I was plodding along in this morning's Eagle Creek trail marathon - 26.2 miles of trails that make Turkey Run look like Milligan Park - and I noticed the set of rickety wooden stairs up ahead. With less than 3 miles to go, I wanted nothing more than to coast into the finish chute, fling my shoes and socks off and enjoy the misting tent of cool water Planet Adventure had set up for finishers. But alas, 'twas not to be.
I groaned, strained and took a few deep breaths before running (which gradually dissolved into a fast walk...and then a walk...and then a slow walk) up them. "It's your last obstacle to conquer before it opens up. Get up these and you'll be fine." Easier said than done, dipwad.
The day had started inauspiciously. Upon opening the hatch of my Dad's vehicle, we discovered that I had forgotten my 96oz Camelbak backpack. Oof. The big boy. Nowhere to be seen on a morning where the humidity was hovering in the 80s. After a brief discussion, we determined that it was pointless to fret about it, as it was lying in the back seat of my car 45 minutes away. I hatched a new race strategy, stretched, and we mosied on over to the start/finish line.
Beginning (almost) promptly at 7:30, I felt good in the early miles. Like...real good. My splits - while I was actively trying not to look at them - were in the 11:15-11:45/mile range, which had me feeling pretty chipper. I had set a pre-race goal of 4:30:00, but that was in optimum conditions. These were not optimum conditions. The air was thick and heavy...downright sultry.
At around 10 miles, I slowed considerably. I was feeling the effects of my lack of mileage due to the intensely hot June and July we experienced in Indiana. Sure, I could have made up the miles on the treadmill. But treadmill running vs. trail running are worlds apart, and I paid the price today.
I came around and finished my first loop - 13.1 miles - in around 2:18. Not overly concerned, I chalked it up to the humidity. I took water from my Dad, ate half a banana and set out for loop two. I had my handheld refilled and took a large water bottle with me as well, but had to ditch it after about 2 miles after discovering I simply couldn't run efficiently while trying to carry it (and 3 gels).
We hop onto 56th St for a little less than a mile at miles 3-4, 9-10, 16-17 and 22-23. Those last two were spent cooking in the sun, with absolutely no relief. My plan was to make up some time there, but it fell apart as I was growing more weary with each mile.
At the 20 mile aid station, a woman met me about 25 yards before the station and took my handheld to fill up. She said "You look better than some of the other runners that have been through here before you." Whether there was any truth to that, I don't know. But I loved hearing it and, at that point, needed to hear it.
I set off on the last 10K as the strains of the June 28th, 2000 version of "Bathtub Gin" began. Not an audience copy, but an actual soundboard copy. My stride quickened and my head lifted. The jam kicked in and Trey's melodic soloing - along with Mike dropping some huge bombs, Fish keeping a steady beat and Page laying down some fat chords - kept me going.
The heat was bearing down on us, and my focus was now on putting one foot in front of the other. My breathing had labored and I had to put my hands on my knees and semi-crawl up some of the remaining hills. Jesus. Why do I do this again?
I arrive at the last aid station - 1.1 miles from the finish - and took a shot of HEED and proceeded to make my way to the end. There was no one within hundreds of yards of me in either direction (which is good...I didn't feel like bruising someone's ego or having my own ego bruised with a photo finish...oh who are we kidding, I love bruising ego's out on the trail).
As the sounds of the PA announcer and music fill the air, I turn left into a clearing about 200 yards from the finish. I see my Dad - a very welcome sight at this point in time - standing there encouraging me. I give him a thumbs up and saunter across the finish line in 5:18:43. Over 45 minutes past my goal time and 22 minutes slower than Tell City - a course with 8,800' of climbing!
Today wasn't about timing or placing. It was about redemption. I had to live with last year's DNF for 12 months, and today was about shedding that monkey. My 11th race of marathon-distance or more was not my best, but I am happy to be able to run as much as I do. And for that, I am thankful.
