“Call it a comeback” (Contrary to Cool J’s wishes)
This race had it all: a podium finish, a renewed rivalry, hills, some fantastic abs, wild animals, and that’s about all. It’s probably not worth reporting, since a race with more prizes than finishers is about as competitive as one of my nephew’s little league games where they don’t keep score. But, I’ve been out of the sad libbing for a while (too depressing), procrastinating on TBOT4, and the beach trip was okay, but not worth traipsereporting over (sorry Bethany). So I guess we’re stuck with me reporting on what may have been the most pathetic excuse for a race since some ancient idiot thought it’d be exciting to pit a turtle against a rabbit (I’m not comparing this race’s participants to said tortoise or hare, just speculating that if you were invited to spectate such a spectacle on a Sunday morning, you’d probably opt to stay in bed instead). Sure, that race had a fabulist ending and encouraged countless turtles to come out of their shells and run more.
Flashback xx years ago (and a few more), and Dave and I regularly ran together, typically racing whether we wanted to or not. The pace would always escalate, with each of us blaming the other for our own subconscious surges to the lead. In official races five miles or less, I confess, he was best. Ten or more, and I usually had the edge. 10k conveniently falls into that middle toss up between those parameters, which is why I proposed it for our first shared competition in a sweet sixteen years (since I triumphed in the 2002 Dublin Marathon, breaking his spirit and sending him into a lengthy funk, hidden under the guise of debilitating plantar fasciitis). Dave also sidetracked the serious matter of our amazing races for the frivolity of family life (no offense Emily, Sophie and Will).
In 2006, I suffered a similarly demoralizing defeat in an overseas marathon, losing to little brother Keith. Like Dave, it took years for the pain to subside. I also battled plantar fascism and familial duties, too.
But that’s all old news. On this day we were both back! Call it a comeback; we’ve been here before. Like all serious rivals, we avoided each other before the competition, until Dave picked me up at 6 am to head to the event (carpooling just makes sense, and it’s good for the planet). The race “organizers” were just starting to set up when we arrived twenty minutes later at the Great Falls Park (VA side), and I immediately figured out that it was amateur hour for this team, when there were no portapots to be seen. Granted there were plenty of woods… The adjacent visitor center was surely open to handle the race day shits of hundreds of runners… Where were the hundreds of runners anyway? Dude on the motorcycle was clearly fit, and a handful of others clearly came to run, but it was a weaker showing than the Sunday after Easter (or so I’d imagine; I haven’t set foot in church outside of weddings and funerals since I was old enough to make that heathen choice). And why was the bathroom locked? We were told that they were supposed to open the bathrooms around 7, which sounded a little close for a 7:15 race start time.
Dave and I jogged easily down the trail, carefully avoiding each other’s competitive nature for a short warmup, when we found another public restroom that was mercifully open. Not that I am opposed to shitting in the woods, but I try to use indoor plumbing first.
We followed the same route back, all the while wondering where the course markings were, as well as where were the other competitors? Being an old man, Dave called it quits after maybe three quarters of a mile. I continued back up another trail, chasing off a fawn and her mom, before being scared off myself by a growling critter beside the trail that looked like an angry brown raccoon. WTF was that? Do we have badgers around here? He seemed rabidly opposed to my proximity, so I yielded the territory to him and headed back to the start. (For those keeping score, since Dave and I had already found the secret toilet, this vicious creature did not literally scare the shit out of me).
Back towards the general area where we assumed this “event” would begin (by the way, park service finally showed up and unlocked the women’s room. Men’s room still locked as of 7:10), and finally we were called to order. There were not enough people to field a side of soccer. I’ll assume that several competitors were lost in the woods trying to find their own private shitholes, or ventured too close to the great falls nearby and were swept away into the Potomac, while still others were likely eaten alive by angry badgers. But the important thing was that Dave and I were both ready to do battle. Unfortunately for us, so was the fit motorcycle dude (guess he was faster than the forest monster too), and Luis, whom the race director introduced as the race series point leader. A quinquagenarian questioned Dave’s age to determine if he was vying for the same age group prize, further incentivizing my old friend to dye his hair. Relax, gramps, Dave and I still race in the 40+ range. A young lass sported a sports bra to showcase some amazing abs. The rest of our motley crew can be thought of as Vince, Nikki, Tommy and Mick (I didn’t catch anyone’s names, and none of these other band mates will play a big part in the rest of the story).
The Race Director told us that he’d lead us out for the first part of the race because there was a tricky turnaround that he needed to guide us through. I suspected that it truly was a fun run that I’d unwittingly signed up for. Whatever, Dave and I could make a race of it nonetheless. I give RD more credit now than I did at the time, but after giving himself a slight head start, he counted down, called out “Go!” and started booking down the gravel trail. Perhaps he wouldn’t be trampled after all (by an army of ten, which I don’t think can qualify for an official trampling). 0.22 miles into our effort, we were directed to do a 180, return towards the start, where we’d 180 back again, back past this bonus early turnaround to the far end of the trail, some 1.44 miles away or so, where we’d spin back around, back to the start for the third time, turning back to this far end again, before racing back to the finish. Got that? It’s what happens when you try to squeeze 6.2 miles of racing onto a trail that’s less than 1.5 miles long. No wonder Dave and I were equally baffled by the course map. It was like gym class suicides, on a longer scale.
I decided to just follow Luis, since he seemed less confused than the rest of us, and he was setting a strong pace. Dave followed my lead, Biker Dude followed Dave, Abby (see what I did there?) followed BD, Mr. 50 followed her (smart guy), and the rest of our rocking group continued the chain. Points leader Luis leads for a good reason, and ran away from me pretty quickly. We discovered a long hill just before the far turn, which we crested, cruised down it’s short, steep backside to the pivot point, before reversing direction. I glanced at my watch, and it was somewhere around thirteen minutes in. Not knowing exactly how far the first little loop was nor how long it took, I struggled with mental math to figure out anything more than that I wasn’t going to run as fast as I’d hoped (that big hill settled that for me). Back the way we’d come, Luis disappeared into the distance. My race was for silver, unless the unfriendly animal decided to intervene on my behalf (I’ll save you the suspense – he didn’t; or if he did, Luis simply shrugged him off with an accented “We don’t need no stinking badgers”). I counted roughly twenty-five seconds from the time Luis passed me heading out for his second lap to the turnaround, which meant he had double that lead, and growing. Meanwhile, Dave was still close behind me, with BD on his heels looking predatory. I ran scared.
The second time up that big hill was even less fun than the first. Luis was over and back by the time I reached the top. He wasn’t running scared; he was just running away from us. On the long downhill back, I threw in my best surge (it was either that or throw in the towel), hoping it would convince my chasers to forget about me and focus on each other. A few minutes later, I heard the footsteps that told me, like most of my plans, this one would not work. BD (biker dude) caught up to me, made some casual comment about the hills, and imitated Luis (leaving me in his dust). Not so fast, I willed his way, and picked up my own pace again, pulling even as we reached the roughly six-mile mark, at which point he made his point that he was indeed faster than me and cruised to the silver (first loser). Instead of a dramatic sprint finish, I settled for a game of chicken with the park service pickup that chose that precise moment to drive on the last part of the course before parking a few feet in front of the finish. I appreciate the nature of his work, but that ranger is a dick! Dave came in some 27 seconds after me, nabbing first in the forties after Luis, BD and I were recognized for top three overall. Quite an achievement. Abby followed flabby, winning the women’s race convincingly, and the handful of people followed after.
Connect Our Kids is a software startup that is trying to develop a better program for finding homes for orphans and foster children. It sounds like a good cause. 25% of the race profits go to this group. Our race proceeds may only account for six lines of code, but we did our part. Where were the rest of you?
Dave was so furious that I took his bronze that he refused to drive me home afterwards. Seeing as I’m 50 days into a 100-day marathon training program (it should have been a longer training program, except I procrastinated starting until roughly 100 days pre-race), and had yet to run more than nine miles in a day, I actually wanted to run the 8.5 miles home anyway. Beautiful country roads, massive estates, and speeding luxury cars to force me into the drainage ditch (no real shoulder most of the way). And did I mention that it was all uphill? Okay, not all uphill, but most of it felt uphill to me. Not sure how another seven weeks of training will get me to run the same 10k pace for an extra twenty miles, but that’s for a different story. Meanwhile, stay tuned for Dave and I to renew the rivalry again in another sixteen years or so. We’ll both be approaching sixty by then. Should be exciting.
Traipse Reports - Trips and Races 