Abstract: 2:00 am Miracle. Fast walking, as taught by a master. Lemon-lime
Gator-barf. Wilting fatigue, heat. Resignation. Cramps. Buffalo burger
bits? Death and rebirth. Actual barf. Pain. Who really wants 5th place,
anyway? Acceptance of the order of the universe. Gratitude.
Strolling around the island town of Avalon (pop ~2000), where golf carts
rule the roads, on what should have been a relaxing day before my first race
of the year, I was not happy. A sore throat, which I thought had been
vanquished by antibiotics, had returned. I prayed for a miracle -- and got
one when I woke up on race morning feeling great.
I started off easy, and found myself alongside Kim as we started up the 1800
foot steep climb to the ridge of the island. I jogged easily up the grade,
but Kim was fast-hiking as fast as I was running. Since she beat me by 12
minutes here last year, I started fast walking alongside her. Soon I was at
my target heart rate of 140, but the hiking worked different muscles. We
were keeping up with the people in front of us who were running. I got to
the 9 mile aid station in about the same time as last year, walking 80% of
the climb versus running every step, and felt fresher. You learn something
every day.
Over the next 8 miles, the three of us who were running together had burned
off the people in our vicinity. I used my heart monitor to quell my
excessive zeal. When my heart rate got up to 145, I announced I was slowing
a bit, and Brian and Kim dutifully followed my example. We found out at the
21 mile aid station that there were only 4 runners ahead of us! At about
mile 23, on a hot, endless climb, Brian dropped back. At the 26 mile
turn-around at the isthmus, I got a refreshing blast from a high-tech water
gun. Kim and I charged up the steep grade using her patented fast hike.
At about 29 miles, at the start of a 3 mile descent, I had to let her go.
My quads were feeling pretty shredded, and there was 8 miles of downhill
remaining. I needed to baby my legs if I was going to make it. It was
frustrating having the uphill power available, but being limited by the
shredded-beef syndrome that seems to be my bugaboo lately. Gotta talk to
Doug about that one...
So I gingerly ran down to the 33 mile station, and rounding a turn, I saw
the former 4th place guy struggling, walking and jogging downhill ahead of
me. He stopped to fix his blistered feet, and I kept on going, fully
expecting him to come roaring back. The evil side of me thought "I'm in 5th
Place!"
I filled my two bottles with more lemon-lime gatorade (gawd does that taste
awful), forced down a 1/4 pb&j sandwitch and a few pretzels, and shuffled
off. At this point all illusions of me striding smooth and determined to
the finish are shattered. It's hot, my quads feel like I ran a PR marathon
yesterday, and it's just survival. For the next hour I'm in the wilderness.
Fast hiking the ups, trying to run the downs. Even walking some flats, with
nervous glances behind me. An endless reel of roller-coaster course unwinds
in front of me. I'm breathing hard, but my heart rate is only 110! What is
this hell?
It gets worse. Runner #7, way behind at the Isthmus, charges up (well,
shuffles up) to me as I'm walking under the sweating sun. He walks and
chats a bit, then says "I just want to finish this thing!" and jogs off. I
start running too, and wham, a full-on hamstring cramp makes me look like
John Cleese's Minister of silly walks. Ouch, those suckers hurt! So I
chugged every drop of the foul swill in my bottles, took another Succeed
cap, and walked some more.
And, lo and behold, the cramps subsided. I willed myself to start jogging,
just barely shuffling. No cramps. So I gradually increased my speed. I
started feeling good -- heart rate up to 145. So it's hot uphill at mile
41, and suddenly I'm running strong, after being on the ropes for 5 miles.
Welcome to the world of ultras.
As I pulled into the 44 mile station, I saw the guy who passed me was just
a minute ahead. We're both walking up the last steep pitch (11% grade) to
the top of the island. As I come up on him, he staggers over to the side,
bends over and hurls mightily. I offer a kind word and forge on.
I started running at the crest, and after several little climbs, the nasty
paved descent began. With normally functioning legs, this three mile
winding road down to sea level, with it's gorgeous views, would be dessert.
I remember flying down it when I first ran this race in 1985.
Unfortunately, it's 2005 now. With shredded quads, it's torture. So I
played little games with myself, like: OK, run the next 6 turns and you can
walk for a minute. I took one short walk break, and as I was about to
start up, I heard the shuffling of little feet behind me, and it was my sick
friend come back to life, blasting down the mountain, with a mile and a half
to go. I decided (after ascertaining that he was a youngster) that I would
just jog it in. I've run through this kind of quad pain, and the result is
more muscle damage and a much longer recovery. And I was being a wuss :-)
With the finish line in sight, the adrenaline kicked in, and to the
scattered applause and cheers of vacationers on Crescent Avenue, I actually
looked like I was in a road race as I ran it in.
The field was weaker than last year (a few fast guys didn't show, and the
female course record holder skipped it too). End result: 6th overall,
first master, (and first 50+), and that inescapable whole-body fatigue that
makes you *not* want to lie down, because then you'll have to pay attention
to it. Kim, my hiking coach, got first woman and 4th overall. My time was
about 8:50.
-- Dan