625-no" target="_blank">I lay down</a> during the 2019 Maryland Heat Race to recover from the heat. (That picture is worth a look if you want to see what not-fun running looks like.)</div><div><br /></div><div>Downhill leads to the picturesque Cascade Falls. There are two photoagrapers there, both with cameras on tripods, on either side of the pool. I wonder why they chose the side they did. Many other people are also taking pictures at the photogenic location and I can't resist either, asking a fellow runner to take mine. </div><div><br /></div><div>Crossing over the stream outlet of the falls to get to the trail on the other side requires navigating over medium size rocks. Near the end of the rocks a father is helping his pre-teen son get from rock to rock while his mother and a couple of other children wait. The father is describing the rocks ahead and instructing the son where to feel for his next step. The boy reaches out with his rubber tipped stick and feels the contours of the rocks. He is blind. Courage, trust and love are together in that moment.</div><div> </div><div>In half a mile I get to the next aid station, refuel with some bacon and candy and return to the trail for more up and down.</div><div><br /></div><div>Ahead of me are "Tweetle Dum" and "Tweetle Dee," a pair of women with matching shirts with the afore-mentioned logos on them. I press to keep up with, and even catch up to them. We pass a large group of women out walking all wearing matching shirts proclaiming their support for abused women. One has fallen, and some of the others are gathered around her, but she isn't hurt and doesn't require assistance. There are two hikers that I repeatedly pass, and they repeatedly pass me, when I stopped at the falls, and the aid station. </div><div><br /></div><div>I finally catch up to the Tweetles, as I dub them, around mile 12, and see Gretchen just in front of them. Another runner, Nicole, is with her. <a href="https://youtu.be/VBlnTz4fr5k?t=23" target="_blank">Mercy sakes alive, looks like we got us a convoy!</a> </div><div><br /></div><div>Along the Bloede Dam Trail, to a right on Ilchester Road, another right past the second water-only aid station, across the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Patapsco_Swinging_Bridge">Patapsco Swinging Bridge</a> onto the paved Grist Mill Trail and a sharp left back onto the trail. We are headed away from the river, so it is up hill. And more uphill.</div><div><br /></div><div>We pass Ilchester Rocks, where rock climbers practice their skills (although there are none today), It's then a long downhill on the Sawmill Branch Trail, where there is a very steep boulder drop that requires me to go bottom first, and then a 300 foot climb out.</div><div><br /></div><div>Somewhere along here Gretchen and I decide that we should finish together. Maybe it is a way to bank any competitive fires we have, or a mutual decision to be companionable, or a mutual decision to be compassionate. In any case, even as we leapfrog a bit we stay together. We come out of the woods together, and as we cross the field we join hands and cross the finish line together.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Post-Race and Results</b></div><div>I finish in 4:49:24 for 162/186 overall, 106/114 males and 1/2 in my age group. Gretchen also wins her age group, even though there are no prizes.</div><div><br /></div><div>Waiting for Emaad I go off to Subway and get a foot-long which I devour without any problem. Picking him after his 50K finish we go off to <a href="https://www.hysteriabrewing.com/" target="_blank">Hysteria Brewing Company</a> for some refreshment.</div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6Qpysi_jtbzSa1nCimpIGkGq_3TJJPt2DXGRnT7zuOiMe27zVRp88KbUTxnZV_lmvFOt25vBu7BoSsTPK3yiI5LnoXtANuenYWXD9XllqoPngawR2ohIpFyy2OcK578KWTcW1Vmm3sRV0OUT4B82i5ZbMqusFmVUq-hx0y8TWVRjaIRqnut_Fhl-u_A/s2448/20221109_100736.jpg" style="display: block; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; padding: 1em 0px; text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="2448" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6Qpysi_jtbzSa1nCimpIGkGq_3TJJPt2DXGRnT7zuOiMe27zVRp88KbUTxnZV_lmvFOt25vBu7BoSsTPK3yiI5LnoXtANuenYWXD9XllqoPngawR2ohIpFyy2OcK578KWTcW1Vmm3sRV0OUT4B82i5ZbMqusFmVUq-hx0y8TWVRjaIRqnut_Fhl-u_A/w640-h640/20221109_100736.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Swag: Shirt, tote bag, magnet, bib and medal</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><br /><br /></div>Ken Swabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04093841096811631084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672747428347177743.post-71561544491953116092022-08-08T17:14:00.000-04:002022-08-08T17:14:00.633-04:00Finger Lakes 50s 50K - July 2, 2022<p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieM05zjMHMOtwQx-A8iX5x-9Dpr_o5xuaTJik1_lmIoGWuUUIN8VT4e2CtQx2wSerK9HBnBWwf3YFkM2xQdR4Q2hmtP4vMRf6WUgRxiYmyYE53iOOVCN4O4gBsj4OD5u3mB6SiKBNwxodMQgEf_LWSt2EBsd1RCdhASauWVXBbUW4PbGtsVR6_JbPJgg/s1200/FL50s2022pond.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="993" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieM05zjMHMOtwQx-A8iX5x-9Dpr_o5xuaTJik1_lmIoGWuUUIN8VT4e2CtQx2wSerK9HBnBWwf3YFkM2xQdR4Q2hmtP4vMRf6WUgRxiYmyYE53iOOVCN4O4gBsj4OD5u3mB6SiKBNwxodMQgEf_LWSt2EBsd1RCdhASauWVXBbUW4PbGtsVR6_JbPJgg/w331-h400/FL50s2022pond.jpg" width="331" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Running by South Burnt Hill Pond<br />(photo by FLRC)</td></tr></tbody></table><b> Mud or No Mud?</b></p><p>I spend Friday night worrying about rain. Although the weather in the Finger Lakes region has been dry, race reports on previous<a href="https://fingerlakesrunners.org/race/finger-lakes-50s-2022/" target="_blank"> Finger Lakes 50s </a>indicate that the course can be wet all the time, and rain can quickly add water to the stream crossings on the course. Light rain falls overnight while I sleep fitfully.</p><p>The race fills up quickly, and I registered on January 1, when registration opened (and closed). It will be the second time running the race, which I first ran in 2007.</p><p>Up at 5 a.m., and there is a bit of mist in the air; maybe some intermittent raindrops as well. Sandy drives me from our Watkins Glen house to the start at the Potomac Group Campground in the Finger Lakes National Forest. A deer dashes across County Road 4 on the way.</p><p>Sandy drops me off and I struggle to put on my 'emergency' plastic poncho for the walk to the campground. It isn't exactly raining but it isn't exactly not raining either. There's no cell service there so I can't check the radar. Finally I decide that since the forecast calls for improving conditions as the day progresses, I can go without. But I wear a hat in case. And gaiters to keep mud out of my shoes (realizing as I put them on that I didn't attach velcro to the heel to secure the back of the gaiter). I loan a trash bag to another runner so that he can keep his bag dry in case it does rain.</p><p><b><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSXv1Ly02g4cFBwSlld2YQ-59D4D5Kr6_Xfkk-qyLQ1skF2xiEeMJvl9mm1OMqgSox5Rm5N-pKS2Wvhij3klnx7e0WFA_W3rRnocR4tEFoMC8r3G42BPoErJvMKsvvWAc0_4TWnGyE9DB51dh5RbETKGoY4VzDz61QAnhYTr1d5gRC8By_Kj74-YYuRg/s4608/20220702_065800.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2128" data-original-width="4608" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSXv1Ly02g4cFBwSlld2YQ-59D4D5Kr6_Xfkk-qyLQ1skF2xiEeMJvl9mm1OMqgSox5Rm5N-pKS2Wvhij3klnx7e0WFA_W3rRnocR4tEFoMC8r3G42BPoErJvMKsvvWAc0_4TWnGyE9DB51dh5RbETKGoY4VzDz61QAnhYTr1d5gRC8By_Kj74-YYuRg/w400-h185/20220702_065800.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The cowless first pasture.</td></tr></tbody></table>Don't' Let the Cows Out!</b> </p><p>The race motto is "Don't Let the Cows Out" as we will run thru three cow pastures. The last minute instructions from the race director emphasis that this calls for ditching the usual politeness to following runners. "If they are not within touching distance of the gate," he says, "close it. We can't have cows escaping if this race is to continue."</p><p>The course is a 16.5 mile loop in the Finger Lakes National Forest. One loop for the 25K, two loops for the 50K and three loops for the 50 miler (plus a "baby loop"). And yes, that's 33 miles, not 31.1 miles for the 50K, but the purpose is to get the 50 milers almost finished (49.5 miles) in 3 loops. Anyway, the distance is what the race director says it is.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUp4WQ51yPCdSH6Afguh6u70plGEag9JN7mcMa-lSwyzvBXSqJ7X6GcNTyBW2d4qoLxOksM73DOXBvTJ3cvXiqVulr9BNl4G0Uu89tNbGjRjm4hM_JjHWy3ZPKl4SboOgzHe6j6cVDWujLTRqJCPSC6-4EbODJvjTU-t0zgrR9_2dcfP55LpPslVfUtg/s4608/20220702_072350.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2128" data-original-width="4608" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUp4WQ51yPCdSH6Afguh6u70plGEag9JN7mcMa-lSwyzvBXSqJ7X6GcNTyBW2d4qoLxOksM73DOXBvTJ3cvXiqVulr9BNl4G0Uu89tNbGjRjm4hM_JjHWy3ZPKl4SboOgzHe6j6cVDWujLTRqJCPSC6-4EbODJvjTU-t0zgrR9_2dcfP55LpPslVfUtg/w400-h185/20220702_072350.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Down and up trail</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div>At 6:30 a.m. the 50M and 50K runners start. The 25K runners will start an hour later. Down gravel Potomac Road we go before turning right and onto single track. We cross a road, run along a pasture fence line, then thru a gate into the pasture. No cows are in sight and it appears that none have used this pasture for awhile. We exit on the far side, being sure to close the gate. Then it is a long downhill on the unpaved Mark Smith Road. I take it easy on the downhill as I have no interest in trashing my thighs early.<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPb3qIEWaQLYUr3ve2X3Wr-JiI2GRwTxlMQ8sdPEOze-Pw6Moy9NpBhqyiCYx4QSvs-5v8e4oCHENUpN_ysrfAbxmgyKmk--LwEjCmM8Mnb6DOupnjJ45oLCX5yfaE2HFAodQu9lIiDZt9KFvioE7A3ejaC2Smy1HGC3niJx8wRBbuCbVReTvp4zdN-w/s4608/20220702_095428.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2128" data-original-width="4608" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPb3qIEWaQLYUr3ve2X3Wr-JiI2GRwTxlMQ8sdPEOze-Pw6Moy9NpBhqyiCYx4QSvs-5v8e4oCHENUpN_ysrfAbxmgyKmk--LwEjCmM8Mnb6DOupnjJ45oLCX5yfaE2HFAodQu9lIiDZt9KFvioE7A3ejaC2Smy1HGC3niJx8wRBbuCbVReTvp4zdN-w/w400-h186/20220702_095428.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't Let the Cows Out!</td></tr></tbody></table><p>The weather is pretty good for July 2 - it's overcast and the temperature is warm but not oppressive. And there is no rain. And an even greater surprise is that the course is pretty dry. This is due to the drought conditions that the Finger Lakes have been experiencing. The bit of rain the night before has settled the dust down without creating mud or raising the little or no water in the streams on the course.</p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilHVhhUjmVOKlGFw5RdrHCd11LPhXWyBRuGNw0s-m2PoYwvqItD5GS19hT6De_2tSBSa9-pOfEJl8xuii3KUxHs4pA380Y0KxFjCcrnk7BSKxuVQDvd-GMljdPwMEzucsjFX4w8RIl34eHikaSKnIbRILKVpB0CRaMaMkcBG0qoK2q7MkxXj-wGcd_kw/s4608/20220702_084417.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4608" data-original-width="2128" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilHVhhUjmVOKlGFw5RdrHCd11LPhXWyBRuGNw0s-m2PoYwvqItD5GS19hT6De_2tSBSa9-pOfEJl8xuii3KUxHs4pA380Y0KxFjCcrnk7BSKxuVQDvd-GMljdPwMEzucsjFX4w8RIl34eHikaSKnIbRILKVpB0CRaMaMkcBG0qoK2q7MkxXj-wGcd_kw/s320/20220702_084417.jpg" width="148" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Close the Gate.</td></tr></tbody></table>From the Morgue Aid Station on Mark Smith Road, the course turns onto the Gorge Trail, going upward before turning downhill to the South Beach Aid Station. The trail skirts a pond, but it isn't swampy. Then it is more downhill on the Interlaken Trail before looping back up to South Beach on the South Slope Trail. (As far as I can tell, the aid station names are apropos of nothing.) </p><p>From there it is north on the Interlaken Trail, crossing Matthews Road with nice views of Seneca Lake to the west while crossing another cow pasture (a rare place with a cell signal) to a right to the Library Aid Station on Burnt Hill Road. Then into the forest again, with a steep and scary descent on the aptly named Ravine Trail, followed by the inevitable uphill that follows a descent.</p><p>Then past the horse camp and north on the Backbone Trail. On the trail some rain starts to fall and I switch my hat around for backward to forward. But the shower doesn't last long and the Outback Aid Station, is next to the third pasture of the day, this one with grazing cows. On the far side of the pasture two cows are near the gate grazing. Or are they just waiting for someone to let them out? I make sure to close the gate behind me.</p><p>This is the homestretch (a couple of miles anyway) back to the finish at the campground. Stretches of pine forest, some boardwalks to run on, another pond or two to skirt, and in 4:04:24 I've completed the first lap.</p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWBBuvFom61zw6OX3RIrPLxfhpVZhna9MK53p2fFvFyYF4E2VkragLCWmnwNL1wB7MF58Whse4Ql9a7JuJcPhyhA0Qd-W-ANY_9Mo0WbewxqifjNhTRbnJBam4-_JiCcahddwf74Vn97qSNFBpBhZOlRQZZbG2HL-0HAZhwxhzTW7L1TjDB8GwThD3kQ/s4608/20220702_110042.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2128" data-original-width="4608" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWBBuvFom61zw6OX3RIrPLxfhpVZhna9MK53p2fFvFyYF4E2VkragLCWmnwNL1wB7MF58Whse4Ql9a7JuJcPhyhA0Qd-W-ANY_9Mo0WbewxqifjNhTRbnJBam4-_JiCcahddwf74Vn97qSNFBpBhZOlRQZZbG2HL-0HAZhwxhzTW7L1TjDB8GwThD3kQ/w400-h185/20220702_110042.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alongside a pasture on the Burnt Hill Trail</td></tr></tbody></table><p><b>Second Lap</b></p><p>I change my shirt, taking off my 2007 FL50s shirt, ditch my hat and head out on my second loop. My goal is to finish the race in 9 hours, so I feel good about having close to five hours for the second loop. No hurry, no worry, even as 50 milers on their third loops speed by me.</p><p><b>Every Runner Has a Story</b></p><p>I'm in no hurry (from the start, not just the second loop), and take the opportunity to chat with other runners as I can. Some of these conversations happened on the first loop, and not necessarily in the order presented.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj25mSTfTiILNJC9KPIe-HswMskb0bWxJ1Ctbf4JO81Q4T9gt2K1NZ1FvCoWH0A6NJUAMOTD5oMVqGtqGctlgeLeEv5EPaqJqAf7gK9RksEAt2hnkdA-uUgUCvFPa5AZ0DXbi0KId1ZOFCKmeOlL-ffLdp9sBbXxxDSa6h87qwbuOJNgckT9P9XlvMN2Q/s4608/20220702_074047.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2128" data-original-width="4608" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj25mSTfTiILNJC9KPIe-HswMskb0bWxJ1Ctbf4JO81Q4T9gt2K1NZ1FvCoWH0A6NJUAMOTD5oMVqGtqGctlgeLeEv5EPaqJqAf7gK9RksEAt2hnkdA-uUgUCvFPa5AZ0DXbi0KId1ZOFCKmeOlL-ffLdp9sBbXxxDSa6h87qwbuOJNgckT9P9XlvMN2Q/w400-h185/20220702_074047.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alongside South Burnt Hill Pond</td></tr></tbody></table><p>I run a bit with a runner from Pittsburgh and tell her about running <a href="http://keswab.blogspot.com/2019/07/hell-hath-no-hurry-50k-dnf-june-29-2019.html" target="_blank">Hell Hath No Hurry</a> there. She points to her visor - it's from HHNH. We trade stories about our experiences at it and discuss the race director, Peter K, who is my <a href="https://www.familysearch.org/en/blog/cousin-chart" target="_blank">first cousin, once removed</a>. My first cousin is the grillmaster at the race.</p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGV5RcNX4mjn0eRd3ub4U7AMbm7-myXHB_57t7oC09xRPIHmXw265L0dhQvpb8WzBXyhvdaWgI3-esuZ9ScRgJnDrXz-tcx4q6iIVzXxZM8S8RfhVBBg8O-2kvIgzyibF6ZQV20fSHm1JtnN0vT5TMLL4mn3SIIDd91ODELHDozn-cWsMp7j9rhE0Ugw/s4608/20220702_131738.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2128" data-original-width="4608" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGV5RcNX4mjn0eRd3ub4U7AMbm7-myXHB_57t7oC09xRPIHmXw265L0dhQvpb8WzBXyhvdaWgI3-esuZ9ScRgJnDrXz-tcx4q6iIVzXxZM8S8RfhVBBg8O-2kvIgzyibF6ZQV20fSHm1JtnN0vT5TMLL4mn3SIIDd91ODELHDozn-cWsMp7j9rhE0Ugw/w400-h185/20220702_131738.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A bell in memory.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>One woman tells me this is her first race. Do you mean your first trail run, or first marathon, or first ultra I ask. No, my first race, she replies. I've never entered a race before, she says. She is a triathlete, so she has done runs as part of those events, but never just entered something that is a solely a running event. She says she is enjoy the event.</p><p>On the Backbone Trail during the first loop I come upon a couple walking ahead. One of them is limping. I express concern and offer salt tabs or ibuprofen if it will help. The runner says its OK, that while he won't be able to run, they are close enough to the campground that they will make the first loop cutoff of five and a half hours and will be able to walk out the second loop.</p><p><b><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj56iGd6erg8WdhgNdCeB6zVgCZM2zJl7cBwljxoXYXZtbPL0euYYqJv0y47kcslrgqM9JYCJRH8aQI72mtx9IkCtDdvY9n4wmAwZ1rOiQtpvHSjmZ5f1_nges7Q0MOONhG38zqRmEsTMOY-LJa2MVEZvwWaGbshGChCBbv_q6mkYWBCR2vJzZh9G4c-g/s4608/20220702_143544.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2128" data-original-width="4608" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj56iGd6erg8WdhgNdCeB6zVgCZM2zJl7cBwljxoXYXZtbPL0euYYqJv0y47kcslrgqM9JYCJRH8aQI72mtx9IkCtDdvY9n4wmAwZ1rOiQtpvHSjmZ5f1_nges7Q0MOONhG38zqRmEsTMOY-LJa2MVEZvwWaGbshGChCBbv_q6mkYWBCR2vJzZh9G4c-g/w400-h185/20220702_143544.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Outback Aid Station</td></tr></tbody></table>The Horses Smell the Barn</b></p><p>On the second pass through the pasture by Mathews Road I spot the cowbell hung with colorful flags from a tree. I ring it as I pass, as it was put there by the <a href="https://fingerlakesrunners.org/" target="_blank">Finger Lakes Running Club</a> in memory of a member who had passed, but who loved running there. We runners are urged to ring it for him.</p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB4pYMDMfj66RUHI7GnF2FfKOlegIS7S6Bad5VGNL4YczIFeXPxTCwEPYQAdKxX_TR28WYbK-itGSif-rWWDU_THt1a1-lX-gOGw0JaoN4ewlskB5fEk_UdeSpOKZx6u1hEJOzT-QmspM0PvzJOAT30mX0OYutzZXp_YcCRpfnisSV-UjkAWzIHFcDdA/s4608/20220702_144947.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4608" data-original-width="2128" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB4pYMDMfj66RUHI7GnF2FfKOlegIS7S6Bad5VGNL4YczIFeXPxTCwEPYQAdKxX_TR28WYbK-itGSif-rWWDU_THt1a1-lX-gOGw0JaoN4ewlskB5fEk_UdeSpOKZx6u1hEJOzT-QmspM0PvzJOAT30mX0OYutzZXp_YcCRpfnisSV-UjkAWzIHFcDdA/w185-h400/20220702_144947.jpg" width="185" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boardwalk</td></tr></tbody></table>I linger a bit at the Outback Aid station, in no particular hurry as I eat, chat with the volunteer and enjoy the view. A women runners comes hustling thru, not stopping for anything. The volunteers yell at her for her bib number so they can log her passage. "Nine," she shouts over her shoulder. She is Maura Tyrrell, and is on her way to being the first female (sixth overall) in the 50 mile race.</p><p>It's a bit of a reminder that I, too, should get moving on. Thru the cow pasture, but the cows have moved on, into the piney woods, over the boardwalks and around the first of the Potomac Ponds, where people are floating on tubes and rafts. </p><p>I come across a woman hiker I saw earlier in the day when we had exchanged pleasantries. She tells me that I only have 3/4 of a mile to the finish. I look at my watch (I had shut the GPS down at the Outback Aid Station to conserve what little battery life remained), do some mental calculations and figure I can finish under nine hours. Since I haven't been hurrying the second loop, I have plenty left in the tank, and get my giddy-up on (although it might not have seemed so giddy-up to a dispassionate second party observer). A brief moment of confusion near the end is resolved by people pointing me in the right direction, and I finish in the second loop in 4:48:50, for a final time of 8:53:13.</p><p>I have more than an hour to wait until Sandy arrives to pick me up, so I take my time sitting under a pavilion, watch other runners finish, chat with people, and get the post-race meal of BBQ tacos and salt potatoes. There is no beer available (officially), but there is non-alcoholic <a href="https://athleticbrewing.com/collections/beer/products/upside-dawn-golden-ale-non-alcoholic-6-pack">Athletic Brewing Upside Dawn</a>. It turns out to exceed expectations so I ask for a second. And as I have time, later I have a <a href="https://athleticbrewing.com/collections/beer/products/free-wave-hazy-ipa-non-alcoholic-6-pack">Free Wave IPA</a>. Hydration following a July ultra is important for recovery, after all.</p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwKtt-H2Ork3KFMGeCeb5p5c8dZT32v_GqLT6e4wXs-yDYva2WFzDN0T4xOpy-FtWih_XOC1KHOOl84AHQuBr213KuGDATsC3-___RqSf7aE1ts7cdu8LiQYK5CaQJ1DZu7sHBUf8SgWWt6n_p1Sq5ALcS7XiURm_Y2Mrk2fESCF11pxz_YjVkDg-MoQ/s4608/20220702_153536.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2128" data-original-width="4608" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwKtt-H2Ork3KFMGeCeb5p5c8dZT32v_GqLT6e4wXs-yDYva2WFzDN0T4xOpy-FtWih_XOC1KHOOl84AHQuBr213KuGDATsC3-___RqSf7aE1ts7cdu8LiQYK5CaQJ1DZu7sHBUf8SgWWt6n_p1Sq5ALcS7XiURm_Y2Mrk2fESCF11pxz_YjVkDg-MoQ/w400-h185/20220702_153536.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Post-race BBQ tacos, salt potatoes<br />and non-alcoholic beer</td></tr></tbody></table><b>Results</b></p><p>I finish 65 of 75 (and 8 DNF), 40 of 41 males and 2 of 2 in my age group, only 1:27 behind the only other 70+ runner (he's 73 to my 71). </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU4zBh68ORU0XgSioWyR3-p9Qi8jn9G9TzJkx0Qjsy31ZE9vau4JReTfuFWv4QDrLyddTL6vBlNaCswHu2ZSjkYT9HqcMNhBKbK2VeyHw5h5wJkaLbrgpDjDlbzB-77NL0upkulWGtnaHKZa_-efe2KfhWriaTnTtcDL7PswYM5fcDPAs5oDqbYyienQ/s2351/20220714_164352.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2351" data-original-width="2067" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU4zBh68ORU0XgSioWyR3-p9Qi8jn9G9TzJkx0Qjsy31ZE9vau4JReTfuFWv4QDrLyddTL6vBlNaCswHu2ZSjkYT9HqcMNhBKbK2VeyHw5h5wJkaLbrgpDjDlbzB-77NL0upkulWGtnaHKZa_-efe2KfhWriaTnTtcDL7PswYM5fcDPAs5oDqbYyienQ/w562-h640/20220714_164352.jpg" width="562" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Swag: Shirt, Slate Coaster, Bib</td></tr></tbody></table>Ken Swabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04093841096811631084noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672747428347177743.post-37230991824589333142022-07-12T00:24:00.000-04:002022-07-12T00:24:47.886-04:00Night Train 50K - June 25, 2022<b><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEkOOd39eIJYucP-hVW-SY_ULD7DG2JUP4jDkKJTwURPjzzrpSEs85iVKzDkHi4Pzhrgz1zYVzq-h9sPncjIxjQkr8oLqKx-9cPYFr2JKhKRbPYx5zOzPJp243kMRNw2SK4HCDTOhpAJkA2a2gVDiTJ4YpjGqwCv8tuR9SuVLGbqio-3OXTp_h55Evwg/s4608/20220625_135814.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4608" data-original-width="2128" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEkOOd39eIJYucP-hVW-SY_ULD7DG2JUP4jDkKJTwURPjzzrpSEs85iVKzDkHi4Pzhrgz1zYVzq-h9sPncjIxjQkr8oLqKx-9cPYFr2JKhKRbPYx5zOzPJp243kMRNw2SK4HCDTOhpAJkA2a2gVDiTJ4YpjGqwCv8tuR9SuVLGbqio-3OXTp_h55Evwg/w185-h400/20220625_135814.jpg" width="185" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pre-race hydration</td></tr></tbody></table>Hydration Is Important
</b><div>Emaad and I arrive in Farmville for the <a href="http://virginiaadventures.net/night-train-50k-and-half-marathon/" target="_blank">Night Train 50K </a>and its 5:30 p.m. start about 1:30 in the afternoon. The day is warm, with temperatures in the upper 80s (it will be 88 at race time) and the race starts in about four hours. We know what we need to do before then.</div><div><br /></div><div>Runners know that hydration is important. Dehydration can lead to cramping and nausea, mental confusion and contribute to heat exhaustion and heat stroke. We have been drinking water and iced tea on the three and a half hour drive, but now it is time for some more fluids. Our first stop in Farmville is at <a href="http://3roadsbrewing.com/farmville/" target="_blank">Three Roads Brewery</a> right on the High Bridge Trail and next to the old Farmville Train Station, which will be the location of a race aid station. I get a <a href="http://3roadsbrewing.com/high-bridge/" target="_blank">High Bridge Helles Lager</a> for its low (5.2 ABV) alcohol content, and get a four-pack to go.</div><div><br /></div><div>Hydrated and refreshed we go to <a href="http://www.charleyswaterfront.com/" target="_blank">Charlies Waterfront Cafe </a>for lunch, which for me is a chicken Caesar salad and an iced tea (more hydration). We finish about 3:30, go check-in to our hotel, take a brief rest and drive the 15 minutes it takes to get to the start at <a href="https://www.hmdb.org/m.asp?m=83637" target="_blank">Camp Paradise</a>, an earthen Civil War fortification erected by the Confederates to defend the high bridge over the Appomattox River. It was paradise as the locals treated the soldiers well (and better than being besieged by the Union in Richmond and Petersburg). Paradise ended abruptly when Union troops, in pursuit of Lee's army fleeing west, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_High_Bridge" target="_blank">arrived on April 6, 1865</a>. </div><div><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix8hVP8MC_b1Kt8Z8NteUi8iMRYXuaK5mpJo2XVenQbgotK-N7eFXEMULa2oKIAXOr482J6TVHajm6oN9YYwA34Bao2AmuuVOojpv97CbLwq2ADuK7Czdlj8ACRIyp8RhM99-uAb9jExqKfCdMAzuWS343boieq6gycIX2MRNkdnA1WjCmnsngPVQP6Q/s610/NT2022start%20(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="610" data-original-width="458" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix8hVP8MC_b1Kt8Z8NteUi8iMRYXuaK5mpJo2XVenQbgotK-N7eFXEMULa2oKIAXOr482J6TVHajm6oN9YYwA34Bao2AmuuVOojpv97CbLwq2ADuK7Czdlj8ACRIyp8RhM99-uAb9jExqKfCdMAzuWS343boieq6gycIX2MRNkdnA1WjCmnsngPVQP6Q/w300-h400/NT2022start%20(2).jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Emaad and I at the start</td></tr></tbody></table><div><b>Westbound</b></div><div>At 5:30 p.m. the sun is still high and the 114 runners in the 50K head out (104 half marathoners and 35 5K runners will start later). In only a couple on minutes we are on 2400 foot long High Bridge across the Appomattox River 125 feet below. There is plenty of chances to chat with our fellow runners as we travel the five miles toward Farmville, including a couple pushing a toddler in a stroller.</div><div><br /></div><div>A runner tells me of how she had to be carried off one race by a couple of runners when she was suffering from hypothermia. She was hospitalized for several days but was more concerned that a runner who helped save her was a DNF for missing a cutoff as a result of rescuing her. Such is the mindset of the ultrarunner.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Farmville</b></div><div>The High Bridge trail takes us past Three Roads Brewery where a woman sitting having a beer cheers us on. "Wish I could have a beer," I say. "Want a sip?" she replies. "Sure," I respond, veering off the trail toward her. "I'm vaccinated," I note, taking a sip from her glass. "That's OK," she replies. Emaad thinks that I'm crazy and that she probably poured the rest of the beer out. I doubt that, but I regret that I forgot that I had a collapsible cup in my pocket, as the race is cupless.</div><div><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG2Wu0oAMX986JjQE9JxLyE-aLdIW95KpKpKRtzysA14thOm0MqPw8CYzyaC7WQzwSiNBiLA2k2ZOBtjNoBSHB1m--MByZ-qpwniL7duCNZbIWkpbwzrydQbHY7m5acKElw9ooxyH0POp5k9LV395TGJja3FLUEgk9xNdIwZY4sMFJHd2sDP39mQGKvw/s414/NT2022trail%20(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="233" data-original-width="414" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG2Wu0oAMX986JjQE9JxLyE-aLdIW95KpKpKRtzysA14thOm0MqPw8CYzyaC7WQzwSiNBiLA2k2ZOBtjNoBSHB1m--MByZ-qpwniL7duCNZbIWkpbwzrydQbHY7m5acKElw9ooxyH0POp5k9LV395TGJja3FLUEgk9xNdIwZY4sMFJHd2sDP39mQGKvw/w400-h225/NT2022trail%20(2).jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Early on</td></tr></tbody></table><div>We stop at the first aid station at the old Farmville Train station next door to the brewery (mile 5.7; ET 1:09:57) for some quick refreshments. The part of the course is that same that I ran at last December's Freight Train 50K (<a href="http://keswab.blogspot.com/2021/12/freight-train-50k-december-11-2021.html" target="_blank">report here</a>) so it is familiar. The main difference is that the trees are leaved out and provide some shade from the still-high sun.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Tuggle</b></div><div>We reach the Tuggle aid station (mile 11; ET 2:19:23). I'm pleased with our progress as I have a goal to finish in 7:30, about 7 minutes faster than I did Freight Train. According to my pace card, I'm about 15 minutes ahead of the pace I need to accomplish that, but I try to caution myself not to go out too fast. In long races banking time does not work, conserving fuel does. Still it is hard to throttle back when you feel good.</div><div><br /></div><div>Emaad is starting to lag behind, but I tells me that he is fine physically, but is mentally in a dark place. He tells me to go on. Since I have a goal, I do.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqzWxQxG6EO52HG9JL5tOrmx0O3l8hHZatd2O6e2It1nJ-Ej_xYhqhpmgFL_K9KpE0Kvmay46GZeBNR-bazvNnkvKAWzxokEmUVhn7NgzqthzI-EtM5p3lT9YR5_I8MoEj9X9zZfEiwzxoQ2T4CgKur2m3QtWAThA1RrCS4C_U0DavOH4nvrymiwlpZw/s4608/20220625_201312.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2128" data-original-width="4608" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqzWxQxG6EO52HG9JL5tOrmx0O3l8hHZatd2O6e2It1nJ-Ej_xYhqhpmgFL_K9KpE0Kvmay46GZeBNR-bazvNnkvKAWzxokEmUVhn7NgzqthzI-EtM5p3lT9YR5_I8MoEj9X9zZfEiwzxoQ2T4CgKur2m3QtWAThA1RrCS4C_U0DavOH4nvrymiwlpZw/w400-h185/20220625_201312.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunset beyond Tuggle</td></tr></tbody></table><div><b>Prospect</b></div><div>I recognize the field with hay bales where Caroline had me<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgaCmBDRVt1xrsyXaIE7HDw3PInjCLtCqlq1kQdDcv9T7jDNfGSCTAz-T6m9X6jiJeXslrSqnEbXgMvVjCJFlFlhYgvTNXlkU0D_xaXV2GdOHbMr-JUTPkrKL2Oa5RwFkQUYTgqXGj2f1LRLTuAaXOeYItoF8nhHd00XpqIyFwN5r9yNcD9UR_0TTY_FQ=s4608" target="_blank"> take her picture</a> in December. Now the sun is beginning to set over that field and the (new? same?) hay bales. A bit further along I pass where the turn around was for December's 50K.</div><div><br /></div><div>The light is starting to fade, but not so much that a light is needed. I get to the Prospect aid station (mile 15; ET 3:12), go to my drop bag, dispose of my hat, change into a dry shirt and extract a 60-lumen cane light that I found in a cupboard at home and stick it on my finger but do not turn it on. I go the additional mile to the turn-around at mile 16. It is getting dark but the last bit to the turaround had an open field beside it and there is enough light to get to the marking the spot without using the light. A check of my GPS watch and the pace card shows I'm still 15 minutes to the good.</div><div><br /></div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAfDt2YlUS2bUtJxF48So3UOgJ4-vPgNpyu99EPMUWnIUIDAq_XvIu2rGDzakqIXwNzq99sq4tEliHIgoHKc96EFco9Si6hSWrb3ELRI129QFuQp5S7TQoChtkHdLMbeB5XERU_5EZDGnoYJwbBoZoAF8k-A3FqH82ZjadadajVhRGeFTMeL0XNmpfYA/s2655/20220625_182555.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2655" data-original-width="1493" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAfDt2YlUS2bUtJxF48So3UOgJ4-vPgNpyu99EPMUWnIUIDAq_XvIu2rGDzakqIXwNzq99sq4tEliHIgoHKc96EFco9Si6hSWrb3ELRI129QFuQp5S7TQoChtkHdLMbeB5XERU_5EZDGnoYJwbBoZoAF8k-A3FqH82ZjadadajVhRGeFTMeL0XNmpfYA/w225-h400/20220625_182555.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Old RR mileposts on the trail</td></tr></tbody></table>About .4 mile back toward Prospect I greet Emaad on his way to the turnaround.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Return to Prospect</b></div><div>Back at Prospect aid station (mile 17, ET 3:44) I sit down, go thru my drop bag and select a knuckle light to carry for when the cane light gives out. I decide not to bring a second knuckle light, my head lamp or spare batteries. </div><div><br /></div><div>By now (9:15 p.m) it's dark. The sun set about 8:38 p.m., the half hour of light that is civil twilight is over and the sliver of a moon provides no light. The trail is unlit and there are few buildings or dwellings by it. And it does not take more than a mile or two for me to realize that the cane light is providing barely enough illumination to distinguish the darker center of the trail from the slightly lighter, more trod portions on either side of the center. But I resist using the brighter knuckle lights as I want to save them so I have light later on.</div><div><br /></div><div>And I'm starting to get tired. At 9:30, barely a mile after leaving Prospect I text Emaad, "Ditching send and a half hour [goal]. Cramping pre-cramping. You'll catch me." My calves are tightening up from all the repetitive motion of running on a smooth, flat surface.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Tuggle Revisited</b></div><div>I arrive at the Tuggle aid station (mile 21, ET 4:49) feeling exhausted. I'm 6 minutes ahead of my target pace for a 7 1/2 hour finish, but I've given that up. I sit down and text Emaad again (10:18 p.m.), "I'm at Tuggle. How are you doing." If he is near, I think I might wait for him. No response so I try calling. No answer.</div><div><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZHSZYlzANr0JEpC70tXBSqYTrXn9s27G_Pj8bqCpOYdTaiKnjej7nyBxyv2_OV3_kqSBSS2ImhCFgkvGlm9nsmmtayDhLjhdTpQ6pMoa9LLB2d4oeKJy1mtfzoigCbIhuIy9kmH1-GlATNQdGp2TUHKbMT9lF6z3GINgU6itZdMMGSWcMoPIon8tKEA/s3849/20220625_173455.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3849" data-original-width="1777" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZHSZYlzANr0JEpC70tXBSqYTrXn9s27G_Pj8bqCpOYdTaiKnjej7nyBxyv2_OV3_kqSBSS2ImhCFgkvGlm9nsmmtayDhLjhdTpQ6pMoa9LLB2d4oeKJy1mtfzoigCbIhuIy9kmH1-GlATNQdGp2TUHKbMT9lF6z3GINgU6itZdMMGSWcMoPIon8tKEA/w185-h400/20220625_173455.jpg" width="185" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Emaad on High Bridge</td></tr></tbody></table><div>I get up and get going again. I switch to the knuckle light, putting it on the low setting to preserve it, but I'm still concerned it may not last to the end.</div><div><br /></div><div>Emaad texts that he is at Tuggle at 10:32.</div><div><br /></div><div>Ahead of me I see a pair of lights. There is a pair of runners ahead. If I can catch them I can shut off my light and rely on theirs.</div><div><br /></div><div>It takes a bit but I finally catch them, partly because they had stopped to look at a black snake partly on the trail. They are amenable to me relying on their light.</div><div><br /></div><div>Having better light is useful, as there are occasional small frogs on the trail and seeing them is better than stepping on them.</div><div><br /></div><div>Stories start to be exchanged. Michael, who is setting the pace for Christie and me by deciding when we should run and when we should walk (we are mostly walking; running when he fears he might cramp up) reveals that he did the <a href="https://www.destinationtrailrun.com/moab" target="_blank">Moab 240</a> in 2019. He tells about the hallucinations he had there: the Indians silently watching from mesas ("like a John Wayne movie"), the people cleaning the trail where he was running ("who are you thanking?" a fellow runner asked him) and the "rock people," who silently guided him back onto the trail when he was off-course and headed toward the edge of a cliff.</div><div><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijxcTyrC5_lQmPtHYS2lZsaRxDQf3Tsn2OkxmL-CxHS42zCWUx7HIsGs6vD9xCmyDAQJ50aFLsj1vPeMeQaKWX6KP1rJU-DNIEGA_XTOuLndZnuz0CNhWCiIKRUEPVNHmwiFMjhowF7IhD6-MpDCIpHuoMQ20lOR6qrJxK8tExyfSSKiswB0zgg_ymcw/s3259/20220625_183615.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1833" data-original-width="3259" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijxcTyrC5_lQmPtHYS2lZsaRxDQf3Tsn2OkxmL-CxHS42zCWUx7HIsGs6vD9xCmyDAQJ50aFLsj1vPeMeQaKWX6KP1rJU-DNIEGA_XTOuLndZnuz0CNhWCiIKRUEPVNHmwiFMjhowF7IhD6-MpDCIpHuoMQ20lOR6qrJxK8tExyfSSKiswB0zgg_ymcw/w400-h225/20220625_183615.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sign in Farmville marking the trail</td></tr></tbody></table><div><b>Farmville Again</b></div><div>We reach the Farmville aid station (mile 26.5; ET 6:07), thank the volunteers, refill our water bottles, eat a couple of slices of oranges and head out. I text Emaad at 11:42 p.m. that I'm passing thru Farmville. Eight minutes later he responds that he is 10 minutes behind me.</div><div><br /></div><div>I say out load, partly in surprise, that I'm still five minutes ahead of the 7 and a half hour pace. "You won't make it," Michael advises. "I know," I reply, as reality returns.</div><div><br /></div><div>I turn on my light. We press on, and I gradually pull ahead, as I can walk faster than they can. We spy a rabbit as we leave Farmville, the only wildlife (other than the frogs) I see the entire race.</div><div><br /></div><div>I actually catch up to a runner or two, and get passed by several. Sometimes I turn off my light just for the fun of running in the dark, or seeing my shadow ahead of me cast by runner's lights behind me.</div><div><br /></div><div>Crossing High Bridge, I turn off the light so that I can enjoy the the lights of the thousands of fireflies below in the woods beneath the bridge.</div><div><br /></div><div>Even with the finish in sight I'm walking. My calves are horribly tight. A runner goes by and I don't care.</div><div><br /></div><div>Fifteen yards from the finish another run draws abreast. Somewhere in the primitive part of my brain the urge to compete bubbles up. "Let's race to the finish," I say, and we do our best imitation of sprinting - to dispassionate observers probably little more than a waddle. But I cross the line first, accepting my finisher's coaster and plunk down in the nearest chair past the line. My time is 7:37:02.</div><div><br /></div><div>Emaad finishes two and a half minutes later. Michael and Christie are five minutes further back. The woman with the stroller finishes in about the same time, the child sound asleep.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Results</b></div><div>I finish in 7:37:02, seven seconds faster than I did Freight Train. I'm 85 of 116 overall, 58/74 males and 1 of 3 in my age group. One male and one female older than I finish.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi92xsuwcrCNR3LJAaIzqaZlRrES_lsvjyjkx52RGm2Q9KXenfHlk6Kf20ShOJqbCd3LxiLo0zGVrZ4NAyiLNTdNt2vLgU9ooECtvk69wTgBjG6j_QFnlYipmIocQafIFXQ-hQDn1MEivv8l4wf7_x9Y11rrEhRULWPAv9YAWPTTldLGzC2wWZI-8tHHQ/s3242/20220629_190849.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2128" data-original-width="3242" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi92xsuwcrCNR3LJAaIzqaZlRrES_lsvjyjkx52RGm2Q9KXenfHlk6Kf20ShOJqbCd3LxiLo0zGVrZ4NAyiLNTdNt2vLgU9ooECtvk69wTgBjG6j_QFnlYipmIocQafIFXQ-hQDn1MEivv8l4wf7_x9Y11rrEhRULWPAv9YAWPTTldLGzC2wWZI-8tHHQ/w400-h263/20220629_190849.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Swag: shirt, coaster, sticker and bib</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Ken Swabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04093841096811631084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672747428347177743.post-65214239864846792172022-05-26T23:30:00.001-04:002022-05-26T23:34:51.274-04:00Farm Park Challenge Marathon - May 7, 2022<p><b> Preparation</b></p><p>Having run <a href="http://www.farmparkchallenge.com/" target="_blank">Farm Park Challenge</a> last year (<a href="http://keswab.blogspot.com/2021/06/farm-park-challenge-marathon-may-1-2021.html">report here</a>), I know that one parks right at the start-finish so one's car becomes one's drop bag. And since the forecast calls for rain and temperatures in the 50s at the <a href="https://montgomeryparks.org/parks-and-trails/agricultural-history-farm-park/" target="_blank">Agricultural History Farm Park</a>, the car provides a dry - and large - drop bag. Since I'll be running five laps of the course, I'll pass my car four times (and at the finish) so I stock it with six shirts, an extra poncho, four pairs of gloves, four hats, extra buffs, towels and bandanas. And dry clothes for the finish.</p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif4_jzweT-Ba_sZxua5MQXR-53EFlsQBgrglGJZTTyYCF9mGmvmXu_C_dEBl2lTISk50k_sA9CifUwDHP78WL-RCyKYQ2MbQVM6fijInrTz9ZdPF-fKyW4iqOJ_CDnSKfDgrD69Kk6xmIg5SQeKd3f7alMxtcxrZLTT55cLrzXpAISQOenoUjb7xrywA/s4608/20220507_081414.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4608" data-original-width="2128" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif4_jzweT-Ba_sZxua5MQXR-53EFlsQBgrglGJZTTyYCF9mGmvmXu_C_dEBl2lTISk50k_sA9CifUwDHP78WL-RCyKYQ2MbQVM6fijInrTz9ZdPF-fKyW4iqOJ_CDnSKfDgrD69Kk6xmIg5SQeKd3f7alMxtcxrZLTT55cLrzXpAISQOenoUjb7xrywA/w185-h400/20220507_081414.jpg" width="185" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Early on not too muddy</td></tr></tbody></table>I arrive in ample time, park, pick up my bib, and sit in the car to stay dry and warm before the less than one minute walk to the start at 6:55, a five minute head start on those running the challenge races (run each 5.18 mile lap in an hour, then start the next lap at the start of the next hour). At 6:49 I glance over to the start and realize that I mis-read the start time - it's at 6:50. I leap out of the car, and dash for the start line as the RD is counting down "10, 9, 8 . . . ," reaching it at "4." And we are off, and I'm out of breath, so I have to immediately start walking.</p><p><b>Back and Forth</b></p><p>The course is an out-and-back mostly on the the Upper Rock Creek Trail. It is mostly new territory for me and is a mix of grassy surface, some double wide track, a bit of paved trail in the middle, and a small stretch of single track. Three small bridges cross Rock Creek and two smaller streams. The rain is light but steady, and the course gets muddier and more slippery as the day goes on.</p><p>At the end of the first lap (1:03:29) I go to the car, change both shirts under the damp poncho, and change my gloves and hat. </p><p>The second loop is much like the first, only the course is getting more slippery. I chat a bit with Monika B., who is only running two loops as she has other commitments for the day.</p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOgf9mWazcuRVW7fqm52yscs7n7dRMokZQHB-JEw7xqjKOrUOsaY05CXMLHcVHTNxpQIKj0IjkGEfHBf2VktpE8pGECphtWLJdsnFe_cAwntfP6oZTUv479qZV0eE4GDnwC4moAlOrbqEPnRiZVxSKnZm3sZiEvUdEGvE_dYoReDLf53t7wSGAgE3czg/s3824/20220507_092958.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3824" data-original-width="2868" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOgf9mWazcuRVW7fqm52yscs7n7dRMokZQHB-JEw7xqjKOrUOsaY05CXMLHcVHTNxpQIKj0IjkGEfHBf2VktpE8pGECphtWLJdsnFe_cAwntfP6oZTUv479qZV0eE4GDnwC4moAlOrbqEPnRiZVxSKnZm3sZiEvUdEGvE_dYoReDLf53t7wSGAgE3czg/s320/20220507_092958.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In the third loop with<br />the second poncho and third hat.</td></tr></tbody></table>At the end of loop 2 (1:10:52) I revisit the car. The poncho was water resistant, not water repellent, and after over two hours in the rain it is soaked. The gloves I had put in its pocket are also soaked, so they, too, go. I change shirts again. I put on the cheap, water repellent, plastic disposable poncho. It isn't stylish (but a women tells me she can see me on the course because of its yellow hue).</p>Approaching the end of the third loop (1:20:13) my hip starts to hurt. There is no obvious reason for the pain, but none the less, it is there. I briefly think of dropping but decide to slow down, both mentally and physically. Back at the car I take a pair of ibuprofen and decide to walk for 20 minutes. That's how long I figure it will take for the pain reliever to kick in. Walking awhile I start to make some calculations. Twenty minutes of walking will be about a mile. That means I would only have another 1.5 miles of so to get to the turn around. That's walkable, and walking back the 2.5 miles would at least give me four loops, I figure.<div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgTqwr-Fs-JM76qCjojJszicHm84vgj09vh4KRCiO1wlf_LlKxqpfqu7d8w7ViA43NpNB3o2Ls3XOaePPTGBW81Q26nEXoSdPGDMvbBcxnDYfAXUvofuPHUVVmTQ1_4SiDKxN3KgVvH62vT8M0uqAUCvBpvGcm5JQQ04O0xgp5E3R6PRI9daVAcYxq7Q/s2730/20220507_092944.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1535" data-original-width="2730" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgTqwr-Fs-JM76qCjojJszicHm84vgj09vh4KRCiO1wlf_LlKxqpfqu7d8w7ViA43NpNB3o2Ls3XOaePPTGBW81Q26nEXoSdPGDMvbBcxnDYfAXUvofuPHUVVmTQ1_4SiDKxN3KgVvH62vT8M0uqAUCvBpvGcm5JQQ04O0xgp5E3R6PRI9daVAcYxq7Q/w400-h225/20220507_092944.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The bridge over Rock Creek</td></tr></tbody></table>After 20 minutes or so I tentatively try running. No pain. I don't overdo it (I never do anyway) but I can get back to my usual mix of running and walking. While the rain is lessening to a mist, the course is becoming increasingly muddy and slippery. There are no steep inclines, but the slight downhills are treacherous and places where the trails are canted I sometimes slide sideways.</div><div><br />I chat with a women from Texas who is planning to take advantage of the generous ten hour cutoff to finish the race. She and several colleagues are on an East Coast tour to rack up a number of states for their 50-State quest. Maryland today, then a race in New Jersey of Tuesday, then Rehoboth for Delaware on Saturday then on to Connecticut for a fourth.</div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVAvWE5Xf__oRsCwmWnX8O8KQBuSMTImfZ9yHh6ntgbe9rBH37lFx1gRsYZMIg6-H3fKzXpBKHwpgi2eb2kJvPiX3LEv53vFKLoUTN6f82AeHcwg85ECPRgFPnQDNac2x4T8GWzUGBxL7X2CZOvJdKZ3Zqs20g_ajbAfeYvNEAuBvbRc1HRsYDTES-0Q/s4608/20220507_110604.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2128" data-original-width="4608" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVAvWE5Xf__oRsCwmWnX8O8KQBuSMTImfZ9yHh6ntgbe9rBH37lFx1gRsYZMIg6-H3fKzXpBKHwpgi2eb2kJvPiX3LEv53vFKLoUTN6f82AeHcwg85ECPRgFPnQDNac2x4T8GWzUGBxL7X2CZOvJdKZ3Zqs20g_ajbAfeYvNEAuBvbRc1HRsYDTES-0Q/w400-h185/20220507_110604.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's a stream trail</td></tr></tbody></table>Finishing the fourth lap (1:26:19) I grab a slice of pizza and an avocado-sweet potato wrap and head to the car for another change of shirts. The rain has ended so I ditch the poncho, get rid of the gloves and change hats.<br /><br />Nothing to do now but repeat what I've been doing. I run a short while with one of the challenge racers, who are on their sixth loop. He's new to trails, but even with the inclement conditions is enjoying the experience.</div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvtBAP6aYb54O2N4YI0_w8GvFRj-W7TEirWc9-cjm-AvC4h4857MoVBfb70pSLxggKyjV4JVhceUdMG6VyF4dgor8uyOW8qg8jJ5_1Hf5kS8way5Haa0nxOyNS6cWrdT1rdce8769_OzAGowQJn4-Sd62L4WXR1n4izdqAMcxGrOo4UxV82wyANiMT9A/s2551/20220507_132332.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2551" data-original-width="1495" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvtBAP6aYb54O2N4YI0_w8GvFRj-W7TEirWc9-cjm-AvC4h4857MoVBfb70pSLxggKyjV4JVhceUdMG6VyF4dgor8uyOW8qg8jJ5_1Hf5kS8way5Haa0nxOyNS6cWrdT1rdce8769_OzAGowQJn4-Sd62L4WXR1n4izdqAMcxGrOo4UxV82wyANiMT9A/w235-h400/20220507_132332.jpg" width="235" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At the finish with muddy legs<br />and beer</td></tr></tbody></table>Getting near the turn-around I catch a women running the six-hour challenge. She thinks she won't be able to finish the lap under the required hour, but I urge her on, mainly because my computational ability is way off (a common experience of distance runners). She does go on and is soon out of sight, but won't make the cutoff.<br /><br />I get to the start-finish and am directed to the short grassy loop that adds the few tenths of a mile necessary to reach the 26.2 miles to make a marathon. The grass is wet but the water and leaves of grass wipe the mud off my shoes (see picture, left).</div><div><br /></div><div>Midway through the mini-loop I catch up to a runner. It turns out that she has actually finished the race, but is running another mini-loop because Strava doesn't register that she has completed 26.2 miles. "I must have gone off course somewhere," she says. "Or maybe your device is wrong," I reply. "Don't let the machine rule you."</div><div><br /></div><div>When I finish I collect my finisher's glass and two <a href="https://www.waredacabrewing.com/" target="_blank">Waredaca</a> beers, get another slice of pizza, and head home to wash off layers of mud.<br /><br /><b>Results</b></div><div>I finish in 6:25:20, good for 12 of 21 and 7 of 9 males. I'm the second oldest finisher (1 of 2 in the 70+ age group) and have a surprisingly good Ultrasignup rank of 55.05 (based on the winner's 3:36:12 time).</div><div><br /></div><div>The conditions take a heavy toll on the challenge runners. Only 27 of 36 (75%) 3-hour challengers complete their laps on time; 10 of 27 (37%) of 6-hour challengers; and only a single 10-hour challenger out of 10 (10%). In fact, only two other runners completed as many as seven loops.</div><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM836Aen1PMtKUt932IvKg_jgKwo75A6vY9SXPu9UsUhSrTt4S0fKgs1AKtrCf6HGbKeerhokq0yguBxYnX2a2GQxNa-YzhgGsMHTA1xx0UGAMPCKAAtm1Ot0knvJ04m17sFW5q0E-nBNLxyvjTnSLFoYS3jEuFsiALXSfSuJbEPeS9IsVEM1Fv9nNuQ/s3224/20220509_092510.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3224" data-original-width="2128" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM836Aen1PMtKUt932IvKg_jgKwo75A6vY9SXPu9UsUhSrTt4S0fKgs1AKtrCf6HGbKeerhokq0yguBxYnX2a2GQxNa-YzhgGsMHTA1xx0UGAMPCKAAtm1Ot0knvJ04m17sFW5q0E-nBNLxyvjTnSLFoYS3jEuFsiALXSfSuJbEPeS9IsVEM1Fv9nNuQ/w264-h400/20220509_092510.jpg" width="264" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Swag: Shirt, bib, mason jar glass,<br />two Wardeca beers</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p></div>Ken Swabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04093841096811631084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672747428347177743.post-8664275112194176022021-12-31T23:36:00.000-05:002021-12-31T23:36:34.093-05:00Freight Train 50K - December 11, 2021<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEib3m0kgGEFnBJfqzGghYiXJu85Yzu62eJfLmiQxTdEGS6ofDJNaro8HSaPgZVcWGPKHh1FiS_SyyQNCTH6edFVZsIs4TJmi5KWTcB9QxsTqD8nS8_3JEELgTPFuM3lFQR0g17fPZZVe506gKjTzk9xsAvvQKFsQzcAo94sLu08R73FlVLE2v9BoRQXtw=s4608" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2128" data-original-width="4608" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEib3m0kgGEFnBJfqzGghYiXJu85Yzu62eJfLmiQxTdEGS6ofDJNaro8HSaPgZVcWGPKHh1FiS_SyyQNCTH6edFVZsIs4TJmi5KWTcB9QxsTqD8nS8_3JEELgTPFuM3lFQR0g17fPZZVe506gKjTzk9xsAvvQKFsQzcAo94sLu08R73FlVLE2v9BoRQXtw=w400-h185" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Caroline at the trail sign in Farmville</td></tr></tbody></table><b><br /></b><div><b>Friends You Can Rely On</b><div>Following my <a href="http://keswab.blogspot.com/2021/12/pass-mountain-50k-november-13-2021.html" target="_blank">November run at the Pass Mountain 50K</a>, I decide that I should finish the year with a December ultra. I search around for something reasonably close to home and find the <a href="http://virginiaadventures.net/freight-train-50k-100k/">Freight Train 50K</a> on December 11. Emaad declines to join me but I sign up anyway. Prolific ultramarathoner and friend Caroline lives in Virginia and might be interested so I send her an email. Within minutes she responds that she is now signed up. Further email exchanges confirms that I will drive down the day before but that she will drive down on Saturday morning.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Weather or Not</b></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiBk4FqicCHIPcggNgpS1KcYBeBYsXED2-G5Uf9ISlcoK5VdSePc1a-BteoGoJKr_1WGNnhKZ2YON0IbuHEY6f3VgfEsF053fufjRq121aNweXX8bBb0aMT21mS7ECPzeDUgz2VSXsE2MllYsn7F2vnNkzCd_iir0d4jIaJ95FLV9OLkXhEV7qpf0w-EA=s3824" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3824" data-original-width="2868" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiBk4FqicCHIPcggNgpS1KcYBeBYsXED2-G5Uf9ISlcoK5VdSePc1a-BteoGoJKr_1WGNnhKZ2YON0IbuHEY6f3VgfEsF053fufjRq121aNweXX8bBb0aMT21mS7ECPzeDUgz2VSXsE2MllYsn7F2vnNkzCd_iir0d4jIaJ95FLV9OLkXhEV7qpf0w-EA=w300-h400" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Caroline and I at the start</td></tr></tbody></table>December weather can be fickle. Fortunately, weather at race time Saturday is mild, with temperatures in the 50s with some wind. But good weather may not be the day's entire forecast - there is a front on the way with rain and dropping temperatures called for in the afternoon. The issue will be when the front arrives and when we finish.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Let's Run</b></div><div>Start time is a very convenient 8:30 a.m. The 100K runners started at 7:30 to get ahead start on their day. Cut-off times are very generous - 17. 5 hours for the 100K runners, 16.6 hours for the 50K, particularly given the course. The race is held entirely on the <a href="https://www.dcr.virginia.gov/state-parks/high-bridge-trail#general_information" target="_blank">High Bridge Trail State Park</a>. The trail is a 31-mile long rails-to-trails on a former Norfolk Southern right-of-way with a few very gentle grades, a well-maintained 10-foot wide packed dirt surface and the main attraction, High Bridge, which is more than 2,400 feet long and 125 feet above the Appomattox River. The right of way was originally the South Side Railroad, which played an important role in the Civil War, as you will soon see.</div><div><br /></div><div>Caroline and I trade texts and meet up at my car, parked across the street from the start-finish. This is one of the great benefits of the usually-small ultra races, where small fields are the rule rather than the exception. There will be 33 100K finishers and 137 50K finishers today. She eats a donut that I brought for us and we cross to the start finish area.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiPqAHrkztUXFY-_Bn5vijhxQppJLIul5SAwHCZNvO_UfMqiQn8dAJ3X57XBfyUH0A5ARCPFoIPrYFJoEWaO8U39BXr3d6gCuQqFeCvU4edp_dv--KRqW8ABykmlHDjscxLPQzwL_Ddd57LAeXzK1l1cuDqX5eBQBeXPihhT_CBLHTshURUfBZbUB0UMQ=s4608" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2128" data-original-width="4608" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiPqAHrkztUXFY-_Bn5vijhxQppJLIul5SAwHCZNvO_UfMqiQn8dAJ3X57XBfyUH0A5ARCPFoIPrYFJoEWaO8U39BXr3d6gCuQqFeCvU4edp_dv--KRqW8ABykmlHDjscxLPQzwL_Ddd57LAeXzK1l1cuDqX5eBQBeXPihhT_CBLHTshURUfBZbUB0UMQ=w400-h185" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The start-finish at the Farmville Farmers' Market</td></tr></tbody></table><div>The race is a double out-and-back on the trail from Farmville, first running 8.2 miles to an aid station at Rice before returning to Farmville, then heading west for about 7.5 miles to a turnaround about a mile and three-quarters past the aid station at Tuggle and retracing our path back to Farmville. The 100K runners go further on each leg, basically covering the 31 miles of the trail twice for their 100K.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi1Kld41SkCArgEbyTtn9k3TOPrLNArN825KIyCtSXxadpJ1Wna4zSnaVKIzuZJs0T8J8pYCB8t-yRT9wnRsvG5XD3n-6xQ5bbWC_Na7MdBXhbCv_xnPVAVGLcFXlC8Y7deQ-8OUJkqPSAx5Doeo6jiRiQZfqm-cdUAqD8fBO4pswlz4Dh2LVIyF-NuJQ=s2273" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1568" data-original-width="2273" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi1Kld41SkCArgEbyTtn9k3TOPrLNArN825KIyCtSXxadpJ1Wna4zSnaVKIzuZJs0T8J8pYCB8t-yRT9wnRsvG5XD3n-6xQ5bbWC_Na7MdBXhbCv_xnPVAVGLcFXlC8Y7deQ-8OUJkqPSAx5Doeo6jiRiQZfqm-cdUAqD8fBO4pswlz4Dh2LVIyF-NuJQ=s320" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Caroline heads across High Bridge</td></tr></tbody></table><div>I search for a place in the Farmville Farmers' Market shed to leave my drop bag and put it down amongst some of the other bags. It has more than enough items, including long and short sleeve shirts, socks, trail shoes (in case I found the surface too hard for my road shoes), the rest of the donuts, gels, and random odds and ends.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgAiKWqYssLpR6YIyO--mBx0MGfcKOz8GX_7hbelaLLcFE3-w4kJzjoK-7Q2d3gbOwXbHfIQzyISbGGt_KqIhnyVkNn34OZq3NAyxNPaS72h9aihGTjJs5athQ4nl9mXb3BVI2K3Az14Ltnp2KsWEppqGAW9OvKzGda0L2ieMEMvGtyfP1qLPOefjYjfg=s1510" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1510" data-original-width="1207" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgAiKWqYssLpR6YIyO--mBx0MGfcKOz8GX_7hbelaLLcFE3-w4kJzjoK-7Q2d3gbOwXbHfIQzyISbGGt_KqIhnyVkNn34OZq3NAyxNPaS72h9aihGTjJs5athQ4nl9mXb3BVI2K3Az14Ltnp2KsWEppqGAW9OvKzGda0L2ieMEMvGtyfP1qLPOefjYjfg=s320" width="256" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crossing High Bridge</td></tr></tbody></table><div><b>The Way to Rice</b></div><div>After the National Anthem, we are off promptly at 8:30. Caroline seemingly knows every other runner and greets them all warmly. We mostly run together and are always in sight of each other. We chat with other runners, and in a couple of miles come to High Bridge. The bridge was <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oydCsFYeT9U" target="_blank">the scene of hard fighting</a> on April 6, 1865, as Union troops tried unsuccessfully to burn the bridge so that Robert E. Lee's retreating army could not get across it. They were repulsed and the following day, the Confederates tried to burn the bridge so that the Union army could not follow. <a href="https://www.battlefields.org/learn/civil-war/battles/high-bridge" target="_blank">Union troops saved the bridge</a> and the wagon bridge below High Bridge from destruction and the Union army was able to continue its pursuit.</div><div><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj1O31FHHh_KjWD8FiuUSH3B6q0ZIGhufZQcdRo7zRYZxPzfZEgru0FLvweEwybSJgfDD9scNtYjTx33JKt-MH2YYaohR1SYC8Ol9kVFC0i-UmcTfrZp42Lv15GRdR3b_RWMk0VCpWnILYpc2lcb6dnmtT_3kSa3FqXXtfPlTJZR_LiaP5Pum795LgjKw=s2204" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2204" data-original-width="1240" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj1O31FHHh_KjWD8FiuUSH3B6q0ZIGhufZQcdRo7zRYZxPzfZEgru0FLvweEwybSJgfDD9scNtYjTx33JKt-MH2YYaohR1SYC8Ol9kVFC0i-UmcTfrZp42Lv15GRdR3b_RWMk0VCpWnILYpc2lcb6dnmtT_3kSa3FqXXtfPlTJZR_LiaP5Pum795LgjKw=s320" width="180" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Railroad Mile Marker</td></tr></tbody></table><div>I run awhile with Caroline's friend Yancy and we discuss the action and other parts of the Appomattox Campaign. After crossing the bridge we pass <a href="https://www.hmdb.org/m.asp?m=83637">Camp Paradise</a>, a Confederate earthworks formation built to protect the bridge and the scene of hard fighting on April 6.</div><div><br /></div><div>We get to Rice, refuel at the aid station and head back toward Farmville. The wind is picking up and crossing High Bridge I have to hang on to my hat.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Who Moved My Bag?</b></div><div>Back at Farmville (mile 16.4) I eat a slice of pizza and head for my drop bag. I can't find it. I as a volunteer and tell him where I left it. He points to a paper sign on the wall that tells me I left it in the pile of drop bags that was being transported, mostly for 100K runners, to the Tuggle aid station, 5.7 miles further down the road. I'm chagrined, but at least the bag is ahead. Still, I'm unable to replenish my gels or change my shirt as I planned.</div><div><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgaCmBDRVt1xrsyXaIE7HDw3PInjCLtCqlq1kQdDcv9T7jDNfGSCTAz-T6m9X6jiJeXslrSqnEbXgMvVjCJFlFlhYgvTNXlkU0D_xaXV2GdOHbMr-JUTPkrKL2Oa5RwFkQUYTgqXGj2f1LRLTuAaXOeYItoF8nhHd00XpqIyFwN5r9yNcD9UR_0TTY_FQ=s4608" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2128" data-original-width="4608" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgaCmBDRVt1xrsyXaIE7HDw3PInjCLtCqlq1kQdDcv9T7jDNfGSCTAz-T6m9X6jiJeXslrSqnEbXgMvVjCJFlFlhYgvTNXlkU0D_xaXV2GdOHbMr-JUTPkrKL2Oa5RwFkQUYTgqXGj2f1LRLTuAaXOeYItoF8nhHd00XpqIyFwN5r9yNcD9UR_0TTY_FQ=w400-h185" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Caroline plays among the hay rolls</td></tr></tbody></table><div><b>On to Tuggle and Beyond</b></div><div>Caroline and I go on, talking about serious and light subjects. A couple hundred yards from the start-finish we pass the Farmville train station, where <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lnhJM_BKvrk" target="_blank">on April 7, 1865,</a> Lee's army received supplies before Union troops arrived and the Confederates moved north. General Grant arrived later in the day and sent a letter to Lee asking him to surrender his army.</div><div><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiVHSXuARNgdGlPj9l6t2mgGgErzhVBvXRWxLXFexgi9GcYHLnl216Ws1e5DhcrOzq-FpcwvZ-XlCR1wUGQhS6cHKvOyFeimQ7vQN839n-tY7LCnUcsGCAnczMgSQhrhgbJ8n4RRyYgznyNh6w1BliZN_B7lNWU5MQAdHG1SVjx5NQacO6BRhbhIYF5Mg=s2893" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2893" data-original-width="1928" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiVHSXuARNgdGlPj9l6t2mgGgErzhVBvXRWxLXFexgi9GcYHLnl216Ws1e5DhcrOzq-FpcwvZ-XlCR1wUGQhS6cHKvOyFeimQ7vQN839n-tY7LCnUcsGCAnczMgSQhrhgbJ8n4RRyYgznyNh6w1BliZN_B7lNWU5MQAdHG1SVjx5NQacO6BRhbhIYF5Mg=s320" width="213" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">True dat - especially at mile 8</td></tr></tbody></table><div>We run - and walk - along the trail. It is a pleasant run, and unlike so many of the usual trail runs I'm used to, it is pretty easy. There are no steep climbs, no rocks or roots, no stream crossings. One can run and look around, without worrying that a moment's inattention will bring one crashing to the ground. And since it is December, the leaves are off the trees on either side and one can see the farmland and woods beyond the trail.</div><div><br /></div><div>We reach the aid station at Tuggle (mile 22.1) and I open my bag to do what I had wanted to do at Farmville. There is a road parallel to the road and I realize that this must have been the road that Sheridan's cavalry, under George Armstrong Custer's command took to get to Appomattox Station ahead of Lee on April 7-8, closely followed by Edward Ord's infantry, cutting off Lee's route of retreat and leading to Lee's surrender on April 9.</div><div><br /></div><div>On we go from Tuggle until we come to a folding chair in the middle of the trail. It has a sign attached to it instructing 50K runners to turn around and 100K runners to go on.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhlg2RYyavq1PBhoN0Mhzy_IAVa_k9OqajRr84V3MR9iDWzA9rE4C3-YEdszA0K2QR-JTXH06iTHpw9HoN9mDKYxeBKLJ623A860aFx4nDQWggv0H5NGwGu0VKGUbtJ2eSD4VKPP4cldcdotPraUGNvK-31-siSNuJhIVkCVI1PtBvghsCX6Jan20UrcQ=s2906" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2906" data-original-width="1634" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhlg2RYyavq1PBhoN0Mhzy_IAVa_k9OqajRr84V3MR9iDWzA9rE4C3-YEdszA0K2QR-JTXH06iTHpw9HoN9mDKYxeBKLJ623A860aFx4nDQWggv0H5NGwGu0VKGUbtJ2eSD4VKPP4cldcdotPraUGNvK-31-siSNuJhIVkCVI1PtBvghsCX6Jan20UrcQ=w225-h400" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The turnaround</td></tr></tbody></table><div>We turn around and return to the Tuggle aid station (now mile 25.4) and continue back toward Farmville.</div><div><br /></div><div>Now the wind is picking up again and low ragged clouds are racing ahead of us from the west. We catch up to a runner who is mostly walking. It's his first 50K and our chatter and companionship lifts his spirits and he begins to run with us. </div><div><br /></div><div>With about a mile or so to go I glance at my watch and figure that I may have a chance to finish in 7:30. "The horse smells the barn," I tell Caroline and our new trail friend and I take off. While I don't say it, I'm also increasingly concerned that the dark clouds behind us are moving faster than we are. Not exactly a sprint, but I'm determined that I will run and not take walk breaks. But after a mile and with the train station in sight, I realize that I'm not going to make 7:30. And perhaps the reason is that, recalling the race instructions, is that the course is described as "a bit more than 50K". </div><div><br /></div><div>I finish in 7:37:09, good for 98 of 137 finishers, 59 of 74 males and 1 of 3 in my 70-79 age group. And I'm not close to being the oldest. Besides the two other older runners in my AG there is a 81-year old finisher. Caroline is close behind me in 7:37:45.</div><div><br /></div><div><b><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh8iZT4lES17S6ANKl9TyKiYClEdFNMY8-vCn4Xk1yyJLiwAsYfzbBsejl1HN3BgmDv4CRhmfoCOfZ-611V_WcxWTnBkDjJxqYjo348zI0AYd8khdxpUAoGYzAtOQ_Bhl3Dh2FFBsflLkrvwqnkYiK9Kdx3-gURx15P6RHLxWTSsE8esDoJ5Ib8p2odzA=s3174" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3174" data-original-width="1785" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEh8iZT4lES17S6ANKl9TyKiYClEdFNMY8-vCn4Xk1yyJLiwAsYfzbBsejl1HN3BgmDv4CRhmfoCOfZ-611V_WcxWTnBkDjJxqYjo348zI0AYd8khdxpUAoGYzAtOQ_Bhl3Dh2FFBsflLkrvwqnkYiK9Kdx3-gURx15P6RHLxWTSsE8esDoJ5Ib8p2odzA=s320" width="180" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The truth</td></tr></tbody></table>Postscript</b></div><div>After a post-race slice of pizza, and some fellowship with more runners whom Caroline knows, we walk to my car where I give her a couple of holiday-decorated cupcakes for the ride home. I eat one myself before driving to Tuggle to reclaim my drop bag.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm not out of Farmville when the rain starts. By the time I reach Tuggle, it is pouring and the wind is blowing it at an angle. A pair of runners pass through the parking lot. I finally get out of the car but an umbrella offers limited protection. I get my bag which is sitting out in the open. The good news is that it has a rubberized bottom to protect the contents from wet ground. More good news is that I put the contents in a trash bag to protect against this very situation. Unfortunately, I did not fold the top of the trash bag over the last time I accessed it and the contents are wet from rain through the zippered top. On the positive side, the extra shoes were in a separate plastic bag and they are dry.</div><div><br /></div><div>I drive to <a href="https://www.fishinpig.com" target="_blank">The Fishin' Pig</a> south of Farmville for pulled pork, fried catfish, homemade slaw and collards. Too much to finish, so the pork and slaw go home with me.</div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgRHBUTyv-4c0avKx5a968yUH2J7S02uU40gvIabF9Q5nStwyNlm8ZrvLxvhlMdfWKyN-PdcQThUQL2NgNyoGp0MOiscFGYY98z-0WMHlM3DoqU68Ibsc0QdpVOcY33Uv70shLDkmbwkJOApkdHIePfZOlut1PZdw__J-szGqlm-q8Sha8KQQEhuCi3vQ=s3003" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3003" data-original-width="2128" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgRHBUTyv-4c0avKx5a968yUH2J7S02uU40gvIabF9Q5nStwyNlm8ZrvLxvhlMdfWKyN-PdcQThUQL2NgNyoGp0MOiscFGYY98z-0WMHlM3DoqU68Ibsc0QdpVOcY33Uv70shLDkmbwkJOApkdHIePfZOlut1PZdw__J-szGqlm-q8Sha8KQQEhuCi3vQ=w454-h640" width="454" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Swag: hooded shirt, ornament, sticker <br />and bib</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div><br /></div></div>Ken Swabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04093841096811631084noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672747428347177743.post-13155361801105141362021-12-07T20:34:00.000-05:002021-12-07T20:34:27.794-05:00Pass Mountain 50K - November 13, 2021<p><b>Nightmares<br /></b></p><p>The night before the <a href="https://www.aravaiparunning.com/pass-mountain/" target="_blank">Pass Mountain 50K</a>, I cannot sleep. I'm worried about the weather for the race, specifically, the forecast for higher than normal temperatures. I have a history of not coping well with hot conditions. In June, I dropped out of <a href="http://keswab.blogspot.com/2021/07/ran-it-with-janet-50k-dnf-june-5-2021.html" target="_blank">Ran It with Janet 50K</a> partly due to the 90 degree heat. In February, 2020, I dropped from <a href="http://keswab.blogspot.com/2020/02/elephant-mountain-50k-dnf-february-1.html" target="_blank">Elephant Mountain 50K</a>, at least in part due to the heat. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVuczmUTLnWPu_BmdNhn0Fs_P7AaSGmJtnWBl6RwleGJxGqow4PFnmy87BQ9wXRzGtNEFcOPCnfTAinPUHgPFA0nOaDkgV2HfZNqruQ6fKVOGYohF0JbbWGVRqVzkFpcnkzXLdzJ6oMjMR/s3026/20211112_105244.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1702" data-original-width="3026" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVuczmUTLnWPu_BmdNhn0Fs_P7AaSGmJtnWBl6RwleGJxGqow4PFnmy87BQ9wXRzGtNEFcOPCnfTAinPUHgPFA0nOaDkgV2HfZNqruQ6fKVOGYohF0JbbWGVRqVzkFpcnkzXLdzJ6oMjMR/w640-h360/20211112_105244.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cathy and Emaad choose another way at<br />Boyce Thompson Arboretum</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Earlier on Friday Emaad and I meet our friend Cathy at the <a href="https://btarboretum.org/" target="_blank">Boyce Thompson Arboretum</a> in Superior. She is a member and an enthusiastic gardener, and she treats us to an hour long guided tour of the main trail at the arboretum. The shaded portions are pleasant, but I feel the heat when we are in unshaded parts of the walk. </p><p>Even though I have a plan to deal with the heat, I spend a troubled night, never quite being able to sleep for any length of time. No need for the alarm; I'm awake and up well before I have to be.</p><p><b>First Loop</b></p><p>The <a href="https://i2.wp.com/www.aravaiparunning.com/avr/wp-content/uploads/2016/10/Pass-Mountain-Map.png">course</a> consists of two loops around Pass Mountain. From the race website, it looks relatively flat, with most of the <a href="https://i2.wp.com/www.aravaiparunning.com/avr/wp-content/uploads/2018/11/Pass-Mountain-50K-Profile.png?ssl=1" target="_blank">2500 feet of ascent</a> in the two climbs from the second aid station (mile 6.8 of each loop) and the passage at Bulldog Saddle at the top of the trail. And that climb is followed by a nice four mile descent back to the start finish area. Since we did over 3000 feet of climb at Boulder Field 50K, this doesn't sound at all bad. And it is in the desert, so no roots to contend with or trip over. Maybe just a few rocks.</p><p>The race starts at 7 o'clock sharp. The 58 entrants in the 50K head out onto the smooth dirt of the trail. Emaad and I are toward the rear and as usual we chat with the runners around us. We don't push the pace, but don't go too slowly either, figuring that the more miles we can log while the sun is still low (sunrise was 6:56 a.m.) and the temperatures down, the better off we will be later in the day.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTViEu7GqhznO4Nqx_BynR5QeVqod7PbGd6aPKLzmcR2ctHFI6DPszVpu4h1eGXMBgwPsHtlQtvT9mUbLiDn8vJ2MCX8plyFgZ6Ut60SJL_qHxVTmidocA2rwcUd03GHj9zsNK9rkqyzkx/s3264/20211113_073541.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTViEu7GqhznO4Nqx_BynR5QeVqod7PbGd6aPKLzmcR2ctHFI6DPszVpu4h1eGXMBgwPsHtlQtvT9mUbLiDn8vJ2MCX8plyFgZ6Ut60SJL_qHxVTmidocA2rwcUd03GHj9zsNK9rkqyzkx/w400-h300/20211113_073541.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Emaad runs into the sun on the levee (mile 3)</td></tr></tbody></table><p>The course rolls just a bit for the first couple of miles, then turns onto a levee built to protect a neighborhood on the edge of the park for flash floods. We get through the eponymously named Levee aid station (mile 3.8) in 44 minutes, get back on the levee and continue for a bit more before the trail leaves it for more generally flat track to the next aid station at mile 6.8.</p><p>From here it is 8.6 miles back to the start-finish. I make sure that my hydration pack is filled to its 1.5 liter capacity. Fellow runner David, who is using trekking poles and has run the race previously, gives us a brief on what to expect ahead.</p><p>The course heads up gently, between the Cat Hills, then along a bit of gently rolling, but rocky, trail running to the east. We chat with a couple of women runners about the difference of running in the East and the West. A hiker wearing a sidearm passes us going the opposite direction. (Protection against snakes? Loaded with <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Snake_shot" target="_blank">snake shot</a>? Protection from other wildlife?) We are in a different culture here.</p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2hkGZ1zsdEPYnl_B4ARkdQ3lwaBfCkL1jmX3He0nEbL99Ie-9MfiaDWmTSq7NtFPX039ii5r_ZTRW50M7R2kMFYbg6f_M1Jjnh1FQe84ywMuZ511tMm4-MaM-3WcQB6ZpzFPxsOlRDKti/s3264/20211113_073559.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2448" data-original-width="3264" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2hkGZ1zsdEPYnl_B4ARkdQ3lwaBfCkL1jmX3He0nEbL99Ie-9MfiaDWmTSq7NtFPX039ii5r_ZTRW50M7R2kMFYbg6f_M1Jjnh1FQe84ywMuZ511tMm4-MaM-3WcQB6ZpzFPxsOlRDKti/w400-h300/20211113_073559.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking toward Pass Mountain from the south (mile 4)</td></tr></tbody></table><p>The trail turns northward and upward, but the rocks do not end. The trail is rockier that I had anticipated and it makes running difficult. Up we go. Since this is the desert one can see the runners - actually mostly walkers - on the trial ahead and above.</p><p>Finally we come to a switchback that is just solid rock and steeply upward. This is the point that David told us would mark the final ascent to Bulldog Saddle. Just before we reach the top we come upon a pair of mountain bikers preparing to descend that stretch. It seems to be an ill-advised and particularly risky idea but we go on leaving them to their effort. We see them later in the day unscathed.</p><p>Cresting the saddle, we now have four miles and 700 feet of descent to the end of the first loop. It should be a place to make up time. Emaad takes off. But I proceed slowly. As I've gotten older, downhills have become troubling - I am becoming increasingly afraid of falling and am losing confidence in my ability to bound down them. The trail is still rocky, and there is nothing be a steep slope on one side. A misstep, slip or stumble in the wrong direction and it will be a slide down a rocky, cactus slope for who knows how far. Adding to the concern, portions of the trail are eroded, further narrowing the path.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfzFx4SPCi48Y7xffbM6uGckBPs4jq7Gfv3vP-55gn_vJtmRL4r0qRA0biDk9JbaAiv5iTiKZtEQY2V-oolHFYaHLvo9GPhlBb-Wr3RbxcbOUrZqJSFjkuGdmM7qbTsasQlJGEGVJ7eO13/s4608/20211113_094616.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2128" data-original-width="4608" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfzFx4SPCi48Y7xffbM6uGckBPs4jq7Gfv3vP-55gn_vJtmRL4r0qRA0biDk9JbaAiv5iTiKZtEQY2V-oolHFYaHLvo9GPhlBb-Wr3RbxcbOUrZqJSFjkuGdmM7qbTsasQlJGEGVJ7eO13/w400-h185/20211113_094616.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Headed toward Bulldog Saddle</td></tr></tbody></table><p>I go on, unconfident of the trail, but confident that I'll make the four and a half hour cutoff at the end of the first loop.</p><p><b>Second Loop</b></p><p>Emaad is waiting for my at our drop bags. The day is now hot, and the portapotty that I use is sweltering. I change shirts, fill the hydration pack and grab my handheld water bottle. My plan is to use the water in the hydration pack for drinking and the water in the handheld for cooling, pouring it on the cooling towel I have around my neck.</p><p>We cross the mat to start the second loop in 4:11. This gives us officially 4:49 to run the second loop to finish under the official nine hour cutoff. But we not particularly concerned about that, knowing that the 50 milers on a somewhat differ course will still be out there later than us.</p><p>We have barely gone a few hundred yards than we come across a runner sitting by the side of the trail. He says he is OK but has decided to call it a day. A bit further along we come across another runner walking back toward the start-finish. He, too, tells us that he is calling it a day.</p><p>By now we are pretty much alone. I want to run, but Emaad urges that we go easy, as the time is approaching noon, the sun is high, there is no shade, the day has become hot and we still have a long way to go. It's good advice. We mostly walk, or walk and run.</p><p>We spy a runner ahead, mostly walking and talking on her phone. When she is done with her call we fall in with her and the three of us proceed together sharing stories. It turns out that she had run the 2019 DC North Face Endurance Challenge 50K, the same race at which <a href="http://keswab.blogspot.com/2019/05/north-face-endurance-challenge-dc-april.html" target="_blank">Emaad and I had run a bit</a> with ultralegend Dean Karnazes.</p><p>She is a recent graduate of George Washington University, and is interested in international humanitarian efforts. I tell her that I know someone who works at the Agency for International Development and that if she wants I can put her in touch with him. In an only-in-DC moment I tell her that I happen to have one of my business cards in the rear outside pocket of my hydration pack (how many other trail runners carry their business cards with them?) and that she is free to take a picture of it so that she can contact me later. I had the business card with me because I had written the race emergency number on it in case I needed it on the trail. But still . . . a business card?</p><p>She is talking about dropping at the Levee aid station, but we and the aid station workers talk her into going on. At one point Emaad and I get a bit ahead of her and exchange concern about her. We wait and she catches up with us and assures us that she is fine, but is going to drop out at the Meridian aid station (mile 22.2). She has to get to CVS in time to get a COVID test as she is flying to Germany on Monday.</p><p>As we approach the aid station, a volunteer meets us. He, too, tries to talk her out of dropping, but her mind is made up. She calls one of her friends (one dropped, one finished) to come pick her up. </p><p>Emaad has gone on ahead, and calls back to me to pick up his handheld, as he left it behind. I do, and after a couple of hundred yards I curse myself, because in getting his I left my behind. I turn back to get it. A volunteer sees me coming back and realizes what I had done, and brings it out to meet me, saving me precious steps.</p><p>Now we are alone and the day is hot. We have been over this ground before, but somehow it seems longer, probably because we are going slower. (On the first loop we did the 6.8 mile distance from the start to the Meridian aid station in 1:27. It took 2:00 on the second loop.)</p><p>I'm keeping my cooling towel wet with water from the handheld. But the upward climb seems endless. With no runners (or even hikers for that matter) on the trail ahead, it is hard to know where the saddle is. All I see is mountainside, with no obvious way over.</p><p>But eventually we reach the "just rocks" part, and partially on all fours, I crest Bulldog Saddle.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZTUxob6eOMa53nMYMyg97E36oS2_dZsunLcfu1YKrI6sl4NSU0VW1cLvgu61UVAHcu4JTP7SRcC4ZiOrQcdxgFY4rSoj16BN9fmgsxYdkNyiWZvqQ7QCJDaqbY6ks5kyHayMaPHNvitdf/s4608/20211113_150359.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2128" data-original-width="4608" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZTUxob6eOMa53nMYMyg97E36oS2_dZsunLcfu1YKrI6sl4NSU0VW1cLvgu61UVAHcu4JTP7SRcC4ZiOrQcdxgFY4rSoj16BN9fmgsxYdkNyiWZvqQ7QCJDaqbY6ks5kyHayMaPHNvitdf/w400-h185/20211113_150359.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking to the north from the Pass Mountain trail (mile 29)</td></tr></tbody></table><p>As on the first loop, Emaad takes off downhill and I trudge downward. At least now this side of the mountain is partially in the shade. A good thing too, as I'm starting to ration both my drinking water in the hydration pack and the cooling water in the handheld.</p><p>About a mile down the trail I come upon Curtis, a runner who, it turns out, had been thru the Meridian aid station 18 minutes ahead of us. He is not looking well. I offer him a salt tablet, and I take my last one. Then I go on, but keep looking back to see how he is doing. He is moving forward, so I figure he will be OK. </p><p>I've run out of water in my handheld, so I use water from my pack to wet my cooling cloth. But than causes me to even further cut back on what I drink. I try a trick from Emaad - take a sip and swish it in your mouth for awhile before swallowing. Anything to make the water last.</p><p>With about a mile left, first one leg, and then the other starts to cramp. I use a nearby bench to press back and stretch. Somewhat successfully, I resume moving. But then I start to get lightheaded and stop on a rock to put my head down. The cramping resumes. I start to wonder if it is time to get out the business card to dial the emergency number. But both the dizziness and cramping subside. On I go. But I'm out of water.</p><p>I ask a runner headed in the opposite direction if he has a gel, forgetting the I have two on me. He doesn't. A bit later I cross paths with a mountain biker. He asks if I'm OK, and when I hesitate, he asks if I want some water. He pours some, including some ice, from his hydration pack into my bottle. The cold water is refreshing, both inside and out.</p><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkybhBJFG370P6XVD5YOCyPHLdbgwh9TgcUOmARHmfuy3a3JBwMFuX7y2yXYd1xA8PtE-9fXJ4guluo2LGaHvNX8PeJEDp58Q2O-cHrhZak3aS3pSCflxYnPC0_2rFHbeTK4cFUq2pbobV/s2340/Screenshot_20211114-213506_Chrome%255B1%255D.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2340" data-original-width="1080" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkybhBJFG370P6XVD5YOCyPHLdbgwh9TgcUOmARHmfuy3a3JBwMFuX7y2yXYd1xA8PtE-9fXJ4guluo2LGaHvNX8PeJEDp58Q2O-cHrhZak3aS3pSCflxYnPC0_2rFHbeTK4cFUq2pbobV/w298-h640/Screenshot_20211114-213506_Chrome%255B1%255D.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Live Results Screenshot</td></tr></tbody></table>And in a bit I pass the parking lot by the Wind Cave trailhead ("the false finish" as one runner described it on the first loop) and travel the half mile or so to the finish. I cross the line and plunk down in a chair. One of the finish line workers gives me my finisher's award and gets me something to drink and a snack. Emaad, who finished 20 minutes ahead of me, comes over. He tells me that he vomited after finishing, and one of the medical staff checked on him. <p></p><p>Curtis comes in 20 minutes behind me.</p><p><b>Finisher or Not?</b></p><p>The live tracking shows that I finished in 9:29:47, 37th overall, and 24th male. I was the oldest finisher by five years. Emaad finished in 9:09:33. Curtis was the only finisher behind me.</p><p>The temperature tops out at 88 degrees, ten degrees above the normal high for November 13 in Mesa. It takes a toll on the runners. Only 38 of the original 58 starters will be recorded as finishers, an attrition rate of 35 percent. This is far above the attrition rate for the previous three Pass Mountain 50Ks, where the rates were 15, 13, and 14 percent, respectively.</p><p>When the results are posted to Ultrasignup, we three are all listed as DNFs. We went from finishers to non-finishers. </p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizWCPIeiZr1H8MChUFnLhXf2AVfj6AyR8XKSmAjtQ8e7nIujC6nZh2FMe2P1WSFduPTJLTx4pSNThB5h1da76bkUJLUWVjI7Yuw7rI9ff15zmHaP_WgrJVXeJ45BLjPuxQg5N1APfypwAZ/s3069/20211113_164951.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3069" data-original-width="1726" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizWCPIeiZr1H8MChUFnLhXf2AVfj6AyR8XKSmAjtQ8e7nIujC6nZh2FMe2P1WSFduPTJLTx4pSNThB5h1da76bkUJLUWVjI7Yuw7rI9ff15zmHaP_WgrJVXeJ45BLjPuxQg5N1APfypwAZ/w225-h400/20211113_164951.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At the Finish</td></tr></tbody></table>Although we didn't make the announced nine hour cutoff, this DNF does not set will with me. I email the race director, pointing out that at "the 2020 Elephant Mountain 50K [a race put on by the same company], 16 finishers who did not meet the 8-hour cutoff were recorded as finishers, including four who were over nine hours. Just like Pass Mountain this year, that race had its inaugural 50 miler" so there were still runners out on the course when we finished. I ask that he include me, Emaad, Curtis and a fourth runner who was also over the nine hour cutoff. Emaad also sends an email.<p></p><p>We get no response for eight days, so I write again. The race director responds to Emaad and I agreeing to do so, although not without a bit of a backhand: "because you seem so passionate about receiving a finish for a race that you finished over the official cutoff, we will allow your result to be posted." But he doesn't do so for Curtis who remains a DNF. On the other hand, while not telling us, he moves a 50-mile finisher from a reported "did not finish under the cutoff" to an official finisher. </p><p>We didn't make the cutoff. If, at finish I was told that I was a DNF I would have accepted that. But the company ignored the cutoff for another one of its races, so consistency is expected. Once you tell me I'm a finisher and give me a finisher's medal, you do not get to unfinish me. (And at my age, I need all the finishes I can get.)</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUhSn6pGYYbHHhgD05yqiVWZs7XYGSA7wW0FN7JuSUa6fkpUz9O6yeNCokLivILSZa0x5VZwWuapJkn-VEFPCdGKJIi5kkJ0ZLmuW8ecI3few_GMwmeDEGHzwgk5EtSlAHvWavxGzytss0/s2829/20211201_122149.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2829" data-original-width="2121" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUhSn6pGYYbHHhgD05yqiVWZs7XYGSA7wW0FN7JuSUa6fkpUz9O6yeNCokLivILSZa0x5VZwWuapJkn-VEFPCdGKJIi5kkJ0ZLmuW8ecI3few_GMwmeDEGHzwgk5EtSlAHvWavxGzytss0/w480-h640/20211201_122149.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Swag: Shirt, Bib and <br />FINISHER'S MEDAL</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>Ken Swabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04093841096811631084noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672747428347177743.post-6586440759913289432021-11-05T00:22:00.000-04:002021-11-05T00:22:13.759-04:00Philadelphia Trail Marathon - October 16, 2021<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc6OXZKwQ3MO3PCGKD4VRbtcQxPUWONL-wU1k-oHB6Yi9CGaSOIg9hamDvSNZLJfOZAaOWnFqPeBGQsHEcR-THpUCAdc0xHTJty2t7I9Pj6wHlyyl4QLj3nIq85Y9ozJ2U5vXN6mcbeAZE/s1263/20211016_141353.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1192" data-original-width="1263" height="378" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc6OXZKwQ3MO3PCGKD4VRbtcQxPUWONL-wU1k-oHB6Yi9CGaSOIg9hamDvSNZLJfOZAaOWnFqPeBGQsHEcR-THpUCAdc0xHTJty2t7I9Pj6wHlyyl4QLj3nIq85Y9ozJ2U5vXN6mcbeAZE/w400-h378/20211016_141353.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption">Even modest victories have a price</td></tr></tbody></table><p><b>Agility I</b></p><p>Preparing my gear late Friday night before the race I realize that I had not brought a handheld bottle. And since the aid stations are conveniently close to one another, I hadn't brought my Nathan pack. Two alternatives are possible. First, run without hydration and rely on the aid stations. It's possible but the day promises some unseasonably temperatures in the upper 70s and gulping liquids every few miles and then running without does not seem like a good plan. Second, Emaad's cousin, whose home we are staying at, offers a couple of small 6-ounce bottles of water. Better than the first alternative I decide, and I take them.</p><p>Getting in the car Saturday morning for the drive to the race, I spot a wide-mouth empty16-ounce bottle from an iced tea I bought on the drive from Maryland. It's ridged, which will improve the grip and it has a wide mouth, which will make refilling easy. I pour the water from the smaller bottles into it and I'm ready to race.</p><p><b>Agilty II</b></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdNPU7Mrr3LhvO3iy2p8x0AheSzv_flT9NHA05XXieFxM4bTGN31d5UEg3IPNXfIbudfPiSxP6nd4owN97IcPHZuKvd9t7FNcjMJG2FWdfHmspVRwUuFrwXpUo4fbKRfYypV3CgdIpitaH/s3079/20211016_074613.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3079" data-original-width="2898" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdNPU7Mrr3LhvO3iy2p8x0AheSzv_flT9NHA05XXieFxM4bTGN31d5UEg3IPNXfIbudfPiSxP6nd4owN97IcPHZuKvd9t7FNcjMJG2FWdfHmspVRwUuFrwXpUo4fbKRfYypV3CgdIpitaH/w376-h400/20211016_074613.jpg" width="376" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It's not an Uberendurance event <br />without Uber Hans and his accordion.</td></tr></tbody></table>Last year's inaugural <a href="http://www.uberendurancesports.com/philadelphiatrailmarathon.html" target="_blank">Philadelphia Trail Marathon</a> was a virtual event due to the pandemic. The 2021 version was scheduled to be in Wissahickon Park but the passage of the remnants of Hurricane Ida on September 1 did extensive damage to the trails and park management told the race director that he would not be able to use them. <p></p><p>With barely six weeks to race day, Stephan Weiss, the <a href="http://www.uberendurancesports.com/" target="_blank">Uberendurance Sports</a> race director, arranged to move the race to Pennypack Park, where he puts on several other races. Not only does he move the race, but he has to figure out a course.</p><p>With great agility he does so, although the last minute maneuvering means he cannot provide a trial map in advance, only assuring runners that it would be two loops, and that half of the course would use trails used in the Dirty German (my <a href="http://keswab.blogspot.com/2019/05/dirty-german-50k-may-11-2019.html" target="_blank">2019 report here</a>) and half would be new trails. And he promises five aid stations per loop, and a total of eleven for the marathoners.</p><p><b>Fly and Die</b></p><p>We know the Pennypack drill: park on the street, make a very short walk to the pavilion, get our bibs and shirt, stash our drop bag, listen to Uber Hans play his accordion, eye the other runners. Aa couple of minutes before 8 a.m. Hans plays the National Anthem on his squeeze box, Stephan calls the runners to the start line and we are off.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7OaU7mymvmCyYHBW0Y3ssbOgI5c3NtpyNBqYYolJ7V2M2AGAskdlXqBsNeN96KAXGtJFU0hnmAiq_P-6mQBCrep9OPJk71jgRn1795i69oM3T07qMWos5M2Ilr1GufIgbZsX_vE_S0eUw/s3355/20211016_082744.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3355" data-original-width="3355" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7OaU7mymvmCyYHBW0Y3ssbOgI5c3NtpyNBqYYolJ7V2M2AGAskdlXqBsNeN96KAXGtJFU0hnmAiq_P-6mQBCrep9OPJk71jgRn1795i69oM3T07qMWos5M2Ilr1GufIgbZsX_vE_S0eUw/w400-h400/20211016_082744.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Emaad follows other runners early in the race<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>The beginning of the race follows the Pennypack Trailfest course, which <a href="http://keswab.blogspot.com/2019/11/pennypack-trail-fest-60k-october-26-2019.html" target="_blank">we ran in 2019</a>. The single track is pretty crowded so it is a chance for some walking and easy running - a perfect way to ease into the day.<p></p><p>Soon enough the field starts to stretch out, and parts of the course are wide enough to permit faster runners to move ahead. Emaad and I settle into a nice rhythm, not too fast, but definitely quicker than usual.</p><p>After a few miles I'm still feeling good. Lacking impulse control, I tell him that I'm going to go on. I know exactly what I'm doing and it is something I haven't done in several years. It's fly and die time - run as fast as you can for as long as you can and hope that the finish is close enough when you run out of fuel and crash. It is a terrible strategy, but it can be fun while it lasts. Then it gets ugly. And you never know when the fly part will end, adding to the excitement. It's Russian roulette in trail shoes.</p><p>Running with several other runners, we pass a pair of mountain bikers on the side of a single track trail built with bikers in mind, with log jumps and plenty of twists and turns. One has thrown his chain and is fixing it. Soon they are back on the path and politely pass us as we all head downhill.</p><p><b>Goals</b></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBAwTmeDDdCSnsB5RwVKET2r_2DOKbwHxP_UMtbtT_4onwnGRXnU-5gpXA1KHiUxxDbRieEiQqoZW_M1urtElwmQdK-iXMulfbbcBS2HgRKLfSpMDTblH11hc9K60p_-M7MmlmH8MroNVW/s3824/20211016_104800.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3824" data-original-width="2868" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBAwTmeDDdCSnsB5RwVKET2r_2DOKbwHxP_UMtbtT_4onwnGRXnU-5gpXA1KHiUxxDbRieEiQqoZW_M1urtElwmQdK-iXMulfbbcBS2HgRKLfSpMDTblH11hc9K60p_-M7MmlmH8MroNVW/w300-h400/20211016_104800.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Still flying in the second loop.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>About three quarters of the way through the first loop I decide to set some goals for the day. I rarely set them before the race: "just want to finish" is my usual response. But once I get going goals help to motivate me.</p><p>So I set five: finish the first loop before anyone in the half marathon (starting an hour later) passes me; finish the first loop before the leader of the marathon finishes; finish the first loop under 3 hours; finish the marathon under 6 hours; finish the marathon under 6:30.</p><p>The first goal gets blown away with miles remaining in the first loop. And then again. And again. Ultimately nine half marathoners will finish their race before I get to the end of the loop, even with an hour headstart.</p><p>But I don't notice anyone with a marathon bib pass me as I approach the start finish line. One goal accomplished.</p><p>I cross the line at the end of the first loop in 2:45! I change my shirt and head out on the second loop. Still flying! And I start thinking that 6 hours is definitely in play. I can slow down by half an hour on the second loop and still make it.</p><p>Awhile into the loop my GPS reads barely 13 miles. That's odd, since the first loop, a half marathon should have been 13.1 miles. Maybe that explains the speedy - for me - first loop. But no matter. Stephan had to put a course together quickly and did. In trail runs, the distance is what the race director says it its. And woe to those who insist that the distance isn't what the race director says. The founder and race director of the Seneca Creek Greenway Trail Marathon and 50K added a "spite mile" the next year after fielding complaints that the course was longer than the advertised distance. (For the record my GPS logs 24,8 miles. It is what it is. You still have to go from the start to the finish.) </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB5IlbSoeCYwSg4gHBv3VwxC222KCTfcPkhfTnDwtHdyl-uWDBTj3asKyzbHO7YAdpDZPZKkbZuvDg34bJ4oVsnhOKZlesG8jaWjFOJqFhmHjrGFoueAMRsU5pz50pl1nXZCNEiXZ2vMKN/s3456/20211016_123531.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="3456" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB5IlbSoeCYwSg4gHBv3VwxC222KCTfcPkhfTnDwtHdyl-uWDBTj3asKyzbHO7YAdpDZPZKkbZuvDg34bJ4oVsnhOKZlesG8jaWjFOJqFhmHjrGFoueAMRsU5pz50pl1nXZCNEiXZ2vMKN/w400-h400/20211016_123531.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trail next to Pennypack Creek (mile 18.5)</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Catching up with a pair of runners I channel <a href="https://youtu.be/TbF29c_FpV8?t=6" target="_blank">the Blues Brothers</a>: "It's eight miles to the finish, I have half a bottle of water, two gels, and I'm wearing sunglasses. Let's hit it." One runner, missing the reference, helpfully offers a gel and says the next aid station is near. The other runner gets it. (Yes, the movie is 41 years old and I'm showing my age with the reference, but it's a classic. Right?)</p><p><b>Bees? What bees?</b></p><p>A runner asks me if I'd been stung. No, I reply, a bit puzzled by the question, She tells me she had been stung seven times. Apparently there is a yellow jacket nest on the trail and the residents have taken offense at the disruption caused be the runners. They have taken to attacking them, and since they are yellow jackets and not bees, can sting multiple times. (Emaad will report being stung five times, from his ankle to his thumb.)</p><p>A course marshal also warns of the hazard on the second loop and says to stay to the left of a white-topped can he has placed near the nest. When I get to the spot, I heed his advice and remain unstung.</p><p><b>Crash and Burn</b></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYxV3ld0UUk9knEJ_JRiPtGwAKTmKI0lu7ih6J0nyxXA72TFVSTRkPZvQopPRfE9jOp-FF-n0-OFKCY2u2DTnrIxRq1bN4MwYZPuB8YJcmvdMpOeoVNAWtovcIpAiDw_R9fykipqFcCKM1/s3456/20211016_084618.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3456" data-original-width="3456" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYxV3ld0UUk9knEJ_JRiPtGwAKTmKI0lu7ih6J0nyxXA72TFVSTRkPZvQopPRfE9jOp-FF-n0-OFKCY2u2DTnrIxRq1bN4MwYZPuB8YJcmvdMpOeoVNAWtovcIpAiDw_R9fykipqFcCKM1/s320/20211016_084618.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crossing Bridge over Pennypack Creek (mile 7) </td></tr></tbody></table><p>I'm well into the second loop, about mile 16, and moving along well. The plane is flying smooth and level. All is going smoothly.</p><p>Until it isn't. I catch a foot and head toward the ground. There is a rock sticking up toward me as I go down, and I stretch out to avoid catching it with my ribs. I succeed, but the cost is a scraped up right knee and right forearm. Blood runs down the knee. I examine what has happened and don't feel any significant problems with the knee or the arm. The damage is superficial and I am able to go on.</p><p>But the fall has taken the "fly" out of me. There is an aid station a little bit ahead and I use wipes meant for cleaning surfaces to clean the scrapes. I decline the offer of water to wipe off the dried blood that has reached to my sock, figuring to wear it as a badge of honor.</p><p><b>Recharged</b></p><p>On I go, no longer flying high. Physically I don't feel bad, but the fight is out of me. Through the mountain biker trail loop, along the relatively flat stretch along the north side of Pennypack Creek and back to the aid station. Continue on the gently rolling single track of the southernmost loop, under the overpass at Bustleton Avenue and on to the aid station under Krewstown Road at about mile 20.5. Then over the bridge to the other side of the creek. This section of the trail is about 2.5 miles along the creek and the trail is frequently double wide with few rocks and roots.</p><p>I start running with Amy, a runner doing her first trail marathon. Having someone to run with starts to recharge my mental battery. A peek at the GPS get me thinking that maybe 6 hours is still in play. And having a new running friend means I get to tell my old stories to fresh ears.</p><p>As we come to the final aid station (mile 23.5) I yell out, "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aeD0S7Dkd0Q" target="_blank">Whiskey for my men, beer for my horses</a>." Sure enough, a bottle appears and a shot appears. I beg off, as I'm back to aiming at the 6 hour goal. But I do accept half a brew. Gotta hydrate for the final push.</p><p>Amy and I go on. I'm glancing at my watch more and more, but the time is slipping away. I finally urge Amy on, telling her I think she still has a shot at breaking 6. She takes off and is quickly out of sight.</p><p>My new goal now is 6:15. Cross the bridge over the feeder stream to Pennypack Park, up the trail to the sidewalk alongside Pine Road, swing around walkers, cross over Pennypack Creek, left onto the field leading to the finish, toss away my reliable substitute water bottle and cross the finish line in 6:06:25.</p><p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkvqnJqUWNK_HXP_Z65evMoo4rzoXZrZhKKxauZDdTP7QLlkkgfGi3UNZoagB1kv-7f1eAXtfOQuTGdDxBSSHd57lqtYW5aR8U5Y5wqPxkjXmudEk3fPQ8qT7W5AGNB4RZASHEtB428QDH/" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="625" data-original-width="469" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkvqnJqUWNK_HXP_Z65evMoo4rzoXZrZhKKxauZDdTP7QLlkkgfGi3UNZoagB1kv-7f1eAXtfOQuTGdDxBSSHd57lqtYW5aR8U5Y5wqPxkjXmudEk3fPQ8qT7W5AGNB4RZASHEtB428QDH/w300-h400/image.png" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Getting cleaned up by Philly's bravest.<br />(Photo by E. Burki)</td></tr></tbody></table><b>Agility III</b></p><p>I collect my plastic finisher's medal, and am awarded a trophy for finishing first in my age group (I beat the other person in it by 64 minutes, but he is the oldest finisher.) There is a medic unit parked at the finish and they clean up my wounds and bandage my knee. No need to risk necrotizing fasciitis, my current irrational fear associated with trail running. (My other two fears are not irrational: ticks and poison ivy.)</p><p>In a post-race email Stephan explains the plastic medal: "We had ordered medals in the spring, but unfortunately they are currently stuck on one of these container ships outside of LA. . . . we then worked with a local artist to have wooden medals made just in time for the race. Unfortunately their equipment broke down and they were not able to produce them either, so this acrylic medal was the last option . . . and we had them shipped next day air just in time for the race." </p><p><b>Results</b></p><p>I finish in 6:06:25, good for 99/114 overall, 67/76 males and 1/2 in the 70+ age group. Amy finishes in 6:05:19 and is kind enough to take the picture of me at the top of this post. Emaad, with his five stings, finishes in 6:19:57.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLGt7uRjuuNIAvJrd0PHvYJWP1U6jAfG1cYHeLbEXdYKRnQosGAINQKGwKH67cH6OFmmdjhZ6wSkioYO-gUDZaI4WFExty-G7suWVvt-s2HfeNphNrrRq-i_mgHS66bScBswxPR9ytvOeY/s3383/20211019_100917.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3383" data-original-width="2523" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLGt7uRjuuNIAvJrd0PHvYJWP1U6jAfG1cYHeLbEXdYKRnQosGAINQKGwKH67cH6OFmmdjhZ6wSkioYO-gUDZaI4WFExty-G7suWVvt-s2HfeNphNrrRq-i_mgHS66bScBswxPR9ytvOeY/w299-h400/20211019_100917.jpg" width="299" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Swag: Quarter zip, medal, bib <br />and AG trophy</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><p><br /></p>Ken Swabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04093841096811631084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672747428347177743.post-21560833805609769812021-09-30T22:41:00.002-04:002021-10-01T08:51:54.843-04:00Boulder Field 50K - September 11, 2021<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOEnPm6lr_rDtbbRPy-15E_4E-B8lKaWr2P3F_75A9ZzharGiNBeAQ8AKBa4MzEGZ2tO1C8ABuhQUl1FtAiJ20QZzzeulhyWSCVDOGil5PDw0wWyJygNwMQmNY4aVA1UPWH3NT5wSy6Hp5/s4608/20210911_125257.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2128" data-original-width="4608" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOEnPm6lr_rDtbbRPy-15E_4E-B8lKaWr2P3F_75A9ZzharGiNBeAQ8AKBa4MzEGZ2tO1C8ABuhQUl1FtAiJ20QZzzeulhyWSCVDOGil5PDw0wWyJygNwMQmNY4aVA1UPWH3NT5wSy6Hp5/w640-h296/20210911_125257.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boulder Field</td></tr></tbody></table><p><b>Still Funny After All Those Times</b></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2BJtRYtyZdApOgwQ9Lfd56MQkCi-aWPpX-q-tN_iHw0C2IDbe-IcaXR0VGgQXdErB5yr1FwHgeiZlJAkxAa4ZFnzL41PZjcVl1HduvRTVLrjd1k7nGM6CT1wmcR_ayPG3EJqjvMpIcBCm/s625/Boulder+Field+2021+start+%25282%2529.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="625" data-original-width="625" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2BJtRYtyZdApOgwQ9Lfd56MQkCi-aWPpX-q-tN_iHw0C2IDbe-IcaXR0VGgQXdErB5yr1FwHgeiZlJAkxAa4ZFnzL41PZjcVl1HduvRTVLrjd1k7nGM6CT1wmcR_ayPG3EJqjvMpIcBCm/w400-h400/Boulder+Field+2021+start+%25282%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Emaad and I at the start</td></tr></tbody></table>"That's a dad joke!" the runner says after I tell the same joke for the third time to passing runners. "No," I reply, "that's a granddad joke."</p><p>Emaad is about ready to throttle me and we have only gone a few miles at the <a href="http://www.uberendurancesports.com/boulderfield.html" target="_blank">Boulder Field 50K</a>. Each time we are passed by another group of runners I can't help but tell a joke that my grandson loves: "Why should you never run behind a car?" But I can't help myself. It's too good not to tell runners.</p><p>We started out with perfect weather that will persist the entire day. Trail conditions are not perfect, however. The remnants of Hurricane Ida dropped a significant amount of rain on <a href="https://www.dcnr.pa.gov/StateParks/FindAPark/HickoryRunStatePark/Pages/default.aspx" target="_blank">Hickory Run State Park</a> two weeks earlier and rain on Wednesday has left parts of the course wet.</p><p>And "wet" means that a half mile of gentle uphill around mile two means there is water slowly running down the single track of the trail. Some of the areas at the bottom of descents are boggy. It isn't really a question of if you will step in muddy water, but when. Just embrace the inner child and splash through. </p><p>Since <a href="http://www.uberendurancesports.com/BFcoursemap.jpg" target="_blank">the course</a> is a figure eight we return to the start/finish at mile 12 and can change socks and shoes for the 18 mile second part. "Don't bother," a runner who has run the race previously says, "the second loop will be wet."</p><p><b>Hickory Run</b></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAG1an4tQ2buOMulHev0zxRgkhGfzlxT9HjEjkZZENrY_eqemQa28oQK860cdFaGMwzTeo_MXAcKt2DCVNHgr4gYvwd2v5cf5AIXKC3r9oCUNxTATmRkafhYBOYLC2qsoYiE1nWICbuYNK/s4608/20210911_094403.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2128" data-original-width="4608" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAG1an4tQ2buOMulHev0zxRgkhGfzlxT9HjEjkZZENrY_eqemQa28oQK860cdFaGMwzTeo_MXAcKt2DCVNHgr4gYvwd2v5cf5AIXKC3r9oCUNxTATmRkafhYBOYLC2qsoYiE1nWICbuYNK/w400-h185/20210911_094403.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hickory Run with AS 1 and 2 on far side<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>After about five miles of up and down, we come to the Hickory Run crossing. Normally it would be on a wooden bridge, but Ida ripped the railings off the bridge and the park ranger has required that it be taped off with yellow caution tape. Crossing means splashing through the knee deep stream. The water is a bit cool, but it washes the mud off.</p><p>The first aid station (mile 5.1) is set up on the far side of the creek and the volunteers are frying bacon and making grilled cheese sandwiches, cut into quarters, along with having the usual cookies and other things junk food so loved by trial runners. Because of the pandemic, many of the items are pre-wrapped individual servings and the cooked items are set (mostly) in individual serving cups. I pry a grilled cheese open and stuff bacon into it and walk on. Emaad, still at the aid station calls me back, as I've headed in the wrong direction.</p><p><b>Trail Etiquette</b></p><p>"On your left," I say, the universal trail request that the slower runner ahead move to the right so someone can pass. On single track that may mean stepping off the trail briefly, or waiting for a place where one can move over.</p><p>But I'm surprised when the response is a snapped, ""I'm over as far as I'm going." I hold me sometimes hair trigger temper in check and maneuver around without saying anything. Emaad later tells me that the runner said the same thing to others who were trying to pass. It's a rare trail runner who is impolite, so this is a first. We will pay it back - in an appropriate way - hours later.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAkLMyudllP1y2SQqowOwEhTE5_t5zx3afDu7nw_J7a_qKUfdAidbkBuL6fjLRsVGbTtfaQbcOeh08g6S0bybq5Djy6fdWCwB9Boi3nMq90OIj9A1BLgV8A4594r7p8DrlQEqFz23YDo8U/s2768/20210911_090045.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1557" data-original-width="2768" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAkLMyudllP1y2SQqowOwEhTE5_t5zx3afDu7nw_J7a_qKUfdAidbkBuL6fjLRsVGbTtfaQbcOeh08g6S0bybq5Djy6fdWCwB9Boi3nMq90OIj9A1BLgV8A4594r7p8DrlQEqFz23YDo8U/w400-h225/20210911_090045.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lehigh River Valley Overlook View (Mile 8)</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Trudging up a steep trail, I remark to a nearby runner that I'm going so slowly, that my GPS device no longer shows any pace for me. It's because the GPS only measures horizontal progress, he says, and ignores the vertical gain.<p></p><p><b>The Best Aid Station</b></p><p>Finishing the loop back to aid station 1 (aka aid station 2 (mile 9.9) approached from the opposite direction) there is a steep downhill with several switchbacks. As I've gotten older, all but the most gentle downhills, and pretty much any technical ones have started to become a greater concern and I am going slower and slower on them. I fear tumbling down them or worse still, imagine myself going over the edge and rolling down the incline. What used to be the mantra of walk the uphills and run the flats and downhills is now walk the uphills and downhills and run the flats. The survival instinct has overcome the competitive instinct. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4wnJxqC4gh_L5DpOVYWQXG0kO_jIMgwfihdRQMXeJ_N696-xBl_GxB7EzClZp7gmssoAO7uvOjqepN-kivk7pC30lygQFUHh31DN_YwHZrGtGrNcFQulI_yfQo8sqZTSKuNeiB6EgCI5I/s4608/20210911_094210.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2128" data-original-width="4608" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4wnJxqC4gh_L5DpOVYWQXG0kO_jIMgwfihdRQMXeJ_N696-xBl_GxB7EzClZp7gmssoAO7uvOjqepN-kivk7pC30lygQFUHh31DN_YwHZrGtGrNcFQulI_yfQo8sqZTSKuNeiB6EgCI5I/w400-h185/20210911_094210.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grilled cheese, bacon and fried potatoes at AS2</td></tr></tbody></table><p>A short stretch on an unpaved park road takes us back to the first aid station. As an additional treat the volunteers are now frying potatoes in the bacon grease! I tell them that this is a better aid station than the first one. Puzzled, they point out that it is the same one. "But now there are potatoes cooked in bacon fat!" I point out. "The first station didn't have that."</p><p>Several runners decide that they will navigate the railingless foot bridge across the creek. And I follow suit. After going a few hundred yards I realize that I left my water bottle at the aid station and have to backtrack to get it. The aid station workers offer some more bacon which I willingly accept. Yup, the best aid station.</p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6p8l7vX8PQVgzv2DMmgSxf8A5l6BV0et6BxuoGq0ohmxRHGKNmnXJn3cUQAfkiwQSDpuHq_YqCYepob0ThXbzo1lc8WLKQGUT8viT5TjMGuLX5EhpGzhEmHoSABZ_BANOKL2cM18qDPe0/s4608/20210911_100253.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2128" data-original-width="4608" height="148" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6p8l7vX8PQVgzv2DMmgSxf8A5l6BV0et6BxuoGq0ohmxRHGKNmnXJn3cUQAfkiwQSDpuHq_YqCYepob0ThXbzo1lc8WLKQGUT8viT5TjMGuLX5EhpGzhEmHoSABZ_BANOKL2cM18qDPe0/s320/20210911_100253.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That says it all.</td></tr></tbody></table><b>Shades of Death</b><p></p><p>In a short bit we are on the Shades of Death Trail, following a stream uphill. The trail is very rocky - more rock than dirt - but it is along a stream and takes us to a picturesque waterfall. We briefly lose the trail, but the course has been well marked and we spot a pink ribbon where we should be and reroute to it. In a bit we are done with the Shades of Death and reach aid station 3 (mile 12.5) at the start finish.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTPBfIKCIOToWCbK8uTOazP95a9TQ__VxdFg346sHCU7Kv8UHyDfrRswXlL3JdECceHMjJeYyaF4RLFOmcTOQ0JQRR1FhbsytY1XIG-s_F2AAggFxdKciVMQJG1AVnTTE8t5eIt5l4S7hk/s4608/20210911_101015.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2128" data-original-width="4608" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTPBfIKCIOToWCbK8uTOazP95a9TQ__VxdFg346sHCU7Kv8UHyDfrRswXlL3JdECceHMjJeYyaF4RLFOmcTOQ0JQRR1FhbsytY1XIG-s_F2AAggFxdKciVMQJG1AVnTTE8t5eIt5l4S7hk/w400-h185/20210911_101015.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The highlight of Shades of Death Trail</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Emaad changes shoes, I change my shirt and use the facilities and we head out for the second part of the course. </p><p><b>More Rocks, More Roots, More Water</b></p><p>We skirt Sand Spring Lake, follow the course through a disk golf course and a campground, and are back on a trail. And like most of the trails, it consists of rocks and roots, and in places, running water or mud. This part of the course has less elevation change (two-thirds of the elevation change is in the first 12 mile loop) but no less technical trails. We push on, looking for Aid Station 4 which my cheat sheet says we should have reached and cross under the Pennsylvania Turnpike. Finally, over a mile beyond where I had thought it would be, is the aid station.</p><p><b>Or Maybe the Best Aid Station</b></p><p>Approaching the aid station (mile 16.5) on the Stage Coach Road I call out to the volunteers, "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=arXuLdzVfQQ">Whiskey for my men, beer for my horses</a>!" It's the right thing to say, as the volunteers swiftly produce a can of <a href="https://untappd.com/b/philipsburg-brewing-company-montana-1/2845413">Montana 1 IPA</a> that is shared (in individual cups, of course) amongst us. What is a beer from western Montana doing in the middle of Pennsylvania? We get the story - it involves a cross country trip - and after giving thanks, we are on our way down the Stage Coach Road, but just for a bit and soon turn off onto the rocky and rooty (well, that was no surprise) trail to head toward the Boulder Field.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgagpBMhBbAdaLRWQ27u1fgKHW_a_EwWYb7YXilK50DKQePeXIVgoRW0neneZHeCaiQYLs4guj2dC3iDafWhvtSEcFyA4mSf4CLpmBfgkvx2LN88TNmQSYfQ7ezRpympiUAPc6IBUEnbSem/s4608/20210911_123623.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2128" data-original-width="4608" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgagpBMhBbAdaLRWQ27u1fgKHW_a_EwWYb7YXilK50DKQePeXIVgoRW0neneZHeCaiQYLs4guj2dC3iDafWhvtSEcFyA4mSf4CLpmBfgkvx2LN88TNmQSYfQ7ezRpympiUAPc6IBUEnbSem/w400-h185/20210911_123623.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rocks, roots and trees most of the day<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><b>Boulder Field</b><p>And in a few miles, and more rocks and roots we reach the Boulder Field. Surprisingly, hopping from boulder to boulder is easier that dealing with all the smaller rocks on the trail. We refuel at the aid station (mile 19.3) on the far side of the field and head off onto the aptly named Stone Trail. More rocks, fewer roots, more water. And from there onto the Boundary Trail - straight, and full of rocks and roots. </p><p>We cross Fourth Run, where stones allow us to mostly keep our feet dry. The double track dirt road is pretty runnable but we are in no hurry. I've computed that any chance we had of finishing in under 9 hours has pretty much evaporated given the time and distance remaining. We pass a pair of runners and then one of them passes us back. It's rare in a race with less than 200 runners to pass someone 20 miles in. </p><p><b>Lions of the Serengeti</b></p><p>Something in being repassed stirs me. I tell Emaad that we will run a minute and walk a minute. After all, we have been doing a lot of walking, and the mild weather has not been sapping. We run and pass the runner. We walk and don't get caught. We run again. And repeat.</p><p>The course goes downhill gently and then heads under the Pennsylvania Turnpike through a tunnel carrying Fourth Run. There is enough water in the stream that keeping dry is not an option, but it is only a few inches deep. The other side is a continuation of the unpaved double track road and we keep to our new routine.</p><p>We see a couple more runners ahead. It's been years since I've had the feeling, but I'm ready to play the mind game "lions of the Serengeti." I'm a lion and the runners ahead are antelope. I'm going to hunt them down. It may take awhile but I'm a patient lion. Each step, every passing minute brings me closer. And when I have caught up, the lion has conquered the antelope. </p><p>Now, up ahead, we spy a single runner. We recognize the runner would not not step aside earlier in the day. Now that runner is prey for the lions. It is wide here and no need to ask permission or offer apology for passing. Normally I would have a chatty word for a fellow runner. Not this one. We pass the runner without a word or a glance.</p><p><b>Game On</b></p><p>We reach the sixth and final aid station (mile 24.6) a mile sooner than I expect. The volunteers are cheerful and encouraging, telling us that we only have five miles to go. I'm a bit confused as I thought we should have six miles to go. And then I remember what I was told earlier - GPS geometry. All the ascending and descending has the GPS reading short.</p><p>And so if we want to be under nine hours we have about 90 minutes to go five miles, not six miles. (The GPS will claim it was 5.9 miles). That is a world of difference. We feel good, we have a grassy trail along a powerline cut ahead, some rocks and roots and then paved park roads to go. It's doable. I have a goal.</p><p>I share my enthusiasm with Emaad. He's game but his knee is starting to bother. We go on together for a bit and then I tell him that I'm going ahead. No more one minute on and one minute off, it's just go as long as I can before taking a break. Even the technical sections and uphills are met with power walking. There is a steep downhill with switchbacks that do get my respect and attention.</p><p>There is a road at the bottom. I look in vain for ribbons and see none and a note of panic starts to creep in. But I look down and there are white chalk arrows on the ground to point the way.</p><p>I haven't gone far and a runner catches up to me. It's the leader of the 100K which started two hours earlier than the 50K. We exchange greetings and just past me he starts walking the uphill. The lion within is aroused and I pass him back. My lead lasts for a few yards until he resumes running, passes me and is soon out of sight. Sometimes the lion is taken be a stronger lion.</p><p>I've very confident that nine hours is well in hand, unless I get off course. And now along the road to the finish I search frantically for pink ribbons, terrified that I'll miss a turn. I slow down, weave into the road to be able to see further down, scan the woods for trails and ribbons in case I should have turned.</p><p>But it is unnecessary. I'm on course and the finish is in sight. I cross in 8:42:43. I'm DFL in my age group, but since I'm the only one in my age group, I'm also first. Emaad finishes five minutes behind.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnyPg00SlhGZRGdVdzZ4XywKMnl6mRqJnqQFx_U44AEhoLf-TLwfeln5KTpsYX7oZEMRG68NtsFqd4V1Qo9Vf7p3fGA-eC_P-jOzggXyywAeaK5w8CNH5iebq1eQyPKd7r3RL0webMaURj/s2016/Boulder+Field+2021+finish.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1512" data-original-width="2016" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnyPg00SlhGZRGdVdzZ4XywKMnl6mRqJnqQFx_U44AEhoLf-TLwfeln5KTpsYX7oZEMRG68NtsFqd4V1Qo9Vf7p3fGA-eC_P-jOzggXyywAeaK5w8CNH5iebq1eQyPKd7r3RL0webMaURj/s320/Boulder+Field+2021+finish.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finish in 8:42:43<br />(Photo by Daniel Govern)<br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p><b>Punch Line</b></p><p>Oh yeah, why should you never run behind a car?</p><p>Because you will get exhausted.</p><p><b>By the Numbers</b></p>Overall, I was 147 of 169 finishers (202 registered yielding 33 DNS/DNFs), 99 of 108 males, and the only one in my age group. My overall pace was 17:07 minutes/mile, but I ran the last 5.3 miles from the final aid station at a 14:33 pace, just a bit slower than my pace for the first 5.1 miles from the start to the first aid station. And the oldest finisher. Nothing wrong with old and slow.<div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi78majR69UGcowl_9-GVpF7Zya4Ja0nd4iltmuvI0hq_Iy_mmUN_u_zfuRhyphenhyphenKf7Y8LqWAwiEwtQ5mTEKQqNCgRblKmShxFyeluCFqK26ttEa96VkuCJ_ErFvIQUBYStu85CE7CM8VM2Ir7/s2562/20210918_175150.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2562" data-original-width="2128" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi78majR69UGcowl_9-GVpF7Zya4Ja0nd4iltmuvI0hq_Iy_mmUN_u_zfuRhyphenhyphenKf7Y8LqWAwiEwtQ5mTEKQqNCgRblKmShxFyeluCFqK26ttEa96VkuCJ_ErFvIQUBYStu85CE7CM8VM2Ir7/w333-h400/20210918_175150.jpg" width="333" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Swag: hat, shirt, bib<br />and AG Wetterhaus award</td><td class="tr-caption"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div>Ken Swabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04093841096811631084noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672747428347177743.post-64884837283732204382021-07-30T14:34:00.000-04:002021-07-30T14:34:07.256-04:00Ran It With Janet 50K - DNF - June 5, 2021<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b>Plan A or Plan B?</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">There are two philosophies when it comes to running a race: go out fast, book the time and hang on or go out slowly so there is strength in reserve later. Both have drawbacks: the former can lead to "fly and die;" the latter to the risk of missing cutoffs or finishing more slowly than one have run.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyq5U4-mn275rGOgJJe9VLJP0jRh2NgOGU9qymOgsx6n8Fs5aJZiini8zKFkNR799zu5c8Vue7IA2OweTT1MaFi5UgGB6JeiTh-1zqrb16907nhpE6XrvmnJdX7r_vbqjMz61yxC8QKRDy/s4608/20210605_065613.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2128" data-original-width="4608" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyq5U4-mn275rGOgJJe9VLJP0jRh2NgOGU9qymOgsx6n8Fs5aJZiini8zKFkNR799zu5c8Vue7IA2OweTT1MaFi5UgGB6JeiTh-1zqrb16907nhpE6XrvmnJdX7r_vbqjMz61yxC8QKRDy/w400-h185/20210605_065613.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Emaad and unicorns at the start.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>This year's edition of the <a href="http://www.ranitwithjanet50k.com/" target="_blank">Ran It With Janet 50K </a>presents me with that quandary; or more specifically, with the strategic puzzle of balancing the two. The race is three 10.3 mile loops around the Manassas Battlefield Park. There are two cutoffs - finish the first two loops in five hours and reach the first aid station on the course (about 4.5 miles around the loop) in six hours. There is also an overall eight hour limit, but that is almost academic - once you have made the second cutoff you don't really have much choice other than to push on to the finish.</p><p><b><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkbSLEOeN6yYG21tZ91I0tR7ta6HQYkJB7wdTkEut4r0dyUmBmce76FVB5oHUNrD26AB9dryPHruyvJ26FgmdG2jBPvDkPpbF_qeqVZxauTuZuc1He_DtTQpJ-MmkkEXNtp30sJLT0fp2P/s4608/20210605_065645.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4608" data-original-width="2128" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkbSLEOeN6yYG21tZ91I0tR7ta6HQYkJB7wdTkEut4r0dyUmBmce76FVB5oHUNrD26AB9dryPHruyvJ26FgmdG2jBPvDkPpbF_qeqVZxauTuZuc1He_DtTQpJ-MmkkEXNtp30sJLT0fp2P/w185-h400/20210605_065645.jpg" width="185" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Unicorn Janet gives <br />starting instructions</td></tr></tbody></table>Starting Off</b></p><p>I meet Emaad and Gayatri at the start. They both plan to go only two laps; Emaad because his foot is bothering him and Gayatri because she is feeling undertrained. We start off together but Emaad and I shortly pull away. It is a hot day and while the race is on trails around the park, a significant portion of it is unshaded.</p><p><a href="http://www.ranitwithjanet50k.com/#coursemap" target="_blank">The course</a> is largely the same as when I ran the race in <a href="http://keswab.blogspot.com/2016/06/ran-it-with-janet-fat-ass-50k-june-4.html" target="_blank">2016</a> and <a href="http://keswab.blogspot.com/2017/07/ran-it-with-janet-50k-june-3-2017.html" target="_blank">2017</a>, with the exception of a stretch on Chinn Ridge, which now omits passing the <a href="https://www.nps.gov/places/000/fletcher-webster-monument.htm" target="_blank">Webster</a> and <a href="https://www.nps.gov/places/000/texas-monument.htm" target="_blank">Texas</a> Monuments (both from Second Manassas) and instead follows the ridge to the Sudley Road before crossing it to Henry Hill (a key location for the Confederates at First Manassas and for the Union at Second Manassas).</p><p>After passing through the first aid station at the Stone Bridge (mile 4.5) we catch up with Mark and a pair of companions. They had taken an unannounced early start as Mark has a chronic injury that has slowed him down. </p><p>Emaad and I push on and finish the first loop in 2:12. I'm pleased with this as I change my shirt. My plan is do the first loop in 2:15 and the second in 2:30 or so, and that leaves enough of a cushion to make the cutoffs for the second loop and the Stone Bridge aid station and finish within the 8 hour time limit.</p><p><b>Second Loop</b></p><p>Since Emaad is only going to do two loops and I have to make it through the second loop in under the five hour cutoff, I take off at a faster pace in the second loop.</p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM8sJsCPBIMnM7ybaigvo0mNdPh5Y9HbHTJ5uKqIjmqbh61SsfyxNWVhZOB89oD4R3oSrEtF0gnE9jUAInuvnBzkxFMXwdpSFxxJPFgd-mFcpuhpcxQ57lc2gdb5MFQmv0tYzDhSFCfJ1g/s4608/20210605_095755.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; font-weight: 700; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2128" data-original-width="4608" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM8sJsCPBIMnM7ybaigvo0mNdPh5Y9HbHTJ5uKqIjmqbh61SsfyxNWVhZOB89oD4R3oSrEtF0gnE9jUAInuvnBzkxFMXwdpSFxxJPFgd-mFcpuhpcxQ57lc2gdb5MFQmv0tYzDhSFCfJ1g/w400-h185/20210605_095755.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Confederate cannon on Henry Hill<br />(First Manassas)</td></tr></tbody></table><p>The day has gotten hot and the sun is alone in the cloudless sky, so heat is becoming an issue. I walk the uphills, and run the flats and downhills as much as possible. </p><p>At 10:30 I text Sandy, "Halfway done in distance but not in time." About 15.5 miles down in 3:30, giving me four and a half hours to cover the same distance. "Doable," I think.</p><p>From the Sudley Road crossing (mile 7) and to the aid station at Featherbed Lane I leapfrog with Anna and Vivian who are running together. A bit further, along the unfinished railroad <a href="https://www.battlefields.org/learn/videos/second-manassas-fight-deep-cut" target="_blank">deep cut and approaching the site of the Rock Fight</a> Vivian catches up to me and asks if I'm planning to do the third loop as Anna has decided to drop out after completing the second loop. I reply in the affirmative and we go on together.</p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVc2Jm7YiAC29wvn0DIIhOw0o_KkQReAyFaiXUVJz5H4N0e69z6853fABzf4tkYvAnzE2CFME58v22XdvCQcPLnN0sbvdmbZEvlJjhtW-cQSrzthIRW-PkyEP6cbWBsRJYjojr425F0iMj/s4608/20210605_082339.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; font-weight: 700; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2128" data-original-width="4608" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVc2Jm7YiAC29wvn0DIIhOw0o_KkQReAyFaiXUVJz5H4N0e69z6853fABzf4tkYvAnzE2CFME58v22XdvCQcPLnN0sbvdmbZEvlJjhtW-cQSrzthIRW-PkyEP6cbWBsRJYjojr425F0iMj/w400-h185/20210605_082339.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">About mile 7 after crossing Sudley Road. <br />Second Manassas Trail follows woodline.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>But after crossing Route 29, and heading the last half mile toward the start-finish I tell Vivian that I'm having second thoughts about it. The heat has been steadily taking its toll on me.</p><p>We finish the second loop in 4:48, comfortably under the five hour cutoff and pretty much according to the 2:15 lap 1; 2:30 lap 2 plan. </p><p><b>Start and Stop</b></p><p>One lesson I learned from my <a href="http://keswab.blogspot.com/2020/02/elephant-mountain-50k-dnf-february-1.html" target="_blank">Elephant Mountain DNF</a> is that it is important to slow down time before making a decision.</p><p>I tell Vivian that I'm going to sit for awhile before deciding to quit or go on. I decide that I will sit for five minutes before deciding. I change my shirt so I'm ready to go, but otherwise I just sit in the shade to regroup and take stock. Since I have 12 minutes before I have to head out that isn't pushing the cutoff, but I also realize that time spent sitting is taking away from the time available to make the next cutoff. Vivian, too, sits and gets ready to go on but she has already decided to keep moving.</p><p>She gets up and heads back the few yards to the start line. She looks back to me, as does Janet.</p><p>I've made my decision. The 5 minute rest was good and I walk toward them. "I'm going on," I say and they express approval.</p><p>Vivian and I head out. But the third of a mile through the parking lot and along Groveton Road in the mid-day sun saps me. We turn onto the Second Manassas Trail and I tell Vivian to go on as I can't keep up. I'm certain that I won't be able to make it to the Stone Bridge aid station in the hour that I have, and besides, it is no longer "fun." And Vivian and I had earlier discussed how running in 2019 during the pandemic had impressed on her that running should be fun. </p><p>I feel no guilt or shame about turning around and walking back to the start/finish. I assure the five runners heading out for their third lap that I'm alright and wish them luck.</p><p>I get back to the start/finish and tell Janet I'm dropping just as Emaad finishes his second lap. </p><p><b>Results</b></p><p>The hot day took its toll on the runners. According to the <a href="http://www.ranitwithjanet50k.com/results2021.html" target="_blank">official results</a>, only 18 of 37 (49%) runners finished within the eight hour time limit. Seven more finished in over 8 hours. Vivian made the Stone Bridge cut off in exactly 6 hours, but then dropped at the Featherbed Road aid station (mile 28.6). Eight of us finished two loops, and three, including Mark did one loop.</p><p>The next day, I made my donation to <a href="https://www.cornerstonesva.org/" target="_blank">CornerstonesVA</a> to support the Embry Rucker Community Shelter, which provides safe, emergency housing for families and single men and women in Reston, VA. Janet does not charge for the race but asks participants to support this very worthwhile charity.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUaaLjtaJn4gNJoqY0iMKna9sgw0tqhgZLVPsEsOAmr9GW7uMzSBOAs9y-R4CBMjf25LJ-t0yCOf7ArTBkB-Cy4kAQAD-uSEMJvxSlOXB4LIdAZ-arABTZaiPV_AHanw-BoAHkBVTeprcl/s3028/20210730_140735.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1991" data-original-width="3028" height="263" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUaaLjtaJn4gNJoqY0iMKna9sgw0tqhgZLVPsEsOAmr9GW7uMzSBOAs9y-R4CBMjf25LJ-t0yCOf7ArTBkB-Cy4kAQAD-uSEMJvxSlOXB4LIdAZ-arABTZaiPV_AHanw-BoAHkBVTeprcl/w400-h263/20210730_140735.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Swag: Only a bib for a DNF.</td></tr></tbody></table>Ken Swabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04093841096811631084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672747428347177743.post-8026581860064768712021-06-04T15:26:00.001-04:002021-06-04T15:31:11.404-04:00Farm Park Challenge Marathon - May 1, 2021<div class="separator"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf4lSA_EenkenYTe4jNML34-Idu3HLFeEovNLqT_oyRx92d4A57Fv6dUNqCvRFY4ggaSizvr1ozUOBvBYKbIBb3UzhqeaJ0DWVuTblThEG0DCkysaozeedPLJNYsqcykyCG9CglWlzCY1j/s4608/20210501_104243.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2128" data-original-width="4608" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf4lSA_EenkenYTe4jNML34-Idu3HLFeEovNLqT_oyRx92d4A57Fv6dUNqCvRFY4ggaSizvr1ozUOBvBYKbIBb3UzhqeaJ0DWVuTblThEG0DCkysaozeedPLJNYsqcykyCG9CglWlzCY1j/w640-h296/20210501_104243.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div class="separator"><br /></div><div><b>Round and Round</b>
<div>The <a href="http://www.farmparkchallenge.com/" target="_blank">Farm Park Challenge</a> has several events to choose from - 3 hour challenge, 6 hour challenge, 10 hour challenge, marathon and a Fun Run. All are held on the same approximately 5.1 mile course at the <a href="https://www.montgomeryparks.org/parks-and-trails/agricultural-history-farm-park/" target="_blank">Agricultural History Farm Park</a> in Derwood. The challenge races all require that the runners complete the loop in less than an hour, and then begin the next loop at the start of the next hour. The Fun Run is just show up any time during the day and run as much or as little as one wants. I figure I could do one or two loops of the challenge before not being able to keep up the necessary pace, so running the marathon, which has no such requirement (just start and run until finished) is for me.</div><div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ7mIgd6MaRdoN3eTt-JvpUKUZAuFnz43HUv0xoRpVE3f7j1_PBizIG-Ru_Zqt-AM2twYFQWILzR5HIEVcyiKKxKAp8vMhCmVENYerz2LZR79roOTCm2S7ogBSgqx_shiglQbrJ9V-dKa5/s3021/20210501_120045.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3021" data-original-width="2265" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ7mIgd6MaRdoN3eTt-JvpUKUZAuFnz43HUv0xoRpVE3f7j1_PBizIG-Ru_Zqt-AM2twYFQWILzR5HIEVcyiKKxKAp8vMhCmVENYerz2LZR79roOTCm2S7ogBSgqx_shiglQbrJ9V-dKa5/s320/20210501_120045.jpg" /></a></div><br /></div><div><b>Race Day</b></div><div>Emaad and I arrive at the Park in plenty of time to pick up our bibs and be ready to start in the second wave of marathoners at 6:55 a.m. The first wave goes out five minutes sooner. Since there are only 25 starters between the two waves, the COVID rules of wearing a mask and keeping social distance at the start are easy to follow. The masks come off as we cross the start line.</div><div>The course is a folded circle around the Agricultural Park, almost entirely on grass or generally broad trails. The course undulates, but there are no significant hills. One small stream crossing is on the course, but the lack of rain in the days preceeding the race means that one can easily hop across on two or three stones without wetting a shoe.</div><div><br /></div><div>The 35 or 40 10- and 6-hour challengers start at 7 a.m. and it doesn't take long for the fast ones to catch and pass us. Throughout the loop more and more of the challenge runners pass us. In fact, since it takes me 1:00:47 to complete the first loop, they all need to pass me so they can start their second loop at 8 a.m.</div><div><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsok8GCo3W29ILwb1oIxMPE673HHNrgu6x4cBvyoUbv_V5JFJWf_E9dbY9aTpHS-4dM2rsIXKUbtLsMHgBtk8EDqbevF2usFJ0pIhhtQag3kAIZL0U3sMki0dI2-UBdxKE_7DrV03Gv9dB/s4608/20210501_080649.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2128" data-original-width="4608" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsok8GCo3W29ILwb1oIxMPE673HHNrgu6x4cBvyoUbv_V5JFJWf_E9dbY9aTpHS-4dM2rsIXKUbtLsMHgBtk8EDqbevF2usFJ0pIhhtQag3kAIZL0U3sMki0dI2-UBdxKE_7DrV03Gv9dB/w400-h185/20210501_080649.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Emaad on the course</td></tr></tbody></table><div>I run much of the second loop in the company of Emaad and Tammy M., a veteran ultramarathoner with who has numerous 100-mile and 24 hour races to her credit, as well as the 2013 <a href="https://www.badwater.com/event/badwater-135/" target="_blank">Badwater 135</a> (if you don't know what that is, watch<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v-e4bOLAuXg" target="_blank"> the trailer</a> for <i>Running on the Sun</i>.). She gives us valuable advice about various races we are considering, as well as training tips. Oh, her next race after the Farm Challenge Marathon is another marthon the next day.</div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ-d0-3CV3eQtxaDkk-XriVSrSLSuGRSA4AFNYi9Ra4d288TEv_G3ww_62nG20nGaoXinmdVuu2QFP3nEoPM6dAls213kNowGdlHkWxLpQZvFDcqxfYXQBRL0qpGrRHVp8LFuCIg6fJBHf/s4608/20210501_091945.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4608" data-original-width="2128" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ-d0-3CV3eQtxaDkk-XriVSrSLSuGRSA4AFNYi9Ra4d288TEv_G3ww_62nG20nGaoXinmdVuu2QFP3nEoPM6dAls213kNowGdlHkWxLpQZvFDcqxfYXQBRL0qpGrRHVp8LFuCIg6fJBHf/w185-h400/20210501_091945.jpg" width="185" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">He was a DNF.</td></tr></tbody></table><div>Emaad's foot is bothering him, so as a cautionary move, he drops out after three loops. I plod on, and finish in 5:42:24, good for 15 of 22 overall (there were 3 DNFs) and 13 of 15 males. I was the oldest finisher.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>Vingettes from the Day</b></div><div>Approaching the park road crossing in the first loop, I spy Mike E. acting as the course marshal. "I have a cold <a href="https://untappd.com/b/7-locks-brewing-surrender-dorothy-ryepa/1321851" target="_blank">Surrender Dorothy</a> for you," he tells me. "Maybe on the last lap," I reply. On the last loop, he isn't there, but the beverage is. But I pass it up.</div><div><br /></div><div>The course is pretty well marked and obvious, but it isn't a trail run unless you fall down or get lost. On a long stretch about two thirds of the way through the loop a couple of runners are coming toward me. They missed a turn (marked, but easy to miss) and are backtracking. On a later loop, a couple of runners just ahead of me miss the turn. "Stop! Left! Left!," I yell at them. They hit the brakes and make ther correct turn. Had they continued straight they would have rejoined the course in a few hundred yards.</div><div><br /></div><div>To prove that I, too, lack navigational skills, or the powers of observation, I'm barely into the second loop when a buch of challenge runners overtake me running on a parallel trail. "Trail's down here," I conficently tell them. "You're going backwards on the trail to the finish," they reply. They are right, I quickly realize and cut thru to get onto the right trail.</div><div><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc3j8t-2pl7pZfhq5eMdQ4UbXCO5RPHB_L-4Vi0PlFH05eD6WMtJD0x1dmZEeEN8yS_jzuCbC2VYV3cGNYwAID216swm84N1AXsxHlFobTCedF4FGadxk4pa7vqkCcTv2Q-kNtsjGoHxTF/s4608/20210501_103922.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2128" data-original-width="4608" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc3j8t-2pl7pZfhq5eMdQ4UbXCO5RPHB_L-4Vi0PlFH05eD6WMtJD0x1dmZEeEN8yS_jzuCbC2VYV3cGNYwAID216swm84N1AXsxHlFobTCedF4FGadxk4pa7vqkCcTv2Q-kNtsjGoHxTF/w400-h185/20210501_103922.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bacon! Or not.</td></tr></tbody></table><div>"Bacon!," I yell at a pair to a pair of pigs at the barn in the middle of the farm. "They don't like that," a voice replies. She is a farm volunteer caring for the animals. "Not really," she says, "We used to name the pigs Bacon and Sausage because we would sell them at the end of the season. but we stopped doing that and now give them people names. It's harder to eat them when they are named Alice and Bert."</div><div><br /></div><div>On the fifth lap, a runner overtakes me wearing a mask. "I'm vaccinated," I say. "Me too," she says, removing the mask. "We're outside and I'm fully vaccinated," I reply, "I don't get why people don't get vaccinated, so my slogan is 'Get vaccinated or die." "My husband has to intubate those people who don't get vaccinated and wind up in the hospital," she points out. "I'm sorry he has to," is my lame reply. But I've changed my curse on anti-vaxxers to "Get vaccinated or get intubated." Less harsh, more alliteration.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFFVy086L2MVwj8D9mthVaoumLSbWI51bu5wyAYyWjP8ohmHu1qRiKUfCEvwi35Crld5QSK0N8EI-1Tv6VjNf9dFIBBbAu4wQcDOZtisAH43FZ9EN3MHbq-bYi5xv7dPdKqPeDxViMm6Kh/s2892/20210507_170606.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2892" data-original-width="2128" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFFVy086L2MVwj8D9mthVaoumLSbWI51bu5wyAYyWjP8ohmHu1qRiKUfCEvwi35Crld5QSK0N8EI-1Tv6VjNf9dFIBBbAu4wQcDOZtisAH43FZ9EN3MHbq-bYi5xv7dPdKqPeDxViMm6Kh/w470-h640/20210507_170606.jpg" width="470" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Swag: Two <a href="https://www.waredacabrewing.com/" target="_blank">Waredaca</a> beers, <br />a glass, shirt and bib. </td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div></div></div>Ken Swabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04093841096811631084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672747428347177743.post-81566498550508610812021-03-30T00:07:00.001-04:002021-06-03T21:29:14.182-04:00Seneca Creek Greenway Trail Marathon - March 13 2021<p><b>Training is Bunk - Or Is it? An Experiment.</b></p><p></p><p>It's been a year since I ran in a real race, and I'm anxious to do one. Like everyone, life has been disrupted by the COVID-19 pandemic and thousands of races have been canceled or turned into virtual events. In December<a href="http://keswab.blogspot.com/2020/12/philadelphia-trail-marathon-virtual.html" target="_blank"> I ran the Philadelphia Trail Marathon virtually</a>, and while it was nice to get out for a day, it isn't the real thing.</p><p>And the lack of goal races means a lack of training focus. A mystereous sore calf reduces my mileage in February to a paltry 28 miles, well below my monthly target of 100 miles.</p><p>But "training is bunk" is one of my mottoes. As is the corollary, "if you can go half the distance, you can go the entire distance." So despite not having a single run of more than 7 miles since December 12, I watch the weather and the sign-up list for the <a href="https://senecacreekgreenwayrace.com/" target="_blank">Seneca Greenway Trail Marathon/50k</a>, and by March 3 the weather for Saturday looks good and there are still slots available. I sign up.</p><p>An 8-mile run the next day passes for a long run. I'm as ready as I'm going to be.</p><p><b>The Difference in a Year</b></p><p>There are pandemic rules for the race. Fewer runners allowed (200 rather than 400), mask wearing before and after the race, masks when passing or being passed, pre-packaged food at the aid stations, no post-race cook-out, no packet pickup morning-of, and most importantly, small group wave starts, with the fastest runners going out first to minimize passing.</p><p>While this last rule makes sense, it also unavoidably disadvantages the slower runners, who will have less time to make the cut-offs, particularly the one at the decision point at mile 27.7 to decide whether to go .3 miles to the finish or to go around the lake for an extra three miles and the 50K. (Yes, marathons are normally 26.2 miles, but this is a trail race and the founder of the race always said the distance was "at least a marathon." Runners who don't read the course information closely have been surprised to find that they have reached 26 miles and have two miles, not two-tenths of a mile still to go.)</p><p>The smaller field means the I can park closer to the start, since I am starting at 8:21 a.m. nearly an hour after the fast runners stepped out at 7:30. A group of about six of us go off, and the few 8:24 runners are not far behind.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzXWuOza1_9JItaHrEJGjkYPNzs_xFboUZcdTYFxi3HmHxH8bELz1f-c3-kfhtXk6rH12_1nLQbE6DsQTmOF3VOYaW44ouo3QjYrWng0gNSlzAHOTvXlUZ7YWYWJ6E3xOvvMgrsJdtOCS8/" style="font-weight: 700; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img alt="" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzXWuOza1_9JItaHrEJGjkYPNzs_xFboUZcdTYFxi3HmHxH8bELz1f-c3-kfhtXk6rH12_1nLQbE6DsQTmOF3VOYaW44ouo3QjYrWng0gNSlzAHOTvXlUZ7YWYWJ6E3xOvvMgrsJdtOCS8/w640-h480/SCGT2021-1.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The fastest I ran all day; and then only for the photo op.<br />(Photo by B. Lemieux)</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p><b>Equipment and Other Malfunctions</b></p><p>A mile into the race I notice a rubbing and burning of one of my toes. I stop and take off my shoe to adjust the sock that I think is the cause of the problem. Once the shoe is off I realize it isn't the sock. Instead, one toenail is rubbing against the adjacent toe. No remedy for that and I have to bear the bit of irritation the rest of the day. When I get home there is blood from where the toenail had scratched the other toe raw. This is partly a result of not running races in months. Trimming toenails is part of race preparation. </p><p>A couple of miles later, I grasp the hose of my hydration pack in my mouth and suck. Nothing. I twist the valve left and right and try again. Nothing. I reach behind and feel for leaks. None. I squeeze the bladder and try again. Nothing.</p><p>I mention it to a nearby runner. She suggests that maybe I didn't get the end of the hose seated all the way on by the bladder. A good idea, but I don't want to stop on the trail to check. Instead I run the first seven miles to the Route 28 Aid Station without drinking.</p><p>When I get there I take the pack off and pull the bladder from the pack. Sure enough, a push on the end of the hose gets it to seat properly with the bladder and fluids flow. Again, rustyness has meant forgetting to check raceday equipment.</p><p><b>Colorful</b></p><p>"Hi again, lady with the dog paw gaiters," I greet a runner who I passed earlier and who returned the favor at Route 28 while I tended to my hydration equipment. We are at about mile 9.</p><p>"Hi, runner with the checkerboard tights," she replies.</p><p>It's my opening to tell her that they are actualy harlequin tights, and proceed to tell her the story of how they were made for me by the legendary ultra-runner Eric Clifton (he had a streak of 19 years wining at least one ultramarathon).</p><p>Since St. Patrick's Day is coming I complement her on her green shirt. "And don't forget my leprecaun tights," she adds.</p><p><b>With Age Comes <strike>Wisdom</strike> Hesitation</b></p><p>I come to the always-wet Dry Seneca Creek (about mile 12). I know from the weather the past week that it won't require wading across. The stepping stones will be above the water.</p><p>I hop onto the large first stone and then onto the similarly sized second stone.</p><p>And stop.</p><p>The next stone is only big enough for one foot and is a bit sloped. In year's past, this has never been a problem; I don't even recall that the one stone was much smaller than the others. But now I'm frozen looking at it.</p><p>I'm having a crisis of confidence. What if I jump and come up short, or slip and fall? I can't get both feet onto it, so it will have to be a dynamic crosssing - hit it with one foot and keep going to the next slab which is big enough to stand on. The two leading up to it allowed me to go one stone at a time. The ones on the other side will also allow me to go one at a time. But this one will require a dynamic move.</p><p>This is what getting old feels like, I think. It is looking at something you have done in the past, and now think you cannot do. Worrying about the consequences of failure.</p><p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHaaOaQKnYX0DJMEdTsN-gk-poAGZiT591rwR8vAc0TPmNPyo6aPnzEq8BV5fBAIkr4QLdfxYCxNUps7WKS4Id0vfrXC_Jnp_zb37hb3ooJj_Uc_0-_pFo2t8QnxbN2gZ5pGtPYL-NSsDA/s4608/20210313_131635.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4608" data-original-width="2128" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHaaOaQKnYX0DJMEdTsN-gk-poAGZiT591rwR8vAc0TPmNPyo6aPnzEq8BV5fBAIkr4QLdfxYCxNUps7WKS4Id0vfrXC_Jnp_zb37hb3ooJj_Uc_0-_pFo2t8QnxbN2gZ5pGtPYL-NSsDA/w296-h640/20210313_131635.jpg" width="296" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nice dry trail</td></tr></tbody></table>Or maybe how the cat thinks. I've watched our cats looking at things, calculating whether, and how, to attain their objective. I've seen how the nearly 15-year old cat has abandoned doing things he once did, but also finding alternatives.</p><p>So I switch from old mode to cat mode, calculate how to make my leap and which foot to lead with, rock backward and spring forward. Success! I'm on the wide stone on the other side, and the remainder of the crossing of wide stones is easy.</p><p>Maybe next year I'll just wade the stream.</p><p><b>Birding Lesson</b></p><p>"See anything?" I ask the woman looking up into the trees around mile 13.</p><p>"Shh," she replies, "Hear that?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"That's a <a href="https://nature.mdc.mo.gov/sites/default/files/styles/centered_full/public/media/field-guide/Pine_warbler_11-28-16.jpg?itok=F1mwwGze" target="_blank">pine warbler</a>," she replies. "The live in pine trees."</p><p>Which makes sense, since we are in a grove of pine trees.</p><p>But the small bird escapes our eyes, and I move on.</p><p><b>Refreshments</b></p><p>After crossing Seneca Creek at River Road to head north on the east side of the creek I wonder if the unofficial aid station will be there. <a href="http://keswab.blogspot.com/2020/03/seneca-creek-greenway-trail-50k-march-7.html" target="_blank">Last year</a>, with the seriousness of the pandemic starting to change behavior it had a light-hearted approach, serving Corona beer, and with some volunteers wearing PPE. This year pandemic restrictions suggest that it might not be there.</p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlcYh_v-VpQxKphLeXyP7-B3xrG7B-plJV4gVpaW0DQqxzDAmcP_RsXr8vYvy7YvMRwsolBNQ2OSJKmVcae-HcXBCPtlA85b0YbsZ6xaMHu2Dt9CwIfyhDCRL56cpY1LXstCqj6CM_B_9_/s3478/20210313_114321.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2128" data-original-width="3478" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlcYh_v-VpQxKphLeXyP7-B3xrG7B-plJV4gVpaW0DQqxzDAmcP_RsXr8vYvy7YvMRwsolBNQ2OSJKmVcae-HcXBCPtlA85b0YbsZ6xaMHu2Dt9CwIfyhDCRL56cpY1LXstCqj6CM_B_9_/s320/20210313_114321.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Special refreshments</td></tr></tbody></table><p>But it is! And still serving whiskey and beer - but in individual single-serve cups. The Corona has been replaced with <a href="https://www.7locksbrewing.com/" target="_blank">7 Locks Brewing</a> Surrender Dorothy IPA, but there is still hot grilled cheese being served (in individual cups as well). And as a bonus there is a mostly decomposed and partly dismembered deer carcass to provide inspiration.</p><p>I get a picture with the remains, and have a second cup of the IPA. Mike urges, "have another." </p><p>"I already had another," I reply,</p><p>"Have another," he repeats.</p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb8b14dWCn05D-ST0T2H4lBMJ8SEW4g5TodBF45gLRvnQZr1IxQM9uvq1Qn-d0PAYC9G3sG115OijuSbSYrPOHtt-oFAPCUbqOKIEuRLY3eheYyyw0dyHOm3LqziStXdrx-RUuyJxLznyR/s3643/20210313_114213.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1637" data-original-width="3643" height="288" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb8b14dWCn05D-ST0T2H4lBMJ8SEW4g5TodBF45gLRvnQZr1IxQM9uvq1Qn-d0PAYC9G3sG115OijuSbSYrPOHtt-oFAPCUbqOKIEuRLY3eheYyyw0dyHOm3LqziStXdrx-RUuyJxLznyR/w640-h288/20210313_114213.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of us will finish; the other is finished.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>I think about it for a second. "I'm stupid," I say in declining the offer, "but not dumb."</p><p><b>Bad Karma</b></p><p>"I don't really like this next section," I tell Glenn and Michele, who are course marshals at Black Rock Mill (about mile 21) where the runners have to get on the six miles of the Seneca Ridge Trail for the return to Riffle Ford Road.</p><p>You'll like it better than the runner ahead of you," they cryptically reply.</p><p>I spot the runner in a bit and soon overtake him.</p><p>"Bad karma," I say as I come up behnd him, "to wear the race shirt before you have finished the race."</p><p>As I draw even, I notice that his knees are scraped, and his hands are, too. And there is a patch of dirt on his right shoulder.</p><p>"I've fallen about 18 times," he replies, "even into the water."</p><p>And then I notice the dried blood on the ridge of his nose.</p><p>"Want some ibuprofen?" I offer lamely. It's the best I can do for someone who angered the running gods, and then had to listen to me say the equivalent of "you should have known better."</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9ISiwZmMqnbYXapKAhyeT_KvR6ucoL0ZCL2hjynvSKKWEpzgmBcpzNso1j7X0436Qe_Ip7C-xegslrzYel0OBczeuD4tuDclZnyf4B-g2jhN9Hc9cOKOwfFtBUiFjMN7VwQZCStY5pSZE/s3478/20210313_135847.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1325" data-original-width="3478" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9ISiwZmMqnbYXapKAhyeT_KvR6ucoL0ZCL2hjynvSKKWEpzgmBcpzNso1j7X0436Qe_Ip7C-xegslrzYel0OBczeuD4tuDclZnyf4B-g2jhN9Hc9cOKOwfFtBUiFjMN7VwQZCStY5pSZE/w640-h245/20210313_135847.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These cinco amigos are an annual sighting.</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p><b>Know Your Limitations</b></p><p>As Dirty Harry said in Magnum Force, "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_VrFV5r8cs0" target="_blank">A man's got to know his limitations</a>." </p><p>Coming off the Seneca Ridge section of the course and approaching the Riffle Ford Road aid station (mile 27) I look at my watch to judge whether I will make the decision point-cut off a little less than a mile ahead. It seems unlikely, but to enhance my chances of missing it, and thereby taking the decision out of my hand, I linger a bit at the aid station.</p><p>I get the the cut-off at 3:47 p.m., seven minutes over the cut-off. But the volunteer there signals that I can go ahead and do the 50K.</p><p>"No," I say, "I'm strictly enforcing the cut-off on myself." I turn left, and go the remaining three-tenths of a mile to the finish.</p><p>There are several reasons I make the decision. Mainly, I'm feeling somewhat tired, and given my lack of training, Harry Callahan is whispering in my ear. Last year I got to the decision point in almost the same elapsed time, and went on to do the 50K. But that was with a start at 8 a.m., rather than 8:21, so I was commfortably ahead of the cutoff. Somehow it doesn't quite seem right to go the longer distance and keep the volunteers waiting longer, since I know that there are not many people behind me, and I might have been the last, or close to the last one, who would get to go around the lake. And I don't particularly like the lakeside trail so it would be a bit of an unjoyable slog by myself.</p><p><b>Finish</b></p><p>I cross the finish line and offer to return my chip, but chips are not returned during pandemics. It will pass as a finisher's medal on my medal racks.</p><p>I finish in 7:31:17, good for 49 of 59 overall, 37/41 males, and 2/2 in my new (70+) age group.</p><p>I pick up the pre-packaged post-race food (bottle of water, banana, couple of pieces of prepackaged candy) and walk back to the car for the drive home. It's been a good day in the woods.</p><p>Oh, yeah, training IS bunk. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyJSl4_7NKfU-w_IIKuYpRoHxj6fAlSOEC1fkVO2ckE-uobquL_9eW1I0AUxivpvIjIuT5DSn2qi3cLWXISBRrckLXTuHejJKivSFe69XR0YccVdBnNtgIvK4wXPTLbtkhmkJZHAlVRTv6/s3061/20210329_105215.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3061" data-original-width="2121" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyJSl4_7NKfU-w_IIKuYpRoHxj6fAlSOEC1fkVO2ckE-uobquL_9eW1I0AUxivpvIjIuT5DSn2qi3cLWXISBRrckLXTuHejJKivSFe69XR0YccVdBnNtgIvK4wXPTLbtkhmkJZHAlVRTv6/w444-h640/20210329_105215.jpg" width="444" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Swag: shirt, bib, chip.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p><br /></p>Ken Swabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04093841096811631084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672747428347177743.post-44565136343242385892020-12-30T15:14:00.001-05:002020-12-30T15:14:56.290-05:00Philadelphia Trail Marathon (virtual) - December 12, 2020<div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmR68HhmskWi7qLV-Cdr8uh-rAZtkA1-fpXFKh-q4ycbJWEgzU6WNN-Tdn5cT0B-eH43MCttdwxBjPQT56pWa2husMcb2qjho3oJh0VrU6JYIuiCEg9PncHDnkl6ipuLxT62QcrTUK58Cx/s2610/20201218_153725+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1205" data-original-width="2610" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmR68HhmskWi7qLV-Cdr8uh-rAZtkA1-fpXFKh-q4ycbJWEgzU6WNN-Tdn5cT0B-eH43MCttdwxBjPQT56pWa2husMcb2qjho3oJh0VrU6JYIuiCEg9PncHDnkl6ipuLxT62QcrTUK58Cx/w399-h185/20201218_153725+%25282%2529.jpg" width="399" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Despite Covid indeed.</td></tr></tbody></table></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>Prelude to Change</b></div><div>On February 29, Emaad and I sign up for the <a href="http://www.uberendurancesports.com/philadelphiatrailmarathon.html" target="_blank">Philly Trail Marathon</a> scheduled for Saturday, April 18, 2020. Little do we suspect that it will be 34 weeks, not seven weeks, before we run it, and in Gaithersburg, Maryland, not Philadelphia.</div><div><div><br /></div><div><b>A Pandemic Changes Everything</b></div><div>At the end of February talk of a pandemic has begun, but how bad things will get are not clear. <a href="http://keswab.blogspot.com/2020/03/seneca-creek-greenway-trail-50k-march-7.html" target="_blank">I ran the George Washington Birthday Marathon</a> two weeks earlier and there was no mention of the corona virus. Emaad and I register for the race on the last day of February before entry fees increase.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>But it doesn't take much longer for virus concerns to surface. On March 7 <a href="http://keswab.blogspot.com/2020/03/seneca-creek-greenway-trail-50k-march-7.html" target="_blank">I run the Seneca Creek Greenway Trail 50K</a>, and rules at the aid stations are in effect due to the virus. Later that week my wife and I drive to Florida to spend a week, but we return home after only four days. Many public facitities are closed and supermarkets are sold out of essentials. We become concerned that may not be able to return home if we wait any longer. On the drive home on March 18, fast food restaurants have closed their indoor dining and are only doing take out or drive-thru sales.</div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk8KHvkPMc2RS_AouKPPwZKxbgDtI6tzOx6HfgMexeIyztIBpjldiU9g8vJoSdf2UOAKmU-FN6j21YR1RhjLOAmY61uhi10LSvnDQlDe_NgrW8jr_NHaxuAUXvKMLRC7ZTFXXvkdQ34hZx/s480/IMG_1733.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="360" height="344" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk8KHvkPMc2RS_AouKPPwZKxbgDtI6tzOx6HfgMexeIyztIBpjldiU9g8vJoSdf2UOAKmU-FN6j21YR1RhjLOAmY61uhi10LSvnDQlDe_NgrW8jr_NHaxuAUXvKMLRC7ZTFXXvkdQ34hZx/w258-h344/IMG_1733.jpg" width="258" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dos Amigos (post race).</td></tr></tbody></table>On March 20, we get emails that the race has been postponed until September 27, assuming that Philadelphia will issue the necessary permits. On July 14 comes the news that the race will go virtual. Runners will have until December 31 to run it virtually. Shortly thereafter, a package arrives from Uberendurance Sports containing a bib, a medal and the race premium shirt. I do not open it, since I have not yet run the race, and the runner's code is that you cannot display a medal you did not earn, and you cannot wear a shirt from a race you did not run or volunteer at. And who needs a bib in a virtual race?</div><div><br /></div><div><b>No Training? No Worries!</b></div><div>Because of a serious automoble accident on July 10 that left my wife confined to a wheelchair for months, I cannot be away from the house for any significant duration. That largely means that I have to run on the streets in my neighborhood, frequently doubling back to the house to check on her, initially as frequently as every 15 minutes. Long runs are not possible.</div><div>As the summer turns to fall, and she can start to use a walker, my runs lengthen, but not into double digits. Frequent daily 3-5 mile runs enable me to hit 100 miles per month, but just barely.</div><div><br /></div><div>As she strengthens and begins to use a walker and the days get shorter into November, I suggest to Emaad that we aim to run the virtual Philly Marathon on December 12. He agrees, but insists that we need to get a couple of long runs in. Two weeks prior we run 13.1 miles in the neighborhood, coming back to the house once to check in. The next weekend we do a 10-miler from the house, again looping back to the house in the middle of the run.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>A Plan</b></div><div>I arrange for our two children to spend time with their mother for significant parts of the eight hours that I figure I need to get to and from where we will run and the time for the run.</div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm_2CKaFRPMoMCYy4vIHgYy2sQvxfpHuvG6CsXUjP1p8E0G1JUuyxF1-rdF7SwnltBbvcvas89cl82y4e1g_fZlPSEwiHc5vklOFD9yECyq-qCrVhNffaEJOdn82keAFMReNfIFB_1pjhU/s2048/20201212_112908%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm_2CKaFRPMoMCYy4vIHgYy2sQvxfpHuvG6CsXUjP1p8E0G1JUuyxF1-rdF7SwnltBbvcvas89cl82y4e1g_fZlPSEwiHc5vklOFD9yECyq-qCrVhNffaEJOdn82keAFMReNfIFB_1pjhU/w360-h270/20201212_112908%255B1%255D.jpg" width="360" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Seneca Creek north of Route 355.</td></tr></tbody></table>We decide that the<a href="http://www.senecatrail.info/mappark.htm" target="_blank"> Seneca Creek Greenway Trail</a> offers the best opportunity for the marathon. It is only about a 15 minute drive from home and we can park at Route 355 in Gaithersburg, Right next to the trail. We plan to run north about 4 miles to Brink Road, go back to the cars to reload our Camelbacks, then go south about 5 miles to Riffle Ford Road, return to the cars for a second refueling, then north about 3 miles to Watkins Mill Road and return for our 26.2 mile marathon. Moreover, we are familiar with the trail and figure that there will be fewer people on it than other trails closer to home.</div><div><br /></div><div><b>No Plan Survives First Contact with the Enemy</b></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9t1ZZwMcqoQlNEETG-PMB0MPm7MkcSMMhQ1_i-yyf3JTxIbZCccXG0j5d8QRL6biSvx08YjM4WVhmV-Mcw1k0yfUDcZ37ivt88zoKd2rQFWhld9NNLXihFf9hLt7hUlK_KmWQExRR46Oj/s2048/20201212_110026.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1535" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9t1ZZwMcqoQlNEETG-PMB0MPm7MkcSMMhQ1_i-yyf3JTxIbZCccXG0j5d8QRL6biSvx08YjM4WVhmV-Mcw1k0yfUDcZ37ivt88zoKd2rQFWhld9NNLXihFf9hLt7hUlK_KmWQExRR46Oj/s320/20201212_110026.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trail food?</td></tr></tbody></table>We meet and at 8:33 a.m. we are off and headed north. The forecast is for an unseasonaly warm day, partly sunny with a high close to 60 degrees. But as we start out, the temperature is in the upper 30s and there is a significant amount of fog. I'm wearing tights, two shirts and gloves, along with a buff (for both neck warmth and to use as a face covering when encountering other trail users).</div><div><br /></div><div>It is a pleasant day for a run and early on there are not too many other people on the single track trail. We move along unhurredly, as there is no cutoff that we need to beat, nor other runners to overtake. Familiarity with the trail makes reminiscing about races we ran, and people we ran with, on that section of the trial easy. We get to Brink Road and decide to go on to Huntmaster Road, maybe another mile further. At Huntmaster we figure to go another 1.5 miles, to get to 6.55, so that wene we return, we'll have have the race done. But the day is nice, the trail is easy, the scent of horses (never seen) is in the air and we keep going. Only when we reach the spot at mile 7.1 where we would have to ford Seneca Creek to keep going on the trail that we decide to turn around.</div><div><br /></div><div>We retrace our steps in good spirits. I take a picture of my Garmin when we reach 13.1 miles (at 2:59) and SMS it to my wife and children so they can see my progress.</div><div><br /></div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBEdCNd_Uw8or88_Xlj5bH1eTy0I8JsK4aluLBUkpC_umzMuy08OZW5WPj46qz_b2MUNcPqa8FlsgOcYW0mri3nFVw3pWi_oOip518UBaJp-tv7V8-NIKY52QnBtxExlVyWwIhn0rsFRwC/s2048/20201212_112939.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBEdCNd_Uw8or88_Xlj5bH1eTy0I8JsK4aluLBUkpC_umzMuy08OZW5WPj46qz_b2MUNcPqa8FlsgOcYW0mri3nFVw3pWi_oOip518UBaJp-tv7V8-NIKY52QnBtxExlVyWwIhn0rsFRwC/s320/20201212_112939.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Halfway!</td></tr></tbody></table><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1kUqtQIeeETJIrNTBwmgn-_T0R-YT-M0cTLIbvqTsoVl37oV6l6Z9fLnoySKucpDVu5DGIw5XSxblNwctjSuEhI86P965lHoQPpotF2k2RtVVzuOO8G_WpNBlCDGy6Z7RA7bIQxMt8C_9/s2048/20201212_142306+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1535" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1kUqtQIeeETJIrNTBwmgn-_T0R-YT-M0cTLIbvqTsoVl37oV6l6Z9fLnoySKucpDVu5DGIw5XSxblNwctjSuEhI86P965lHoQPpotF2k2RtVVzuOO8G_WpNBlCDGy6Z7RA7bIQxMt8C_9/s320/20201212_142306+%25282%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The CSX bridge</td></tr></tbody></table>Back at the cars, I decide to shed my tights and gloves, and change my two shirts for one longsleeved one. I refill the Camelback, eat a <a href="https://www.huppybar.com/products/azt-wild-mesquite-single-on-sale-20-off" target="_blank">Wild Mesquite Huppybar</a>, and pack a few gels. It takes almost ten unhurried minutes to do all this, and Emaad is starting to get stiff waiting so he heads off. </div><div><br /></div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo1sapq8c68Phz-euDjiUdewEjPddN28fMRF4Bua4ck7XW8y-ft_0I04UV7gVI2s0P9zPKlWXXkrHJtSM8JcmuSuiz_obiogsVrik1rKS-h1-eU2YqgJhKnGtzfCR6KYJ72m22C5Ugc-NV/s2048/20201212_132220+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo1sapq8c68Phz-euDjiUdewEjPddN28fMRF4Bua4ck7XW8y-ft_0I04UV7gVI2s0P9zPKlWXXkrHJtSM8JcmuSuiz_obiogsVrik1rKS-h1-eU2YqgJhKnGtzfCR6KYJ72m22C5Ugc-NV/s320/20201212_132220+%25282%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Emaad crosses the feeder stream <br />approaching Riffle Ford Road.</td></tr></tbody></table>I catch up to him in a couple of minutes as we take the sidewalk next to Route 355 to get to the other side of Seneca Creek, then get on the trail to go under the road. There are even fewer people on this stretch of trail, which alternates between runable stretches and some rocky, twisty, up and downs as it passes under I-270 and the 1906 stone arch bridge for the CSX tracks. And as we approach the bridge, so does a CSX train, with a consist of half a dozen locomotives heading a long string of autorack cars and tankers.</div><div><br /></div><div><br />We pass thru Seneca Creek State Park on Long Draught Trail, catching a whiff of a cigar from someone sitting on the bank of the creek, then pass under Great Seneca Highway with the scent of sewage from vents of the WSSC sewage pipes in the area. We pass the disc golf course and the players on the course. Then an easy hop over the stones across a small tributary to Seneca Creek and we shortly arrive at Riffle Ford Road. I touch a symbolic toe on the pavement and we retrace our steps northward. Even before we reach Great Seneca Highway, the Garmin reads 20 miles (and 5:03) and I take another picture to send home announcing my progress. </div><div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqoAIZmMLkJ3goPg9PE4EGYXrUFs8djn13y0ChkDO5WdM4szSx00TFoh-zrASsQxTaRoK1LbOF2KfJaKlTy2QIdLpQB1iyKEvodmbyCOKLkj0c7C2tzCWPGAhr2OqTO-SM5zpE6x0PPRxX/s2048/20201212_145030+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqoAIZmMLkJ3goPg9PE4EGYXrUFs8djn13y0ChkDO5WdM4szSx00TFoh-zrASsQxTaRoK1LbOF2KfJaKlTy2QIdLpQB1iyKEvodmbyCOKLkj0c7C2tzCWPGAhr2OqTO-SM5zpE6x0PPRxX/s320/20201212_145030+%25282%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grafitti under 355.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div>The northbound journey is not particularly hurried. We ask a couple of fisherman have they have been faring ("nothing" and "a few small ones") and have to dodge some family groups, particularly in the park or near roads that provide parking for trail access. </div><br /><div><br /></div><div>Back at the 355 parking lot we only need less than 2 miles. To avoid retracing our steps we decide to try to go south on the side of the creek opposite the trail. But what looks like a trail quickly peters out and we give up trying to be creative and simply head north. Peculiarly, my arithmetic ability is still functioning after 25 miles, and go just far enough out so that the return gives us 26.24 miles in 6:46:26.</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6eaBGT4p1ddWhCvxjo2bnsaZcIyGGNbHnoLpgRJ-0Rh7s0Ovf2GnPHcSzJYr9Lnc7LW4Jo7TYVh8NWab56FotQd3X60z7nlziw00DHpTORl6t9JpGGtzxLA6rHjzZa6GWrs8wRq0PPWaI/s2048/20201212_152354+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6eaBGT4p1ddWhCvxjo2bnsaZcIyGGNbHnoLpgRJ-0Rh7s0Ovf2GnPHcSzJYr9Lnc7LW4Jo7TYVh8NWab56FotQd3X60z7nlziw00DHpTORl6t9JpGGtzxLA6rHjzZa6GWrs8wRq0PPWaI/s320/20201212_152354+%25282%2529.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The results.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjra8UUwSt-IhszCeLsD7FuEPRGpJ_0AzH0Pf4KNT8vLP2J_gHtMzJoud8HvZ1BQ2dPPwSOPtd_FxMfd1891wCom2bZKwZyAhA1ifKjX20oGz-08prDXNWBvSIw0gI-PT9AuAE-8lqgGL37/s405/513DC22F-.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="405" data-original-width="304" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjra8UUwSt-IhszCeLsD7FuEPRGpJ_0AzH0Pf4KNT8vLP2J_gHtMzJoud8HvZ1BQ2dPPwSOPtd_FxMfd1891wCom2bZKwZyAhA1ifKjX20oGz-08prDXNWBvSIw0gI-PT9AuAE-8lqgGL37/s320/513DC22F-.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The rewards.</td></tr></tbody></table><div><b><br /></b></div><div><b>The Best Present</b></div><div> I eagerly tear open the bag from Uberendurance Sports, don my newly earned shirt and proudly hold up the medal and the bib.</div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh82vDa-Qe8NbGCt9LzRGVf1KWkEB46Rz2IiWvVgNdYBJduHPoi0GYN0_XlFmf-uT7voL3CtkmoH20hnuK-qY9gk-R_ARcN4j1n1eghsM0Wz7q8KhERyR0ZPQ4MPlZ3ireUYsO8DHAAMlUF/s480/IMG_2843.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="480" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh82vDa-Qe8NbGCt9LzRGVf1KWkEB46Rz2IiWvVgNdYBJduHPoi0GYN0_XlFmf-uT7voL3CtkmoH20hnuK-qY9gk-R_ARcN4j1n1eghsM0Wz7q8KhERyR0ZPQ4MPlZ3ireUYsO8DHAAMlUF/w424-h319/IMG_2843.jpg" width="424" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy Birthday, Trail Marathoner!</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div>Oh, December 12 is my birthday. And December 12, 2020 was my 70th birthday. Who could ask for a better 70th birthday present than running a trail marathon with a friend, and getting a medal for doing so? (Although my age goes in the offical records as 69, the age I was had the race occured on the originally scheduled date.)</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3-3vs5kjUdT_-CtBqjFgAXTj-4itq8nqRjf1ZGho0qu0FvFidkrq33qVlXboC2pTBZpNUtMUDmHT2uA2xoGk2YKO9jaOnbARz9Id7y7iSfrYwZcqwpmQtwstLxXEqnWlCxAVdDsIGCjXk/s2609/20201218_153706+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2609" data-original-width="1205" height="466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3-3vs5kjUdT_-CtBqjFgAXTj-4itq8nqRjf1ZGho0qu0FvFidkrq33qVlXboC2pTBZpNUtMUDmHT2uA2xoGk2YKO9jaOnbARz9Id7y7iSfrYwZcqwpmQtwstLxXEqnWlCxAVdDsIGCjXk/w215-h466/20201218_153706+%25282%2529.jpg" width="215" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Swag: shirt, medal, bib.</td></tr></tbody></table><br />Ken Swabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04093841096811631084noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672747428347177743.post-66088377257136128202020-03-25T01:27:00.002-04:002020-03-25T01:27:44.381-04:00Seneca Creek Greenway Trail 50K - March 7, 2020I write this on March 24, seventeen days after the race. A lot has changed in that period as a result of the corona virus pandemic. It has changed what I was going to write. I had started this a couple of days after the race, but what I was writing then no longer seems right. The race seems like it was held in a different time that that we are in today.<br />
<br />
<b>Fair Weather</b><br />
The weather leading up to race day is pretty much near perfect. No rain for a week, and after the <a href="http://keswab.blogspot.com/2019/04/seneca-creek-greenway-trail-marathon.html" target="_blank">mudfest and high water of 2019</a> I obsessively check the <a href="https://waterdata.usgs.gov/nwis/inventory/?site_no=01645000" target="_blank">stream gauge</a> on Seneca Creek at Route 28. Last year it ran at 440 cubic feet per second. This year it is less than a quarter of that and below the median for the date. A good omen promising a dry course, and even better, a dry crossing of Dry Seneca Creek.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUFRULqrK16HEwFr5q56mzCvgUfurIfWscICo-9e6kH-5vCPEEFydKFbPDTBnfqUFu48UY6OCZVrBok038ooTPkZZJ-R1HKLxG8tS9gkfZsmoqm5CPD-K19CC7ilLK83iRnj6N2mWm4N4p/s1600/20200307_075617.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUFRULqrK16HEwFr5q56mzCvgUfurIfWscICo-9e6kH-5vCPEEFydKFbPDTBnfqUFu48UY6OCZVrBok038ooTPkZZJ-R1HKLxG8tS9gkfZsmoqm5CPD-K19CC7ilLK83iRnj6N2mWm4N4p/s400/20200307_075617.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Waiting to start</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>Fair Warning</b><br />
The coronavirus is in the news, but there are no restrictions on gatherings such as the race. At the start, the organizers announce that because of the coronavirus, the rules at the aid stations are changed. Runners are not to take their own food at the aid stations. Instead, volunteers will hand them food or the runners may take food, such as M&Ms, potato chips or pretzels, already parceled out into small disposable cups.<br />
<br />
<b>Fermat's Last Theorem and Other Topics</b><br />
The nearly 300 runners start off down the park road to the entry to the trail under partly sunny skies, temperatures in the 40s and just a bit of breeze. I run with Don and as usual on such runs the topics bounce around randomly. For some reason (other than Don's training as a mathematician) we discuss <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fermat%27s_Last_Theorem" target="_blank">Fermat's Last Theorem</a> and the efforts to prove it. This leads to a discussion of the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Four_color_theorem" target="_blank">four color theorem</a> and its applicability to objects with more than two dimensions.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAbNcNHdm9Agp-Si8CKYW0Nphv-6sGoT8AhfjeZiF_WKJt_FdZAMC46Y6RIYRSUcm2KjDjg1brF7LNdJcguA-fjO-XGDYYHi5eeWjelYysRUM1pHz9hfJtjveZdzL2bCnODakEMehX1DRT/s1600/20200307_104402.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAbNcNHdm9Agp-Si8CKYW0Nphv-6sGoT8AhfjeZiF_WKJt_FdZAMC46Y6RIYRSUcm2KjDjg1brF7LNdJcguA-fjO-XGDYYHi5eeWjelYysRUM1pHz9hfJtjveZdzL2bCnODakEMehX1DRT/s400/20200307_104402.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Old farm equipment along the trail</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
In the meantime we enjoy the near perfect conditions. South of Riffle Ford Road the trail has been rerouted to higher ground to avoid an almost-always stretch next to Seneca Creek. At one point I'm running point for a group of about ten runners. I go down a path and in about ten yards realize I've gone astray. I stop yell back for everyone to stop following me and cut uphill to the proper trail. "I'm no shepherd," I tell them,"but you are sheep for following me astray."<br />
<br />
After about five miles Don picks up the pace and I cannot follow. I'll see him again at the food pavilion at the end of the race where he finished 58 minutes ahead of me.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5VAfvb2COfexc2gezUhnLuSRftt1UQiDu4tJIt3zCs7Un1QUkRrhrVKxkx26BLMXjb4iniJ4-ICEaHyVxf36t2pTH2V2CPWzOosF1gyTMaIHneFGK3YhrokvjcD7enMHtlnoEqSOOTeLH/s1600/20200307_112339.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5VAfvb2COfexc2gezUhnLuSRftt1UQiDu4tJIt3zCs7Un1QUkRrhrVKxkx26BLMXjb4iniJ4-ICEaHyVxf36t2pTH2V2CPWzOosF1gyTMaIHneFGK3YhrokvjcD7enMHtlnoEqSOOTeLH/s320/20200307_112339.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not lost</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
A runner compliments me on my harlequin tights (made for me by legendary ultrarunner <a href="https://ultrasignup.com/results_participant.aspx?fname=Eric&lname=Clifton" target="_blank">Eric Clifton</a>) and I return the complement on her <a href="https://www.inknburn.com/" target="_blank">InknBurn</a> gear. It is an opportunity to tell about <a href="http://keswab.blogspot.com/2013/10/marathon-du-medoc-september-7-2013.html" target="_blank">running Marathon du Medoc</a> in an InknBurn shirt.<br />
<br />
<b>South and North</b><br />
The Route 28 aid station (mile 7.5) has small cups loaded with snacks and runners are careful in selecting food. I take a cup of pastel peanut M&Ms and eat them while walking alongside Route 28 to cross over to the Seneca Bluffs Trail. Finishing the snack, I ask the course marshal guiding runners onto the trail if I can leave the empty cup with her and she takes it.<br />
<br />
About a mile along a runner ahead of me stumbles and falls. Remarkably his shoe comes off and rolls a short way down the slope on the left side of the trail. He is unhurt and retrieves the wayward footwear.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh37Y60LFbeqd3Tk-24TrmvwqviwRIzhkNvw10qOFRUQ2l__fuswIHoR9QxIoEaHZQs0qjcFrIfANgFH0ykU0imcvKn9KYranbP_CvVk4eVRKF4IfKplvm2wwD74fAfqUmpv6Zj6v8V-Vm6/s1600/20200307_103152.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh37Y60LFbeqd3Tk-24TrmvwqviwRIzhkNvw10qOFRUQ2l__fuswIHoR9QxIoEaHZQs0qjcFrIfANgFH0ykU0imcvKn9KYranbP_CvVk4eVRKF4IfKplvm2wwD74fAfqUmpv6Zj6v8V-Vm6/s400/20200307_103152.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dry feet at Dry Seneca Creek</td></tr>
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Further along I join my pace with a fellow runner. When I mention my obsession with the stream gauge, she perks right up, and agrees that last year's reading of 450 ft3/sec. is indeed high. She knows this because she kayaks on Seneca Creek and monitors the gauge before setting out to paddle on the stream. She plans to drop after 15 miles and just south of the crossing at Dry Seneca Creek her two children meet her to run her with her for awhile.<br />
<br />
Speaking of Dry Seneca Creek (it is never dry, although perhaps in the 19th century it occasionally might have been), this year it is possible to cross it on the concrete stepping stones without wetting a foot; a welcome change from last year's thigh-high torrent with the stones submerged and unseen in the turbid water.<br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-0dwrsFtoq8Hudo93PkTa0tOEoy9-NvjMSB2W_xsjKkKbPzBdlJmq158CmicL0-Th3RPi7VODbtR1_pLTdnI_OPTfZbjMQ9F4dNhe-ggxENjjoH3QOOKMTrKN1l4cqBeM30PiAJtHKvlu/s1600/20200307_111031.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-0dwrsFtoq8Hudo93PkTa0tOEoy9-NvjMSB2W_xsjKkKbPzBdlJmq158CmicL0-Th3RPi7VODbtR1_pLTdnI_OPTfZbjMQ9F4dNhe-ggxENjjoH3QOOKMTrKN1l4cqBeM30PiAJtHKvlu/s400/20200307_111031.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Playing the air <strike>guitar</strike> flag</td></tr>
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Soon enough the course reaches River Road and we cross back over Seneca Creek to return to the north, but not before passing the course marshal playing air guitar with his flag to the tunes of his boom box. <br />
<br />
Just up Seneca Road, before where the course get on the dirt of the Seneca Greenway Trail is a semi-unofficial aid station (mile 14) serving distinctly adult beverages. It is a week or ten days before the seriousness of the coronavirus really will hit home and the workers treat it with some levity, with one in personal protection equipment and another pouring Corona beer for the runners. At the same time, the aid station workers are wearing gloves to avoid food contamination.<br />
<br />
It is only a mile to the Berryville Road aid station (mile 15) where our drop bags await. I don't get anything from mine but instead dispose of the shirt I had taken off a mile into the race, as well as my gloves and hat.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis9AH_TAWO8nQbMMDJ4zHhreNsmYLDSJ9gckZ-PEPIkDcASKbxg-ZyM4mptXmzM0sY5GFMJkIaCUkXWThxfCwZaJ_9pw0m_qFCJnqrDv6dc0b5pCz5Nu_c6OLxiL01UCgxvgnNSr6oT9Iz/s1600/20200307_111446.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis9AH_TAWO8nQbMMDJ4zHhreNsmYLDSJ9gckZ-PEPIkDcASKbxg-ZyM4mptXmzM0sY5GFMJkIaCUkXWThxfCwZaJ_9pw0m_qFCJnqrDv6dc0b5pCz5Nu_c6OLxiL01UCgxvgnNSr6oT9Iz/s400/20200307_111446.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It was cold and good</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It is 4.5 miles back to the Route 28 aid station (mile 19.5) on the east side of the creek. I run with a number of different runners, and each is an opportunity to tell stories of races I've run. Over the course of the day I tell the Medoc Marathon story three times, the mildly risque <a href="http://keswab.blogspot.com/2019/07/hell-hath-no-hurry-50k-dnf-june-29-2019.html" target="_blank">Hell Hath No Hurry </a>story a couple of times and several other stories.<br />
<br />
<b>Heading for a Decision</b><br />
I reach the Route 28 aid station in company with another runner. She is contemplating dropping out, and I've been trying to buck up her spirits with two tales of the <a href="http://keswab.blogspot.com/2014/07/black-hills-100k-june-28-2014.html" target="_blank">toughness of Jennifer</a> (and <a href="http://keswab.blogspot.com/2014/04/seneca-creek-greenway-trail-50k-march-8.html" target="_blank">the second</a>). When she gets there she plops down on a chair and is greeted by a friend who is dropping out. I go on, feeling bad that I didn't try harder to convince her to go on.<br />
<br />
But after getting on the Seneca Ridge Trail beyond Black Rock Mill, I'm pleased to hear her overtake me. She gives me credit for encouraging her to go on.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLb8huQjRs5IeHZuzFnxeHM628HjWty7kqYdV4s8zYTOzIp4DzHYSA2Wqer6UHtLaqNPPgcxALTjsrc2LcQYCOVbI9ickijZhePgZRbShf2lU2Mh5YKL6tu5z5NyiR6KRbHbL6oqm2-CuG/s1600/20200307_111420.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLb8huQjRs5IeHZuzFnxeHM628HjWty7kqYdV4s8zYTOzIp4DzHYSA2Wqer6UHtLaqNPPgcxALTjsrc2LcQYCOVbI9ickijZhePgZRbShf2lU2Mh5YKL6tu5z5NyiR6KRbHbL6oqm2-CuG/s400/20200307_111420.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">It was funny then</td></tr>
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I let her go on and stay with Mary, who has fallen earlier and banged her knee. She is toughing it out and can't run too much. Then she falls again on the same knee. She pronounces her running for the day over but says she can walk it in. She urges me to go on. After assuring myself that she is OK, I do.<br />
<br />
I go on and after a bit fall myself. No harm done, I've fallen so many times on trail runs that most times muscle memory takes over: rotate left, tuck the right shoulder in, roll to the right, try to spread out the landing. I do well this time, and my hydration pack absorbs some of the impact. A nearly 360 degree roll and I'm on my feet.<br />
<br />
<b>Five More Miles to Go</b><br />
I arrive at the Riffle Ford Road aid station (mile 26.8) and check my watch. The decison point for going to the finish for the marathon (closer to 29 rather than 26.2 miles) or the 50K (more like 32 than 31.1 miles) lies a bit ahead and I know that unlike last year I'm comfortably ahead of the cut-off.<br />
<br />
I go on to the Mink Hollow Trail and as I cross the park road in a little while, Edwin Starr's 1969 hit <i><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v6fTlPnR4g4" target="_blank">Twenty Five Miles</a></i> pops into my head. I sing part of it (I got a five more miles to go/Now over the hill just around the bend/Huh although my feet are tired I can't lose my stride) for the course marshals at the road but they are too young to recognize it - or perhaps I just don't sing well.<br />
<br />
Another couple of different runners join me. I get to tell my stories again. One tells us she just got back from a visit to Iceland. The other runner and I jokingly move further away from her. Little do we know that is soon to become the rule.<br />
<br />
With around a half a mile left she says she is going to go on. I urge her to finish strong as it is her first ultra. Another runner passes me. I don't fret. I mostly walk. No hurry.<br />
<br />
<b>Finish</b><br />
I cross the line in 8:33:28, good (?) for 159/166 overall and 8/8 in my age group. On the other hand, I'm the oldest 50K finisher - by six years. Two older runners finish the marathon, including the remarkable Gretchen Bolton at 74.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0-bijQMIBUn2i4lc3BU6YMItdNjLn-Q-dKwwTRgc5F7Uzi4Cd-S63N_O1MrE-ngsqn3dBY9_YFO-LUIi_uQZRkEDG3Pmw4zpgn9c3uZ74oe2iULlxgMxwtWHOc6JpAIc-L1ie9CAO_nP6/s1600/20200307_164010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0-bijQMIBUn2i4lc3BU6YMItdNjLn-Q-dKwwTRgc5F7Uzi4Cd-S63N_O1MrE-ngsqn3dBY9_YFO-LUIi_uQZRkEDG3Pmw4zpgn9c3uZ74oe2iULlxgMxwtWHOc6JpAIc-L1ie9CAO_nP6/s400/20200307_164010.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finisher's pint</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I sit a bit and go to the pavilion for food and beer. I'm not very hungry and pass on the chili but get a cookie and fill my finisher's pint glass with beer. Don is still there and gives me a ride the quarter mile to my car.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvCJykXVNir_hEp0XIjdfnWMGHS805Yd6HLHG8i5ZwM4aqsKRXe5xt0iMjxacTxwW278Zlw0E15iampZ3FxNcAEtUlgtiNvskJHqpDnTb_Pjnuf71LmGtrfHaByNOGUycsilEZVdxG7xNO/s1600/20200308_104018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvCJykXVNir_hEp0XIjdfnWMGHS805Yd6HLHG8i5ZwM4aqsKRXe5xt0iMjxacTxwW278Zlw0E15iampZ3FxNcAEtUlgtiNvskJHqpDnTb_Pjnuf71LmGtrfHaByNOGUycsilEZVdxG7xNO/s640/20200308_104018.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Swag: Bib, pint glass, two bananas, candy</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />Ken Swabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04093841096811631084noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672747428347177743.post-76123290468724382402020-02-20T23:13:00.000-05:002020-02-20T23:13:30.997-05:00George Washington Birthday Marathon - February 16, 2020Don't lose your confidence if you slip<br />
Be grateful for a pleasant trip<br />
And pick yourself up, dust yourself off and start all over again<br />
- <i> (Lyrics: Dorothy Fields / Music: Jerome Kern) Pick Yourself Up (1936)</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<b>Pick Yourself Up</b><br />
The <a href="http://keswab.blogspot.com/2020/02/elephant-mountain-50k-dnf-february-1.html" target="_blank">DNF from Elephant Mountain 50K</a> gnaws at me. I had no regrets at the time I stopped, but like living with a slowly growing cancer, I can't quite shake the doubts and regrets it has planted. Only one way to deal with it - confront the demon. <br />
<br />
The DC Road Runners <a href="https://gwbm.dcroadrunners.org/" target="_blank">George Washington Birthday Marathon</a> is just two weeks later. It is near by (20 minutes), reasonably priced ($50 - $120 depending on when one signs up), low-key, small (about 200 entrants plus 35 relay teams) and does not sell out. I haven't run a road marathon since the <a href="http://keswab.blogspot.com/2018/11/marine-corps-marathon-october-28-2018.html" target="_blank">2018 Marine Corps Marathon</a>, but The only question is the weather, which in February in Washington can be notoriously unpredictable. I know that - having <a href="http://keswab.blogspot.com/2013/03/george-washington-birthday-marathon.html" target="_blank">run it in the cold and wind in 2013</a>, being signed up for the canceled 2014 race, and having <a href="http://keswab.blogspot.com/2015/03/george-washington-birthday-marathon.html" target="_blank">run one loop in a snowstorm in 2015</a> before the race as called off. So I wait until the Wednesday before the race to sign-up, with the forecast looking increasingly promising.<br />
<br />
<b>Start All Over Again</b><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXvVjM6_awaNWQp5e6_O0lztJQ88AItgbO2dmBsmic_3SbyID7vXIvSrBEq6dUgcmbZAIfcDvKo5kh_Biwq4DN9KJ-wN9L_dUNM8Wd2KKT1sOgB1q4kmb9i7TY6zMNeuUMnqyqXxzcvfjf/s1600/20200216_101911.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXvVjM6_awaNWQp5e6_O0lztJQ88AItgbO2dmBsmic_3SbyID7vXIvSrBEq6dUgcmbZAIfcDvKo5kh_Biwq4DN9KJ-wN9L_dUNM8Wd2KKT1sOgB1q4kmb9i7TY6zMNeuUMnqyqXxzcvfjf/s400/20200216_101911.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Double Agent Barry goes game face early on</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Barry is signed up for it after doing another <a href="https://www.rundisney.com/events/disneyworld/disneyworld-marathon-weekend/events/challenges/" target="_blank">Dopey Challenge</a> (he is both a <a href="https://www.marathonmaniacs.com/maniac-criteria" target="_blank">Marathon Maniac</a> and a <a href="https://www.marathonmaniacs.com/double-agent-criteria" target="_blank">Double Agent</a>) and I offer to pick him up on the way to the race. He asks to get there a bit early so he can take part in the Marathon Maniac photo, and I agree, as the race starts at 10 a.m., so early isn't really early. I get him at 8:45, we park, near the Greenbelt Recreation Center, collect our bibs and shirts, take some pictures and relax before walking the couple of minutes to the start.<br />
<br />
The Dunkin' Donuts truck is parked on the way and is giving out coffee samples. Barry gets a cup. Not a coffee drinker, I pass.<br />
<br />
The race starts promptly at 10 a.m. and we go off at an easy pace toward the back of the pack. We listen in as a couple of women runners discuss the marriage proposal one had received ("I was expecting him to ask, so I had already thought it over") and accepted.<br />
<br />
We go along on the familiar route with temperatures comfortable in the upper 30s and little wind. Having looked at the expected temperature climb into the 50s later in the day, Barry has opted for shorts, while I've gone with tights.<br />
<br />
Except for about 2.4 miles on the way out and 1.9 on the way back, the course consists of three loops of a rough triangle: Beaver Dam Road on the grounds of the USDA Agricultural Research Center, Springfield Road and Powder Mill Road, with the first and last connected by the short Log Lodge Road, where the relay exchange is located.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL9c8ATkmrYhJF09r05g-5mN0GPGnEooyTm9OU54Ib7wNqlz7hq3lTjIHeYV3NjaFGwxWV7_mYXMCsxZHmdvQ3FDXkkwp8F_sHvU_IAisnH2xkMQRVXRJd1MC3mmglAUslMg2HWz02OZnT/s1600/20200216_124150.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL9c8ATkmrYhJF09r05g-5mN0GPGnEooyTm9OU54Ib7wNqlz7hq3lTjIHeYV3NjaFGwxWV7_mYXMCsxZHmdvQ3FDXkkwp8F_sHvU_IAisnH2xkMQRVXRJd1MC3mmglAUslMg2HWz02OZnT/s400/20200216_124150.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beaver Dam Road with runners</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I joke that it is a <a href="https://dcrr-cdn.s3.dualstack.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/wp-content/uploads/sites/3/2017/09/gwmarathon_map.png" target="_blank">Goldlocks course</a>: the first loop is too long (9.7 miles) , the second too short (7.3 miles) but the third just right (9.2 miles). It does have rolling hills, and my device reports just over 1000 feet of climbing (and descending). Barry's device claims 1400 feet.<br />
<br />
Barry and I run together from the start. He says it takes about four miles for his hip to loosen up, and several times I say that I'm going on, but I don't. <br />
<br />
<b>Found Objects</b><br />
I spy a capsule containing a white powder on the ground and pick it up. It is probably a salt cap, and I twist it open and pretend to inhale from it. Or maybe I do inhale from it. And maybe it isn't salt, for soon afterward I pull away from Barry and don't see him again until we meet up at the Community Center for the post-race food. Later in the day I pick up a small plastic bag with two white capsules and an off-white tablet. This time I don't try any chemical experiments. I carry them for awhile but finally discard them in the trash at an aid station.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIT8Iv7BzSF-VKwA-A_2evGlLVThxLbI6BYLeK2XcSO-LZkuhmAs004cBqFw2Tgni-QiqqMnmkCFu9x1Tiuhpzzn_KPYSKliH_2ePqdl7NM_busM9tHPs0lHpZ0KusYdOj7dqdmOHeDD-j/s1600/49549169802_29c5b99747_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1143" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIT8Iv7BzSF-VKwA-A_2evGlLVThxLbI6BYLeK2XcSO-LZkuhmAs004cBqFw2Tgni-QiqqMnmkCFu9x1Tiuhpzzn_KPYSKliH_2ePqdl7NM_busM9tHPs0lHpZ0KusYdOj7dqdmOHeDD-j/s400/49549169802_29c5b99747_o.jpg" width="285" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Approaching the halfway point<br />(Photo by Bidong Liu)</td></tr>
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Speaking of discards, during the day I pick up at least a half dozen of the small tabs torn from the top of gels. I realize they are easy to drop but it does annoy me a bit that runners can't be more careful not to litter.<br />
<br />
Speaking of litter, since the race is along public roads, it is an opportunity to survey the amount of trash that afflicts our public spaces. All sorts of food containers, fast food containers, snack wrappers and beverage containers have been tossed out of cars (I suspect). Approaching the aid station at mile 19 on the other side of Soil Conservation Road, I pick up a pair of beer bottles. As I cross the intersection past the police officer guiding traffic, I assure him that I'm not running while drinking.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9JYAa2RNBCx0zg92cPWamuIMiFo9RAKWOCyQ-IRQwIEwqyS-nfwYzBmdA1jr0sDu1zJ82J4cACJTlNRRsw8Ad4iP80o6ffvWTG1Sujvar8zfEleQvyFrec_3R7ikl8PW9hpX9e9ARyAb_/s1600/20200216_132900.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9JYAa2RNBCx0zg92cPWamuIMiFo9RAKWOCyQ-IRQwIEwqyS-nfwYzBmdA1jr0sDu1zJ82J4cACJTlNRRsw8Ad4iP80o6ffvWTG1Sujvar8zfEleQvyFrec_3R7ikl8PW9hpX9e9ARyAb_/s400/20200216_132900.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Casualties of corduroy roads</td></tr>
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Speaking of traffic, Powder Mill Road has a fair volume of traffic that travels at a good clip. To slow it down (or may to provide additional traction on downhills) the USDA has corduroyed the road in a number of spots. It doesn't seem to result in lower speeds, but it does appear to have separated some cars from their hubcaps.<br />
<br />
<b>Odds and Ends</b><br />
This is my seventh year running GWB Marathon, so the course itself holds no surprises. There is a mix of the familiar and the occasional new experience. Here are some of them.<br />
<br />
I have new glasses with transition lenses, so they automatically darken when out in the sun. I generally like them, but the morning is overcast but the lens darken anyway. This makes it a bit darker than I prefer, so I take them off. The downside of that is the loss of visual acuity - I generally can't make out the big E on the traditional Snellen eye chart, so my uncorrected vision is worse than 20/200. Fortunately this is a road course without rocks and roots and I can see the cars coming at me, so it isn't too much of a disadvantage. Later the day turns sunny and I put my glasses back on.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ5LGpkUKzIN-A9xg-bHTepU-YcVkTjakX4QKMHj6zHIF4-cPhZp06aoFqOBpqplXYdBGvRAzu_-pDt7cKtc2volmCTGbapUpgh1dBubMkGC9nOc_PES9Jjk5-P5ddyoO0UXHtLtb-MVjT/s1600/20200216_132332.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ5LGpkUKzIN-A9xg-bHTepU-YcVkTjakX4QKMHj6zHIF4-cPhZp06aoFqOBpqplXYdBGvRAzu_-pDt7cKtc2volmCTGbapUpgh1dBubMkGC9nOc_PES9Jjk5-P5ddyoO0UXHtLtb-MVjT/s400/20200216_132332.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boom box and air guitar for encouragement</td></tr>
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At the top of a hill on Powder Mill Road (about miles 8.5, 16 and 23.5) a solitary figure with a boom box provides music for the runners. He has been there every time I have run the race and I greet and thank him. The third loop he plays air guitar to accompany the music.<br />
<br />
A bit into the second loop, just past a one-lane bridge on Beaver Dam Road, a 16-passenger bus being used to shuttle runners to the relay point is perpendicular to the road and blocking one and a half of the two lanes. Its tandem rear wheels are over the pavement and in the mud, and it is clearly stuck. It likely took a wrong turn on its shuttle, tried to turn around and got stuck. Fortunately it is gone by the time I get there on the third lap.<br />
<br />
Part of the audio soundtrack of the race is the report of guns from the Prince George's Trap and Skeet Center south of the portions of the Ag Center south of Beaver Dam Road. The firing is especially heavy during the first loop and it does not take an expert to recognize a variety of arms and ammunition in use. In past years, the sound usually fades by the turn onto Springfield Road, but this year it can be heard for at least a mile a beyond the turn. The intensity of firing is less on the second and third loops, but is still pretty heavy.<br />
<br />
Reaching the aid station at the corner of Beaver Dam and Springfield Roads during second loop (mile 13.1) I spy pizza on the table. "Mmmm, pizza," I say, knowing that it was brought out for the volunteers. Asked if I want some, I decline, but add, "Maybe on the third loop."<br />
<br />
When I reach the aid station at Soil Conservation Road on the third loop (mile 19) they offer pizza - pepperoni or vegetable topping. I choose a slice of pepperoni, despite already having a few peanut butter-filled pretzels in my hand. The slice sustains me for the mile and a half to the Springfield corner aid station where I decline pizza, but grab a donut hole. <br />
<br />
<b>Rewards</b><br />
At the start I told Barry that my goal was to finish in 5:30. He aims for 5:45. At mile 19 I look at my watch and calculate that a 12 minute a mile pace will let me attain my goal. Since I'm running at a bit below that I think I have a shot at it. I maintain that for another mile. By mile 21 I feel that I'm running just as hard, but the pace has slipped to 13 minutes per mile. By mile 22, it's slower yet. I revise the goal to 5:40. The last half mile is downhill then flat and a push allows me to cross the line in 5:39:22, good for 174/196 overall, 126/142 male, and 7/10 in my age group. Barry finishes in 5:47.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnXaDlEMxL-inrXukq8RmCuI_dmu3Tx0JRvMLwXitxPNcShxkEch2PCw_-y2MaThZ1_OBIqqNQWRvKV08JtjmE5lXi0ZLzAHNH_ooqxAp3xCjV8FIFs8rXTd1R1DfoWC_iRw3O_WtqTvl4/s1600/GWBM+2020+finish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="641" data-original-width="960" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnXaDlEMxL-inrXukq8RmCuI_dmu3Tx0JRvMLwXitxPNcShxkEch2PCw_-y2MaThZ1_OBIqqNQWRvKV08JtjmE5lXi0ZLzAHNH_ooqxAp3xCjV8FIFs8rXTd1R1DfoWC_iRw3O_WtqTvl4/s640/GWBM+2020+finish.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finished (and redemption)<br />(Photo by Noah Eisenberg)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
We meet up in the Community Center, where the runners get a post-race meal of pasta, pizza and birthday cake for the 288th Birthday of the Father of Our County, the namesake of the race.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn3k0SChm5lxtWNrjcdiQGeVH_gPb1bvxi_EMVXKRFye086Mu4t6r964fL5ogkb9lpSjnssMcDYpWSNcaZWV9OZ4xJEF48DrybLytAH0-jZd3e9ScpNy4VEbOYNg6lFQ8ASqlJWf6m6PZj/s1600/GWBM+2020+medal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="572" data-original-width="580" height="628" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn3k0SChm5lxtWNrjcdiQGeVH_gPb1bvxi_EMVXKRFye086Mu4t6r964fL5ogkb9lpSjnssMcDYpWSNcaZWV9OZ4xJEF48DrybLytAH0-jZd3e9ScpNy4VEbOYNg6lFQ8ASqlJWf6m6PZj/s640/GWBM+2020+medal.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The first President congratulates Barry and me on our finish</td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNfCkcfgHI1yqx4k-Pv5D_Osw6sHkt50KioSCQOwAfWVmYCoIrR0nCNqi7PkTKSCvhdXkTJjtWKfEB7KwqDgtR1zq5o5YKj0rzmwXqhgmgWtdiO8_EtWeNX-h4wll3h7aEDK2kj0Aanwcv/s1600/GWBM+2020+swag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="815" data-original-width="800" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNfCkcfgHI1yqx4k-Pv5D_Osw6sHkt50KioSCQOwAfWVmYCoIrR0nCNqi7PkTKSCvhdXkTJjtWKfEB7KwqDgtR1zq5o5YKj0rzmwXqhgmgWtdiO8_EtWeNX-h4wll3h7aEDK2kj0Aanwcv/s640/GWBM+2020+swag.jpg" width="628" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Swag: Quarter zip shirt, bag, medal, bib<br />(not pictured: confidence and reassurance)</td></tr>
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<br />Ken Swabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04093841096811631084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672747428347177743.post-49932544826132523382020-02-15T14:56:00.002-05:002020-02-15T14:56:33.870-05:00Elephant Mountain 50K - DNF - February 1, 2020There are times, when explanations, no matter how reasonable, just don't seem to help.<br />
- Fred Rogers, <i>Life's Journeys According to Mister Rogers</i> (2005)<br />
<br />
<b>The End</b><br />
"Emaad!"<br />
<br />
"Emaad!" I yell a second time.<br />
<br />
He finally hears me, stops, and turns around. He is about 30 yards ahead of me on the long uphill about a mile from where we left the Start/Finish area to start our final 8 mile loop.<br />
<br />
"Go on," I say, "I'm done. I'm going back." After 24.7 miles and 6:45:48, my day at the <a href="https://www.aravaiparunning.com/elephant-mountain/" target="_blank">Elephant Mountain 50K</a> is over.<br />
<br />
He doesn't try to talk me out of it. A wave of the hand, an "OK" and he goes on and I stop. I trudge the mile back to the Start/Finish. I pass a few more 50K runners headed out for that final loop. They don't try to talk me into continuing either.<br />
<br />
At the finish I report my DNF and get a handshake for my effort. No finisher's pint glass for me.<br />
<br />
<b>The Beginning</b><br />
In the days leading up to the race I obsess over the two cutoffs posted on the website - one for when we return to the Start/Finish line at about mile 23 (7 hours) and the second at the finish (9 hours). It seems generous enough, but the course has some climbs, the weather can be hot, and the footing is unknown. And results for previous years do not show any finishers over 9 hours, so I take it that the race organizers are serious about the cutoffs. I prepare a pace card so we can see how we are doing.<br />
<br />
The day before the race Emaad and I visit the <a href="https://dbg.org/" target="_blank">Desert Botanical Garden </a>with friend Cathy, an ultrarunner who relocated to the Valley of the Sun about ten years ago. She has honed her gardening skills with classes at the Gardens that she uses in her own yard and to instruct us about the various plants we will see during our run.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCWExUaSVPGq8v_FLUnYB13wuVLwSonqLjrdQVJpNIQjyWSvwj9qiyu9tymwuQbAYf2kc-Flh3yxKhcTKuQKQ8_7_OsPQAC2cmel114kAjGL7KYI_x2jSHwsvFKbw0XuLUS9pnJtkop6HV/s1600/20200201_065816.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCWExUaSVPGq8v_FLUnYB13wuVLwSonqLjrdQVJpNIQjyWSvwj9qiyu9tymwuQbAYf2kc-Flh3yxKhcTKuQKQ8_7_OsPQAC2cmel114kAjGL7KYI_x2jSHwsvFKbw0XuLUS9pnJtkop6HV/s400/20200201_065816.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Final instructions at the start</td></tr>
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Saturday morning we get a parking spot about 30 yards from the start line. We put together drop bags for the turnaround at the Spur Cross Aid Station (mile 11) and I do one for the start/finish. They are pretty minimal - a shirt, some gels, maybe a handkerchief.<br />
<br />
Promptly (nearly on the second) the 61 50K runners are off at 7 a.m. Fourteen 50 mile runners started an hour earlier (ten will finish). The sun is still below the horizon, but there is enough light to run by. Still to come are runners in the 35K, 22K, 12K and 6K distances. We'll see (and get passed by) 35K runners later, but the others will be well done before we are anywhere near overlapping with them.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd0EiOgyaQDnsqfAkQJGGjtYs6uvmjGXYknkLIPm-BpKcdhhPzCOoq2WHpNfyw6XqrOR5fi4RIJ69Xh9rSe1vA60Um848fkWRxHSmlSuZ43oXVwR7MvnwyWhOrQxy0UhG0IwoHgehS1COw/s1600/20200201_070321.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd0EiOgyaQDnsqfAkQJGGjtYs6uvmjGXYknkLIPm-BpKcdhhPzCOoq2WHpNfyw6XqrOR5fi4RIJ69Xh9rSe1vA60Um848fkWRxHSmlSuZ43oXVwR7MvnwyWhOrQxy0UhG0IwoHgehS1COw/s400/20200201_070321.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunrise</td></tr>
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It is a long climb up at the start, but the golden glow of the impending sunrise behind the hills and mountains to our right is inspiring.<br />
<br />
In less than three miles we reach the Go John Aid Station (named for a runner named John who always implored others to "Go!"). A quick drink, a check of the pace card and off we go.<br />
<br />
<b>Lost</b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxwFyH1sl4P87jGYyMVgDUQI-IbzGJGvCoUJIgR_0GJcANbnc1JSk4w4yDKbCibv2xIeERSbdCgzCkvETfjk252oUgyB3CUJYAErWy4I6cmxmxj2mQZH5CVSqET9oi2Am7EwaFB9evMH5Y/s1600/20200201_071458.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxwFyH1sl4P87jGYyMVgDUQI-IbzGJGvCoUJIgR_0GJcANbnc1JSk4w4yDKbCibv2xIeERSbdCgzCkvETfjk252oUgyB3CUJYAErWy4I6cmxmxj2mQZH5CVSqET9oi2Am7EwaFB9evMH5Y/s400/20200201_071458.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking back to the start/finish</td></tr>
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It doesn't take long for the field to spread out, but we have a couple of runners following us. We head up a ridge and hear howling ahead. To my untrained ear it sounds like a a bunch of runners goofing off at an aid station, but one of the local runners with us, says it is from a pack of coyotes. We scan ahead as we head down a gentle slope with good views but don't see anything.<br />
<br />
Speaking of which, we haven't seen any of the polka-dotted ribbons that mark the trail either. We have gone awhile without seeing any, but we are clearly on a trail, and we can see a couple of runners ahead.<br />
<br />
But one of them heads back towards us and expresses concern about not seeing any ribbons. Emaad consults the GPX track of the course that he had downloaded on his phone and confirms that we are indeed off the course. On the other hand, we are headed on a trail that will intersect with the course at the next aid station.. Meanwhile, another pair of runners catches up with us. The eight or so of us give a collective shrug and decide that all we can do is press on.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgy7-ZD0jB22zd2SWoFK889jO0dhvj2Wz0YmJXraK0dHOhtvfHDjCsrDVnvjGtT4XBUlHcYk_mstwrGelzTLV8azJV057gHZ8OutElZvYiEP80nhIoAC5HL50zybnnqAudVWxMfJ1vuyDH/s1600/20200201_085010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgy7-ZD0jB22zd2SWoFK889jO0dhvj2Wz0YmJXraK0dHOhtvfHDjCsrDVnvjGtT4XBUlHcYk_mstwrGelzTLV8azJV057gHZ8OutElZvYiEP80nhIoAC5HL50zybnnqAudVWxMfJ1vuyDH/s400/20200201_085010.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Avoid the pointy plants</td></tr>
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<b>Gravity Never Takes A Holiday</b><br />
In parting at the Botanical Garden, Cathy told us to avoid plants with points, especially cholla cactus, which have small but nasty barbed spines. We assure her that will be do our best to look but not touch.<br />
<br />
The trails are generally firm dirt, but with plenty of rocks that require attention. Unfortunately, I catch a toe on one during our off-course section and gravity tugs me earthward. I'm an experienced faller, so I tuck my right shoulder in and go into a roll when I hit the ground. The maneuver helps spread out the impact, but I nearly take out one of the runners with us, bumping up against her shin. But I stop just short of a prickly pear cactus.<br />
<br />
A few miles later, on another flat section, I go down again. Again, no significant damage and no encounter with pointy plants. Later that night I catalog scrapes on my right shin, knee, hand, elbow and shoulder. At least the wounds show that I was able to spread the impacts.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgORQqQWmPnnhq1gT_OcuCM4Jafk5g9GQWakJUHAN2MgvbpURHBMV_41MrigoUys1jdGre1NMZ47Jw4MsXPIdvbaKIqMBjGS9qAmDwOSts7IVBFo-VBqvgsh5C0chu5f4Hv6bifdY3HbCLU/s1600/20200201_082527.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgORQqQWmPnnhq1gT_OcuCM4Jafk5g9GQWakJUHAN2MgvbpURHBMV_41MrigoUys1jdGre1NMZ47Jw4MsXPIdvbaKIqMBjGS9qAmDwOSts7IVBFo-VBqvgsh5C0chu5f4Hv6bifdY3HbCLU/s400/20200201_082527.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Typical trail (with rocks to trip on)</td></tr>
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I'll fall again around mile 13, on a rockier stretch of downhill, but without serious damage. I quip to hikers heading in the opposite direction, "Go on. Nothing to see here."<br />
<br />
But the falls do take a bit of a toll - my lower back is sore, probably from being twisted or wrenched in the falling. A couple of ibuprofen help for a bit, but the pain returns later in the day.<br />
<br />
Friend Sara, running the 22K didn't get the warning from Cathy. She falls on a downhill - "like I was sliding into home plate" - right into a cactus, maybe a cholla. At the finish she goes to the medical tent to have the spines removed from her leg.<br />
<br />
<b>Back on Course</b><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJAGHKw8E02PUFJqtUz_J0uDmTVMA692GzNIkCNZ-lNraSXRX6zcekQjDAkb__9fHwVr-IfbT8bTYStzTghkRtt6Az9LCfHNcTKQnwP7YUPZ1y4dMUZ9-_9lwXUw6ufajXRyCRo7iyqgnb/s1600/20200201_093638.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJAGHKw8E02PUFJqtUz_J0uDmTVMA692GzNIkCNZ-lNraSXRX6zcekQjDAkb__9fHwVr-IfbT8bTYStzTghkRtt6Az9LCfHNcTKQnwP7YUPZ1y4dMUZ9-_9lwXUw6ufajXRyCRo7iyqgnb/s400/20200201_093638.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Emaad crossing Cave Creek about mile 12</td></tr>
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We rejoin the course at the Rodger Creek Aid Station (mile 5.9). The aid station workers are not surprised to seeing us come from the wrong direction, as others have preceded us. They suggest that we cross the timing mat and we do. We have shaved about 0.9 mile from the course. We are not going to win any awards anyway, so it is unfortunate but not such as thing that would require us to disqualify ourselves. Because of my concern about making the cutoffs, I'm secretly pleased that we have saved a few more minutes.<br />
<br />
With the exception of the fall on the way out, the run to the Spur Cross Aid Station (mile 11) is uneventful, but is filled with great scenery. At one point we can see the aid station below and seemingly near, but we have to run away from it while headed down, and then cross Cave Creek on a small improvised two-board bridge before reaching it.<br />
<br />
At the aid station I change from the long sleeve shirt to a short sleeve one, get my handkerchief, refill my bottle and use the Porta-potty, entirely forgetting to get anything to eat at the station.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJtSBD_q_as0tFYSExV68sd6Cfm8CqZIMgz4iGD3jLthlwEK_mFEoU6Bjun5vMXmnRAtuPO4IF25njvAv0WaMulGfaymS5h1tS41GC5DxcFrEJ86GrJhejwRL5UXzuonGsOKzX4TCsQgki/s1600/20200201_093346.mp4" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJtSBD_q_as0tFYSExV68sd6Cfm8CqZIMgz4iGD3jLthlwEK_mFEoU6Bjun5vMXmnRAtuPO4IF25njvAv0WaMulGfaymS5h1tS41GC5DxcFrEJ86GrJhejwRL5UXzuonGsOKzX4TCsQgki/s400/20200201_093346.mp4" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view on the Spur Cross Trail</td></tr>
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The day is getting warm (temperature will reach 79) and the sun is high and bright. I have gels and salt tabs with me and I am taking them, but at irregular intervals.<br />
<br />
<b>You Think You are Tough</b><br />
On the way back to Rodgers Creek, we fall in with a woman runner. As usual during an ultra, we chat. We are walking a fair amount now, I I mention my concern about the cutoffs (although we were 35 minutes to the good at Spur Cross. She too, has a pace card, and suggests that we need to pick it up a bit if we wish to maintain our cushion. He says that she cannot run the rocky stretches because she is legally blind. She also tells us that she has MS. Neither affliction prevents her from running away from us, although we briefly catch up to her approaching Rodgers Creek before she goes ahead for good.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZS3wZpSCxwvZO0BN0JmNDnWia-kLsU53HkPB_hQmyb_jpiqSEuZdCwX5PnXRfgvxJVrGhi3u6fZIOIDn1pMLNZsw9OD1Rhrw_hbIchpHSSeSKAFYw-ScphJ4j6WoO6DWZb3gJPytyyser/s1600/20200201_120849.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZS3wZpSCxwvZO0BN0JmNDnWia-kLsU53HkPB_hQmyb_jpiqSEuZdCwX5PnXRfgvxJVrGhi3u6fZIOIDn1pMLNZsw9OD1Rhrw_hbIchpHSSeSKAFYw-ScphJ4j6WoO6DWZb3gJPytyyser/s400/20200201_120849.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Emaad circling Elephant Mountain</td></tr>
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<b>Onward</b><br />
At Rodgers Creek Aid station (mile 16) I soak my handkerchief and hat to provide some cooling, and this time we get on the right part of the course that we missed outbound. The first stretch is an old road, flat but particularly rocky. The next stretch is a short bit of paved road. Neither is pleasant, but we are soon enough back on the trail, and into the Go John Aid station with our time cushion undiminished.<br />
We work on the section around Elephant Mountain toward the Start/Finish. It gets rocky and uphill. The sun beats down on us, and our pace flags. A mountain biker comes flying down one particularly steep and rocky stretch, telling us not to worry about him. Finally the trail levels out and then heads down to where we started (mile 24). We beat not only the official cutoff, but my unofficial cutoff, but we have given back time. The 35 minute cushion is down to 17 minutes.<br />
<br />
<b>The Abruptness of the End</b><br />
I change shirts again, re-soak my hat and handkerchief and we head out. It is the long uphill that we started on and we are mostly walking, even the more level stretches. I tell Emaad that we need to pick it up if we are to make the 9 hour finishing cutoff.<br />
<br />
We reach a stretch on one of the uphill switchbacks that is level and he urges me to run. We do. He gets ahead of me. We both keep walking uphill.<br />
<br />
I look up and see not only him but that the stretch of trail further along - and uphill.<br />
<br />
It's a gut punch. No, a knockout punch. I don't even agonize over whether I can go on. At the time I feel no shame, no regret, no sadness, about it.<br />
<br />
I call out to Emaad and quit.<br />
<br />
Another runner comes along and I get an ibuprofen from her. She goes onward and I turn around to go down.<br />
<br />
Emaad goes on to finish in 8:42, 18 minutes under the offical 9-hour cutoff. But because of the addition of the 50 mile race there are four runners who finish over that time. The cutoff wasn't a cutoff.<br />
<br />
<b>Reasonable Explanations?</b><br />
The heat.<br />
The falls and back pain.<br />
The failure to manage electrolytes and nutrition.<br />
Under-training.<br />
Misapprehension of the cutoff.<br />
Not taking time to regroup.<br />
Lack of mental toughness.<br />
Failing to realize that I only had 100 feet of the 500 feet of climbing to go.<br />
My age.<br />
<br />
Mister Rogers was right. Explanations don't help.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHkP2O-qS7krp8hlCWeAXbdWFduEJnNMVeq67joJOWYo4zBvgTyfq31VWNPoJtEF2zHPsl-QIP7Rx1amrkAzJ9R8UpMNHGO5CIjBNj-romKpNw3cvMB9RO2d92az5pv9SveHehmihExAzx/s1600/Elephant+Mountain+2020+shirt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1160" data-original-width="826" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHkP2O-qS7krp8hlCWeAXbdWFduEJnNMVeq67joJOWYo4zBvgTyfq31VWNPoJtEF2zHPsl-QIP7Rx1amrkAzJ9R8UpMNHGO5CIjBNj-romKpNw3cvMB9RO2d92az5pv9SveHehmihExAzx/s640/Elephant+Mountain+2020+shirt.jpg" width="452" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Swag: Shirt, bib (but no finisher's glass)</td></tr>
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Ken Swabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04093841096811631084noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672747428347177743.post-42297017650819548432019-12-11T18:37:00.001-05:002019-12-11T18:37:27.052-05:00Colossal Vail 50/50 50 Mile - November 9, 2019Rather than the usual linear report, this one on the <a href="https://runazt.org/colossal-vail-50-50/" target="_blank">Colossal Vail 50/50</a> 50 miler is topical.<br />
<br />
For those who prefer linear, here is the short version: from La Posta Quemada Ranch we ran south on the Arizona Trail for 16.9 miles in about 4:11. We turned around and ran north on the Arizona Trail for 24.8 miles in another 7:20. We turned around and run south on the Arizona Trail for 8.5 miles in 2:44 until we returned to La Posta Quemada Ranch for a total elapsed time of 14:15:47. There we stopped running and accepted the finisher's railroad spike.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAkhmg-f_M5uxlX8npN8XuiQpmHz_lqs7sZ1G70t4hpnTHl45E4aE5JEs9a1KoJYmtLPWYcgc9hrs8YRKWXppGdW8Ff9ANj7A-n3TLHKHeE8F42N86TCdhuD3wjHy7ikur9PRBtRb2l180/s1600/20191109_210259.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-size: 12.8px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAkhmg-f_M5uxlX8npN8XuiQpmHz_lqs7sZ1G70t4hpnTHl45E4aE5JEs9a1KoJYmtLPWYcgc9hrs8YRKWXppGdW8Ff9ANj7A-n3TLHKHeE8F42N86TCdhuD3wjHy7ikur9PRBtRb2l180/s400/20191109_210259.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Finisher's spike.</td></tr>
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<br />
<b>Encounter</b><br />
"It's a <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Crotalus_scutulatus" target="_blank">Moave,</a>" Avery says.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5e2QeK_grZoF3NrGLD9hUQA5oGS9OxOuDO1gNYQyzCTnZlkdW3NFxkxY2A7AH6GjxvZ7G0UpMQ59F3YcTlNLsk0Swn1v6w8z5olggUEs4wsL8Sc-i2y2VUJsjI8XJ-w0uaOlO1owWw41j/s1600/IMG_0277.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1220" data-original-width="1600" height="303" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5e2QeK_grZoF3NrGLD9hUQA5oGS9OxOuDO1gNYQyzCTnZlkdW3NFxkxY2A7AH6GjxvZ7G0UpMQ59F3YcTlNLsk0Swn1v6w8z5olggUEs4wsL8Sc-i2y2VUJsjI8XJ-w0uaOlO1owWw41j/s400/IMG_0277.HEIC" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rattler!</td></tr>
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I've just come to a dead stop, having seen in time the snake on the single track about three feet ahead. Avery is behind me and Emaad behind him. I'm no herpetologist, but I recognized the triangular shaped head and the rattles on the tail as those of a rattlesnake and hit the brakes. Now Avery has ID'd the snake as one of the more venomous of the snakes on the planet.<br />
<br />
It is about three feet long and stretched out on the trail, head facing us. It is deathly still. Emaad comes forward to take a picture. I toss small pebbles in its direction hoping to urge it into the undergrowth on either side of the trail - or to see if it is alive. It does not move. At all. We are at a standoff. Finally Emaad decides that we need to go around, and he steps on a flattened dead prickly pear cactus and goes around. The snake still does not move and no unseen ones strike at him. Avery and I follow.<br />
<br />
Safely past, I kick dirt toward the still unmoving snake's tail. It whips its head around and I bolt down the trail, not interested in further interactions. We warn several runners headed in the opposite direction of what may lie ahead for them.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-tUbsRHycgiPcEKhy4ghCVC430qHeNuR46wskM2qS8oI6lunnwmy4dgsMHSEU59ILCXHpvHdfWo2WeJSH0uRPMZIGd83ZDUORLZdLez-BhDt3ZFfPKdW1gN2N7r9yL2jD7DWWZtfFbO12/s1600/20191109_072004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-tUbsRHycgiPcEKhy4ghCVC430qHeNuR46wskM2qS8oI6lunnwmy4dgsMHSEU59ILCXHpvHdfWo2WeJSH0uRPMZIGd83ZDUORLZdLez-BhDt3ZFfPKdW1gN2N7r9yL2jD7DWWZtfFbO12/s400/20191109_072004.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px; text-align: center;">Early on.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>Concierge Service</b><br />
Ultra aid stations are invariably staffed by helpful volunteers. But the <a href="https://runazt.org/wp-content/uploads/2018/01/AidStations_2017.pdf" target="_blank">five aid stations</a> (four of which one visited twice on the double out and back course) were beyond outstanding and worthy of five-star Yelp reviews for service. They all had the usual assortment of ultra-race food: cookies, potato chips, candy, PB&J sandwiches, gels, various hot food and water and sports drink. But they also had volunteers who immediately offered to refill your pack and bring food to me as I sat down to go through my drop bag. There were tables at the Sahuarita Aid Station, so one could sit and easily rummage through a drop bag. And sitting around a table with other runners was even more convivial than the usual friendliness that occurs among ultrarunners. <br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_4MWgwRBIwb1mKAyQ1JWa6aNEduaBaA_oJpbQN7m3h55AXshyphenhyphenBtQcRU-rfT49vE8Oduq_tT9rpmDv3D4-aEj2YfjgbwqH0AnuXaf-tiw-Fn1HV36RKrBIKiZkEENo5Ivp_wayD0bpW2KV/s1600/IMG_0271.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_4MWgwRBIwb1mKAyQ1JWa6aNEduaBaA_oJpbQN7m3h55AXshyphenhyphenBtQcRU-rfT49vE8Oduq_tT9rpmDv3D4-aEj2YfjgbwqH0AnuXaf-tiw-Fn1HV36RKrBIKiZkEENo5Ivp_wayD0bpW2KV/s400/IMG_0271.HEIC" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Where's Waldo? At Sahuarita Road AS.<br />(Photo by E. Burki)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
At the Pistol Hill Aid station more than one volunteer warned us of how much time we had left to depart in order to make the impending cutoff. No one wanted to see a runner get timed out because they were too comfortable sitting down.<br />
<br />
<b>There is Always Someone Crazier</b><br />
Southbound, after crossing through the tunnel under I-10 (about mile 7) we come across someone with a backpack and a worn baseball cap. He was a through hiker, headed south to the Arizona Trail's southern terminus at the Mexican border. He had been on the trail about seven weeks, and only had maybe another 50 miles or so to go to finish his 800 mile journey. He was content in his journey and we wished him well.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpJ1pPC9IKlw6J1z3xHN6YcRmEdZVqvEGzSU7FIfk6GtCZ-vRI3vmq89br1DZ4kNA0s2TPsoKoSeaoDMJAKuyLFvq7dTsxhVQ5lmzYbgTH5hQWJBo5Mv3MamuoSyUgFGHCQ95J-s5EwbJh/s1600/20191109_075855.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpJ1pPC9IKlw6J1z3xHN6YcRmEdZVqvEGzSU7FIfk6GtCZ-vRI3vmq89br1DZ4kNA0s2TPsoKoSeaoDMJAKuyLFvq7dTsxhVQ5lmzYbgTH5hQWJBo5Mv3MamuoSyUgFGHCQ95J-s5EwbJh/s400/20191109_075855.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The I-10 tunnel.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
After we finished our journey to the southern turn-around at the Peaks View aid station and returned to the Sahuarita Road aid station (mile 22.8) we met the hiker a second time and had a chance to chat with him. Turns out this was his second through hike on the AZT, having gone south to north - Mexico to Utah - two years ago. And he mentioned that he had done several other thru hikes as well.<br />
<br />
Later in the day, perhaps approaching La Selvilla aid station (mile 36) we come across another thru hiker. He's been on the trail for six and a half weeks or so. By then dusk is approaching, but he doesn't seem fazed.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8ShOLsXev1eOAXU4XMfDTcSYfvHqEyeQaG6XZqhTBIN5fPL1x5cKH7PcgunUSJMjKAyFJoEuLv_-EZKH6KnXmZnRF16boJIBDElIo2v7Q1GUkZS3ysuZToi88vKeJL3GBqMX-VX_pWSkF/s1600/IMG_0264.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8ShOLsXev1eOAXU4XMfDTcSYfvHqEyeQaG6XZqhTBIN5fPL1x5cKH7PcgunUSJMjKAyFJoEuLv_-EZKH6KnXmZnRF16boJIBDElIo2v7Q1GUkZS3ysuZToi88vKeJL3GBqMX-VX_pWSkF/s400/IMG_0264.HEIC" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Headed toward Sahuarita Road AS<br />(Photo by E. Burki)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>You Are Where?</b><br />
Emaad leaves the Sahuarita Aid Station northbound (mile 22.8) ahead of me. I'm changing shirts, refilling my pack, giving raw honey packs I picked up on the trial to other runners and getting a bite to eat. Although we generally run together it isn't unusual for one or the other of us to leave an aid station alone and have the other catch up.<br />
<br />
I head out and after a bit can spot him a little ahead. The trail drops down into a dry wash that goes under Highway 83, then makes a right out of the wash on the other side of the road. After a bit the view of the trail opens up and I can see a pair of runners ahead, but not Emaad. I begin to think that he has sped up and passed them. I'm not making any progress in catching up to them, but as the trail ascends and descends the rolling desert I can't see him either ahead of them or behind them.<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCy7zpYZL4yIlo4Pd47Q8AcbJsYaYh3EiTRrMdmulhyphenhyphenDJhYBuCz0rCQDQeTO9GI7cMMzOHzTV7nvHTdI0S0WDbKquuDm-nP_O0XvaM8SpHgOXEaW96hhcmJk6K1Svd5hV2ff2jmf6C0kw6/s1600/IMG_0301.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="819" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCy7zpYZL4yIlo4Pd47Q8AcbJsYaYh3EiTRrMdmulhyphenhyphenDJhYBuCz0rCQDQeTO9GI7cMMzOHzTV7nvHTdI0S0WDbKquuDm-nP_O0XvaM8SpHgOXEaW96hhcmJk6K1Svd5hV2ff2jmf6C0kw6/s400/IMG_0301.JPG" width="272" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px; text-align: center;">Headed south.<br />(Photo by The Viking)<br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Passing back thru the tunnel under I-10 (about mile 26.5) I turn off airplane mode on my phone to text Sandy that I'm still alive and progressing. I see a message from Emaad that he is at mile 25. But since I had my phone off I figure that was from earlier. Approaching the Gabe Z aid station I text him I'm at mile 28 and put the phone back in airplane mode. At the aid station I start to get concerned that maybe he isn't ahead of me. I recall that he has a low bib number 6? or 8? and ask the volunteer who is checking runners in and out of aid stations if either has been thru recently. Bib 6 has so I know he is ahead of me. I exit airplane mode and see a message waiting for me, "OK, mile 28.4." I text "You are maybe a half mile ahead of me. Keep going. Don't wait for me. I'm fine. Going back in airplane mode."<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigVl8V0oaR86GlMZlA983mAKSSWeHYLf_At8ndFC4RE_AOtBYCYU-PMkge8lHp6qcrC_6ZDtOyD4WZee6LUp_fE1GV9GdXuIPoQXUj8MRPfmGe8SwAmFAgz6J0sTvSmqodW5_VlpBmACtu/s1600/IMG_0272.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigVl8V0oaR86GlMZlA983mAKSSWeHYLf_At8ndFC4RE_AOtBYCYU-PMkge8lHp6qcrC_6ZDtOyD4WZee6LUp_fE1GV9GdXuIPoQXUj8MRPfmGe8SwAmFAgz6J0sTvSmqodW5_VlpBmACtu/s400/IMG_0272.HEIC" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Near the southern turnaround.<br />(Photo by E. Burki)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
On I run. Approaching the turnoff at Posta Quemada Ranch for the 55K finish I catch up with Avery. We chat and leapfrog each other until we are on the other side of a small canyon leading down to Agua Verde Creek.<br />
<br />
Then a voice calls my name. I stop and look across the canyon. It is Emaad. He's behind me. (Turns out his bib number was 9, not 6.)<br />
<br />
When he catches up he explains that he made a wrong turn at the wash passing under Highway 83. In that short period I passed him, unaware that he had left the trail. He was likely never more than a quarter to a half mile behind me, and said that he could occasionally see me ahead.<br />
<br />
Good that he caught up, because out rattlesnake encounter lay less than a mile ahead.<br />
<br />
<b>Dark Places and the Zone</b><br />
Marathons have "the wall," a spot in the race when things start to go wrong and you feel exhausted. Ultras have their own version of the wall, a dark place where doubt and despair set in. It may be physically based, but it is more a mental state.<br />
<br />
I enter the dark place around mile 34 or 35, with the rattlesnake behind and La Selvilla aid station a couple of miles ahead. This is the longest stretch of the race between aid stations, 7.2 miles from Gabe Z to La Selvilla. We've been going for nine or nine and a half hours. The sun is getting low. And we are going up and down the sides of Posta Quemada Canyon. What really gets me down, I realize later, is that the aid station isn't where I thought it was going to be.<br />
<br />
The whining commences. I should have signed up for the 55K. I could have bailed at the 55K turnoff. I'm tired. Why do I do these things? The uphills are steep. There are too many uphills. Where is the aid station? Whine, whine, whine.<br />
<br />
Finally we reach the aid station. They tell us us we have about an hour to get to the Pistol Hill aid station (mile 39.1) three miles ahead to make the 11 hour cutoff.<br />
<br />
There is something about having a short-term goal to focus one's attention and get out of the cave of darkness. Three miles - one hour - 20 minutes per mile. Doable. Let's go.<br />
<br />
After a mile or so Avery, who had fallen behind us, passes us. The La Selvilla volunteers had lit a fire under him as well. He goes on.<br />
<br />
We make Pistol Hill in about 44 minutes, with about 16 minutes to spare. I plunk down in a chair, get a headlamp from my drop bag, and get a refueling from the accommodating volunteers. One reminds me that I have ten minutes to get going, another says 11. No matter. Off we go. No pressure now. We have four hours to go 11 miles.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUQyw6OQQAprnNrzF2sumIeefQp7h2QPXUnKuo6f1xj0aBsEnzMjGoKEDU5yXUSSe_reUSvSnqOWtehxHbJcdxr6ZAVXS6Ve0VySYUu3iXcSmIiWcf_qWIHyXkOIIR7YeVxbPEkYxqmBtT/s1600/IMG_0283.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUQyw6OQQAprnNrzF2sumIeefQp7h2QPXUnKuo6f1xj0aBsEnzMjGoKEDU5yXUSSe_reUSvSnqOWtehxHbJcdxr6ZAVXS6Ve0VySYUu3iXcSmIiWcf_qWIHyXkOIIR7YeVxbPEkYxqmBtT/s400/IMG_0283.HEIC" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunset on the way to the northern turnaround.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
The sun sets as we head to the turnaround 2.4 miles ahead. Back to Pistol Hill (mile 44.2) and we are single digit miles to the finish. I'm feeling in the zone. Not tired, not sore, Energizer Bunny activated. It's a state of mind. I'm not actually moving very fast, but the apparent effort is not taxing.<br />
<br />
Emaad, on the other hand, has entered the dark lands. While I try to cheer him up, the shadows are internal, and one ultimately has to find one's own way out. What finally works for him is hearing the music from the finish a half mile out and then seeing the lights from the trail.<br />
<br />
Now perky he accelerates toward the finish. I continue my steady pace, or plod. He stops and yells back that he will wait for me. I tell him to go on, and he finishes 26 seconds in front of me.<br />
<br />
Avery, having accomplished making the cutoff, eases up the last few miles to finish in 14:31.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5daDmH6bLpSHCGTEyNzuzwN_cSfU_dHqo7z0oaCuQN3q45jJWD9euRq-KrNW_96s9P4ZmvxhHR7QJ12iTsRHaaEb6w0ZR_BrrbsaoCTUkzJbmwWHMAUuzQWNgcnvyEVrpnx3iJxIXkRAN/s1600/20191112_113538.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5daDmH6bLpSHCGTEyNzuzwN_cSfU_dHqo7z0oaCuQN3q45jJWD9euRq-KrNW_96s9P4ZmvxhHR7QJ12iTsRHaaEb6w0ZR_BrrbsaoCTUkzJbmwWHMAUuzQWNgcnvyEVrpnx3iJxIXkRAN/s400/20191112_113538.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Swag: Shirt, poster, Huppy Bar, bib, finisher's spike. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Ken Swabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04093841096811631084noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3672747428347177743.post-5987668658441418282019-11-07T00:12:00.002-05:002019-11-07T00:12:57.306-05:00Pennypack Trail Fest 60K - October 26, 2019<b>Driving in the Night</b><br />
Game 3 of the World Series, the first in Washington since 1934, starts at 8:07 p.m. and takes 4:03 to complete. It is my first World Series game ever (a bucket list item) and the Nats 4-1 loss to the Astros is disappointing. (The Nats go on to become World Champions with a thrilling wins in games 6 and 7 - Fight Finished!) But as I do whether the game is in April or October I stay to the last pitch. Never mind that I have the <a href="http://www.uberendurancesports.com/pennypacktrailfest.html" target="_blank">Pennypack Trailfest 60K</a> in Philadelphia at 7:30 the next morning.<br />
<br />
After a walk to the car, I start at about 12:30 a.m to drive to Villanova, where I will be staying for the weekend with Emaad's cousin. Fortunately where I am parked and the way I'm going enables me to avoid any congestion from the fans leaving the game. Adaptive cruise control and lane departure warning technology on my car, coupled with light traffic makes the driving easy and with only a quick pit stop for gas I arrive at about 3 a.m.<br />
<br />
I manage a bit less than three hours of sleep, but that should be enough. There will be plenty of time to rest once the race is run.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjASUk9_Sz5ZJ7uUlwtdaoibknq4cQgIpWkbB999mHKrHua96mEGrQJPBq5jJZo49uuRzwrLTfUS71FsIopZyr827KFn9hIVjpRgQCFcS5iOxIhRy1Q1Sa6GdTuMRsEMxZpW6NHTFTxNLnN/s1600/20191026_090701.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjASUk9_Sz5ZJ7uUlwtdaoibknq4cQgIpWkbB999mHKrHua96mEGrQJPBq5jJZo49uuRzwrLTfUS71FsIopZyr827KFn9hIVjpRgQCFcS5iOxIhRy1Q1Sa6GdTuMRsEMxZpW6NHTFTxNLnN/s400/20191026_090701.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px; text-align: center;">It would not be an <a href="http://www.uberendurancesports.com/" target="_blank">Uberendurance</a> race without<br />polka music on the course.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b>Preview</b><br />
The race is three loops of a 20K course, enabling three different race distances: 20K, 40K and 60K. The starts are staggered a half hour apart, with the longer distances going off earlier. About half the course covers portions of the <a href="http://keswab.blogspot.com/2019/05/dirty-german-50k-may-11-2019.html" target="_blank">Dirty German</a> course, which Emaad and I ran in May. The rest of the course is about what we expect from Pennypack Park trails: mostly single track, up and down but nothing too long or steep, wooded, enough rocks and roots to require paying attention and a modest stream crossing or two. Three aid stations (one visited twice) per loop means a water bottle will suffice.<br />
<br />
<b>Starting Out</b><br />
Up just before 6 a.m. provides sufficient time to eat a l<a href="https://www.beilersdoughnuts.com/menu/" target="_blank">arge Bismark doughnut</a> from <a href="https://www.lcdutchmarket.com/the-bake-shoppe" target="_blank">Beiler's bakery</a> at the Germantown (MD) Dutch Market. Emaad handles the 40 minute drive and we get a parking place near the entrance to the park. I'm mildly regretting my choice of breakfast food.<br />
<br />
Packet pickup is easy at the pavilion at the start/finish is quick and easy. We will come past here at the end of each lap, so no need to worry about what to put in a drop bag - we have everything. The weather is near perfect, with temperature at the 7:30 start in the low 50s and a bit of overcast. I select a long-sleeve shirt for the first loop and figure I'll change to short sleeves for the subsequent loops.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwTpYUVcVUJ3Zgd6-FQUD8otGfqKT2Vs0jkMCcU-kT42TDj05tzWi8wfz50FousGWtUCXf1KLWyD45uO7czQcGG0hN74SLiwmkRfmZvfUviOtLxsW6w00b9ecBmbcjFTh3dDqiokngVwxp/s1600/20191026_072531.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwTpYUVcVUJ3Zgd6-FQUD8otGfqKT2Vs0jkMCcU-kT42TDj05tzWi8wfz50FousGWtUCXf1KLWyD45uO7czQcGG0hN74SLiwmkRfmZvfUviOtLxsW6w00b9ecBmbcjFTh3dDqiokngVwxp/s400/20191026_072531.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Contemplating the start - with backwards shirt</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Off the 46 or so 60K runners go promptly at 7:30. Unlike Dirty German, the Trailfest runs in a counterclockwise direction. We haven't gone a minute and I realize that I have left my water bottle behind. Since the aid stations are not much more than 3 miles apart and the day isn't hot, I'm not particularly concerned. And I know that after one loop I'll be able to pick it up when we return to the start/finish.<br />
<br />
After about a mile Emaad notes that I'm wearing my shirt backwards. No problem. I pull my arms out of the sleeves, twist the shirt around and reinsert my arms into the correct sleeves.<br />
<br />
But it does make me think that maybe the sleep deficit is a factor in the two snafus at the start.<br />
<br />
<b>Loops</b><br />
By mile 5 or 6 the leaders of the 40K race overtake us. By mile 8 or so the leaders of the 20K race are passing us. It's OK. We know we are not fast. We will be lapped by 60K leaders (and followers) in the second loop). Emaad and I go on, not in a hurry. Our goal is to finish under the 10 hour cutoff. Quite a modest goal indeed. So we chat with runners that pass us and the occasional runner who stays with us for a bit. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0RbqphwaqECePEoR5WasRV89u5gEkwxGTBeurybBXT4cKiSm9rMDzYv9aFngQU6PkDaEJAaBV5xRPKrkV6JoYnmfv09CUchxtz1jhb-VnFPCPjJSAVnnFPKWVMjuRLTTcz2DD8mGqRMLf/s1600/20191026_101947.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0RbqphwaqECePEoR5WasRV89u5gEkwxGTBeurybBXT4cKiSm9rMDzYv9aFngQU6PkDaEJAaBV5xRPKrkV6JoYnmfv09CUchxtz1jhb-VnFPCPjJSAVnnFPKWVMjuRLTTcz2DD8mGqRMLf/s400/20191026_101947.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ready to start another loop.</td></tr>
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We don't linger at the aid stations, but we don't hurry thru them either. At one aid station the bacon has just come out of the frying pan. It is too hot for me to hold, so I dunk it in a cup of water to cool it off. It is an inspired move - the bacon is cooled down and I have bacon-flavored water to drink.<br />
<br />
At another aid station a volunteer recognizes me from the pose I struck at the end of <a href="http://keswab.blogspot.com/2019/10/blues-cruise-50k-october-6-2019.html" target="_blank">Blues Cruise 50K</a> three weeks previous as he was the finish line photographer, Jim Blandford. He thanks me for giving him the photo credit and I thank him for both volunteering and taking the photos.<br />
<br />
At the end of the first loop I change from my long-sleeve shirt to a red short sleeve Nats "Curly W" shirt. I won't be going to game 4 - or game 5 for that matter but I can show support for the Nats.<br />
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Nearing the end of the second loop we catch up with a 40K runner on her second loop. We chat and then she goes ahead again and disappears around a bend. But we soon catch her. She is standing at the side of the trail and her legs are quivering. She had fallen, apparently tripping on a depression, and had dirt from her knees to her chest. Fortunately she didn't hit her face or head and was perhaps more shaken up than injured. she tells us to go on as she starts to walk. Later, within a mile of the finish, she runs past us.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi69YxIEzB4Cz6Um_tKZ26-8aKWjOEP-UvhqiHVD6pq_W50BcsSoQILlr3ztdaxsJKAgG0Ta1O5kem8BifrUrn_E1FDAKTrzu0k1lyOWdJJqHZ5ZYxiex9aQBao3tziwMqPuvHRfNj-RS6y/s1600/20191026_132757.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi69YxIEzB4Cz6Um_tKZ26-8aKWjOEP-UvhqiHVD6pq_W50BcsSoQILlr3ztdaxsJKAgG0Ta1O5kem8BifrUrn_E1FDAKTrzu0k1lyOWdJJqHZ5ZYxiex9aQBao3tziwMqPuvHRfNj-RS6y/s400/20191026_132757.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Posing in Thoreau's Hut</td></tr>
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We stop for pictures at <a href="https://www.associationforpublicart.org/artwork/embodying-thoreau-dwelling-sitting-watching/" target="_blank">Thoreau's Hut</a>, a piece of public art in the park.<br />
<br />
As we start the third loop I tell Emaad that we need to pick up the pace to finish under 10 hours. We have been quibbling about the length of the loops - I claim they are 11.7 miles; he claims something shorter, maybe 11.25 miles. It is a silly, friendly argument that is utterly irrelevant - we are racing the clock, not the length of the loop. We did the first loop in 2:47 and the second in 3:21, so we need to finish the third in about 3:51. Since we were about a half hour slower on the second loop, dropping another half hour would work for our goal. But I'm worried that we might lose even more time, so we do pick up the pace, or at least our apparent effort increases.<br />
<br />
Every mile I calculate the pace we need to maintain for the remaining miles. But my arithmetic skills are erratic - a phenomenon well known to ultrarunners - and the supposed required pace bounces around for no reason other than computational error. Finally, with about five miles left, it is apparent that we will succeed.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI_m9rgSOaKF8B_jRhx07WObGCqvtTZjt0blQYPbruGKoczRu7Mw2hjtJYt2bJOOi_qRH0rAGWXdpVIuC1V4Fzg0gISeAJrOduptxRKgPQA8YRXo9DfU6Gh8OK1FvNsuP2kzdWLsdDxhYx/s1600/20191026_163512.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI_m9rgSOaKF8B_jRhx07WObGCqvtTZjt0blQYPbruGKoczRu7Mw2hjtJYt2bJOOi_qRH0rAGWXdpVIuC1V4Fzg0gISeAJrOduptxRKgPQA8YRXo9DfU6Gh8OK1FvNsuP2kzdWLsdDxhYx/s400/20191026_163512.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Benches.</td></tr>
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And then Emaad starts asking why not change the finish goal from 10 hours to nine and a half. "Because I don't care," I reply. But he does care. And with a couple of miles left and a new goal in hand, he takes off when I decide to photograph "The Benches" another piece of public art in the park.<br />
<br />
Done photographing I go on. I glance at my watch, do some mental arithmetic and decide that Emaad was right. It is time for a new goal. With just a mile or so left maybe I can go under 9:30. So I pick up my pace. Even though this is the third loop, I become increasingly concerned that I have gone off course as I don't see a pink ribbon for quite some time. Just as I'm getting ready to hit the brakes and start backtracking, I spot one. Confidence restored, I go on.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpQkRzLgNKIyjyLn6vPxByJO3bNoRy_aeR2JPPOU47yCaTZ7HYxO9nxVwsDfi709rVhF-TYV1ul9NHKvhiK7tX6LKS-K35tjPHeh6GFhX221Nbpqt5GgsHWg4MvW8yQfQ4srNF_WYWysGA/s1600/20191026_083855.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpQkRzLgNKIyjyLn6vPxByJO3bNoRy_aeR2JPPOU47yCaTZ7HYxO9nxVwsDfi709rVhF-TYV1ul9NHKvhiK7tX6LKS-K35tjPHeh6GFhX221Nbpqt5GgsHWg4MvW8yQfQ4srNF_WYWysGA/s400/20191026_083855.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pennypack Creek</td></tr>
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I cross Pennypack Creek on the sidewalk of Pine Road and make the left onto the field leading to the finish line at the pavilion. I can seen the clock, and realize that I won't be done under 9:30 but with a bit of a push I finish in 9:30:40. Emaad is waiting for me, have finished in 9:25.<br />
<br />
I'm 45 of 46 overall and 38 of 38 males (DFL!). As I cross the finish line a volunteer first hands me my finishers cap and asks my age, and tells me that I have finished third in my age group. My reward is a nice German Wetterhaus with thermometer.<br />
<br />
While most of the finish has been packed up, a volunteer brings Emaad and I some German potato salad and a bratwurst on a bun. <br />
<br />
<b>Meet a Champion</b><br />
We meet up again with Jim Blandford who is helping with the finish line clean-up and learn that he is much, much more than a mere aid station volunteer and sometime volunteer race photographer. It takes a bit of prying to learn that he is a Massanutten Mountain Trails 100 Mile winner. (He doesn't mention his two third place finishes either.) And while we talk about running Bull Run Run 50 Mile, he only mentions his ten finishes, not that he won this year's edition (his second BRR win) and he as five other top seven finishes. Many ultrarunners are modest, but Jim is a champion in that, too.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEit4jLIr_r_CovfUQwRtR_U1zkbO6xlvp9mhQ7fNqlltnimAloc1ZNkawzoRhFNaJXBeA-Jh_ZpXk5A5NWQidLmWtQ_tXCfs7NF0dVp9XOGvA8CUsdNCFlAKFT9qWVyt2tPw1nrk24vxs/s1600/20191106_093629.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEit4jLIr_r_CovfUQwRtR_U1zkbO6xlvp9mhQ7fNqlltnimAloc1ZNkawzoRhFNaJXBeA-Jh_ZpXk5A5NWQidLmWtQ_tXCfs7NF0dVp9XOGvA8CUsdNCFlAKFT9qWVyt2tPw1nrk24vxs/s400/20191106_093629.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Swag: Hat, hoodie, bib, 3rd Place AG Wetterhaus.</td></tr>
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<br />Ken Swabhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04093841096811631084noreply@blogger.com0