Racing Not to Win

I was doing my normal morning run when I saw another runner I know, and we stopped running and began chatting. He is about my age, but I got to know him because I knew his son, Gray. I said, “I will be running a race with your son.” He said, “How long?” I said “50k” He replied “Wow”.  I later said he could join us, but he said that was too long. Even though when I talked about doing a shorter distance, he was still a definite no.  Eventually he said I am not very competitive. I don’t race. I have been running for fifty years and maybe did two or three races.”  I was stunned but I respect his philosophy. He just likes running and believe me if I had to choose to only do races or just daily runs I would definitely choose just the daily runs. I did mention to him that “I don’t race to win but I like races to see new places and meet people.”

While I like to race, I have seen people who are the opposite of my friend who are so dialed in to place in the top three or some other time goal, that it borders on being obsessive. Marathoners are often that way, rating each other by the time whether it is three or four hours. I am definitely not that way. I don’t remember what my times are for any of my races.

Don’t get me wrong, I am competitive, but my competition is with myself not others. You see I have the luxury of being in my mid-sixties so I know I can’t win against the much younger runners. So, while I push myself to my limits, I have no anxiety over where I finish.

Now don’t get me wrong I am not laissez faire about the races. If I hear footsteps behind me, I instinctively pick up my pace. If I see a runner in front of me that I think I can pass I make that a goal. Yet I know that I will get passed by other runners and that I will pass others. I am however running faster than on my normal morning runs. The other runners motivate me to go faster and be my best.

The other thing I like about races is to add to what I said to my friend. I love running in new places, especially trail races. I have explored so many parks in New Jersey that I would not have visited without entering the race. I now have entered trail races in other states and have thoroughly enjoyed those runs as well. Sometimes I know that the terrain will be difficult which only makes it more attractive as a race because it will push me even more. In those races even though I am well behind the leaders I feel like I share in the accomplishment of just finishing.

The other reason I race is just the vibe of a race.  Almost all races, whether they are a road race, or a trail race are a festive scene. Runners a very supportive of each other. For most of us it really is not about winning but doing our best.  On a couple of occasions, I have slowed down my pace to help another runner get to the finish line. I finished much further back than I normally would have but I made a friend instead. A great trade off.

A short while later I was at that race with Gray and another friend Dan. Both are young enough to be my sons. It was my first race in a couple of months, and I was returning to that race scene vibe. It would be a very difficult 50k. It was the Febapple Frozen Fifty by the NJ Trail Series. The trails were almost completely ice.  I strapped on my Yaktrax and put my brand-new trekking poles in my backpack in case I needed them. I have never used them before, but the icy conditions made me think they may help.

As if Gray’s dad had somehow put a spell on this race to turn it into a run, the race director announced that his timing system was not working and that he could not give us times. He followed that up by saying the trail conditions were bad and that if anyone wanted to, they could drop down to a shorter distance. For us that meant a twenty miler or even a ten miler.

It was a good thing that I was not racing to win because that first ten-mile loop went as bad as any I had ever had. Not even a mile into the run I took a spill, and my trekking poles flew out of my pack, and it took quite a bit of time to take off my pack and readjust everything. Then in a series of mishaps both of my shoelaces came loose and needed to be retied. My one Yaktrax broke. I missed a turn and wasted time. I again fell hard. This time, setting off an alarm in my Garmin sending for help. Who it was sending a message to I had no idea because I didn’t even know I had that feature. I realized a little later that the alarm had also stopped my GPS so I had no idea how far I had gone.

It was at this point I said to myself “This is not my day maybe I will drop down.” Yet I decided to continue on. I had a long run at the Grand Canyon coming up and I needed to persevere. As I came to the aid station to start my last five miles there was my friend Dan. It was a welcome sight. A friendly face when you are struggling always helps. Gray, who is much faster than either one of us, was six miles ahead and had finished already.  Dan and I would do the last five miles together. I think he was just as happy as I was to have someone alongside him to help get through this difficult race.

It wasn’t pretty but we finished. Our time was at least an hour and a half slower than it would have been under normal conditions. The icy terrain had really tested us. I had overcome all my gear issues and falls. I had almost decided to quit. In reality, I was not really running but slogging up and down icy trails. I know I said that I don’t race to win but somehow this finish made me feel like a winner. I had persevered. That is another reason I like racing, you can feel like a winner even when you don’t win. Maybe I do race to win.

  

Running Back to my Roots

Where one grows up as a child is a place that even if you try to forget, is always with you. You may not return to your childhood home, but it is in your memory bank sometimes influencing all your decisions. We can try and convince ourselves that we are adults moving forward with our lives and not the awkward kid who was so unsure of themselves and the decisions that they made. Yet that awkward kid still looms somewhat, at least that is true for me.  I am a runner and can outrun most people in a run. Yet I cannot outrun my past. I am running in front of my past, but I can hear and feel the footsteps behind me like one does in a race when you feel another runner behind you. Except unlike a runner in a race the past never pulls in front or falls completely back. It is a constant companion.

My 97-year-old mom was not in great health, and I needed to stay with her for a few days. While I knew that I would have to curtail my running, I did not want to stop running for those days either. When traveling I love running in a new location I have written about this before in my blog about Running in Strange Places. Yet this would be the strangest place even if it was very familiar. Before I ran, I had been watching the news reports of the devastating fires in Los Angeles County, California. More than a couple of reporters mentioned that this was a neighborhood where they grew up, but it was now nothing but rubble.  This fire was more personal. As if part of their youth was gone. This motivated me to look at this run as an opportunity to see my roots.

I spent the first 39 years of my life in the town of Lincoln Park and was very involved in the community having served as a council person and on the planning board as well. So, I was more than aware of how the community has changed over time. However, when you traverse a place on foot for miles you get a different feel.

On this run while I noticed the buildings that had changed over time when I was running it was not about the buildings as it was about the people I had known in my youth. I was running by homes and roads that I had walked to school on or rode my bike to a baseball game on. While I will mention a few names, believe me every turn brought an old memory and family. It was a slew of people.

At first it was the buildings I noticed as I ran up Skyline Drive passing by the townhomes that I sat on the planning board when they were approved. I noticed that the sidewalks and roads were no longer newer and that those new developments were well over 30 years old. I ran by my old elementary school which was completely renovated and expanded. The lyrics of the school song started popping into my head “Pinebrook, Pinebrook - Every time I open up a book, whether here or on vacation I thank you for my education.” I can’t believe that I remember that.

However, as I ran past the school through the houses nearby, I remembered the last names of those kids in elementary school Nowacki, Tanner, and Zammit. Then I headed down the school path towards the development I grew up in. It was called Ernstville at one time. I am probably the only person left who knows that. The houses were all different colors and landscaped differently from when I roamed the area. I ran by the Miller’s home as well as the Smith’s. I saw my friend Jimmy DelGuidice’s home. I was not seeing the house as they are now but going back in time. The Millers were dark brown, the Smith’s dark green, and my friend Jimmy’s house was light green.

Before I got to my parent’s old house, I ran by what used to be a sandlot where all the boys in the neighborhood played baseball and football. This is where I hit my first home run which also broke a window of a house. I was proud and aghast at the same time. Now it is a playground with slides and tubes. Nowadays, kids don’t do sports on their own, it is all youth leagues. We, however, were like the kids in the movie Sandlot. We played on this lot like those kids no set teams just dividing up the kids who came into what we thought would be equal teams.

I could barely recognize my parent’s yard as I ran by. I noticed some houses were no longer there. The area was in a flood zone and the state sometimes bought the owners’ home and razed it, then left the lot vacant. On my way back I had extra time, so I went up a dead end to check on my friend Sam Bundz’s home. I used to carpool with him to football practice in high school. To my shock I could not remember which house was his. They were all the same design and the same color.

The next day I took a different route to another part of town. While I was in college I worked at a local pharmacy and did deliveries all over the area. I used to know the area better than modern day GPS. I went down Ryerson Road and couldn’t remember many of the side streets. I went into the Lyn Park section and thought of all my high school friends from this section. Then I headed back and around the small neighborhood by my old middle school, Chapel Hill.  I ran pass a house and I remembered that it was Dorna Johnson’s. I had a crush on her in eighth grade but was too chicken to ask her out.

When I left my mom’s, I reflected not only on my run but the memories that it had stirred within me. They were for the most part very positive memories. Yet it was a time that is in the past and of another era. This generation would probably find it more amusing than important and our lifestyle close to archaic. While the run was filled with nostalgia it felt very strange.

The next day I was home and did my early morning run in my neighborhood. It felt so comfortable. I was running in the present, not in the past.  I realized that this is now my home with a new set of memories. All those names and people who I remembered on the run are like me. They too have new homes and memories. Though we have shared roots in Lincoln Park.

 

 

 

 

O Christmas Tree

The Christmas tree is a fascinating holiday decoration to me. I have been in homes in which the tree is a work of art. As if Martha Stewart herself had decorated it. It can have a theme such as Victorian, Scandinavian, rustic or something else with taste. So beautiful and elegant that it takes your breath away. My family tree unfortunately is not that way. The ornaments do not match. Some are wooden, some are round glass, some flat metal, some are homemade. One year even the lights did not match. Martha Stewart would turn her head aghast, probably trying to keep her last meal down as if the sushi she ate was a week old.

Yet despite the mismatched ornaments that seem to have no connection to any theme, I love the tree, and I love the process of bringing the ornaments down from the attic and searching through the boxes for a special ornament just as much. No, our tree does not have a theme, but it tells a story. The boxes of ornaments are a time capsule of a family. To a certain degree it is a time capsule of a family growing together. It also tells the story of the individuals.

My daughter still puts up her Madeline and American Girl ornaments though she has not picked up those books or watched a video in years. My son has a Buzz Lightyear and Tigger ornament though like my daughter he has not watched a video in eons. We have several ornaments of the cats they grew up with, which must be put up. We also have stockings for the cats even though two of them have passed. They both have their musical instrument ornaments. My daughter her flute and my son his saxophone and drums.

I of course have several running ornaments as well as a Spartan and Tough Mudder ornaments. I also have a NY Mets ornament which also must be put up. My wife, because someone has to have class in the household, has a Swarovski and Portmeirion ornaments, but she only puts one up of each. She also loves the ornaments the kids made in first grade over two decades ago. When we first got married, she insisted that the top of the tree not be adorned with a star or an angel but Max Headroom.  Somewhere over time old Max got lost. I miss him.

We also got in the habit of buying Christmas ornaments from places we traveled too. It is adorned with loons and moose from Maine. Ornaments from California, Zion National Park, New York State and Ireland. I was sad when I saw our ornament from Waynesville, North Carolina. We vacationed there and Asheville a while ago and now I was sure that many places we visited were possibly destroyed by Hurricane Helene. It was a lovely trip, and we sent a donation immediately following the storm.

While we have a few community ornaments each family member has their own stock. We each take our own ornaments and decide where to place them on the tree. For some reason it would be a social faux pas to put up an ornament identified with another family member. One year my daughter could not make it home until a couple of days before Christmas. We left the box with her ornaments out until she came home to put them up herself. It seemed the tree was incomplete until she did that.

Since over time we have traveled to more places, maybe took on new interests or hobbies, we have more ornaments than can fit on one tree. We have to sift through them to decide which ones make the cut. There are some that we have not put on the tree in years, but we still take them out and look at them. It is a good memory that we hold in our hand and then place back in the box. Just looking at all the ornaments brings back a flood of good remembrances. We may never place some of those ornaments on a future tree, but we keep them stored because they are a great recollection.

I think that is what I like best about our tree. It is adorned with memories and makes me reflect on our lives together. No matter how hectic life is, and it can get very hectic during the holiday season, that tree brings back great memories and reminds me of what is important in life.

On the night we decorate the tree, Christmas music plays in the background. We will start a fire in the fireplace. At one end of the room is the tree and the other a crackling fire. My wife and I share a glass of wine and reminisce. Memories are floating all around us.

I love the living room with the tree even though it makes the room seem small. From my chair I have the best view of it. I will sometimes walk close to it and examine the ornaments and to relive a memory.

Yes, if Martha Stewart came in, she would be aghast at the artistic quality. She does not, however, see what I see. It is a family story, an ever-evolving novel. Next year I know that we will somehow gather a new ornament or two and add a chapter to the novel. Now that I really think about it, she may not be aghast, she may be jealous. Eat your heart out Martha.

Merry Christmas.

 

 

 

Finding the Right Pace in Life Via Running

My wife came home from work the other day and when she saw me, she said “What a day at work. I can’t do anything right now. Let me decompress for a few minutes.” I understood and continued preparing dinner. I know the feeling, because I too have come home after a long ride home and done the exact same thing. While it is not perfect, I have found that I am less stressed out since I became an avid runner. Because in running I have learned the importance of “pacing”.

Finding the right pace for a trail or road race takes a little preparation and experience it is usually something most experienced runners do attain. In fact, finding the right pace may be the most important factor in a good race.  While preparing for a race I study the course and look at the weather and plan everything accordingly.  I can usually find my pace despite the obstacles and the environment and at the end of a race I feel great because everything went as my father used to say went “According to Hoyle.” For some reason he never told me who “Hoyle” was and why he was the authority on how things should go.

I must admit, however, finding the right pace in life has been much more difficult.  Like running races, life has obstacles and an environment that will challenge you and suck your energy.  Unlike running races, however, you can’t study a map or check your sports watch to make sure your pace is correct.

For much of my life, like many people, my life has vacillated between my personal/family life and my work/professional life, and usually not very smoothly.  Both have challenges and obstacles that test you and often they seem to work against each other.  For example, you may have a major work assignment and event that occurs at the same time as your daughter’s concert. Even now that my kids are older there are always obligations we must face, like an aging parent.

I have said to my work colleagues “that I can be a great employee and a great father.  I am just not sure I can do both at the same time.”

My wife and I are not unusual in that there are days that we come home from work and just plop down in a chair, mentally exhausted.  I am even more fatigued than after a race.  A race is usually more a physical exhaustion not a mental or emotional one. The problem with mental exhaustion is that even though you are sitting down your brain is still racing.

My dilemma was that my pace was wrong.  I was sprinting in both spheres of my life leaving me exhausted at times. 

So, what made me think that by adding one more thing like running and seriously getting in shape, would help my pace in life? Afterall if you feel like you have no time, why add one more thing to do in the day? I still don’t know why, but I did try it. I also do know that it has helped. Not only that but I have taken a few lessons I learned running with me in everyday life.

The first way it helped me find my pace in life was that being a runner I found I had more energy.  I noticed it at home when I had to do yard work and had home chores like raking leaves or shoveling snow. I could do it without any aches or pains.  At work my job has some long hours and I usually need to be high energy to be effective, so the additional energy helped.

Secondly, running centered me and made me feel better about myself.  You really can’t help others if you are not in a good frame of mind yourself and for me running did that.  We all need some type of mindfulness for some it is yoga or meditation, for me it is running. Find what centers you.

Thirdly, it forced me to organize my time and commitments. If I was going to commit to 45 minutes, one hour, or even two hours of running every day how would I spend the rest of my time whether at work or home?  I mentally organized my day making sure I accomplished everything I needed to do.

While I said earlier, unlike running a race, in life you don’t have a sports watch that you can check to see your pace and distance, you do however have an internal body clock that you can check.  This is something I have learned to hone via running.  It is being mindful and attuned to your body’s workings.  I can tell by my breathing and the feel of my legs how I am doing on the trail.  I now take this same mindfulness to work and home.  There are days I put in long hours at work, and I can feel it in my mind that I am racing too fast and need to slow down.

The other lesson I have learned that really helps both on the trail but even more in life is a sense of humor.  Taking life too seriously is stressful.  People don’t want to be around others who view life so seriously, it is mentally draining.  Sometimes at work you have no choice but to work with people who are negative, and I find a sense of humor helps negate that person.  In trail races when we get to an extremely rugged section whether it is rocky or muddy and another runner is nearby, I always crack a joke.  It is very difficult to finish a long race, especially ultra marathons if you are mentally down for long periods of time you almost must laugh at the pain. I would even say that having the right mental framework is just as essential in an ultra as being physically ready. In life that right mental framework is even more essential.

Finally, I have learned on the trails that I can only run at my pace, not someone else’s.  The runners vary in age and ability, so it is better to be in sync with your own pace and not get too excited when you pass someone or to down when they pass you.  You must learn to sometimes to shut out those other runners and not compare yourself to them. At work and in life sometimes, you must do the same thing and not get pulled into other people’s drama. Don’t compare your car, home, or career to someone else’s. For some reason there always seems to be someone whose life seems better than yours.

Live your own life and if you find the right pace it will be a good one.

Running With Blinders to Visibly Invisible People

It was unseasonably warm as I was running in the early morning on the boardwalk in Atlantic City. Though it was late October I was wearing only shorts and a T-shirt. It was before the sun came up. I was hoping to see a beautiful sunrise over the Atlantic Ocean that morning as I ran along the boardwalk. I was not disappointed. I snapped a few photos from my phone every few minutes. As anyone who has watched the sunrise knows, it is an ever-changing brightness of reds, oranges, and yellows. I was not the only one mesmerized by it. Others were stopping and taking pictures of the magnificence as well.

I would post a picture of this beautiful morning. I know others would also post their pictures from the comfort of their oceanfront hotel room.  My posts and the others on social media would give an appearance of a beautiful place filled with happiness and hope, that a new day with an incredible sunrise always brings. Yet I knew that my picture would just be an illusion and incomplete. It would not include those who would start the day with little warmth, little food, and little hope.

You see, as I was running before the sun rose, I could see along the closed businesses and in the chairs and benches that are spread along the boardwalk, people bundled with blankets and tattered clothing, sleeping. They are homeless people. When the sun rose, unlike me and the other tourists who eagerly took in the rising sun with joy, they did nothing. Some were beginning to rustle, others kept sleeping.

While I am not surprised to see this. It always saddens me to witness this so close. Here in Atlantic City, in the casinos on this very boardwalk, people will be gambling hundreds and thousands of dollars. Just outside their entrance a homeless person will be begging for a dollar. These people had put all their chips on the table, gambling on the game of life and lost it all.

This is not a bashing of Atlantic City, because just this year I encountered homeless people on runs in upstate New York and rural New Hampshire. I have encountered them on the west coast as well. I have noticed that they are visibly invisible. We all see them but look past them. We avoid eye contact. Most people are bothered by the begging they do. It is uncomfortable. That day alone when I was walking on the boardwalk, I gave out a dollar to five different individuals.

Like me on social media, others will post pictures of the beautiful sunrise, beautiful landscapes, and happy people. As if life is always great. Yet we all know that is not true because those visibly invisible people are there. The camera is just not pointed in their direction. I contemplated stopping and taking a picture of a homeless person to give a complete picture of my run. Yet I couldn’t bring myself to do it. It would be using that person as a prop to show an ugliness in our society. That person is still an individual and somehow, I thought that they would not appreciate that their face would be used as a symbol of something wrong in society.

Our lives are all a journey with many forks in the road. I am not sure how their decisions led them to this life. Maybe it was addiction, maybe mental illness, maybe just plain bad luck. They were once in their life very visible to others, now they are invisible to most people. I wondered how their life’s journey brought them to this point.

I have written about tackling all different types of weather when I run, from bitter cold to heat, and in rain, snow and sleet. I do love being in elements, but that is temporary. Even if I spend hours in horrible conditions I will usually end up in a nice hot shower, with a good meal and a comfortable bed. I look at these people sleeping on the boardwalk and think how hard that is. For example, the morning before, the mist and wind made the boardwalk wet and slippery. I am sure that those people sleeping on the boardwalk had the dampness soak through to their bones.

I am not sure why this experience and encounter motivated me to write about a sadder part of our society. When I posted a picture of the sunrise, I mentioned that everything was not beautiful and that there were homeless people. One woman commented that she was glad that I had that observation. I think that she had hit on something. Too often we do not give a complete picture of life. We give what we want.

I do not have any answer for homelessness. Yet I believe we cannot solve a problem if we do not see it. In this case we often, on a personal level, do not want to see it. I myself have complained about a vacation location that there were too many homeless people. As if they came there to ruin my vacation plans. We have to see the homeless not as visibly invisible, but as people.

When I got home the next day, I took my normal morning run in my neighborhood. It is a nice area of Northern New Jersey, and I enjoyed it. There are no homeless people on this run. Yet I thought back to the other runs that I described. It is nice to pretend that something is not there. However, I don’t like lying to myself. That next day I searched the internet to see where I could help at a soup kitchen or someplace else. I can’t pretend some people are invisible anymore.

Goodbye My Unseen Friend

I had heard my cell phone ring in the other room but I didn’t get up. I was engrossed in a baseball game and was not expecting any calls. I would check later, probably a phone solicitation. However later in the night when I went to check I was intrigued because I saw the number was from Cincinnati and there was a message. Could it be I thought to myself my friend Richard?

I eagerly listened to the message. At first there was silence, but I knew that someone was there. It was not the delay of a phone solicitor. Then there was voice a little weak and definitely an older man.  He started off by saying “Ray this is an apologetic old guy.” Yes, it was Richard! I was so excited! It was like putting a message in a bottle and floating it out to sea and getting a reply. My excitement, however, was quickly replaced by sadness when in his short message he uttered the words “My expiration date is getting closer.”  I was saddened but not shocked about my 97-year-old friend.

The written word can have tremendous power. This is especially true when two people correspond with each other. We sometimes forget that in this digital world in which short texts and emojis are the more common forms of staying in touch with others. You see Richard and I, along with our friend Cynthia and sometimes Debby was active in a chatroom on a website about running.  For years we were the primary people posting on the website. Looking back, others probably did not post as much because it seemed like a private conversation. Our conversations went on for years. Yes, we were different ages and different runners. Richard was a master track and field star amassing more medals than you can imagine. Cynthia was also a dancer entering master competitions. Richard would share his medals from the track meets and Cynthia would share her elegant dance videos. For my part I would regale them with muddy trail races and ultra marathons. While we never met in person, we somehow really connected with each other, not just as names on chatroom but as individuals. We were very supportive of each other.

I never had a pen pal when I was a kid, but I am guessing it is almost a 21^st century version of that. When the running website went down, we were all upset on how we couldn’t stay in touch with each other. It was that important to us. Cynthia and I were on Facebook, but Richard wasn’t. I forgot how but Richard and I had each other’s email address, and we added Cynthia to our email correspondence. The gang was back together. Later Debby joined us.

Yet suddenly Richard’s correspondence stopped. He did not respond to our emails. His last one was also a mix of words and no complete sentences. I also noticed that he was a no show to the last track meet. I was worried. Richard had at one time sent me a snail mail letter with an article about his running which was amazing for someone in his 90’s. I kept his letter with the return address and decided to mail him a letter.  I was worried that he was not in good health. To be safe I also addressed the envelope with his name and his daughter’s name on it. He had at one time sent me a link to a news story about his family which was his wife and daughter. To him I expressed how much I missed his correspondence. To his daughter I tried to explain who this stranger was that was sending a letter from New Jersey.

Lo and behold the letter worked and he had called me.

What do you say to a dear friend that you had never met or even spoken to? Despite this seemingly noncontact situation he meant a lot to me. We had shared successes. We had encouraged each other, and we exchanged down times. Richard had inspired me by the way he attacked aging. He did it with joy and determination. Before this letter exchange I had even written a blog about how Richard had inspired me called Finding my Roger Bannister for Being Old.

While I was nervous dialing his number, once he answered the phone it was easy. After all we were long time friends. Unseen friends but friends none the less. He told me that he had some health issues and that he would not be running anymore. I thought of saying “yes you will.” But I knew that he was probably soft pedaling the issues and that this phone call was his way of thanking and saying goodbye to friends. He hinted at that when we spoke.

I did call him again and we had a great conversation. I also found out that while I called him Richard everyone else called him Dick. Then a few weeks later I tried calling a couple of times but got no answer. I had finished a hundred-mile trail run and was excited to share the adventure with him. Yet I couldn’t reach him.

A week later his daughter texted me and says that her father had passed. I texted and called her with my condolences. For some reason I felt an immediate connection with her. It was the shared love of her father.

I have very few regrets in my life and almost all of them are of things that I did not do. One of them was visiting Richard. Just to run or walk with him. At least I got to talk to him.

You may be thinking “Ray I think that you are over blowing this relationship with someone you never met.” The reason is simple. Richard inspired me, he encouraged me, and he made me a better person. There are many people I see in person on a regular basis who do none of that. I am a better person for knowing Richard, even if it was not in person.

Goodbye Richard and thank you.

Having Type Two Fun at the Wild Goose

It definitely had the makings of a party. The music was blaring with upbeat rock songs in which I knew all the words and like others was singing along to myself. The food would be flowing with pretty much anything you would want. It was like a New Jersey Diner under a canopy. Everyone was smiling and laughing though there were a few people deep in their own thoughts. People were reacquainting themselves and introducing themselves to friendly strangers. Some people were even dressed in costume. This party was really rocking. It would go on for 36 hours.

Yet I knew that I was going to leave the fun and vibe of this scene to be by myself for intervals of a couple of hours at a time. It may seem strange to leave the fun and frivolity of a party, but this was not just a party. It was the Wild Goose Trail Festival hosted by the Sassquad Trail Running. It was a collection of runners of all kinds, running all kinds of distances. I was seeking to run 100 miles. In which I estimated would take me about 30 hours on this course. I had run 100 miles before in 29 hours, but that course was not as technical as this one. In addition, three days before the race I had come down with a stomach virus. While I was okay for normal day to day activities, running 100 miles is not normal and I wasn’t sure how my body would react. So the 36 hour cutoff made my decision easy.

I should correct myself I was not really leaving the fun, but I was switching my fun. I was going from Type One fun to Type Two fun. For those of you not familiar with the Fun Scale it states that there are three types of fun. Type One Fun, is fun in the moment like a birthday party, wedding or picnic. Type Two Fun is difficult and maybe even miserable at the time but afterwards when reminiscing about it is great. Type Three Fun is actually miserable both in the moment and even looking back. I like to specialize in Type Two Fun and this 100 mile run was definitely Type Two Fun. I suspect that most of the runners are like me at this race even if they are unfamiliar with the Fun Scale.

If I had ordered any weather for this race, it couldn’t have been any better than it was that day, sixties and sunny at its peak and the overnight low maybe high forties. While I have often had to deal with the weather it is always nice when that is not a concern.  There is enough thinking and mental games that go on in one’s head during an ultra-marathon. So that eliminating one thing to think about is always nice.

The race consisted of three different loops, a pink (7.75 miles), checkered (4.75 miles) and a blue (6 miles) I was to complete 5 sets of each, plus a bonus pink loop. I had done a couple of races before at Wawayanda State Park and knew some trails could be very rocky, possibly wet as well, not to mention hilly. My first trek across all three I usually push myself but try and find the right pace which is hard when you do not know the course. I usually will walk the steep hills because after all it is 100 miles and it is not a sprint. It isn’t even a marathon actually it is like four marathons.

After completing the set of loops, I knew a couple of things. First the trails were in great shape. Yes, they were rocky but for the most part dry. No need for some of the extra shoes and socks I had packed. I also noticed that my watch indicated that my run would be longer than 100 miles. Doing this run I would  finish closer to 104 miles than 100 miles. Which meant more than an additional hour on my total time.

I also now had a feel for my pace and set my goals.  I wanted to complete two full sets plus the pink loop before darkness set in. I did not want to do the longest loop more than once in the dark. I was talking to another runner Craig and he had the same goal though we both knew it would be close. Luckily for me my friend Dan would come and pace me for the late afternoon. (Sassquad Trail Running has a nice policy in that older runners over 60 that you can get a pacer at any time on the ultra. Most pacers are for the end only.) Dan’s presence lifted my spirits and we reached my goal.

As the night and darkness set in, it was time for some Type Two fun! One enters running at night in the forest with some trepidation when one knows that bear and coyotes live there. Even though I knew that with so many people an encounter was unlikely, it still is something that lurks in the back of your mind as you traverse the sometimes narrow trails with your only visibility that which is visible by your headlamp. At one point there was a woman behind me and I was going to let her pass because she seemed faster. She, however, was more than content to follow along as we both heard animals in the woods and it seemed safer to run with someone else. That was the only time I ran with someone that night. All the other loops were solo just me, the darkness, and my bear bells.

I trudged on through the night with only one break I took thirty minutes out to take a nap and recharge my watch. It was a new watch and while it was good for thirty hours I knew I would be over that time.

My favorite part of running through the night is the dawn. There is something that is truly magical about watching a new day begin. You can hear the birds and at least for me you truly appreciate the sunrise. I always feel stronger I guess because I know that I came through a challenge. I also was on pace to finish in 31 hours. I had a marathon left.

It was funny as I headed out after running for twenty-four hours I could see some runners who were lining up for the 50k.  I decided to walk a bit more so that they could all pass me. I didn’t want to be on the single track pulling off to the side to let them pass me. It would be discouraging. Better that they pass me on the road part. I was amazed at how fast they were all moving. Their legs were so fresh. You could say a lot of things about my legs but fresh was not one of them.

I was moving fairly steady a little slower but I knew I had time. That is until I hit a wall. All of a sudden on the next to the last loop the blue one, I was struggling. Not only were my legs like lead but my head was out of sorts. I had taken my foot off the gas pedal and couldn’t get the fire back. I tried doing the math of when I would finish and I was going to be a lot longer than I thought because of this loop. I also said to myself that I will never do this race again.

After finishing the blue loop, I only had one loop left, the pink one. I rested just a bit got some nutrition and decided to attack this last loop with everything I had.  I was moving again and was surprisingly passing some other runners. I thought that I would be one of the last finishers. When I got to the point when I was only a little over a mile from finishing all of a sudden, my stomach turned and I vomited. I kept moving, however, between incidents. I recovered enough to run that last mile. I was certain that only a few people were behind me. I was disappointed that I was at the back of the pack.

At first I was not happy with my finish of 33:07:51. It was two hours longer than I expected. Then I looked at the race results and saw that I came in 30th place out of 41 finishers. Thirty runners, however, did not even finish the race.

When I got home I was dirty, sore and unable to unload my gear from my car. My wife asked me how was the race I said “hard but fun!”. Type two fun. Will have to sign up for it again next year.