Saturday, November 23, 2013, fifty years and one day after the assassination of President John F. Kennedy, nine hundred plus people embarked on the 51st running (50th Anniversary) of the JFK 50 Miler. I was privileged enough to be selected to participate in America’s oldest and biggest ultramarathon.
The race started at 7 a.m. in Boonsboro, MD for the bulk of the field. There was also a group of people allowed to start at 5 a.m. (the slow folks). I arrived at the Boonsboro High School just before 6 a.m., driving up that morning after a not-so-fun 4 a.m. alarm. The morning was cold, so I waited in line inside with a bunch of like-minded wimps, unwilling to use the outdoor, cold, dark portapots, opting for the warm school bathroom. By the time I cleared the line, ran back to my car to gear up, and made it back to the school, I had missed the recommended pre-race orientation; since I am not good at following directions, I figured I probably didn’t miss much anyway. From there, we walked about a half mile to the starting line in town, stood around for a few minutes, and then heard a nearby starting gun! No forewarning or countdown, and we were off.
After complaining about the long walk (to me, 50.3 miles would have been enough, without the extra half mile warm-up), I started the race with Patrick, a rookie ultramarathoner from Richmond. He boasted of a recent 2:57 Chicago Marathon, and was targeting an eight hour effort, same as me, so we should have been able to work together. My race advice (given to me by a more experienced runner before my first 50) was that if you don’t feel like you are going too slow, then you are probably going too fast. Patrick heeded this advice, and backed off my pace as we trekked up the road for the first 2.5 mile uphill paved stretch. I told him that we’d run into each other again (foreshadowing). That was followed with a one mile trail stretch, then two more paved miles at often steep grades. I followed the general consensus and walked when everyone else was walking, picking up the running when it flattened out again. A couple of guys loudly complained that those of us that were moving too quickly up this early stretch would come back to them on the later tow-path. In my head, I told them to go f*ck themselves, thinking that we were all free to run our own races, no matter how smart or (in my usual case) stupid.
At this point, we entered the technical portion of the event, a ten mile run on the Appalachian Trail. The terrain was very rocky, rooty, and covered in dry leaves. You had to watch every step. I was worried about this portion, since I don’t consider myself a good trail runner, but fell in behind a guy who set a good pace, and rode his coattails for a few miles. When he slowed up, I moved past, and followed a similar strategy with the next person. I steadily moved up in the field, feeling good, figuring that if I survived this hilly, hard part of the course, I would be on easy street afterwards.
Pre-race strategizing with Patrick from Richmond, he planned on exiting the trail at three hours. I said that was too slow, and hoped to be around 2:45. I ended up out of the woods at just over 2:30 for the first 15.5 miles. Amazingly, I never fell. There were countless minor ankle turns, several stumbles and stubbed toes, near misses, and lots of tumbles around me, but I managed one of my best trail efforts ever!
Next, we hit the C&O canal tow path, where we would run alongside the Potomac for the next 26.3 miles. I expected to make up more time on this flat terrain, figuring a four hour marathon would put me in prime position to crush eight hours before all was said and done. Of course, this was easier said than done, because I realized within a few miles on the tow path that my legs were feeling a lot less fresh than they were three hours earlier. I dreaded the sight of the loud guys from the road coming up behind me to say “told you so.” I hit 25 miles at 3:50, which I should have been able to double for a 7:40 day, since the hardest part of the race was over. A few miles later, I decided the hell with this, my legs were shot, and I should be happy with a thirty mile effort. At one point, I stopped to stretch my legs, and when I lifted my leg onto the lower section of a fence (maybe a foot off the ground), my quad started cramping badly, and I had to forego the effort. I couldn’t imagine a twenty mile death march to the finish on dead legs. (As an aside, a few days before the race, I filled out a survey on the race website, which asked a lot of questions about DNF’ing races, what it means to you, when did / would you DNF (Did Not Finish), etc. I confessed to the few DNFs I’ve had in recent events – bagging an eight hour run after 5.5 hours, dropping halfway through a 50 mile night run after going the wrong way on the course, and stopping at seven hours in a twelve hour race; though I was disappointed in each of these efforts, I admitted that I was likely to drop again in a race if I felt like I had enough. I am not sure if the survey contributed to my motivation to drop, but it didn’t help).
I reached the 30.5 aid station at somewhere around 4:48, which shows how slow I was crawling on the tow path, taking over ten minutes per mile, when I had expected to be able to run closer to eights. At the aid station, I sought out a race official who could direct me to a shuttle bus back to the start, where I could hop in my car and head home to take a nap. I did not find this salvation; instead, a girl next to a tent offered me a massage roller. I told her I didn’t think I could go on. She did not understand, so I performed some perfunctory rolls on my tired legs, and figured I’d go on to the next aid station, where they would have better signs for people to drop out. It was only 3.9 more miles.
Alas, at the next aid station, I was similarly ignored, so I shuffled on towards the station at mile 38. That is not to say that the aid station personnel were anything less than helpful – they were extremely friendly. They just weren’t looking to aid my attempt to bail. There were no nearby cabs, I did not have a cell phone, and there was no one to call even if I did (Sai was home, more than an hour away).
Each mile I checked off on the tow path reminded me just how many more I still had to go before I would leave this part of the course. Countless people passed me, including several I recognized from the Appalachian Trail. Perhaps I should have started slower!
Two things helped me mentally during this low point. First, I heard a runner coming up behind me, who then wiped out. I turned and offered assistance, but he insisted that he was fine. A minute later, he caught up, and it was Patrick from Richmond. Clearly, he was running a smarter race than I, which is not surprising, since I often blow up. Nonetheless, it gave me a bit more motivation when after I told him to move on, he said he’d see me at the finish. How could I DNF now? Second, an older guy (60s?) who was part of the early start team passed me back while I was walking. Hell, if this guy took two hours longer to reach this point in the race, and he was still plodding along, shouldn’t I be able to do the same? I popped a couple of aspirin, and fell into a run-walk / stretch rhythm, which at some point synced up with the mile markers on the path. I would run until my watch hit an even ten minute interval (say 5:30), allow myself to walk for two minutes, during which time I would also stretch my legs, drink some water from my handheld, maybe eat a gel, and get ready to run again. It worked out that the ten minute intervals were getting me close to the mile markers, so that if I saw a marker up ahead, I’d extend the effort until I reached it (be it a few seconds longer running), and if I reached it early, I’d continue the run past the marker until the watch hit the next ten minute milestone. With this technique, I ticked off ten minute miles, passed back the old guy from the five a.m. crew, and even caught up to some other people along the way.
At 38 miles, I figured I was too close to consider quitting anymore, and actually started to feel better. I did mental math, and realized that I could still beat 8:30, which was better than my only other fifty miler. After finally leaving the C&O canal, I passed the sign for eight miles to go at a minute under seven hours. Ten minute miles would have me done at 8:20, which some more mental math revealed to be an average pace of ten minute miles for the full effort. Seemed like a good tertiary goal, since the primary goal of sub 8 hours was busted, and the secondary goal of just finishing appeared more certain.
The roads were rolling hills through farm country. While the hills and pounding asphalt were not fun, it was a nice change of scenery from the drudgery of the tow path. My eight on / two off run / walk continued, since it was working well, and I leapfrogged a couple of guys who were running together. I ran faster than they did, but walked slower than they ran, so we would go back and forth, exchanging brief words of encouragement each time. At three miles to go, I had exactly thirty minutes to go to hit 8:20. The next mile was an even nine minutes, followed by the same. With a mile to go, I was through with the walking cycle, and raced past the two guys I had been trading places with, and ran after another guy ahead of me. I sprinted past him with the finish in sight, (he declined my invitation to come with me), and crossed the line in 8:15:49.
After debating dropping at thirty miles, I ended up running over 27 minutes faster than my other fifty miler. To say that I was glad to hang in there is an understatement. I thought that once your legs were fried, your race was over, but I managed to overcome the strain, and found a (slower) stride that enabled me to finish well.
Overall, I finished in 100th Place, which I thought was pretty cool. Patrick clocked a 7:54, good for 69th, and bested me by over fifty minutes over the last thirty five miles. Hats off to him for a wiser effort, though it might just have been beginner’s luck. According to the posted results, I did finish ahead of Rob Krar, who is a bearded ultramarathoning beast. Dude has a 2:12 or thereabouts marathon, crushed the fastest known time in the Grand Canyon Rim to Rim to Rim, and has smoked just about everybody in races this year. However, in JFK, he dropped out after about 30 miles. I guess he was more successful at finding the escape hatch than I was at that point in the race. Maybe he hijacked my shuttle bus. Anyway, sorry for his suffering, but Rob’s DNF gave me a top 100 finish!
[P.S. Official results came out later placing me 102nd. Apparently a couple of other sneaky bastards snuck past me somewhere along the way.]
Traipse Reports - Trips and Races 