- Debbie Palmer–massage therapist who may or may not perform more than massages
- Clinton Park IRONMAN 70.3
- Locations to ditch clothes as it warmed up
- Foul language appropriateness
- Small patches of cacti around a runner’s home
- Verifying pacer’s locations for final laps of the 100
- Most of Kelly’s body and her bodily functions
- Couples having sex around the trails of Cunningham Lake in Omaha
- Another park around 2 and 29 Highways known for trail exposure as above
All topics in the first twelve miles of this past weekend’s Lawrence Trail Hawks races. After an in-depth dialogue of scenes during some of this groups’ recent runs I’ll admit I was mildly aroused—new for me on a run like this. It’s one reason I find trail runs so inviting the slower I get. Shuffling along slow enough to carry on full conversations with your competitors, also your companions, for many hours to come. Here’s how many hours exactly for this year’s Lawrence Hawk 50:
Lap 1: 5Hrs 20 minutes* Lap 2: 5Hrs 40 minutes Final = 11:00 Hrs *Mile splits ranged from 10:24 to 17:47 until my phone battery ran out after recording 39.5 miles which in actuality was closer to 44-45 miles. Rough estimate~~by the end of the first 25 mile lap my inexpensive app using a phone GPS had me around 2.5miles short. Undoubtedly due to several switchbacks and dense woods interrupting a solid signal. Plus the cheap app part.In typical trail run fashion the crew of volunteers and staff put on a display of friendly beyond belief. Campfire, hot cooked breakfast, crazy overstocked aid-stations, limited frills focusing on what everyone came to do: run and finish. Speaking of finishing…
Despite getting to the start nearly a full hour before start-time I somehow still managed to be at the very end of the group (50s and 100’s started together) after fumbling to pin on my number in the dark. Completely preventable had I just spent a few dollars for a hotel or cabin and attended packet pick-up and instructions the night before. This is the story of two races—two completely different races held on the same day on the same course.
Coming off the Leadville Trail Marathon almost exactly three months earlier, two 1/2-way cross country road trips, a relocation and weeks of hotel and apartment living over the previous thirteen weeks I figured a few hours running through the woods would be relatively easy. The folks in Lawrence, KS did a nice job of proving otherwise. Easy was about the only thing missing from the day.
Standing around the fire-pit pre-race was almost mandatory. At under 40 degrees, it was cooler in the Kansas plains in late Summer than the Colorado mountains in late Spring. Almost freezing in fact. Perfect for a long run but plenty chilly for standing around. After finishing a plate of hot food and another round of hotter coffee while chatting around the fire it was time to really get ready. Fumbling with pins in the cold I again cursed my cheapness for not staying the night before and attending packet pickup. We marched out of the cook-pot and fire-pit warmth of the shelter, piercing the darkness with dozens of headlamps pointing toward the start line. I missed all the pre-start instructions and incorrectly figured they didn’t much matter, as I’d start solidly in the back with few aspirations of moving up. It seemed the key relevant point to remember was avoid all double-striped trails. It’d be 90 minutes before enough light made its way through the towering hickory and oak trees to see; trail markings rarely crossed my mind once we started.
Immediately settling in toward the back of a small group near the back of the entire field I found time to be distracted by my freezing extremities. Completing only two laps it didn’t seem to make sense to have a drop bag out on the course—since I missed the pre-race meetings I didn’t know when the on-course drop bags would be returned to the start/finish and I needed to leave shortly after finish. As a result I was rather underdressed at the start until well after the 7:30 sunrise.
We headed uphill on a 1+ mile out and back right away–it was impossible to see what the mile looked like between total darkness and the inability of dozens of headlamps to pierce the six foot tall prairie grass only inches away from our single-track trail. Chatter aplenty I kept my head down for the first time questioning my decision. Once clear of the prairie we entered the absolute darkness of the single-track through the woods, only catching brief glimpses of the sky over the next 10 miles. In some spaces we should have seen the sky, we saw only headlamps bouncing off thick fog rising above the lake mixed with the increasing glow of the sunrise.
Staring down at the light bouncing around the heels ahead I took in all the conversation, mostly babble, I could. It was early in the day, nearly two hours before the official opening of the park, remote/rural and coincided with a college football weekend in a Big 12 town. A recipe to ensure we’d have few spectators and even fewer random park visitors at any point on the trails. I held tightly behind my small group as we snaked through the woods despite moving a little quicker than I preferred. I wanted to maintain contact as long as possible knowing I’d have plenty of time to be alone.
Nearly every step took a measure of concentration. Corners, stumps, rocks, boulders, bridges and roots. An endless supply of roots. Deceptively tough, this course is better suited for mountain biking than hours of running.
A nearly worst-case scenario for a slightly bow-legged, pigeon toed, weak-kneed person with poor vision. I considered taking the Hoka One One plunge a few weeks ago ala Ryan but I opted instead for the milder Altra route which worked considerably better than traditional deep treaded trail shoes. Perhaps next time.
Miles clicked off slowly; I made quick, yet thorough, use of the fuel stations. Typical ultra-trail offerings of endless bowls of sweets, sours and salties. Soda, water and Heed lined up in cups and volunteers threw themselves at me in the hopes of filling my bottles. Each time I rebuffed them with the explanation that it’s so boring simply staring at the trail I needed the break to focus on the process of filling the bottles. Partly true but mostly I needed to keep moving–even hands and arms–to prevent stopping too long at the stations. Stopping/breaking for me is generally the beginning of the end.
I hit the Lap 1 halfway point behind a pair running together. I had intentionally tailed them for a while after getting around a couple small groups. She was easy on the eyes and it seemed a waste of energy to get around them.
Making quick use of the aid station I would leave them behind and unfortunately would finish the rest of the run nearly solo. I started well behind several others and couldn’t make up ground on most of them. As near as I could tell the only people who passed me after about mile 17 were single-lappers who all started one hour after us.
(note event photographer)
Land’s End aid station, which served as both the ~~10 and ~~12.5 mile stations separated by a lollipop loop, provided the only break from the relentless twisting, root-cursed trail. While the brilliant sunshine, water views and glimpses of humanity were welcome I was surprisingly happy to duck back into the woods. That 2.5 mile loop was through rather thick fields, a path mowed just for us, as well as asphalt roads which would begin to reflect a fair amount of heat by the second lap. Time froze between miles 13 and the end of lap 1. Few people, more roots and rocks, a water crossing and the beginning burning sensation of raw nipples. I passed a few people and a few passed me.
Highlights included running across two small patches of cactus and a couple mountain bikers riding with their off-leash pups. We all stopped for a minute so I could pet the dogs—they tired of me quickly (the bikers and possibly the dogs) and wanted to keep moving on. Lowlights included a severe tongue bite while stupidly munching Pringles while running.
It was when I hit the first/fourth aid station I realized the voice in my rear pack dutifully announcing mile splits was incorrect—what should have been roughly 18.5 miles was registering a couple miles short. Frustrated, I figured perhaps I misread something about a loop we’d do around the start—-again cursing for not attending the pre-run meeting. Leaving the station I trudged through the final 6.5 to the Start/Lap/Finish and for the first time wished my longest training run had been longer than the 11.9M a couple weeks earlier at English Landing Park.
I popped out of the woods with a couple hundred meters to the end of Lap 1 to the sounds and smells that make up the best of trail runs. Fire pits, overnight tents and shelters, kids playing, cheering family members pulled me to the end of the first lap where I lowered myself to the ground by my bag and completed a full change of clothes; ready to begin my second and final lap. With fresh clothes, a full stomach and fully energized I was ready to go.Alone I headed back into the woods with new clothes, a new set of shadows, park visitors and race volunteers ready to pull us through the next and final lap. It was a new race.
As I nearly stumbled out of the woods with the familiar 200 meters left of my second lap I heard even louder cheers as volunteers radio ahead the location of all participants. They knew another 50-miler was about to finish. I turned the final corner plenty ready to be finished and planning strategy for next year. My biggest decision may be whether to again get up at 3:00a.m. and drive to the start or lock in a reservation of a park cabin that’d ensure I could show up at the very, very last minute.
Happy tales and trails,
AniMal