Last November I ran my first 50-miler (the JFK). It felt great, I was hooked. I had never been particularly speedy, and this distance stuff was something I could do. Even my jaded marathon-running friends who snicker at my slow pace took notice. My dad said "My boy, you need to quit doing these foolish things and stop pushing yourself so hard." Few were surprised when I chose to run the Bull Run Run 50-miler on 9 April 2005.
The Bull Run Run route is the 25 miles of the Bull Run Trail above Sandy Run Park, where Bull Run drains into the Occaquan River. Virginia Happy Trails Running Club (VHTRC) hosts the event. Runners affiliate themselves at registration either for the North or the South, in a nod to the famous American Civil War Battles of Bull Run.
My race goal was qualifying for the Vermont 100 Mile Endurance Run in July 2005. The VT100 requires a 12 hour or better 50-mile finish. During January, February, and March I rigorously ran every morning and took long runs on the weekends. I gave up the "junk carbs" and lost 15 lbs. I was running faster and farther than I ever did before and was full of optimism.
The 8 April weather forecast for 9 April called for overcast skies and high of 58F. Perfect weather!
The race starts and ends at Hemlock Overlook Park. The packet pickup, dinner, and pre-run briefing were in the park lodge, and I saw Helen and Ed there (along with several other Reston Runners whom I recognize but whose names escape me). The lasagna dinner was tasty, and the briefing by Chris Scott (Bull Run Run Race Director) was a hoot. A quick poll showed that the race, like the Civil War, had more registered Yankees than Rebels.
4:00am came much too early. Two cups of strong coffee, my usual bowl of Cheerios, grab my bag and I'm out the door. I inadvertently leave my Gatorade Endurance Formula in the fridge.
The 9 April weather forecast is for clear, sunny skies and a high of 67F. What happened to the overcast and cool temperatures? In the 12 hours before the race the weather changed completely. Those folks who showed up in running tights and long-sleeved shirts were hurting throughout the race.
Once out of my car, my first race begins -- to the bathroom! Immodium AD to the rescue and I feel like I'm ready to go.
It's 6:15a at the starting line, mile 0. 300-some runners milling about, the sun is lighting up the few high, thin clouds. Birds are chirping, peepers are peeping. There's a last minute warning from the Race Director Chris Scott about how littering will not only remove runners from the race, but condemn their soul to eternally running the 49th mile. A few inspiring words about freedom and a moment of silence, and we're off! Everyone keeps up a sprightly pace for the first 100 yards through the parking lot and looped back through the starting line again.
One runner team is called Happy Tails (instead of Happy Trails, get it? Ha, ha!), and each is wearing an animal tail, kinda' like the Exxon "tiger in your tank" tail. There are zebras and lions and tigers.
Soon the sun is high enough to begin spilling over the banks and warming up the river. A beautiful mist hangs over the river as the warmer water flows into the shade, like a movie scene. It is gorgeous and sublime, with a pack of ultra runners scaling the ravines at the water's edge.
The diverse landscape quickly yields to two primary features. Little hillocks and mud, but mostly mud. Mud, mud, and more mud. Thick and black, descended from last fall's rotting leaves, mud the consistency of wet porridge. Stepping near it draws the mud towards you like some science-fiction creature seeking food. It flows into my shoes and around my toes and seeps under my toenails.
There are occasional blue-bells. These spring-blooming flowers are the botanical highlight of the race. The biggest concentration of them is beyond the washed-out bridge at Cub Run which we will never see. The ones we do see are blue, and appear delicate, and look just like miniature bells.
With more miles the landscape is the same but the mud has subtly changed. Thick, goopy, black muck the consistency of chocolate pudding but with the smell of rotting vegetation. One stretch is 50 feet long by 20 feet wide and mashed by 400 pairs of feet ahead of me, a fine vintage.
But I figure I'm cleverer than to plow through the mud. I try to pick my way around the mud, wide to the side of the main trail. The ground on either side of the trail for 50 yards is actually a swamp, camouflaged by dry leaves. Just one step demonstrates how much mud there is. I out-clever myself with a shoe-full.
I catch my foot on a tree root and fall flat onto a log across the trail. I land on my chest and my first thought was that I had broken a rib, it hurts so bad to breathe or just move. Standing up is agony, every footfall is jarring pain, and every breath hurts. On the other hand, there is no blood (except for my knees) and my lungs seem to work fine. I regroup and continue on.
Special thanks to the very kind woman who stopped, helped me up, asked if I would live, and got me going again and encouraged me over the next few miles. Thank you!!!
The race returns to the starting line here. My elapsed time is 3:25, which means I took the first several miles too fast. And bathrooms at last -- it's hard for me to run well when I'm fixated on finding a toilet - the last 10 miles have been No Fun For Me!
Now I ask you, is there really anything better than a clean, dry pair of socks? With a clean, dry pair of socks, I feel like a new person, ready to conquer any distance. 35 more miles, bring it on!
And consider Pringles, one of the modern miracles of food science. Nice and salty, they can be eaten two-at-a-time while running. They nest nicely in my hand so I can carry more at once. I grab a big handful and off I go, 3:55 elapsed time.
Mud, mud, mud! Thick, goopy, slippery, black ick. Chocolate pudding if there ever was. A 100 yard stretch of nothing but mud in the forest. For entertainment, someone has put three-foot long telephone pole pieces along the path with about two feet between each. The entertainment part is that 250 pairs of feet have already covered them in gobs of slippery, oozey mud, and even while carefully stepping from log to log I slide right off and into the mud. Or they move slightly as I shift my weight and tip me off. That's entertainment, Bull Run Run-style.
I see someone who has written her split time targets on her arm in permanent marker. What a clever idea! I'll have to remember that for future races.
I'm beginning to feel grumpy. My chest still hurts and my left pinkie has swelled up like a small sausage -- it landed underneath me when I fell. They have weak Gatorade here - too much water. They also have these little pastry cups with a raspberry filling inside. They look great. Do they taste as good as they looked"? No! Eck!! Grab a big handful of Pringles and get back on the trail.
The volunteers at the Wolf Shoals aid station worked hard to put on a good show. They put out signs leading to the station, they dressed up with a Knights of the Roundtable theme, they have ice cream sandwiches, they had a good sense of humor, but mine is running thin and I get outta there as fast as I can.
And there is now some good news! There is no more mud to speak of. Why? Because there is no more flat ground for water to make a puddle. Just ups and downs.
My crew is here waiting for me -- Vinicio Ingrao is a wonderful guy. He is waiting patiently with the bag I gave him last night and the extra batteries that I asked him for this morning. So I change my shoes and socks, fill up on Gatorade Endurance, grab a Cliff bar and some peanut butter and cheese crackers. Ah, clean and dry shoes and socks. My feet are so happy -- wheee! This is what is better than clean, dry socks -- clean, dry shoes to go with them.
I did the math and seriously considered dropping out. At that point I was projecting a 12:45 finish. Could I make the 12-hour mark from where I was? Do I want to kill myself trying, only to not make my goal? I would need to seriously pick up the pace, and I'm not a speedy guy. I down a bottle of water, grab a handful of Pringles with some Oreos for variety, and I'm on my way.
There's a major hill just outside of the aid station. Scott Mills (former long-time Bull Run Run race director) was already coming out, looking tired but satisfied.
I invent a game of passing people to keep my speed up and try to recover some time. Pass the next person in front of me, and then the next, one by one. I have a naturally fast walk and I can walk up hills at nearly the same pace. So I keep up with the person ahead of me on the downhills and flats, and I pass them on the uphills. It works -- I'm going faster, one person at a time.
The Do-Loop is a 3-mile loop that goes down a peninsula to near Sandy Run Park and comes back. It's the most monotonous and uninteresting part of the race. For visual interest, someone has thoughtfully abandoned a Nash Rambler in one place and a Ford Fairlane in another. How in the world these two cars got there in the first place, with no obvious roads, I'll never know. They've been there forever, all rusted, but they do have VHTRC insignia on them so they must be legitimate race props.
A volunteer was posted at the entrance/exit to the Do-Loop, directing people to enter the correct side. I asked if he was the keeper to the Do-Loop? I was thinking along the lines of Monty Python: You must answer 3 questions before entering the Do-Loop:
Unfortunately the humor was lost in the moment and the volunteer just smiled and nodded and pointed me on.
About mile 32 at the south-most end of the Do-Loop, I heard "Daaaddeeee!!!" I looked over towards the river and there is my daughter Elaine yelling and waving at me. She rows crew for W.T. Woodson High School and had a Regatta on Saturday at Sandy Run Park (just south of Fountainhead). I hadn't thought that the race trail would be anywhere near where she was. Her boat was going by at the very same moment I was going by, and she just happened to look up and recognize me. What a coincidence - a million things had to happen with perfect timing to create that moment (BTW, they came in third out of six and were very happy!) I cheerfully shout something unintelligible at them and plow ahead, buoyed by this wonderful happening. It must be a sign that I was meant to break 12 hours after all!!
Many kind Reston Runners are at the aid station. Helen and also Bill VanAntwerp are there, and the pleasant conversation is exactly the medicine I need. Bill's funny hat helps too. Told the aid station crew about seeing my daughter on the river! Conversations have become few and far between at the back of the pack. Fill up on Gatorade and Pringles and a pocket full of Slim Jims and I'm on my way.
It's funny how things which usually bother me become less important as the miles go on. Take holly bushes for example. I used to move them out of the way or go around them to keep from getting scratched. Now they rake me along my arms and legs and I barely notice it. I wonder why this is, and if this temporary condition could be useful in some other, transcendental way.
When I begin to lose focus because there isn't someone directly in front of me, I jab myself in the left side a couple of times so that it really hurts. It's wonderful what a little pain can do to sharpen my attention to the job at hand. Then pass the next person in front of me and move on.
The Wolf Shoals aid station, known as Gladys Knight and the Pimps. They look great but again I'm going to blow through. More Pringles and a Gatorade refill and I'm out the door.
It's baaaack!! The mud, that is. Only it's changed again from this morning's mud. It's now a kinder, gentler sort of mud. After most of a day in the warm air and sunshine, it has thickened to the consistency of cool roofing cement, or maybe cookie dough. Stepping in it doesn't automatically mean my shoe will be consumed by it -- instead, it squishes to the side of the shoe with a satisfying "schrnuck"-ing sound. Globs of it hang onto the back of the shoe to be flicked up onto my calves. This is the kind of mud I would have made mud pies with as a child.
Who put this enormous hill at the end? I don't remember this hill from earlier in the day. Foul!! Oh well, at least it has been graded. I start going up. And up. And up.
And around a curve, the finish line comes into view. I start jogging so I can finish in motion, though I feel like I'm barely creeping over the line. And the finishers get a really nice sports bag. It looks sharp, it's a great shade of blue, a very high-quality bag with "Bull Run Run 50-miler" on it. This will come in handy on many future runs.
Let's see -- they have Subway super subs, water, sodas, did I see beer?, sugary snacks, salty snacks, and trail mix -- yes, all the major food groups are represented.
Injuries Bruised ribs, a badly bruised left chest muscle, a strained left pinkie, various cuts, scrapes, and bruises on my knees, legs, elbows, and arms, and only two tiny blisters on my feet. All in all a good day!
Time I took 75 minutes off my previous best 50-mile time, to finish at 12:15:26.
Perspective One of the volunteers pointed out that, while most of America is eating potato chips in front of the TV, I am peeved that I didn't break the 12-hour goal I had set for myself. Perspective is important.