50K for 50

This past Saturday, on a cool and overcast day, I ran the Chippewa Moraine 50K, an out-and-back ultra run (mostly) on the Ice Age Trail. It wasn’t my first ultra (By definition, an ultra-marathon is anything longer than a marathon which is 26.2 miles. Typically it refers to either a 50K [31 miles], a 50 or 100 mile race – yes, there are 100-milers and more than you would guess.) My baptism of snow and ice came at the hands of the Tuscobia Ultra on a cold December day in 2009. But that race was run on a former railroad bed flat as a…well, rail, whereas this one would be run on a single track trail featuring not only lots of ups and downs but uncountable rocks and tree roots hungrily waiting for an errant runner’s foot. Given that this was my first long race in three years my main goal was just to finish before the cut-off time of 9 hours and cross the line before dark.

Before...

How do you train for an ultra? Well, I’ve only done two so I’m hardly the guy to clue you in on that one. What I’ve picked up from others with far more experience than I at these kinds of things is to be lean, svelte and be not only an avid marathoner but a cyclist and a Birkie veteran to boot. At the peak of your training it also helps to log a lot of hill work and put in some two-a-days (10 in the morning, 10 at night.) I am none of that and I didn’t do any of that. I trained as I would for any marathon (I’ve done 8 of those): I slowly increased my weekly long run from 8 to 16 miles over the course of five weeks with my field trip to Uganda thrown in as a convenient breather. If I had more time, I would have logged an “18” and a couple of “20s” but I ran out of calendar and had to line up this past Saturday knowing I was going to need to run twice as far as I usually did. Plus, all my training miles I had logged were road ones and with the exception of short jaunts on Rattlesnake Hill and Plummer Lake Roads the lion’s share of my race that day would be on trail. All this to say that I probably wasn’t the best prepared for the Chippewa 50K. But I was feeling good and thus far having one of my best running years since I began logging miles in 2000 so in honor of my upcoming 50th birthday (May 4) I figured...what the heck.



I'd be the guy just to the left of this pic



The race began at the Chippewa Moraine Interpretive Center, that bastion of knowledge concerning all things the Ice Age that sits atop Highway M east of New Auburn. Our family has been coming to this place literally for years to either check out the unique displays in the center, to hike, to hunt, to snowshoe by moonlight and daylight and to watch our daughter, Christine, compete in the Cross Country races that used to be held on part of the same course I ran that day. As I mentioned, it was cool – especially for late April – but given my propensity to copiously sweat the weather was in my favor. There were, according to the results list, 159 other individuals running as well and as is my habit, I put myself at the back of that small pack. After all there is far greater psychological impact of passing someone as opposed to being passed. Besides, I had all day, right?



About 4 miles in

 After a number of reminders and suggestions, the race director said the magic words: “On your mark. Get set. Go.” And we were off running briefly atop the hill only to take that deep plunge off the back side. My one thought going down was, “Great. I'm gonna have to walk, run or climb up that thing on the home stretch.” But that was a little under 31 miles away and there was no time to worry about that. After perhaps a quarter mile jaunt, the whole back of the pack began to walk. We had reached our first incline. It wasn't much of an incline really and looking directly to our left we could see the starting line at the top of the hill but the ultra (for guys like me) is all about pacing. So, until we reached the “peak” of that little hill, I walked only to pick it up again on the back side. This is essentially how my race would go for the rest of the way – quickly walking the inclines and trotting the down hills and staying steady on the flats (and there weren't many of those.)



North Shattuck Lake

In my trek to be a Thru Hiker on the Ice Age Trail, I have already walked the length of the course we ran on Saturday. I had done it in brief, shorter bursts, however, – perhaps no more than five miles in a single hike with plenty of time to sit down and enjoy the view if the whimsy struck me. But on Saturday there wasn’t really time to do that. It wasn’t that I was “hauling the mail”, moving at the speed of…well…you know “fast.” The trail simply required too much attention as I ran the gauntlet of crags, rocks, roots and soft spots. And when the front runners (which were really almost everyone in front of me) came at me from the other direction on their return journey that, too, required me to yield to the far faster racers. And frankly, due to the cool April we have experienced up in these parts, the buds are just beginning to fire in the woods so that it looks more like late winter with a touch of green around the edge. In other words, the scenery was nothing really to write home about.

Okay, mine's a little smaller

On my way to the turn around, I ran in the general vicinity of some more normal looking runners – a bit more rounder around the middle and the backside, far more grayer around the temples. I felt good, relaxed and reasonably strong. I got a lot of ribbing for the size of my CamelBak I wore – a mini-backpack of sorts that contains a compartment for a litre size rubber bladder of water as well as several other items (on Saturday I stored a lightweight jacket in another compartment in case it began to rain). “Whaddya got in there? Your vacuum cleaner?” “Can I ride inside your pack?” “Are you training for a self-supportive marathon or something?” and on it went. “Nah,” I came to reply, “I just sweat a lot.” (What do they care what size my hydration system is anyway?) Besides, I had trained with the thing on my back and so I rarely even noticed it.



Really the only "wild" life I saw all day

 At the half way point, there was a fully manned aid station with the small cooler I had sent on ahead full of Gatorade, water, apples, bananas and several other sundries. I refilled my bottles with fresh Gatorade, made sure my CamelBak had plenty of water for the return trip, drank about a half a small bottle of orange juice, ate a salted nut roll, several slices of apple, and a handful of potato chips (to replace some of the salt I undoubtedly had lost.) I got out my small bottle of Vaseline to rub under both arms to keep any rashes from breaking out and then saddled up the horse. Perhaps within 10 minutes I was on my way home. But early on I began to feel the first real tinges of fatigue. It’s more a mental-thing than anything else. You begin to second-think this crazy idea to run (in this case) 31 miles and have to focus more intently on the task at hand. I did come across a small group of horseback riders out on the Chippewa County horse trail that runs briefly with the IAT and when one of them asked me, “What’s the run for?” I simply replied, “For a $60 T-shirt, of course.” That got a laugh. About the 18-mile mark a real nice man caught up with me and for a good part of the rest of the race we ran either together or within shouting distance of each other.

By the time I reached the 26-mile mark (somewhere around 6-hours plus), I had a good sense that I was going to make it in less than 9 but the miles were coming slower now. Usually when I run the marathon, it’s my calves that take a beating but due to all the down hills I was running it was my quads that were crying for relief as well as my arches. Perhaps the hardest bit of the race (for me) was between the 26 and 27 mile mark. That “27” mile marker seemed like forever to reach and I had to keep repeating my favorite running mantra – “I’m still here” (see Reaching the 10,000 mile mark baby-stepping it). I whispered that a lot.




This is what the second half of the race looked like -running in the woods alone



With less than a mile to go I had two fears: 1) that once out of the trees I would be in full view of those on top of the hill; i.e., anytime I chose to walk people would notice and 2) that last huge uber hill we had run down at the beginning of the race. I know if this were a movie I would push myself to the brink and gut out the last half mile to the finish. But…this is was not a movie. There was a little incline just below the hill and yes, I walked up it. And when it came to that 70 yard mountain, I walked up that, too. Frankly, I was just about spent. Linda and Charlie were on top to cheer me on and once there, I took a breath and then ran the last 25 yards around the crest of the hill and across the finish line. Done. I had finished my second ultra in personal record time: 8:15:34, over 45 minutes faster than the Tuscobia Ultra back in 2009.

One of the race-guys who had been at the turn around clapped for me, “50K for 50. Way to go.” “Thanks,” is about all I could get out. “Wanna beer?” the race director asked me. Although I have only had one sip of ale my whole life at that moment I almost said yes. Somehow the thought of cold suds sounded good (even though I really don’t know what that tastes like). “Nah,” I replied. “I’m good.” And after making myself a sandwich sat down. My racing day was over.

Yesterday and today I have hobbled around like the Tin Man looking for his oil can. Lots of people have seen my status update and have patted me on the back either virtually or in person. And just like every other long race I have yet run, I don’t really feel anything except the discomfort of an overdose of lactic acid. The sense of satisfaction of a goal completed will come later when I get my legs back and start dreaming about my next long race. With any luck that’ll be later this summer.



Until next time...