Run Toto Run 50k - 2011

It's been about 10 days since the big dump of snow, and about five since a smaller dump, so you might say I was somewhat concerned when I lined up for my first 50k, and second Run Toto Run experience. Would it be, as they say, "runnable", or would it be 50 kilometers of running through sugar? I did a loop of sugar running just last weekend and knew that if it were anything like that today, I'd be doing more swearing than running.

Fortunately, I'm not that fast, and those that were did a fine job of clearing a bobsled path before me, so in fact, the trail ended up being really rather excellent, although as time went on and the sun did what the sun does, it got a bit slushy and muddy in places. I pulled my groin playing the idiotic sport that is kickball a few months ago, and I was just waiting for something like that to happen again, but happily, the area made it out relatively unscathed.

Hmm. I sound like quite the pessimist there. Alright, enough of my yapping, on with the race report.

Arrived at 7:30 or so and headed to the starting area. It was pretty crisp. In the 20s, and my plan to wear shorts seemed a bit misguided, so I kept on my longies, pinned the number to my fleece, slapped on the Trail Nerds beanie and at 8am, I lined up somewhere near the back and a horn sounded the off.

You have to cross a field to get to the trail, and, while it had been cut up, the path wasn't smooth, so it was a tricky little opening. Added to that, 250 or so other 50k and 20 milers were jockeying for position with screwed shoes so progress for the first couple of miles was fairly slow. Fortunately, I didn't fall prey to any testosteronic need to blast through the sugar to pass anyone and contented myself with hanging back, knowing that I had a long way to go and a slow start probably couldn't hurt me in the long run.

The early miles passed uneventfully enough, with the line of runners gradually thinning out. The most notable moment was when a runner behind me announced that he was getting a bucket of Chick-Fil-A chicken later that night as a reward for completing the race. His friend (and I) felt that 1 mile into a 31.1 mile race was quite early to be making poultry plans contingent on finishing successfully, but each to their own.

I had resolved to make sure I got plenty to eat this time as I bonked like no-one has ever bonked at about mile 13 last year, but unfortunately, awesome me forgot to wear my belt that had all my gels in, so I contented myself with a couple of handfuls of my running crack, jelly bears, at the aid stations and made sure I kept drinking like an addict, knowing that eventually, Jill would show up with the necessary vittles.

By about mile 5, I was feeling pretty good, ate a salt tablet, and made my way slowly up the road section and back to the trail. My time, despite the slowish start, was about where I wanted it to be. I was on pace for about a 2:10 first loop. The "broken leg" hill after re-entering the trail was a bit treacherous, but I found that a good tactic was to engage in complete denial about it and ran my way down it pretty fast.

The rest of the loop, up to the final mile, which contains the notorious "Three Hills" section was pretty uneventful. The Hills (I capitalize "Hills" not because I'm making a veiled reference to the stupid reality show, but because their might and power deserves such an honor) were, as always tough, especially Hill#1, or as I call it, "The Bitch", but I realized I was feeling pretty dang good and made it through with only one minor swear (I think it was "bugger" for those that are interested).

One thing I thought was absolutely awesome this year was that there were mileage signs on the second half of the loop telling you how many miles there were till the end of the loop. These were posted every half mile and they were outstanding motivation for me. Definitely hope this idea is retained in the future.

OK. Pealed through the finish line - this year right at the end of the trail - another good idea - and Ben was there. He said something about a Union Jack and clueless me didn't realize until after the entire race was done that he'd posted a big British flag right by the finish line just for me. I suppose if I had looked up and seen it, I might have wiped out on the trail, so I can't be too hard on myself. Eyes on the trail always, you know... My time was 2:07, so I'd made up a little on the second half. I stripped off my long pants (my fleece came off about 2 miles later), filled my bottle and I in-a-while-crocodiled the finish line.

Loop 2. Infinitely better than last year. Unlike 2010, when I was ready to lay down in the star position, pray to Scott Jurek and call it a day at the Wyco Triangle, this year I was not only holding my own but actually catching people in front of me. I put this down partly to better training, but also better nutrition and hydration. Experience really tells when doing long trail runs; I'm finding this more and more. On top of everything else, the trail was even better now because of the 400 or so 10 milers that had, since my last loop, smoothed it out some more.

It wasn't until about mile 18, when I saw Jill - who was even more a trooper this year than last, meeting me at many of the trail openings to give me gels from my forgotten belt, salt tablets and force me to pose for photographs - , that I started feeling pretty tired. I suppose we all get to that point eventually during a long race, but it's a mental issue as much as a physical one, and it's certainly possible that the psychological idea of running another loop was a bigger hurdle than the physical one.

Oh well, enough of my complaining, I got up the Hills, and after a brief scare when I almost pulled a calf muscle going up a small incline, ran through the finish line for the second time and once again Ben was there to tell me I was looking good. In truth, I did feel quite strong, but still, that voice was telling me that I still had one more loop before I could call myself a trail Man. Until then, I was still a trail Boy, albeit one with a bald head and a penchant for gourmet beer. My time was about 4:15, some 25 minutes quicker than my time over the same distance in 2010. I was keeping a pretty even pace, but suspected that was going to be a tough thing to achieve three times in a row.

Things had really thinned out as I trudged towards the trail for loop 3. By this time, I was separated by a good distance from those in front and those behind and it was a good two miles before I saw anyone. When I did, it was now people passing me and not the other way around. This (he said in overly dramatic fashion) was the dark time.

The Wyco Triangle came upon me for the third time and I stopped for aid for a little longer than at the other stations to gather myself. It's not that the triangle is hard per se, it's that it seems like you're running to stand still. You emerge just ahead of where you went in, basically advancing about 10 feet in 12 or 13 minutes. The aid station position is cleverly positioned, perhaps partly to make sure people don't "cut" the triangle, and by this time, I could see where that would be really damn tempting.

In the triangle, I caught up with Randy from Wichita and my mental and physical fatigue made me think I could really benefit from some company at this time in the race, so I tagged along with him for the next few miles. If there was a moment where I at least saw a wall if not outright hit it, it was then. Having someone to chat with and keep me occupied was a Godsend.

I mentioned to him my observation about the trail being like a bobsled track, and he returned with something I thought was an even better description. He said it was like skiing every discipline... cross country, slalom, downhill and moguls, complete with epic falls and the occasional injury. Perfect.

Jill kept appearing when I needed sustenance, though I have to say I was getting a bit tired of the all-gel, banana and jelly bear diet by this stage. On the other hand, I didn't want to upset my stomach by introducing something else at this point, and besides, nothing else sounded good. I did start drinking coke at the aid stations though, which was a surprisingly tremendous pick-me-up. The sports drink was rather diluted (perhaps from ice) by this stage, so it was really good on the old taste buds.

At broken leg hill, I decided I had bounced back enough to go on ahead, so I passed Randy and another guy just in front and set off on my own for the last 4.5 miles. I observed to myself that at this point, every step I was taking would mark the new furthest distance I had ever run. You'd think that was an encouragement, but, you know, eyes on the trail lad, eyes on the trail. Concentrate.

Checking my watch, I knew that it would at this point take a major meltdown for me not to finish in under 7 hours, which was a goal I actually thought might have been a bit optimistic, so I was pretty pleased with myself. I passed a couple of other people, including some 20 milers, at around this time, and finally reached Jill for the last time with about 3 miles remaining. I think this was the first time I started thinking about how I'd feel when this was all over. Relieved probably, but also elated, and, yes, maybe slightly boastful. But, still, eyes on the trail.

1 mile to go and the Hills looked at me with all the evil of a Real Housewife of Atlanta. The first, as always was the real son-of-a-mountain, and I could feel myself veering close to "E" on the gas tank. I just had water in my bottle at this point, and probably should have had one more little bite to eat at the previous aid station than just an orange segment (they were all out of jelly bears). Still, I knew the end was near, inched up the other two hills, and summoned the energy to hurtle down the final little stretch through the finish line in 6 hours 42 minutes dead. I was really pleased with the time and with Ben's observation at the end that I'd looked strong throughout, something Jill also echoed, comparing it to my disheveled look from a year ago when she had been "really worried" about me.

Needless to say, a few minutes later, I was walking like Herman Munster and EVERYTHING started to ache. Here's the list... Headache. Face sunburned. Shoulders sore from carrying the waterbottle. Chest, back and hips sore. Hams tight from the uphills. Quads burning from the downhills. Calves shot. Ankles twisted. Big toe bruised. Knees seem to be the only thing that escaped relatively unscathed, but I'm betting they'll be tons of fun tomorrow...

However, I look at these not as ailments but battle scars. This was my first 50k and it wasn't an entry-level one. I got through it and I was proud of myself. There, I said it.

As always, a first class event was run by Ben, Sophia and all the Nerds that contributed time and energy. Big ups for the mileage signs and the new finish line. Dick Ross was his usual jovial picture taking self. Jill was awesome as she always is, and thanks also to Randy from Wichita who, perhaps without knowing it at the time, helped me through my toughest, and most pretentiously introspective miles.

One final "magnifique" to Ben (again) for finding what had to be the biggest Union Jack in the Midwest. Rule Britannia!

Run Toto Run

February 13 2010. The 6th Annual Run Toto Run, run, totoed, run again, and otherwise MCed by the Trail Nerds, and led by the intrepid duo of Ben and Sophia, who enjoyed their last day of non-engagement the same day. (Congratulations, felicitations and other iterations to you both).

In actual fact, this was a course I was quite familiar with, having run it first at the Alternate Chili Run - also put on by the Nerds - and several times thereafter. What that meant was that I knew that I didn't know what to expect. Snow, ice, mud, yetis, and of course the ever present threat of spider monkeys.

So... to start at the top..

Jill drove me in at about 7:30am straight past the already full parking lot and into a probably illegal parking space on the side of the road. We ambled down to where the party was already beginning. A little snow was on the ground in places, enough to where I decided I needed to screw... my shoes for extra traction. A station was set up where a couple of people were very helpfully screwing everything that was sent their way, so I joined the queue. I asked the guy who did them - my Swiss cheese brain has forgotten his name - if he was running. He said no, he was going to do some sweeping later, but the 100 miler he'd completed the week before had apparently led to some very mild fatigue. Imagine...

I'd signed up for the 20 miler, but the little devil on my right shoulder was telling me I should go for the 50k if I felt good after the first two 10 mile loops. I asked Sophia if this was doable and she said "Yeah, just make sure we know" so I pottered off to Jill and told her it might be a long day for both of us. She was a good sport about it considering my inevitable slowness and her fondness for not being cold.

Ben and Sophia loudspeakered a few instructions - basically saying if you get lost you're an idiot (they were right; the course was excellently marked) - and with no further ado, we were at the start line and the (metaphorical) gun went off..

Miles 0-3ish. Across a field, a few yards of pavement then up into the first section of the bridle path. The ground was pretty hard and a bit slick, so I was glad I had screwed right before the race (OK, that's enough -ed). Most of this is a gradual uphill, with a couple of steeper bumps and a few short downhills. The path's been torn up by horses in a few places, so footing's fun there. I came out a couple of times onto some grassy clearings, but otherwise was in the woods the whole time here. I actually find this quite a challenging segment, mainly I think because it's the first thing I do, and I'm not yet warmed up properly. Lots of traffic in the early going, both human and canine, a couple of pukers, and the occasional f-bomb. One guy told me he liked my shoes (he had the same ones). I ran across him a couple more times when we strangely found we had more gear choices in common every time.

Miles 3-4ish. First aid station, and, I think, the only one I skipped. I took a right here onto the Wyco Triangle section of single-track. This is one of my favorite parts of PsychoWyco. It's not overly challenging, the trail's pretty smooth, and although there are times when you're sure you're just running in circles, there's something kind of 'yeah, I'm still alive' about completing it. Someone told me that there are people that can do it in 7 minutes. There are also non-superbeings like me who are usually just pleased they didn't get too lost. I've been 'triangled' for 30+ minutes before. No such problems here. Those little pink flags were like runway lights.

Miles 4-5ish. After I popped back out onto the bridle trail (on the other side of the same aid station you saw on the way in), there's a flattish section leading up to a road crossing and back into the woods. I think this was the first time I saw the guy cheering us on who I swear had seven or eight clones scattered at various spots around the course. He (and his doppelgangers) were a welcome sight, and his enthusiasm was impressive. Down one hill, then up what was one of the steepest on the course, and definitely the most challenging part of the first half of the loop. The highly motivating signs "It's OK to puke" and "It never only gets worse" greeted me towards the summit, and I considered both at length. Afterwards, I was rewarded with a fairly steep downhill section of back and forth, then you take a left and a sharp right and all of a sudden you're in the middle of a giant field.

Miles 5-6ish. The field seems to take forever to cross, and is the most exposed part of the course, so is really the only time you really feel much wind. I'm always relieved to get past this and onto the brief uphill section of road, past an aid station - where I gratefully had my bottle filled with Succeed. Back into the woods for a couple of very steep downhills where signs warned us to "SLOW DOWN" which all of those in my pace range certainly took heed of after Ben had regaled us before we started with stories of the broken legs of those who'd gone too fast.

Miles 6-7ish. It may not be, but this part always seems to me like the longest part of uninterrupted running in the woods without coming out at a field, road or parking lot of some kind. Lots of up, lots of down, a little flat, and a slightly muddier track that warned of things to come. I think this was the area I started to get passed by 10 milers that started 30 minutes after me - always an ego boost - including one very fast, (and very young) kid who made the hills that were burning my quads with every microstep seem like minor speed bumps - I later found out he came 2nd overall in the 10 mile race. Overachiever. Across another field, back into the woods, out by some boats, back in again, then one more aid station before the infamous "Three Hills" section.

Miles 7-10ish. Dominated by the aforementioned hills, the first of the three might be the worst because it's so dang long. Just as you think you're at the top, you turn a corner and it KEEPS GOING UP. I didn't even try to run this one, and all I could think was how in the frig was I going to do it again with 10 more miles on my legs. The second is a bit shorter, then the third is another real bugger, though at least you know it's the last main obstacle before the end. Finally, I heard noise that resembled the unmistakably lively chatter of finish line peoples and sure enough, I ran down one final hill and into the back of the parking lot where I'd started. A jovial guy took a picture as I crossed the finish line for which I managed to muster a smile - of all the pictures taken, it was the only one where I didn't look like I was about to keel over.

Round 1 complete. Jill snapped pictures and looked suitably concerned as I was somewhat disheveled already. My time was just over 2 hours; a PR for me, which probably meant I was going too fast.

Miles 10-13ish. Starting to feel a bit iffy. Jill was now meeting me whenever I emerged from the woods, with food and drink, and she told me after that this was the period she was most worried and that I looked "terrible". I was definitely starting to feel it. I took a salt tablet and ate some gummi bears at the aid station.

Miles 13-15ish. Definitely the worst part for me physically. The triangle was a bit muddier than the first time but mostly I just felt like I was about to pass out from exhaustion at this part. The idea of going 6 or 7 more miles didn't seem realistic. I slowed to a walk, even on the flat areas, and prepared myself for doom. To think, a couple of hours earlier, I'd been full of vinegar asking about "up-sizing" to the 50k. What a foolish child I can be. Also, somehow my stopwatch got stopped here, so it added to the feeling that I wasn't making any progress, time itself having apparently stood still.

Miles 15-17ish. Against all odds, I started to bounce back. The salt and food kicked in and all of a sudden I actually felt fairly comfortable again - oh, I still wasn't attempting to run up the hills, but I was pretty solid on the flats and downhills. Mud was really a factor by now, the product of melting snow and 500 runners tearing it up. Plp plp plp. Some were trying to run around the edges but I just charged through it for the most part. I still managed to fall flat on my face, side and butt four or five times, but at least it was a soft landing. I'd done this course in a foot of snow, and although I'll take the mud over the snow, it might be interesting to actually do this one day without either. Of course, then there'd be snakes and ticks, so, you know, every silver lining has its cloud.

Miles 17-20. The three hills were, if anything, not quite as painful as they were in the first loop (though it has to be said I took my sweet time with them), and were one of the few areas where the mud hadn't completely taken hold, so in some ways they were almost welcome. Plus I knew the end was in sight.

Finally, I saw the parking lot and, as if someone had injected me with an elixir of everlasting energy, I suddenly bounded out heroically and shot over the finish line in near average pace. A very brief thought of going for the 50k flashed through my head, then equally quickly went away. The second loop had taken me 2hrs 37 minutes, about 35 minutes slower than the first. The mud was getting worse, and I was spent. I'd put in my day's work. It was time to go home and caress my blisters.

At the end, Ben was there to greet me (see pic), and told me I looked a little pale and needed some food. I didn't reveal that I am the twelve time runner up at the whitest man alive contest behind only Conan O'Brien, but followed his advice anyway and had a bowl of hot soup and an awesome cookie.

I'm the pale one on the left

So, was it fun? Hell yes. I had mud up to my knees, I spent almost 5 hours running in the woods in February, and I got a medal with a dog on it. What more could you ask for?

A special thanks to...

All the Nerds at the aid stations. They were attentive and kept the bar well stocked. The variety of food was impressive (though I personally mainly stuck to gummi bears which I found to be like happy pills for me that day).

The mud

Ben and Sophia for putting on a first class event and for the really impressive amount of stuff you got for your money (long-sleeved tech shirt, mug, medal, soup, cookies - the list goes on)

The guy who screwed my shoes. Good luck on your next hundred miler.

Jill for being there at every corner on the second loop when she probably would rather have been at Banana Republic or David's Bridal. That's my girl.

Anyway, that's it for now. This post ended up being almost as long as my race. But slightly cleaner. See you at the next one!