Race Results: Autumn Leaves 50 mile

The bright blue and white beams of our headlamps strained to cut through the fog in the cold fall air. Millions of mysteriously suspended water droplets reflected back most of the light from our lamps forcing us to focus on the ground directly at our feet instead of the asphalt bike trail meandering in front of us. Having just been released from the starting line in Champoeg State Park in Newberg, Oregon, in an typical predawn no-nonsense ultramarathon starting ceremony ("You guys ready, great, 5,4,3,2,1,go....have fun.", says the race director, without pausing, in a quiet subdued voice.), approximately forty of the competitors in the fifty mile race embarked into the fog. I settled in right behind the seven guys who, knowing the course, took the lead to show the rest of us the way. As we ran passed the parking lot lined with the tents, tables and assorted folding furniture of the support crews, we entered the fog and slowed to a pedestrian pace for fear of ramming one of the many posts sprouting from the middle of the path designed to prevent speeding bicycles and four abreast baby joggers. This went on for about a mile and and a half before two more experienced runners broke away into the morning and left the pack. Shortly after their departure one of the five pack leaders rolled his ankle on the abrupt edge of the asphalt and, screaming in frustration and pain, stopped. His compatriots abruptly stopped with him to attend to what may have been a race ending lapse in concentration leaving ME leading the chase pack. Many emotions and potty words streamed through my head as the fading batteries in my mini-headlamp threw out less and less light. Fortunately the solidly packed heard of runners just behind me had so many lamps that I could see my multifaceted shadow stretch out in front of me. Glimpses of the leaders were fleeting as the trail wound through the park, but they were there and they weren't far, and it was early in the race, so I did what any freaked out ultra runner would do; I bridged the gap and caught them. It took only a few minutes to reel them in just to have them ease back on the pace and let ME TAKE THE LEAD, assuming I knew the course better than they did, great. This most unfortunate event occurred around mile five just as the course left the security of the bike trail and entered the woods, double great! My headlamp was dangerously close to dead by now and the morning air, still soupy with fog, had the much anticipated ever so slightest hint of dawn as I entered the most protected part of the run. I slowed to a crawl, rotating my head back and forth to get a dim view of the bushes that defined the wood chip trail's edges. This technique successfully aided me in reaching a manned checkpoint and large expanse of freshly plowed field. "Am I heading to you?", I asked the little light. "Yup, up here and around the fence line.", said the light. "Thanks.", and with that the two gents caught me and silently glided by disappearing into the fog. I was caught by a few others prior to reaching the end of the first lap at the 6.25 mile checkpoint. As I approached the turn-around, the second wave of fifty mile starters and all the fifty kilometer racers were just leaving the starting line. It was a surreal sight to have close to one hundred bobbing headlamps rapidly approaching through the dense wet air. A few comments about going the wrong way and salmon swimming upstream and I arrived at the electronic mats that read my race chip and signaled a quiet "beep", lap one done, seven to go. Lap one was a bit faster than the race plan allowed for, at 1:01:51, and my crewman, Bob, let me have it in a loving and positively supportive manner, "Slow down, you still have forty three and three quarter miles left." Thanks for pointing that out, now give me some water and a few fig newtons. Lap two went well as the sunrise slowly approached. My headlamp was useless at this point but forgetting to take it off I let the batteries burn out. The turn around point at three and one quarter miles out was a small orange cone in the middle of the path manned by two well bundled volunteers with clipboards recording race numbers and counting laps, a thankless job. Just prior to reaching the turnaround point I was greeted by all the "salmon" I had seen at the end of my first lap and promptly blinded by over sixty super bright headlamps. How often we forget headlamp etiquette: don't shine your light straight into someones face in the dark, it's rude and BLINDING. I stopped and slowly walked to the cone while my seared retina recovered from the onslaught of forty eight thousand candle power. Just to feel better about myself I passed a few of the "salmon" chalking them up and road kills; a term defining any runner passed and never seen again. Right around ten miles in I settled into my race pace of slightly over ten minute miles. Lap two ended at dawn; twelve and one half mile done: 1:04:23/2:06:19. Lap three was comfortable but altogether uneventful save the discovery of caffeinated Hammer Gel packets at the aid stations: 1:05:19/3:11:38. Lap four was much the same with a little sunshine added to warm the body in between heavily shaded woodsy trails. Twenty five miles down and, as Bob would so annoyingly remind me, "Only twenty five to go and I feel great, How do you feel?" Hurling my mostly empty water bottle at him I threatened to shoot him; the crew team across the parking lot howled with encouragement as we all laughed: 1:04:44/4:16:23. Lap five was interesting; chaffing began, my stomach rebelled a bit, joints went in and out of pain and muscles were reaching to places they hadn't been for a while. Actually it had been over fourteen years since I toed the line of an official ultramarathon: Western States 100 back in 1997.(I have been keeping myself plenty busy with long trail runs and various adventures in the mean time.) I slowed a bit trying to deal with the pains, chaffing and stomach issues. I had prepared to suffer during laps five and six but when I actually got to the suffering I decided that I liked thinking about it instead of actually experiencing it. But this is nothing I hadn't done before and it was familiar. That's what got me through, as Bob said, "You've been here before and your experience will pull you through." Lap five: 1:07:16/5:23:40. Now the fun really began; thirty one and a quarter miles into the fifty mile event. Bob joined me for the first mile and a bit. It was nice to have accompaniment but it's hard to be pleasurable while it feel like someone is hitting your quads with a baseball bat every step. We ran together up to the first aid station, a pop up tent covering a grocery/candy store/first aid kit strewn out on tables. He stopped there and I continued on the black ribbon into the woods. I was slogging through the middle of the race in much the manner I had anticipated, knowing that at some point I would enter a deep recess of my mind and join a new running partner. I rejoined Bob and we discussed food, water and donning my ipod. I came through the turn around at the end of lap six in serious pain desperately wanting caffeine and music to boost my spirits and distract my mind: 1:22:44/6:46:24. During the preceding lap six my pace had dropped dramatically, about three minutes per mile to around 13:15/mile. Lap seven was a repeat of lap six with Bob escorting me to the aid station and picking me up for the return mile except that the sun was breaking through the clouds and I had music, and the beat helped me shave forty five seconds off each mile placing my pace in the 12:30/mile area. Somewhere near mile five of lap seven I broke through. It's a very difficult experience to describe when the natural painkillers in our bodies combine with the will to continue. Pain becomes white noise, you leave the normal A/Ox4 (Alert and Oriented to person, place, time and event) and enter a realm of deepness. I slowly drifted to that deep area during mile forty four and at the end of lap seven I told Bob I was ready to "drop the hammer" and begin "the race", it only took eight hours and forty three and three quarter miles to get there: 1:18:17/8:04:41. I set my jaw, tossed off my water bottle, gave a mental war cry and rattled off an 8:30 mile, only five and one quarter miles to go. I had made the decision to race. I could run slow and be in pain or run fast and be in pain, either way the pain remained. So with tears streaming down my face, I embraced the truth and with the well timed intro of U2's "Where The Streets Have No Name" in my ears I cranked through the remaining five miles with my ever present running partner who built me to run like this, "...fully alive!" Lap eight: 1:00:49, my fastest lap of the day. Final time for 50 miles 9:05:31. At the finish line I heard the welcoming final beep of the timing computer, received my finisher medal and belt buckle. I bent over hands on knees while a volunteer carefully untied my right shoe to remove my timing chip and stood uneasy enjoying the rotation of the earth and trying not to puke on her head, really I could actually feel the earth rotating, or maybe it was all the Oreo cookies I had eaten in the past two hours. When we got back to the car it took a few minutes to come back to full awareness. Then I looked at Bob and said, "Where is the closest Starbucks? I NEED a coffee." Tony