Race Report: 2011 Vermont 100 Mile Endurance Run

How long would this smile last?

Question of the day: would Vermont cap off my hot streak of races, or end it?  I had great runs at 3 Days at the Fair and the Equinox, leading up to Vermont.  But my training for the last few months has been dramatically different...  next to no midweek miles, unless you count 2-3 here or there with Sean in the jogger or bike trailer while 3-year-old Caelan rode his bike -- an irregular "workout" at best.  I did start CrossFit at the end of April, which seemed to be the counterbalance, but I didn't know if I would keep going strong, or if the lack of miles would catch up to me.  It sure made me nervous to hear Chris and Chris talking about 100 mile weeks, 200 mile 15 days, and so on...

I felt great at the pre-race meeting, and it was nice to see a lot of familiar faces ahead of the race.  My weight seemed the same as ever at the medical check, though someone said I looked like I had lost weight.  Maybe redistributed, a little.  I didn't stick around for the dinner, though, not being a big pasta fan -- the Pizza Chef over in Woodstock works just fine for my pre-race meal.

"I swear this race is easier than Grindstone"

I still felt great when I got there to check in during the wee hours of Saturday morning.  At the time, I saw no reason why I couldn't make my most optimistic goal.  I figured if I could do 17 hours on a flat course, I'd aim for 18 here, which should also put me in the top 10.  Never mind there was likely to be much more serious heat and humidity, in addition to the hills.  This is what comes from tapering, I tell you.  All that energy you usually spend in training and working out, suddenly it's just sitting there making you cocky.  But it was nice to see all the BCRR folks a little just before the race, get some group pictures, and so on.  I jogged out of the tent for a quick potty break, and I guess that was my "warm-up".  I mean, it's not like a short race where you feel like you'll burst out of the gate and pull a muscle if you haven't warmed up in detail.  Here we'd all be taking it slow and warming up as we went.

Soon enough it was time to head over to the big banner, there was a quick countdown from 30 seconds, and we were off.  The first miles passed easily, if a bit too quickly.  I recognized many of the sections, though I missed others I recalled (like last year where we made a left turn and another runner immediately pulled over to stretch his leg.  Or the spot where I used a log to retie my shoe.  Never saw that log -- or that turn -- this year).  In the first half mile I was just behind the lead pack of 12 or so runners.  But they were going too fast, and first another pack of 5 passed, then another.  I felt like I could have slowed down even a little more, but I wasn't confident enough that I could keep up my target pace into the second half of the race, and it seemed like a little time in the bank might not be a bad thing.

Both ready to go!

But the time flew by until we hit the first aid station, just over an hour in, where I topped off my pack.  It was an unmanned station -- just a table with a bunch of water and Heed jugs off to the side of the road.  One of the first-time runners later told me he never would have seen it if I hadn't stopped.  My plan was to try to fill up every hour or thereabouts.  In cold, dry weather, my pack can easily go two hours.  But if I get at all behind on my hydration on hot, humid days, I can blow through it in 40 minutes.  Guess which a July ultra on the East coast would be?  So my plan was to fill up every hour and not get behind.

Of course, I was probably drinking a little too much for the cool 4 AM start -- judging by the number of pee breaks, anyway.  Still, it felt a little humid, though it was supposed to dry off later in the day.  I guess we'd see.  In any case, I had to lament when I was paused at the table refiling my pack with water, or paused at the side of the trail unloading the same, and some other runner went cruising on by.  But I told myself it was early yet, and it didn't much matter who was on a sub-17 hour pace now.  And we tended to leapfrog as others also pulled off to the side of the road for one reason or another.

Ocean's, um, 6?

I chatted with a guy named Julian, who turned out to be from sort of close to Philly, running his first 100.  I though to myself he was crazy for going out this fast on his first 100, but he said he'd run several 50 milers including sub-8 finishes, and was going slower than that pace, so he felt fine.  I wished him well and hoped he wouldn't crash during the second half of the race.  We sped down to and across the Taftsville covered bridge together, and along the flat road next to the river.  We had both agreed that we didn't feel like strictly scheduled walk breaks were a necessity, but I was starting to think it might not be a bad idea to take one, as I was going along at a somewhat faster pace than I really needed to.  (This, in fact, turned out to be my fastest leg of the whole race, between the 11.5 and 15.3 mile aid stations.)

Thankfully that 15.3 mile aid station came around quickly, and we both stopped to refill.  Mine took longer, as it was a big pack not just a handheld, and I also paused to throw down some orange and watermelon slices.  One of my big concerns from 3 Days at the Fair was the way I hit the wall at 92 miles.  My pace took like a 6min/mi hit right there, and I figured it was due to running out of energy -- that is, not eating enough along the way.  I really couldn't take more gels, so I wanted to eat a bit at aid stations on top of the gels.  But I didn't think I could take dry or solid food, so I went with fruit.  This was the first opportunity (the earlier stations being liquid only), and I took it.  The volunteers encouraged me to take some for the road, but I didn't want to -- there was no trash bag in sight down the trail, and I didn't fancy carrying rinds another few miles.  (Seriously, other races put trash bags 50 yards down the trail from each aid station -- that would have been great.  Also, at all the unmanned aid station, the trash bag was high up a tree, several yards off the road.  It would have been nice to have one right there where the runners are!)  Anyway, I thanked the volunteers and departed (uphill, naturally), well behind Julian.  I wouldn't see him again for probably 30 miles.  The next two sections were hilly and slow, as if to punish me for my speedy leg.

There's nothing the crew can't handle!

Meanwhile, a few issues cropped up before we hit the mile 20 aid station.  First, the top of my right foot was getting a little sore.  I couldn't tell if I had tied my shoe too tight (I felt like the left was looser and it didn't hurt at all), or if it was just from the camber of the dirt roads, or what.  Needed to monitor that one.  Second, I tweaked some muscle along the inside of my thigh (so much for no warm-up needed).  It seemed to hurt a little on uphills.  It wasn't bad now, and I forecast two possible outcomes.  1) It could hurt more and more until it disabled me, or 2) it could utterly fade into the background compared to the rest of the pain about to come my way.  I hoped for the latter, and resolved to ignore it until and unless it presented a greater problem.  (The truth was somewhere in between -- it annoyed me all day long, but never enough to really be a problem.)  And third, all that pent-up taper energy was spent.  I no longer felt like I was guaranteed my best result.  Now I was going to have to work for it.

In this state, I hit Pretty House (the first crew station) at 20 miles.  I knew I was going to need a slightly longer stop at either 20 or 30 miles to apply sunscreen, get a hat, ditch my headlamp, and so on.  After debating it for a while coming into the station, I decided to get it over with.  So I quickly swapped my dad for a fresh pack, but then stood around for a couple minutes taking care of the rest, and probably nabbing an orange slice or two.  It wasn't the quickest stop ever, but it wasn't bad.  I headed out thinking it was great to have my dad there to do the pack swaps.  He had asked how I was doing and I think I allowed as how my pre-race energy had burned off, but I still felt fine.  On the way out, I passed my own private cheering squadron.  OK, maybe it was just the parents, friends, spouses, and crews for the other BCRR runners, but when they screamed for me it sure felt grand!  Then I took a drink.  Ugh.  Apparently I should have applied the sunscreen to my neck before donning the pack.  The bite valve tasted of it.  Nasty.

How cool is it that my parents come to these?

Still, I was looking forward to the next unmanned aid station -- "U-turn" at 25.1 miles.  (Though really, it's more of a right!)  Leaving Pretty House, I quickly came to a road section I remembered, and there was a runner in an orange shirt just within sight ahead of me.  There was some uphill I didn't take too hard, and then shortly after that I saw signs for a left turn off the road.  But the orange shirt was way on down the road.  Had he been in front of me all the way from the aid station?  (That is, was he in the race?)  I pulled in a breath to call out, unlikely as he might have been to hear, and in that moment he rounded a turn out of view.  As I headed off the road, I wondered if we'd be close enough to parallel that he could just jump back over, but it didn't seem to be the case.

In any case, I enjoyed the pleasant (and flattish) run through the woods, and turned my thoughts to U-turn.  I recalled hitting it around 4 hours last year, and thinking how crazy fast that was.  This year, 4 hours was still a few minutes ahead of where I needed to be, but I would be perfectly content with it.  On the other hand, the flat part had ended, and there seemed to be a lot of uphill to the U-turn.  Still, I hit it just about the same time, and pulled over to top off my pack (not wanting to risk going all the way from 20 to 30 on one load of water).  One guy shot by while I was at the table, and I heard two more runners coming up close just as I was leaving.  The watch said 4:02 as I left.  Good enough.  I didn't expect to keep the 4-hour-per-25-miles pace even though 50 miles, but I didn't want to fall off it as far as I had last year, either.  Especially from here to Camp Ten Bear at 47 miles.

Happy couple

Somewhere around Sound of Music Hill (perhaps 27, 28 miles?), the problems had started last year.  Then after Stage Rd (30 miles), it got much worse.  By Lincoln Covered Bridge (39.2), I was trudging.  The last mile into Ten Bear was horrible (15 minute pace, and that's largely downhill!).  I really, I mean really, wanted to do better.

So sure, there was a lot of walking up to Sound of Music Hill.  I mean, the whole point of it is that it's a grassy knoll from which you can look around and admire the stellar views in every direction.  So of course you have to go up to get there.  I passed the time talking to runners around me.  One woman said she was from Vermont, and it was ironic that I seemed to know the course better (if only a little -- I mistook the first "false summit" for the hill).  But the good thing was, we had downhill coming on the other side, and even while walking up the hill, even while I could see a more die-hard runner jogging ahead, I felt good.  I jogged one of the flatter sections, leaving the woman behind, but only temporarily -- she passed me back on the final ascent.  I paused briefly to look around, and then followed her down the far side.  We had some minor horse delays -- there were a few ahead of us taking the downhill gingerly -- but it was super-steep with treacherous footing in the deep grass, and I didn't mind taking it easy until it got a little more reasonable.

He gets around

I did pretty well in the final couple miles before the 30-mile crew station at Stage Rd., then pulled into the aid station to see my dad again.  He had my other pack ready for another quick change, though I paused to dig out my full hat rather than just the visor.  I figured we were heading into the hot part of the day, and I wanted full head cover so I could fill it with ice at the aid stations.  Though the heat wasn't bothering me yet, I remembered icing my hat all day long last year, starting quite early, and I wanted to be ready.  The cheering squad was smaller here, though they said everyone was doing well, not too far behind.  Nice!  I headed out.  Again, it wasn't a super-fast stop, and I worried that I was hurting myself by not cutting down on the stops more ruthlessly, but if I missed the calories from the fruit or the hat or anything else, I might well pay for it in spades later.  I'd have to let my result be my guide.

I headed out for some alone time -- the next crew station wasn't until Camp Ten Bear (another 17 miles).  Looking at the race plan I had stashed in my pack, I was still a few minutes ahead of schedule, but I had to hold to 10 minute miles for the next 3 hours in order to stay on target.  Right out of the aid station, I knew this was going to be a challenge.  We crossed a little wooden footbridge that I will always remember from the first year I ran Vermont -- because I got there right along with a pile of horses, and we jockeyed for position all the way to the top.  The top of what?  The top of the giant climb right after the bridge.  This time I headed up alone.

Future ultrarunner

Now 30 miles isn't so far into the race that jogging a hill should be out of the question.  But not this one.  You're walking in grass with the occasional mud bog, mostly under tree cover but often right on out in the sun.  You'd think you could dodge over to avoid the bad spots, except the grass and brush is at least waist-high off to the side of the trail.  Every once in a while it sort of levels out for a moment, except then the trail turns to revel the next phase of the climb.  A guy came up on me as we were getting to perhaps the top third, and asked if I had run this before.  "Yes, twice," I got out between huffing up the hill.  "Well," I amended, "not this part.  This part I've never run."  He agreed, and went on to say that he didn't run any of the hills, it just wasn't worth it.  Then shortly, he proceeded to leave me in the dust.  His walk must have been 50% faster than mine, and it didn't look like he was working any harder.  What am I missing?

At long last the trail leveled out, and eventually even headed down again.  I picked it up when I felt like I could, and held my own on the downhill parts.  I was thinking there needed to be some solid run in my future to get that average pace back down!  Fortunately the leg was long enough that I did OK by the next aid station.  But there was more uphill waiting there.  I was blissfully alone on this climb, and it was great.  Because last year, I remember trudging up while people passed left and right.  I mean, I had been relatively out in front just the same through 25 miles, but by this point, I was talking to people as they went by, trying to keep up and failing, and generally having a lousy time of it.  This year, nobody catching up.  Yes!

I hit the top and shortly came up to the "Vondell Reservoir" unmanned aid station, another landmark I remembered.  This year, there was a pickup truck parked across the way, and someone called out "Heed on the left, Water on the right!"  Thanks, but the truth was, the only thing I wanted to do was dump some trash.  The volunteers in the truck left down the same one-truck-width lane that I did, and politely waited for a chance to pass even though it meant a while at runner pace.

I could have used a river crossing!

Better yet, this section seemed all downhill, and I crushed it!  I felt like I had little wings on my feet.  Someone gave me directions as I came to another town, and I followed them across the Lincoln Covered Bridge to the aid station of the same name.  This was another major milestone.  First of all, I had asked for ice for the hat last year and been denied (it's only for drinks, they said), which frustrated me -- and this year, I didn't even feel like I needed it!  I took some fruit and a cup of water, thanked the volunteers, and departed quickly.  Second, this was the part of my death march where Chris had blown by, and there seemed little danger of that after the segment I had just posted.  Finally, I distinctly recalled trudging up even the slightest incline out of this station, and this year I largely kept to a jog.  All good.  I had added serious time to my buffer in that last segment, and if I could run evenly for the next 8 miles, I was golden.

Well, surprise, surprise, there was a huge climb in store, and I gave up that newfound time as quickly as I had logged it.  I had never even realized it was coming!  Oh, well, that's why I was worried about my average pace.  I commented to someone at the top that I thought the climb would never end, and she said it was the longest on the course.  It sure seemed so at the time, though looking at some elevation charts I'm not really sure it's true.  I guess everyone just has the one that sticks in their mind.

I made good time back down, stopping at the aid station just before the most memorable road segment, and managing to tank down some fruit and thank the volunteers before heading out again, still ahead of everyone I had just passed on the downhill.  Yes!  Now this section starts out running on the side of the most major road we use in the race -- and it's the one the crews drive on to the big Camp Ten Bear station.  It seems like every year Erin passes me here driving to the station, though how she manages the timing on that I have no clue.  One of the great mysteries of crewdom, I suppose.  In any case, the road has a long slow incline, and much of it is exposed to the hot, hot sun.  This year was no exception.  I saw a couple horses and a runner ahead, though the horses quickly disappeared.  Then I heard honking, and once again, it was Erin and the kids passing on their way to Ten Bear!  I'd have liked to say I could beat them to the station, but the truth was, there were miles left yet.  I went back to following the runner ahead, noting where he turned off the road, and making for the spot myself.  This part I remembered too -- you pass a major horse aid station just after leaving the road, and then you're treated to a grassy climb that leads to an up-and-down-but-more-up kind of trail section, before popping out to another road and the last unmanned aid station before Ten Bear.

The grass wasn't as steep as I remembered, but I walked it anyway, taking a gel and S-cap and all.  I had wanted to keep my momentum up in the road (and get out of the sun!), so I was a little overdue, and it seemed a fine time to get back on track.  The trail was a little shorter and easier than I recalled, and no one was catching up.  In fact, I popped out to see another runner ahead, stopping at the aid station.  I leaned over in that direction to look for the official distance to Ten Bear, but couldn't make out the fine print on the station's sign.  The other guy asked if I wanted a cup of Coke, and I was tempted to call back "Get out of there!  It's only a mile to Ten Bear!"  But I didn't want to spoil his Coke.  I just waved and headed on, finding the uphill a lot more palatable than last year since I knew it just led to a big downhill into the station.

Coming into Ten Bear

That other runner caught up, and hey, it was Julian!  We chatted briefly, but then I pushed it down the steep part of the downhill, and he seemed to fall back slightly.  Probably just enough to see me whoop and raise my arms in victory as I saw parked cars, meaning I had made it 47 miles, not just meeting my aggressive race plan, but slightly ahead!  So long as the medical check didn't take too long, I was golden!  We ran into the station together, and the volunteers ushered me to a scale.  I stripped off my hat and pack as I arrived, handing them to a waiting volunteer.  They asked my starting weight (I assume just to see if I was conscious enough to recall it, since they had a big chart of all the runners and weights right there), and it turned out I was right on -- maybe up a pound if anything.  Erin and my dad were right behind them, so I got a fresh pack and turned to go.  The guy holding my old pack asked "water or Heed?" and I said "nothing, I got a whole new pack right here!"  He seemed flabbergasted.

I took two steps toward my victorious departure, and then heard Erin calling desperately from behind.  I turned to look, and she was vigorously gesturing down toward Caelan, who was watching me go.  I waved and called out "love you all!" and headed out.  I felt a little bad that I hadn't had more time for Caelan and Sean, but at all costs I wanted to avoid the 10-minute layover and sitting on the grass and all that this station seemed to require of me last year.  I hit my watch and I was leaving at 7:48, with the med check, still ahead of my long-shot 7:52.  Wow.

Granted, I walked the hill out of Ten Bear.  I saw a guy ahead of me running it with his crew, until they turned back well up toward the top.  I remembered some favorable terrain ahead before the next big climb, and figured I'd use my energy there, not here on this hill.  Indeed, I passed that guy a couple miles down the road.  Then the flat part ran out.

The climb to the "50.3 mile" marker was brutal, as I recalled.  (And why, you may ask, is there a special course marker for 50.3 miles?  You wouldn't be getting a sensible answer from me!)  Then it was a long and undulating trip to Tracer Brook, the next crew station.  I passed Pinky's, where last year I had seen some other runners crashed in chairs in the heat.  I might have hoped for more of the same, but apparently those in front of me were content to stay in front of me for now.  I did perhaps take some ice for my hat at one of these stations -- I know I did it once this year.  I also recall coming on a large familiar metal bucket, fed by a hose, with a sign reading "fresh water for horses and humans".  Well, if you looked into the bucket, as a human, you wouldn't be very tempted to drink.  But while the hose was firmly attached to the bucket, it had enough play that if you leaned over, you could drench your head in cool water quite satisfyingly.  I must have really raved about it, because another runner who was just past turned back to do the same.  Now I really can't recall where on the course that was, so I just have to offer up my thanks to some random farmer somewhere in the fine state of Vermont.  It was great!

Shortly after halfway, I came across James, a runner I know from other races.  We are of pretty similar speeds -- enough so that he mentioned using my splits from last year in planning his race.  (I didn't get the opportunity until the pre-race meeting to tell him how crappy the middle miles were for me!)  He said "Hey, you're more than an hour ahead of last year!"  Which of course meant he was, too.  But he looked to be in a spot of trouble.  He said his IT band was hurting, and he was considering changing shoes to see if that helped.  I couldn't offer any thoughts on that, having never changed shoes mid-race myself.  But we talked a bit before I felt ready to press on ahead, so I wished him well.  It sounded like he was keeping close behind, for the moment.

Hydrating at Tracer Brook

The next crew station at Tracer Brook (57 miles) was another quick pack change, though I think I at least took the time to ruffle Caelan's hair.  I felt better having not utterly ignored him like at Ten Bear!  The bad news was, I was now five minutes behind my goal time.  But I wasn't super worried.  I knew there had been a big climb in there, and also this was just short of where my goal pace slowed down.  In reality I was probably on a more even decline rather than the strict cutover from faster to slower in my plan.  So I figured I'd catch up again sooner or later.  Well, I hoped, anyway.

So I left Tracer Brook, and it didn't take long to determine that I was unlikely to make up ground here.  A strong runner I had passed at the aid station passed me right back.  It was only five miles to the next crew station at Margaritaville, and the first three were up, up, up.  I asked a runner nearby whether he knew what the course was like to Margaritaville.  I had a vague memory of "up, then down", which I hoped to confirm.  He just said "more of the same, I guess."  It turned out he hadn't run the race before.  And really, what does that mean?  More of the trail same was a lot different than more of the road same.  And was it long climb same or rolling same?  In retrospect, the course does have a lot of "dirt road with a canopy of trees on either side", but at the time, I grumbled to myself.  Well, it turns out it went straight on up, until it momentarily leveled out, and there was an unmanned aid station.  I hoped that designated the top.  It did -- we turned down down down to Margaritaville.  But there had still been more up, and I was now ten minutes behind.

I finally got a look at it this year!

No matter.  I took the time to look around a little at Margaritaville, the 100K mark.  I remembered last year, having no memory whatsoever of what Margaritaville actually looked like, despite the outstanding name.  This time I saw streamers and banners with bright alcohol-looking logos, and it all looked rather like a lively pub.  I was only a little tempted to ask for an actual margarita.  If it had been a bad day, maybe, but I was hoping to make up some time into Ten Bear, so I passed on it.  I did get in the quick pack switch, and then it was off again.  No more fruit this time -- my stomach had started giving me a little trouble, off and on, and I knew that was a potential disaster -- so I cut back to just gels and water.  Hopefully the extra fruit early on would be enough to keep me going past 92 miles.

On the up side, I knew there was a long downhill coming, where I made up a lot of ground last year.  I remember passing people who said things like "wow, what a recovery!"  Of course, it didn't start out that way.  Inevitably, it was somewhat uphill first.  My plan showed 4 miles to an intermediate station, and I was pretty surprised to hit it in only a half hour!  But the sign on it said it had only been three miles.  So either I went crazy fast or just plain darn fast, but either way, it was well faster than my plan at that point.  Nice.  Also, as it turns out, this was the highest point on the course.  And then we hit the downhill.  It was just as fast as I remembered.  Again, I passed people, though perhaps not as many.  It felt pretty good.  I walked a bit when we came off the trail onto pavement, just to rest my legs.  And then carried on down the paved part of the downhill.  When it finally leveled off I thought we must be pretty close to Camp Ten Bear, and I looked for the left that led back to the aid station.

An intersection... but not the one.  Another...  not it.  Where was it?!?  Finally I saw it -- easy to recognize because it was the one part of the course you actually run twice, so there are signs in both directions.  I made the turn toward the station, right next to a horse.  Someone called out from behind, "go straight!"  The rider next to me yelled at me "wrong way!"  I took a moment to look back, but I knew that was BS.  I shook my head and carried on.  There was a little back and forth and then eventually the rider apologized (for trying to add 23 miles to my race!).  Give me a break.

Heading for the scales, hat in hand...

I walked up the last hill, greeting all the runners heading out of Ten Bear for the first time.  In nearly 12 hours, I had gone 70 miles, and they were just past 47.  I was still more than an hour ahead of last year's time, though it seemed like I hadn't done that last downhill quite as fast.  I'd have to make up for it by not loafing on the grass at the station.

Everyone cheered me down the hill and over to the scales.  I offloaded the pack and hat and climbed on -- 4-5 pounds up.  The doctors were totally OK with this, but it concerned me.  I had been taking a lot of salt and drinking a lot, and not suffering as much from the heat.  I resolved to cut back a bit.  Erin said there were pacers available, but I really didn't feel like I needed one, and wasn't ready to deal with it if I ended up with one that didn't help.  She also said they thought there had only been seven 100-milers through before me.  Wow.  But, 30 miles was a lot of race left, and I had no idea how accurate that figure was anyway -- my mental math put me at more like 15.  I was pretty darn happy if I was actually in the top 10, so I figured I'd try not to get passed, but didn't want to make more specific plans at this point.

Leaving... without the hat

With that, I grabbed my new pack and headed out.  11:54, back ahead of my scheduled 12:01.  Yes!  "Hat!  Your hat!"  I looked back.  Half the station seemed to be waving at me.  Erin had it, and I started up as she started down.  Then someone, perhaps a waiting pacer, grabbed it from her and ran it down to me.  Thanks!  I turned back and headed out again.  I was ready for another gel but I rememebered that the huge climb didn't start right away...  I had made that mistake before.  So I carried on maybe a quarter mile into the woods, passing a 100K runner, and made it to the real climb.  It was everything I remembered, only not quite so bad.  How's that?  Maybe I was just on a high from that top 10 remark.

Meanwhile, I quit the s-caps, until I could actually feel muscles tightening.  Usually I get a warning in my neck before I really get leg cramps, so I figured I'd look out for that.  I cut back on the water a bit too.  I hoped to have my weight back to where it started by the time I got to the medical check at Bill's.  On the up side, I continued to pee regularly, so I was going to lose a little that way, and I sure wasn't burdened by a lack of sweat, so I should lose some that way too.  I hoped it would all sort out.  Physically I didn't feel that great, but I was ready to push for a decent 30 miles and see what I could do.

Coming into West Winds

The two legs into the 77-mile crew station at West Winds were slower than I would have liked, but what can you do?  There was a lot of climbing.  We'd climb a long way on trail, hit a nice level road that would promptly turn uphill, cross a nice level field, onto a trail that turned uphill, you get the idea.  Somewhere in that last 30 we made the right I recognized onto a narrow path up a grassy slope, but I couldn't remember what came next!  Still, it all made me very glad to be fast -- two years ago I ran all these sections in the dark, and they were so much easier in the daytime!

I was sort of looking forward to the temperature dropping, and it took its sweet time.  I hit West Winds a little before 5:30, and while I had lost all the buffer I had built at Ten Bear, that was pretty much to be expected.  The question was how I could do from here.  I said hi to everyone and got my new pack, heading down the steep, grassy hill onto another trail section.  I wasn't feeling the love for the trails, this year.  I did OK on them, and they relieved all the oddball pains probably caused by the cambered dirt roads, but they just seemed slower and more uphill than the roads.

Aid at West Winds

Still, overall, I had a pretty good time from West Winds to Bills.  I continued to pass people, if at a slower rate.  I'd first see a pair of runners in the distance, and think "Aha!  I've got you now!"  I mean, if they were going to stay in front of me, I'd never see them at all, right?  Inevitably, the pacer noticed me too, and they picked up the pace, often enough to disappear again.  But inevitably, I caught up again.  One I came up on again just as his pacer took his bottle and dashed ahead to an unmanned aid station.  The one disadvantage I had going pacer-less -- no one to run ahead and fill bottles for me!  But the runner ended up at the table too, and I passed while they were there.  The advantage of a large hydration pack, I guess.

I remember last year, running on a road with heavy traffic, which later turned out to be crew vehicles heading to Bill's.  This year, I kept looking for that, but there was never a road I recognized, or with so much traffic.  Hopefully because I was ahead of it, but who can say?  At one point I came blazing down a hill to an aid station, to see a runner and his pacer leaving it just ahead.  They turned the corner just down the road, and then the pacer popped back out in a mad dash for the aid station.  A volunteer shouted "What, what did you forget?"  The pacer made it 80% of the way back to the station, then turned around and headed out again.  Ha!  I knew what that was.  That was him checking whether I had a red (100K) or black (100M) bib.  If you saw a pair of runners then you could pretty much count on it being a 100-miler and pacer.  But an individual could be in either race...

Leaving West Winds

I still had to stop at the station, but I knew that was another guy I'd be catching.  If he was that concerned, he wasn't going to stay ahead for 15 or 20 miles.  In fact, I was taking all the downhills faster, so while he held me off for a while on the climbs, I caught up on a descent.  We chatted briefly, and I noted that I saw him checking out my bib color back there at the station.  "Yup."  "Thought so.  Well, good luck to you!"  I headed on.

It was still a long run to Bill's, and I kept thinking I must be at the turn where I'd see the big field on my right, with cars parked, and the big red barn in the distance.  It never was that turn.  I jumped with joy when I finally saw the cars, though the barn didn't look red at all.  Well, I'd still take it.  I came in just the slightest bit ahead of schedule.  How about that?  88.6 miles and right on.  I ditched the pack and hat and jumped on the scale.  They asked what I started at.  I told them.  They fiddled with the scale -- a balance kind, like at the doctor's.  I was clearly right at my start weight, but the volunteer on the scale jiggled the smallest weight back and forth in half-pound increments for so long I almost screamed.  Close enough, damn it!  In reality, it was probably 10 seconds, not nearly enough to matter.  Sometimes you look back and wonder where your head was.

Last weigh-in

My dad had a headlamp ready, but I wanted both of them, causing another small delay while he fetched my crew bag.  I had considered throwing on a long sleeve shirt, but it didn't seem that cool and I didn't want to stay any longer.  So I took the light, left the hat (on purpose this time), and headed on out.

In retrospect, this was the high point of my race.  According to the post-race splits, I was in 6th, the best of all my stops.  I was feeling great (mentally, anyway), I had just hit my targets, it was still daylight, who could ask for more?  The next 7 miles to Polly's did not go as well.  There were two practically equal sections of 3.5 miles, which I needed to hit under 40 minutes each in order to leave myself an hour for the last 4.5 miles.  (You wouldn't think an hour was needed, but there were a lot of hills and my previous best was 1:08!)  But it seemed to be largely uphill, and it took 45 minutes to make it to the midway aid station.  Plus I was passed, by my friend super-fast-walker-guy.  We had just crossed a huge field in the waning sun, and I heard some hooting behind me.  I didn't look back (why bother?), but pressed on as best I could.  He passed with his pacer on an uphill shortly thereafter, and seemed stronger on the downhills too.  Catching him seemed pretty unlikely.  I also had some chilly moments, when I was walking a hill and a breeze hit.  I wondered whether it was a mistake to skip the warmer shirt, but that at least did not last.

Feeling good at Bill's!

The second half to Polly's was pretty much the same.  Largely uphill, and as it went on I was passed by a woman and her pacer -- seemed like the same woman I had talked to at Sound of Music Hill, way back when, though I couldn't be sure.  I kept closer to them, but I was going about as well as I could, and never managed to actually close any distance.  Apparently I was keeping her nervous, because we had donned our headlamps, and I could see her pacer's turn back to check on me approximately every 35 seconds for the rest of the race.  Note to pacer: if you shut off the light before looking back, you'd see my light, and I'd never know you were there.

Anyway, I hit Polly's at 17:15.  A fantastic time, but 15 minutes behind my best case.  I didn't see cutting 23 minutes off my time for these 4.5 miles, so an 18-hour finish wasn't going to happen.  Still, if all the reports had been right, I was still in the top 10.  So my new goal was to keep everyone behind me, behind me.  It took a half hour to make it to the final aid station, but I couldn't remember the mileage, and hadn't seen it posted.  Did I have a mile to go?  Two?  In fact it was 2.3 to go, which was more than I had figured.  So I spent a lot of time wondering where that "1 mile to go" sign was!

With 11 miles to go!

I also kept hearing voices behind me, and whenever I looked, I saw a light in the distance (and the visibility wasn't that far).  This part was almost all trail, and uphill.  I pushed as hard as I could to stay ahead, jogging every hill except for the very steepest parts.  The voices were still there, pressing me to stay ahead.  This seemed much different than previous years, but I was a lot more motivated.  Someone passed, but thankfully it was horses.  Finally I hit the mile-to-go sign, just as I passed another runner (though not a 100-miler).  I pressed on down the trail for that eternal last mile, finally hitting the glowing milk jugs in perhaps the last quarter mile.  They carried me up to the torches, and I crossed the glowing finish line in 18:13:58, for a massive PR, and my first top 10 in an actual competitive ultra.  Yes!

Yeah!

My parents and Erin and the kids were all there to celebrate my finish, though it was a short lived party as suddenly everyone yelled "out of the way!  Horses coming!" and a pair of horses crossed the line.  ("Some of them go *really* fast!" someone noted, once we were safely off to the side.)  My excellent crew had a chair ready and waiting, so I hung out at the finish line for a few minutes, before meandering back to the most welcome cots in the medical tent.  This is something I wish every 100 miler would copy -- a warm tent full of cots and blankets, close to the food -- there's no better way to finish, if you ask me!

Happy finishers

Unfortunately it didn't take very long for the leg pain to kick in, and I wasn't able to entirely avoid the usual shivering spell, though it didn't seem as bad this year (at least in part due to the heat pack that the medical team produced!).  I was able to eat and drink a little, and was just starting to feel a little more human when Chris strolled in and settled down on the cot next to me, having handily beat his 20-hour goal.  He didn't even lay down, just sat on the side of the cot and chatted.  How does he do that?!?  James also came through, though I don't even think he stopped for a cot.  Seriously?  I had been laying there moaning and begging for a leg transplant!  (Medical team diagnosis: "Hey, you brought that one on yourself, buddy!")

Top 10

Still, it felt great.  From 19:41 to 18:13, and a top 10 to boot.  For the first time I got called up right at the beginning of the awards ceremony, and got to stand up there for the little photo shoot before they handed out the rest of the awards, from 30-hour finishers on down.  (Though I almost missed it!  They started the awards early and we rolled in as the second-place finisher was being called!)

So, at the end of the day, I guess there is something to this CrossFit!  Despite the lower training mileage, it seems to be working for me.  Next up, Grindstone!  We'll see if it does the same for the real gnarly climbs!  :)

Guess who digs the lunch?

In closing, thanks to my dad for excellent crewing -- he was there at every station with a fresh pack ready.  It was great to see my mom and Erin and the kids out on the course too!  Plus the BCRR retinue at the early stations.  Those friendly faces mean a lot.  And thanks to all the volunteers, always ready with some fresh fruit, cups of water, jugs to top of my pack between crew stations, or cots at the finish line.  Couldn't do it without you all!

Race Report: 2011 Equinox 50 Mile

Short Version:

Equinox Check: Pass
Big thanks to all the volunteers, especially the ones who refilled my sweaty pack again and again.
Vermont, here we come!

Long Version:

Let me start by describing the Equinox, for those who aren't familiar.  The Bucks County RoadRunners puts on a series of 10 or 12 races each year, through the winter (the Winter Series).  Some idio-...  bright person got the idea to string all the courses back to back to make a 50 mile race.  They all take place at Tyler Park, which has a nice number of paved trails, but still not 50 miles worth.  So these races, ranging in distance from 5K to a half marathon, are each made up of one or more loops, ranging from 2.7 to 5.3 miles.  Further, there's a creek running down the middle of the park, and most of the loops are on one side (the largely tree-covered "back"), while a few are on the other side (the largely open "front").  The boathouse is the staging area next to the creek, and all the loops start there (well, a couple hundred yards from there, anyway).  So for this race, you're running a lot of loops, some more than once, some including parts of others, etc.  It sounds complex, but it's very well marked as to the order of loops and the course for each one.  Plus, virtually all the runners are familiar with the courses from the Winter Series anyway.  The Equinox is self-timed, and you can run any distance you like, up to 50 miles (or what the heck, a few more if you just tack on some extra loops!)  There are two aid stations -- one in the middle of nearly all the back loops, and one at the boathouse (close to all, but not actually on any of the courses).  Now with that background, on to the report...

I was very curious to see how the Equinox would go this year.  Several factors were at play; I started CrossFit about two months ago, I have not been getting in the training miles I'm used to since that time (though I've been pretty religious about a weekly long trail run), and at the present time I feel chronically short of sleep.  It's a good day when I can nap with the kids.  So all in all, a lot of signs that my running times might suffer, and I might not be able to make the time I'd prefer to at the Vermont 100 (coming in three weeks).  But on the up side, I had a great race at 3 Days at the Fair not that long ago, with a boatload of PRs.  That was on pavement; this would be on pavement (though not as flat by a long shot).  Plus lots of CrossFit folk claim it can dramatically improve running/triathlon times without high-mileage training.  I was skeptical (maybe they're talking about beginners?), but hopeful.

So I figured 50 miles at the Equinox would be a good test, to show whether all of the above amounted to good or bad.  I started by looking up the course record.  Last year Steven Davis posted an 8:07 if you only count time on trails (not any layovers at aid stations), or otherwise it was Euihwa's 8:36 from the inaugural race in 2008. Well I definitely wanted to beat the 8:36, but I would be in the weird grey area if I didn't also beat the 8:07...  I figured, what the heck, as long as this is supposed to be a test, let's make my goal 8 hours.  I'd run under 8 at Bull Run Run (two years ago) and 3 Days at the Fair (this year), so it was at least conceivable, though I've not found the Equinox to be an easy course in the past -- between the weather, the pounding from pavement, and the Tyler hills.  My best on the course was an 8:42 two years ago (last year I didn't run 50 as it was in the middle of the Grand Slam).  I figured I'm generally in better shape than two years ago, but I was not sure it was that much better, especially given the factors above.  Well, I'd just have to see.

Now at 3 Days at the Fair I managed to run very even splits for 50 miles.  I mean, sure it got slower as I went, but I was still under 10 minute miles by 50, and averaging closer to 9.  That had worked very well for me, as long as it lasted, so I decided to lay out a pace chart with a totally even pace that came out to 8 hours.  I assumed I'd be a little fast at the start and a little slow at the end, but I'd aim for consistent, which is (to say the least) generally not how I race.  It would be subject to the reality of the Tyler hills, but hopefully each loop would be close to the average pace.  In retrospect, the thing I didn't include was the extra mileage from crossing the causeway over the creek several times "between courses", which was not counted in the total race mileage.  That was very nearly a problem!  Well, notes for next year...

Prep aside, on to the race.  Being a familiar commute from the Winter Series, I timed my arrival pretty well, getting there just as the side gate was being opened.  I had time to send my spare hydration pack with a car going to the back aid station, commune with my Vaseline and Body Glide, take a pre-race gel, and chat a little about Western States (the winners having finished the previous night!).  Then we had to head over to the start.

Race Director Chris Mortensen made a few brief announcements (pie plates as course markings and whatnot), took a start photo, and we were off!  I immediately dropped back from the front-most group (Pete L, Michael G, and other speedsters) and fell in with Harris and Chris P.  Then dropped back from them too.  I had to keep reminding myself this was supposed to be a comfortable pace.  It was hard to judge since the creek is at the bottom so it starts with a mile or more of uphill, and I was going to be breathing hard no matter what.  But I tried to keep it within reason.

We hit the back aid station after a couple miles, and I stopped to ask if they had my spare pack (they did) and if they could fill it up the for me before I came around again (they did).  It was a nice pause too, though a couple more folks passed.  I fell in behind Jeff V and Jim C, and we ran together for much of the rest of the loop.  We hit halfway in about 23 or 24 minutes, which was way too fast -- my goal was 51 minutes and this was the uphill section, so the second half would go faster.  Oops.  But I couldn't throttle back much on the downhills, so we just went with it.

Thanks Jim for mentioning that you like my race reports (here's one more for you!), and passing the time telling us about the running group you're setting up at work.  Very cool.  Though I eventually stopped to walk a little when we hit 40 minutes.  It was time for a gel and S-cap for me, and I figured since I was so far ahead of my goal pace, I might as well relax a bit.  Jeff and Jim pulled away while I walked.  Once I got going again, I passed Sharon and a few others going the opposite direction.

When I finished the first loop, there was a truck parked in front of the sign showing the order of the courses.  That was fine, though, as I knew the Polar Bear 8-mile was second.  (In fact, it is not.)  I did a U-turn and headed back for another 5.3 loop to start the Polar Bear, in the opposite direction this time.  I wondered why Jeff (ahead of me in the distance) had gone straight, but I didn't give it too much thought, as it wasn't unusual for people to fiddle the order of the courses.  (Guess the legs were drawing blood form the brain already!)  I saw Euihwa and others just behind as I reversed course for the second loop.  This one was satisfactorily slower, if more lonely, until I caught up with Sharon.  We ran together into the aid station, which was nice.  And there, my key discovery was that my hydration plan was going to work.

Not wanting to blow time in aid stations filling up my hydration pack, I brought two, so I could leave one at that back aid station at all times.  I just asked the volunteers to fill the one I wasn't using, and swapped when I came by.  It had worked so well at 3 Days at the Fair, I had to try again!  I worried a little that the mechanics of the pack closure would be confusing without any explanation, but I needn't have.  The pack was ready and waiting at 8.5 miles, or whatever it was partway through the second loop.

Meanwhile, I had discovered why Jeff went straight.  When I checked my pace plan, I found that Honest Abe was in fact the second loop, and I was doing the third loop second.  Aargh!  Well, there was nothing to do but do the second loop third.  I didn't want to get any further off than that!  So my Polar Bear 8 miler would be in two halves, and I wondered if this would affect my hydration plan (I had plotted the mileage between stops), but it seemed to all work out.

Upon finishing the second 5.3 I did another U-turn for the Honest Abe 4.6 loop.  Some folks fell in with me and asked about my plans for the day.  I told them that I was aiming for 8 hours, and upon further inquiry, admitted that my previous best for the race was 8:42.  I got a skeptical sounding "can you really improve that much?"  What can I say?  Hope so.  They pulled away before long.  That's the down side to running long when others aren't, I guess.

Anyway, I looked up a little later to find Chris Palladino coming toward me -- he was on his proper third loop (somewhat further along than me!), but said he'd be just as happy to run with me, so he turned around and we more or less stuck together from there (perhaps 12 miles?) to about 25.  It was great to have the company!  We ran into Jeff coming the other way (also seemingly ahead, based on where we passed him), and he asked if I had cut the course or what.  I tried to explain, but it was probably lost in the rush of passage.

Finishing Honest Abe, I was pretty happy.  The last two loops were just slightly ahead of my goal pace, so all in all I was almost 9 minutes up!  On the other hand, my legs were getting sore.  Not seriously yet, just enough to notice.  I remember this always happening in ultras, and always earlier than it should.  For crying out loud if I can finish 100 miles, why should it hurt after 15?!?  I just needed the numbness to kick in.

The next loop didn't help.  It was my first front loop of the day, getting sunny and warm.  The morning had been cool but humid, and I was sweating a lot, taking S-caps every 40 minutes.  As I felt little twinges, I shifted to every 30 minutes.  That seems to be fairly normal for me for races -- whether due to heat or humidity or just running fast.  But the looong slow uphill in the sun was no fun.  I really wish that loop went the other way, and featured a short, steep uphill and an eternal downhill instead of the reverse.  About the only highlight was seeing some friendly faces (like the Hollerbachs coming in toward the Boathouse).  I walked the steepest part before it comes out to the big park road, and the rest wasn't much faster.  Including crossing the causeway afterward, I had lost a minute out of my buffer.  Those darn causeway crossings!

I didn't want to fall off pace before 20 miles or my goal was gone. And next up was the Half Marathon course.  Well, that's been good to me before (it's my Half Marathon PR course, actually), so I hoped for the best.  The first loop was great, largely because Chris was pulling me to go a little faster.  The second loop was not as good, because I had a longer aid station stop and I was just flagging a bit, plus it had another dang causeway crossing (which I walked).  Between the two I held my 8 minute buffer.  Good enough, but next up were two front loops.  And the sun was out.  And Chris stopped running to volunteer. And I had already lost time on this loop.  All ominous signs.  I walked more on this loop -- the steep part coming off the creek, the stop sign section, even once at the bottom of the hill because I was talking another gel and frankly needed the break.  I think on one of these walks I passed Charlotte going the other way, but I was so preoccupied sucking water from my pack that I didn't manage to draw breath to say hi until she was gone.  But walks aside, I pushed myself on the flats, and managed to come in right on schedule.  Yes!

The second loop was similar, though I saw Glenn running the other way, and I had the pleasure of talking to George Hollerbach for a while.  I had passed George and Dale on the big hill, but George ran ahead to talk to me for a while before dropping back again.  Nice!  I didn't even notice the last half mile of hill, thanks to him!  He mentioned he had seen Harris and Jeff, which I assumed meant they were still ahead of me (and had passed him first).  At one point I saw one of them in the distance I thought, but never managed to close it.  I was pushing the pace again, and suffering in the sun.  Whether because it was too dry or still humid but now hot or what, I couldn't figure out.  It was just tough.  I worried a bit that I was pushing too hard to hit my 50K goal and keep my buffer, and I might pay for it later.  But that was for later.

I was seconds ahead of schedule on that loop, finishing the Half Marathon, and therefore 50K, in 4:49 -- about the same 8-minute buffer as before.  However, this was the one time I couldn't just do a pack swap -- two front loops and the covered bridge and more was just too far to go on one pack.  So I went the extra distance and stopped by the boathouse, where Bob C filled up the pack for me (thanks!).  I talked briefly to Harris, who had indeed finished 50K ahead of me.  Jeff was there too, so I assumed he had as well.  Didn't see Euihwa, so I guessed he was still behind me somewhere.

I headed out as fast as I could, though I walked to and across the causeway, needing the time to will my way back to a run again.  I started the Covered Bridge 5K, featuring an out-and-back on possibly the worst hill of all the races, and immediately had problems. Cramp-type problems.  Not an actual stop-me-dead type cramp, but serious threats and warning signs.  Thinking about it, I noticed I had spoken quietly and mumbled a lot at the aid station, another sign of problems (dehydration problems).  I walked a bit, and shifted to an S-cap every 20 minutes.  Plus one when the cramps seemed especially imminent.  I drank more, and more.  Twice as much as I had at the start.  I had no urge to pee, and hadn't for a while.  Alert!  Alert!

I made it down to the Covered Bridge, and started back up.  I planned to jog through the gravel section and walk up the steep hill.  It would throw a wrench in my goal time for the segment, but I needed enough of a walk that the cramp issue went away.  I didn't make it more than halfway through the gravel and I was walking.  Ugh.  Partway up the hill, Euihwa passed coming down -- so he was at most a mile behind. For some reason, I hadn't thought he was that close.  He said "pick it up!" and there was no way.  Even when it started to level out at the top, I was walking.  Harris passed going the other way.  WTF!?!  I thought he was done at 50K!  If he had put down a faster 50K and now was out for 50, and I was walking, that spelled trouble!  Could one of them have skipped some other courses and actually be further behind? (Answer: no)

I ran down the hill covering familiar ground from the start/end of the 5.3 loop, and it felt OK, except it was getting iffy by the bottom -- lots of little wiggles in my legs muscles.  I walked some on the way back up.  I was sure I could feel Euihwa and Harris just behind.  I finally finished the Covered Bridge, 4 minutes off my goal.  Plus I had blown 4 minutes on the aid station stop and causeway walk after 50K.  My buffer was now zero.  Technically, I was nearly a minute behind my overall goal up to this point!  And I still had the Tyler Challenge loop (several steep hills there!), the Cham-Pain (in the sun!), and the Terrible Tyler (so called due to the awful mile-long hill in the middle).  I was really worried that I was not going to be able to get back on pace.  I mean, once you're off, it's just an inevitable slide to slower, slower, slower.

I shuffled up the hill past the causeway, determined at least not to walk the very start of the 3.5-mile Tyler Challenge loop.  It lasted until the right turn -- no way I wasn't walking up that part.  I marveled that Harris and Euihwa hadn't passed already, and assumed they would be here.  The only good news was, it seemed I drank and salted and walked enough that the cramps backed off for the moment.  Not that it mattered on this climb.

I pushed to a decent run when the course finally flattened out, though I walked again up the steep hill to where it joins the other courses. Even for a few moments when it takes the right turn toward the craft center.  Then up to speed on the flat section there.  Somewhere in here I saw Sharon again, for perhaps the fourth time, coming the other way, and looking like she could run all day long.  She said she was on her last loop.  She was gone before I could mention how I looked forward to that!  But at least I'd shortly be hitting the back aid station again.

I swapped for a full hydration pack there and kept moving.  For sure I'd be walking the last steep uphill before the course turned down again, so I needed to move while I could.  In my haste, I left my pace chart in the pack I gave up, but it was OK,  I figured if I finished this in 6 hours, I had a half hour for Cham-Pain (5K), and 90 minutes for Terrible Tyler (15K).  Not easy, but it was my shot.  I pushed a little on the downhill, once I finally got there.  It must have worked, because including the causeway crossing over to the Cham-Pain (which I walked again), I was dead on target pace for the loop.  Still at 6:01 instead of 6 hours (believe me I begrudged that minute from my Cham-Pain plus yet another causeway crossing), but a great comeback from Covered Bridge!

Now the Cham-Pain 5K was no fun.  I was drinking a ton to keep ahead of the cramps, and worried that my water wouldn't make it through half of Tyler Challenge and then Cham-Pain and finally around most of the first 5.3 loop of Terrible Tyler to the back aid station again.  I wondered whether I'd have to stop at the Boathouse for a refill, wasting precious time going back and forth to the aid station that wasn't actually on the course!  Meanwhile, I walked the steep part coming off the creek as usual, and then emerged from the woods.  It was sunny and hot.  Once I made it to the part along the road, the air was completely still.  I suppose the wind was at my back, at just the perfect speed.  It was awful.  I felt like I was cooking, and was going to be cramping again shortly.  I drank more, but not *too* much more, trying to conserve yet not cook, and leaving still less in my pack.

However, I did hit the turnaround in good time (6:16), leaving 14 minutes for the largely downhill return trip.  I had a short walk on the slight uphill on entering the woods, and then a magical thing happened on the way down.  I spied a water fountain!  I drank deeply, figuring time standing still here beat time standing still at the boathouse (where I'd incur the trip there and back).  I knew there was another fountain where the first Terrible Tyler 5.3 loop hit the covered bridge trail, so the small amount left in my pack only had to make it that far.  I drank more from the fountain to be sure.

Then I charged downhill.  Only my leg was quivering when the road flattened near the creek.  Not having any water to spare, I did the only thing I could -- slowed down.  It had to be.  Still, I made it back and across the causeway seconds under my pace goal.  It was 6:31, leaving just under 90 minutes for Terrible Tyler.  But I was out of the sun!

I walked the slight rise between the causeway and the first turn in the 5.3 loop, and drank my pack dry there.  I'd have to make it to the fountain now.  I turned right and pressed on down the hill, riding the edge of cramps, and debated whether to just drink at the fountain or to put the water into my pack.  I figured I had more than a mile to go from the fountain to the aid station, still largely uphill, and I might want to drink again.  But messing with removing, opening, closing, and donning the pack wasted time, standing at the fountain and then slowing to drink later wasted time.  But cramping between the fountain and aid station would be devastating.

I shuffled up the hill, unwilling to lose time to walking until the very steepest part up to the fountain.  I had to make good time on these last two loops!  When the fountain came into sight, another fear was realized -- two people just ahead of me, walking to the fountain. Taking both positions.  I wondered whether it would be rude to say "I'm in a tight race against the clock here would you mind waiting while I just take over the fountain please?"  I walked purposefully toward them, hoping to maybe scare them away or something.  But magically, they cleared the fountain as I had perhaps three steps to go.  Yes!  I drank, and drank, and... drank some more.  At least twice as much as I would have taken from my pack, but I had to reach that station.  And then I left.

I pressed on through the rest of the uphill.  Chris Mortensen passed going the other way, and asked whether I was on the first or second Terrible Tyler loop.  Second loop?  As if!  I managed to hold up one finger, though I don't think I said a word.  Finally, the blessed downhill arrived.  My quads had been twinging but I charged down and hoped for the best.  Thankfully, they carried me to the station.  I had wanted to make it there with an hour to go, figuring it was about 44 miles.  I was just a hair over.  I grabbed the fresh pack with glee, and walked out sucking down a gel and the mangled wreckage of two S-caps.  I had left at 7:01:46.  18 minutes to get to the bottom, and 40 to make it around the last 4-mile loop, including the notorious Terrible Tyler hill.

The downhill went well, and I hit the end of the loop seconds under 7:20.  Jeff was there with camera, and I may have waved, but otherwise just pressed on.  I wanted to make it to the uphills before walking again.  I did (make it, and walk).  I tried to walk as little as possible on the terrible hill, which amounted to once around the Covered Bridge/Honest Abe turnoff, and once at the part that looks straight up.  I was calculating times frantically, and it looked promising.  At long last, I hit the top, and headed back down.  It seemed like I was going to make it.  I think I was grinning madly already.

When I passed the station George Hollerbach held out a full pack, but I declined.  He said it had ice cold water!  I said, I'll get it later, I only have two miles to go!  An innocent bystander walking the trail commented "only two miles?" as I was leaving.  I heard George, bless his heart, reply "Well, he's done 48 already..."  I didn't quite hear the reply, but my imagination filled in "Oh my God!"  Whether that last was true or not, the whole thing had me smiling even wider!

It still looked close, but like I was definitely going to make it.  I spared a moment to imagine getting caught up in a leash and crashing to the ground in my last stretch -- at one point earlier I had passed a trail-spanning mob with angry-looking dogs and T-shirts reading "Pit Bulls Are People Too", or some such.  Seriously?!?  But thankfully, they were not on this loop.  I charged down.

From past loops I knew I had about 6-6:30 from when I hit the Stop sign at the bottom of the long hill, and my legs would be dead, but that time included walking the short hill before it turned down again.  I got to the sign about 7:51, and I was smiling again.  I was careful to walk as little of the hill as I could get away with, and then blasted down the final stretch.  A last watch check and I was at 7:55 after passing the 5.3 turn-off.  Yes!

I'm sure I was grinning madly as I came down the final hill, to see Chris M and Jeff waiting at the bottom.  I crossed in 7:56:07, shaking fists, jumping, shouting, and the whole shebang.  I made my best-case goal, and I can put all that other crap behind me, because I'm ready for Vermont, baby!  So, apparently, are Gregg, Jeff, and Harris, having all scored stellar 50K finishes and/or PRs today!  Congrats guys!  I'm sorry I couldn't stay to see everyone else finish their long runs -- I knew Euihwa, Rob, and Breandan at least were still out there.

(Now speaking of the Vermont 100, I must confess that more than once during the race, I regretted ever thinking I wanted to run another hundred.  When Gregg mentioned afterward that I should sign up for Grindstone because the price was going to increase, I believe I just cursed at him.  But I'm sure tomorrow will be different.  :)

In closing, thanks to Chris Mortensen and all the volunteers who put this on -- including Diane, Bob C, Chris T, Fred, Jeff, Chris P, Mark Z, the Hollerbachs, and at least a dozen others I'm forgetting. Special thanks to everyone who refilled my sweaty packs -- as is probably clear if I had taken those six full stops to refill it myself, at a couple minutes apiece, that would have put me right past my goal.

What a day.

P.S. It still seems to be a little early to draw any conclusions about CrossFit, but I must admit that my two races since I started, 3 Days at the Fair and the Equinox, have gone startlingly well.

Race Report: 2011 3 Days at the Fair 24-hour

So this one was hard to predict going in.  I'd never done a timed race like a 24-hour before, and I'd never run more than about 32-33 miles on pavement.  Still, I had lofty goals.  Since I finished the Vermont 100 just under 20 hours (averaging 5 miles/hour), with an extra 4 hours, I should be able to put in another 20 miles, or 120+ total.  130 would be great!  Of course, that was not taking into account that my average pace at a 100-miler is made up of a fast start and a slow end -- I wasn't running 12-minute miles for the last few miles at Vermont, as Harris (my Vermont pacer) can attest to.  In fact, my goal for the last leg there was simply to not walk the entire thing.  And this race was made up of 0.86 mile loops, which would also be a new challenge -- in the past, I've found the 3 loops at HAT Run to be about the most I really care for.

Now add to that, the weather forecast for this one looked ominous -- 30% chance of rain at the start and through the day, going up to 50/60% overnight.  It did look like we'd finish shortly before the actual thunderstorms, but only by a pretty narrow margin.  So on the one hand, not a hot, sunny day.  But on the other hand, rain.  At least it turned out to be nice while my dad and I drove up to the start at the NJ State fairgrounds (perhaps 2 hours from the Philly area) -- cloudy and "just right" temperature-wise, with no rain yet.

We met up with Melissa (my crew for this one) at the race, checked in, and then found a spot to set up.  We brought a canopy to keep the rain off (though not one with sides like some other folks had -- jealous!), and a table and some chairs.  We weren't able to claim the most obvious spot -- as we tried they told us there were going to be catering trucks parked there for a party that evening -- but we found a nice place right around the corner, still along the course and not too far from the main start/finish area and aid station.

I took a moment to apply a liberal dose of vaseline and body glide.  I still haven't forgotten the chafing in the rain at Bear Mountain, a few years back.  (In hindsight, I could have done more -- maybe just bathed in the stuff!)  I went over everything with Melissa again, though she seemed to have it all down anyway, and then visited the start/finish area to see if they were giving out the bibs yet.  I got one with about 5 minutes to go, and just hung out near the start with the other 24-hour runners.  The occasional 48- or 72-hour runner went by, mainly walking.  I hoped to keep from walking substantially as long as possible, but who knows?

Looking around, I didn't really know anyone else in the 24-hour race.  I had tried looking folks up online, without a lot of success.  About the only one I could identify was Anna Piskorska, who was wearing a US (24-hour) National Team shirt, and looking like she was ready to tear up the course.  I heard a few more names as they handed the bibs out, but my thoughts were really elsewhere and none of them stuck.  And then, without much fanfare, there was a final 5-second countdown and we were off!

A few people exploded from the line, and I tried to hold back.  It's one thing if you need to beat a mob onto a tight stretch of single-track, but at this race, 24 hours on a course easily wide enough to accommodate 6 or 8 people side by side, there was really no excuse to go out too fast.

Still, within about a quarter mile, I ended up running with Anna, out ahead of everyone else.  We talked a bit, and it was nice to benefit from some of her experience, plus it kept my mind off just running in circles.  She said I should enjoy my first 24-hour, because after a few you pretty much know what your goal is and who you're competing against and you just have to focus on getting it done.  Well, I was enjoying it so much I would have missed a turn and run right on down the fairgrounds if she didn't stop me!  Oops.  She also pointed out that the course wasn't entirely flat (though it sure felt that way in the first loop) or pavement (there was one section where the shortest path was through the grass, and I took that route on each and every loop); I'd want to pay attention to that stuff later.  She also mentioned "the wall" that was out there waiting for each of us... somewhere.  In any case, Anna was aiming for 130 miles for the day, and I thought maybe I'd just to try to hang on to her coattails and see where that left me.

It didn't work.  After a couple laps, she stopped at her aid station, and didn't catch up again.  My dad and Melissa may have mentioned that I was going a little too fast, but it was like an 8:30 or 9 minute pace, which didn't seem unreasonable.  I can do that for a good long time.  So I found myself, at least temporarily, in the lead.

As the early race went on, I could tell that my crew strategy was paying off.  Other people were stopping at the main aid station, or at their own tents or tables along the course.  That meant time standing still.  Instead, when my water was up, I'd just hand my empty pack to Melissa, and she'd hand me back one with water, gels, clear of trash, and all.  It doesn't get any better than that!  I walked a bit to get the pack back on, but it was forward progress, not standing around.  I felt bad when I was picky and came around again asking her to take it back to get the air out of the bladder or loosen the straps or whatever, but she did it all and kept me right on track.

Going through 20 miles, there were a few surprises.  I had run into various aches and pains, which always seems to happen earlier than it should.  I mean, if you're in shape to run 50 or 100 miles, why are you getting sore after 15 or 20?  It's not right!  But I sort of remember that happening at every long race, so I just hoped none of the individual problems were going to get worse.

I had also passed another runner a few times who appeared to be in the 48-hour and still going, and when she ran, she was always way up on the front of her feet -- what that whole barefoot movement seems to be recommending.  It made me think a bit more about my own form.  I wasn't going to run 24 hours on my toes, but I shouldn't be doing it on my heels, either.

Another surprise was that Anna hadn't caught up -- and in fact, I was two laps ahead.  I never seemed to actually pass her, so I assume it happened while she was stopped for one reason or another.  But her crew and tent were right across from mine, so our "people" were keeps tabs on us.  I was sort of operating on the assumption that I'd crash later in the race and she'd blast on by, but I figured I'd hold onto the lead as long as I could.

And the "flat" course.  It wasn't very long before I started resenting the little bitty hill that went alongside the grounds building.  It was short, and not very steep, but noticeable.  It wasn't like it really took all that much out of me, but it was there.  Up until this point, I had been taking a walk break every half hour, just to give my legs a little rest.  But I decided to just walk that hill instead.  So every lap from there to the end, I walked that little hill.  Plus, it turned downhill immediately afterward, which made it easy to break the walk and start running again.  It was a nice break, and on the tough loops, I could just look forward to getting to the hill, and my walk break.

The marathon mark passed around 3:52 -- not a PR by any stretch, but I was running a lot more comfortably than at any marathon I recall (even the 3:45 ones!).  I was starting to worry about tedium in trying to run another 120 loops, and quickly decided to focus on shorter-term goals.  Marathon, 50K, 50 mile, 100K...  then a big gap to 100 miles.  Past that, hopefully the excitement of running further than ever before would carry me on.  But for now, 50K.

I got a little excited as the 50K mark approached and it looked to be a race PR.  (I think I went faster in training once, but it was on a 33-mile route just measured loosely with Google Maps.)  It was also about this time that I had my first hallucination of the race.  :)  My dad had told me at maybe 1:45 into the race that Erin and the kids were on the way over.  It was a two hour drive, and now past 4 hours in, so I kept wondering whether I'd see them next time I passed the crew tent, and they just weren't there.  So I round the corner leading to the last stretch before turning onto the finish line corridor -- and in the distance, I saw my sister!  I mean, maybe it could have been anyone, but she was clearly wearing a "Hope College" sweatshirt, which only my parents could have provided.  OK, maybe I could only make out the "HO" at the beginning, but really, what are the odds there would be someone else, the spitting image of my sister, wearing a sweatshirt just like what my parents would have?  Suddenly the delay was explained.  They had to go pick her up at the airport on the way!  Boy, what a dastardly little plan to surprise me!

Then about 50 yards later, it became clear that the woman in question was quite a bit older than my sister.  On a later lap, I was able to read the whole "HOLY" on her shirt (I never did catch HOLY what).  Oh, well.  I love you anyway, Cora, even if you didn't make it to the race.  :)

So I was pretty excited to officially pass the 50K mark in a PR -- about 4:38 (extrapolating a bit from the end of the 30.88-mile lap).  That was my first PR this year.  If you're wondering why there haven't been more race reports, it's because it's not all that motivating to talk on and on about how I ran the same race 10 minutes slower than last year.  :)  Anyway, I told Melissa and she asked if I wanted her to Facebook it.  I said sure!  And now I turned my thoughts to reaching 50 miles.

Surprisingly, one of the things that helped a little with the loop course was my dad and Melissa wandering around.  Sometimes they've be cheering me on from the finish line.  Other times they'd be at the tent.  Or one each.  Or Melissa would be scrupulously taking notes near the scoring table.  (Of what?  My splits?  She later said something about trying to learn the names of the other runners.)  Anyway, just the small variety in where they were made each lap a little different, and that helped, for whatever reason.  But wherever she was, Melissa was always totally on top of my gear.  If I needed a fresh pack or hat or whatever, she always had it ready.

Though I did hear about it occasionally.  At one point there was a little very light rain.  Not even enough to mess up my glasses, but just a hint of what was to come.  I asked for my Grindstone visor -- I wanted to have glasses protection available even before rounding a full lap, but didn't want to heat up my head with a full hat.  Then I just had the problem of what to do with it.  I could easily hang it from the front of my pack, but then it just bounces off my chest.  I could hang it from the back, but much less conveniently since it doesn't have a velcro closure like my hats tend to.  I could wear it, but somehow having the visor there was annoying -- it seemed to make me hotter somehow, and cut off my vision a little.  So I just put it on backwards.  Convenient if needed, not to bothersome in the mean time.  And what do I get from Melissa next time around?  "Nice visor!  Not sure exactly why you're wearing it backward -- it's not fashionable that way or anything..."  Sigh.  :)

By this point, I was pretty solidly into the 9+ minute pace range.  The days of 8:30 had gone, last seen at maybe 22 miles, not to be seen again.  But that was still great -- I wanted to keep around 10 minute miles as long as possible, and then under 12 minute miles as long as possible.  I hoped not to fall much further, but we'd have to see what developed.

Erin did show up, with my mom and the kids, and that was fun.  I got smiles and hugs from the guys, and they explored the fairgrounds with mom and grandma and their red wagon.   For a while there, I never know at what point of the course I'd hear a "Go Aaron!" from the sidelines!  Again, it helped break it up a bit.

Then there was the time I came around the turn toward the tent, and Sean (1yo) bolted directly toward me.  I had to stop short so I wouldn't bowl him over, and he hugged my leg, and I ruffled his hair before carrying on.  Then as I leave the area, behind me, I hear: "Sean!  Sean, you can't go with daddy!  Sean!  Come back here!  Sean!  Someone get him!"  They sounded more and more desperate as they went on.  I got a big old smile, imaging Sean doing a lap behind me.

I don't think they had all planned to stay that long, but it was quickly becoming obvious that I was on track to a 50-mile PR as well.  Close, but definitely possible.  As everybody hung around lap after lap, I thought maybe they were waiting to see it.  Sure enough, the laps rolled in, and I came through 50 at about 7:41, definitely under my Bull Run Run PR of 7:52.  Woo-hoo!  It was starting to look like a PR kind of day, and Melissa stopped asking about Facebook each time.  :)

Well, I enjoyed the cheers and attention, but not surprisingly, the family departed shortly thereafter.  Since Melissa had agreed to stick it out all night for me, I didn't need them there for aid, and we had agreed it made more sense for them all to have a more normal day and get some sleep and then come back for the finish.

The bad news was, I stopped at the bathrooms here and there, and every time, standing still and then getting moving again, my head swam a bit.  Not unusual, but I had hoped to hit that at 80 miles not at 50 miles.  It really made me think my biggest problem at Western States was standing still while talking to the doc, instead of sitting down when it became clear he wasn't going to let me off easy.  C'est la vie.

The good news was, it was a pretty short gap from 50 miles to 100K.  My 100K PR was close to 11 hours, so I had plenty of time.  In fact, I was able to keep up the 10-minute pace, and came through 62 in about 9:39.  Awesome!  It was nice, someone had scribbled "you're doing great!" in chalk near the last turn, and every time I passed it, I thought to myself, yeah, I really am doing great!  I think I may have had a similar conversation with Melissa, too.

Now we came to the long stretch between 62 and 100 miles.  This part had a whole variety of challenges.  Nightfall.  Rain.  And more.  There were some nice parts too.  I had identified John Price one time when he crossed the finish line just ahead of me (there was a screen that printed out each runner's name, time, and distance as they crossed).  This is the John Price who had just run across the country and then come straight to 3 Days at the Fair to do that too!  We walked and talked for a bit.  Given the state of my feet post-race, I still can't really fathom multi-day efforts, much less running an ultra every day for months!  Plus I met a few more ultra-listers in person, or at least matched up some faces with names.

I also talked to Phil McCarthy a bit.  Not knowing who he was, I thought he was a 24-hour runner (as he was moving pretty well compared to the other multi-day racers).  I felt like I was running a little faster than he was, though whenever I took a longer walk break he seemed to motor on by.  But he let me know he was in the 48-hour, had completed 135 miles already the first day, and was over 200 total.  Wow!  That blew my mind.  I told him how amazed I was at 200 miles already, and he said something like "thanks, but I've got my eye on greater things today."  I didn't understand what he meant at the time.  But even in the short time we talked he was really encouraging.

Still, I was breaking this down into 1-hour increments at this point.  I had hit 65 in about 10:10, so I wanted to hit at least 70 by 11:10, and 71 would be better.  It would tell me whether I was still on the 10-minute pace or slipping to 12.  I think my legs were getting more blood flow than my brain -- I feel like I ran about 3 laps chanting "70 or 71 in 11:10" in my head.  Maybe I should really look at an iPod.  (But hey, I did hit 71 in 11:09!)

Now another problem that came up was that Anna had really turned on the jets, starting at maybe 10 hours.  Every time I saw her it seemed she was going faster, and pulling away rather than falling back.  Occasionally I'd catch up a bit (I assumed, due to an aid stop), and then she'd start pulling away again.  What could I do?  I didn't want her catching up while I was still feeling decent.  So I ran faster too.  I'm sure that helped me make those 10 minute miles.  But I was a little worried.  Did she just start feeling better all of a sudden?  I was happy with my day, but not feeling better in a way that would make me spontaneously speed up like that.  If she kept it up, her victory was inevitable.  All I could do was wait and see.

Meanwhile, Melissa announced that she had managed to sneak into the 12-hour race, so she'd be able to run with me starting at 9 PM -- for the last 12 hours of the race.  I hadn't even known she'd brought running clothes!  This race had a no-pacer policy, and I wondered whether it would really be an asterisk-kind of performance if I did really well but basically had a pacer for half the race.  But heck, if I really felt like I needed a pacer I could have paid for someone to enter the whole 24 hour race with me.  I thought about telling her no, or trying to put some kind of conditions on how many laps she'd do, but then I thought what the heck.  We'd probably both feel better running together than having her sit and wait, and she was going to be a paying 12-hour entrant...  So go with it.

Meanwhile, would I keep up 6 miles per hour?  I hit 76.3 miles in 12:02, so I was still on track.  That set a pretty decent 12-hour mark, too!  (I've never done a timed race of any kind, but I know the winner of the Labor Pain last year didn't go that far.  Of course that was a trail race, but everything I'm comparing this to is a trail race.  If I could make these times on trails I'd really be on fire!)

Also, Anna seemed to crash at 12 hours.  Next time we talked, she said she made her goal of 70 miles in 12 hours.  Now I thought I understood -- she pushed really hard to hit that goal, and was suffering a bit afterward.  Bummer.  But I'm sorry to say, I didn't complain at gaining another lap or two over the next hour.

And it was nice to run with Melissa.  It was a little intermittent -- she'd take a lap or two off when I needed a fresh pack, and sometimes I felt like I was only going 4 or 5 laps between switching.  But she kept my mind off the monotony, and the weather, and so on.  The party also helped.

Oh, did I fail to mention the party?  It was in a barn right alongside the course.  I didn't actually look in much, but I saw the folks outside walking in, staggering out, or sitting and smoking just outside.  It was described to me a hoedown for all the hillbillies within 30 miles.  Early on, it sounded like square dance music.  Later, an auction.   Something went for $3500!  I wondered what.  Still later, it turned to more pop-style dance music.  The last time I'd see it before they shut down, there was a crapload of empty tables, a DJ, and about 10 kids bopping around the dance floor.  But for now the place was hopping, and it kept the night alive, rain or no rain.

Speaking of weather, we got hit with at least one brief downpour.  I put my jacket on, and then the rain largely backed down to "drizzle".  I saw others take their jackets off again, but I didn't feel like bothering -- it had cooled a bit since sundown, and I wasn't too hot with the jacket, so whatever.  I was still running well -- on track for an amazing sub-15 hour 100 miler!  Well, until I suddenly realized that 12 hours plus 4 hours wasn't 14 hours at all.  I can only plead blood to legs, not brain.  When I realized the error, Melissa said "yeah, I thought that sounded a little off..." But she graciously had kept her mouth shut.  :)

Math aside, the first real problem of the race came at 92 miles.  I finished a lap, and suddenly couldn't run another step.  Well, you know, whatever, I figured I'd walk 10 minutes and see if I felt better.  (This happens to me moderately often in a 100-miler.)  I didn't.  I walked the whole lap.  Rick (the race director) at the timing table asked what happened -- I expect observing my split suddenly going from 9 or 10 minute laps to 16+.  I told him "well, I found the wall!"  He sounded surprised, and assured me I was still doing plenty well.

I didn't want to really switch to walking, so I forced myself to jog again.  It wasn't good -- 12 or 13 minute laps, so 14-15 minute miles.  I couldn't really go faster.  But by this point, I was close enough to 100 miles, I could drag myself in.  First I told Melissa I'd sit down for a while at 100 and see how I felt.  But then as I was able to at least keep up the slow jog, I decided that was dumb, and I'd just walk a lap and then see.  Maybe I'd walk-one-run-one or something.

As we got close to 17 hours, Melissa told me to speed it up if I wanted to squeak in under 17.  At that moment, it didn't seem worth it.  It wasn't like I'd be that much happier to get 16:59 than 17:01, and it would really hurt to push enough to save a few minutes.  Sure enough, I came around for 100.36 miles, and Rick called out "17:03:09!"  Good enough -- still a PR by more than 2.5 hours!  Maybe next year I'll chase the sub-17.  :)

I walked the next lap as planned, and then managed to get back up to my shuffle.  Not fast, but forward motion.  And no one-on-one-off, I managed to keep it up!  I didn't really have any concrete goal now.  I had hoped for 130 miles earlier, but with this drop-off, it seemed unlikely.  If I got a little further I could probably walk it in for 120, which would be nice.  Nothing in the middle there was really all that inspiring, and no one was really pushing me to do better at the moment.  Hmm.  Occasionally I walked a bit, and it wasn't always in a straight line.  People I had passed dozens of times were passing me now.  Anna's aid tent had been packed away and removed (?), though she was still out there plugging away.

The end came during the 106-107 mile lap.  My feet were pretty sore, and I decided to walk one again.  The problem was, that didn't make them feel any better.  While I suppose in truth I was sore all over, what really stuck out were whatever little tendons or muscles go up the outside of the bottom of your shin -- I think they pick your toes up off the ground each time or something.  And the ball of my right foot.  The shin thing, it was just pain, I could ignore it.  But the foot thing, that was trouble.  That was, I guessed, too much pounding the hard ground.  I was already walking, and it didn't help.  I tried adjusting my gait, and it didn't help.  I couldn't find a way to get around it.  The grassy section felt better, but I'd be adding a lot of distance to walk in the grass all the way around (since the inner edge of pavement was the certified route, the only fair way to walk the grass was way on the outside of the road).  Actually, there were some sections with no real grass option.  I was at a loss.

I decided to sit for a while and see if a rest helped my foot.  We crossed at 18:57:57 for 107.2 miles, and made our way around to the tent.  I sat down, and Melissa got me some blankets to keep warm.  It was raining harder by this point.  I saw Anna go around, and then again.  Melissa asked if I was ready to go back out, and I said not yet.  But eventually, I figured if it wasn't better, it wasn't going to be.  I dropped the blankets and headed out.  One step into the rain and I was cold.  Two and I was shivering.  Three and I could barely move my legs, and the shaking was starting to threaten my forward motion.  One more, and I gave up.  I chattered "I can't do this!" to Melissa, and she hustled me into her car and cranked up the heat.

I hated to stop with almost 5 hours left, but I didn't have a super-warm outfit along.  I needed tights, sweats, thicker shirts, and the whole works.  I mean, the car said 58 degrees, but the rain made it feel like 40.  Very shortly my dad called Melissa to say they were all on their way back over again, and I got on to explain that I was done and they might as well turn around.  But they said they'd come and help me out, so that was nice.  Eventually I migrated back to my car (parked a bit further away, off the course), and Melissa got me some hot food.  The rain continued, pretty bad at times.  I slept a little too, brief snatches.  Then my parents arrived a little after dawn.

By then I was as bundled as I could be with the supplies on hand, and I got out to go to the bathroom, help break down the aid station, and so on.  I stopped by the timing table to explain to Rick why I was leaving early.  Race time was about 21:30.  Anna had just passed 107.2 miles, so she was going to win the day.  Rick asked, wasn't I staying for the awards?  I replied, "haven't they passed me by now?"  To which he responded, "who, exactly?"  It turned out the awards were by gender, and Suzuki (next male) was about 15 laps down and walking (possible he could do it in 2.5 hours, but not by walking).  Jason was maybe another 5-10 laps back.  So it looked like (but was not certain that) no one else would catch up.  As I left, Rick was talking to someone about the participation.  "Well, it was the first year for the 72-hour, so there will be more next time.  Plus with Phil breaking the American Record here, that will help."  Whoa.  As I walked away, I was thinking about Phil, chasing greater things today.

So then, of course, we waited.  I checked back in at 23:00 in, in case Suzuki was making good time again.  I figured in an hour, I could stagger through another lap if I needed to.  (Not that it would be that attractive to record 108 miles in 24 hours instead of 107 in 19!)  But at 23:00, I was still clear.  Huzzah!

As a bonus, since we were all just sitting around waiting for the finish anyway, we got to cheer Phil in.  I had to go back and ask whether he had broken the record yet, and it turned out he still had 4 laps to go.  So we counted down each time he passed, and it was clear he was thrilled!  Well, hell, I was thrilled too!  What a race!  We gave Phil the extra big cheer on the record-breaking lap, and he may have paused for a moment, but then kept right on going.  "Not gonna make it so easy for the next guy, huh?"  That got a big smile too.  I could barely stagger in a straight line, and he was still logging 8 and 9 minute laps.  Wow!  He got a big crowd when he came through the last time, and at the award ceremony too.  But he still had a nice word for everyone.

So as I guess I had suspected early on, I crashed and Anna took first for the 24-hour.  Congrats to her!  And while I spent a lot of brainpower during the race comparing laps and speeds, at the end of the day, Anna was great to run with, to talk to here and there along the way, and afterward.  Now while I might have liked to log more miles (and I know Anna would have liked to as well), I can't really complain about my results for the 19 hours I was out there.  A boat load of PRs, and first place male to boot!  Next time I guess I need to avoid the crash-at-92-miles thing, the foot thing, the sitting thing, and the no warm enough clothes thing.  Just a few little notes!

But I had the crew thing nailed -- big thanks to Melissa, without whom this would have been a worse race in so many ways, from more stops to less company to more uncertainty and everything.  And to my family, for showing up to support me at yet another ultra, even getting out the door at like 3 AM to do it.

I only really have one gripe.  Anna wore a variety of "US National Team" and "Team USA" shirts, jackets, and etc. throughout the race.  And Erin, as some of you may know, is a closet jacket-o-phile.  So now it's looking like 130+ miles has to go solidly on the bucket list, along with a top 10 at Hellgate.  A couple weeks ago, I would have been pretty depressed about the whole thing.  What a difference one race makes!  Back to training, I guess.  :)