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| What am I thinking? (Photo by J. Blanford) |
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).
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.
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.
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.
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?
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. |
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)
|
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 |
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| At Aid Station 4 (Photo by E. Burki) |
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) |
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 |
Thanks for the write-up and the photo cred!
ReplyDeleteIt was a perfect day for running that beautiful course! :)
ReplyDelete