Before I go into my race report let me say that Tim did an awesome job of directing the inaugural Hawkeye 25/50K. The trail was so well-marked that there was never a question whether you were on course. Tons of email updates about trail conditions, weather, providing maps and directions all reduced the worry and uncertainty leading up to race day. He rounded up some great volunteers, too. They endured some pretty nasty weather and managed to stay upbeat, which was contagious to us runners.
The weather conditions at the start were an off-and-on drizzle with temps in the low-30s. Pretty nice for mid-December in the Midwest. That would change. Throughout the race the temps steadily decreased and the rain became more on than off and heavier and gradually turned to sleet and finally snow.
The first lap I headed out near the front of the pack at what felt like a comfortable pace. I was loaded up with Perpetuem solids and GU chomps and I quickly realized exactly why Race-Ready shorts have drawstrings in addition to the elastic. I guess the solids added more weight than my usual gels, or I've always just tied my shorts in the past. Whatever: they were comin down. In the first 100 yards I was already making wardrobe adjustments, trying to tie my shorts and run the single-track trail that started each loop.
We quickly left the trail for a few miles of road running. This is where I felt strongest. Most of my training since June has been on roads around town since thesis deadlines and a teaching assignment have made driving to the trails harder to justify -- not to mention that my daughter is now becoming a little person and I like spending time with her and my wife. Running 10+ hrs per week I can justify, but driving 1-2 hrs for most of those runs has really started to seem like a burden.
So I haven't really run many hills since June. This would come back to haunt me...
We left the roads for a crushed gravel trail. This was probably my favorite portion of the race. The trail was very well-maintained and pretty flat, with a few gentle ups and downs. We ran right along the lake with a lot of tree cover. Coming off the roads into the trees, it starts to feel a bit warmer as the trees block the wind. Here I really began doubting my choice of wearing long pants over my shorts. They'd seemed warm even along the windy road. I'd been reassuring myself that it would be getting colder, but my legs were really feeling warm. I first tried bunching them up around my quads. After they fell back down a few times I just stopped and took em off. That's when I realized my bib was pinned to my pants. sigh... run and think. Aha! I rolled my pants up so that the bib showed and started planning a quick way to stop to secure them into the straps on my Nathan hydration pack. Damn this pack is handy! (I've fastened jackets and even shoes in it.)
I saw a lady cheering for passing runners and stopped to ask her to secure the pants for me. Perfect. Problem solved... until the pants fell out of the straps. I realized they were missing at the next check point when they asked me for my bib # and I reached behind me to point to it. Well, never trust a cheerleader with your pants, I guess. OK, it was my fault, not hers. That just sounded like a funny thing to say.
Needless to say I was pretty bummed out. Not only did I lose my $80 pants that have gotten me thru so many midwestern winters, but I lost my bib #, which could (theoretically) mean a DQ. I went back an forth with that scenario for a few miles. "Crap! I won't even be counted as a finisher!" "Nah, Tim's a good guy. He won't DQ me for losing my bib." I was not in a good place mentally.
After crossing a spillway for the lake we left the crushed gravel path for the single-track trail that makes up the last third of the loop. Adrenaline was pushing me a bit faster than I should have been moving at this point. I felt physically strong as I tried to put the lost pants and bib out of my mind. At first the trails seemed easy and I thought that I'd get away with all that missed training. Then the cramps started coming. The insides of my quads started seizing up. Oh, boy. I wasn't even half way done.
Then some good news came. As I came back to the start/finish I started to explain my bib situation to the volunteers, and they replied "oh, are you #99?" pointing to a black pile on top of a drum in front of the social center. Awesome! I asked whether I needed to refasten my bib and they just waved me on.
After an alright 2:03 first loop I was back out for a second. By now I was getting pretty drenched. Everything I was carrying -- hats, gloves, and food -- started feeling heavy. I decided for the first time to walk a little and readjust my load. I also made it a point to start eating more than I had been. I'd been eating the solids and chomps fairly continuously, but not enough of them, as I knew I should've gone thru half of my supply at that point. I also wondered how the cramps would play out over the remainder of the race.
By the time we hit the roads I felt ready to make a good guess: not well. My legs just kept feeling worse and I contrasted how I felt then with how I felt the first lap at this point. Every minute or so a car drove by and blew a spray at me that was just a little heavier than the now continuous rain. The headlights were menacing. I could see a runner in front of me in the distance, not too far, but I didn't have the legs to chase her.
Finally we left the roads for the gravel trail, which was now a wet, muddy mess. Not that it mattered: my shoes were soaked. I could no longer see the runner directly in front of me except when the trail curved just right, but that didn't matter either: I was catching no one. The rain was now becoming freezing rain; I was getting cold. I was also slowing down as new cramps added to the old ones. Each time I tried to pick up the pace a muscle would shoot pain at me and seize up. I settled into a shuffle, which made it harder to stay warm. I found, tho, that as long as I kept moving I kept warm enough.
Shortly after starting the second loop I had started wondering why I was doing these races, spending money and time away from my family to put myself through stuff like this and never seem to win. Strangely, as the pain and weather both got worse I started to understand. I don't know if I can describe it, but it's for the types of battles I was facing then. I wondered whether I would finish, but I kept moving. I wondered how much more pain I could take, how much colder it could get before I had to quit. But I knew that for now I could keep going, so I did.
When I hit the single track I realized that the only shuffle I could manage was slower than my walk, so I settled into walking the rest of the course. I ate more Perpetuem solids, which continued to settle pretty well, tho the ones I carried made an annoying "clickety clack" sound as they bounced inside their plastic container with every step I took.
With about 3 miles to go, the course passes the start/finish, so I ducked into the social center to warm up and change into a dry jacket. I finally talked myself into going back out to finish the thing. I was amazed at how good I felt -- except for my legs. It was clear that I was being punished for all my missed trail runs. I was able to run slowly again, but when I made a few feeble attempts at second gear, I received a lashing by the god of proper training.
By now the rain had turned to snow, and with a dry jacket I was no longer feeling cold and drenched to the bone. I enjoyed watching the woods turn white as I finished what was -- to date -- my toughest 50K, not because of the course and not entirely because of the weather. I guess life can present other obstacles.
Oh, yeah, my time was 5:01, to date my slowest time for the 50K distance.