Mark Twain Endurance Runs - 50 Mile Race Report

“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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