“5 – 4 – 3 – 2 – 1…” That’s what I heard off in the distance at
the start line of the 2013 Mark Twain Endurance Run. Unfortunately, I heard it from the relative
comfort of my car. Inexplicably, I
thought the race started at 6:30am, not 6:00am.
After a few choice expletives, some of which were colorful and creative,
I ran down the gravel road toward the Berryman Campground parking lot. I still had to shed warm-ups, tie my shoes
(not the ones I wanted to wear), grab a water bottle, and ask directions to the
trailhead. Needless to say, stopping at
the port-a-john was out of the question.
It would have to wait. You will not see me in the picture below. These people were ready on time.
Using a headlamp I borrowed from
Tommy, I plunged into the single-track dead last behind the mass of
participants running the 50 mile and 100 mile events. In some spots, calling this single-track is
being generous! It is rooty, rocky,
twisty, technical, and flanked on both sides by burr-laden weeds with tenacious
grip. Velcro has nothing on these little
bastards. I began collecting my share of
the sock-loving foliage right away, nervous that my 4 minute faux pax would turn
into a big deficit as the front runners pulled away without giving me a chance
to see the competition and decide how to pace the first few miles. So I did exactly what you shouldn’t do in an
ultra. I ran like hell to the first aid
station. I charged up every hill,
convinced that a few guys had gone out hard enough that I couldn’t even see
their lights anywhere down the trail. I
was, however, kept in check by the quickly-dimming light of the headlamp. Even at full power, I could barely make out
the trail in front of me. Sun up couldn’t
come soon enough. Those minutes dragged
by slowly as I strained to see the obstacles on the trail.
I pulled into the first aid
station and asked, “What’s the damage? How
many people up there, and how far?” Probably too frantic for 10% into an
ultra. Eric informed me that only John
Cash and another 100 miler were in front of me, about 4 minutes up. Damn those 4 minutes! I was shocked and surprised, and host of
other emotions, about this news. I had
no intention of leading this race. Too
late for that, I thought, so I fueled up and headed back out, only knowing that
I was being hunted. I tried to keep the
focus in front of me, rather than
behind, though. I had no desire to race
John, but I kept thinking about how great it would be to have the company of a
good friend and training partner to work through the course with. But I didn’t press too hard because I
reminded myself that I’d better be careful to cruise easy and take care of
calories and feeling good. Any distance further
than 25 miles would be beyond my longest training run.
The next few checkpoints came and
went with relative ease. I tapered
nicely for this event and felt very strong and healthy. I had shaken off the silly start and settled
in nicely. Add to that the exceptionally
cool weather, and things were pretty comfortable for the first 15-20
miles. At each aid station, I would ask
about John, and his lead would be about the same throughout the first
loop. I just couldn’t convince myself
that I should expend any more effort than I was already putting forth, despite
how much I would have enjoyed a buddy out there.
Getting through the first loop in
4 hours was respectable execution, I thought.
Yet I was in a bad mood for no
good reason. Maybe I was frustrated that
I needed to change shoes and socks and felt a little lousy. Travis and Tommy hooked me up with some
snacks while I quickly swapped out the Montrail Rogue Racers and thin Drymax
socks for the Brooks Cascadias and a slightly bulkier pair of Feetures
socks. That was a smart move. No more slipping or hotspot on my left foot,
and it provided some additional shock absorption. I also dropped off the handheld bottle and
put on my new Salomon pack that was pre-loaded with goodies and my iPod – my ace
in the hole. The boys encouraged me to
get moving, and eventually I did.
The second lap started out a
little more sluggish. No
adrenaline. Nobody to pass. Just a fresh pack full of water. My goal for getting to the next aid station
was a little less aggressive than the first time through, and I had a hard time
even hitting that. Tommy was at the next
stop, however, and I was relieved to hear that I was opening up a good gap on
the field behind me. But I was still
trying get out of my sluggish funk. I was
really focused on running this lap as hard as I possibly could… without blowing
up and being forced to walk any long stretches.
The stretch from 34 – 40 miles is
the longest between aid stations, and definitely felt like it. I was working hard to stay on the pace I was
setting for myself. I decided not to use
GPS for this race, and just go by feel and chunks of time I thought sounded
reasonable between aid stations. About
half way to Tom’s Canteen (the mid-loop drop bag location), I forced myself to
make a change. Something had to give. I could feel myself starting fall into the “ultra
shuffle” now and then, or walk little uphill pitches that I was running earlier
in the morning. I took out my secret
weapon and smashed some earbuds in my ears and fired up the playlist I had made
the night before. All the sudden I was
coming around. A true second wind.
I came trotting into the aid
station anxious to finish this race in good form and feeling much better about
prospects for doing so. Red Bull really
hit the spot, and really gave me wings, too!
This part of the course has some wonderfully runnable miles that let you
get into a rhythm so I pushed pretty hard out of the aid station and set an
aggressive goal for myself to get to the last aid station. When I left the Canteen at mile 40, I was 13
minutes behind John. Little did he know,
he was pulling me forward with urgency.
I really wanted to catch him and wish him well on the rest of the
race. I started taking some risks with
speed and recklessness on the trail at this point with the intention of
emptying the tank completely.
I came into the final pit stop a
full 10 minutes faster than I imagined I would.
I couldn’t believe I was still churning out a good clip this deep into
the race. Since I didn’t want to overthink
it, I kept my effort level really high because I was encouraged when the
volunteers mentioned that I was back only 9 minutes now. Fueling was kept very simple. A cup of Coke, a couple grapes, and maybe a
few chips or pretzels if my mouth wasn’t too dry. And of course about 30oz of water – which the
volunteers filled quickly each and every time.
Staying on a steady dose of a salt capsules every 30 minutes kept my
stomach from ever getting sloshy, and I was choking down a GU Roctane as often
as I thought I could possibly stomach it.
I don’t even want to count how many I put away.
I turned up the volume and pace a
few more clicks and started thinking about the finish line. I lamented missing the official start, so I
wanted to make up for it with the finish. I was in plenty of pain, but rather than dwell
on it, I owned it and told myself that if I was going to hurt, I may as well go
fast. I ran the last 5 miles like it was
the first 5. The race had long since
stopped being about my fitness level, or splits, or sore hip flexors. It was about driving up my heart rate as high
as I could force it for as long as I could stand it. I wanted to see how much I could put up with.
Running hard through the finish
line to be greeted by cheers and cowbell with low-fives (it’s the cool new thing) from race directors Travis and
Tommy is unquestionably a highlight of my running career. It turns out that John was just leaving the
start/finish on his third lap as I was rolling in. It was a bummer not to be able to share some
miles with him, but I was so satisfied with my effort in finishing the 50, that
I won’t let it bother me. Moustached
medal in one hand, and bust of Mark Twain in the other I felt extremely happy
to finish and sit down.
It was such a pleasure to
anticipate how wonderful each aid station would be. Every single one was friendly, encouraging,
and practically professional. This is a
first class operation from the RDs to the volunteers, from the competitors to
the photography, from the sweet hoodies/shirts right down to the chicken noodle
soup. Mark Twain Endurance Runs are
stocked, staffed, and marked like they all should be.
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