TBT: 2007 Mississippi Trail 50

This is a Throwback Thursday post.  I didn’t start writing race reports until 2010, and I didn’t start this blog until 2014.  This week, I decided to write up my recollections of a race I ran almost 19 years ago.  It was one of the best race performances of my life.  It was also one of the most surprising.

On March 10, 2007, I ran the Carl Touchstone Memorial Mississippi Trail 50.  This race was held on horse trails in DeSoto National Forest.  The closest city with hotels was Laurel, MS.

Deb and I flew to Gulfport and drove from there to Laurel.  Deb had a sinus infection, and her congestion made her ears painful on the flights.  We had to stop at a pharmacy to get her a stronger decongestant.

Packet pickup was in Laurel, where there was also a pre-race dinner and briefing.  The race was named in memory of Carl Touchstone, who was a well-known local runner and race organizer.  At the dinner, I met a runner who had known Carl.

What I remember most from the pre-race briefing was the race director telling us that it was turkey hunting season, and there might be hunters in the forest during the race.  We were cautioned not to wear anything red, as the red wattle of a male turkey is something hunters look for.

It would have been nice to get that information before we left home.  I brought a fuel belt that had two small red pouches on the front.  At this point, it was too late to get something else.  I went to bed that night hoping I wouldn’t get shot during the race.

The race started in a campground in the state forest.  We had to get up early to make the drive from Laurel.  I woke up with the beginnings of a cold.  My symptoms were mild.  I didn’t know how it would affect my race.  I also didn’t know how exerting myself for 50 miles would affect my body’s ability to fight off the cold.  I just had to show up and do my best.

I had low expectations for this race, and it wasn’t just because of the cold.  I had never run an ultra on trails before.  Training through the winter, I had done all my winter training on a treadmill.  I ran a road marathon a month earlier, but I had not done any training on trails.  I was in pretty good shape that year, but I was out of my element.

I wanted to get to the campground well before the race started.  I thought we were going to get there about 30 minutes early.  As we were looking for a place to park the car, Deb said, “I think they’re lining up to start.”

I assumed she must be mistaken.  The race didn’t start for another 30 minutes, or so I thought.  It turns out I was mistaken about the start time.  When I saw for myself that the race was about to start, I told Deb to just stop the car and let me out.

Fortunately, I was already wearing my fuel belt, and I had filled my bottles before leaving the hotel.  I hopped out of the car and ran over to the starting line.  By now, the race had already started.

We were supposed to check in before the race, so they would have a full accounting of who was on the course.  I ran up to the RD, who was at the starting line, and I asked him where I needed to check in.  He said, “You’re checked in.  Go!”  By now, everyone else had been running for almost two minutes.

The course was a 12.5-mile trail loop.  For the 50-mile race, we had to run four laps.  There was also a 50K race that started with two laps of the same loop and then switched to a shorter loop with different trail markings.

When I signed up for this race, I wasn’t confident that I was ready for a 50-mile race.  I was working on a long-term goal of running a marathon or ultra in every state.  I chose this race for Mississippi, because it fit well into my schedule, and we were able to get a good airfare for our flight to Gulfport.  Back then, we wouldn’t fly anywhere if the airfare was more than about $250.

I could always start the 50-mile race, but switch to the 50K race if it wasn’t going well.  I might not have signed up for this race if I didn’t have the option of dropping down to a shorter distance.

The course started out running though the campground.  I wasn’t familiar with the course, and the other runners were already too far ahead for me to see them.  As I ran through the campground, I was asking campers, “Which way did the runners go?”  The campers pointed, and I ran than in that direction until I was onto the trail.

Within another minute or two, I could see some of the runners.  I was catching up to the back of the pack.

We were on a trail that was wide enough for horses, but there wasn’t much room to pass other runners.  I wasn’t expecting to be competitive, but I also didn’t want to be stuck behind everyone, so I worked hard to get around people and move forward through the pack.  It’s only because of my effort to pass people that I started at a fast pace.  Otherwise, I would’ve paced myself more conservatively, knowing that I had never run 50 miles on trails before.

After at least a mile of working frantically to pass people, I suddenly broke into the clear.  There were still runners ahead of me, but they were so far ahead that I couldn’t see them.

The first time I reached an aid station, I asked one of the volunteers how many runners had already gone by.  He said, “five.”  I topped off my bottles, ate a donut, and continued running.

The course didn’t have any major climbs, but it was still semi-technical.  There were stream crossings, roots, and occasional patches of mud.  Thankfully, it had been a dry winter, so I could hop across most of the streams without getting my feet wet.

I still couldn’t see any of the runners ahead of me.  I was expecting to be able to follow other runners.  Instead, I was on my own to look for the trail markings.

At one point, it occurred to me that I couldn’t see any of the ribbons marking the route.  I didn’t know if I had missed a turn.  I briefly stopped to look back.  I didn’t see anyone coming up behind me.  I wondered if I should stop and wait.  Not wanting to lose too much time, I continued running.  Soon, I saw a ribbon, and I knew I was still on course.

The course was mostly a loop, but there was one short out-and-back-section.  When I got there, I saw the lead runner coming back.  As I continued, I saw the other four runners who were ahead of me.  By the time I reached the turnaround and started coming back, I could no longer see any of them.  They were too far ahead of me.

I was almost back to the campground when I finally got close enough to another runner to see him just ahead of me.  I passed him as I ran through the campground for the second time.

As I ran through the same section of trail where I was passing people before, I recognized most of the turns.  After another mile or two, I caught up to another runner, and we had a brief conversation.

Her name was Anne.  She was from Wisconsin, and she knew some of the other runners.  She said the next runner I would catch was Larry, and he was from Chicago.  As I went ahead on my own, Anne told me when I saw Larry, I should tell him Anne says hello.

Gradually catching up to the runners ahead of me kept me excited.  I never expected to run this race competitively, but I was now in fourth place, and I got more excited each time I caught up to another runner.  Soon, I caught up to Larry.  I gave him Anne’s greeting, and then I moved ahead of him.

Ultramarathons are at least as much psychological as they are physical.  Obviously, longer distances require more training, but it’s easy to underestimate the importance of things like confidence and excitement.  Each time I passed another runner, I got more excited, and I gained in confidence.  I didn’t stop to ask myself if I could run this fast for 50 miles.  I just got caught up in the excitement.

I eventually passed one more runner.  Then I reached the out-and-back section again.  I looked for the last remaining runner who was ahead of me.  I never saw him.  He finished this section before I got there.  For the rest of the race, I wouldn’t see another runner ahead of me.  I was running on my own for the rest of the race.

When I finished that lap, it was decision time.  Should I continue on the 50-mile course or switch to the 50K course?  I didn’t have to think too hard.  I felt good, and I was excited about being in second place, so I started a third lap of the same loop.  It would have still been possible to stop after three laps and get listed as a 50K finisher, but that wasn’t very palatable.  Three laps would be 37.5 miles, which is much farther than 50K.  I committed to running 50 miles.

For someone with no training on trails, I did remarkably well at maintaining a good pace, while avoiding roots and navigating stream crossings.  At one point, I did trip on something, but I was able to keep from falling.  I had a rather awkward landing on my other foot, however.  It was so jarring, that I immediately felt pain in my lower back.  My right leg briefly felt numb.  I managed to keep running, and within a minute or two I felt normal again.  That was a huge relief.

We were sharing these trails with a few people on horseback.  At one point, I passed a few riders.  When they saw me coming, they stopped, so their horses wouldn’t get spooked.  I could see places where the horses had stirred up mud on some of the softer parts of the trail.

My biggest recollection from my third lap was getting a sung stuck in my head.  It was The Chicken Dance, which is a song you typically only hear at wedding receptions.  I had that tune in my head for about an hour.

I was trying to catch up to the lead runner, but he was getting farther ahead of me.  Each time I finished a lap, I saw a  board showing what time the leader had gone through.  By the time I started my last lap, I knew I had no hope of catching him.  Instead, I focused on staying ahead of everyone else and running the best pace I could.  I may have slowed a little in the last lap, but not too much.

I finished the race in second place, roughly 20 minutes after the winner finished.  My official time was 7:24:02, but that was the time from when the gun went off.  By my watch, I ran the course in 7:22:29.  Either way, it was a 50-mile PR that I’ve never broken.  Even on roads, I never came close to matching that time.  I still don’t know how I did that.  I’m normally slower on trails than on roads, and I’m even slower when I’m carrying the extra weight of water bottles.

Later in the day, there was a post-race dinner back in Laurel.  When I told another runner about The Chicken Dance, he got a good laugh.

My award for second place was a plexiglass trophy in the shape of Mississippi.  It’s one of my favorite awards.

The winner of that race was a park ranger who worked in the DeSoto National Forest, so he was able to train on the same trails that we were racing on.  He outclassed everyone there.  I did well to finish second.

After the race, I no longer had any cold symptoms.  My exertion may have helped me fight off the cold.  That’s the sort of thing that can go either way.  In other news, I didn’t get shot by any hunters.

The next day, Deb and I drove to Gulfport.  Before flying home, we drove the coastal highway between Gulfport and Biloxi.  It was two years after the area was hit by Hurricane Katrina, and I wanted to see what the area looked like now.  I used to visit Biloxi on business trips, so I was familiar with the area.

I was astonished to see the damage along the coast.  Of the buildings I recognized, only a few were still standing.  One was a shopping mall.  It had damage, but it was still intact.  Another building I recognized was a small shop next to the beach that sold beach ware and souvenirs.  I don’t know how that building survived.  Larger, sturdier buildings were reduced to rubble.

Location was critical.  The buildings along the coast were all destroyed, even though many of them were modern brick buildings.  Just a few blocks farther inland, wooden houses were still standing.  Apparently, the larger buildings along the coast felt the full brunt of the storm.  They sheltered the smaller, more fragile buildings behind them.

I was pleased to see that the local governments had invested in restoring their white sand beach.  Having been to Biloxi before, I knew how important tourism was to the local economy.

The following year, I was contacted by the race organizers.  Because I placed second in 2007, they offered me a complimentary entry in 2008.  I had to decline.  At the time, we could only afford a few trips per year.  I was prioritizing races that gave me new states.  Other than local races, I wasn’t repeating any states.  That’s probably just as well.  There’s no way I could ever recreate the magic of my second-place finish in 2007.

Race Statistics

Distance:  50 miles

Official Time:  7:24:02

Actual Time on Course:  7:22:29

Average Pace:  8:51 per mile

My First Marathon

This is a Throwback Thursday post.  I haven’t posting one of these in years.

I’ve been writing race reports for almost 15 years.  At first, I posted them as Facebook Notes.  When Facebook mothballed the Notes feature, I started this blog.  Still, I had already run more than 80 marathons and ultras before I starting writing race reports of any kind.

This post is an attempt to recall what I can of my first marathon.  I ran it 42 years ago, and I never wrote a race report at the time, so my memory is a bit sketchy.  I’m actually surprised how much I can remember.  There’s nothing quite as memorable as your first marathon, so certain details stick in my mind.

For my first marathon, I chose the Twin Cities Marathon, which was a home-town race.  The first Twin Cities Marathon was held in 1982.  I wanted to run it that year, but I injured my knee while playing softball.  That sidelined me for the rest of the year, so I set my sights on 1983 instead.

I had no idea how to train for a marathon.  I wasn’t following any training plan.  My average weekly mileage was inadequate, but I made a point of doing long training runs.  My first long training run was 14 miles.  After that, I gradually built up to the marathon distance.

When I started training, I had hopes of finishing a marathon in 3:15.  Most of my training runs were multiple laps of a 1.75-mile loop.  On my first 14-mile long run, I was able to average 13 minutes per lap.  I naively assumed that I could eventually get into good enough shape to hold that same pace for a marathon.

As the distance increased, and summer heat set in, I found my pace getting slower.  I eventually built up to 15 laps, which is 26.25 miles.  My pace per lap, however, had slowed to roughly 15 minutes per lap.

My 26.25-mile training run took 3:44:32.  That was in summer heat.  I knew by then that 3:15 wasn’t a realistic goal, but I still thought I could run a marathon in 3:30.  The race wasn’t until October, and by then, the weather would likely be much cooler.

In August, I was as ready as I was going to be.  Unfortunately, I had peaked too soon.  My longest training run was eight weeks before the race.  After that, I got complacent.  By early October, I had taken it easy for far too long.

Two friends, who were also co-workers, were also training for this race.  It was also going to be their first marathon.  Randy and John did their long training runs together.  I mostly trained on my own, but I joined them for one of their long training runs.  I stayed with them until we were close enough to home that I knew the way home.  Then I went ahead on my own.  At the time, we all assumed I would be faster in the marathon.

The start of the race was in downtown Minneapolis.  I remember getting a ride to the start from Randy.  As we rode to the start, we were listing to a mix tape that Randy made.  I can still remember two of the songs.  One was “Who Are You” by The Who.  The other was “Lightning Strikes” by Lou Christie.

I don’t recall where we parked, but we made our way to the start area, which was next to the Pillsbury Building in downtown Minneapolis.  Pillsbury was one of the major sponsors of the race.

The weather wasn’t as cool as I was expecting.  It was 63 degrees at the start.  That wouldn’t be so bad, but the dew point was also 63.  It was 100 percent humidity.  The fog was so dense that you couldn’t see more than two blocks.

They had signs showing us where to line up, based on the pace we expected to run.  They spaced these signs to get us to line up over several blocks.  The idea was to have the enough space between us that we would have room to run as soon as the gun went off.  I thought it worked well, but I’ve never seen that at any other large races.  At most large races, you’re packed in like sardines.

While I was waiting for the race to start, I recognized a runner who was a track star at the University of Minnesota.  I had seen him run 10K on a track at pace of roughly 4:40 per mile.  A race official asked him if he was willing to be a guide for a blind runner.  I don’t know if he had previous experience doing that, but he agreed to do it.

Before we started running, I heard the theme from “Chariots of Fire.”  That movie was still fairly recent, and that music had become an anthem for runners.

As we started running, I was just a short distance behind the blind runner and his guide.  They were running fast.  It amazed me that they could go that fast without bumping into people or tripping on a curb.  If I couldn’t see where I was going, I would be forced to run cautiously, even with a guide.

The route out of downtown was different than it is today.  I quickly established a pace that was fast enough to finish a marathon in 3:30.  At first, it felt deceptively easy.

I was roughly a mile into the race when I noticed that sweat was running down my arm and dripping from my wrist.  I didn’t realize yet how much the high humidity would take a toll on me.

As we left downtown Minneapolis, we turned onto Hennepin Avenue.  After running past the Walker Art Center, we turned onto Douglas Avenue to begin running toward Kenwood Park.

I had my keys in a small pocket on the back of my shorts.  That’s where I always kept them during training runs, and I had never had a problem before.  As I rounded the turn onto Douglas, I heard a clank and immediately reached back to feel my pocket.  The keys weren’t there.  There was a small hole at the bottom of the pocket.

I assumed the sound I heard was my keys hitting the pavement.  I stopped and got down on the ground to feel around for my keys.  I couldn’t see much, because I was right at the corner, with hundreds of runners all negotiating the turn.

I was on all fours.  I felt like I was swimming upstream with runners bumping into me and tripping over me.  That was stressful, but I found my keys.  After that, I had to carry them in my hand as I ran.

At this point, I was roughly two miles into the race.  The next eight miles were very similar to the current course.  We made a left turn at Kenwood Park.  Then we ran past three of the lakes in south Minneapolis.  The first one was Lake of the Isles.  That was followed by Lake Calhoun and Lake Harriet.  Along this part of the course, there were thick crowds on both sides of the street.

When we left Lake Harriet, were about seven miles into the race.  I was still averaging eight minutes per mile and feeling comfortable.

Next, we got onto the Minnehaha Parkway, which follows Minnehaha Creek.  This part of the course had a few small hills, but nothing too tiring.

When we ran under the Nicollet Avenue Bridge, there was a small brass band set up under the bridge.  They were playing the theme from “The Muppets.”

Somewhere along the parkway, I passed a runner who must have started earlier.  He had some type of disability, and he was running with crutches.  I could see the tremendous effort that he was putting into each step.  His face was bright red.  I couldn’t imagine doing that for 26.2 miles.

Randy’s girlfriend, Maggie, was watching for Randy at different points along on the course.  I was about 10 miles into the race when Maggie spotted me running along the Minnehaha Parkway and took this picture.

Maggie and I both worked in the same grocery store, so I knew I would see her again at work.  I ran over and handed her my keys.  I explained about the hole in my pocket, and I asked her to hang onto my keys and give them back to me the next time she saw me at work.  I had been holding those keys in my hand for eight miles.  It was a relief to get rid of them.

The current course includes a loop around Lake Nokomis.  The original route didn’t do that.  Instead, we continued along Minnehaha Parkway until we reached the Mississippi River.

I had read that it’s helpful to wear something with your name on it.  I didn’t have my name on my shirt, but I wore a mesh T-shirt with the maroon and gold colors of the University of Minnesota.  The word “Minnesota” was on the front.  At various times throughout the race, I heard shouts of “Go Minnesota” from the crowd.

From time to time, I heard music.  People in the crowd were playing music on boom boxes.  More than once, I heard the theme from “Rocky.”  One song that really resonated with me was “Break My Stride” by Matthew Wilder.  The chorus matched my mood perfectly:

“Ain't nothin' gonna break my stride.  Nobody gonna slow me down.  Oh no, I got to keep on moving.  Ain't nothin' gonna break-a my stride.  I'm runnin' and I won't touch ground.  Oh no, I got to keep on moving.”

Next, we followed the West River Parkway for about two and a half miles.  The current course continues north as far as the Franklin Avenue Bridge.  The original route crossed the river at Lake Street.  After that, the course was quite a bit different from the current route.  There were more miles in St. Paul, and there were some significant hills.

After crossing the river, Lake Street became Marshall Avenue.  I was still on Marshall Avenue when I reached the 14-mile sign.  I no longer felt fresh, but I was still on pace to finish in 3:30.

We followed Marshall as far as Fairview Avenue.  Then we turned right and headed south.  That’s when the wheels started to come off.  I had been running at an unsustainable pace.  On top of that, I had been sweating profusely since the start of the race.  Now, my legs were beginning to cramp.

The aid stations had water and ERG, which stood for energy replacement with glucose.  I was just drinking water, and it’s possible I was suffering from an electrolyte imbalance.

During my long training runs, I drank both water and orange juice.  I would start out drinking water, but I would switch to orange juice when I got sick of drinking water.  It didn’t occur to me at the time, but that may be why I never had cramping like this in my long training runs.  Orange juice is a good source of potassium.

I wasn’t at all familiar with the streets in this neighborhood, so I didn’t know how long I had been running south along Fairview.  The street names were all unfamiliar.  I missed one of the mile markers, so I went a long way without any sense of how far I had gone.

The course went all the way down to the Highland Park neighborhood.  As you might guess from the name, this part of St. Paul is hilly.  Coming back along Edgecumbe Road and Lexington Parkway, I struggled with the hills.  I was about 22 miles into the race when I finally broke down and started walking on one of the hills.

As I was walking, Randy caught up to me.  He had started at a slower pace, but he moved past me as I was walking.  Later, Randy told me how surprised he was to see me.  We both assumed I would be faster, but Randy paced himself more sensibly.

I forced myself to start running again, but I walked again on the next hill.  I was on my third long walking break when John passed me.  John was wearing a light-colored shirt, and there were two streams of blood running down the front of his shirt.  I had already learned to put band-aids over my nipples on long runs.  I’m sure it was painful, but he was still running.  I was walking.

I forced myself to run again, but I took one last walking break as I started the last mile of the race.  I was disappointed with my overall pace, but I realized I could still break four hours.  I made a guess of how long I could afford to walk before I would need to run the rest of the way.

We crossed the freeway on John Ireland Boulevard.  The current course finishes in front of the state capitol.  The original course made a turn in front of the capitol and then turned again onto Wabasha Street.  We crossed the freeway again and ran down a steep hill toward the finish line, which was near Dayton’s.

My sister, Betty, and her husband, John, were watching for me near the finish.  As I ran down that hill, Betty took a picture.

I finished with an official time of 3:59:39.  They didn’t use chip timing back then, so that time includes the time it took me to reach the starting line after the gun went off.  I didn’t start my watch until I crossed the starting line.  According to my watch, my actual time on the course was 3:59:18.

Betty and John gave me a ride home, but first we stopped for lunch at Pannekoeken Huis, which specialized in Dutch oven pancakes.  I had a pancake with strawberry topping.  I can still remember how the strawberry sauce made my mouth sting.  That’s when I realized I was badly dehydrated.

I used to always watch the Minnesota Vikings football games on Sundays.  They had a noon game that day, and I was anxious to get home before I missed too much of the game.  I remember they were playing the Dallas Cowboys.  I don’t remember who won.

The next time I went to work, I got my keys from Maggie.  I never used that pocket again. 

My Brief Flirtation with Race-Walking in my 30s.

This is a Throwback Thursday post.

I started running while I was in college.  Every two weeks, I would get together with friends to run a timed mile on a track.  Then we’d go out for burgers and malts.  In between these informal mile races, we would each train on our own.  I can still remember my first mile race.  It took me 6:56.  After I finished, I was curled up on the grass trying to catch my breath.  I never knew running could hurt so much.

Eventually, my friends and I graduated.  I continued to live in Minnesota, but most of my friends moved to other states to pursue their careers.  When they would come back to visit, we would reunite at the track for a mile race.

In 1991, I ran my first Boston Marathon.  After that race, I started to develop a mild case of shin splints.  I continued training, so I could run Grandma’s Marathon in June.  After Grandma’s, my shin pain was worse, and I decided to take a break.  For the rest of the summer I cut way back on my running mileage and stopped doing any running at a fast pace.

It was near the beginning of this break that my friend Rick came to Minneapolis for a ballroom dancing event.  While he was in town, we organized one of our reunion races.  I didn’t think it would be a good idea to run an all-out mile, so I decided to see how fast I could walk a mile.

I already knew I could walk really fast for short bursts, but I had never tried to do it for an entire mile.  I started too fast, but eventually settled into a pace I could just barely sustain.  I don’t recall my exact time, but it was in the low 9:40s.  After I finished, I was curled up on the grass trying to catch my breath.  I never knew walking could hurt so much.  I learned it was possible to put yourself in oxygen debt by walking fast.

A short time later, I learned about a walking event in Minneapolis called the Race-Walk Classic.  It was a 5K race.  I went to an informational meeting where they explained the rules of race-walking to runners who were new to race-walking.  There are two rules.  The first one is simple.  You always have to have at least one foot in contact with the ground.  Failure to do that is called “lifting.”  The other rule is less obvious.  Your leading leg must be straight as your foot makes contact with the ground.  It must remain straight until the leg passes under your body.  Failure to do this is called “bent knee.”

In a judged race-walk competition, there are multiple officials watching the competitors to ensure they’re following both rules at all times.  If one of the judges observes an infraction, they can either give you a warning or a “red card,” depending on how flagrant the infraction is.  If three judges give you “red cards,” you’re disqualified.

This particular race had medals for anyone who could complete the race in 30 minutes.  I still had most of the summer to train, so I focused on race-walking while I was taking a break from running.

To break 30 minutes, I needed to average 9:39 per mile.  That was just slightly faster than my first attempt to race-walk for a mile.  Most of my workouts were on a track.  First, I had to improve my pace for a mile.  Then I kept increasing the distance, one lap at a time.

I also attended a clinic for beginning race-walkers put on by a member of the US Olympic team.  She demonstrated how elite race-walkers walk and put us through a few different drills.  I was too new to the sport to get much pelvic rotation.  Mostly, I just walked really fast.  Over short distances, I could do that, but I always felt like I would break down at any minute.

By late August, I could walk two miles at a 9:30 pace.  My final tune-up before the race was 5K on a track by myself.  I wanted to know I could break 30 minutes on my own before trying it in the race.  It was different than training to run a 5K.  I wasn’t worried about having the aerobic fitness.  I was worried about whether I could make it through 5K before my mechanics started to break down.

The race was in September.  It was on roads, which felt different from walking on a track.  I was on a good pace from start to finish, but I attracted the attention of one of the judges.  He crouched down close to the ground to watch me as I went by.  Then he dashed ahead of me so he could watch me a second time.  He never said anything, so he must have concluded I was legal.  I’m sure my form looked a bit awkward.  I was near my limits, and I was never as smooth as experienced race-walkers.

I finished the race in 29:38, which is an average pace of 9:32.  I actually finished ahead of an experienced walker who led the informational meeting I had attended a few months earlier.  For breaking 30 minutes, I earned this medal.

It says “elite walker,” but I knew I wasn’t really “elite.”  An elite race-walker could walk 5K faster than I could run it.  Still, it took three months of hard work.

A week later, I had another mile race with my friends.  I race-walked a mile for the last time.  I managed to improve my time to 8:38.

By then, I was no longer experiencing any shin pain, so I returned to running.  Until this year, I only walked one other race.  In 1994, I was out of shape after not doing any running during the winter months.  My sister Betty was going to walk the Gary Bjorklund half marathon in Duluth.  That’s the half marathon that’s held in conjunction with Grandma’s Marathon.  I only had a few weeks to train, but I decided to join her.  Our goal was to average 12 minutes per mile.  I wasn’t at all smooth.  I had an exaggerated arm swing and felt ragged the whole way.  I did it, though.  I finished that half marathon in 2:34:59.  That’s an average pace of 11:49.

Based on that experience, I couldn’t imagine ever race-walking as far as a marathon.  Now I’ve already walked one marathon, and I’m working on getting faster so I can beat a 5:30 time limit.  That’s an average pace of 12:35.  Had it not been for my brief flirtation with race-walking when I was young, it wouldn’t even occur to me to try.

Throwback Thursday: 2005 Patriots' Run

On September 11, 2005, I did a race called the Patriot’s Run.  This race is an annual event in Olathe, KS.  It’s always held on September 11, regardless of what day of the week it falls on.  It’s a fixed time race with a time limit of nine hours and eleven minutes.  It starts at noon and ends at 9:11 PM.  Some runners go solo, and others are on relay teams.  They collect pledges based on their total mileage to raise money for the families of first responders who have died in the line of duty.

At the time, I was working on running marathons or ultras in all 50 states.  I made an impulsive decision to do this as my Kansas race, even though the race was only a few weeks away.  I was training for a fall marathon, but hadn’t done any ultramarathon training in two years.

From 1998 to 2003, I ran at least one 12 or 24-hour run each year.  My training for those races always includes three runs of six hours or longer, during which I paced myself like I would during the race.  When I entered this race, I only had two weekends remaining before the race.  I had recently done a 19 mile training run and decided to add one training run of five or six hours as a dry run before the race.  It didn’t go well.

I set out to do my long training run on a 1.1 mile loop.  My plan was do use variable-length walking breaks to keep my pace at 13 minutes per lap.  That’s roughly 12 minutes per mile.  I used to train at a slightly faster pace when I was preparing for a 24-hour run.  This year, I had a much lower mileage base than in previous years.  I was coming off a subpar year that included a bout of Achilles tendonitis, and I was only running every other day.  I didn’t spend as much time training in summer heat as I usually do.  It was an 80 degree day with sunny skies, and the heat wore me down.  I stopped after running 24.2 miles in roughly four hours.  That was discouraging.

With only two weeks before the race, I didn’t have time for another long training run.  I wanted to take it easy on the last weekend before the race.  Realizing I couldn’t run as fast as I was accustomed to running in 24-hour races, I adjusted my goals.

As race day approached, I realized it was going to be hotter than it was for my long training run.  On race day, it was 90 degrees and sunny.  Since the race started at noon, I was going to be running through the hottest hours of the day.  I didn’t feel prepared, but I counted on experience to get me through it.

Deb and I drove to Kansas the day before the race.  I brought a number of supplies from home including a large cooler.  I mixed my own sport drink from powder, using a brand that didn’t include any fructose.  On our way to the race, we stopped to fill the cooler with ice.  Aside from taking regular walking breaks, my plan for coping with the heat included filling my hat periodically with ice from my cooler.  Deb was coming down with a cold, so after the race started, she went back to the hotel to take a nap.

The course was a 0.72 mile paved loop around a city park.  There wasn’t much shade.  My plan was to use variable-length walking breaks to keep myself on a consistent pace.  Mindful of how my training run went, I started the race at a slower pace.

In the early laps, there were several runners who were going faster.  I think some lapped me two or three times in the first half of the race.  I didn’t worry about competing with anyone.  My goal was to run enough laps for 50K and then finish as many miles as I could without blowing up in the heat.  In 24-hour races, I was accustomed to placing in the top five, but I wasn’t as prepared for this race.

As soon as I started feeling hot, I started putting ice cubes in my hat.  I had learned from other races that this was an effective way to cope with the heat.  The first time I did it, it was disconcerting.  The sudden rush of blood made me feel slightly short of breath.  If I didn’t know better, I would have thought I was suffering from heat stress.  By the time I finished my walking break for that lap, the feeling had subsided.

Early in the race, I varied the distance I walked to keep my lap times consistent.  As I began to tire, I noticed I wasn’t walking as far.  To stay on pace, I needed to switch back to running earlier in the lap.  At some point, I realized that wasn’t sustainable.  I remember the furthest point I had reached on a walking break and decided to walk to that same spot in all subsequent laps.  My pace slowed, but I was keeping a more reasonable ratio of walking to running.

To complete a marathon I needed to run 37 laps.  By the time I finished my 37th lap, I was getting pretty ragged.  I was suffering in the heat.  I wasn’t having fun.  I just wanted the race to be over with.  I had met the minimum requirement to count this as my Kansas marathon, but I still wanted to do at least 50K.  That’s the shortest common ultramarathon distance.  Since this was an ultra, I felt I should at least run that far, if I could.

I did the mental arithmetic.  To get past the 50K mark, I needed 44 laps.  That meant I still needed seven more laps.  Deb wasn’t back from here nap yet, so I needed to wait for her regardless.  That gave me a little more incentive to keep running.

Those seven laps seemed to take forever.  As I counted them down, I kept telling myself I could stop after my 44th lap.  I kept looking for our car in the parking lot.  Deb wasn’t back yet.

When I finally finished my 44th lap, I asked the lap counter how many laps the leader had.  I wasn’t planning to compete.  I was just curious.  She flipped through her sheets.  Then she said, “Number 138 has 44 laps.”  I looked down at my race bib.  That’s the number I was wearing.  I was shocked to realize I was in the lead.  Apparently the runners who were way ahead of me earlier had all taken breaks because of the heat.  I wasn’t moving very fast, but I was always moving.

As much as I had been looking forward to stopping, I didn’t want to quit if I had a chance to win.  I started another lap, so I could think about it.  Deb wasn’t back yet, so I couldn’t go back to the hotel yet anyway.

As I plodded slowly through another lap, I made some decisions.  First, I wasn’t going to stop running as long as I was in the lead.  You can’t quit when you’re winning!  Second, I would fight to maintain my current pace.  If someone was going to pass me, they would have to earn it.  I wasn’t giving the race away.  Finally, if anyone did pass me, I would stop.  I didn’t have enough fight left in me to keep going if I lost the lead.

When I finished that lap, I saw Deb standing near the finish line.  She was excited.  She knew I was winning.  That was good for both of us.  She still wasn’t feeling well, so it helped that she had a reason to be excited.  I was struggling, so it helped to have her cheering for me.

After my next lap, I stopped briefly to ask the lap counter how many laps the second place runner had.  I now had 46 laps, and he had 44.  As I started my next lap, it occurred to me that my 46th lap had just been counted.  I don’t know how long ago he finished his 44th lap.  My lead could be anywhere between one and two laps.  That didn’t seem like a safe lead.

There was still a lot of time left in the race.  About this time, I started experiencing cramps in my calf muscles.  They were sudden involuntary contractions that felt like electric shocks.  They made me jump.  It was painful, and it took effort to even out my stride, but I fought through the pain.

I immediately suspected that I had an electrolyte deficiency.  I had been taking Succeed S-Caps once per hour.  I started taking them every half hour.  The cramps never went away completely, but they gradually got less severe.

There was a single aid station at the pavilion where we started and finished each lap.  They had a variety of food and beverages, but I just kept drinking the fluids I brought.  I never had any food or beverage from the aid station.  I was completely self-sufficient.  Everyone else took breaks.  Aside from bathroom stops, I always kept moving.  If you’re moving – even slowly – you’re competitive.

During one of my laps, I was talking to one of the local runners.  He was currently in third place, and he knew the runner in second place.  I got the impression I had a lead of two or three laps, but I didn’t slow down.

As it got closer to the end of the race, I was mindful of how much time I had left.  I paid attention to my lap times.  After each lap, I estimated how many more laps I could do.  It always seemed like I would easily finish 66 laps, but I wouldn’t have time for a 67th lap.  During my 65th lap, I made a decision.  After that 66th lap, I wouldn’t take a walking break.  I could squeeze in an extra lap, but only if I ran the whole thing.  I thought I had a safe lead, but if I was going to win, I wanted to have as good a total as I could.

As I finished my 65th lap, Deb asked me if I had time for another lap.  I said, “I think I have time for two.”  I heard another runner say, “Oh, come on!”  He must have thought that was over the top.

I did indeed have time to finish a 67th lap.  That brought my total for the day to 48.06 miles.  Then I stood by the finish line to watch the last few runners come in.  Only completed laps counted, so they had to beat the clock.

There was a volunteer giving massages during the race.  I asked if I could still get a massage or if I was too late.  I was able to get a massage while results were being tabulated.  As he started, he said, “This is going to feel like I’m exfoliating your legs.”  He wasn’t kidding.  As my sweat evaporated, it left a thick layer of salt crystals on my legs.

The top prizes were announced in reverse order.  First I heard the name of the third place runner.  As they announced the second place runner, I was surprised to hear his mileage.  He was only one lap behind me.  That extra lap meant the difference between clear first and a tie for first.

I received two awards.  One was for first place male.  The other was for first place overall.  The awards were made from model cars mounted on small blacks of wood.  One was a police car, and the other was a fire truck.  That was a nod to the purpose of the race.

I didn’t come into this race well-conditioned.  At least, I wasn’t as conditioned as I was in prior years, when I did 24-hour races.  Experience carried me through.  I think I was the only runner who was using ice to keep cool.  I was also the only runner to keep moving for the entire nine plus hours.  Everyone else had to stop and take breaks because of the heat.

By the time we left, it was already dark.  I had some food before leaving the park, but that was the only dinner I ate.  After getting back to the hotel, I showered and immediately got ready for bed.  I didn’t realize it yet, but I was in for a scary night.

I climbed into bed, but couldn’t get comfortable.  I turned onto my back.  With my feet pointing into the blankets, they started to cramp.  It was painful, but I couldn’t get the cramping to stop until I got out of bed.

I had to lie down on the floor next to the bed.  The room was air conditioned, and I was in my underwear, yet I started to sweat from head to toe.  I felt slightly nauseous.  I was badly dehydrated, but I didn’t think I could make it to the bathroom to get a glass of water.  I also didn’t know if I could keep any fluids down.  When I realized I was probably still hyponatremic, I regretted leaving my bottle of S-caps in the car.  There’s no way I could make the trip to the car myself, and Deb was already asleep.

Lying there on the floor feeling sick, I wondered if I needed to go to the hospital.  I tried to wake Deb.  She had taken a medication that made her drowsy.  She mumbled that I was on my own and fell back to sleep.  She was out like a light.

I could have called 911, but I didn’t know where they would take me.  When Deb woke up, she wouldn’t know where I was.  I decided to wait until morning.  I spent the whole night lying awake on the floor.

When Deb eventually woke up, she went to the vending machine to get me something to eat.  They had white cheddar Cheez-Its.  That might be the saltiest snack food ever invented.  I ate a few at a time.  Then I was able to drink some water.  Some Cheez-Its, some water, some Cheez-Its, some water.  I gradually rehydrated.  When I felt like I was stable, we checked out.

We went to a Sonic drive-in for breakfast.  I wanted something salty, so I ordered a bacon cheeseburger toaster sandwich.  I also had a large Coke.  The breakfast helped.  Deb did most of the driving on the way home.  I rested and recovered.  By the time we got home, I was OK.

This race was memorable for several reasons, but what I remember most was the rule I established that day.  You can’t quit when you’re winning.  This was the first time I ever won a race, and I won only because I wouldn’t let myself quit.