I guess it was unreasonable to expect to maintain my unbeaten streak in races over 26.2 miles. Yesterday, I put my Rocky Marciano winning percentage on the line at the Rosaryville Trail Runs 50k. To be fair, R.M. finished his career 49-0, and world champion, while I beat a small field one time in a first ever race. Yesterday, another small field hit the trails in Upper Marlboro for three ten mile loops (with a short road lead-in and the same road finish). Awaiting the start, I scoped out the competition, and noticed one or two legit-looking competitors, along with a bunch of people who looked like they should not have been embarking on such a long run.
From the gun, one of the guys who looked like a runner took off, with a handful of people in tow. By the time we hit the woods a half mile in, we were down to three contenders, having dropped the pretenders. Seeing as I am such a patient runner, I let the lead two get ahead of me for a little bit (maybe 10 seconds away), before losing patience and running up on the heels of #2 (who was right on the heels of #1) after about 3 miles. #1 looked strong, while #2 seemed to be battling some horrible allergies, as he kept firing snot rockets every 15 seconds or so. Maybe it was a defense mechanism to keep me back, or maybe he just breathes that way. Either way, it was pretty annoying.
At the first aid station (around 5.5 miles), Mr. Snot Rocket stopped to fill his water bottle, while me and the leader continued on without him (all three of us were carrying water bottles, and mine was still full). Weather was great, with temps in the mid to upper 70s (a bit humid, but for July in DC, it was better than anyone could have hoped for), and the wooded course, while a little muddy, was in good shape. Single track trail, rolling hills, lots of roots. The runner in front of me was carrying a cell phone, and made a couple of calls while on the course, which I thought was a little weird; however, anyone who elects to wake up early on Sunday morning to run for four hours is automatically weird. For the next ten miles, I shadowed the leader, who I learned was named Keith. Really pissed me off to be chasing someone named Keith (flashbacks to little bro kicking my ass back in 2006 Vienna), but I didn’t think it would be right to hamstring the guy on that basis alone. Dude is pretty hardcore. He is running the San Fran marathon next weekend, followed up with the Leadville 100 miler a few weeks after that, followed by the Annapolis 10 miler a week after the 100. He carried the phone to check on his girlfriend who was in the final miles of the Vermont 100 miler (which had started ~29 hours earlier). We didn’t see the other guy for a while, but we would hear his snot rockets echoing through the trees now and again, so we knew he was still close.
At 15 miles, I made my move, and took the lead. I built up a minute cushion over the next five miles, which I then squandered after hitting a little wall after mile 20 (reached in 2:30 – 7:30 pace). Somewhere around mile 22 / 23, while running up one of the steeper hills, I caught a root and completely wiped out. Slammed my right knee (bruised and bloodied), and cut my right hand, and picked myself up a muddy, bloody, tired mess. A few minutes later, the two chasers came flying up behind me, so I limped out of their way and wished them well as they flew past. Okay, maybe part of me wished them grave bodily harm, but more than that, I just didn’t care. I just wanted to be done. My bunion really started to bother me around this time, and I found myself shuffling my feet more and more, which meant more roots kept catching my toes and sending me sprawling forward, though I managed to catch myself each time (one wipeout was enough). Somewhere around mile 28, I slammed my second little piggy into a rock and unleashed a cavalcade of curses (much like I usually reserve for the golf course). I thought I had broken a toe or two, and hopped on one foot for a while, before hobbling along a little more, before finally starting to run / jog / slog again. Seeing as I hadn’t seen the two frontrunners fallen in any ditches along the way, I knew they weren’t coming back to let me limp past them, so I just wanted to hold off one of the people I discounted after the first mile as pretenders and pick up my bronze metal.
At the last aid station (around 30 miles), I asked for directions to the finish. One of the women working the station told me to do another loop first. I didn’t have the energy to unleash another procession of profanities at her, but she astutely read my reaction and realized that I was seeing her for the last time. I was directed to turn up the road to the finish. It was a bitch of a hill back to the starting area (funny, it felt so much easier coming down the hill four hours earlier, go figure), but I was slightly re-invigorated to be so close to the end. I managed to hold my third place position, in a time of just under 4:05.
Snot Rocket dropped Keith somewhere in the last loop to claim victory in something like a 3:52, while #2 was around 3:56. Not sure where #4 was. #1 claimed some sort of Camelbak hydration kit, and that was it for prizes. Good times.
Today, my knee still hurts from the fall, and I am limping badly because of the bunion. Otherwise, not too sore. Tonight’s run won’t be fun.
And, to add insult to the (minor) injury – when I checked the official results, they dropped me from Position 3 and threw me into the 25k category. Guess the aid station attendee I glared at didn’t believe that I was done. I sent a note to the race director trying to correct the error, but last I checked, he never did.
Traipse Reports - Trips and Races 