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!