Black Hills 100K - June 23, 2012

I Will Not be a Casualty

South Dakota's Roadside
Death Memorials

I am frequently fond of relating a story from the night before D-Day.  The paratroopers are lined up on the tarmac in preparation to boarding the gliders that will take them to France.  An officer comes out to address the men.  At the end of his remarks he soberly tells the men that it will be a tough day ahead and that half of them likely will be casualties.  Each man looks at the soldier standing next to him and silently thinks, "Poor bastard."  Intellectually we know that some of us won't make it.  Emotionally, we know it won't be us.

The night before the Black Hills (SD) 100K, Jennifer W. and I visit Saloon #10 in Deadwood.  It is named after the saloon where Wild Bill Hitchcock was killed. A lit alcove over the door holds the chair he reputedly sat in when shot in the back of the head by Jack McCall.  The 15-minute drive back to the Holiday Inn in Sturgis is illuminated by wild lightning, rolling thunder and intermittent showers.

We pass several of South Dakota's official markers for roadside deaths. I suppose those people knew, when they left Deadwood for Sturgis or wherever they would bound that they would not be casualties the day or night they died either.

"Today is a Good Day to Die"

A Lakota song for the runners

This quote is usually attributed to the great Lakota warrior Crazy Horse, who was born in the area just north of the Black Hills perhaps near Belle Fourche, 25 miles to the northwest.  The Paha Sapa are sacred to the Lakota, and a tribal member offers a prayer and a song for the runners lined up for the start of the three races: 50 miles, 100 K and 100 miles.  We will all go out on the same course but turn around at different places.

I feel a sense of irony receiving a Lakota blessing before running into the Black Hills.  The are an area that the United States had affirmed belonged to the Lakota in an 1868 treaty and had agreed to keep whites from entering.  In 1874, an expedition under Lt. Colonel George Armstorng Custer entered the Black Hills and discovered gold. The resulting influx of gold seekers with the support of the United States Goverment took the Black Hills from the Lakota.  Yet here was a member of the tribe offering a blessing for those of us who would be entering what was once his people's land.

Starting Out

At the start

We start out at 8:03 a.m. along a paved bike path that takes us out of Sturgis and onto the trail.  It's already warm.  We climb a hill and descend the other side. We admire views of Bear Butte to the north as we head south.  At the first aid station at Alkalai Creek (mile 5.7) I check my pace card and excitedly tell Jennifer that we are "off the chart,"  meaning that we are ahead of the fastest column I put on the card.  "Let's not think of that," she warns.

There's Crazy and then there's CRAZY

For people who are not trail runners, the idea of running for hours and tens of miles through the woods and fields is crazy.  But for those of us who do it, it seems perfectly normal.  Even more than normal; it's something that we often think that those who think it is extreme could do too.  After all, for many of us, running a trail race usually means lots of walking, eating at aid stations and even changing shirts and shoes and sitting down at those aid stations.

But even for the normal trail runners, there are some people out there who really are crazy.  Excessive in their behavior. Extremely obsessive. And crazy.  Western races seem to have higher percentages that in the East, and Black Hills has the most I've ever seen.

The woman is wearing a Marathon Maniacs shirt and wearing a 100K bib.  I mention my Marathon Maniac friend Barry S. who recently reached the five-star Maniac level by running three marathons in three states in eight days.  She responds that she, too, is a five-star Maniac, having achieved it by running three marathons in three days.  She's planning on getting her sixth star by doing the Quadzilla - four marathons in four days.

I ask her whether she has run any other 100K races.  "No," she replies, "this is my first."  Pause.  "But I've run three 100 milers."

Another woman is discussing her efforts at the Western States 100, where she was pulled from the race at mile 75 because she had lost too much weight up to that point, principally due to dehydration.  "I knew I was going to have trouble making weight," she said, "so I tried putting rocks in my pockets and wet sponges in my bra.  But they know all the tricks and made me take them out."

She told another story of a time she was in Brazil pacing another runner in a 135 mile race.  "He was falling asleep while we were running and I was doing everything I could to keep him awake.  I was trying to keep him talking.  Finally I spotted a town in the distance," she related.  "Look! If we can make it to the town there will be an aid station there.  But when we got there the town was deserted except for wild dogs.  We had to go on."

The day before the race I spotted a man wearing a 2012 Bighorn Trail Run shirt from the previous week.  His name is Scott B., and he says that he did the 100 miler at Bighorn and is doing the 100 miler at Black Hills.  "This will be my 13th 100 miler of the year," he says.  "I'm trying to break Monica Scholz's record of thirty 100 milers in a year." (He finishes Black Hills in 30:55.)

Follow the Centennial Trail

Follow the bison skull and "89"

The course for the Black Hills 100 races is simple: basically follow the Centennial Trail until you come to the appropriate turn-around for your distance, turn around and retrace your footsteps.

We leave Alkali Creek, cross under I-90 on the dry creek bed and head up into the Black Hills.  We ascend 800 feet to an altitude of 4400 over about 4.2 miles, then descend a couple of hundred feet over about 1.4 miles, mostly through ponderosa pine forest.

The Bulldog Aid station (mile 10.4) is manned by volunteers from Ellsworth AFB, one of whom is dressed as a fairy princess.  "I'm the Spirit of the Forest," she proclaims.  "What is your wish?"

Leaving Bulldog leads to another series of climbs totally about 1000 feet of altitude, bringing us over 5100 feet. before we head down again.  This section of the course has much less shade than the previous section and not only are the temperatures increasing but the sun is bright and hot.  On the other hand, the open spaces provide opportunities for picture taking, and both Jennifer and I take advantage of that.

Jennifer snapping pics on the trail

While I'm wearing my Nathan backpack, Jennifer is carrying only a single hand-held water bottle.  I gradually hear less and less sloshing from her bottle and ask her if she has enough fluid to last to the next aid station.  At first she says she does, but following subsequent questioning says that she could use some and I supply it from my pack.  It's a hotter day than we had anticipated and we both arrive at the Elk Creek Aid station (mile 17) with no fluids left.

The dry Elk Creek

I have a drop bag at Elk Creek and change my shirt which is soaked with perspiration.  From the aid station we drop down into the Elk Creek drainage and cross the creek several times.  Actually we cross the rocky creek bed, as there is no water in sight.

Soon we are back to the familiar routine of long climbs again cresting 5000 feet.  This time we stay at that altitude as we come to the Crooked Tree aid station (mile 22.5). The heat is starting to take toll.  I put ice under my cap and on the advice of another female runner, Jennifer puts ice in the cleavage of her sports bra.

I'm surprised that the ice has little effect on my skull.  It doesn't seem cold even when I move it around to different places.  And it seems to take its time melting.

Although the turn-around for the 50 mile runners is only 2.5 miles beyond the Crooked Tree aid station, and we have been seeing 50-mile runners on the way back, it seems to take forever to get to the simple post stuck in the ground with a sign marking the turn-around.

More scenery on the Centennial Trail

This post is also an indicator of the ethos of the trail runner.  There is no official standing there to assure that runners have gone all the way to it before turning around.  Not shorting the course is left to the honor of each runner.

The views along this section of the course are excellent and we stop and take some.

We come across a runner whose hand is bleeding pretty badly.  He had just fallen and cut it on a rock.  He asks if we have any tissues or antibiotic wipes but we have nothing to offer. He thanks us, wipes off the blood as best he can and goes on.

Ken on the crest with view to the plains and the horizon

It is 7 miles from Crooked Tree to the next aid station at Dalton Lake. It is mostly downhill, dropping from above 5000 feet to about 4400 feet.  That should make it relatively easy, but the heat, sun, altitude and constant climbing and descending are taking a toll on me.  Even a long, gradual descent on a smooth dirt trail feels hard.  My head starts to feel odd, not in any particular way but I don't feel quite right. (Later, back in Washington, Jennifer will tell someone that I was slurring my speech and listing in my posture - things that I was not aware of at the time. She emails others, "I'd never seen him so out of sorts and it was a bit scary.")

When we arrive at Dalton Lake aid station (mile 29), Jennifer's friend from college Melisa, and Melisa's Aunt Debbie, niece Courtney and nephew Chris greet us at the aid station. Melissa, Debbie and Courtney had driven with Jennifer the nearly 400 miles from Sioux Falls to Sturgis simply to hang out and see what this trail running was all about.

I flop down in a chair while Jennifer gets her drop bag and rummages around in it.  A volunteer hands me a wet towel that I place over my head.  I try to regroup. It's tough.  I decide that I'll try to get to the turnaround less than two miles ahead.  Then back to Dalton Lake and I can decide if I can go on.

Casualties are Inevitable
Jennifer and I head out.  More accurately we head up, as it is a steep unrelenting climb headed about 5200 feet.  After ten minutes of so I sit down on a log and tell Jennifer that I'm finished.  I'm going back to the aid station and drop.

There is irony here as I was the one who talked Jennifer into entering a race at a distance she had never attempted.  She had told me that she would not abandon me.  Now it was me calling it quits.  I'd gone about 30 miles in something over eight hours. I'm not in pain, but I have nothing left.  She decides to go on while I trudge back

The volunteers are understanding.  They ask if I'd like to rest and then try to restart.  I decline their offer.  I'm not the only one who has dropped at the aid station.  Other runners come in and announce they are dropping.  By the end of the day, about 40 percent of the 100K entrants won't reach the finish line.  Of the about 100 persons who signed up for the 100 mile race, only 38 will finish.

Success Comes to the Tough
Jennifer gets to the turn-around are returns to the Dalton Lake aid station.  Melissa and family return from a walk around the lake.  Jennifer says that she cant' quit because she has told too many people that she was entering the race.  I tell her to use the lights and batteries in my drop bag at Elk Creek, as she will be running in the dark and has not put any light in her drop bag.  Melissa and I tell her we will support her as best we can.  She heads off and I get in the car with Melissa for the drive back to Sturgis.

Fortunately, cell phone reception in the Black Hills is excellent.  At 7:46 p.m. she texts, "At Crooked Tree. 22 miles to go. Brutal."  At 10:02, she texts, "Just left [Elk Creek aid station] [mile 45]." A minute later she adds, "please bring choc milk to [Alkali Creek aid station]." She repeats that a minute later, then adds, "Its a bitch."  

At 10:40 p.m., she sends a troubling message, "Hurt foot - walking - phone almost dead." I respond, "If you drop borrow phone and call me.  I'll pick you up if accessible aid station."  A half hour passes.  Then a defiant response, "Not dropping!" followed by "more batteries please."

The next message is from the Bulldog aid station, 52 miles down and with only 10 miles to go.

Melissa and I head to the Alkali Creek aid station.  The moon is just past new so there is not much light.  Finally in the distance we see a light bobbing toward the aid station.  It is Todd G. and he says that he thinks our friend is somewhere behind him, but he is vague as to particulars.  After a little while we see another light, following a slightly different course through the field, coming toward us.  Iris P. says that she saw Jennifer in the company of another runner and not too far behind.  Iris heads out for the last 5.7 miles to the finish and soon we see two lights, on yet a another slightly different course headed to the aid station.  Jennifer emerges from the darkness in the company of Blair A.

Jennifer later gives Blair credit for getting her to the finish when he found her stopped on the trail.  "I was a bawling, scared mess and planning to drop at [Alkali Creek] when another experienced ultra runner offered to finish the last 5 miles with me," she wrote later. She also reports that as it got dark she tripped and fell into a patch of poison ivy.

At the aid station Jennifer flops into a chair, dumps out the sports drink in her bottle and refills it with chocolate milk.  I change the batteries in her flashlight.  She removes her left shoe to reveal duct tape wrapped around it.  "Give me a paper towel," she commands.  She folds the towel into quarters, puts it on the bottom of her foot and wraps it in place with surgical tape I had brought along.  Melissa swaps her mobile phone with Jennifer's dead one.

Off the two runners go.  Melissa and I head for the finish line to meet them.

Jennifer and Blair cross the finish line

About 1:30 a.m. my phone rings.  Jennifer asks, "Do you remember crossing a gravel road this morning?"  I tell her I don't but that I could be mistaken.  "We just crossed one," she says "and I don't remember that on the way out."  Then she decides that they have taken a wrong turn and they backtrack to pick up the trail.

Just after 2:00 a.m. we see a pair of headlamps emerge from the darkness at the edge of the track.  Jennifer and Blair trot into the light.  They finish in 20 hours and 13 minutes.

An undeserved but greatly appreciated
decorated hotel door

When I get back to the hotel I find my door decorated by Courtney. There is a "Tougher than anyone I know" sign on it.  It is misplaced. It belongs not on my door, but on Jennifer's.

In more than 25 ultras, this is only the second one in which I DNF'd.  The first was my first due to an ITB injury that I entered the race with.  I went back and finished that race three times.  I've finished after suffering through nausea, vomiting, and knee pain.  I've run through mud, ice, snow and streams.  But  Black Hills was too tough for me that day.

There are two things missing from the swag below.  First the finishers' medal.  And second, the age group trophy I would have received had I finished.  The DNF and the two medals give me three reasons to go back.

Black Hills swag: shirt, backpack
and purchased CD and beer glass

TNF Endurance Mid-Atlantic 50K - June 2, 2012

A Muddy Course on a Sunny Day

High water on the Potomac

Mud. Heavy rains Friday night produced miles of deep mud and standing water on The North Face Washington DC Endurance Challenge course on Saturday.  Stretches of single track trail could be renamed single lane canals, as they are filled not only with inches-deep mud but standing water on top of the slick mud.  Numerous runners wind up with mud on their legs, shorts, shirts, arms or hands from falling, slipping or trying to save themselves from falling into the mud.

 Although the first eight miles of the course, run mostly on the Potomac Heritage Trail, is swampy, the remainder of the course is reasonably dry, partly due to it being away from the river.  Since the course is out and back however, the last eight miles repeat the swampy portion.  But the return is marginally better, as sunshine helps reduce, but not eliminate, the mud during the afternoon return.

Booty Call I
The woman is on the knife edge between safety and a slide back into the muddy creek. She is partially up the steep, slippery far slope of the narrow stream.  The male runner behind her begins to reach out to help push her up the slope, but as his hand approaches her, he hesitiates.  A runner on the bank above her reaches out a hand.  She grasps it and is pulled to safety.

A couple of minutes later I tell her what happened behind her.

"I wouldn't have objected," she replies.  "Better than sliding back down into the mud."

And a few steps later she slips and falls into the mud on the trail.

Jennifer

"Snap the pic, already."

Jennifer W. is running the 50 mile race as part of our training for the Black Hills 100K later in June.  The 50 milers started two hours prior to the 50K runners.  They run the same out and back portion of the course (plus a small spur), but they run three loops of the 6.9 mile portion of the course in Great Falls Park, while the 50K runners do only one.

I'm on the lookout for Jennifer as I run the loop. It twists and doubles back on itself, with two out-and-back spurs.  Just after the first one, I spot Jennifer coming the opposite direction.  We exchange greetings and I insist on taking a picture. As I fiddle with the cell phone. Jennifer grows impatient. "Would you hurry up," she urges, "I don't have all day."  I snap and we head off in opposite directions.

But within five minutes or so she has caught up with me, even though I'm going a shorter distance and she's already run two hours  and nine miles more than me, to say nothing of having had to rise at 3 a.m. to get to the 5 a.m. start.

Fogged lens overlooking Mather Gorge

We run together for the remainder of the loop.  I have trouble keeping up with her.  As I leave her at the Great Falls aid station to head back to the start-finish, she is sitting on the ground putting duct tape on her blistering toes before heading back into the loop for her third pass.  The duct tape will aid the blistering, but the duct  tape will trap moisture and cost her three toenails.

Booty Call II
"Don't you like my booty?," the woman asks me. So many wrong ways to answer that question.

"Your booty is fine," I stammer.

"I wondered why you didn't touch it," she continued.

She and I are about four miles from the finish, headed up a moderately steep single-track slope.

She had been in front of me as we headed up the slope.  She had started to slide back and I put my hand on the fuel belt on her waist to steady her.  Now I was being questioned for not putting my hand on her rump.

"I used your belt to help you," I honestly reply.  And because I don't know what else to say.

The Roundup

Shirt, arm warmers and bib from TNF50K

I finish the 50K in 7:10:01, a pace of 14:18 per mile.  Jennifer finishes the 50 miles in 11:35:44, or a 13:55 pace. Put bluntly, she ran a faster pace over 50 miles than I did for only 50K, or 31.1 miles.  Furthermore, the Chinese food that we had the night before with a couple of other runners did not sit well with her digestive system on Saturday.

Capon Valley 50K - May 19, 2012

On the way to Lynn's barn - the first and last aid station

Lessons
Often running is just running.  Left foot, right foot, repeat until done.

But sometimes there are things to be learned.  Usually about running. But at Capon Vally this year not everything learned related to running. One lesson changed my outlook on the future and how to confront, view and handle the changes that come with getting older.


Colors Matter

Death in a row by the side of the trail

This was my fifth Capon Valley 50K, and since the course is unchanged, I know the course quite well.  Or so I thought.  Twice I led folks off-course, and a a third time I followed others who had gone astray.  In none of the cases did we go more than 30 or 40 yards wrong and it was a simple matter to realize that we did not see any ribbons marking the trail.

But this year the ribbons were striped white and light orange, and in the dappled sunlight of a forest, they were harder to see than the bright pink ribbons of years past.

Motivation is Where You Find It

The Sparkle Train, aka Team America

Headed down the long descent - about 800 feet in about 3.5 - 4.0 miles - from the Capon Springs Grade Aid Station (mile 18.7) I pass a pair of women standing by the trail.  "We're waiting for our friend," they inform me as I go by.

Shortly thereafter, the three companions pass me.  They are wearing matching glittery skirts over their running pants, one silver, one red and one blue.

"Too bad they didn't have white," I comment, "You could have been Team America."  "Silver was the closest they had," Silver replied.  "It's Blue's birthday," she adds, so we need to get done for beer and cake."

I decide to try to stick with them, or at least keep them in sight.  They pull away from me on the downhills, but I can walk uphill faster than they can, and we leapfrog a bit.  We do this for about seven miles, until we are cross under the powerlines less than a mile from the Golemon Barn, AS #6 at mile 27.5.  From then on the course is mostly downhill and they pull away and finish about four and a half minutes ahead of me.  But the effort to keep up with them upped my pace and helped me to a Capon Valley PR.

Glue Matters

Missing a heel

A few weeks before the race the tread of the right heel of my Nike trail shoes had started to separate from the shoe.  I had a tube of Shoe Goo that I had used successfully on other, non-running athletic shoes - baseball cleats - in the past, so I used it on the Nikes.

About 23 miles into the race I felt something under my right foot.  At first it feels like I keep stepping on a soft stone.  A stop to look reveals that the repaired heel is peeling off.  Coming into the Capon Springs Road Aid Station (mile 24.4) I ask if anyone has a knife, as I plan to cut off the flopping part.  No one does, but a volunteer offers duct tape.  Taking the shoe off I'm confused as I don't see anything wrong with the shoe.  There's nothing detached.  Then the mental fog lifts and I realize that the heel has peeled off entirely.  It's only about a quarter or three-eighths inch thick so it does not present any problems the rest of the way.

Good is Relative, or Why the Glass is Always Full
Somewhere in the middle of the course I run with a man who mentions that he is 65 years old.  "I hope that when I reach your age, I'll be in good enough shape to still be running," I say.

"You'll be in good shape," he says, "and you have lots of years ahead of you."

"I don't mind, the more years, just as long as they are good ones," I reply.

"Good means different things at different times. There may come a day when you will find it an accomplishment to be able to get from your chair and use a walker.  The day may come when laying in bed and being able to use an iPad will be the most you can do.  But if it is what you can do, then it will feel good to do it, if that is the best you can do," he explains.

It is an insight that had, until that moment, escaped me. But as he says it, I recall my mother's rehabilitation from her stroke, going from not being able to stand to being able to walk, even if she sometimes needed a walker. The lesson of the older runner to accept being able to finish rather than running faster applies to all aspects of living.  The scope of our reach may shrink, but there will always be something to reach for.  Accept that, reach for what you can, and you will age - no, you will live - happily and with purpose.

The Race Facts
I finish my fifth Capon Valley 50K in 6:40:56, a PR by 27 minutes.  I finish 124/196 overall, 86/122 males, and 7/15 in the male 60-69 age group.

Capon Valley swag - shirt and number
(not shown, devoured chicken dinner and homemade desserts)

Bull Run Run 50 Mile - April 14, 2012

Twitter enables one to say what one is doing in 160 characters or less and do it from one's mobile device. And with some additional applications, such as Twitpic, one can send pictures with descriptions to one's followers. If you are a slow runner like me, one can use one's mobile to keep one's Twitter followers appraised of what one is doing during a race in real time.

Of course, the downside to Twitter is that one is limited to 160 characters per message.  That's often good enough for most messages, but for race reports, it is extremely limiting.  Since I tweeted during Bull Run this year, I've decided to use this blog entry to expand my tweets from Bull Run Run.   This is the story behind the tweets, which are bolded below.

6:30 a.m - "37 degrees as Bull Run 50 begins."
It's a bit cool at the start, but the forecast calls for the temperature to climb over 70 by the afternoon.  I decide to start with two long sleeve shirts, a buff pulled up like a Balaclava, but with shorts.  Not ten minutes into the run I shed one of the shirts and tie it around my waist.  I take the gloves off.

Photo courtesy of Bobby Gill

Unlike 2011, the week has been dry and the creeks are low and crossings involve no water.  There are no muddy spots on the course.  The weather feels fine and I get through the Centreville Road Aid Station (mile 5.5) in 1:30, 4-5 minutes faster than my 2010 and 2011 BRRs, although I don't know that at the time.

8:26 a.m. - "Thru turnaround at 7.7."
I cruise through the turnaround 2.2 miles beyond the aid station.  For some reason it feels a bit cool and I put my back on gloves on.

There is an large inflatable gorilla at the turnaround and I stop to playfully punch it in the nose. "Rumble in the jungle," I joke to the turn around volunteers.

8:49 a.m. - "Just a few bluebells this year" (with pic)
Just beyond the turnaround I stop to photograph a field of bluebells.  The unseasonably warm winter and spring has got them to flower a week or two early and there are many fewer in bloom this year than in years past.

Just a few bluebells this year.

After taking the photo I cruise along feeling pretty good except for some chafing on the left side of my chest.  I have some balm with me and rub it on, and get a band aid when I return to the Hemlock Aid Station at mile 11.6.  It helps.

At one point I slow down to offer pro bono legal advice.  Some runners coming along are discussing the receipt of a summons for reckless driving in Virginia.  "Consult a lawyer," I advise, "that's a criminal offense."  Unfortunately, the person had already sent in the citation (on the advice of the charging police officer!) in hopes that the Commonwealth attorney would likely reduce the charges to a lesser traffic violation.

10:04 a.m. - "Athru Hemlock 16.6. Change shirt."
Back to the start/finish area at the Hemlock Overlook Regional Park, I go to my drop bag, change the long sleeve shirt for a short sleeved one and ditch the gloves, buff and the two long sleeved shirts.  I realize that I had forgotten to put my pace card in my pocket, and I unsuccessfully rummage around for it.  I replace a goo pack or two.  I tape my heel which is feeling a bit rubbed and I want to ward off a blister.  I don't realize it, partly because I don't have my pace card,  but I'm now 13 minutes ahead of my PR for the course.

The weather is warming up and I'm trying to manage any risk of dehydration by taking Succeed! tablets every 90 minutes or so.  The salt and potassium are designed to help one retain fluids and avoid cramps.

11:03 a.m. - "Thru Marina,AS mile 22ish?"
I continue to make fine progress and chat with runners as I go along.  I've got a few jokes that I recall and I try them out on various folks as we go along.  Most of them are groaners and a couple of them are from the NPR Science Friday Annual joke show, which occasionally require explanations, thereby not making them funny.

11:05 a.m. - "On the trail as gunfire sounds from the range" (with pic)

BRR course past the Marina AS

I decide that my vast audience of 19 followers on Twitter deserve a picture of the trail, so I stop and take one.  I cannot bring them (but might have had I made a video clip) the sound of sustained gunfire at a shooting range on the other side of Bull Run.

I fall into running with Tom F.  It is his first Bull Run and second 50-miler.  We chat as we go along and after a while I ask him to take a picture of me.  He agrees, we make it an action, i.e., running picture, and I promptly tweet it.

11:30 a.m. "Ken runs at Bull Run" (with pic)

Running at Bull Run Run

In about a half hour we arrive at the Wolf Run Shoals Aid Station.  This aid station is always a hit for the runners as every year the volunteers select a theme for the station and dress accordingly.  This year they have selected a Gone with the Wind theme, and runners are served by Rhett, Scarlett and the rest of the characters from the 1939 movie.  They have signs leading to the aid station with quotes from the movie, such as "I'm very drunk. I intend on getting drunker before this evening's over" (an intention that many runners probably shared) and "Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn." (likely a warning to complaining runners not to waste their breath).

12:10 p.m. - "Thru Wolf Run at mile 26 . ITS hot out here"
The heat is starting to bother me.  Tom and I continue together.  It is only two miles to the next aid station at Fountainhead, but it is mostly up and downhill.

At the aid station I get a slice of plain pizza, and we head out into the two miles of the white loop, then on the trail passed the archery range signs warning about entry, and get to the aid station at the entry to the approximately three mile long "do-loop."

1:43 p.m. - "Into do loop at 32.5 miles"
Partway through the loop Tom asks me to take his picture and I oblige.  I take two and he provides me with his email address so that I can send them to him.  About three quarters of the way through the wooded loop we hear a rustling to our right.  We look in that direction and galloping down a slope on the other side of a swale is a herd of about seven deer, headed directly toward us.  We lose sight of them in the swale and as the leaders emerge up the slope of our side about twenty yards away the two leading deer see us and turn left.  The remainder follow them, saving us from the risk of being trampled.  (I am aware of at least two deer-runner collisions, both of which required hospital visits.)

2:31 p.m. - "Do loop out at 35 miles. Low on GUs."
I'm starting to feel tired.  My time has been slowing down, and it turns out that I take four minutes more to get through the do loop this year compared to last year.  I've been taking GUs and Succeeds! but it is starting be be a struggle.

3:14 p.m. - "Thru Fountainhead AS at mile 38. Feeling tired. Moving forward. No surrender."
The "No surrender" remark is meant mostly as a reminder to me.  Truth is, I'm feeling exhausted.  Tom has run out of the aid station, and I cannot do much more than walk.  (He finishes his first BRR in 12:00.)  There is a short section alongside a feeder creek to Bull Run that I'm able to force myself to run, but that is about all.  The last uphill to the aid station is exhausting. It takes me 40 minutes to go the next two miles back to Wolf Run Shoals Aid Station, nine minutes longer than in either of the previous two years.

3:54 p.m. - "Wolf Run AS at 39 9. In dark place mentally. Sitting tor 5 minutes."
When I arrive at the aid station I need a break.  I sit down in a folding camp chair and set my watch's timer for five minutes.  I've never sat at an aid station before other than to change shoes or clothing, but I've got to find a way to regroup, both physically and mentally.  An aid station worker brings me a cup of ice water.  My head has been feeling odd - faint, perhaps? altered state of consciousness? - but no hallucinations.

The watch timer goes off.  I get up.  I feel better.  I get an ice cream sandwich from one of the workers - another specialty of the Wolf Run aid station - and head out.  I even start to run a bit.

4:11 p.m. - "Ice cream sandwich plus sitdown and I'm BACK. THE BAD PATCH has passed. Wont be fast but feeling much better."
Only 17 minutes after tweeting about being in a 'dark place' I feel like I've recovered.  Still lots of walking, but I'm also running sections as well.

The recovery lasts for about ten minutes and fizzles out entirely.  The best I can do is walk.  And while I can usually walk at a brisk pace, I cannot do that now.  I just plod onward.  My spirits are temporarily lifted when I spot what I think is a eagle in flight, but I cannot even translate that into faster forward motion.

Finally I arrive at the Marina aid station, 5.5 from the finish.  I sit down on a bench while a volunteer brings me a cold wet towel that I place over the back of my neck.  I note that my finger tips are swollen.  Is that from too much salt as I've taken six Succeeds! by then, and additional salt in Gatorade and GUs, or is it from dehydration, and I should take more water and less salt now?  I don't know, but I decide that I've had enough Succeeds! for the day.

Caroline W. a member of our MCRRC Absolute Zeros team comes into the aid station and urges me to come along with her.  But I'm still sitting and tell her to go along without me.

5:28 p.m. - "Last 5.5 miles underway. Death march."
That tweet summed it up.  I knew I could finish. But not much more than that.

About a mile or two along I hear a familiar voice behind me.  It's Caroline.  She had apparently stopped to us a Porta-potty by the soccer fields that the course winds through and I had gotten ahead of her.

6:09 p.m. - "Vomit gatorade with 3.5 miles left. Walking with Caroline W. We will finish."

Caroline W. admires Bull Run around mile 48

The vomiting settles my stomach.  I don't feel particularly better but with Caroline leading the way, we actually do some running.  At one point along Bull Run I ask her to stop and pose for a picture.

We press on, go walk up the final hill, and get to the finish line in 12:34.  It took me 49 minutes longer to do the last 10.5 miles this year compared to 2011 and 55 minutes more than in 2010.  And I was a full hour slower than in 2011.  But I was faster than in 2009, another hot year at Bull Run that involved vomiting.

7:23 p.m. - "Finished in about 13:34 [sic]. Brutal."
I find Absolute Zeros teammate Larry B. He finished in 12:03 and has already showered and changed.  We are waiting for the fourth member of the team Jim D., to finish to see if we have successfully defended our title as Slowest team.

MCRRC Absolute Zeros
(Caroline W. absent from picture)

As the clock ticks toward 13:00, Larry is becoming anxious.  In order for our team not to be disqualified, Jim must be an official finisher under 13:00.  12:50 passes, then 12:55.  We don't see Jim approaching the finish line..  But then there's a voice behind us, and it's Jim.  He had finished in 12:40, but neither Larry nor I had seen him.

7:39 p.m. - Absolute Zeros repeat as slowest team!
As the clock hits 13:00 we go to the scorers table and they confirm that we are once again the slowest team in the race.  We gratefully accept our team champion blankets and plan to return next year to attempt a three-peat.

BRR swag - tee shirt, hoodie, glass,
and team championship blanket

Seneca Creek Greenway Trail 50K - March 3, 2012

(Compliments of Dan DiFonzo)

The Short Version
Started at Damascus Recreational Park. Ran to Seneca Creek State Park.  Ran around Clopper Lake. Ran to Riley's Lock.  Finished 168th of 180. In what time?  Well, that's at the bottom of this report.

There was mud. And 34 miles, not 31.1 miles.  For $10 what would you expect?

The Longer Version
There's not actually a longer version, other than to say that the course was two miles longer than last year and the mud throughout the day took a toll on my thighs as they worked hard to keep me upright as my feet slipped around.  The net result of the mud and the added miles and hills was to add almost an hour and a half (1:27) to my time from 2011.  But I'll discuss themes that came up throughout the day. And some vignettes.

Like we did at the George Washington Birthday Marathon, Jennifer W. and I ran together the entire way.  It's good practice in togetherness, as we plan to run the Black Hills 100K together in June.

Crossing Seneca Creek at Mile 3
(Ken in blue hat, gray shirt.)

The Zen of Running Long I
"If I pass you then I'll be past you.  So I won't pass you," she says on the far side of Clopper Lake. Seventeen miles into a trail run makes the statement perfectly logical.

I had just asked the runner behind Jennifer and me if she wanted to go by.  "If I pass you," she explains further, "then you'll just pass me again in a little bit.  So there is no reason to go by."  That makes sense. No need to waste physical and mental energy leapfrogging each other.

And then she passes us.  And we stayed passed as she pulls away from us.

Anger Mismanagement I
The first hint that I was to have  rare moments of anger during the run came shortly before the preceding zen moment.  I was running in front of Jennifer and another runner had joined us while we circled Clopper Lake.  We were chatting in the companionable manner that trail runners do.  Then several more runners joined our group.  I had offered to let them go by but they were content to follow and let me set the pace for our small  pack.

But for some reason this bothered me.  I'm not sure why. Maybe I felt pressure to run faster than I would otherwise.  Maybe I didn't like the perceived pressure of being in charge of pace-setting. So I dropped back a step to get even with Jennifer and told her to be ready as I was going to pick up the pace and drop the pack.  As soon as we came to a slight downslope with good footing, I appreciably picked up the tempo.  Jennifer and I separated from our group of followers.

Maybe they passed us later.  Maybe they didn't.  I still don't know why I felt a need to change the situation, as I'm generally chatty with whoever I come across on the trail.  But not at that time.

The Zen of Running Long II
At one point Jennifer and I are running alone.  We can't see anyone ahead of us or behind us.  I tell her that since we have no other points of reference, i.e., other runners, at that moment we may be leading the race or we may be last.  It is an observation that I've made at other times, but Jennifer hasn't heard me say it, so that makes it new. At least to her.

Shortly afterward some runners catch up with us.  One of them points out that until they saw and caught up with us they could not tell, within their own frame of reference, whether they were leading or trailing.

Apparently this is a common zen insight - or hallucination - of trail runners.

Anger Mismanagement II
In order for SCGT runners to see a new trail, the Seneca Ridge Trail, race creator and director Ed Schultze has the course leave the Seneca Creek Greenway Trail and follow the new trail, which he helped build.  On this muddy day it has the advantage of being away from the creek and is considerably drier.  On the other hand, it is hilly and it is a couple of miles longer.  And unlike the Greenway Trail, it has no mile posts.  Ordinarily that doesn't bother me, but today is the first time I've been on this trail, and I have not sense of the distance.  And it starts about 20 miles into the race.

As we run the hills - the downhills, by now we are walking the uphills - I am becoming angry.  I'm angry at Ed for adding these hills and these extra miles, as the course was already well over 50K.  I'm angry that I don't know where I am relative to the next aid station.  I'm angry that I've passed a sign that says "2 miles to Pringles and Other Fake Food" when I know that it is well more that two miles to that aid station (more on that below).

I can't help myself.  I yell at him, "If I had a freaking gun you'd be a dead man."  Except that I don't say "freaking" but another word that starts with "f."  Ed chuckles. "Some people had complained that that section was too flat," he says. "I hoped you enjoyed the views."

My anger spent, I concede that the views down to the creek are pretty good.  But then we cross the road and resume another couple of miles on the hills of Seneca Ridge Trail.  The anger returns.

At Route 28 Aid Station
(compliments of Don L.)

The Wit of Don L.
One of the pleasures of SCGT 50K is the aid station at Route 28, at about mile 27. It is run by Don L. and his daughter Kenna, and every year features a food theme.  And to entertain runners along the way and get them in to the mood for the food, Don puts up signs along the trail, starting 15 miles away.

Some years the signs only hint at the themes but this year the signs announce the theme, Pringles.  Don kindly sent me the text of the signs, and I present them here with some comments (mine in [] and Don's in [italics])

Just past the Route 355 crossing (about mile 11):
"What will Ed do now that he has retired as RD?"
[Ed has decided to retire as race director following the first nine years of the race that he created.]

Pringles Supermodel?
"Ed?" with arrow pointing to hand-drawn Pringles can.
[You have to see the Pringles logo to appreciate this.]

Near the underpass of the CSX tracks:
Pringles: Better than tofu!
[Referencing a previous food theme.]

Pringles: Almost better than Peeps!
[A reference to another previous food theme.]

Pringles: 42% real potatoes! Mmm!!
[This is a true statistic by the way.]

Approaching Clopper Lake (about mile 15):
Pringles: The choice of people who love their food from a can! (Dog approved!)
[Parenthetical on the sign.]

Pringles: 1 serving = 1 can

At Riffleford Road (about mile 17):
2.5 times better than potato chips!
(Where "better" means less potatoey!)
[Again, parenthetical on the sign.]

The perfect balanced diet:
Equal amounts of MSG and HFCS!

Everyone's favorite hyperbolic paraboloid!

At the Route 118 road crossing (mile 21?):
World record holder for eating Pringles during 9 consecutive SCG races.
Congrats Cathy Blessing, you maniac!
[9 was placed on an extra layer to suggest the number is being updated.]
[Cathy Blessing is one of only two persons to have run in every SCGT race. Even though she now lives in the Southwest, she returns every year for the race.]

2 miles to Pringles and Other Fake Food
[Yes, we knew the mileage was inaccurate but we were using "Ed miles".]
[This is the sign that added to my anger.]

You'll love our Pringles Original!
[small print] (We can't afford the more expensive flavors!)
[Not true: we actually had some of the more exotic flavors.]
[And the last aid station at Berryville Road (mile 31) also had exotic flavored Pringles including dill pickle.]

Starting at Black Rock Mill (about mile 25):

1 mile to Pringles and Other Lethal Food

Pringles: Stale when fresh!

Jennifer and Ken enjoy Pringles at Don's Aid Station
(Compliments of Don L.)

Pringles: Not proven to be carcinogenic!

Pringles: Because everyone loves food molded from dehydrated, uh, stuff.

1/2 mile to Pringles and Other Not Food

Welcome to Pringleville
[small print] (We also have sawdust!)

[PS: One runner came in to the aid station and accused us of being paid to advertise Pringles. Were our signs not insulting enough?]

Jennifer, who is a Pringles fan, is excited early on about the prospect of having them at the aid station, but Don's increasingly negative signs began to rob her of her excitement as we approached the aid station.

Anger Mismanagement III
Somewhere late in the race I'm feeling tired and beaten down.  A volunteer offers me the ritual "looking good" encouragement.  "Don't lie to me," I snap back.

Mad Dash
Most of the last mile of the race is on the unpaved Tschiffely Mill Road.  As we come off the path in the woods and onto the hard surface I look at my watch and tell Jennifer that if we hurry we can finish under the official cut-off of eight hours.  While the cut-off is "official,"  there are no consequences of failing to meet it.  The race awards no medals, clothing, certificates or prizes for making it.  There is absolutely no reason to hurry now.

SCGT swag
(Note that the bibs are recycled from another race.)

Today for some reason,  it is now important to me to try.  Usually I'm so tired at this point of SCGT50K that I usually walk part of Tschiffely Mill Road.

Not today.  Jennifer and I pick you the pace.  Maybe it is a chance to run on a hard surface without worrying about mud - although we still have to dodge potholes and puddles.  We push hard.  Finally, around the last slight curve in the road the finish line comes in sight.  Jennifer moves ahead of me but we both dash across the line.

Only then does the time on the clock register in my brain.  It says 8:02 and some seconds.  I look at my watch.  It says 7:59.  I want that sub-8:00 finish. "Your clock is wrong," I say to the timekeepers.  "We know" they say, "We are taking three minutes off."   My official time is posted as 7:59:27.  Jennifer is three seconds ahead of me.

George Washington Birthday Marathon - February 19, 2012

ScotchGard
I obsessively check the weather in the days leading up to the George Washington Birthday Marathon. I devour the National Weather Service Scientific Discussions, updated four times a day.  The main conclusion of the discussions is that the weather for Sunday, February 19 is going to be very hard to predict.  The various models are in disagreement and slight changes in the speed or direction of a southward moving cold front and an eastward moving low means that it may rain, or snow, or not, or both, and be early in the day, or later, or not at all.  Some of the extended forecasts end with a cheery admission that meterological forecasting is still subject to uncertainty: "Stay tuned."

I decide not to take any chances and get out the ScotchGard and spray my hat, gloves, shoes and a windbreaker.  Meanwhile the meteorologists change the forecast every six hours, sometimes with precipitation earlier, sometimes later, sometimes greater probabilities of precipitation, sometimes lower.

I've paid my entry fee so I'll be there.  The weather promises a risk of hypothermia, as I know that waterproofing won't stand up to five hours in the rain or snow.  Someone asks me what's my medical insurance deductible, reminding me that there is another component to the cost-benefit analysis.

Sunday's weather is proving to be difficult to forecast, even on Saturday. The chances of precipitation are dropping and moving toward later in the day. Nevertheless, Saturday night I Scothgard the outer shirt I plan to wear on Sunday.

Compost Facility

Jennifer and me around Mile 13

I pick up Mark Z. on the way to Greenbelt for the start of the race.  We get there and meet Jennifer W. and CM M.  Jennifer is ordinarily much faster than me (having run 3:46 at last year's Marine Corps Marathon compared to my 4:29) but she hasn't been running much the past couple of months and just plans to do it as a training run.  She agrees to take the early start with me while the faster Mark and CM plan to take the regular start an hour later.

The weather has decided to cooperate, and while it is a bit cool, there is no precipitation.  The 30 or so early starters cross the line about 9:35 a.m. and Jennifer and I head out.

The course consists mostly of three loops around the US Department of Agriculture experimental facility in Greenbelt.  Around mile 2 the course takes a bit of a one-time pass by the "Compost Laboratory Facility."  In previous years this has been a particularly fragrant portion of the run, but this year this is virtually no odor.  Jennifer grew up on a farm in South Dakota and I had been extolling the virtues of this portion of the course. She seems a bit disappointed for our olfactory disappointment and proceeds to rank the scents of various manures for me: horse, 'almost pleasant;' pig, 'foul;' cow, 'in between;' and rabbit urine' 'the worst.'  She will be visiting the family farm in June so she'll have an opportunity to be reacquainted with them.

After taking the first two miles too fast, we settle into a moderate pace on the rolling, moderately hilly two lane road through fields and woods that make up one of the three sides of the loop.  The first aid station at mile six is manned and we get something to drink before going on.  Last year early starters could not count on aid stations being open early in the day so this is a pleasant surprise.

The roads have a lot of camber to them and I try to run on the double yellow lines in the center.  This is the most level part of the road and I'm trying to avoid aggravating my iliobitial band by running on the canted surface by the edge of the road.  A race official comes by in a giant pick-up truck and reminds me that the roads are open to traffic and that I should get to the side.  I do, and as soon as he drives off, I return to the middle of the road.  A few hundred yards down the road he stops, and I again move to the side.  Once he drive off for good, I return to the center.

Relentless Forward Progress
We finish our first loop and begin the second.  About a mile into it we are passed by the race leader on his first loop.  Soon a couple more leaders go by, and around mile 12 for us and mile 5 for him, last year's winner Karsten Brown passes us. I tell him that there are three runners pretty far ahead.  He replies that it takes the pressure off and that he can just run and enjoy the day.(He finishes fourth in 2:54, seven minutes behind the winner).

Dragging along at mile 17
(courtesy Kenny A.)

Jennifer's lack of training starts to show and we walk some of the uphills.  While she as had some issues with gel causing side stitches in the past, she accepts my offer of one, and later in the day and a second with no ill effects.  She and I also take two Succeed electrolyte capsules each during the day.

Around mile 12 friend Kenny A. flies past.  He's running the second leg on a relay team.  He's fast and his team goes on to finish third in the men's division of the relay race.

The middle miles of a marathon are the least pleasant. The early miles are fueled by adrenalin and the later miles are fueled by determination, but the middle miles are never memorable. They are the place you make relentless forward progress. Between miles 10 and 21 our pace drops to over 11 minutes per mile for each mile save one.  We finish our second loop around mile 17.  Kenny is there and yells words of encouragement.

I try to help make the time pass by singing for Jennifer - more like reciting, as my singing makes children cry and animals flee. Two songs are stuck in my head, Junior Brown's Highway Patrol ("I got a star on my car and one on my chest") and Willie Nelson's Red-headed Stranger ("He shot her so quick they had no time to warn her").  But I can't remember all the lyrics and make a botch of the attempts.

We start our third and final loop.  At mile 21 I look at my watch and see that we have been running for about 3:53.  I tell Jennifer that we have a chance to finish in under 5 hours if we push it a bit.  She agrees to try and we pick up the pace. It's not a big bump in our pace, but we increase the tempo to comfortably under 11 minutes per mile.

And then, before we have reached mile 23 a voice from behind says, "Hi, guys."  It's CM. She's started about 55 minutes after us and is passing us.  She looks fresh and although she badly rolls her ankle a few hundred yards from the finish, she goes on to collect her first sub-four hour marathon at 3:53 and finish third in her age group.

Jennifer and I push on even as we watch CM disappear into the distance.  We thank the mysterious man who every year appears on a particularly lonely portion of the course with a boombox blasting music for the runners.

We even partly run up the notorious 'hill of doom' at mile 25.  Jennifer has caught a second wind while it is my turn to be winding down.  I tell her to go on ahead but she sticks with me.  We run the last two-tenths of a mile down a bike path being reconstructed that requires one to watch one's footing (and causes CM's ankle roll) and finish in 4:50. That's good for 151/207 overall; 104/139 male; 14/24 60-69 AG.)

GW Birthday Marathon Swag

We collect our finisher's medal and head to the Greenbelt Youth Center where the post-race food is being served.  Jennifer gets a couple of pieces of pizza and heads home to take her children to a movie.  I have several pieces of pizza, some spaghetti and meatballs, cookies and Coke and sit with CM, her husband George, friend Holly and her favorite stuffed penguin.

No one has seen or heard from Mark.  He had raced away from CM at the regular start.  Jennifer and I didn't see him pass us and CM doesn't recall passing him.  Calls to his mobile go unanswered.  After a little while in strolls into the center.  Apparently CM had passed him and neither had spotted one another.  He finished in 4:20.

Rosaryville Veterans' Day 50K, November 12, 2011

Jeanne Lou Who

My Name is Beelzebub, but All My Friends Call Me Bud
"I thought that you had fooled me," Rebecca R. says as she spots me waiting for the beginning of the Rosaryville Veterans Day 50K put on by the Annapolis Striders.  Ever since the Marine Corps Marathon I had encouraged her to come out and run the race, pointing out that it was an easy 50K and that since it was three loops, she could drop out after only one or two.  She wouldn't commit, saying maybe she'd run two loops.  I had gotten there early, registered and then sat in the car to keep warm, and she had thought that after all that urging, it was me who had not shown up.

But I was there and she and I both know - I having told her in advance - that I would be trying to persuade her to run the entire race.  "I have a conference call at 2:00 p.m.," she announces, trying to preempt any early attempts of mine to begin lobbying for her to run the entire race.  I smile.  "I'm sure you'll make it.  An ambiguous "it."  The call or the 50K?   The Devil has begun his work.

Jeanne Lou Who sings a stirring a capella version of the National Anthem and the approximately 100 runners are off at 8:00 a.m.   Under six hours is before 2:00 p.m., the time of Rebecca's call.

Rebecca and I take it easy and chat through the first loop.  Caroline W. catches up with us and mentions that she is going to run the Rocky Raccoon 100 miler in February.  It sounds like fun, I think.

Vultures' Banquet

The Circle of Life I

A large solitary bird circles above the edge of a clearing as we run under some power lines. I'm no birder, but I recognize the bird as a vulture.  I'm not sure whether it it a turkey or black vulture, but it is clearly a vulture.  And then on the ground just off the trail I see the reason for the vulture.  A deer carcass lies just off the side of the trail, and it's obvious that the vultures have been feeding on it.  The presence of today's runners is going to disrupt the vultures from doing their job of disposing of carcasses.

Rebecca and I chat about her coming conference call, which is to prepare for a group presentation she has to make in a couple of days.  I ask her who is on it, and what her goals on the call are.  Ostensibly I'm trying to help her prepare, but Lucifer has many wiles, and I working to reduce the pressure of making the call at precisely 2:00 p.m.

Existential Breakfast Aid Station

Do You Have an Extension Cord?
There are two aid stations on the 10-mile loop, about five miles apart.  They have the usual ultra-food of soda, sports drink, cookies, M&Ms, boiled potatoes, Pringles, orange slices and the like and are much appreciated by the runners.  But out in the woods beside the trail are a pair of whimsical aid station-like shrines.  One consists of various bottles and containers. The second has a pair of coffee urns, other pots and metal objects and a toaster.  I joke about the need for a very long extension cord to power up this unmanned aid station.

Back at the aid station at the end of the first loop, Rebecca and I discard some layers of clothing as the day has begun to warm up into the 50s.  It's perfect running weather and the bright sun penetrates through the leafless trees to the trail.  The yellow and brown leaves on the ground provided a burnished golden glow to the course.

A couple of miles into the second loop, Rebecca realizes that she can spot her car parked about 100 yards from the trail. "Well," I say, "you can always start the third loop and quit here to do your conference call."

We press on, both of us enjoying the day.  I've forgotten my watch, so I don't have much of an idea of how we are doing timewise.  I tweet about being "halfway done" at 11:08 a.m., which suggests to me that we are behind a six-hour pace.  But I'm not that concerned about it.  It is to get Rebecca to run her second 50K.

Ken and Rebecca on the First Loop

Belial at Work
Now, halfway through the second loop, at the end of which Rebecca will make her decision whether to go on or not, it's time for The Tempter to lure her over to the dark side.

Earlier I had told her that since I'm parked closer to the finish line, I'll give her a ride to her car so she can make the call.  And, of course, conference calls never start on time.  And since the call is going to review a 50-slide deck, it will take awhile.  And the points she wants to make can easily be made at the end of the call.

The choice should be simple: get on a work-related conference call with her boss or run in the woods. Abaddon's role is to sow confusion and doubt as to which is the right choice.  The seeds have been sown during the first three hours of the run.  Now is the time for The Tempter to reap.  And the best course to do this is to let the day, and the paradise that is the Rosaryville trail this day do the work.

As we approach where the trail leaves the woods for the aid station at the beginning of the third and final loop I ask Rebecca if she has made a decision.  The Old Serpent is preparing for the struggle.

"Yes," she says, "I'm going on." As the Book of Genesis, in 3:6, says, "when the woman saw that the tree was good . . ., and that it was pleasant to the eyes, and a tree to be desired . . ., she took of the fruit thereof, and did eat."  No need for further cajoling.

"Let's push the pace," I say.  "We still have a shot at six hours."

The Circle of Life II
A mile or so into the loop a runner exclaims, "Look at the wild turkeys."  We look to the right and down toward the side of a stream.  There are about a dozen large birds milling about.  Turkeys are often hard enough to spot in the underbrush, but a whole flock in a clearing is remarkable.  I look closer. "Those aren't turkeys," I say, but turkey vultures."  As they hop about and some begin to fly off we see what they were doing - feasting on the carcass of another deer.

Second loop after shedding layers

When You Get Passed, You Stay Passed
Our quicker pace has us passing other runners. I tell Rebecca that we are like lions, hunting down antelope on the plains of the Serengeti.  It's a mind game that I frequently play in those infrequent times that I actually have a chance to overtake other runners.  But I recall that she is a vegetarian, so I amend the image.  "We are giraffes," I say, "seeking the blossoms of the jacaranda trees ahead."

I also tell her, after we have passed Brady H. with about three miles to go that in my experience, once you pass someone in the latter stages of a race, they stay passed.

As we come off the trail and onto the road for the last half or three quarters of a mile to the finish, Rebecca asks if I want to know what our time is.  I tell her no, that I want to try to push to get under six hours.

. . . Or Not
Not far up the road, Brady runs passed me.  "You were supposed to stay passed," I sputter good naturedly.  She invites me to keep up, but not only is that not to be, but she goes on to pass another runner further ahead.

As I approach the finish line, I can see the clock.  But unlike last year, when a mad dash allowed me to finish one second under six hours, there is no chance of that this year.  I finish in 6:07:51, with Rebecca nine seconds behind.

Lucifer Keeps His Promise
Rebecca and I hustle to my car, and we quickly dash to the next parking area to her car.  She hops out and gets into her car to join her conference call at about 2:10.  I head back to the finish area to get a bit to eat.

Rosaryville swag - hat and bib

About ten minutes later, she returns.  She got on the call before it was over and made and won the points she wanted to make.

I finished 3/7 in my age group, fortieth male, and 62/92 overall.

And Rebecca got to both run her second 50K and make her work-related call.

Not a bad day for the Devil and his new recruit.