My First 50 Miler, Bull Run Run 2006
Driving back from the 14th running of the Bull Run ultra last night with Hunt I commented that someone should write a race report for the Traildawgs, to which he chirped "You should write it." Having been running for less than a year and trailrunning for just the past four months, I've felt a mix of enthusiasm and caution about writing a race report; bear with me, please.
Here's my nutshell report:
2 hours sleep...dawn...run slow...bluebells...great people...mud...water bottle left behind...great support...rain...more mud...fall, lost bottle...pacing well...more rain...deeper mud...first place winner streaks by...passing the 50k point...still pacing well...mud-sliding...final steps...finish.
And longer:
I carpooled down to the race with Hunt and Gerard, ameeting up with Diana and Margie; the five of us formed the mixed team Traildawgs a la Buzz, so named because we "borrowed" Diana from her usual crew, the Buzzards. Most of us are working towards some goal, either immediately before us (finish this race) or some distance ahead (working up to our next one hundred miler [Gerard and MMT]). For me it was the former. Sure I had a time goal (actually several), but they were based on next to nothing, so they were destined to be adjusted and readjusted over the course. I knew I had to have respect for the unknowns: those additional 19 miles on top of the longest distance I'd run; my stomach, which has had little practice in knowing what will be welcome and what will be upsetting; blisters, which so far I'd managed to avoid, but over fifty miles?
Dinner was delicious, gourmet lasagna, Mexican casserole, tossed salad. Hunt and I decided to place drop bags at one of the aid stations, so we drove over to the Fountainhead parking lot and stashed them under some fallen pine branches, then raced back for the evening meeting. RD Chris Scott kept the meeting brief, with some added words of respect for the hallowed grounds of Bull Run. Then time to retire early--good idea, since the race begins at the earliest light, in this case I believe it was 6:17 or so. The day was cloud covered, and it rained for perhaps two thirds of the time, sometimes light, sometimes moderately heavy, never a deluge--but over time, even the lightest rain will find you drenched. Because there's a return to the Hemlock station after the northern loop, I decided to try the day with a long sleeve shirt--by the time I got back I was thoroughly soaked and pretty well chilled so I thought better about going the next 35 odd miles without some more protection, especially given that the weather report indicated the temps were going to continue falling throughout the afternoon. I slipped up to change shirts (and socks) and grabbed my precip jacket, one that I'd bought back in early January and hadn't yet had the occasion to use, setting out for the southern loop.
But first, a few notes about the northern loop. Of the 340 starters, I probably set of in the back 50 or so. I'd decided to take my newfangled gps/hrm with me for two reasons: to force myself to keep track of and hold back on my heart rate during the early stages, and to map the course. The hrm worked fine throughout the day, but the gps dropped out for a section around the return loop and would not reconnect. Ah well. At least I was able to pull back on my pace, one of the things that had tripped me up on both of my other, shorter ultras. So, there we were, an army of runners, trekking through the bluebells, which for some reason I associate with the Civil War, don't ask me why. (Did Whitman write about them?) The bluebells, the fields of bluebells carpeting the banks of Bull Run. What an irony, these delicate, low-growing flowers greeting the soldiers as they camped there 145 years ago, as they battled one another, those "two families" as Chris Scott so aptly said.
And there we all were, an army of runners, in such fine camaraderie. As the first runners began to filter back to those of us in the mid-pack, most all exchanged hearty yawps of "Good Job!" and "Looking Great! and "Way to Go!" And the first signs of what was to be the theme of the run--mud--came to everyone's attention towards that northern turnaround. "Watch out for the mud around that next corner," came a warning from Gerard as he passed by.
Mud...yesterday I was reminded that it comes in many shades and consistencies: thick, gloppy, gooey, runny, yellow, brown, red. And it comes in many depths! If I had to say the average age of the BRR runners, I'd say 50; if I had to say the average depth of mud on the 50 mile course, I'd say 4 inches. That is to say, while some photos you'll see might look like a couple of inches (no sweat, really), there were plenty of trail sections where the mud was 8 inches deep. I kid you not. When I came to trail running late last year, I learned quickly that the muscles utilized on the trail vs road running were entirely more numerous and complex. I have now learned--trial by fire, I'd say--that running through mud for perhaps 40 of the 50 miles uses previously undiscovered muscles, or parts of muscles that are not used to the same extent, at any rate. So, that meant more calories burned, more time was spent and, for many of us, extra mud baths applied. The hills, long or short, were eye-openers if you thought your trail shoes had any sort of grip. I was wearing some Brooks Cascadias and I really loved how they performed, keeping out the heavy debris, but I wouldn't give them extra points for gripping mud.
Got back to the Hemlock station and did a quick change, shirt and socks. I say "quick" with a certain amount of humor. My limbs, particularly my hands and fingers, were cold and clumsy, making the change-out take too long, probably ten minutes; but I thought it would be worth it, and believe it was. I grabbed my precip jacket--great--but forgot my refilled handheld. Egads, how quickly one's confidence level can drop. About two miles into that next section I realized my error and spent an agonizing minute considering a return trip to Hemlock. This would mean tacking on 3 or 4 miles to the full length, already an unknown in my experience. I decided that returning would have dropped my confidence level even lower, so I proceeded ahead, hoping that there might be some slim chance of a water bottle available at the next aid station--wasn't sure I would want to venture much further on the race if not. As I arrived I blurted out "does anyone have an extra water bottle of some sort? I left mine at the last station." Some kind soul, who does not know this--but who might read this--happened to have just opened a small water bottle--the kind you buy in boxes of 24 in the supermaket--and handed it to me saying "you need this more than me." My friend, you may never know how you helped this runner to finish his first 50 miler, but you did...and I thank you. Seemingly small gestures of kindness can mean a world of difference to others.
Before reaching that aid station, Marina, I took my only spill, a slipslide down a hill, along with a roll and tumble. "No harm, no foul," as the venerable sportscaster Chic Hearn used to say, and coated with mud I continued on towards the Do Loop, the section of the BRR that is, for some reason famous--or infamous. On the way, guess what...more mud. I'll stop mentioning it if you, dear reader, will keep the image in mind through to the final steps up to Hemlock. Somewhere between Marina and and the next aid station I met the first place finisher Leigh Schmitt heading back, no, streaking back. It was amazing to hear even some of these early finishers say "Good Job" as they went past.
The Do Loop aid station was nicely stocked--well, all the aid stations were, actually, but this one had a griddle working on some grilled cheese sandwiches. As well as some more potent libations...which I passed on, being as yet unsure just what my stomach could, well, stomach. (I did try some quesadilla on the way out from the Do Loop, which, along with some grapes, seemed welcome additions to my alimentary tract.) Speaking of foods, I'd heard about some smoked oyster sandwiches, and ice cream sandwiches on previous BRRs. Didn't see any...not sure I would have risked it.
Back to Fountainhead, where I met up with Hunt, looking chipper enough. Funny thing is, neither of us took advantage of a change out (socks, shirt, shoes) from our drop bags. The temp was dropping steadily throughout the afternoon and by this time, what little deftness I might have had in my hands earlier was now absent. I suppose this was what a crew could have done, sat me down and changed my shoes and socks, rubbed my shoulders, wrapped me up in a blanket for a few minutes sipping some hot chocolate, but I'll save all that for my first 100 miler. Speaking of hot chocolate, THAT would have been a welcome treat on this cold wet day. At one of the aid stations, I think it was Wolf Run Shoals, I asked if there was any coffee....>>chuckles<< ...uh, sorry.
Marina was the final aid station before Hemlock, and what I remember most were the strawberries, bright, red, juicy sweet strawberries. Funny, what one remembers, an odd assortment of images, colors, feelings. By this time, speaking of feelings, my heart was the sorest muscle of my body. I realize that I'd never before asked it to beat at the higher rates for nearly twelve hours. Fatigue was setting in, making more difficult to keep heart rate up. I was staying warm enough with the jacket (one of my smartest decisions), but over the last five miles I started walking a little more on the flats. Pace slowed, but not nearly as much as the end of my previous ultras but still noticeably.
The last stretch along the Bull Run, covered with bluebells, the irony not lost, delicate flowers and the tromping of mud-enctrusted shoes--145 years previous, these were boots--187 pairs before me, 93 behind. And finally, the steps. I was so relieved to see them; up, up, back to the grassy field, back to Hemlock Overlook, to the finish line. No need to slow down, no need to speed up. I was psyched, finishing my first 50 miler, having followed in the footsteps of so many veterans before me, each one having at some time run their first 50. Despite lack of sleep, and more mud than I've seen in my lifetime, I made it to the awards with all my friends, making some new ones as well. The finisher's jacket is awesome, I wear it with pride. Fantastic job, VHTRC. I think I'll be back next year.
Great job, Traildawg team. (We placed 2nd in the 12 mixed teams...amazing...we all kicked some serious butt!)
Pawl, a bit on the sore side
