Kairos and the Long Run

Leadville 100, 2011 Race Report

2011-09-05T17:06:00.002-04:00

When I attempted Leadville in 2009 my talk was filled with hyperbole. It was to be epic, like going to war, an event to center all the achievement of my life around.

I took a different tack this time.

I posted of a friend who had a successful run this year that he was packing as if he was going to war. I was thinking of it more as a hikey hike.

It seems to me that running a race like this is not something that should require the epic metaphors. It is the epic metaphor. It is not the runner who should say my experience as a CEO or Engineer or Accountant will get me through this race. It is the professional who finds themselves in a difficult situation who might draw on the ultra-runner for inspiration.

It seems to me that to use warfare as a motivator for something like this is to cheapen the grave role taken on by combat. The stakes are so much higher and the sacrifice on such a different level, it embarrasses me to consider such a comparison.

Instead, I chose to focus on the people who had sacrificed for me and who were just invested in me doing well.

It is startling looking back at how many fingerprints other than mine ended up on this event. It starts with my wife, Kathy, who supports my desire to run to stay healthy while questioning my tendency to go to such extremes.

In addition, my daughter, Savannah, inspires with her determination and work ethic that has made her both a talented and competitive runner but an academic wonder and a fine person to be around.

I may be deluding myself a bit but I have suspected that at least some of the people who call me crazy for putting so much effort into this run, at some level want and almost need me to succeed. Perhaps it is just a desire to see a friend do well. On the other hand it may be that with my success they can hang their hat on their own big goals. If he can do it, so can I. It may be a bit high minded of me but I wonder if anyone who takes on a goal like Leadville becomes everyone else’s metaphor.

The last time I ran Leadville I planned out my entire training regimen. This time I felt my way through it. I progressively increased my mileage and had a general rhythm throughout the training season but did not sweat missing day off runs. In the end my final long run was the same as my final long run the first time. 28 miles.

My first challenge came two days before the race. Karen Pearson, Race Director of the Georgia Jewel, had kindly stepped in at the last minute to act as my sole crew member. Her flight was coming in at 7:30 AM, Friday. GPS was telling me it would take 2:40 to get to Leadville. Registration would go until 10 AM.

We would have two and a half hours from the time the plane was supposed to land until registration cut off. Karen would need to get through Denver International Airport to the car in zero minutes and we would need to cut off 10 minutes from the estimated time to get there to register in time.

Karen assured me that if I let her drive, she’d get us there in time as long as she didn’t scare me that much.

I emailed the race coordinator and asked if it would be a problem if I was there before 10:30. No problem but I wasn’t allowed to tell anybody. (Please keep this a secret.)

It would still be tight.

From the waiting area at DIA, I was able to watch Karen’s plane land 13 minutes early. I waited about 3 minutes and called her. I got voicemail. Maybe she hadn’t had enough time to get her phone on.

I called again a few minutes later. Voicemail.

At 10:40 I got a call from Karen, “Where are you?!”

“I’m at the 45 minute waiting area. Where are you?”

“I’m waiting outside for you to pick me up. I thought maybe you had overslept.”

“Whatever,” I thought. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

I picked Karen up at 10:45. The number she had left me was incorrect. Somewhere in Georgia someone is wondering if Karen and I ever connected.

We had 2:15 until 10 AM and 2:45 until 10:30.

Having spent my young adult life on the Front Range and spending many of my more reckless years driving the I-70 Corridor I must say that Karen’s driving was rather tame. Thank goodness that GPS estimates can be so wrong. We were at the gym at 9:45 and I then walked to the actual check-in in about 7 minutes. I was checked in and was out the door before 10 AM. (Glad there will be no controversy about my being allowed to run in spite of missing the registration deadline.)

The pre-race meeting was all it ever was. Some don’t like it that much. I do. There is something about being in the entire experience that makes it special. From the “You’re crazy” conversations to agonizing through the awards ceremony and the agonizing trip home that all seem to require my participation. If it wasn’t for my altitude avoidance strategy, I would have been at the Thursday night festivities as well.

I had agreed with my wife that this would be my last attempt at this affair. The timing of the race at the beginning of the school year made it a big lift and precluded it from being a family affair. This drop dead approach along with recognizing the sacrifices my wife and daughter had had to put up with were to be big motivators for me. They were my primary thoughts as my run would grind down to the final moments.

Pre-race photos were taken. Good lucks and good bys were said and the 4 AM gun was sounded. We were off.

I had determined that I would go out slower this time. I’m not sure what I thought slower meant. I think I was confusing my previous time to the first aid station with that of the front runners. I came in at 2:12. I felt good but knew it was fast. Karen was there with a bag of food. Potato chips, potatoes, turkey wraps, fruit and M&Ms. The fruit and potatoes were making everything soggy so I ate them first.

Bit, chew, chew, spit. The oranges weren’t working. I ate one and chewed and spit out the other. I took a bite of potato thinking it, too, was some sort of fruit. I discarded the rest. The turkey wraps tasted great and I wolfed them down. The potato chips were great and I even ate the soggy ones.

I ate a few of the M&Ms and stuck the rest in my pocket.

Even though it was light out when I left the aid station neither Karen nor I had noticed that my headlamp was still on my head so I would wear it for another 10 miles.

I took it easier on the way up Sugarloaf. Sugarloaf would be the first and, if I made it that far, last pass I would need to run over. It would take me up to over 11,000 feet. I took my time and came in about a half hour slower than in my 2009 attempt. I felt good.

I told Karen my sad, soggy food story and she quickly adjusted.

“How many bottles do you want?”

“Just one. The next aid station is only about 4 or so miles.”

“Yes, but it’s not crew accessible. I’ll see you at the next aid station.”

I was pretty sure she was wrong but didn’t argue. By my math, if she didn’t meet me at the next aid station I wouldn’t be seeing her again for about 19 miles.

I wondered why I was only carrying one water bottle.

This section was almost all road and about half of it was paved. I had a lot to eat so I would run for a while and then walk and eat, run, walk and eat until the food was almost all devoured. I was not the only one running and walking consequently I was passing and being passed by the same runners.

I ran through the Half Pipe Aid Station hoping to see Karen. This wasn’t a no crew aid station, it was a no non-crew support aid station. That is to say, if I didn’t see Karon, I wouldn’t be eating and I would be getting my water from streams.

I went all the way through and was approaching the end of the numerous crews to find Karen waiting patiently with food and full water bottles. She had scared me a little but had come through after all. She was doing just fine.

From Half Pipe to Twin Lakes had been a huge toil in the past. The addition of the Mt. Elbert water only stop was a great help. As it was, I ran out of water just before the aid station and was greatly relieved when I came into it. I had water and 3 ½ miles downhill. I was revitalized and flew into Twin Lakes. I was maintaining about a half hour slower pace than I had in my first attempt.

Karen asked me if I wanted to change my shoes. The top of the right shoe had torn out across the widest part of my foot. The left shoe was close to doing the same. I had become somewhat sentimental about the shoes and wanted to try and keep them through the end of the race. It wasn’t that they were defective; they were just old.

On my first attempt I had dutifully traded out my shoes every 300-400 miles during my training. The minimalist craze made me think that perhaps the best approach would be to get all those old shoes back out and run them to the nub. Since these shoes were in process, I decided that I might as well not deviate now even though the shoes I started the race in were just about at their end.

Karen insisted that I take her long sleeve shirt over the pass in case it got cold. I tied it around my waist grabbed another bag of potato chips and turkey wraps and was off. Boy was I getting tired of those wraps.

I also put my video sunglasses on to see if I could record the climb up Hope Pass.

With my little bag of goodies (and those infernal turkey wraps) in hand I was off again.

The trail to the river was submerged in several places. While the water wasn’t running it was deep and sometimes I was wading in icy mountain water up to my knees. It was quite refreshing.

After crossing the river I saw a runner stopped to empty his shoes of rocks. I joined him. The rocks had plenty of openings to exit from and I was soon on my way again. As I started up the pass I realized I hadn’t gotten all of the pebbles out. Maybe I should have changed my shoes after all.

After the second stop I was good and started the long climb up Hope. I was not catching a single person and was being passed at a regular pace. I was undaunted and still felt good. I remained positive and kept crunching away.

As I got close to the tree line I met a Llama. Two people were downhill of the llama trying to coax it back up to the where the rest of the Hopeless Aid Station pack animals were grazing.

As I came up even with the Llama it rushed toward me. Perhaps I was too tired but I like to think I have nerves of steel. I was undaunted by its quick approach. Just before it got to me it cut slightly below me cutting off a runner approaching from behind. It appeared that the Llama was using us as a screen to slip by its keepers and make a break for lower pastures.

I heard someone saying not to worry and a runner graciously saying, “No problem.” What else was he going to say?

Anyway, if a Llama is going to assist me by taking a runner out he needs to be more thorough. The guy passed me moments later.

A bit further up the trail two more volunteers were guiding another Llama down the mountain. They were hoping to lure the wayward llama back up the trail using his girlfriend to entice him.

Ha! Ha! I know what you’re thinking. No, as a matter of fact I was not delusional!

At 12,000 feet I came to the Hopeless Aid Station. A group of high schoolers from Golden were helping out and a young gentleman adopted me before I was even in the aid station.

“Can I refill your bottles?”

“Yes. Water in all three.”

“We have food right over there. I’ll have your bottles ready when you’re ready to go.”

The chicken bouillon was delicious.

Not only did my personal aid attendant fill my bottles but also broke open three salt caps and empty one into each bottle. He apologized repeatedly for taking so long. I assured him that it would take longer if I had done it myself.

600 feet more of steep climbing and I was at the top. I would later be disappointed that my video didn’t make it up here. The stunning view was made all the more impressive by the effort that had been expended to get up there.

In ’09 my run down this side of Hope was hampered by a pesky IT band. While I was having none of that, the traffic coming up quickly intensified slowing me a bit. It was actually helpful to see how tough this climb was on faster runners. I promised myself to keep that in mind when I was coming back up in a bit.

The road from the bottom of the pass to the 50 mile mark at the Winfield aid station was shorter than I recalled. It may have been because it was less dusty or just that I had built it up in my mind. I came into Winfield a half hour behind my ’09 time. I was in much better shape.

Karen had recruited two pacers for me. Kelly from San Diego would take me over the pass. Then Marvin from Colorado Springs would take me to Fish Hatchery.

Sweet.

I changed my socks and my shoes this time, got a bit to eat, took a civilized bathroom stop in the port-a-john and we were off.

Kelly was quite affable. She had come out to pace for a friend who had recruited a number of folks to help him out. Since she had been relegated to only about 6 miles of pacing she decided to help me out in addition to her duties.

She was encouraging and helpful going back up Hope. It was a good thing because this became the most challenging part of the race for me. I wanted to quit. I couldn’t believe that I would have 45 miles to go at the top and that it would be dark for most of it. I was miserable and no one else could possibly have had this much difficulty.

Kelly took pictures and talked about how stunning the views were. I had already seen all that.

Finally, there was the top. Then there was the miracle.

I was in a group of runners who were joined by some non-Leadville runners. I felt somewhat obligated to keep the pace and somewhat pleased with the fact that I could. Kelly ran just in front of me and we careened down the mountain.

My second stop at Hopeless was brief and we were off again. I couldn’t believe that I could run so well. The last time I had done this I had limped down this side of the pass.

We were zooming by runners. One of them complimented me on using the downhill grade so well.

I responded counter intuitively.

“Kelly, I’m running great but I still have 40 plus miles to go. I better conserve some of this.”

We slowed for a bit but then picked it up again to allow us to get off the mountain before dark.

For some reason I felt a need to continue walking into Twin Lakes. Hmmm.

Marvin had run the Pikes Peak Ascent Saturday morning. That means he was starting a 13.1 mile run up Pikes Peak right around the time I had been pulling into the first aid station earlier in the day.

Marvin kept us on a strict schedule based on his GPS. None-the-less the cut offs were quickly creeping up on me. When we hit the Fish Hatchery I was definitely at the back of the pack of those who would finish.

Karen’s sense of urgency was through the roof. Pacers were hard to come by this late in the race. She took Marvin’s wife aside and pleaded with her to pace me. Pleaded isn’t really the right word.

“You’ve got to help him, Sandra! I don’t know if he can make it!”

Sandra wasn’t ready to run and quickly went off to get her gear.

I duct taped one of my feet and changed my socks.

“Look, Karen, I’m shaking.”

“Get on your feet! You’ve got to get going!”

“Where’s Sandra?”

“It doesn’t matter! She can catch up to you! You just go! Just go!”

“I don’t have my water bottles.”

“Let’s get them and then you go!”

We retrieved the bottles and met Sandra as we headed out of the aid station. Sandra asked me what we were in for. When I told her what Sugarloaf consisted of her response was encouraging.

“That’s great. I love steep climbs and descents. We’re going to do just fine.”

We had a brief delay part way up Sugarloaf when Sandra lost a glove but we worked pretty hard going up. As in ’09 I knew the conventional wisdom about taking 90 minutes to get to the top but failed to look at my watch at the beginning.

Either other runners’ time estimates were dubious or the 90 minute guideline is way off. All the false summits are certainly there.

The way down was much better than last time. This was near the point I had dropped two years earlier. Last time I couldn’t run at all at this point and was shuffling along at about 2 miles an hour. This year I was still running.

The trip down to the Haggerman road was long for a different reason.

About a half mile after we were finally on the road Sandra asked, “Did you make it this far last time?”

“No. I dropped right back there where the trail meets the road. A Search & Rescue truck picked me up.”

“Well, at least you made it further this time!”

That was encouraging but we weren’t finished.

I had gotten in my head that the cut off at May Queen was 26 hours. We passed the 85 mile mark at 25:45. 15 minutes on rocky rolling trail would be impossible at this point.

26 hours came and went.

“We should keep running. Maybe they’ll give me some mercy.”

“I thought the same thing.”

We came up to the guy calling numbers to the aid station at 11 minutes after the hour. He didn’t seem to be concerned.

“Do we still have time?!”

“Yeah, you’ve got time.”

It turns out that the cut off is 26:30.

Karen’s sense of urgency was now through the roof.

“Here’s some food! We’ve got to go!”

“How long is this going to take?” 3 ½ hours to do a half marathon; I could do that in my sleep.

An aid station worker agreed with my thought, “You can do it with a brisk walk.”

Karen was not getting what she wanted out of me, “But you’re going to run!”

We started down the road to the final trail. Before we got out of the aid station Marvin ran up.

“Do you still want me to pace him?”

“No! It’s too late! We’re going!”

She later explained that he had been on the fence about helping. It seemed that he was understandably concerned about not being successful at getting me to the finish line on time. At this point it was a legitimate concern.

Karen wouldn’t give me time to finish the pancake she had given me. She wanted me to run.

After several attempts to get me going I begrudgingly threw what was left of the pancake to the side and started running.

Karen immediately ran ahead. She spent the next 8 miles way out in front of me. She would later tell me she was concerned that I would outrun her. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!

At the time it wasn’t funny. Her shouts of exhortation and encouragement all came back as taunts. I decided that if she was going to be so far ahead, I would just run my own pace. I would run the flats and downhills and walk the uphills.

When I got to the boat ramp, I knew I had about 6 ½ miles to go. I figured out I could do it at a 26 plus minute pace.

An older gentleman came by me with his pacer, chittering ceaselessly in his ear.

“You know,” he said as he went by, “You could probably keep that pace all the way to the end and finish just fine.”

“I know,” I responded, confidently.

“But you’re not, are you?” his pacer continued her agitations.

“Come on, Kevin!” I heard from up ahead.

As I neared the top of the dam, someone said I had about 5 miles to go. Now the math suggested I needed a 22 plus minute pace.

Dang. Maybe I better start running again.

I overtook my older competitor as we made our way down from the top of the dam. His pacer, who was obviously well acquainted with him didn’t let up.

I now jarred my teeth and suffered down the dam. It was definitely hurting to go downhill now.

I came out on the road and Karen and I were finally running together. The road was exposed to the sun and it already seemed blisteringly hot. I was jogging and walking. I looked back to see the other gentleman doing the same. That guy sure seemed to know what he was doing.

A woman was standing in the middle of the road.

“If you’re going to finish you better run!”

She stepped over to me menacingly and tapped me on the shoulder as if to push me. She didn’t but between her admonition and my inability to not see her as highly intimidating, I ran.

“Pacer, get your runner going!” she shouted at Karen.

Karen was uncharacteristically quiet and I ran by and away from her.

I decided she must want me to go the rest of the way on my own. She would want me to have the satisfaction of doing the last few miles on my own. She wanted me to find the strength to get the job done so I could savor the final moments of the event.

Later she would tell me that she was overcome from the altitude and had to stop and throw up.

I came to the point where the direction of the race finally lead off the road toward the road that would take me back into Leadville. I asked couple of ladies in a car how far it was to the finish.

“About two and a half miles.”

That was doable. I was going to make it.

A young lady passed me with her pacer. They were very encouraging to each other and to me. The pacer surprised me that she knew I was from Georgia. It didn’t even occur to me that she had also just passed Karen.

They soon left me behind.

I came around the corner and was confronted with the boulevard. Somehow between the time I had run along this path going the other way and now, someone had put a massive hill in. The excavation effort that had been applied to this task was a little bit of overkill but grousing about it wouldn’t get me to the finish any sooner.

I walked. I must only have about 2 miles and over 45 minutes.

Pretty soon my older friend from earlier caught up to me. He was no longer talking to anyone but his pacer.

She was still relentless and had a few words for me as well. Karen had encouraged her to pass a little exhortation as well. She also told me that it was about 3 miles from the top of the climb. That was distressing.

I started running again.

A bit later some locals were shouting encouragements.

“Only about two and half miles to go! Keep it up!”

I was not heartened.

A runner was coming the other direction. He turned and ran for a moment with the other gentleman and his pacer and then continued toward me.

“Are you Kevin?”

“Yes.” What was this about?

“You’re wife sent me to look for you.”

My wife was a couple thousand miles away waiting to hear about my race. If she had sent someone at this late point in the race, something was terribly wrong.

“My wife?!”

“Yeah, I just talked to her. She sent me out to make sure you finish.”

The gears ran slower than I did.

“That’s not my wife. That’s my crew chief.”

“Well, whoever. We’re going to get you to the finish line, OK?”

“OK.”

“Now I need you to listen. We have about a mile and a half to the pavement and then another mile and a half to the finish.”

“Three miles! They told me back there I had two and a half!”

Somehow this outburst registered in me as a still existing potential for energy.

“It doesn’t matter what they said. You listen to me, now!”

“OK. I’m Kevin.” I put out my hand.

He took it. “I’m Chris. Now Kevin, lets run.”

I started running.

“Good. Now let me tell you a story. Are you familiar with Seal Team 6?”

Uh, oh.

“Yes.”

“A couple of weeks ago Seal Team 6 was sent in to rescue some Rangers who were in trouble. They crashed and all of them were killed.”

This was not going the direction I expected.

“If they hadn’t crashed they would’ve done whatever it took to get the job done. Even sacrificing their own lives.”

Chris’ metaphor had gone wrong on so many levels it made me laugh to myself. I discarded my editorial thoughts and took the story for the encouragement it was intended to be.

I couldn’t keep up the running.

“OK, let’s power walk. Open up your stride. Can you open up your stride?”

“Yes.”

“OK, then open up your stride. Open up your chest, too. You’ll be able to breath more freely. See those cones up there?”

“Yes.”

“When I say ‘go’ I want you to run again. When we hit those cones we’re going to be close to the pavement. ‘Go!’”

I ran but couldn’t keep it up all the way to the cones.

“Come on, Kevin, you’re not out of the woods, yet! If you don’t run you may not be able to finish!”

I ran to the cones but stopped to walk at the corner.

“All right, Kevin. We’re about to turn on the pavement and I’m going to need you to trust me. Can you trust me?”

“Yes.”

“When we come around the corner I want you to go out with me. Can you go out with me?”

“Yes.”

“When we come around the corner there’s going to be a small hill. It’s just a bump and when you get over it you’re going to be able to see the finish line. I need you go with me, OK?”

“OK.”

When we came to the corner I was running again.

“All right, Kevin, let’s go!”

Around the corner and a look up the small hill; the bump. I walked.

“You can do this, Kevin! Look there’s your crew chief she wants you to run!”

Sure enough, there was Karen. I continued to walk. It doesn’t matter if she wants me to run.

“Kevin, you said you’d trust me! You’re stronger than that! You can do this! Seal Team 6, Kevin, Seal Team 6!”

That heartened me for reasons different than Chris intended. It was hard to grouse when you feel so much like laughing. I dug deep and started to run.

A young woman joined us. Now Chris was on my left and the young lady was on my right.

“Come on, Kevin, you can do this! Seal Team 6!”

“Kevin, you can do this! Would it help if you walked?”

I walked.

“If you’re going to walk, Kevin, you need to open up your stride!” Open up your chest!”

In another moment I was over the hill and finally and as promised, there was the finish less than a mile away. The hill started off a little steeper and then leveled off for about half of the remaining distance.

I ran down the hill with Chris, the young lady and now a photographer escorting me through the town.

As I came to the bottom of the hill I started walking again.

“Kevin, you still aren’t done! You’ll need to run to finish!”

How long did they think this was going to take me?

Chris offered me my water bottle. Before I could think to take it, the young lady said, “He doesn’t need that! Dump it on him!”

Chris complied.

“Aaagh!” I let out an involuntary shout.

A local with a big sponge came running out to us.

“Cover him!” shouted Chris.

“You do it,” she responded.

Before I could issue an opinion, cold water was drenching me.

Now the photographer ran out in front of me pointing his camera back at me. “Kevin, you could be famous. You could be the last runner across the line in the 2011 Leadville 100!”

This seemed counter to the goal as I was closing on another runner who was walking.

I ran.

“Run, Kevin. You can do it!”

A passerby said, “He’s got a half mile and twelve minutes. He can walk it in from here.”

“Finish well, Kevin. You can do this.”

I ran. No one nearby would have been impressed except that they all knew that I’d been at it for almost 30 hours. A few runners zipped by me and the runner in front of me. I did not overtake him, but finish moments later with 6 minutes and 9 seconds to spare.

A young lady put a finisher’s medal around my neck and Merilee gave me a hug.

“Thank you. Where’s the nearest bathroom.”

I will not be famous. Another runner came in with two and a half minutes to go. I don’t recall her name.

2011 Leadville 100 Finish (with Chris) - picture by Matt Mahoney

Thank you too Kelly, Marvin, Sara and Chris for getting me back to Leadville. Thanks especially to Karen Pearson for going above and beyond to get her runner home. The Georgia Jewel runners will be in good hands.

2011 GRR 100 Race Report

2011-03-26T15:57:00.000-04:00

A friend put his hand on my back and prayed for me to have a good race. I walked to the start. The race director shouted some final instructions and started us with little fanfare. We headed into the darkness.

The cold, wet, predawn darkness. 50k, 50 me and 100 mile runners heading off together.

Not long after the start, the dawn light extinguished the headlamps and flashlights. the first aid station came and went after just a few miles. The 200 or so runners thinned out pretty quickly and I soon found myself running alone.

I was wearing a rain jacket with the hood up, snugly encasing my Sweet H2O cap. There were a lot of Sweet H2O hats about that day. My shoes were an old pair of Asic Kayanos. I had read how Nike had built a business out of telling us we needed their $70 shoes with comfy heels so we could run and all the ramifications it is supposed that it led to and thought, “How ironic that we’re now being told we need to spend money to run minimalist.”

I pulled out all my old shoes and decided to run in each pair until my feet started popping out of the holes. In a few years, when they’re gone I’ll consider the purchase of a new pair. I’ve been training and running injury free ever since.

The downside of my shoes was that the lack of tread on the bottom made the muddy trails slippery and in the early part of the race I took a few falls. One of them came back to haunt me late in the race. By the end of the race, I could barely make it up the muddy slippery slides that the rain made of the steep hills.

At the first aid station my Leadville crew chief, Todd, and my wife, Kathy, were waiting. I got a new bottle of fluid and a kiss and was on my way. Happily, the kiss was from my wife and not the crew chief.

Early in the next section I had the worst of my falls. I came down hard on my left knee and both my hands. I observed two things. I was dirty and my knee hit hard. I got up and ran as quickly as I could. The running helped me forget about the knee and the rain quickly redistributed the mud on my legs.

A couple miles later I found myself catching someone. It was early and I had determined that I would not get caught up in racing. If I was close to someone and in good condition in the last 10 miles or so I’d give it a go, but not before. Still, it was nice to see I could actually catch someone.

Just before I caught him, another runner passed me. He was running the 50k. Good deal. I passed the first runner just before we all started climbing the Power Line hill. We were rewarded for our climb up the steep hill with a half mile or so of ankle to calf deep mud and water.

After wading through this slough I stopped to retie a shoe. This 50k runner disappeared and the other runner caught up to me. We would run the next 16 miles together.

Patrick was signed up to run the 50k and then planned to pace a friend through the last 40 miles of the 100 mile. His 50k wasn’t going as planned and he wanted to be fresh to pace his friend so he was taking it easy.

Patrick kept me going with running stories and advice. It was a great distraction and motivating at the same time.

I came through 20 miles at about 3 and a half hours. I was still good for a plan to finish under 20 hours. That would be the last split I would even remember.

Patrick and I ran the 13 mile loop together. At the end I was slowing and Patrick commented on it. I told him the previous Tuesday I had gotten up at 4 AM, run 6 miles and gone to work. I was asked to help rush a large proposal through and I didn’t get to go home until 3PM on Wednesday. To make things more challenging I got wound up the night before and had only gotten a couple hours of sleep.

Patrick finished his 50k and I went to replenish my fluids. I also changed my socks for the second time and changed my shoes as well. My feet weren’t popping out of holes but mud was leaking in. At one point I had had to stop, take off a shoe and dig the dirt out of it.

To my surprise Kathy was still at the race. She had gone home, picked up our daughter, Savannah, who had slept in to try to shake a nasty cold and brought her back to the race. Kathy would meet me every time I came through the start/finish area through the rest of the race.

I changed my socks for the second time and put Vaseline on my dirty feet.

Patrick was kind enough to give me a 5 Hour Energy. I laughed at myself as energy perked up immediately as I headed out for a second go at the Power Line hill.

The next 27 miles went by well. I was slowing but still doing respectable time.

At the 40 mile mark, Patrick had left instructions to make sure that I was getting enough caffeine. He came by as I was heading out to make sure. I assured him that I was getting coke at every aid station.

On my way out a fellow runner and acquaintance was jogging back down the trail.

“I’m dropping.”

“I’m so sorry,” I responded sympathetically.

“No, I’m good.”

I had fully expected that he would beat me and, possibly, win the entire thing. I truly regretted his departure but was buoyed by the realization that I was outlasting him.

After the half way point I knew I was flirting with going over a 20 hour pace and sped up. I passed a running friend who didn’t seem to be doing well and ran on without lingering. It seemed to me that she was going to have trouble getting to 40 miles by the 15 hour point and was sad to realize she would probably drop. She would hold on for a total of 73 miles.

Everything changed when darkness overtook me. My lack of sleep caught up to me. I continued moving forward but slowed to a crawl.

When I got to the 60 mile mark I began making changes including my expectations. Maybe I could finish before it got light.

I retooled my hydration. The gels I was adding to my mixture of protein powder and maltodextrin was too sweet. I poured half of the next bottle into an empty bottle and filled the other half with water. I made sure to eat at every aid station. The cheese, grilled cheese and egg and cheese sandwiches were wonderful.

I was getting pretty low at this point and was given a timely surprise. The Isakson family had come out to cheer me. They had all 4 of their kids. The Isaksons are big supporters of our track program and the kids are becoming talented runners.

Their oldest, a 13 year old boy named Loren, was hoping to pace for me and I had suggested that he might be able to run the 7 mile loop with me. Because of the conditions I had told Kathy to tell him we’d have to do it another time. I owe him a run around that loop on a sunny day. (Bring a change of shoes and socks, Loren. It’ll still be plenty dirty!)

It was a busy stop for pictures and small conversations. In retrospect the time for this stop could have been shorter but the morale boost was awesome.

The mile 73 stop was a different story. On my out to the start of the 4th loop I was greeted by a dense fog. The darkness required a light but the fog devoured its use. I attempted adjusting the brightness but finally was reduced to running along the edge of the trail and running the line where the color changed from the mud to the foliage. It was a slow 13 miles.

At mile 73 I was, again, demoralized. The Isaksons had waited. In addition, Savannah had made it out as well. I was honored but needed to take some time by myself. The rain had also increased and my clothes were soaked under my raincoat. I retreated into the tent that Todd had set up for me before the race started. I changed my shirt and added a layer. I turned my rain coat inside out and toweled it dry. I, again changed my socks. All told, I used 5 pairs of clean socks throughout the course of the race.

When I came out, the Isaksons had taken Savannah to sleep the night at their house. I decided to go into the main tent put up by the race organizers to get warm. This was a big mistake.

A well meaning masseuse asked if I needed anything.

“No. I just need to change my shoes.”

“Are you sure?”

Kathy was there and responded for me, “No, he doesn’t need anything.”

“I can change your shoes for you and clean up your feet.”

“OK.”

Dumb move.

The gal was thorough. All told I think I spent over an hour on this stop. Dang.

I had stiffened up during the rest and it took me about 2 miles to loosen up. Just in time for my 4th trip up Power Line. Ouch.

I spent very little time at the aid station at mile 80 but learned that two of my fellow Windward runners had dropped.

As I was heading out for my last 20 miles, Kathy yelled out to me.

“Kevin! Do you want Margaret to pace for you?”

“Yes!”

Margaret aparently expressed her concern as to whether she would be fast enough. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!!!

We headed out and for the next 20 miles I was partnered with the difference between finishing and not finishing.

She started off with questions about how I would prefer that she treat me.

“I can be mean if you need me to.”

I told her I’d be mean enough and her encouragement would help the most.

I was right and she was great.

As it became apparent that I would need to hustle she started cajoling me gently to hurry. At the second visit to the aid station on this loop it appeared that I’d be in trouble for getting back to the start by 9 AM which was the cut off time for going out on the last loop.

Margaret thought that meant for the last full loop since it wouldn’t take 3 and a half hours to complete the last 7 miles.

She checked and the aid station volunteers radioed for confirmation.

The response was mixed. They would let me go back out if I made it before 10 AM. A clear indication that the cut off was, indeed, 9 AM but they realized 10 would still allow plenty of time for a finish.

Just after the confirmation, John Obst came running into the aid station.

“We’re trying to beat a cut off.” He had a pacer with him as well.

They told him the good news and he ran ahead.

Margaret and I took off a few minutes later. If memory serves we had an hour and 20 minutes to go 6 muddy miles.

“You need to try to go faster.”

I tried to race her, but Margaret had plenty of speed and probably didn’t even realize I was trying to out run her. Sigh.

As we neared the aid station even the 10 AM cut off was in doubt. Margaret took my bottle and we agreed that she would get food and I would run through the check in shoot.

We ran for about three quarters of a mile at about 9 minute pace. At least it felt that way.

After going through the shoot I back tracked to Margaret. The shoot volunteer told me to get going.

“Eat while you’re heading out so that at least your moving in the right direction.”

The last “sprint,” followed by the brief stop, provided an unwanted reminiscence from early in the race. Pain and stiffness started seeping into my knee. It made it a challenge to run at all.

When we hit the Power Line hill I was struggling. Little Margaret had to catch me, brace me and, on a couple of occasions, push me up the hill.

At the top Margaret again asked me to run.

When I was on the dryer portions of the trail I could run but the slipperiness of the ever present mud caused to much pain. I thought ahead to the mud slide ruts that I would be greeted with after the last aid station. I knew I’d have to find a way to run through or not finish.

I started shouting every time a muddy patch or a downhill section would come that would tempt me to slow. To add to the ambiance, automatic rifle fire could be heard from a nearby firing range.

Two weeks later, in the last 7 miles of the Georgia Marathon I used the same tactic. Spectators loved it and responded with exuberant cheers. It actually made me feel less crazy than running in the woods through deep mud with guns as the only backdrop.

Margaret would say in earnest, “You’ve earned that buckle! Don’t let it slip away!”

RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!!!

“Ruuunnnn!!!! Aaaagh!!!!

“You can do this, Kevin. We’ve got to hurry!”

“Ruunnn!!!”

POW!!! RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!!! POW!!! POW!!!

“Kevin, you can swear if you need too. I won’t mind. You’ve got to go!!!”

I didn’t need to swear...

“#$%#$%$$%#%^#$%#$@#$^$#!!!!”

...but it was cathartic.

RAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!!!

After an interminable amount of time we came off the trail and onto the road.

“Kevin, you’ve got to hurry!”

“Margaret, how far do we have to go?”

“Only another mile. Come on, Kevin, you can do this.”

“Margaret, we have less than a mile and a half an hour. I think I can do it.”

“Oh, so you can still do that math, huh?”

“Yes.”

“Well I don’t want anything to go wrong right at the end. Try to hurry.”

I did. There seem to be some merit in finishing well anyway.

The final mud hill back into the start/finish area required additional assistance. I probably could have done it under my own power but Margaret would not be denied one more chance to push me around.

I finished at 29:44:33. The previous two finishers had finished a mere 10 minutes in front of me.

71 people signed up for the 100 miler, 54 toed the line and 17 finished. I was number 17.

I was handed a certificate for a new pair of trail shoes, a finisher’s shirt and the coveted buckle.

Thanks go to Tony and all the great volunteers. Thanks to Windward runner supporters who were quite generous with their time and resources.

Thank you, Isaksons and Savannah for your timely help.

Thank you, Patrick Bene.

Thank you, thank you, thank you, Margaret Curio!

Thank you Kathy for being there to the end and for driving me home and for bringing my stuff in and for tolerating all the early morning runs and for a multitude of other things to vast to list.

Tallahassee Ultra-Distance Classic 2009

2009-12-13T17:18:00.001-05:00

Tallahassee Ultra-Distance Classic 2009

It doesn't take long for a runner to discover that expectations often need adjustments even after a run is underway.

My wife and I were revisiting the site of our introduction to ultra-running. It would be my 4th attempt at going beyond 26.2 miles and my wife's second. For Kathy, this was her once per year toe dip into the 50k distance. I was signed up for my second 50 miler.

The race had generated the most interest it had seen in some time. 52 people had signed up for the 50k and another 27 were to join me for the longer run. Among the entrants were the previous year's winner, Dann Fisher, and the course record holder, Frank Bozanich. There were enough other young runners in the race from far enough away to make me believe that the competition would be stiff.

I was in much better shape this year but hadn't run more than 20 miles since attempting Leadville in August. I had decided to increase my distance slowly and work more on speed with the hope that I'd get enough of a start to power through to a strong finish after I ran out of steam. I have moved a little beyond novice and have now entered a quixotic phase that I hope not to end.

I believe that I'm getting stronger. Visits to doctors and special footwear had vanished. My recovery from Leadville had been much quicker than recovering from Tallahassee the year before as well as the Sweetwater H2O 50k the previous spring. I was also going to roll back to complete my first marathon in January and decided the training window was much better suited to do well then.

Answering for why one chooses to run or why one sets the goals one sets seems like the wrong question to answer with regard to running. It is not so much the quixotic nature of running that causes me to believe this. It is more that it is no more quixotic than anything else one does. Why do people work in jobs that produce results that will eventually be torn down or thrown away? Why do we raise families that will have forgotten our names within two or three generations? Reasons for assaulting any of our personal windmills are hard to come by and reason has it's limits. Ultimately we do all of these things because we accept on faith that they are the things to do.

I can think of no reason that justifies my goals. I can think of no compelling reason to run at all but I believe it is the right thing for me to do.

On their website, www.tallahasseeultra.com, it claims that it seldom rains in December in Tallahassee. If it never rained I suppose they would say so. The forecast called for a 70% chance. 70% meant we were probably going to get wet but how bad could it be at a time of year it doesn't typically rain.

Kathy woke up before her 4:30 alarm and since I was awake I got up before my 5 AM wake up time. We were loaded into the car with caffeine loaded into us by 5:30. This year we knew where to go and what to do and had our numbers on, counters identified and had time to grouse about how cold it was. The air was damp but it would be hard to call the moist air, rain.

Gary Griffin, who directs the race with his wife, Peg, spoke to the runners in much the same manner as he had the year before. He acknowledged loyal participants, dedicated the race to a participant who had overcome tragedy to toe the line and mentioned the same Bible verse in Isaiah he had referenced the year before. He gave instructions about littering and such, mentioned that 50 milers would be given a 50k time and plaque if they completed enough laps but did not complete the 50 mile distance and, after a brief pause lead the 50 milers out to their alternative start line.

Kathy and I had given each other a good luck kiss and were ready as we would ever be given our limited experience.

The course consisted of a 2 and 1/15th mile loop; 15 laps for the 50k; 24 laps plus 4/10ths of a mile for the 50 miler. The 4/10ths were tacked onto the start of the race and resulted in the different start lines.

It was hard, in the early morning darkness, to identify individual runners but one runner stood out. No one would need to have identified Frank Bozanich. His face and hair somehow identified him as older but his body was a solid mass of muscle. He looked more like a caricature of Paul Bunyon straight from an illustrated children's book than a previous 50 mile world record holder or an AARP member. When I saw that he was registered I had mused that I would consider my race a success if I could beat this 65 year old. Looking at him made me painfully aware of how much of a challenge that would really be.

Gary waited while a few stragglers came jogging up.

I found myself standing next to Frank and attempted to joke with him.

"So, Frank, did it really take you 27 years to recover from your last run here?"

"Oh, I've run other races since then."

I laughed at my failed attempt at pre-race mirth.

"I figured you had. It's a pleasure to be running with you."

"Thank, you."

After all runners were accounted for and without any pomp we started with a simple "Go" from Gary.

I was equal amounts perturbed and satisfied to take an early lead. My concern came from knowing the caliber of the people in the race. I was not running as hard as I had visualized but knew that the pace was brisk. I could hear breath and gentle footsteps behind me and knew that others were pacing close behind me.

We came across the 50k start line and I yelled out, "Eight!" It was my number for the race.

"Eight!" yelled a volunteer.

"Eight! Gotcha' Kevin! Way to go!"

"Thank you, Jay."

Jay was my counter for the day. Before the race he was still focused on finding his runners and it concerned me that he might be a bit quiet. My fear, as with many of the fears I choose in life, turned out to be unfounded. He was going to be great.

Two other runners had shouted their numbers right after me and one of them pulled up beside me after we went through the start/finish line.

"I'm Kevin." It would be a long race and I figured I should find out who I was running with.

"I'm Ryan."

We had a brief conversation in which I learned that this was his first 50 miler, he was a cross country coach at a university in Charlotte (the name of which escapes me), his marathon runs had gotten flat and he was hoping going longer would rectify the problem. I also learned that he had been at the Georgia State Cross Country Championships a few weeks before. After the race I had a chance to clarify that he was referring to the high school championships as opposed to the USATF Championships. I told him who Frank was and that the winner from the previous year was behind us as well.

In turn, he learned that my daughter had won her division at the USATF Georgia championships and that I was running way to fast for my ability and headed off to take the lead.

The loop includes a dogleg out-and-back that allowed me to see who's behind me. I was able to ascertain that it was Frank who had gone out with us. Oh, boy, this was going to be tough.

We had mingled in with the 50k runners at this point and it was difficult to identify the other 50 milers in the mix.

I made a mental note that Ryan was running his first 50 miler and reminded myself that anything could happen as I watched him glide away. No thought entered my mind that similar thoughts must have been issued from behind about me. Anything could happen to any of us.

I came around to the start/finish and once again shouted my number. After passing through I hit the split button on my watch. I knew that if I could come around each lap in under 16 minutes I'd be close to finishing under 7 hours. The first lap included the additional 4/10ths of a mile. 17:04. Fast.

The running still felt fine and unstrained. I actually wondered if I couldn't push the pace a little but refrained.

At the dogleg I was able to see that Ryan was also running effortlessly as he continued to increase his lead and that I had added a little more distance between myself and Frank. I was also able to identify Dann and also picked out another runner who looked familiar. I would later talk with him and identify him as Vince. Vince had come in third the year before. I had come in 7th a long time after Dann and Vince had finished and gone on their way.

On lap 2 it started to rain. Not hard. Not yet. But it would not let up for the rest of the time I was on the course.

I fell into a rhythm of smiling at runners who returned my smiles and occasionally speaking to those who had demonstrated a desire to make verbal exchanges.

When Kathy and I crossed paths we would give each other a thumbs up, smile or shrug our shoulders at the deteriorating weather. It was a pleasure to have her on the course.

The laps began to trudge by and the rain strengthened.

Lap 2 - 14:44

Lap 3 - 15:19

I was increasing my hold on second place. Ryan was increasing his lead.

I was catching up with Kathy as we approached the place on the course we had parked our car. I thought she was going to stop but she paused just long enough to grab a Diet Pepsi off the trunk and then went on.

I shed my soaked jacket and continued in a long sleeve compression shirt covered by a thin technical shirt. I was going to be wet and the jacket was just added weight.

I changed out my drinking bottle and ran on confident that I would catch Kathy briefly. After crossing the start/finish again it became clear that she had made a pit stop and we would not run side by side for a while.

Lap 4 - 15:15

It seemed that I was falling into a bit of a rhythm. Ryan continued to increase his lead. I had moved further ahead of Frank but had not increased my margin with Dann and Vince.

Lap 5 - 16:08

Lap 6 - 15:34

Lap 7 - 15:19

Somewhere in one of these laps, I came up on Gary who had joined the 50 mile fun he had started.

"I really need to talk to th race director about this weather!"

"I know. The forecast was for a half inch. I think it can stop now, don't you?"

"Yes, I do. Oh, well. This is what it's all about."

"Yep. I can't control the weather."

Lap 8 - 16:14

On lap 9 things started to go downhill fast. Downhill is not a good thing on a flat course. What had seemed like rain, became a memory of what it had been like when it had still been pleasant to run. Later Frank would say that the only difference from what happened here was that in 'Nam there wasn't any pavement.

What happened was that the clouds opened up and showed what it could really dump on us.

Another issue was causing me concern. It seemed to me that Dann was starting to close the gap. Vince was not giving any ground and appeared to be edging toward me as well.

As I passed Dann, I again attempted humor.

"Dann, are you sure you're feeling well?" Before I could complete my thought, Dann interjected.

"Ooh, I'm not doing that well."

"You don't look so good." I finished my statement and regretted it right away. I had intended levity and felt like I had spewed mean spiritedness. I would not get to explain myself or be certain whether he cared.

It didn't stop me from trying it again later.

"Are you sure you don't need to go to the bathroom or something?" I secretly hoped that the joking would lead to the actual desire on his part. If it did, it didn't matter.

Lap 9 - 16:28

Lap 10 - 16:43

14 laps to go and things were not good. On lap 11 Ryan came by.

"I was hoping to get half way before you lapped me. Nice job, Ryan."

He was still on pace to go under 6 hours. It was actually a boost to see him doing so well. He would soon be entering the unknown, though, as he passed beyond 26.2. Anything could happen.

Lap 11 - 17:22

I had reached the end of my training and my quads were screaming. To a non-runner "screaming" might seem like an over used metaphor. To the distance runner there are few better descriptions. The rest would have to be sheer will.

Just when it didn't seem like it could rain any harder...

...it really started to rain. Before it would occasionally ease. No more of that for the next 5 laps it poured steadily. No one was having fun now.

Lap 12 - 19:40

I made my first bathroom stop. Dann caught up to me after I started again. He said he wasn't doing that well and then demonstrated conclusively that he was doing better than I was. I told him he would at least get the Masters and that he was 2nd overall. He groaned and ran on ahead.

Not much later Vince caught up to me. I told him Dann wasn't far ahead and was complaining about his condition. He responded that the race was far from over. The way he said it made me understand that he didn't feel confident that if he was doing any better. He, too, proceeded to run ahead.

I had now slipped to 4th and was only half way. It was time to reset expectations. People would pass. I had lapped Amy Costa, the female front runner and accomplished ultra-runner. She would later "unlap" me and beating her did not seem realistic. Beating anyone needed to be set aside. I would finish ahead of my 9 hour finish from the year before. That would be doable... ...maybe.

Lap 13 - 19:25

No bathroom break but I had made the 27 1/4 mile mark at 3:35:15. This was encouraging regarding the upcoming marathon regardless of what my speedy run meant for the 50 miler.

Lap 14 - 23:31

This trip included another bathroom break but Rosinante had collapsed. The legs would go no more. I remembered that after 15 laps I could get credit for the 50k.

Frank passed me. I was going to be beat by a... ...I was going to be beat by a legend.

"Nice work, Frank."

"Yes, but I'm calling it quits after one more lap."

One more lap! At some point Frank had stopped and I had lapped him!

Another thing: if he's stopping with his exceptional ability what the heck am I thinking?

My inconsistent conclusions regarding Frank were an exhaustion confused attempt at respect. I had little excuse to make any comparisons with such a fine runner either in the present race or considering the complete body of his work.

I was also "unlapped" by Gary.

I don't remember which of us volunteered it first but he, too, was calling it quits at 50k.

I came around for my last and 15th lap at 4:23. I failed to shut off my watch so the exact time will have to wait.

Vince would go 34 miles before settling for a 50k time. Amy Costa would also drop.

Only a few 50 milers would continue. Many 50k runners dropped without finishing. Some would drop without bothering to check in. I suppose that they would climb into their cars for relief and never bring themselves to get out again. With so many novices, it would be likely they wouldn't know that many races would disqualify them from ever running again for such a deed.

It was a day for changing expectations for some such as myself. For others, the change was more nuanced. Kathy finished with an almost identical time from the year before in spite of the weather.

After Kathy successfully completed her 50k we headed to the car.

As we put our gear away we congratulated those coming by us toward their own finish. Runners whom, though we had had minimal exchanges with all day, we had developed a rich bond.

Just before I climbed into the car, I saw Dann running up the road.

"How much further?"

"This is it."

"Congratulations!"

"Thanks."

I looked at my watch. He was finishing only about eight minutes slower than he had the year before. Amazing.

But that wasn't all. As we pulled away we saw Ryan's wife on the course.

"I wonder why she's out here. He must be done. Maybe they have another friend on the course."

Not much further up the road we came upon Ryan still running. Dann had passed him.

Ryan would finish his first 50 miler in fine form. He will be unlikely to ever finish one where the weather would present such a challenge.

In the midst of telling each other our stories, it became apparent that we had already made a decision after surviving what had turned out to be a miserable day. We would be back.

The Irony of Rational Thought as a Me...

2009-10-28T05:09:00.002-04:00

The Irony of Rational Thought as a Means to Faith

Pierre Bayle was by far the most widely read thinker of his time. He was controversial in his own time and by the 18th century was claimed by groups as diverse as the Free Thinkers who claimed him as a closet atheist on one hand and the most conservative Calvinists who saw him as the clearest defender of traditional Calvinist thought on the other. After that Bayle's writings were, by and large, forgotten until scholars revisited his work in the 20th century.

Bayle's ideas are of particular interest in light of the line of thinking that is also pervasive throughout equally diverse fields today. Everyone from devout atheists to conservative evangelicals stake out a belief based on what they believe to be sound rational erudition.

Bayle's most well read work was the Historical and Critical Dictionary. One of his most controversial articles was on the biblical account of David. In it, without defense, Bayle simply tells David's story. While many are familiar with the story of Bathsheba, Bayle goes much deeper. He presents David as a liar, thief, adulterer and murderer. He also presents him as beloved by God.

Bayle was a Huguenot. The Huguenots, as Protestant Calvinists, were considered heretics in Catholic France. Bayle, who had converted to Catholicism and then back to Calvinism, was a considered a heretic of the very worst kind. Bayle's own brother would die in the dungeons of Louis XIV because of his Protestant faith.

Not surprisingly, many Huguenots were bent on over throwing Louis XIV. There was some theological concern for such a belief since authorities are ordained by God but, it was argued, this could be justified. While leaders were ordained by God, the king of France was a liar, thief, adulterer and murderer.

Bayle's David was not well received by those bent on an overthrow.

There was a deeper concern being addressed in Bayle's raw representation of David. Catholic apologists had been quite successful in arguing that pure Calvinism suggested that the worst sinner might be chosen and the devoutest server of Christ might be left behind based on the arbitrary election of God. Many Calvinists backed off from this pure belief and suggested that, while the elect were chosen of God, if they were chosen they would reflect that selection outwardly.

Bayle makes clear that his position is that Calvin and even Augustine before him were right. Salvation was a great and divine mystery and who were we to say who was elect and who was not based on some outward performance. David's life was indefensible and yet he was chosen.

In his Dictionary Bayle also showed that even the most primitive stances regarding the metaphysical could not be disproved employing any form of rational thought. He posited that rational thought could take you so far. We should take rational thought as far as it could go and then recognize that regardless of where it takes us, it cannot prove or disprove what we base on faith.

Bayle found it despicable that Christians of his time were still treating comet sitings and the like as omens from God. He pointed to how much of Christianity had been diluted with pagan beliefs. It is not hard to see how the atheist and the strict Calvinist would see fit to claim Bayle as their own.

So how does this relate to the present day?

The atheist stands solidly behind reason to justify their position. But at the point their position could lead to a complete lack of purpose, the atheist takes up faith to fill in the blanks and make out some reason for existence. Having no sympathy for such a viewpoint it does not seem fruitful to explore it further.

Both the atheist and the Christian are guilty of employing the argument by ignorance to "prove" the opposite point of view is wrong. The athiest asks how can such and such issue regarding the metaphysical be true while the Christian asks how such and such view of nature be true. Both arguments only suggest points that deserve further exploration and never disprove anything.

Atheism is a dying belief spauned by only to be devoured by Christian thought. As a postion devoid of human purpose, atheists have little motivation to build families and, as such, even if they were accurate in their arguments, are destined to extinction. The God Gene, whether it is a product of evolution or a part of our creation, will ultimately prove too powerful to leave room for a view without hope. The atheist deserves sympathy rather than ire from its opponents.

In western culture, the Christian stands at the other end of the spectrum. One wonders what Bayle would think of the rabbit trails we run down to try and prove that all science that appears to weaken Christianity must be proven wrong. Christians pat themselves on the back by regurgitating the same old arguments and wonder that any rational person couldn't see the fact and abandon all other points of view. It is only after satisfying themselves that they are intellectually solid that they acknowledge that the problem must be a spiritual issue.

It would be a sad thing if Christians were really able to so easily use the rational, a tool best left to the consideration of nature, to demonstrate the supernatural. Observations in nature that contradict our understanding of God may cloud our understanding of God and His involvement with creation but they prove nothing about God Himself or anything outside nature.

Christians, it seems, are to quick to defend against scientific positions that contradict their understanding of how nature should be if Christian doctrine is to remain defensible. This has lead to a long list of embarrassing positions beginning as far back as Capernicus.

In Fear and Trembling Kierkegaard said, "...the one who expected the impossible was the greatest of them all." It is to faith that, living with contradictions to that faith, power is given. The greater the divide between rational thought and one's faith, the greater reliance on one's faith one must have.

What of the one who claims that they came to faith after determining that some well argued point had been settled? Given the ability for some to be unconvinced and some to be convinced by such and such argument, it would seem that conversion based on the merits of a rational argument are a tribute to one's weakness rather than a strength in discerning rational thoughts. Bayle was so convinced of this that he demonstrated again and again in his work that even the weakest world views could not be disproved through rational thought.

To consider a faith where we are not in control of our salvation nor able to defend such a view would, it seems, leave the Christian with a great appreciation when called to "work out our salvation with fear and trembling."

Sweet H20 Race Report

2009-05-31T07:23:00.000-04:00

I climbed slowly into the empty tub.

When I sat down, the ice bucket full of ice was sitting next to me on the edge of the tub. It hardly contained enough ice for a proper ice bath but it would have to do.

I looked at my feet once again. No blisters. Just a few callouses and a few slightly tender spots that would be gone by the following day.

I turned on the cold water to a trickle. When water splattered from the empty tub onto my legs I quickly turned the water up to allow it to fill in to stop the splashing. Somehow, while the splatter was exceedingly uncomfortable to endure, the rising water on my heels and calves was quite pleasant.

Normally, I would wait until the water was at a suitable level and then dump the ice over my legs. Today I picked a couple of ice cubes out of the bucket.

Plink. Plunk. I tossed one to the outside of my right foot and one to the outside of the left foot.

I thought about the pre-race. Parking, getting a number, waiting to use the one stall in the bathroom, pulling out gear, meeting new people, connecting with friends.

Plink.

The SweetH2O 50k was underway.

I headed out at a pace 2 minutes faster than I anticipated. Must be the taper.

Plunk.

I counted 14 people in front of me when the road straightened out before plunging into the woods. "Keep an even, easy level of effort and you'll start picking them off as they get tired."

Plink, plunk. The cold water was rising too slowly. Now it was deep enough that I didn't feel like moving. Just let it ride.

As we completed the first loop, we ran onto a brief portion of road. I was so proud that I knew to cut the tangents around the curves. I wondered if anyone was impressed.

The ice cubes continued to join the water as I smiled at my expectations. I wasn’t beholden to the goals I had set. I had no idea what they should be. Among my unrealistic expectations there were a few about the trail.

When the race route meandered down to the river and sent us out toward the difficult portions of the course I expected the trail to be more reasonable. It must be level since it ran along the river.

I smiled.

It took us over rocks, hopping across logs, crossing natural drainages and tip toeing through tree roots. Somewhere on this portion I twisted my ankle. I ran on.

Plink. I decided to make a game of sliding the ice cubes down my thighs to see if I could get them to glide over my knees to where my shin was slowly being covered by water.

A branch knocked my sunglasses off of their perch on my hat. They rolled down my back and into my hand. I kept running.

I glanced back to see if my deft reflexes had been noted by a now intimidated runner behind me.

There was no one behind me.

My pace was slowing. “When the trail opens up I’ll be fresh,” I said. “I’m strong on the hills,” I said. “I’ll really reel them in then,” I said.

I heard a shout behind me. "Hey, I think it's this way!"

Oops.

Plunk. I was sliding the ice cubes, one after another, down my leg into the water now. I couldn’t get them to slide over my kneecap.

About the time I reached the Top of the World, a new pattern developed on a trail that seemed to defy patterns. People began to pass me at regular intervals. The pattern remained until the end of the race.

“This is your first 50k. Finishing will be good.”

The Top of the World could be more appropriately named the Top-Bottom-Top-Bottom... ...of the World as it propelled runners on a roller coaster of breath taking inclines and declines. While the course is beautiful, 'breath taking' is not intended to mean anything other than 'breath taking'.

The tub water rose slowly to engulf my heels and the midpoint of my calves

I had passed the Top of the World aid station and was making my way back to the river. Two runners had recently passed me and were heading out of view.

I came out on a power line clear cut at the top of a hill that dropped precipitously on both sides. This was the case all along the power line cuts but there were no runners in sight.

There were no trail markers into the trees on the other side.

I stood alone hoping another runner would come along.

In a few seconds one came into the clear from the direction I had come. After a few seconds of standing together, bewildered as to what to do, a few runners came out of the trees from the other side.

They were coming back, confirming that it was the wrong way.

We headed back the way we had all come. 50 feet back into the trees we saw a line of runners going along the actual route.

Plink. The tub water still had not covered the top half of my legs. I looked into the tub of ice. I had only used up half the ice cubes. Plunk.

Heather May passed me. I passed her.

The first visit to the Top of the World was over. People were still passing me. I stubbed my toe.

Heather caught up with Joe McNab and I and we ran together. She told us she’d already fallen once.

She fell.

I was a couple hundred feet behind. Joe stood by to make sure she was OK. We ran together again. I left them at the aid station just before crossing the bridge. They both finished the race well ahead of me. Heather would be the female race winner.

Plink. I was still sliding ice cubes down my legs only to be stopped by my knees. The earliest ice cubes had already melted into the cool water.

Heather had already passed and Joe was running with me when we were passed by Sally Brookings. We exchanged a few pleasantries.

As she sped on I shouted, “If you’re going to get chicked, you might as well get chicked by a legend!”

I thought I was pretty cool with my ultra-lingo knowledge. I wondered later if I had been rude.

“Legend!” she shouted, “I don’t see any legends out here!”

Ploink. Finally, an ice cube rocked gracefully over my kneecap and down the ramp of my leg into the water.

I would be passed by six more female athletes.

On the steep descent down to the water crossing I reached out to push aside a slender branch. It turned out to be strongly connected both above and below. It was spiked with nasty thorns.

It stopped me dead in my tracks in spite of the downhill momentum. The thorns gripped my body from my right shoulder and continued down across my torso. The lower end of the branch slid across my left thigh leaving its mark on my leg. My left hand pressed hard on a thorn that left the middle of my palm bleeding.

“Are you all right?” It was Joe again.

“Nothing that the water won’t clean off.”

Sally was climbing out when we reached the water.

A little politeness on my part would have led me to offer the first trip across to Joe. He help Heather up and waited for me to untangle myself from my self wrought ribbon of thorns. He wouldn't have accepted, but...

Sorry, Joe.

The water crossing was a non-event. Today going out to fast had its advantages. Later runners waited over 40 minutes to make the crossing.

The water did wash away the blood and I didn’t give it another thought until I was safely home.

I was down to the last of my ice. The water was finally beginning to cover my legs. Any movement that caused the water to splash up on the dry portions of my body reminded me that the water was still quite cold.

I looked down at the lacerations on my thigh. I smiled. War wounds.

I started getting pains in my stomach. Was I over-hydrating? Were these cramps people spoke of? I chose not to include my pre-mix of protien powder, maltodextrin and Succeed! Caps into my next drink. At the next aid station I would just get water to slosh in my mouth and spit out. I had read to do that somewhere.

I got hungry and broke open a gel pack.

The water in the tub had engulfed my legs. I wondered if I should turn off the water. No. What I had misdiagnosed as cramps during the run was actually core muscles tightening up. I might as well let them freeze too.

The second trip to the Top of the World was actually less eventful than the first. I did not get lost. People were getting punchy and saying things that were only funny under the circumstances.

At the Top of the World aid station they told us we only had 4 miles to go. The aid station before and after the trip to the Top of the World had said that on the next visit we would be at mile 27. I remained quiet. No need to disillusion anyone.

The rest of the race was a series of runners politely making their way by me. At some point I stubbed my other toe.

Mile 28 still makes me laugh out loud when I think about it. You'd have had to have been there.

As I cleared a point that brought me around to the north side of the lake I looked up toward a field that represented one more hill. At the top of the hill stood two small figures. I began the climb toward them.

“Come on, honey! You can do it!”

“Dad!”

Of all the things. It was my wife. It was my daughter.

“Dad, you’re almost done!”

“You can do it! You’re almost done!”

I later told my wife it felt like a “Sound of Music” moment.

As we ran around the last curve of road together my daughter pushed into me as she tried to move out of traffic to the side of the road.

“Don’t push me!” I snapped at her.

The emotions were a little raw.

"Sorry, Dad."

She understood.

I thought of George MacDonald who described how people sometimes think they have become better when in reality they only feel better. When I'm in a good mood it is easy to be good. It is when I am spent that I am most aware of opportunities to improve.

I finished my first 50k with a time of 5:56:07. 46th over all. I had been passed by 32 people. I was deeply satisfied.

I gingerly pulled myself forward and turned the tap water off. I laid back into the water.

SweetH2O.

In Nature but Not Naturally

2009-01-03T14:50:00.001-05:00

I will be forgotten. Nothing I have done gives me any expectation that I should be remembered. I find it hard to get close to those around me. A comfortable distance allows me to hold myself above them. When I interact, their justifiable lack of deference to me reminds me that I am not exceptional.

This sad realization does not send me into depression. When I was younger, I considered how I would rectify the matter. I have not done any of these things. I am resigned to the very likely possibility that I will not do any of these things. I understand that the annals of history will not bare my name. I will be forgotten.

However, I am not sad. This does not depress me. I am in good company. I know my parents well but few else do. I know less of my grandparents and still less of their parents. After that all is dark for some time. Further back there is a Supreme Court Justice who only historians remember. After that all is dark forever.

Those who do know of their ancestors often only know a name. If they know more it is often a justification to continue with their own life. And when they are gone what they know will go as well.

I will be forgotten. I am not sad.

Those who have abandoned the possibility of God should be sad. They will be forgotten and their lives will have served no purpose. Even if their names are written in the annals of history such annals are temporary as well. All that they build or paint or write or invent will be crushed in the infinite march of Nature.

Through the infinite march of Nature a person and even the whole human race cannot even take satisfaction in being an anomaly. While the odds of Nature producing such as we are be practically zero, in the infinite space of undivine nature, an infinite variety of such as we are will be produced and destroyed. When we are gone we will not be forgotten. There will be none left to have even had a memory of us.

Nature does not remember or forget. It just is.

Runners often claim that when they run they feel more connected with nature. Why this would be I do not know. I run and run and am shocked to find that little of what I consider me is not already connected to nature. Something in me says "run" and I run. Something in me says "run faster" and I run faster. Something in me says "run farther" and I run farther. But my body will only run so fast and no faster, so far and no farther. The something in me is that thing, that essence that is me. The something that is me knows no bounds. The body is confined to the limits of nature.

It is when I am confronted with the reality that almost all that I consider me is a temporary manifestation of a miniscule bit of nature that I realize that within it there is only a small intangible something that is me.

I do not run because I connect with nature. I run because, at certain brief moments, I connect with that which is me but does not appear to be in nature. I run because, when I single out that portion of me that does not seem to be a part of nature, I find that portion that is outside of nature.

I consider if there is that that is outside of nature, it may be possible to believe that it is inside something else.

I am compelled to believe that that which is me is not natural in nature. That which is me is intended to be "in" something else. Where is that something else? Who will I find there?

And so I keep running.

The body aligns itself with nature and, indeed, is fused to nature inextricably. The more it breaks down, the more I separate from it and become aware of the me that is me. The more that I become aware of the me that is me, the more hopeful I become in that which I've been taught all my life. The me that is me is intend for something else. Nature cannot intend. Only God can intend.

I run to be connected to God.

While it is hard to imagine an eternity with a perfect God that would not make me superfluous, in eternity there is hope. In a forgotten mortality there is no hope.

In nature I will be forgotten, but now there is hope that in something else I will not.

I run to find what is me, where me is naturally designed to be, who the Designer is and what I was designed for.

Tallahassee Ultra Distance Classic - 50 Miles

2008-12-17T20:50:00.000-05:00

I am uncomfortable publishing this on a single pass, but I wanted to post it while it was still a fresh accomplishment. I'm sure it will not meet my two goals of making it interesting to the non-runner or helpful to the runner who is trying to learn something. It will, however, provide a starting point. It will provide me with a lasting aftertaste to a fine thing to be savored and improved upon.

The drama actually began a few months before the race itself. I had methodically increased my weekly distances to over 50 miles a week. I began to think that I could sustain more speed much longer than I had been and, at the same time, I began to increase the weekly miles more quickly than was recommended.

As I ran one morning, the nasty feeling of something in my knee moving in an unnatural direction followed by slowly building pain in my knee tendons was not a welcome development. I reduced my running to under 2 miles a day and then, sensing that I wasn't improving, I gave up altogether.

I didn't begin again until the first week in November. Two miles a day for a week. 20 total miles the next week. OK. I'll be OK. I entered the race still determined to get the 50 mile run under my belt. At her request, I signed my wife up for the 50k. She trains consistently in a gym but hadn't been running.

After beginning again, all of my runs had consisted of 9 minute runs followed by a 1 minute walk regardless of total distance. I was able to keep a 10 minute pace and decided this would be my strategy in the race. My wife and I took a run together on the Saturday before the race. I ran 11 miles comfortably. 9 minute run. 1 minute walk.

My wife ran about 8 miles. She was unaffected the next day and I knew that she'd be fine.

I ran 9 miles the next morning and 6 more on Monday. I forgot my water bottle and spent Monday and Tuesday recovering from dehydration. Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday involved 2 mile runs. Friday, with our 11 year old daughter, we drove to Tallahassee and celebrated an early Christmas.

My father-in-law was kind enough to drive my daughter and me to the race location so I wouldn't have to worry about finding it in the morning. We got a little lost but found an easy route that made for an uneventful drive the following morning.

We were out of bed the next morning before the alarm clock. It was 4:30 AM. Both of us had slept soundly. I hadn't expected that.

We left our daughter to sleep and to spend the morning (and afternoon) with her grandparents and headed out. The thermometer in the dashboard of the car said 33 degrees. The night sky was clear and the full moon was bright.

"The moon will be as close to the earth as it ever gets, tonight," my father-in-law had informed us the night before. That would seem important to share with Gary Griffen, the race director, as we briefly ran near each other at the beginning of the race.

At the start/finish area, the runners who had made their way up from further down Florida's peninsula were quite conscious of the temperature. Everyone was upbeat and anxious to begin.

Gordy Hawkins, a race veteran with 24 starts, introduced himself to us. He would encourage my wife by name throughout the race.

After a few words about logistics and an inspirational verse from Isaiah (I would reflect later that I must not have waited very well. While I didn't faint after walking, I did grow quite weary and did not sprout wings.) the 50 milers followed Gary to their separate start line.

Gary and, I presume, his wife, Peg, used cell phones to coordinate the simultaneous start and we were off.

On the drive to Florida the day before, I had decided that I would go ahead and run for a couple of hours before starting my run walk routine. If my knee started feeling funny I could start walking earlier. It seemed that running when I was stronger made sense so that I could give up time on the walks when I wasn't moving as fast.

"Run the tangents on the curves," I heard Gary telling a runner he knew. "On a race this long you can run a lot less."

After about 3 laps around the 2.06 mile course I realized I'd need to stop to use the bathroom. "Too much coffee," I thought.

I had worked out the way I expected to run the race with respect to hydration. Three gulps of water mixed with gel would yield 16 oz. and 220 calories an hour.

My pace was under 9 min/mile.

Three more laps and I would have to stop for the bathroom again. Now I was beginning to think it wasn't just the coffee.

My stop edged me up over 9 minute pace. I still felt strong and hadn't even thought about walking.

Three more laps. Now I was irritated. I was carrying a 32 oz. bottle, one of 5 I had filled up for the run. It didn't seem heavy but I thought it would be nice to quit carrying it. I would try 4 gulps each time I came around. I had been taking three gulps every 10 minutes as I had planned. I grabbed a bagel from my own stash of goodies to help make up the calorie difference. I had no idea how many calories a bagel would give me but I suppose it wouldn't be enough.

As I ran, my wife and I kept crossing paths. She would give me a thumbs up. It didn't seem long before I was able to tell her she was half way.

"Good."

We were headed in opposite directions and we were about a half mile apart when I realized that it was I who had done half of the 50k distance and she was a half lap behind me. Oops. Close enough.

I was now getting lapped and, less frequently, lapping others. The protocol of brief encounters had by now been determined. There were the serious, unresponsive front runners of the 50k, the meek, private runners and the extroverts attempting smiles or a fine atta boy.

I came up on a 50 miler who I had spoken with briefly before we started.

"How's it going?" I asked in the fashion instinctively engineered to balance between sympathy and encouragement.

"I'm just trying to make the 50k. Then we'll see."

"Hang in there."

At 25 miles I came across Gordy speed walking the 50k.

"I've never run this far before in my life!" I think I was bragging but may have sounded like I was complaining.

"Just stay in the now. Don't look ahead. Just stay in the now."

I was creeping up over 9 and a half minute pace. Somewhere in the mid 30 miles my watch told me I had tipped over the 9:40. Something clicked on and I attained a brief euphoric high. I looked back at my watch a few minutes later. 9:39.

Then, back to 9:40. Oh, well. I was hooked.

9:42

At the 40 mile mark my loss of training kicked in. Every half mile I'd loose another second or 2 on pace. I kept my smile and thought, "From here you could crawl to the finish."

The 50kers were pretty much done now and the looks of sympathy and encouragement that were exchanged when we crossed each others paths took on more meaning. We were asking the front runners how many laps they had to go. When runners got within a lap or two from the finish they began to volunteer it. "Two to go after this one." "One to go after this one." "I'm on my last lap."

As one runner passed in the opposite direction he pointed his finger in the form of a gun at his head and pulled the trigger. He used his other hand to represent the effect of the bullet coming out of the other side of his head.

On another occassion he would shout to me, "I just ate a roast beef sandwich! How stupid was that!" It sounded good but probably was affecting him differently than he intended.

Every report was received as an encouragement. He's going to do it! I'm going to do it, too!

9:50

Throughout the second half of the run it had been occurring to me that my daughter would be able to pace me if she wanted to. I had thought of how I would coax her onto the course when I saw her. With still more than 10 miles left I saw the car she would have come in. At 5 laps I asked my wife who had already finished if she had seen them.

"No."

9:58

Just as I was beginning the 4th to the last lap, I heard a cheer. There they were. Where was my daughter? There she is.

"Come run with me!"

"Go run with Dad!"

She was on the other side of a low hedge that she briefly contemplated jumping. She found her way around it and ran up along side me. She spent the next two laps running ahead of me and then waiting. At the end of the second lap she ran ahead and got my water bottle.

On the first lap with her I crossed the 10 minute pace mark going irretrievably in the wrong direction.

"But you're going to finish, Dad!"

I ran the second to last lap alone. I was barely moving.

My daughter rejoined me for the last lap. I picked up the pace and when rounding the corner for the final mile I realized that I might be able to finish just under 9 hours. I left my daughter behind for a desperate attempt a spontaneous goal.

I crossed the line at 9:00:03.

My wife and I were fortunate to have her father to drive us back to his home after the race. While on the ride I asked a question that had occurred to me throughout the race.

"What were those people protesting today?"

"What people?"

"The people wearing the signs with the word 'Ultra' covered by a circle with a line through it."

"Those weren't protester. They were running the race even though they didn't get registered. They were wearing those signs so that the lap counters wouldn't get them confused with the registered runners."

"Oh."

Spiders and Fences

2008-06-29T18:50:00.000-04:00

My long run took me again to the Chattahoochee River Club this morning. I had run Kennesaw three times on Friday then run a slow 5+ miles on Saturday, played a short tennis match (6-0, 6-0 thank you for asking) and was nursing a more painful than usual foot. No the plantar problem is not gone.

I started off at 20 minutes after 3 am. I expected a 4 hour and 10 minute poke fest. Maybe I need better self talk but I got what I expected.

My foot was causing more pain than usual and I considered bagging the run. I decided to run an hour and turn around if it was still a problem. Sometimes it loosened up after a while.

I realized I had forgotten my flashlight. Oh, no. I knew where that would lead since I was intent on taken the very route I had aborted due to a missing flash light a month and a half ago.

I had run less than a half mile. Brother.

I remembered the light was in the car and turned around. After retrieving the light I headed the opposite direction. This would put me on Old Atlanta Road but at 3:30 am how many cars could there be. It turns out that a lot of people are just getting home but I made it to Windemere without... ...well, frankly, without dying.

The foot pain did not subside but did not get any worse so I lumbered on, stepping off the sidewalk onto the grass or weeds wherever the terrain allowed. The foot had been giving me problems long enough now that my expectations were sufficiently diminished and I only thought wistfully about the sub-10 minute times I had become accustomed to.

The long up and downs of the hills between Old Atlanta and Highway 20 went by uneventfully until I diverted to the golf course restroom and soda machine to discard an empty Gatorade bottle in a trash receptacle I had found there.

As I turned to go I noticed paper cups stacked above the trash receptacle. Hmmm. Sure enough, where there are cups there is water. I would not have been happier if I'd have looked down and seen a twenty dollar bill.

When I came back this way I would have another empty bottle. I would not be throwing it away. My smile lasted a quarter of a mile or more.

A couple of weeks before I had discovered that the Fish Hatchery was closed and I would not be able to access the trail up to the dam there.

I was now a veteran of the River Club and had no problem finding the trail.

This would be new. Anticipation and soft earth quickened my pace. I rolled up the small berms around corners with the bright beam of my $6 flash light illuminating the dark.

I came to a bend in the trail. Before the bend there was a fence blocking a gravel road on my left.

As I continued down the trail in the dark I heard the footfalls of a startled deer on my right. I swung my light around but saw nothing. The trees wrapped themselves over my head. I heard what could have been a branch fall in the dark behind me.

I thought of Bilbo and the Dwarves of The Hobbit in Mirkwood. On cue, a thin strand of a spiderweb gently settled across my forehead. I was amused and wiped it away. Running early on Kennesaw had cured me of being adversely affected by such a triviality as had the spider bites on the back of my neck.

Not much further and I was stopped. A tall chain link fence with barbed wire stretched across the top stood before me. I thought I had been heading upstream but I would later come to understand that I had found the other side of the trail that I had been barred from by the fence at the fish hatchery a couple of weeks before.

In my consternation I thought that I had found yet another fence that had effectively blocked another potential route to the top of the dam.

I turned dejectedly back. I thought I would just bag the run as successful enough and head home.

But, where would I go next? I needed to find someone who ran in the night like I did. I needed to find a trail that wasn't closed. Closed! First I find that running would cost money. Now I find that I'm closed in by the fences of the 8-to-5-ers.

But then I came back to the gate to the gravel road. I stepped under it and headed in a new direction.

The road wound pleasantly by a small meadow and ended at some sort of communications shed with a high antenae. Warning signs posted the danger of quickly rising waters when the dam water was released and something about horns blowing warnings and what to do.

Whatever.

I had found the trail up the dam!

Beyond the loudly painted warning signs, the antenae and the shed was a narrow trail.

First it was narrow. Then the reeds began to close in. Then it was narrow and low. I was running stooped over like a clumsy giant in elf land.

Then it happened.

In a split second my light fell on something that vanished too fast for me to register and I was covered with web. This was no random trace of web across a trail. The clumsy giant wasn't in elf land. He had found spider land.

The web was off me as quickly as it was on. Now I was creeped out.

I began again. One, two, three steps. This time the web was highlighted beautifully in my lights beam. The residence was occupied. I reached out to one of the anchoring strands with my light and pulled it back. The web, spider in the middle, was still intacked.

I swiped it again. It was gone.

5 more steps. Repeat. Repeat, again.

I only ran through one more web. I thought about what kind of spider bites I might be dealing with.

I finally came out of the reeds into a wooded area. I registered the noise of swift water. Someone had put a several pieces of patio furniture out to look down on the river. I could just make out the water below but with the flashlight all I saw was mist.

I turned to go on. The trail seemed to take a turn away from the river.

There was another sign. "Private Property, No Trespassers. Protected by dogs behind invisible fences."

Finally, a fence I could get through!

I looked at my watch. It was time to turn around. Time and mortality. The two strongest fences.

At least there would be no spider webs on the way back.

Of the 17.5 miles of the run less than two were on the trail.

The trip back was uneventful. The water from the golf course was a treat. It took me 4 hours and 10 minutes.

I would hold off buying a pack for fluids. I will need to carry something to clear webs on the next run. I had no discernible bites in spite of the chaos I had inflicted on a quiet spider neighborhood.

My journey to the top of the dam in the dark was unfettered and would be revisited.

Soar Feet and a Wandering Mind

2008-05-30T15:45:00.001-04:00

I am a little delayed in this post. I ran Tuesday and came a little undone.

More on that in a moment.

After running the Tuesday before, I took what turned out to be a week off to nurse the pain in my right foot that had begun over the weekend. By Memorial Day I was brimming with energy and used it at the local water park with my family. The foot was only a minimal nuisance which put it at about as good as it ever gets.

The next morning I knew I'd be ready to go.

When the alarm went off at 4 AM there were already hints of trouble. "That's OK," I said to myself of my early morning weariness. "A week of sleeping in has made you a little soft."

I did begin to suspect that I may need to forgo my normal Tuesday speed drill and just be satisfied to be back on the trail.

My wife got up and I delayed my departure in favor of our now regular and very enjoyable early morning conversation. As a result I arrived at Kennesaw Mountain around 5:40 AM. My car was the first to park on Old 41.

"Slackers," I thought smugly to myself.

I was feeling more soreness in my foot than I expected so after crossing Stylesboro Rd. into the park I did a couple of the stretching exercises I'd become accustomed to over the previous week. I had found good information at the Mayo Clinic website and from a book I had browsed through a couple of days before and then promptly forgotten the name of.

A man went by, walking his dog. The man never looked at me. The dog never took its eyes off me. I said nothing. They were headed up the mountain. I was headed around it. They were the last living things I saw until I returned from my run.

I started off remembering that I was abandoning my...

My new shoes were loose. I stopped after only taking about 10 strides and tightened both laces.

My old shoes had never given me a blister or a single reason to complain. They had taken me from counting paces starting out with only a 10th of a mile while healing a wounded knee to as much as 24 miles in a single run over the course of about 6 months.

I had read on the Mayo Clinic website that a pair of running shoes would be good for about 400 miles. I had logged almost 900 miles in a half a year. At my current pace I'd be going through a pair of shoes every couple of months. Continuing to increase my distance would be an economic decision from now on.

I'm sure the Mayo Clinic was overstating the problem.

Anyway the Plantar Fasciitis had only been a mild inconvenience...

...this time.

The pain in my foot was mild and I set into an easy gate. There would be no speed records today. It was good to be back on the trail.

I ran in front of the Visitor's Center and was a little miffed at the effort required to push up the hill to where the actual trail exited the trees on my right.

My foot was slightly pained but my legs were fresh. I came to the point where the trail merged with the trail that came down from the paved road up the mountain in about 5:40. Not extremely fast but much better than I was expecting.

Without a big challenge ahead my thoughts began to drift. My most common musings involved nature and my place in it. Many of my ideas were played over and over cementing themselves into the background of other less common ideas.

On a run long ago I had come to think of nature as a compartment in which we exist. All that we understood to exist, the limitations we experience and all the mechanisms we establish to cope are part of nature by this definition. Even our bodies were subject to the laws and therefore belonged much more to nature than to anything that I could consider to be "me".

As I ran, I began to put this idea to the test. If nature was a compartment then it bore no ill will toward me and in fact bore no ill at all. The pain in my foot and the tiredness in my overly refreshed body seemed to indicate otherwise.

As the mountain and the trail and the trees stood by indifferently the pain began to increase a little. I definitely needed to call my podiatrist today.

My foot hurt but not to badly. It also moved on in indifference obeying the commands that I effected on it through the simplest connection I had with nature. The connection that ended at the edge of my physical being.

The compartment was indifferent and my existence inside it is temporary.

If the compartment was temporary then there was no need to get angry with God. Any pain in this compartment would not carry on to that which is outside. The pain was the foot on the body that was part of nature. Outside the compartment was new and inconceivable. Confuoudingly, even no outside it is inconceivable.

It is said that there must be an outside because we've imagined an outside. Now we've imagined no outside. What does one do with that?

I approached a small but steep hill that rose up along the back of a neighborhood. My agony was not increasing so I ran on. Now I was slowing and was nearing the 10 minute mile pace. At the top of the hill I increased my speed.

How long it took for that speed to laps I do not know. I had again drifted into contemplation.

I had recently read a biography a person had posted about himself on a running blog I visited from time to time. He had begun by suggesting others might want to do the same. The one point I had remembered was that he had said, "I believe in a creator, but not the ones the religions teach."

I thought about the compendium of minds that had considered the gods the religions teach. The depth of sincere devotion given while each mind stood at the edge of the abyss. At the edge of that which is outside. How each mind had built on, modified and discarded the thoughts of the minds before.

Here was a man who off to the side had managed to come up with a better version. How had he considered such a compendium and then come up with his own better version?

I was aware that no one had responded with questions and presumed that they, like I, was suspicious that he had the wherewithal to have truly done such a thing...

A Run Before Church

2008-05-18T21:53:00.000-04:00

Consider this fair warning. While I hope to incorporate my musings from my runs into this blog this, my first post, has nothing in it that is more overtly spiritual than the title. In fact the experience became a little more earthy than I would normally experience.

The alarm went off early. It was Sunday morning and I limped out of bed to shut off the alarm hoping to minimize the impact it would have on my still sleeping wife. My daughter had a friend over and they kept us awake with their thumps and giggles until after midnight.

I knew I'd have to get going quickly to get in my full run. If I could get out of the house in 15 minutes I'd have 45 minutes to get ready for church when I finished my run. We had had guests the night before and I was a bit disorganized. I shoved snacks in my pockets, grabbed a drink from the frig and turned to go.

I remembered that my flashlight was in the car. I couldn't remember where my keys were. I'd have to go without. I thought, "wouldn't it make a great story if this decision came back to haunt me."

My experiences running on the trails around Kennesaw Mountain had taught me that the city lights reflecting off the clouds often provide plenty of light. I was fairly certain that it would be the case today.

I had decided to take a new route based on a information I had seen in a post on a trail running forum. It appeared that the beginning of that trail would allow me to travel a short distance on it after a long run.

As was typically the case on morning runs, I started slow and sped up very little. "Just keep it under 10 minute miles." I said to myself, "You'll speed up later."

My first mile ended with an 8% grade down a hill with a similar grade back up the other side. At the top of the hill I was still under 10 minute miles.

At Mathis Airport Road I turned right and began a short journey on the only portion of the run that would put me directly on the road. No sidewalks were common around South Forsyth. At this time of the morning it didn't matter. For two thirds of a mile I didn't see a single car.

Now I turned onto a road that would take me all the way to the trail head that would take me to the top of Buford Dam. I only had a rough idea of the distance but I was running for a specific time and would turn to come back when I was half way.

Half way to Old Atlanta Road I encountered what had become a challenging hill. Cresting it just before Old Atlanta was my turn around point for runs during the week. I was feeling strong when I came to the intersection and crossed the deserted road.

I could feel the onset of plantar fasciitis in my heel. I had first felt it the day before and incorrectly diagnosed it as another of a list of pains my right foot had recently began to haunt me with. Nature would be a distant and unconcerning entity if I wasn't so directly connected to it through my incessantly aging body.

After Old Atlanta, The hill began to rise again. As I continued forward I was amazed that I never traveled this way. The road stretched on with sidewalks on each side for mile after mile. Hills a half mile, three quarters of a mile and even a mile long stretched out in front of me. A little way before reaching the next major road I crested a hill to see the most daunting hill of all.

"It can't be any worse than the trail to the top of the dam." I reasoned and toiled on.

I crossed Highway 20 into the Chattahoochee River Club. Here's where what had been a long run became an adventure.

I was looking for a street called Trout something-or-other. This would be the turn that would take me down the road to the trail head. The neighborhood is huge and I ran further than I thought I should need to. I ran on confident and was not disappointed.

I turned onto Trout Place Road. The road curved back to the right, but the parking for the recreation area and the fish hatchery were directly on the left. I never considered going back to the right and wandered around the parking lot looking for the start of the trail.

Tick. Tick. Tick. My ten minute pace was slipping away.

I began to feel uncomfortable crunching across the gravel next to a large house. I went back out to the main road through the neighborhood and decided to run further in. I new that this road was still long and perhaps I would find another way onto the trail.

As my time to turn around drew nearer I struck pay dirt. Or, more accurately, pay wood chips. I had found a horse trail. I could see where it ran down around a house and into the woods toward the river. As I made my way down a hill by the house I saw a partially covered step. Then, as the light of the street lamps became more muted I discovered another more abruptly I slowed down.

There were a few more steps and less light at each one. As I came to the back of the house the light failed completely. I stepped forward and felt undergrowth against my leg. I stepped back, turned and tried again. Undergrowth.

After a couple attempt I found the clearing of the trail and started forward at a walk. I was just beginning to come to terms with the counter-productive absurdity of what I was attempting when I checked my time. Three minutes passed my turn around time. I made my way back to the steps. Going up required me to bend down to spot the steps to avoid tripping on them.

When I got to the street I took comfort. I was exploring and this was to be expected. All my detours would make it easy to return home in the time left.

I decided to remain on the horse path as it was easy on my aching heal. As I ran along I mused about my missteps. The flashlight, the flashlight and the flashlight. I did not know that I was adding another misstep as I ran along.

About a half mile from the last side road I found myself in a cul-de-sac. I had missed my turn. "You've got to be kidding!" I turned around.

I had made right turns going in. If I missed a left turn going back I would need to find it and turn to the right once again. I had added a mile to my trip back. Now I would need to hustle.

My issue from earlier was now beginning to haunt me again. The McDonald's at Old Atlanta would be open if I could just hold on. Just hold on for seven miles.

I finally made it out of the Chattahoochee River Club. I tried to disregard my increasing physical discomfort. I looked to the Million Dollar homes on the other side of the golf course to my right.

"I don't think, I'd ever want to live in a comm... Look a bathroom!"

On the edge of the golf course was a tidy building with two doors positioned in the universal sign of a his-and-hers bathroom. I thought it was unlikely to be unlocked.

It was locked.

I threw my accumulating trash in the unsecured trash can and ran on. I began to realize that I wasn't going to make it much further without relief. In fact I wasn't going to make it any further at all.

Across the street was a road with a sign for a park. A park! Surely they would have an open bathroom. Maybe they would but I would never find out.

When I got across the street I realized that the road into the park wound down to a parking lot that was about 50 million miles away.

I looked to the bushes on my left. They were thick and the bank dropped sharply off. There was nowhere to go there.

I looked to the right. The ground banked up sharply but was scalable. I dropped my remaining drinking bottle on the foundation of a lamp post and ran for the trees. I found a suitable spot and turned. I realized I was exposed to the park road still but it didn't matter. There was only one thing to do.

And I did.

A few minutes and a handful of leaves stripped of a small plant and I was on my way. My pace was freshened with the relief. Happily the leaves turned out not to be of any poisonous variety.

I was now on my final legs on the final leg. I realized that I had burned far to much time and would have to cut down Old Atlanta to get home on schedule. Traffic was light and I encountered no further mishaps.

I had started my run at 3:50 AM and finished at 7:20. I had expected to run over 21 miles but smiled to myself on an unusually eventful 19 mile jaunt.

I went immediately upstairs and awakened the girls to get ready to head out at 8 AM to get to an early church service.