OPSF 50k Trail Race - Race Report

Owen Putnam State Forest is in Spencer, IN.  That's a little south of Bloomington, about four hours from St. Louis.  That's the sound of dueling banjos you hear in the background.  In the final miles of the drive to the race site the night before, we noticed that this is the type of place where if a truck breaks down in a front yard, that becomes its final resting place. 
John, my training partner, and fellow trail running enthusiast, drove us to the race site (a horseman's campground) to check out the scene of the next day's festivities.  There, we encountered one wild-eyed, middle-aged woman wearing lipstick that was fifteen shades too bright, setting up a tent. And LOTS of locals.  We eventually came to refer to them affectionately as "horse people." We called our new friend the "crazy lady" because she couldn't remember if she had done this race two or three times in the past, and she regaled us with tales of DNFs (Did Not Finish) around 70 miles at her last three 100 miler attempts.
That night, we stayed at the Canyonn Inn in McCormick's Creek State Park.  I chose this location because the only other option looked very sketchy.  It turned out to be a great spot, and it even had a down-home dining facility in it, so I was able to indulge in some chicken parm before turning in for the night.
Alarms were set for 5AM, but weren't needed.  I was up, and I was ready.  We drove to the race site, 10 minutes away, and arrived about one hour early.  Just enough time to get comfortable with the temperatures, set up drop bags, make one last bathroom stop, and chat with the other racers.  Being a small, low-key event, we all gathered around the Race Director as he gave us some final directions.  Then he asked us all to reflect in a moment of silence to collect our thoughts.  Try finding that at your local 5k on pavement.  Unceremoniously, we were off without fanfare, and the long day had begun.
John and I stuck together through the first 5 mile loop.  Some of it was on old country roads, but the rest was in a powerline cut that was laden with thistles and brambles grabbing at our shoes and legs.  The highlight was a huge muddy drop-off like an elevator shaft made of muck.  We nearly ended up taking each other out, but managed to avoid catastrophe.  Just a couple miles in, we caught two guys who had gone out pretty quickly, and were now confused by the course markings.  We decided to ignore the random pink blazes, and stay on the road.  It worked out fine, and we came in from the first loop in about 49 minutes.
At that point, I ditched my gloves, hat, headlamp, and handheld water bottle.  I picked up my hydration belt instead, and we were ready to go out on the first big loop.  Four of us ran together and chatted for a couple miles until John and I pulled ahead.  We had put some good distance between us and them when I lead us on a scenic detour of a creek bed surrounded by thickets.  We got to following some old trail markers and it took us off course.  Great.
"Hey guys!" We heard some shouting.  "Over here.  I think we go THIS way!!"  The other two guys had caught up to us and helped us get back on the right path.  Good thing trail runners are good people.  I think the road-running contingent is much more cutthroat. With our nice little lead evaporated, we set out to establish it once again.  And we did.  By power walking the uphills and cruising the descents, we managed to make my navigational error a distant memory.
The rest of this loop was uneventful, yet exciting.  We ran into a couple people who were bleeding and lost.  Among them was "crazy lady."  This is apparently a normal character to run into during ultras.  You just have to hope you're not "that guy" or "that girl."  We also ran through some ever-changing terrain and scenery.  There were deep ravines and valleys, thick pine forests, hard packed single track trail, rocky fire road, and best of all, sloppy, muddy, mucky bridle trails.
With our shoes and socks decidedly destroyed, we both resolved to change them before heading back out for the last loop.  This was a good idea because I could already feel gritty sand and silt on my feet that had seeped in through the mesh on my shoes.  None of the creek crossings were bad, but the mud was plentiful and inevitable.

That loop had taken about 2hrs 33mins and measured 13.65mi on my Garmin.

At this point, John and I parted ways (or rather, paces) because unfortunately, his stomach wasn't happy, and he was forced to back off the pace and wait until the Rolaids kicked in.  Once the RD told us we were in first and second place in the 50k standings, I was off and running strong.  Deep into the second loop, I was still eating a drinking really well, and feeling pretty darn good considering I was well into uncharted territory in terms of time.  Floating down the trail, I was in my own little world.  It seemed I was the only person around for miles.  No sooner had I confirmed the presence of two whitetail deer about 50 yards up the trail, when BOOM!!  Somebody tried to shoot one of them.  The deer fled quickly, and so did I, with a surge of adrenaline. 
I hit the marathon point (26.2) at 4hrs 42mins into the race, and let out a celebratory yelp because every step thereafter meant a new personal best for me in terms of distance travelled on foot.  Even if I had to be extracted via helicopter or horse, I was setting a new personal record.  The only other time I've run a marathon was at the end of Ironman, and that one was flat and only took 3:42.  This is a different animal, though.  I still had a long ways to go, and it was getting hot, and I was feeling a little tired.  I took some more ibuprofen to dull the pain, and choked down another packet of those gawdawful tasting Cherry sport beans.  Back in action, excited to be done, and perhaps a little delirious, I ran with all I had left after leaving the last aid station.
Less than a mile from the finish, I saw "crazy lady" heading back out for her second loop.  She told me she was feeling pretty good, but had managed to get lost earlier.  I already knew that because we saw her heading up the trail the wrong direction about 12 miles in.  We stopped and talked to her for crying out loud.  We wished each other good luck, and continued on.  I laughed to myself a little.  "She would get lost," I thought.  That's about the point I made a wrong turn.  I arrived back at the campsite from the opposite direction I should have.  Running can be humbling, and as I soon learned; the trail giveth, and the trail taketh away.  After showing them my Garmin at the finish line that read 31.1 miles, and about 5hrs 35mins, I was dumbfounded.  We were all a little confused, actually.  I think they were ready to let me off the hook and declare me the winner, but luckily I was able to consult with OPSF veteran "Norm," who knew that I must have missed the turn about .3 miles back.  So back out I went, determined to shake off the tunnel vision that had put me in this predicament.  About fifteen frustrating minutes later, I arrived at the finish line... again.  This time, I had some bonus mileage under my belt (32.88 miles, all told), but still managed to stay in first place.

That loop took about 2hrs 30min, and measured 14.1mi.

Immediately after stopping, I felt an overwhelming sense of relief and accomplishment ... followed by a wave of pain and soreness that required me to sit.  My feet, legs, and back were covered in mud.  Underneath that was a couple dozen paper-cut-like red marks that I hadn't noticed all day.  It looked like perhaps I tried to shave my legs left-handed in the dark, while drinking. I have just a few small blisters, and one tiny puncture right between my eyes from a well-placed trailside thorn bush. Other than that, I felt pretty good, so I hobbled to the car to change into fresh clothes.  I drank a ton of Gatorade and water while resting at the finish area.  John came in second place.  The Missouri/Washington boys swept the top spots! 
By the time we headed home a couple hours later, I felt great, and the smile couldn't be wiped from my face.  We were barely an hour into the long drive home when John and I plotted our next adventure.  Stay tuned!
Today I think I can run again, but it will be pretty slow.  Although not as heavy as they were on Sunday, there is still some fatigue that will need to work itself out of my legs.  And I hope to have pictures available soon.  Either I was hallucinating, or there really was a guy with a nice camera taking pictures at several places along the course.