Boulder Field 50K - September 11, 2021

Boulder Field

Still Funny After All Those Times

Emaad and I at the start

"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."

Emaad is about ready to throttle me and we have only gone a few miles at the Boulder Field 50K. 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.

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 Hickory Run State Park two weeks earlier and rain on Wednesday has left parts of the course wet.

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.  

Since the course 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."

Hickory Run

Hickory Run with AS 1 and 2 on far side

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.

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.

Trail Etiquette

"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.

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.

Lehigh River Valley Overlook View (Mile 8)

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.

The Best Aid Station

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.  

Grilled cheese, bacon and fried potatoes at AS2

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."

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.

That says it all.

Shades of Death

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.

The highlight of Shades of Death Trail

Emaad changes shoes, I change my shirt and use the facilities and we head out for the second part of the course. 

More Rocks, More Roots, More Water

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.

Or Maybe the Best Aid Station

Approaching the aid station (mile 16.5) on the Stage Coach Road I call out to the volunteers, "Whiskey for my men, beer for my horses!" It's the right thing to say, as the volunteers swiftly produce a can of Montana 1 IPA 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.

Rocks, roots and trees most of the day

Boulder Field

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. 

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. 

Lions of the Serengeti

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.

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.

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. 

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.

Game On

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Finish in 8:42:43
(Photo by Daniel Govern)

Punch Line

Oh yeah, why should you never run behind a car?

Because you will get exhausted.

By the Numbers

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.

Swag: hat, shirt, bib
and AG Wetterhaus award

Ran It With Janet 50K - DNF - June 5, 2021

Plan A or Plan B?

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.

Emaad and unicorns at the start.

This year's edition of the Ran It With Janet 50K 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.

Unicorn Janet gives
starting instructions

Starting Off

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.

The course is largely the same as when I ran the race in 2016 and 2017, with the exception of a stretch on Chinn Ridge, which now omits passing the Webster and Texas 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).

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. 

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.

Second Loop

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.

Confederate cannon on Henry Hill
(First Manassas)

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. 

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.

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 deep cut and approaching the site of the Rock Fight 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.

About mile 7 after crossing Sudley Road.
Second Manassas Trail follows woodline.

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.

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. 

Start and Stop

One lesson I learned from my Elephant Mountain DNF is that it is important to slow down time before making a decision.

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.

She gets up and heads back the few yards to the start line. She looks back to me, as does Janet.

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.

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.  

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.

I get back to the start/finish and tell Janet I'm dropping just as Emaad finishes his second lap. 

Results

The hot day took its toll on the runners.  According to the official results, 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.

The next day, I made my donation to CornerstonesVA 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.

Swag: Only a bib for a DNF.

Farm Park Challenge Marathon - May 1, 2021

Round and Round

The Farm Park Challenge 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 Agricultural History Farm Park 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.

Race Day

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.

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.

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.

Emaad on the course

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 Badwater 135 (if you don't know what that is, watch the trailer for Running on the Sun.).  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.

He was a DNF.

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.

Vingettes from the Day

Approaching the park road crossing in the first loop, I spy Mike E. acting as the course marshal.  "I have a cold Surrender Dorothy 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.

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.

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.

Bacon! Or not.

"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."

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.

Swag: Two Waredaca beers,
a glass, shirt and bib. 

Seneca Creek Greenway Trail Marathon - March 13 2021

Training is Bunk - Or Is it? An Experiment.

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 I ran the Philadelphia Trail Marathon virtually, and while it was nice to get out for a day, it isn't the real thing.

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.

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 Seneca Greenway Trail Marathon/50k, and by March 3 the weather for Saturday looks good and there are still slots available. I sign up.

An 8-mile run the next day passes for a long run.  I'm as ready as I'm going to be.

The Difference in a Year

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.

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.)

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.

The fastest I ran all day; and then only for the photo op.
(Photo by B. Lemieux)

Equipment and Other Malfunctions

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. 

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.

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.

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.

Colorful

"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.

"Hi, runner with the checkerboard tights," she replies.

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).

Since St. Patrick's Day is coming I complement her on her green shirt. "And don't forget my leprecaun tights," she adds.

With Age Comes Wisdom Hesitation

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.

I hop onto the large first stone and then onto the similarly sized second stone.

And stop.

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.

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.

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.

Nice dry trail

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.

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.

Maybe next year I'll just wade the stream.

Birding Lesson

"See anything?" I ask the woman looking up into the trees around mile 13.

"Shh," she replies, "Hear that?"

"Yes."

"That's a pine warbler," she replies. "The live in pine trees."

Which makes sense, since we are in a grove of pine trees.

But the small bird escapes our eyes, and I move on.

Refreshments

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. Last year, 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.

Special refreshments

But it is! And still serving whiskey and beer - but in individual single-serve cups. The Corona has been replaced with 7 Locks Brewing 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.

I get a picture with the remains, and have a second cup of the IPA. Mike urges, "have another." 

"I already had another," I reply,

"Have another," he repeats.

One of us will finish; the other is finished.

I think about it for a second. "I'm stupid," I say in declining the offer, "but not dumb."

Bad Karma

"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.

You'll like it better than the runner ahead of you," they cryptically reply.

I spot the runner in a bit and soon overtake him.

"Bad karma," I say as I come up behnd him, "to wear the race shirt before you have finished the race."

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.

"I've fallen about 18 times," he replies, "even into the water."

And then I notice the dried blood on the ridge of his nose.

"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."

These cinco amigos are an annual sighting.

Know Your Limitations

As Dirty Harry said in Magnum Force, "A man's got to know his limitations." 

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.

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.

"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.

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.

Finish

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.

I finish in 7:31:17, good for 49 of 59 overall, 37/41 males, and 2/2 in my new (70+) age group.

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.

Oh, yeah, training IS bunk. 

Swag: shirt, bib, chip.

Philadelphia Trail Marathon (virtual) - December 12, 2020

Despite Covid indeed.

Prelude to Change

On February 29, Emaad and I sign up for the Philly Trail Marathon 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.

A Pandemic Changes Everything

At the end of February talk of a pandemic has begun, but how bad things will get are not clear.  I ran the George Washington Birthday Marathon 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.

But it doesn't take much longer for virus concerns to surface.  On March 7 I run the Seneca Creek Greenway Trail 50K, 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.

Dos Amigos (post race).

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?

No Training? No Worries!

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.

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.

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.

A Plan

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.

Seneca Creek north of Route 355.

We decide that the Seneca Creek Greenway Trail 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.

No Plan Survives First Contact with the Enemy

Trail food?

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).

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.

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.

Halfway!

The CSX bridge

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 Wild Mesquite Huppybar, 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.  

Emaad crosses the feeder stream
approaching Riffle Ford Road.

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.

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. 

Grafitti under 355.

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.  

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.

The results.

The rewards.

The Best Present

 I eagerly tear open the bag from Uberendurance Sports, don my newly earned shirt and proudly hold up the medal and the bib.

Happy Birthday, Trail Marathoner!

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.)

Swag: shirt, medal, bib.

Seneca Creek Greenway Trail 50K - March 7, 2020

I 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.

Fair Weather
The weather leading up to race day is pretty much near perfect. No rain for a week, and after the mudfest and high water of 2019 I obsessively check the stream gauge 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.

Waiting to start

Fair Warning
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.

Fermat's Last Theorem and Other Topics
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 Fermat's Last Theorem and the efforts to prove it. This leads to a discussion of the four color theorem and its applicability to objects with more than two dimensions.

Old farm equipment along the trail

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."

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.

Not lost

A runner compliments me on my harlequin tights (made for me by legendary ultrarunner Eric Clifton) and I return the complement on her InknBurn gear. It is an opportunity to tell about running Marathon du Medoc in an InknBurn shirt.

South and North
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.

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.

Dry feet at Dry Seneca Creek

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.

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.

Playing the air guitar flag

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. 

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.

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.

It was cold and good

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 Hell Hath No Hurry story a couple of times and several other stories.

Heading for a Decision
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 toughness of Jennifer (and the second).  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.

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.

It was funny then

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.

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.

Five More Miles to Go
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.

I go on to the Mink Hollow Trail and as I cross the park road in a little while, Edwin Starr's 1969 hit Twenty Five Miles 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.

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.

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.

Finish
 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.

Finisher's pint

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.

Swag: Bib, pint glass, two bananas, candy