Finding out/Getting In (to what???)
I was notified by email early
last week by race co-director Kristina Folcik that I had been moved from the
Bear Brook Trail Marathon waitlist to the list of registered entrants. I was a
late entry, having been unaware of the race until some advertising came out after
the Loon Mountain Race from RD Chris Dunn. Looking at Bear Brook results from
prior years, I saw that my CMS teammate Chris Mahoney had won both of the
previous editions, but (with a 2-month old daughter and some nagging injuries)
he was not signed up this year (according to Ross Krause’s RunReg.com).
Surprise!
I didn’t see any names I
recognized from the New England road racing circuit among the registered
runners, but when I stopped into NE Running Co a couple of days before the race
to stock up on snacks (Stinger waffles and chews and several flavors of GU
Chomps and some citrus Nuun), Eric Narcisi told me that his Whirlaway teammate Brandon
Newbould would be running. Instantly, I knew that I would no longer be able to
cruise to victory like I had imagined (and which was inaccurate, anyway) and I
knew that Brandon would now be the likely favorite.
Help a brother out, Scott?
Having run a few times
with Scott McGrath in the past couple weeks, I had gotten some insight into
Brandon’s training and racing strategies. On an almost fifteen-mile trail run
through Andover on Wednesday of last week, Scott filled me in on what he knew
of Brandon’s preparation and race habits. He would certainly have more mileage and long
runs than me coming in, and would be likely to make one or more decisive moves
during the course of the race. He was also likely to train through and not
taper, according to Scott. Conservative estimates had Brandon at 100-120 miles
per week, whereas I had been running 80-90 for the past 6 weeks or so. I also had
a long run of 16 miles for 2014, which (for the un-informed reader) is well shy
of a marathon.
A brief aside
On our run last Wednesday,
I tagged along behind Scott through some beautiful wooded areas in Andover, MA
(Ward Reservation, etc.), wearing my water bottle for the first time. It was
pretty annoying the way it bounced around on the small of my back for almost
two hours, but I knew I would need to bring it with me for Saturday’s “cupless”
race. I took one pretty good fall heading into Boston Hill, which was also good
practice for Saturday.
…Or two
Scott also turned me on
to Strava on Wednesday, so Thursday I took a crack at three 2-mile segments
near Gordon. I ended up running about six miles at 5:40-5:55 pace, which I
considered marathon-ish effort, even though I knew the pace would be somewhat
slower come Saturday.
Just ‘cause
Friday, I ran just under
4 miles in the morning and just under 5 in the afternoon.
Race morning
Saturday, I got up at 3:15
am, which is pretty early for me, had a bagel and coffee in the dark and was on
the road a few minutes before 4.
The foreshadowing/predictive/prophetical longer drive than anticipated
It was a good thing, too,
because the driving directions I had only got me about 10 minutes away from the
start and not quite to the start. Fortunately, I had a newfound friend in fellow
marathoner, Illinoisan Jay Marshall, who had driven up from the Cape that
morning, and the two of us crept along Deerfield Rd. together until we came to
the (quite obvious) start/finish area.
Familiar faces
After parking in the
bumpiest, yet most charming race lot I’ve ever visited, I spoke with Loon race
director Chris Dunn, who was organizing the attendant half-marathon at Bear
Brook. I also bumped into Brandon and we re-introduced ourselves/caught up a bit.
Then I headed back to the car to make a few decisions -
What to carry/what to wear
I had purchased two
fluid/snack-carrying accessories in the week leading up to the race, having
never had occasion before for such equipment. I had a Nathan single-bottle
holder, which I ran with on Wednesday (and wasn’t absolutely in love with) as
well as a smaller, hand-held mini-bottle (made by Nathan, too) that my wife Heather
picked up for me when I whined to her about how sore my back was from wearing
the belt.
I opted for both, with
the larger bottle spiked with citrus Nuun, and the hand-held filled with pure
water.
I also crammed as many
Stinger waffles and chews, plus some Gu chomps into the pockets of both. I had
already removed everything from original wrappers and had gone with Ziploc
snack bags. I was taking the Leave No Trace policy seriously, and hoped I would
be able to effectively grab what I needed without being too clumsy about it.
Another familiar face
As I took care of
potential chafing concerns, I spotted Coach Karen Giroux strolling to the start
area and ran over to say hi. Karen and I worked together at Hamilton-Wenham Regional
High school as assistant cross-country coaches under Steve Sawyer. Karen has
also run quite a few very long races and so I was curious to see how she was
approaching Bear Brook. I also hoped she would be pleased to see that I was
trying my luck at something I know she loves – aka, running all day.
After talking to Karen, I
decided to ditch the handheld because it didn’t seem like I would be able to
access the pouch on my back very well with a bottle in one hand. I dropped it
in the car, put on my (well, Kevin Tilton’s) inov-8 X-Talon 212’s, and headed
to the start.
I’m laughing; I get jokes.
Race Director Ryan Welts’
opening remarks served to simultaneously calm and terrify me as he alluded to
the fact that the course was definitely longer than a marathon, but he didn’t
really know how much. He also offered a $10 prize for anyone who could take
down his Strava segment on the way back. I had my doubts about being able to do
that after 3-plus hours of running. I meekly raised my hand when he asked,
“Who’s going to be under 4 hours?” and then we were off.
Getting after it
I felt fairly unrelaxed for the first couple miles,
unsure of how to approach a race of this magnitude. I found myself leading the
way early on, although Scott Traer’s footsteps came closer on each downhill
after we ran up and over Catamount Hill (for the first and unfortunately my only
time). At the first aid station I grabbed a piece of a PB + J sandwich and
continued to run straight through, before being hollered back the way we came.
I briefly got behind Scott and we chatted a bit. I learned that Scott would be
unlikely to tire in a race this “short” (?!?) - Scott has won the Around the
Lake 24-hr. race, (covering an amazing 140 miles!!) and run multiple races of
50k and longer. Figuring that my only chance against Scott would be to run
faster than him while I was still fresh, I pulled away over the next few miles,
averaging just under 7:00’s for miles 4-8. (If I can trust my GPS?) I was
encouraged when I came through ten miles, which I estimated was one-third of
the race, in 75 minutes. I knew Chris Mahoney had averaged right around 8’s the
two years he won, and I knew if I could stay in the 7:30-8:00/mi. range, I
would finish in 3:45-4:00.
Never a dull moment
Even though I was racing,
I was struck by the beauty and artistry of this course (huge props to Ryan
Welts and Kristina Folcik). We encountered: mountains, boulders, over-grown
single- and double-track trails, fire roads, dirt paths, swamps, puddles,
meadows, woods of every sort, roots, logs, rocks, flat stretches, straights,
curves, rolling hills, sharp descents and ascents – in short, everything you
could ask for in a race of this distance to keep it fresh and interesting.
Keeping the tank half-full
Running with the lead, and
only an occasional reminding footstep from Scott on the downhills that he was
lurking back there, I focused on running steady and remaining fueled. I plowed
through two and a half Stinger waffles (150 Cal. Each) and most of my green tea
chews before half way. I was trusting in the well-stocked aid stations to
sustain me beyond that. Mile 9 passed in 7:50; mile 10 in 7:09; mile 11 in
7:06.
“This is my thing?” (My ignorance shows)
Somewhere between miles 8
and 12, as I ran with a lead, I allowed the thought to enter my mind that “Running
ultras might really be what I’m cut out for. After all, here I am, running
comfortably, in the lead…” and so on. In (somewhat less ignorant) hindsight, it
would have served me better to just enjoy the rhythm of the run and the
scenery. A humility check was in the mail, though.
Backtracking
Around 12 miles, we
crossed Podunk (yes, Podunk) Rd. and I followed the flags on my right, but
immediately began second-guessing my decision, thinking perhaps I should have
stayed left to an aid station. I ran for about a half-mile, questioning every
step, then turned to go back and check. On the way (about a minute after I
turned around), I ran into Brandon and Scott, coming toward me, and they
shouted for me to turn and continue with them. We entered a relatively wet stretch
of course, and after a mile or so, I let Brandon go by me. My 12th
mile was a 7:38.
Falling down (pt. 1)
With Brandon just ahead
and Scott now just behind, I struggled to match their pace through the swampy
sections. After watching Brandon gracefully skirt by one puddle on a tiny,
muddy shoulder lined with small trees, I followed suit. About two steps in, I
slipped and went face down in the water. I popped right up and continued, but
could tell I was losing some steam.
Bye, guys. (Getting left behind/losing reception/deerflies descending)
Shortly after my lack of
co-ordination got the better of me, Scott scooted past and it wasn’t long
before I lost sight of him and Brandon completely. Somewhere in here (miles
13-15) the deerflies got bad (as we had been warned), descending on us in my
time of weakness. Mile 13 was a 7:58. Mile 14 was 7:35. Mile 15 was a 7:20. Just
past 15 and a half miles, after an hour and 56 minutes of running, I lost
reception on my watch and wouldn’t regain it.
Carbonated beverages
I don’t like to be a
complete slave to my Garmin watch, so I tried to “just run” and not think about
how far I had to go or how far I had come, but with the flies and the loss of
visible competition, I struggled. I also had run several miles without giving any
thought to hydrating or fueling, so when I came into the next aid station
(around 16 miles?) I filled my bottle about ¼ full with ginger ale, and the
rest water. I grabbed a Vienna finger, said thank you to the life-saving
volunteers and trudged on. That ginger ale was like sweet nectar to me, and as
I started to settle in, I regularly sipped the bubbly goodness and got into a
different mindset about finishing. (I also learned that I am pretty sugar-reliant,
which is not necessarily a great thing for someone who wants to run long
distances. Note: try to burn fat more efficiently.)
Settling in (16-29)
I knew I had lost touch
with the leaders, but wanted to keep an honest pace and give no ground to
anyone behind me, and felt like for the most part I did that. I felt strong-ish
as we ran through the campground, over-taking kids on their bikes and dads
walking to the bathroom to brush their teeth and wash their faces after a night
sleeping in tents. I enjoyed my ginger ale and a few chomps and my mind kept
drifting to another sugary option that I had seen at aid station 4 – Pepsi! At
Aid station 5, it was store-brand cola, but no complaints. I went with a
similar 1:3 ratio of soda to water, but didn’t find it as palatable, so I threw
a Nuun tablet in to make something that was kind of reminiscent of cough syrup.
No mind, I was drinking it.
Falling down (pt. 2)
I spent a lot of time
reaching behind me for my bottle and zippered pockets and shuffling bags around
to try to find what I was craving. (It was sugar, in case you haven’t gotten that yet.) The whole process became something to occupy my mind as my tired body
moved forward. I had found early on in the race that stuffing a partially full bag of
snacks (first waffles, later chomps) alongside my bottle kept it from moving
around as much, so I developed a routine. (It seemed quite fascinating at the
time, so I apologize if it is somewhat less enthralling to the casual reader.)
I would remove my bottle to get a drink of something sweet and electrolyte-filled. Invariably, the snack bags would fall to the bottom of the bottle pouch.
Then I would reach behind my back with both hands, pulling the bag out with
one, and stuffing the bottle in with the other. Once the bottle was in
place, and turned just so the handle didn’t hit me in the back, I pushed the
half-full bag of snacks in next to the bottle to secure it. The whole process
probably didn’t take more than 20 seconds, but that is precious time to be distracted
when you are running further than you ever have. During one such procedure, I
lifted my right foot a little lower than I needed to, stumbled and went down
hard on the dirt. I got my hands out from behind me quick enough to sustain
some of the impact, but got to my feet somewhat slower than after my first fall.
Other thoughts
Probably my favorite
stretch of the course, scenery-wise, was just before the 5th aid
station, where we wound through tall grasses and white birches. We had good visibility of
what lay ahead. I thought I might be able to spot Brandon or Scott if they were
coming back to me, but they weren’t. It was cool because I could see quite a way in front of me, but
couldn’t tell which way the trail went because it twisted and turned. I just
kind of scanned the horizon, looking for a sign of another runner, but not sure
where they might pop up. Certainly not like staring at someone’s back during
the middle miles of a road race.
I also distinctly recall
acknowledging when I ran past significant time milestones – at 2:28:55 it was
the longest run since the Cape Cod Marathon in 2011; at 2:33:03 it was my
longest run since Boston ’07. Most notably, at 2:47:35, I surpassed the time I
had spent on my feet in my debut marathon (Baystate) in 2000 and it became my
longest run ever.
The finish lie
I reached the “final” aid
station in 3 hours, 10 minutes and switched back over to ginger ale and water.
RD Ryan was there and I found my sense of humor to admit I wouldn’t be attempting
any Strava CR’s in the last 4.5 miles. Saying “Thank you” again to everyone who was sustaining me with their support, I
headed into the final stretch. I would have gone the wrong way from the aid
station, but the volunteers shouted me right and I was on my way. I allotted myself
40 minutes to get to the finish line, and knew I had to go up and over
Catamount Hill before the finish, but wasn’t sure when the climb would begin. I
celebrated every four minutes run with a sip of my ginger ale “champagne”. When
I passed 20 minutes from the aid station, I was surprised that I didn’t recognize
the surroundings more than I did, but I chalked it up to the addled mind of a
confused runner, and took some solace in that. I passed two women coming
toward me, who were running the half-marathon, just after I made my fatal
mistake (I think), but when I asked if they had seen two guys ahead of me, they
said yes, about a quarter-mile ago. With that thought in my mind, I continued,
until at 3:46:57 I arrived back at aid station #6, where Scott Traer raised his
hands in mock triumph and said, “Wrong way!”
Post-race informalities
While Scott and I
discussed where we might have gone wrong and race volunteers kindly arranged
for a ride out, Brandon finished in 3:37. Second place was just over 4 hours.
Back at the start/finish,
Scott and I caught up with Brandon (finally) and I enjoyed a somewhat
anti-climactic hot dog and Monkey Fist IPA before heading home.
On the way home, I gave
the race recap over the phone to my understanding wife, Heather, and then called
Scott McGrath to let him know what had happened. Overall, I felt pretty
satisfied with the result, considering there was no finish line crossed, no
idea what distance I had covered in the almost 4 hours I had run and no chance
my name would show up in the results. As I communicated to Level Renner’s Eric
Narcisi in an in-store interview here, I
learned something about trail running and ultra-running through my experience
and feel like it was undoubtedly worth the trip.
P.S. I did capture a
couple Strava segments, so my competitive nature has something to soothe the
sting of a DNF.
