"Set the gearshift for the high gear of your soul..."

Farmdale didn't actually materialize until mid-last week.  I was set on running 8 Hours of Payne down at Paynetown SRA in Bloomington until the Federal government said "Ah, not so fast."  But since I was already in "race mode" after the sting of not running in Heritage Trail 26.2 on 9/29, I went scrambling for another race on short notice.  Someone on the FB group Indiana Trail 50 and 100 mentioned Farmdale in Illinois.  After some research, logistical planning and a few emails back and forth with the race director...I was in!

Originally intended to be run at Farmdale Reservoir in Peoria, this race was moved to Jubilee State Park 15 minutes away the week of the event.  I cannot praise the race directors enough, as I can't imagine how hard changing venues at the last minute would be. So I packed up and left Crawfordsville Friday afternoon.

It was a 5am start, and because I had so much gear/fuel/supplies I borrowed a bitchin' 2005 Pontiac minivan from my grandparents to sleep in.  Arrived at the campsite (which was 2-3 minutes from the start/finish) at around 6pm local time and got settled in.  I went and registered, got my bib, came back and finally fell asleep around 9:30pm. Alarm set for 3:00am to allow for plenty of time to sip coffee and stretch and just basically mentally prepare myself for running 50 miles.

Slept better than I thought I would.  After a quick hot shower to get the muscles loosened up, I drive 5 minutes to the next town over to get some coffee (A MUST).  Arrived back at the start/finish around 3:45am, with a full 75 minutes until start.  Got my gear together, snacked a little bit, stretched and then went over to the s/f at about 4:40.

The course was 7 loops of 7+ miles.  I had no idea on the elevation or the terrain, which made for a very apprehensive and slow first loop.  Mix in that we ran in the dark and it sprinkled on us a few times, and I was very uneasy and shocked when I looked down at my watch after the first loop and it said 90 minutes.  Of course, this can be attributed to the hills and elevation gains.  I would later learn - after overhearing a fellow 50-miler comment on his Garmin stats - that the vertical climbing totaled about 9,000 feet. 

After what felt like an eternity, the sun finally came up and I was able to ditch the headlamp and fully view my surroundings.  Since I thought it was unsafe to run an unfamiliar course in the dark while listening to music, I didn't actually put on my headphones until the start of the 3rd loop, some 3 hours after starting.  But once the tunes were cranked and I was able to hone in my focus, I locked into a great groove and the miles were churning by at a pretty steady pace.

A good assessment of how "tired" I am during any long run is the moment when my breathing starts to become heavy or labored.  Because I'm not running all that fast, in theory my breathing should be deep and forceful but I never anticipate being out breath until the late stages of a race.  Fortunately, this proved to be true on Saturday.  I climbed all of the steep and long hills in a walk, and I never noticed my breathing was labored on those climbs until after 40 miles.  And for what it's worth, I didn't use the "hands on my knees or hips while climbing a hill" method until sometime after the 45th mile.

The miles rolled on, and as my watch passed the 9th and 10th hours, I knew I was closing in on finishing.  With races above 50K, it's more about survival than anything.  It's a mental game between your brain and your body.  Your body wants to stop, but your head says to keep going.  Who will win the war of attrition?  I kept replaying in my mind over and over crossing the finish line and being able to say "I finished my 3rd 50-miler."  That alone pushed me through in 10 hours and 43 minutes, good enough for 4th place overall and 2nd in my age group.

39 runners started the race, and 27 of them finished.  Of those 27, only 17 finished in under the "suggested (?)" 13-hour cutoff time.

Roughly 48 hours later I'm feeling a bit sore, battling two large blisters on my right foot, but overall I feel pretty good.  Ready for my next challenge...whatever that may be.

MJ at 50

Michael Jordan turns 50 today.  As part of a generation that grew up while he was peaking in the NBA (and tormenting the Pacers), it's just another reminder of how old I am and the quiet but steady passage of time.  I have two very distinct MJ memories I'd like to share.

The first one came in June of 1991.  I was 9 1/2 years old and on summer break.  We had a basketball hoop in my driveway, so my sister and I were just starting to develop our legendary one-on-one games that culminated in screaming and, occasionally, punches and hair pulling.  The Chicago Bulls, meanwhile, had finally gotten past the road block that was the Detroit Pistons and were playing in the NBA Finals against Magic in his last hurrah. 
To say I was an MJ fan was an understatement.  I was not alone; any boy or girl who loved the game of basketball loved MJ.  That's just the way it was.  I didn't know any different.  He revolutionized the game while completely dominating it.  My grandfather - who owned a sporting goods store downtown - always made sure I had the latest Nike shoes and apparel.  I will always love him for that.  Included in that apparel was this jacket that reeked of badassery:

Anyway, the night the Bulls were to clinch their first title, I asked my parents to wake me up so I could watch, enjoy and share the revelry with MJ.  The game was in LA, so it was a late tip and a late finish.  Nevertheless, my parents did as I asked.  I staggered out to the living room, half-asleep and confused.  "What's going on?" I wondered.  "Why did they drag me out here?"  I could not make sense of the situation, even though they did exactly what I had asked them to do.  To this day I wish I had been more awake so I could have fully comprehended and appreciated the situation. 

Fast forward almost 12 years to April of 2003.  I'm a junior at Manchester College.  MJ had since retired twice and was on his third tour of duty terrorizing the NBA with his drive and will to win - even at 40.  His final NBA game was on April 16th, and I was writing a paper in my dorm room that night.  I was watching the game on my little 13" TV, which thankfully was next to my laptop, switching back and forth from the NBA to whatever paper I was writing at the time.  The minutes dwindled down, and opposing coach Larry Brown orchestrated it such that MJ could receive one final curtain call while exiting the game.  Washington's crowd gave him a standing ovation for a full three minutes.  I sat there, wide-eyed, staring at the screen.  Then, the tears started to flow.  I was choking up and could not control myself.  At the time, perhaps I didn't realize why I was so emotional, but now I realize that it was because it marked the end of my childhood.  My favorite basketball player of all-time - the guy I used to emulate in the driveway as the sun was going down - was never to play a game in the NBA again.  My adolescence had come and gone, and I was on my way to adulthood.

So as I sit here 10 years after bawling like a kid in Schwalm Hall, I revert back to what Trey Anastasio said on December 31st, 1995:  "The years just keep sliding by, don't they?"

Happy birthday, MJ.