Week 50: Ice Age 50 Mile report

After a victory lap of sorts to visit family in northern Wisconsin and to tour as much of Chicago as we could in a day and a half, home was welcome. Because of the excellent Facebook reporting by my Gorgeous, lots of folks far and wide followed along the race, and now I get to tell the stories over and over as I bump into the people I work and play with and love.

I raised over $5000 for Team Fox and the Michael J. Fox Foundation, from more than 60 donors. To them I am grateful.

So, yeah, the raw data: I finished the Ice Age Trail 50 miler in 10:27:35, the farthest distance and the longest time I have ever run. I felt strong all day, starting out at as slow a pace as I thought I could maintain to hit my conceived of time, 10 hours. I didn't cramp and had no foot or stomach issues, I walked the major uphills but ran all the rest, I managed to say funny things at almost every aid station. I kissed my beautiful wife at several aid stations. I cried more than once, but a lot in the last mile or so, thinking of EO.

Early, or maybe late.

The stories are many, and random, and without transition.

Christy and I flew to Chicago on Thursday before the race, and headed north to Madison, Wisconsin, passing by the race start and finish area on the way. After a day of travel, my feet and legs did not respond to the twisting ups and downs of the first mile of the course. The next day I ran along the lakefront in Madison. A tweak in my calf made me limp back to our hotel. We walked a lot during the day, and it felt some better. The wind and cold were chilling.

We moved closer to the race start Friday night, passing through Whitewater, Wisconsin to pick up my race packet and to chat with folks. This is not a race with a lot of schwag, but with a whole mess of camaraderie. We checked into our motel in high spirits. My calf was still a little sore.

Dinner the night before with Jim Pasquale revealed a whole other set of similarities between us. We both turned fifty in August (I’m three days older), we both treasure our families. His kids are into the arts, and so are mine. I’m glad we shared as many miles as we did.

I slept well, without anxious dreams at all. The breakfast buffet was ready at 4:30 as requested, the drive to the race pretty uneventful. We even got a parking space in the closest lot to the start.

I got to the starting line a little before six. As usual, I chatted with whoever was around. The woman next to me turned out to be Janice Willey from Mount Pleasant. Jim fell in behind us, most of the South Carolina contingent. Christy was somewhere in the crowd.

Nordic Trail loop

This wide, smooth (mostly) trail was a real treat, and running with so many folks in good spirits, too. I just tried to stay in my zone, hoping to get to 30 miles feeling like I’d run too slowly, as I've read many times. I talked about my fund-raising, my goal to say something funny at every aid station, and got started with funny things. We passed a tall fellow taking pictures, and one of the many locals I ran with told me that he was a former race director, and that he has Parkinson’s. I told her I would stop to talk with him if we passed him again.

Sure enough we did: I pulled out of the group I was running with. “I hear you have Parkinson’s,” I said to him.

Will you be my girlfriend?

He looked at me with either a look of concern that I knew, or with the usual Parkinson’s delay. “Yes,” he said. I told him that my father had Parkinson’s, too, and that I had raised over $5000 for the Michael J. Fox Foundation. “Let’s have a beer after the race,” he said to me with a big smile. This remains one of the best parts of my run. Though I didn't see him later, I felt a connection and inspiration. The thought of John, and many others, especially my dad, fueled me like nothing else could.

I felt great throughout this loop, no pain in my calf, and energy from all around. As we pulled into the second aid station at the start/finish, I called out, “Who wants to be my girlfriend?” Christy stepped out of the crowd, and I went over and kissed her. “I’m Ned,” I said.

West Out-and-Back

Somewhere in here I started running with Beth Simpson-Hall. Beth has run 37 100-mile races in her long running career. She was at a member of the Montrail Racing Team at one point, and I tried to mine as much from her experience as I could. Every time I saw her a little ahead, or at an aid station, I felt like I was running right.

Through this section, I started to wonder about some of the expressions we use to describe things getting worse. “Things went south,” I've heard. So why is that so bad? And how about, “everything went downhill from there.” Downhill is good, I thought, and we even say, “It’s all downhill from here.” Yeah, I was busy.

"Hi, Gorgeous," at mile 30.5.

The best surprise of the day was pulling into the aid station at 13 miles, and finding my Gorgeous there. We had planned to meet at miles 17/26 and mile 40. This one was extra special. She filled my bottle with Perpetuem, and off I went. It was a real thrill to get to see her at the same aid station on the way back, too, at mile 30.5.

Twenty-six miles went by easily (5:08), and I pulled into the aid station feeling strong. Christy asked if I wanted to change my shirt, and I did—wow, that was awesome. All of a sudden I was toasty warm again that chilly day. I was clearly reduced to a very radical and minimalist set of needs.

East Out-and-Back

After the 30.5 aid station, I was feeling pretty chipper, and reveling in entering my “Never-run-this-far” zone. But between 35 and maybe 45, I had a couple of low points. I realized that if I walked it in from there, I’d still be under the 12-hour cut-off. Then I’d run again, and realize that it felt no different running, and that I’d be finished sooner if I did. Each drop included a little boost, then.  

The aid station at Mile 37.5 was a party, even though here it had started raining, which at some point turned to sleet. They had music blasting “Margaritaville” when I rolled through. From there I had Buffet’s line, “It’s my own damn fault” stuck in my head. Uh-huh, I even paid for it.

Pulling into the aid station at mile 40.3,
the last turnaround.

The trail at the tail-end of the out-and-back seemed more difficult than the rest of the course. Twisting, rocky trail with the only real mud of the race slowed me to a more awkward gait. Getting to the turn-around at mile 40 felt great. I must have looked a little grim, though, as Christy seemed more concerned here. The combination of general fatigue, the difficult trail behind me and now ahead of me again, and a sudden distaste for more Perpetuem had me a bit battered. Besides that, I was getting emotional because I was so close to finishing the run I had been focused on for so long. I cried some. A man in a chair asked me if I wanted to sit down for a second. “You’re obviously not a runner,” I chided him, coming close to saying something funny.

Ten minutes out of the aid station I passed Jim going the other way. He was sky high, it seemed, a huge smile. I was thrilled to see him at that point. I babbled something about being ten minutes from the turn-around, and he babbled something about his quads feeling trashed. Our exchange lifed me almost beyond belief.

On the way back I kept running, and kept playing the little game with the up-hills where I would not stop at the bottom of the hill to walk, but a little ways up the hill. I felt so good I’d even go a little farther than the point I’d chosen to walk. I passed several others through here, patting them on the back and saying, “We’re doing it, we’re doing it.” We were doing it.

The finish

The finish.

I knew that just before the aid station at mile 47.5, there was the largest hill of the run. When I hit it, you’d think I’d be a little deflated, but it really picked me up. I knew that was about the last climb of the day, and that the subsequent downhill would allow me to pick up the pace a little again. I got to the aid station with different music now, but told them what I’d been chanting up until then. That got a little laugh. From there it was a short distance to Confusion Corner, a spot we’d passed through twice already. Another short jump brought me to the last aid station.

I had nothing funny there, though not from exhaustion. I cried a little, and because I’d been running by myself for a while, I told the aid station worker, through my tears, that I had worked so hard for this. She gave me the understanding smile I needed, said something like, “I know you have, dear.” Off I went with a handful of pretzels. A mile and a half to go, I knew. I cried again. I came to the mile-to-go marker that I’d seen on the way out and that I’d run on Thursday, and then very quickly it seemed to the half-mile marker. I was still by myself, though I knew there was someone fairly close behind.

I focused entirely on the thought that I was finishing, and that I’d been doing it for EO, and that all the folks who donated to Team Fox and all the folks that were following along on Facebook wanted me to finish, and that I was finishing. I couldn't wait to tell my mom. I don’t usually think of the things I do running as accomplishments, but this felt like one.

I changed clothes quickly to keep from getting too chilled. Janice finished not long behind me, then Jim a little later. At some point I ate a hamburger, and sat under the picnic shelter while a band warmed up and played. I listened to some of the faster guys talk about the race, and saw Cassie Scallon, who set a new course record for the women. I wasn't particularly coherent. I've described that state as a mix of catatonia and euphoria, though I’ll admit to greater euphoria that day. I usually like a nap after a long race, but this time I couldn't sleep. I chatted with Christy mostly, and then drove to Madison, looking forward to a shower.

I had run only slightly slower than the pace I figured I could run. I chose when to walk and when to run. I had no cramping, I ate and drank well, and I stayed positive. I never thought I couldn't finish, and I never got that point where you say I’ll never do that again. I seriously have no idea if I will run another 50-miler, but it certainly isn’t out of the question. I hobbled around for a couple of days, and was motivated to run (but not stupid). Christy and I walked and walked in Chicago, sometimes because we were lost (my fault, but that’s another blog).

I should mention that the race was extremely well organized and operated. Course markings were obvious at all points, and the volunteers were amazing, keeping our spirits up at aid stations, and making sure we didn't get killed crossing the roads. Big ups to the race director, everyone who helped out, all the spectators and the awesome running community up there in the great north woods.

I raised a lot of money, which, as I say, put my selfish habit to some good use. To all of you who read this blog, especially to those of you who gave money, thanks.

Week 40: The Bench Marathon

Week ending March 3, 2013

Tue 2/26  4 miles on Cottonwood

Wed 2/27  4 miles on Cottonwood

Thu 2/28  8 miles at Croft. All three days have been pretty miserable. My legs feel heavy and kind of floppy, and I feel a residual soreness from something, maybe walking so much on concrete. I cut this run a little short, turning back onto the old trail from the new trail. 

from Dairy Ridge: Palmetto to Chapters back to Palmetto.

February total: 129 miles in 18 runs

Sat 3/2  24.8 miles on the Foothills Trail. The Bench Marathon is a segment of the 77-mile Foothills Trail through the mountains of northwest South Carolina. I’d still not gotten out there with these good folks who love it, and was treated to snow, stairs, and long runnable sections. Did I mention 5000 feet of climbing, a ton for around here. Most of that comes in the first few miles and the last few miles before the turn-around. A good four or more miles is pretty flat and entirely runnable.

Lots of snow for the first couple hours.

We started out slowly, staying together early in the snow. They’d had a lot up there, the wet, sticky kind that makes for beautiful running. After climbing to a ridge, we dropped down fast (note: that will be painful on the way back, wet stairs and mud...) to Virginia Hawkins Falls. Group photo 4 1/2 miles in.

From Virginia Hawkins Falls to Laurel Fork Falls is pretty flat, unless I’m blocking something. The trail crosses Laurel Creek several times, and the bridges were slick from snow. I stayed with Jason through this part and the part from Laurel Falls to the Bench itself, a great treat in my book. Jason is a real supporter of running and runners. He’s always positive, even when he’s talking about getting to dark places through the over-nights of 100-mile races. We ran most of the way. Bristol had gone ahead with Bo, Justin and Lester. 

The weather changed to blue sky and sunshine.
This trail is amazing.

The Laurel Fork Falls to the Bench section has another pile of climbing up Heart Break Ridge, with a whole bunch of stairs and false summits. Bristol, by the way, was waiting for me through this section after spending a good 45 minutes with those ahead. I was ready for that part mentally, choosing to be surprised by getting to the true summit, not by getting to a false summit.  I spent some time running with Lester, another inspirational runner who’s willing to take punishment over a long way. He’s planning a 100-mile attempt that includes the Foothills Trail, with thousands of feet of climbing and descent over rooted, twisting, ankle-breaking trails.

Lester and I got to the Bench in 2:56. I ate some chips, and a couple gels, and filled my bottle with Perpetuem, which I’d had before but not on such a long run. I have to say I loved it, and used two packages on the way back. We left at 3:05 or so. 

Bristol set the canine FKT for the Bench Marathon.
Yeah, he's happy about it.

I was a little surprised by how runnable I found the way back. I still didn’t feel loose, the heaviness I’d been experiencing all week sticking around, though not enough to make me stop. I went into it thinking I’d run when I could, and I was pleased that I could so much. The climbs were less than I thought, the flats were easier than I thought, and the excitement of finishing the run more energizing than I thought. I caught up to Jason, then Bo and Justin. Justin had gone beyond the Bench, caught up to us all again and then ran in with Bo. I had the feeling we’d never see him if he pushed harder. Seeing them ahead of me gave me some push, too, not to pass them but to catch up and discover I was indeed on the right trail and all. 

Did I mention the steps?

I ran most of the last 4 1/2 miles with just Bristol. As always, he amazes me with his trail finding, his endurance and his discipline. The trail on the way back was dry, the snow having melted and clouds given way to sun. The trail follows the contours above the gravel road you park on for a mile or so. I was glad I noticed that on the way out, because it just hung down there,  the trail even dropping down to it and then back up onto the ridge once. I watched 6 hours go by--going in I thought that would be a reasonable expectation of my time, and Jason said he was shooting to go under six. I finished in 6:02:something. I ran almost the same time back as out, which I think is a pretty good sign of my fitness.

Next up: The Dump 50K+

Sun 3/3 A nice walk through the neighborhood with Christy and Bristol. Jogging a little to keep Bristol from crapping in someone else’s yard was plenty of running.

Total: 40 miles in 5 runs

The Year in Review, 2012

The past year was eventful, for sure. I turned fifty, ran a bunch, raced some, watched my children grow, loved my Gorgeous. Of course the passing of a parent makes for an eventful year, no matter what. So here are 12 things that helped make my year.

12. Team Fox

Running for Team Fox, whose proceeds benefit the Michael J. Fox Foundation for Parkinson’s Research, has given me a particular purpose in my running. I have always run for many reasons, chief among them my own mental health. Without running, I’m a pretty miserable wretch, grumpy, energy-less, depressed. 

At Jam In the Park

But this year, with my dedication to raising money to fund research for a cure for Parkinson’s has affected my motivation, my racing, and my mental approach. When I wear the jersey, I remember my father, and inevitably I meet people whose lives have been affected by Parkinson’s disease. I have met patients, family members, and friends whose loved ones suffer through the physical breakdown of a disease that gradually diminishes event he most basic functions. I remember how lucky I am (in so many ways), and how grateful I should be for being able to run ridiculously long distances with no other motivation than to do so.
The fund-raising aspect is simple: just click on the Team Fox logo on the right side of this page, and you’ll go directly to my donation page. All donations are tax-deductible, but more importantly, 88 cents of every dollar donated goes to research. Team Fox itself  raised over $6 million, and the Michael J. Fox Foundation has granted over $56 million dollars. I hope you will become part of that effort.

11. Supplements of the year

Performance enhancing drugs?

I’m not huge on supplements, in part because I know that I should be able to get what I need from a healthy diet, and in part because I forget to take them. But these two have been fairly constant in my life for a while. My chiropractor told me to take the iodine to help with Achilles and general muscle soreness. A few drops in a glass of water is all I’ve taken in a day, and to some extent, it seems to have worked. There may be a placebo effect here, but I’ll take it anyway.
The Feel Good pills are for my adrenal system, according to my chiropractor. I have a hard time getting past the bovine adrenal glands that lead the list of ingredients; that gives my family plenty to tease me about. I call them performance enhancing drugs.
      But they work. I feel better when I take them. I haven’t checked for any particular side effects. I don’t moo, and there appears to be no udder development. I am generally more able to recover from runs, and don’t feel like I’m dragging through runs. Said chiropractor told me my “adrenals were wrecked.” 

10. Race of the year

So I’ll name two: Terrapin Mountain 50K in March and the Last Chance 50K in December.
This year’s Terrapin Mountain 50K was the first time I’d run a 50K I’d run previously. Doing so gives me a sense of my training, it gives me a sense of time and pace. I worried this year about feeling too much pressure to hit my splits, and when I didn’t for the first 20 miles I kept telling myself that the 2011 race was perfect, in perfect conditions. This year, in the rain and cold, I told myself, I shouldn’t focus on time but on the experience. But I continued on, with focus and desire, and ended up running the last ten miles faster than I had the previous year. Chatting with ultra-legend David Horton afterwards, I was thrilled when he told me that my time--five minutes faster than the previous year and all made up in the last ten miles--showed that my training was going well. The affirmation was strengthening.
The Last Chance 50K was a different story. I knew the course was very flat, and I also knew I was not as far along in my training as I had been at Terrapin, for example. I started off slowly, and ended up running the same pace the entire race, with just a touch of slowing at the end. The experience was new to me at the distance, and one where I affirmed what I had heard about 100 mile races: you should get to mile 60 feeling like you’ve run too slowly. though my race wasn’t as long, the same pattern applies.

9.  Training lesson: running every day

Though I have surely run every day in my 29 years of running, I’ve never kept track of any streaks, and I never purposely set out to run a streak. After the Harbison 50K last January, I decided to give the streak a shot. After a coup;e of weeks of somewhat extra fatigue, I broke through some kind of barrier, and everyday running was easy, motivating, and remarkably physically energizing. I felt more loose, less tired, less achy. though I stopped the streak after 76 days, ending with the Terrapin race, I think the experience was telling. I’ll go on some streaks again this year, but as before, I won’t be silly about it. Injury, or what feels like excessive fatigue will no doubt lead to breaks. the consistency brought on by the attention to the streak is very valuable.

8.  Training lesson: every 4^th week off

During that streak, I would run three hard weeks, and then rest the fourth. I’d read of such patterns in the past, but had never experienced the phenomenon. I had no choice the first month--I was dead-legged for a week. I ran every day, but cut back the mileage to give my body and mind some recovery time. It worked very well.

Partner of the Year, the B-Dog

7.  Training lesson: summer off

In the past, I have had down times every year. Often I would fret about it, feeling unmotivated and tired. these down-times generally came in the deep of winter, often when running was made more difficult by early darkness, cold and rainy or snowy weather, and more busy work times. I would spend my summers off from teaching like training camp. In 2011, though, I had a pretty rough summer, and realized something my brother had told me many years earlier: in the deep heat of southern summers, he would run when he felt like it, and do some long runs in the mountains on the weekends, but without focus. I made that part of my training, and in those 100 degree days of July, I was glad to be able to put my feet up and not feel like I was bagging my training.

6.  Racing lesson: say something funny at every aid station

I’m not sure where this one came from, but I started doing it with purpose in 2012. I have always been a pretty happy runner, and have gotten mad at myself when frustration or fatigue led me to be something of an asshole to the people around me. This year I established my forever goals: 1. love the trails, 2. don’t be miserable, and 3. say something funny at every aid station. Number three, I say, has a lot to do with number two. I have told folks that I paid money to run this race, so why should I take my misery out on others.

5.  Injury-free

At the risk of blowing my mojo, I have been basically injury free this entire year. I’ll attribute that to all of the above training lessons I’ve learned. I’ve had niggles, as they say--achy Achilles, sore hamstrings, tired lower back--but none have kept me from running for more than a day or two.

4.  Running with a Purpose

At the Terrapin 50K

Of course related to number 12, my blog’s tag line started as just something I’d say. But it has become such a great motivation and such a source of perspective that I hope to keep it up after May’s 50 mile race. Paying close attention to my father’s diminishing physical self, and reading more about Parkinson’s disease and its devastating effects, I am more grateful for what I can do, more in the moment with my running, and with less effort, if you will, than ever before. Running with the goal of raising money to help support the search for a cure for Parkinson’s makes the good, the bad and the ugly of my habit easier to take.

3.  Partner of the Year 

Easy: he always has time for me, carpools (though he never drives), doesn’t need to carry water or food, and is never earlier or later than I am. Bristol leads sometimes, follows some times, and gives me a great deal of pleasure.

2.  Family

I am lucky for so many reasons. This one should really be number one. I get such great pleasure watching my children grow up and develop lives of their own. They support my running with humor, and occasionally, when they forget themselves, will tell me, in the words of my 14-year-old son, that my running is “pretty bad-ass.” Little pleases me more.

Vacation lunch with my Gorgeous

What pleases me more is the love and support of my Gorgeous. Besides putting up with me going off to run all day sometimes, and getting home from work in time to go running, she has been able to go to some of my races, and her presence gives me immense pleasure. To finish a race knowing she will be there at the finish to kiss me, to bring me water or food, to take pictures, to generally give me a base that I need, is surely the joy of my existence. I am very lucky.

1. Life gives lessons for running

This year, more than any other, I find this reversal of what many runners talk about--how running teaches us about life--to be more true than I’ve ever thought. No matter the circumstances, losing a parent is difficult. We know EO is better off, we know my mother is well taken care of, we know that her life would have only gotten more difficult as his caretaker, we know that the parent dying is the right order of things. But that is my father, present my entire life, and now gone.
I remember that evening at dinner with him and my mother, the week C and I were heading to the mountains of West Virginia for me to run the Highlands Sky 40 mile race, him ordering a 19-ounce steak bloody rare, the way he liked it, and my mother reminding him to chew slowly and to cut his meat into smaller bites. But Parkinson’s makes such hand-eye coordination difficult. He choked on a piece of that meat, and despite my attempts to do the Heimlich maneuver, he could not clear his passageway, and he passed out in my arms. He never regained consciousness.
That memory will never leave me, and often wakes me up at night, as it does C. But I remember the conversation we were having. He and my mother had spent the past 15 or so years traveling extensively, four months a year, he would crow. But the Parkinson’s made travel first difficult as he fell in an alleyway in Turkey and had to cut a trip short, and finally made it impossible as getting through airports, to hotels, through tours became too tiring.
His answer runs with me daily: “We are satisfied with where we’ve been. We’ve travelled to 30 countries, and seen what we wanted to see.” That satisfaction with what he’d done, at the end of his life (and as it turned out, the very end), gives me inspiration for doing things, for enjoying what I have, for taking nothing for granted and living my life as hard as I can.
  As I’ve said before, running teaches me some things, like to carry water, and to double-knot my shoes. But life, and the living of it, gives me much more than just running. Running is part of my life, not my entire life. And the life-work balance, that's bullshit. There is life, and that’s it. Work is part of it, running is part of it, my beautiful children and the joy they give me, the amazing love of my Gorgeous--that’s all part of it. I could live without some, and could of course continue to live without running, but love--that’s it. 

Week 31: Ending the calendar year

Mon 12/24  4 miles on Cottonwood

Tue 12/25  4 miles on Cottonwood

Wed 12/26  4 miles on Cottonwood. Overnight 3 inches of rain fell. The Cottonwood Trail runs through the floodplain of the Lawson’s Fork Creek, and I love going there after so much rain because you can really see how the floodplain works. In the dark, I could hear the creek flowing hard and deep, and the trail itself was under water in the usual places—out by the wetlands in particular. The full moon was out, and Venus and Mars floated around it. A nicer camera would have gotten better photos.

Thu 12/27 4 miles around the neighborhood

Sat 12/29 18 miles at Croft.  I set off to run longer, but, and you’d think I’d learn after 30 years of running, I bonked from not eating enough breakfast. Generally I get up, eat, and am out to run within an hour. Today, not meeting anyone else, I dawdled at home. I should have eaten twice before I ran.  I also ran one of the hardest loops out here, with endless ups and downs, some of them steep. From what I’ve read about the Ice Age course, Croft will be good training grounds.  By the end of this one I was doing some walking, energy-less despite hitting a few gels in a row. Even though it was chilly, I didn’t drink enough water, either. Eating and drinking remain my difficulties, especially during training without aid stations to use as cues.

from Southside: Centerline to Lizard to Southside Loop over the bridge to Fairforest to Jerry Perry to New Edition to the Lake Trail to the riding ring and back across the bridge to Southside Loop to Centerline.

I love a full creek.

The floodplain in action.

Flood plain functions.

What qualifies as a peak at Croft.

I love these areas of moss, found throughout the park.

As always, Bristol the Enduro-Dog amazes me.

Required lake shot.

 Sun 12/30  8 ½ miles at Croft. I went out this afternoon in clear sunshine and chilly temperatures. I wasn’t sure how I’d respond to yesterday’s long run, especially with bonking at the end, which often leaves me feeling pretty sore. I felt good, though, and ran one of my favorite trails, with longer climbs than most out here. I have to say that it always feels good to drop mountain bikers, even when they’re just other old guys (do y’all read this blog, Ralph and Steve?), and the technical drops and climbs are my strengths.

from Dairy Ridge: Palmetto to the Chapters to Palmetto

Total  42 ½ miles in six runs

This was my first week with six runs since June, and my first over 40 miles since May. I’m starting to get that fitness feeling, and Sunday’s run was the best example: despite a long run on Saturday, I felt smooth and easy through a hard loop. The weekday runs were fun, all in the dark with a bright moon rising. Even the sloppy parts were satisfying. I could have done a longer run, but with the kids home, and my gorgeous off, taking 35 minutes or so to run from home fit well. Eventually I’ll add that longer run midweek.

As for planning, I will run a 50K once a month, and an over-20 once a month. This was a good start, with the Last Chance 50K; I’ll take the 26 ½ mile weekend. I had registered for the Uwharrie 40 mile run, but will have to drop out: travel with L for her auditions takes precedence, and with the joy of seeing my child grow and expand, I will miss it.

Just discovered this stuff this week. I find the first song remarkably moving, and all of it fun.

I'm in the Ice Age Trail 50

I registered for the Ice Age Trail 50, my goal race for Team Fox and my fund-raising efforts. The race sold out pretty quickly, so I am glad to have gotten in. In the past few years there have been some real studs (non-gender specific) there, which will add a neat attraction.

While there's certainly time before my race, I'm asking you to join my efforts to raise $5000 for Team Fox whose proceeds benefit the Michael J. Fox Foundation for Parkinson's Research. Clicking on the logo to the right will get you directly to my personal page. All donations are tax deductible. 

Camp Croft Half Marathon Report

With chilly temps at the start, we warmed up through the race to “entirely comfortable.”  I felt strong throughout, except for the usual down time from the radio tower--the highest point of the race, I think, but certainly not the end of the climbing--at mile 6 or so to the next aid station at 8.1 miles. 

I managed to go out just as fast this year as last, this time talking with Mark VG, so I’m blaming him (do you read this, Mark?). And going into the single track I found myself at the head of a long line. As we headed into the steeper climb, I figured that couldn’t last. Sure enough, four guys rolled past Mark and me. For a while they were close enough that when they went off course, I saw them and hollered them back on. That, I told them, was the best move I made all day, I even passed one of them. 

I ran through the first aid station. I had a full bottle still, and a pocket full of GUs. I called out my number, chatted with the volunteers, most of whom are equestrian users of the trail. I appreciate them coming out for the race, which raises money for the Friends of Croft State Natural Area. They’re enthusiastic, and their cheers from the second aid station helped me get there without hurling. 

I didn’t mean to separate myself from anyone, but did by running through the aid station. The next mile-plus is flat and fast double track. I was still being conservative, wanting to save legs for the last four plus miles when you can really run and pick off the carnage from the tough course. 

Then came that bad spot. I felt a little nauseous, and ended up running mostly alone for a mile. I stopped at the aid station before a long downhill to the creek crossing, and filled up with gatorade to try to get some sugar in me. It didn’t help much, and I struggled through another mile or so. 

Crossing a closed, paved road gave me a boost, starting into the last part of the race as I had it. That Brian had caught up to me and even pulled ahead a bit for a while made me feel like I better get my giddy up (you reading this, Brian?). Except for a guy who came flying by--his first trail race I found out later--I led another little group through to the aid station two miles from the finish. Another enthusiastic crowd of volunteers there, including my friend Bud, but I ran straight through this aid station, too. 

Two guys latched on behind me through the last piece, the roughest trail, I’d say, mostly from overuse. Deep ruts, perpetually muddy sections, exposed roots to grab at tired feet--as I say, if you still have legs, you can take in a bunch of people through here. I’ve paid some attention to it lately, and have run it a pile of times in the last four or five years. As the guy behind me said, I seem to know the trail.

So having those guys behind me was a little disconcerting. I told them I felt hunted, and they both said they were hanging on. So was I. Then the guy right behind me told me he had completed an Ironman triathlon the week before: I thought, if I can’t drop the guy recovering from an Ironman... 

Through no real fault of my own, I did pull away. As we turned to climb the last stair-step “hill” to the finish, I decided I needed to put in some separation, and accelerated at the top of each step. I know how much that hill hurts; my friend Cate calls it a “f*** you” hill. 

I finished in 1:55:45, almost three full minutes off last year’s time. I’m not quite sure what to make of that: I’m probably not as fit, but I felt like I ran a smarter race this year, and a solid effort throughout. I always hope to say I ran as hard as I could, and I think I did. Since it’s the first time in a while I haven’t run faster than previous years on any race course, I’m not too worried about the age thing. 

As always the race was very well organized and marked. Thanks to Seth and all the volunteers who spent their morning feeding water to strangers.

My buddy Jason Sullivan, ultra-runner and inspiration.

Sporting the Team Fox jersey.

Wait, y'all are going the wrong way.

We all hit our watches to a chorus of beeps.

Even though I was a little wobbly, the show must go on.
We taunt the athletes every year at this event.

Fifty Weeks to Fifty Miles at Fifty Years: the Logo

We have a logo, thanks to my Gorgeous, C Cruz.

EO Barrett March 16, 1931-June 15, 2012

It’s hard to know how to start.

EO died last week after choking on a piece of meat at a restaurant. C and I were with him and my mom, just visiting as we were heading to Highlands Sky and a weekend in the mountains. His airway was cut off long enough to cause severe brain damage, and he never woke up after losing consciousness in the restaurant while I and others tried to  clear his windpipe. He passed away peacefully on Friday, June 15, at about 1 o'clock in the afternoon.

Q and I visited in May; he was in good shape, I thought, as I thought this visit. He was moving reasonably well, he was lucid and funny. “I’m still here,” he’d say, with only a touch of sarcasm, or resignation. It  became his most recent and perhaps last EOism.

At dinner that night, we talked about the traveling my parents have done. They have visited 30 countries in the past 25 or so years, and to a whole pile of WVU and Marshall ball games. I asked if they missed it. “We have been everywhere we want to go,” EO said. “We’re content with the traveling we’ve done.” That contentment shined through all EO said that night. EO died doing what he loved: having dinner with his family. That the final meal was an 18-ounce steak cooked bloody rare was poetry. 

EO's death was at least partly brought on by one of the most insidious symptoms of Parkinson's disease. Dysphagia, a weakening of the swallowing muscles, comes toward the end of the lives of Parkinson’s patients. The difficulty swallowing is compounded by a weak epiglottis, my mother told me, which increases the possibility of just about anything swallowed going into the lungs. It also weakens the ability to cough.  Dysphagia is at the root of aspiration pneumonia, the number one cause of death among Parkinson’s patients. EO had double pneumonia after his heart attack this spring, and came through that episode pretty well. But we knew from the diagnosis that this was not a battle EO would win.

EO was a human being, but he was a damn good one. He tried hard at everything, and strove for what was right with unwavering integrity. He used most of what he spent to provide experiences for his children and grandchildren and allowing my mother to work with those who had no money, he might say. He loved knowing people, and worked a room like you wouldn’t believe. He wore a name tag, for Pete’s sake. He was funny, and bright, and shared what he knew with profligacy. He did everything he could to improve the lot of others--the athletes he promoted, the employees of the bottling plant he managed, his beloved teachers and their retirement savings, and most of all his children and grandchildren.

Someone asked me if I would continue my training now. Of course my quest continues--EO would want it that way. My efforts will help discover better treatments for symptoms like dysphagia, and to find a cure for Parkinson’s. Your donations to Team Fox, which benefits the Michael J. Fox Foundation, will help fund those quests. We knew the research being done now would not help EO; it helps the next EO, and the next.   

Read more about EO's life here, and here, and here.

Terrapin Mountain 50K Report

C and I drove north to Central Virginia for the Terrapin Mountain 50K under sunny blue skies, but the forecast called for rain all day Saturday. We arrived at the Sedalia School, the start and finish of the race, with plenty of time to check in, and set up the tent. We hung out in the pavilion, eating pizza and chatting with race director Clark Zealand, and ultra-patriarch David Horton.

Chatting with David Horton after the race. 

It’s always a treat to get to talk to Clark Zealand and David Horton, two people I respect very much for what they do for running. Horton’s accomplishments are vast, with long-trail records on the Appalachian and Pacific Crest Trails, and a whole pile of wins in 160 ultras. Clark is the next generation of ultra-runners; he too has a mess of wins and course records, and directs tough and very popular races, as does Horton.   

It rained all night long, and was still raining steadily when the gong sounded to start the race (I love the gong). I concentrated on staying slow and easy. I hoped to hit the aid station under last year’s time of 50 minutes. By my watch, we hit it at 51:30. Not to worry, I thought. I felt good, maybe last year’s race was just perfect, the rain will slow us down. 

I thought maybe I’d make the time up on the long road down to the next aid station at 9 1/2 miles or so. Last year I averaged under 7 minute pace; surely I was more fit this year. I hit the next aid station in 1:31, 4 minutes off last year’s time. As we started the climb back up I felt a little heavy-legged. It's okay to be slower, I told myself.

At the spot where the course turns onto tough single track to cross back over towards Terrapin Mountain, I got a little burst of energy. The trail passes through a couple of draws as it climbs and drops and traverses the ridgelines. Everything was wet, and green, and sloppy. I was having a blast. 

With Rick Gray at the finish.
Reason #2 to run ultras: great people.

We passed through the aid station where the trail hits the road again, and we started the long climb back up to Camping Gap. Last year, Rick Gray led a group of four or five of us up that climb, calling out spots to run to. This year I felt compelled to do the same for the group I was in. We’d run to the next ribbon, or the big tree, or the corner. Often we’d go beyond, but the exercise kept us moving reasonably quickly up the hill while still saving energy for the rest of the run. As luck would have it, we came across Rick Gray taking a, well, pit stop on the side of the road. He joined us, and by the time we got to the top, everyone in the group had made the call where to run at least once. I decided that my goal was to decide when to run and when to walk all day rather than succumbing to fatigue and being forced to walk.

I was starting to feel better, and was only a minute down from last year’s time at the Camping Gap aid station at about 17 miles. I started off on the White Oak Ridge loop. The climb I thought would be hard passed without notice, and I found myself back at Camping Gap, now right on my last year’s time. I ate several cantaloupe chunks that went down well, chatted with the guy in the skirt again (the third time through Camping Gap), and set off with a guy from Pennsylvania up Terrapin Mountain.

This climb is tough, winding steeply through rhododendron and rock, and the black soil was muddy and soft. Again, I loved it. I had been looking forward to it since the descent from White Oak Ridge was long and fast. I yearned to walk up steep climbs for a break. At the top you turn right to Terrapin lookout and the second punch. The views into the valley were non-existent, though, and I settled for the cool cloud we were out in. We turned around and headed back toward Fat Man’s Misery, another feature I had looked forward to.

This was Terrapin Mountain 
from the start/finish area.

The guy from Pennsylvania and I were running well together, making our way down through similar terrain as the climb up, though not as steep. Fat Man’s Misery passed with much whooping on my part. I’m guessing it’s the very claustrophobia that woke me up last year in a sweat that makes it so thrilling. I came out, punched my number (even though they never check...) and started into what I remembered as the steep and rocky downhill.

It was, and again I felt pretty nimble for having run over 23 miles by that point. At the last aid station at Terrapin Mountain Lane, I was 5 minutes up on last year’s time. According to the splits, I ran that section 6 minutes faster than last year. 

The last section went off mostly like last year, too, where I passed three people. This year there were more folks in front of me, and I was a little more deliberate about trying to pass them. I hit the last creek crossing, the deepest one, at 5:31 with a guy who introduced himself as the Angry Leprechaun and his friend Richard, who we passed just before the creek. I said we had 19 minutes to run the last 1 1/2 miles to be under my last year’s time. 

The Angry Leprechaun and I set off down the road at a pretty good clip. He looked at his wrist and said we were running 7:07 pace, so he figured I was in pretty good shape.

Seriously, I’m running 7:07 pace 30 miles into this beast of a race? I felt pretty whooped, but continued to roll to the finish, the pace no doubt slowing some as the road flattened. I still felt like I was running as fast as I could.

Nothing pleased me more the whole day than having C at the finish to watch. I had thought all day of seeing her, thinking she might surprise me at any of the aid stations. The thought kept me moving to the next one, and the next possibility of seeing her. At the finish she ran with me the last hundred yards or so. I’m the winner.

Nap time!

I crossed the line in 5:45:06, five minutes faster than last year, and my fastest 50K time on any course. lark announced my name (like he did everyone else’s) as I crossed the line. I shook hands with him and with Horton, chatted a few minutes, ate a little, drank a little. Then I went back to the tent and took a nap, again, just like last year. 

Christy and I had plans to stay Saturday night in Roanoke, which turned out to be just what I needed. I napped a little more in the room, and we walked downtown to eat dinner. I was asleep by 9. 

Chatting with my old friend 
Sean Andrish before the race started.

Red Number 11! For those of you who are squirming,
it didn't hurt at all until I got in the shower.

The Hotel Roanoke was a welcome sight.

Even in the pouring rain on a Sunday 
morning, Roanoke has a cool downtown.

An entrance to the City Market. There are
different mosaics at each entrance.

Christy took almost all of the pictures.