Colossal Vail 50/50 50 Mile - November 9, 2019

Rather than the usual linear report, this one on the Colossal Vail 50/50 50 miler is topical.

For those who prefer linear, here is the short version: from La Posta Quemada Ranch we ran south on the Arizona Trail for 16.9 miles in about 4:11. We turned around and ran north on the Arizona Trail for 24.8 miles in another 7:20. We turned around and run south on the Arizona Trail for 8.5 miles in 2:44 until we returned to La Posta Quemada Ranch for a total elapsed time of 14:15:47. There we stopped running and accepted the finisher's railroad spike.

Finisher's spike.

Encounter
"It's a Moave," Avery says.

Rattler!

I've just come to a dead stop, having seen in time the snake on the single track about three feet ahead.   Avery is behind me and Emaad behind him. I'm no herpetologist, but I recognized the triangular shaped head and the rattles on the tail as those of a rattlesnake and hit the brakes. Now Avery has ID'd the snake as one of the more venomous of the snakes on the planet.

It is about three feet long and stretched out on the trail, head facing us. It is deathly still. Emaad comes forward to take a picture.  I toss small pebbles in its direction hoping to urge it into the undergrowth on either side of the trail - or to see if it is alive. It does not move. At all. We are at a standoff.  Finally Emaad decides that we need to go around, and he steps on a flattened dead prickly pear cactus and goes around.  The snake still does not move and no unseen ones strike at him.  Avery and I follow.

Safely past, I kick dirt toward the still unmoving snake's tail.  It whips its head around and I bolt down the trail, not interested in further interactions. We warn several runners headed in the opposite direction of what may lie ahead for them.

Early on.

Concierge Service
Ultra aid stations are invariably staffed by helpful volunteers. But the five aid stations (four of which one visited twice on the double out and back course) were beyond outstanding and worthy of five-star Yelp reviews for service. They all had the usual assortment of ultra-race food: cookies, potato chips, candy, PB&J sandwiches, gels, various hot food and water and sports drink.  But they also had volunteers who immediately offered to refill your pack and bring food to me as I sat down to go through my drop bag.  There were tables at the Sahuarita Aid Station, so one could sit and easily rummage through a drop bag.  And sitting around a table with other runners was even more convivial than the usual friendliness that occurs among ultrarunners. 

Where's Waldo? At  Sahuarita Road AS.
(Photo by E. Burki)

At the Pistol Hill Aid station more than one volunteer warned us of how much time we had left to depart in order to make the impending cutoff.  No one wanted to see a runner get timed out because they were too comfortable sitting down.

There is Always Someone Crazier
Southbound, after crossing through the tunnel under I-10 (about mile 7)  we come across someone with a backpack and a worn baseball cap.  He was a through hiker, headed south to the Arizona Trail's southern terminus at the Mexican border.  He had been on the trail about seven weeks, and only had maybe another 50 miles or so to go to finish his 800 mile journey.  He was content in his journey and we wished him well.

The I-10 tunnel.

After we finished our journey to the southern turn-around at the Peaks View aid station and returned to the  Sahuarita Road aid station (mile 22.8) we met the hiker a second time and had a chance to chat with him.  Turns out this was his second through hike on the AZT, having gone south to north - Mexico to Utah - two years ago.  And he mentioned that he had done several other thru hikes as well.

Later in the day, perhaps approaching La Selvilla aid station (mile 36) we come across another thru hiker.  He's been on the trail for six and a half weeks or so.  By then dusk is approaching, but he doesn't seem fazed.

Headed toward Sahuarita Road AS
(Photo by E. Burki)

You Are Where?
Emaad leaves the Sahuarita Aid Station northbound (mile 22.8) ahead of me.  I'm changing shirts, refilling my pack, giving raw honey packs I picked up on the trial to other runners and getting a bite to eat.  Although we generally run together it isn't unusual for one or the other of us to leave an aid station alone and have the other catch up.

I head out and after a bit can spot him a little ahead. The trail drops down into a dry wash that goes under Highway 83, then makes a right out of the wash on the other side of the road.  After a bit the view of the trail opens up and I can see a pair of runners ahead, but not Emaad. I begin to think that he has sped up and passed them. I'm not making any progress in catching up to them, but as the trail ascends and descends the rolling desert I can't see him either ahead of them or behind them.

Headed south.
(Photo by The Viking)

Passing back thru the tunnel under I-10 (about mile 26.5) I turn off airplane mode on my phone to text Sandy that I'm still alive and progressing. I see a message from Emaad that he is at mile 25. But since I had my phone off I figure that was from earlier.  Approaching the Gabe Z aid station I text him I'm at mile 28 and put the phone back in airplane mode.  At the aid station I start to get concerned that maybe he isn't ahead of me.  I recall that he has a low bib number 6? or 8? and ask the volunteer who is checking runners in and out of aid stations if either has been thru recently. Bib 6 has so I know he is ahead of me. I exit airplane mode and see a message waiting for me, "OK, mile 28.4." I text "You are maybe a half mile ahead of me. Keep going. Don't wait for me. I'm fine. Going back in airplane mode."

Near the southern turnaround.
(Photo by E. Burki)

On I run. Approaching the turnoff at Posta Quemada Ranch for the 55K finish I catch up with Avery. We chat and leapfrog each other until we are on the other side of a small canyon leading down to Agua Verde Creek.

Then a voice calls my name.  I stop and look across the canyon.  It is Emaad.  He's behind me. (Turns out his bib number was 9, not 6.)

When he catches up he explains that he made a wrong turn at the wash passing under Highway 83.  In that short period I passed him, unaware that he had left the trail.  He was likely never more than a quarter to a half mile behind me, and said that he could occasionally see me ahead.

Good that he caught up, because out rattlesnake encounter lay less than a mile ahead.

Dark Places and the Zone
Marathons have "the wall," a spot in the race when things start to go wrong and you feel exhausted. Ultras have their own version of the wall, a dark place where doubt and despair set in.  It may be physically based, but it is more a mental state.

I enter the dark place around mile 34 or 35, with the rattlesnake behind and La Selvilla aid station a couple of miles ahead.  This is the longest stretch of the race between aid stations, 7.2 miles from Gabe Z to La Selvilla. We've been going for nine or nine and a half hours. The sun is getting low.  And we are going up and down the sides of Posta Quemada Canyon.  What really gets me down, I realize later, is that the aid station isn't where I thought it was going to be.

The whining commences.  I should have signed up for the 55K.  I could have bailed at the 55K turnoff. I'm tired. Why do I do these things? The uphills are steep.  There are too many uphills. Where is the aid station? Whine, whine, whine.

Finally we reach the aid station. They tell us us we have about an hour to get to the Pistol Hill aid station (mile 39.1)  three miles ahead to make the 11 hour cutoff.

There is something about having a short-term goal to focus one's attention and get out of the cave of darkness. Three miles - one hour - 20 minutes per mile. Doable.  Let's go.

After a mile or so Avery, who had fallen behind us, passes us.  The La Selvilla volunteers had lit a fire under him as well.  He goes on.

We make Pistol Hill in about 44 minutes, with about 16 minutes to spare.  I plunk down in a chair, get a headlamp from my drop bag, and get a refueling from the accommodating volunteers. One reminds me that I have ten minutes to get going, another says 11.  No matter. Off we go. No pressure now. We have four hours to go 11 miles.

Sunset on the way to the northern turnaround.

The sun sets as we head to the turnaround 2.4 miles ahead. Back to Pistol Hill (mile 44.2) and we are single digit miles to the finish.  I'm feeling in the zone. Not tired, not sore, Energizer Bunny activated. It's a state of mind. I'm not actually moving very fast, but the apparent effort is not taxing.

Emaad, on the other hand, has entered the dark lands.  While I try to cheer him up, the shadows are internal, and one ultimately has to find one's own way out.  What finally works for him is hearing the music from the finish a half mile out and then seeing the lights from the trail.

Now perky he accelerates toward the finish.  I continue my steady pace, or plod. He stops and yells back that he will wait for me.  I tell him to go on, and he finishes 26 seconds in front of me.

Avery, having accomplished making the cutoff, eases up the last few miles to finish in 14:31.

Swag: Shirt, poster, Huppy Bar, bib, finisher's spike. 

Pennypack Trail Fest 60K - October 26, 2019

Driving in the Night
Game 3 of the World Series, the first in Washington since 1934, starts at 8:07 p.m. and takes 4:03 to complete. It is my first World Series game ever (a bucket list item) and the Nats 4-1 loss to the Astros is disappointing. (The Nats go on to become World Champions with a thrilling wins in games 6 and 7 - Fight Finished!) But as I do whether the game is in April or October I stay to the last pitch.  Never mind that I have the Pennypack Trailfest 60K in Philadelphia at 7:30 the next morning.

After a walk to the car, I start at about 12:30 a.m to drive to Villanova, where I will be staying for the weekend with Emaad's cousin.  Fortunately where I am parked and the way I'm going enables me to avoid any congestion from the fans leaving the game. Adaptive cruise control and lane departure warning technology on my car, coupled with light traffic makes the driving easy and with only a quick pit stop for gas I arrive at about 3 a.m.

I manage a bit less than three hours of sleep, but that should be enough. There will be plenty of time to rest once the race is run.

It would not be an Uberendurance race without
polka music on the course.

Preview
The race is three loops of a 20K course, enabling three different race distances: 20K, 40K and 60K. The starts are staggered a half hour apart, with the longer distances going off earlier.  About half the course covers portions of the Dirty German course, which Emaad and I ran in May. The rest of the course is about what we expect from Pennypack Park trails: mostly single track, up and down but nothing too long or steep, wooded, enough rocks and roots to require paying attention and a modest stream crossing or two. Three aid stations (one visited twice) per loop means a water bottle will suffice.

Starting Out
Up just before 6 a.m. provides sufficient time to eat a large Bismark doughnut from Beiler's bakery at the Germantown (MD) Dutch Market. Emaad handles the 40 minute drive and we get a parking place near the entrance to the park. I'm mildly regretting my choice of breakfast food.

Packet pickup is easy at the pavilion at the start/finish is quick and easy. We will come past here at the end of each lap, so no need to worry about what to put in a drop bag - we have everything. The weather is near perfect, with temperature at the 7:30 start in the low 50s and a bit of overcast.  I select a long-sleeve shirt for the first loop and figure I'll change to short sleeves for the subsequent loops.

Contemplating the start - with backwards shirt

Off the 46 or so 60K runners go promptly at 7:30. Unlike Dirty German, the Trailfest runs in a counterclockwise direction. We haven't gone a minute and I realize that I have left my water bottle behind. Since the aid stations are not much more than 3 miles apart and the day isn't hot, I'm not particularly concerned.  And I know that after one loop I'll be able to pick it up when we return to the start/finish.

After about a mile Emaad notes that I'm wearing my shirt backwards.  No problem. I pull my arms out of the sleeves, twist the shirt around and reinsert my arms into the correct sleeves.

But it does make me think that maybe the sleep deficit is a factor in the two snafus at the start.

Loops
By mile 5 or 6 the leaders of the 40K race overtake us. By mile 8 or so the leaders of the 20K race are passing us.  It's OK. We know we are not fast. We will be lapped by 60K leaders (and followers) in the second loop). Emaad and I go on, not in a hurry. Our goal is to finish under the 10 hour cutoff. Quite a modest goal indeed.  So we chat with runners that pass us and the occasional runner who stays with us for a bit. 

Ready to start another loop.

We don't linger at the aid stations, but we don't hurry thru them either. At one aid station the bacon has just come out of the frying pan. It is too hot for me to hold, so I dunk it in a cup of water to cool it off. It is an inspired move - the bacon is cooled down and I have bacon-flavored water to drink.

At another aid station a volunteer recognizes me from the pose I struck at the end of Blues Cruise 50K three weeks previous as he was the finish line photographer, Jim Blandford.  He thanks me for giving him the photo credit and I thank him for both volunteering and taking the photos.

At the end of the first loop I change from my long-sleeve shirt to a red short sleeve Nats "Curly W" shirt. I won't be going to game 4 - or game 5 for that matter but I can show support for the Nats.

Nearing the end of the second loop we catch up with a 40K runner on her second loop.  We chat and then she goes ahead again and disappears around a bend. But we soon catch her. She is standing at the side of the trail and her legs are quivering.  She had fallen, apparently tripping on a depression, and had dirt from her knees to her chest. Fortunately she didn't hit her face or head and was perhaps more shaken up than injured. she tells us to go on as she starts to walk. Later, within a mile of the finish, she runs past us.

Posing in Thoreau's Hut

We stop for pictures at Thoreau's Hut, a piece of public art in the park.

As we start the third loop I tell Emaad that we need to pick up the pace to finish under 10 hours.  We have been quibbling about the length of the loops - I claim they are 11.7 miles; he claims something shorter, maybe 11.25 miles.  It is a silly, friendly argument that is utterly irrelevant - we are racing the clock, not the length of the loop.  We did the first loop in 2:47 and the second in 3:21, so we need to finish the third in about 3:51. Since we were about a half hour slower on the second loop, dropping another half hour would work for our goal. But I'm worried that we might lose even more time, so we do pick up the pace, or at least our apparent effort increases.

Every mile I calculate the pace we need to maintain for the remaining miles. But my arithmetic skills are erratic - a phenomenon well known to ultrarunners - and the supposed required pace bounces around for no reason other than computational error.  Finally, with about five miles left, it is apparent that we will succeed.

The Benches.

And then Emaad starts asking why not change the finish goal from 10 hours to nine and a half. "Because I don't care," I reply. But he does care. And with a couple of miles left and a new goal in hand, he takes off when I decide to photograph "The Benches" another piece of public art in the park.

Done photographing I go on.  I glance at my watch, do some mental arithmetic and decide that Emaad was right.  It is time for a new goal. With just a mile or so left maybe I can go under 9:30. So I pick up my pace. Even though this is the third loop, I become increasingly concerned that I have gone off course as I don't see a pink ribbon for quite some time. Just as I'm getting ready to hit the brakes and start backtracking, I spot one. Confidence restored, I go on.

Pennypack Creek

I cross Pennypack Creek on the sidewalk of Pine Road and make the left onto the field leading to the finish line at the pavilion. I can seen the clock, and realize that I won't be done under 9:30 but with a bit of a push I finish in 9:30:40. Emaad is waiting for me, have finished in 9:25.

I'm 45 of 46 overall and 38 of 38 males (DFL!). As I cross the finish line a volunteer first hands me my finishers cap and asks my age, and tells me that I have finished third in my age group. My reward is a nice German Wetterhaus with thermometer.

While most of the finish has been packed up, a volunteer brings Emaad and I some German potato salad and a bratwurst on a bun. 

Meet a Champion
We meet up again with Jim Blandford who is helping with the finish line clean-up and learn that he is much, much more than a mere aid station volunteer and sometime volunteer race photographer.  It takes a bit of prying to learn that he is a Massanutten Mountain Trails 100 Mile winner. (He doesn't mention his two third place finishes either.) And while we talk about running Bull Run Run 50 Mile, he only mentions his ten finishes, not that he won this year's edition (his second BRR win) and he as five other top seven finishes.  Many ultrarunners are modest, but Jim is a champion in that, too.

Swag: Hat, hoodie, bib, 3rd Place AG Wetterhaus.

Blues Cruise 50K - October 6, 2019

What am I thinking?
(Photo by J. Blanford)

A Meditation on Motivation

As I finish the Blues Cruise 50K I strike a Usain Bolt-like pose.  Looking at the picture a couple of days later I wonder why.

Would I have done so if there had not been a photographer? Do we do things because we want others to see us?  Certainly.  But even without the camera there are people at the finish line.  I've done this before (see "The Gods Strike Down Hubris" in my Bighorn Trail 32M Run report). So I'm showing off.

If I were someone who fit the facts to the desired conclusions (you, dear reader, do it too) I could claim that i was simply pointing to the "Finish" sign.  Alternatively, I was pointing to the clock, which showed that I finished under the official 8-hour cutoff. (Last one to do so I'll immodestly point out.) But neither of those are true.

Perhaps it was a self-mocking pose. When you barely finish under the official cut-off, and you are 316 of 354 overall; 207 of 225 males; 10 of 12 in your age group and post an ultrasignup rank of 48.82% (meaning the winner was done before you had covered 49 percent of the course), you have much to self-depreciate.

On the other hand, I was the second oldest finisher and that's something to celebrate.  I can still show up and get to the finish. And after a couple of inauspicious performances at Maryland Heat Race (cramps) and Hell Hath No Hurry (DNF), it was rewarding to succeed - however modestly defined or measured.

Pre-Race Hydration
I meet Emaad at our hotel late in the afternoon Saturday after a drive from Long Island where I attended my [not telling which one] Chaminade High School reunion. On my way to Reading I stopped at Roadside America in Shartlesville, which I recalled visiting when I was a child. At that time the 7,450 square foot miniature landscape was on Route 22 and we would pass it on the way to visit my grandparents. It is in the same location, but now just off I-78, which was built on top of the old Route 22 right-of-way. It opened in 1953 and I can report that it is unchanged since then. It was just like it was when I saw it as a child.

 We go down to Penn Avenue in West Reading, a surprisingly active stretch of shops and restaurants.  And breweries and beer shops. We start with a couple at Broken Chair Brewery and chat with a couple filling time before going to their daughter's high school homecoming. Next stop is the Barley Mow where several dogs are present with their owners. Finally we go to Chatty Monks Brewing for another beer and dinner.  Walking to the car, we finish with ice cream at Sweet Ride Ice Cream.

Race Day
The forecast is iffy, with rain or showers possible and temperatures around 60 degrees. I decide to start with a camelback into which I put an emergency poncho. I put a hand-held bottle and a pair of shirts in my drop bag which will be at Aid Station 5 (mile 18).

Emaad and I at the start.

A 15 minute drive from the hotel gets us to the start/finish area. We park, collect our bibs and race premiums and wait in the car until five minutes before the start.

The race starts at 8:30 under cloudy skies with temperature in the upper 50s. I ran Blues Cruise in 2007 on a day that temperatures reached 90 degrees, so the cooler weather is welcome.  At that time the course was an out-and-back but circumnavigating the lake seems like a more interesting course.

Just over a mile into the race I recognize the intersection where in 2007 I turned right instead of left. That mistake, and the resulting backtracking, added at least a mile to my day. Since we won't be returning today I don't have to worry about repeating the error.

Somewhere in first half of race

(Photo by J. Langston)

I also feel my back is getting wet even though there is no rain.  It turns out that the bladder of my camelback has a pinhole leak allowing a small but noticeable amount of liquid to drip out.

Emaad and I reach the first aid station (mile 3.6) in 47:52, a nice pace as we chat with the surrounding runners. In another 3 miles we reach the second aid station (mile 6.6).  The first part of the course is generally flat, with only a few gentle ups and downs. The terrain remains similar as we reach the third aid station (mile 9.8) after crossing a bridge to the other side of Blue Marsh Lake.

I recall the aid station from 12 years ago.  "Do you have any beer?" I ask, recalling this as the first aid station in my ultrarunning experience where beer was available.  At first the volunteer is evasive but when I tell about my 2007 experience he gets out an IPA and we split it. Nothing like a good beer at 10:30 in the morning!

This side of the course is hillier and we go up and down longer slopes. They are not bad but the ascents and descents start to extract a price. My chronically  bad knee means that I can no longer run well down hill, so there is no making up for the time lost in walking uphill.

Around mile 16
Emaad in orange, center left

At Aid Station 4
(Photo by E. Burki)

We reach aid station four (mile13.5) in 3:09.  The aid station is Hawaiian-themed. We grab the usual food and drink (no beer here!) and go on.  It is a bit of a trek to the fifth aid station, 4.7 miles, but it is the Oktoberfest themed station (mile 18.3) and our drop bags await.

I change out of my long-sleeved shirt and into a short-sleeved one and exchange my camelback for my handheld bottle.  I also make sure to get a drink of some Oktoberfest beer before resuming.

Not ten minutes after leaving the aid station and it starts to rain. The poncho that I stowed in case of rain is behind me in the pouch of the camelback that I just left in my drop bag.

The rain is intermittent: sometimes light, sometimes non-existent, sometimes moderate.  It reminds me of the 2015 Madrid Marathon, but with slightly warmer temperatures.  I know that so long as we continue to run there is little risk of hypothermia.

Of course by now there is less running than earlier and more walking. The metrics on that don't lie: I did the first 3.6 miles to AS1 in 47:52, and the 3.4 miles from AS5 to 6 in 58:55.

The Oktoberfest crew at AS 5 (mile 18.3). Prost!
(Photo by C. Hill)

As we move along, we can hear a women yelling encouragement to runners.  We can't locate the source. Is it an acoustical trick from the finish? That doesn't seem likely.  After awhile it begins to annoy me.  I'm not running well and this repeated cheering from somewhere that we do not seem to be getting any closer to is mocking me.  Emaad, on the other hand, is encouraged by it.  Finally we come upon the cheering Lynne R. She has been doing this for years (dressed in her finest German dirndl costume) and the runners love it, giving them a boost around mile 21. In a minority of one, I apparently would rather wallow in a puddle composed of equal parts self-pity and self-loathing rather than get encouragement. Maybe if she were at the finish I would have felt differently.

We get to aid station 6 (mile 21.7) sooner than expected. For some reason it isn't as far as from the previous aid station as we expected.  We refuel and press on. The rain comes and goes. The trail remains in good condition.

Because AS6 was closer than expected, the final aid station is further. Eventually we arrive and I plunk down in a chair to adjust my socks. And to sip on the beer that is available.  We have no sense of urgency.

The rain continues to come and go, but by now some of the single track is collecting water and mud is forming. But  no matter, we have seen much worse mud this year at both Seneca Creek Greenway Trail and Hell Hath No Hurry  But these last 4.6 miles never seem to end, and my heart sinks when we reach the road that goes to the start/finish area and have to run past it to get to a trail on the other side.  Emaad finally goes on ahead and I am fairly reduced to walking (OK, we've been mostly walking the last few miles).  Finally the trail bends back to the park road. A runner tells me that she needs to pick it up to get a PR.

I glance at my watch for the first time in awhile and see that I'm closing in on the 8-hour official cut-off.  This bestirs me and I start running, now determined to finish under that mark.  Shortly I can see the finish line and the clock and know I can do it. And the finish line photo shows my - relief? elation? sense of accomplishment?

Swag: Bag, Shirt, Beanie, Medal, Bib

MD Heat Race 25K - August 17, 2019

Be Prepared
Having experienced the toll that heat, hills and humidity can take at Hell Hath No Hurry in June, I prepare for this year's version of the MD Heat Race 25K (for one, by opting not to do the 50K) accordingly.  MD Heat promises equivalent amounts of the three Hs.  My preparation, as it turns out, is not quite well enough.

Friday night I pack my bag, which we will return to after 5 miles and then at the finish, by putting in an extra shirt and handkerchief to change out. Rather than fill my handheld bottle with water I opt to fill it with sports drink.  A pillbox with salt tablets goes in my pocket and gels go in the pouch on the handheld.

Go Horizontal - I

Pre-race resting
(photo by E. Burki)

Emaad picks me up and we make the half hour drive to the park-and-ride lot off of I-195 where we board the bus to take us into Patapsco Valley State Park,  We get our bibs and talk with other runners in the pavilion at the start-finish where the post-race party also takes place.  I place my bag on a low pavilion wall by the course for easy access at mile five, and lay on the wall to await the start.

Race Director Nick calls everyone to the start for a pre-race briefing which includes explicit warnings related to heat stroke.  He warns everyone that if you stop sweating and start to feel chills, you are not experiencing heat exhaustion, but heat stroke and to stop running, and not to try to get to the next aid station. Help will come for you.

Then Nick blurts out "Ready, set, go!" and leads the 200 runners across the field and toward the bridge to cross to the other side of the Patapsco River for the five mile lollipop part of the course.

Lollipop

Early on (mile 1?)
(photo by Kirk Masterson)

In less than a half mile, we go through the iconic tunnel under the railroad tracks and head uphill.  The course is hilly (advertised as over 2200 feet of climb and descent) and it lives up to it from the outset.  We go up, with Nick amongst us.  I kid him about running the entire race, but he responds that he has already run the course about six times this week, and that is enough.

A couple of miles into our climb, Emaad says that I should look to see who is behind us.  Fearing falling, I don't look but the voice is unmistakably's Don. He has decided at near the last chance to sign up, as he volunteered in 2015 (when he was injured and transferred his entry to me) and with an offer for a good entry price, has decided to run it.  He asks why we are going so fast and says we are on the top half of the pack.  Three possibilities come to mind: he is mistaken, the field is really slow, or we are engaged in "fly and die" pacing. We'll find out later which it is, but three miles in, there is no way to tell.  He stays with us until I stop to try to take a picture, and then is gone.

Emaad and I reach the top of lollipop within sight of the park-and-ride - a short stub trail connects to it and mountain bikers are taking advantage of the free parking - and head downhill.

Approaching the tunnel we spy a family and a photographer setting up to take pictures by a stream and jokingly threaten to photo-bomb the shoot.

Raindrops Keep Fallin' on My Head

On the wall (mile 5.5)
(photo by E. Burki)

Emaad and I arrive back at the start/finish/aid station 1 in about 1:11 minutes for the about 4.9 miles so far.  That's a good pace, but it doesn't feel stressful. We catch Don at the aid station but he goes on as I change my shirt and handkerchief, both of which are soaked with sweat.  And my shorts are soaked all the way to the bottom hem, a sign that the day is distinctly humid.

Emaad and I leave the aid station and in a half mile come to the 10 foot high wall perpendicular to the river. It may have once been part of a dam, or it may be a flood control measure, but in any case, we go to the river end of it, clamber to the top, run along it to the far end and climb back down to the trail.

Then we cross the park road and pick you the Ridge trail that more or less parallels it, but only after a medium length climb.  It's an uphill so we pretty much walk it until it levels out.

In a little while the leaves sound like they are rustling, and they are, but not from the wind.  A storm has moved over the park (even though it isn't even 11 a.m.) and the gentle rain gives way to larger drops and a steady rain.  I put my cooling rag over my head, not to stay dry but to keep rain out of my eyes.

Emaad has stopped at Cascade Falls to take pictures as I catch up with him. The rain continues and the runners are less troubled by it than some of the many hikers and children who thought they might have a nice day in the park with a hike and a visit to the falls.  Instead they are being rained upon and have runners wending around them. But they all seem in generally good spirits anyway.

Cascade Falls (mile 7.5)
(Photo by Nick Yates)

We reach Aid Station 2 at the Swinging Bridge. Elapsed time for the total of 8.3 miles we have covered is about 2:19. The rain continues and as we get some food, including bacon, and refill our bottles we take care to avoid streams of water running down the canopy protecting the volunteers.

Go Horizontal II
From the second aid station it seems that the course does nothing but go upward.  I remark that it is a sustained climb reminiscent of some that I have done in the West, as most of the eastern trails that I have run on generally top out fairly quickly .  Not this.

But the rain ends and the sun makes an appearance.  Of course, no rain brings back the heat and the humidity.  On we go. Up we go.  Finally it levels out - that it is - it becomes mostly rolling.

Near mile 12 we cross Rockburn Branch. It is a bit downhill to the stream and then uphill on the other side.

I start to get a cramp on the inside of one of my thighs. Then the other leg starts to cramp. I try leaning against a tree to stretch. Emaad pauses at the top for me.  The cramping gets worse. Then I start to feel woozy, or dizzy or lightheaded. I see a fallen tree near the top and say I will sit down on it for a bit.  I get there and lay on it more than sit on it. The cramps are continuing and I'm feeling poorly.

Unplanned log stop (~mile 12)
(photo by E. Burki)

I recall Nick's warning about heat stroke, but since I'm sweating and am not having chills and don't feel nauseous I figure it is just heat exhaustion.  I ask Emaad to get a salt tablet out of my pack and I take it. Draped lengthwise on my stomach on the fallen tree, I can't lay still because of the cramps. Runners coming by express concern but we try to assure them that the situation is manageable.  Gradually my head clears and the cramps subside.  Emaad provides me with a fallen stick for balance, but after a few yards it snaps.

Aid Station 3 turns out to be only about 300 yards away.  (For the record, it's about mile 12.5 and we are there in 3:49.) There are chairs and I sit down while I drink and rest. Another runner is also sitting. I tell Emaad that I plan to sit for another five minutes. He heads out, telling me that he'll be walking slowly.  An aid station volunteer fills my cooling rag with ice and I wrap it around my neck.

For Want of a Baggie
After the five minutes pass I get up and head out. I decide to text Emaad and let him know I'm on my way.  I take my mobile from my pocket and press the button. Blank screen. Same result from the on button.  The phone is dead, drowned from the rain and sweat in my shorts pocket.  I had neglected to put in in a baggie partly because I didn't expect the morning shower, and partly because I simply goofed.

I go on with a number of other runners. We walk, we run, we walk some more. Other runners pass us. Most of the runners pull away from me, but I pull away from the man who was also sitting at Aid Station 3. Finally, as we cross the park road for the final 30 or 40 yards to the finish line he catches up with me.  I briefly consider racing to the finish but promptly put that thought away.

Go Horizontal III

At the end as at the beginning
(photo by E. Burki)

Don and Emaad are at the finish for me.  I have a volunteer hose me down. AS I go into the pavilion Nick is just finishing giving away prizes and calls on me to give away the various items I donated - commemorative Cal Ripken Coke bottles and various other items. I do it standing on a picnic table with my shirt off and draped over my shoulder, dripping water from my hose down.  Before getting food from the fabulous selection that the race is justly know for, I go to the restrooms to change to dry clothes. It takes a while, as the leg cramps resume.

After eating some kielbasa and pulled pork and downing two sodas (and half a cup of beer) Emaad and I go to catch a ride with a volunteer back to the park-and-ride. While waiting I lay down on a picnic table. Before getting in the car I grab a third soda.

Results
I finish in 5:03:18, good for 127 of 141 overall, 77 of 85 males and 6 of 7 in my age group. Don finished in a nice 4:22 and Emaad in 4:56.  And I wasn't the oldest finisher for a change as two persons in the 70+ AG finished (the oldest one being five years older and 18 minutes faster than me).

And besides the swag pictured below, I got one more piece of hardware thanks to the race: a new mobile.

Swag: Bib, Luna bar.

Hell Hath No Hurry 50K - DNF - June 29, 2019

Prelude or Epilogue?

We are sitting at a picnic table at the finish of the Hell Hath No Hurry Trail Challenge at Settlers Cabin Park just west of Pittsburgh. It's about seven in the evening.

"I was going to say something inappropriate," Wanda [not her real name] says.

"Please do," I urge.

She takes a sip of her beer. "For doing that, I'll have your babies."

Emaad keeps his eyes down, intently studying the cheeseburger I brought him. A faint rumble of thunder sounds to the north, in the direction of our hotel.

I look at Wanda. Give a bit of a smile. Pause before answering.

Pre-Race Analytics
In 2016, while staying at my house before the 2016 Marine Corps Marathon, Peter gifts me a pair of Hell Hath No Hurry socks, a race which he founded and is the race director.

He describes it as a multiple loop course with varying distances, from 10K (one loop) to 50 miles (eight loops) with a nice cook-out at the end. For some reason I envision a stroll in the park.  Nothing hard, and maybe a bit boring with the multiple loops.  My brain disconnects that he is an experienced 100-mile runner, even though I paced him for 20 miles at the 2010 Massanutten Mountain Trail 100 Mile. And I gloss over the race's name.

Emaad and I are looking for a 50K in June and I easily convince him that this is a good race for us.  We sign up, make our hotel reservation - conveniently within a mile of the start - and I let Peter know that we are coming.

Only then do I start to do some research.  I look at previous years' results and see that the winning times are unusually slow - 6:25 in 2018, 5:25 in 2017, 5:56 in 2016, 5:58 in 2015.

The website ultrasignup.com has a deceptively simple, but surprisingly consistent, formula to compute runners' ranking.  It takes a race winner's time as the numerator and divides it by each runner's finishing time to give the other runner a percentage ranking.  For example, if the winner finishes in four hours and another runner finishes in five, the latter gets a ranking of 80 percent. Basically, it means the other runner had finished 80 percent of the race at the time when the winner finished. It is a useful tool to come up with a predicted finishing time.

I started to calculate what my expected finish time for the race should be.  My ultrasignup ranking in the races I run is usually reliably between 50 and 55 percent. Extrapolating backward, if I ran HHNH in 2018, a relatively slow year, my predicted finishing time would be about 11:40. In a fast year, like 2017, my expected time would be 9:50.  Since one had to start the fifth and final loop by the eight hour mark, there would be little margin for error even in a good year.  I belatedly realize that this is not going to be an easy race and the chance of missing the cutoff is higher than usual.

On the drive to Pittsburgh I tell Emaad my gloomy assessment.

Dinner the night before with Peter, his father and my first cousin Bob, and the rest of the family, did nothing to inspire confidence.  First Peter notes that the loops are actually more like 6.7 miles, rather than the 6.2 miles that would actually be 10k.  That's OK, a trail race distance is whatever the race director says it is.  Sometimes they are longer than advertised, sometimes shorter. He says that elevation change is about 800 feet per loop, for a total of about 4000 feet of climb and descent for the 50k.

Then his wife Jenny points out that rain on Thursday night will help make the course muddy.  Peter adds that the trails were laid out by Boy Scouts who were not particularly skilled in trail routing so muddy areas abound. Peter then surprises his father, who will be manning the grill at the end, by telling him that he will be running on Saturday. "Like a loop or two," Bob says. "No," Peter replies, "All eight.  I'm running the 50 miler."

Race Day
The 50K does not start until 10 a.m. so Emaad and I have time to go off for a good diner breakfast.  The day promises to be hot and and humid, so I pack five shirts and handkerchiefs, figuring that I can change them every loop.

Approaching the Heaven Aid Station

A few minutes of driving gets us to the park, and a short walk takes us to the covered pavilion at the start/finish.  We plunk down our bags and chat with another runner, Wanda, who indicates that she, like us, will be running slowly.

The co-race director gives some brief pre-race instructions: follow the pink ribbons and if you hear the air horn, it means take shelter from an imminent dangerous thunderstorm.  The runners treat that as a bit of a joke, as there pretty much no shelter to be had in the woods.

Promptly at 10 we get the "go" command and the 45 of us in the 50K head off downhill across a grassy field, then onto some single track, across the edge of another grassy field and then into the woods on single track.

Entering Heaven

Sure enough we go up and down, and through patches of mud. Not all the mud is in bottom land as you would expect, but places where water drains down hillsides across the trail. Emaad and I move along at a modest pace. No hurry on this course.

Leaving the Heaven Aid Station

In about three miles we get to Heaven.  That's the name for the mid-course aid station. It is well stocked with all the usual ultra foods and supplements, plus grilled cheese, enthusiastic volunteers and Fireball Cinnamon Whiskey. "Maybe on the last lap," I say, eyeing the bottle.

The second part of the course is even harder than the first.  The uphills are not long, but some are steep.  The course skirts a swamp, and the mud there is ankle deep and unavoidable.  We press on, cursing the mud, walking the uphills and trying to run where we can.

Then a voice hails us from behind.  It is Peter, on his fourth loop, as the 50 mile race started at 6 a.m.  We chat and I follow along with him. He points out sections of the trial that volunteers had cleared out earlier in the week with grass whips, saying that they had been nearly impassible.

Peter and I
(Photo by E. Burki)

We finish our loop and he goes on while I go over to change my sweat-soaked shirt and handkerchief. I get through the first loop in about 1:43 and spend 5 minutes changing and getting refreshments at the aid station. That seems like it might be good enough to get through the five loops, as I need to average two hours per loop for the first four loops, and I know that the first loop is likely going to be the fastest.  Emaad comes in and we set out on the second loop.

But a couple of miles in I'm starting to feel tired.  Some of the steeper uphills are particularly difficult now and I think that on subsequent loops I might have to go up them on all fours.

Heaven comes and it is refreshing, but a mile beyond it there is a downhill and Emaad takes the opportunity to run it.  I can't.  Gradually he disappears from my sight.  I travel a bit with another runner - really a hiker - and I can't even stay with him.  I'm passed by a 50K runner on his third loop.

I finish the second loop in about 1:12, or about 3:55 for the first two loops.  That's under the two hours per loop I need to average to make the cutoff.  I go and change my shirt but decide that there is no sense to going on.  I go to the scorer's tent and withdraw. Then I wash the mud from my legs and  hang out with cousin Bob as he get ready to fire up the grill.

Fueling up at the Start/Finish Aid Station 

after Loop 1

Muddy legs

Emaad comes in from his third loop at 4:10 p.m.  By now temperatures have reached 90 or more and the humidity is oppressive. (His device will claim a high of 93.) He looks pretty good, but it is unlikely, although not impossible that he can make the 6 p.m. cutoff to start the final loop. I urge him on. He barely hesitates and sets out.

Once he is out of sight, I head back to the hotel to shower and change clothes before heading back to the park. He texts me how far he has to go, but there is no sight of him.  My mobile buzzes with a severe thunderstorm alert for an area that ends less than a mile from the park. The sky to the north, toward the alert area, looks ominous.

About 6:25 p.m. Wanda finishes her fourth loop and is done for the day.  Emaad comes in about seven minutes later, and he too, is done, timed out even if he wanted to do another loop, which he doesn't.

The three of us sit down and get some food and fine craft beer. (The night before Peter said that one of the pleasures of being the race director is getting to take a bunch of other people's money and go beer shopping.)

Peter finishes the 50-miler in at 7:14 p.m. in a time of 13:14, good for sixth place overall.

Emaad relieved that he is done

Results
This is an aptly named race. The course is hellish and you won't be done in a hurry.

The winning time for the 50K is 6:32. To give an idea of how hard the race was, due to the course and the weather, consider that I ran the Pemberton Trail 50K in February in 6:41. The Pemberton winner ran 3:41 (Alisa Macdonald, first female; first overall) It took me just under four hours to go 20K at HHNH. It took Emaad 8:32 to go 40K.

Other metrics of difficulty: there were 23 finishers out of 45 starters for the 50K, a 51 percent finishing rate. In the 50-mile, 37 started; only seven finished. That's a finishing rate of 19 percent.  Even this year's Bull Run Run 50 miler, under very muddy conditions, had a finishing rate of  60 percent.

Choose Wisely

At the picnic table, with Emaad's eyes locked on his burger, and Wanda and I looking at each other, I choose my words carefully.

"That's awfully nice of you," I say, "but I don't think my wife and children would approve."

Done examining the cheeseburger Emaad picks it up and bites into it. Peter stops by to chat. Wanda takes another sip of beer and then cuts into the cheeseburger I brought her, the good deed that led to her remark.

No more thunder rumbles in the distance.

RD Cousin Peter, Grill Master Cousin Bob and me (post shower)

Swag: bib and socks. No finisher's award.

Dirty German 50K - May 11, 2019

Man Down
I look at the dirt from inches away. I'm on my hands and knees, or maybe my elbows and knees. All I know is that seconds ago I was running and now I'm down. It was not a slow motion fall or a  stumble and fall variety of going down.  This was sudden, abrupt and hard.

I take inventory. Hands are OK. Legs are OK. Left side of the chest hurts; it must be where I landed. Small bruise on my left eyebrow; I must have hit my head as well. I stay down while trailing runners come up and ask if I'm OK and if I have water, food, phone.  I assure them that I'm OK and have all those things as I get to my feet. I thank them and urge them to go on; that I'll just walk for a bit. There's about three miles to the finish of the Dirty German 50K and about half of that to the next and final aid station. I know I can walk it in if need be.

But I don't feel so well. A few steps leave me feeling unsteady. I sit down on the side of the trail to regain stability and to await Emaad.

Prologue
Emaad and I drive up to Villanova to stay with his cousin. It's a leisurely drive, with a stop at the Dog House in New Castle, Delaware. This small, cash only, counter or carry-out, limited menu dive specializes in foot-long hot dogs, split and grilled and served on chewy, tasty rolls from a local bakery. Emaad notes that one of the servers has a tear-drop tattoo, and says that means he killed someone.  A Wikipedia check reveals that it might mean that, or something else. In any case, we wisely don't ask the counterman what his tat means.

Getting to Villanova early, we visit Tin Lizard Brewing Company (Bryn Mawr) (for a pale ale and an Irish ale) and Tired Hands BrewCafe (Ardmore) (for a saison and candied bacon) to sample the local beers and hydrate.

First Loop

Enjoying the music before the start

Saturday morning, Google navigates us the half hour drive to Pennypack Park. We park on the street  along with many other runners, walk to the pavilion where we pick up our bibs and premiums, drop our bags and wait for the start. An accordion player provides appropriate German music for the waiting runners and spectators. The 50-milers, running three loops of the course plus a bit of an additional short loop, start at 7:30. The 239 50K runners, doing two loops start 30 minutes later. The one-loop 25K runners start 30 minutes later, at 8:30.

A bit of a run through a field at the start/finish helps sort out the runners as we reach the entry to the mostly single track. The course wending its way through the park is mostly dry, with only occasional spots of mud and puddles, most of which are easily avoided. There is a bit of up and down, but none of
the climbs are long or particularly steep.

Salt Sherpa
After a couple of miles I let out a curse when remembering that I forgot be carry salt capsules with me, as the day that forecast as being cloudy with a chance of showers is turning out to be mostly sunny. A nearby runner tells me she has extra and offers me some. I thank her for the offer and accept a pair that I stash away. "You can be my salt sherpa," I tell her.  She says that is an agreeable nickname.

In three miles we arrive at the first aid station where the accordion player is already there to serenade us as we pass through.  Around mile five a deer stares out of the woods next to the trail at the runners passing by.  I pull out my phone to snap a pic but just as I'm finally ready, the deer turns around and disappears.

Pennypack Creek from the bridge

The second aid station at mile 7.5 is reached with no issues, as the faster 25K runners overtake us. We run back on the other side of Pennypack Creek, finally crossing a bridge that takes us back to aid station 1 at mile 11.5.

In about a mile we enter a part of the course that folds back and forth on itself. The website calls it the roller coaster section, but it seems more like what one's small intestine is like.

First Fall
In about three miles we come to the third aid station. Moving right along we run and chat with other runners. I stumble, take a few steps and then turn my right shoulder in to roll as I hit the ground. Not a bad fall, and I complete the roll so I can pop back to my feet.  Emaad has seen this move before, but the others are impressed by my ability to turn clumsy into agile.

Down Again
Soon we are back at the start/finish, and after a stop at a porta-potty, run over the through lane timing mat (in 3:33) to start our second lap.

Typical single track

Almost across the grassy field I fall again, this time without much warning.  But the field is soft and no harm comes of it, although I note the concrete bench that was not more than a stride or two from my head. Another step and the landing would not have been so inconsequential.

Emaad and I are generally running together, but sometimes I get a bit ahead. I run with a pair of women. We talk about falling, as one is concerned about it and the other says that she has only fallen three times in her career.  Sure enough, that is too much for the running gods and in a few minutes on a flat section she catches a toe on a root and goes down.  She has dirt on both knees but is not hurt so on we go.

Special Hydration I
Arriving again at the first aid station (now mile 18) I see that there is a special offering of complex carbohydrate liquid refreshment. I ask for some and it is freely given. When I pull out the phone to document this happy moment, the aid station volunteer says "no social media, as our permit does not permit [complex carbohydrate liquid]. We want to remain on good terms with the park authorities." I put the phone away as I take another sip of the deeply satisfying liquid aid.

The run to the second aid station (now mile 23) is uneventful with chats with other runners including some 50 milers who we overtake. The volunteers at the aid station are concerned about running low on cups, so I use the collapsible cup that I am carrying and mention how the North Face was a cup free race as well as others that I have run.  The volunteers express concern about how that might slow down providing aid, but another runner says that isn't the case.

Salt Sherpa and I in the second loop

Salt Sherpa catches up with us and we run and chat together for a bit. I don't need to rely on her kindness any longer as the aid stations have packets of salt tablets, and I get one.

I run with a runner who is an electrical engineer by profession and we discuss whether mobile phones can cause cancer, a topic brought up the night before by Emaad's cousin, an oncologist. Surprisingly to me, he concurs that it might be the case. He also says this is his first 50K and that he hopes to run a marathon fast enough to qualify for Boston. Given our 50K pace that seems a stretch goal, but I say nothing.  We talk about training and coaching for such an effort and I silently note that he is in my age group. This will be consequential later in the day.  I bid him good running and go on.

A bit further on a deer stands athwart the trial. In a bit of contradiction I yell at it to run away while reaching for my phone to photograph it.  Like the deer earlier in the day it does not hang around long enough.

Special Hydration II
Arriving back at the first aid station (now mile 27) I inquire in my finest high school German, "Haben Sie mehr [complex carbohydrate liquid] bitte?" Enthusiastically a can of the refreshment is retrieved from a cooler. Normally I'm quick through aid stations - gulp some Coke, refill my hydration bottle or back, grab some potato chips, cookies and candy and go - but for this I linger and chat. I fully intend to finish the entire can, but the volunteer signals that I should hand it back to him so that he can finish it. Off I go.

Trail Runs for All
I pass a pair of women doing the 25K and give them the usual "Hey" greeting.  They are not the lithe, lean type that one expects on the trails, or running long, or even running at all.  But here they are, he epitome of "relentless forward progress." We had passed them earlier on the first loop and overheard them talking about how their friends had questioned them for wanting to do the race.  But they are here and trail runners accept everyone.  It isn't a question of speed for most of us - it is to get to the finish.  And they are out there, doing something their "friends" don't think they can or should do. I have great respect for them for being on the trail and for prevailing.  We don't do these things because they are easy, but because they are hard.  I'm sure the 25K was hard for them - harder (and slower) than the 50-miler for some. Great credit to them for ignoring their friends, persevering and finishing. No, great credit to them for taking the first step, not the last one.

Pride Goeth Before a Fall
The time dawdling at the aid station while I hydrated has given the electrical engineer a chance to catch up. I see that he isn't far behind me.  Since we are in the same age group and I'm feeling pretty well, I determine that I'll try to finish ahead of him. He doesn't know it, but I'm going to race him.

Through the folds of the small intestine section I can see where he his without having to obviously  be looking back.  I plot to skip the final aid station to gain a few additional seconds or more. We leave the twisty section and the course starts to straighten out a bit. No usual walking uphills for me now. Press on, press on!

The End

Brat, potato salad, apple spice bread

And now I'm sitting on the side of the trail.  The engineer had stopped to see how I was, but now he is gone and I await Emaad. He arrives sooner than I expected and is a bit surprised to see me sitting there.  I get to my feet and the unsteadiness is gone but my chest hurts. Not the sharp pain on intake of breath that would signal a cracked rib, but a dull pain that says bruised ribs.

We go on, with me mostly walking. Running hurts my chest some, and the fall has taken the its toll on my will.  We get a little something at the final aid station.  With less than a half mile to go we spot a woman walking ahead of us.  I stir and suggest that we try to catch her. The funny thing is that even with her walking and me running, I'm not gaining on her.  Emaad takes off in pursuit. He doesn't catch her but finishes 40 seconds ahead of me.

We collect our medals, and get a brat and German potato salad to eat before the walk back to the car, which seems further away than it did when we walked to the start.

At the finish

Stats
I finish in 7:43:19, with splits of 3:33 and 4:10.  I finish 170 of 214, and 5 of 5 - DFL- in my age group. I gained two places in the second loop. On the other hand, I'm the oldest finisher.

Swag: Medal, Bib, Growler, Full-Zipper Shirt