Mud/Bonk/Total Botch - My Seneca Creek Greenway 50K(27.7 Miler) Race Report

March 2, 2019

Photo by D. Reichmann

Looking for a low key grassroots 50K, The Seneca Creek Greenway 50K seemed like a perfect choice. I've run the Stone Mill 50 a couple of times and much of that course uses the Seneca Greenway so I'd even be semi-familiar with the route and besides, The Montgomery County Road Runners club put on a lot of events, so low key or not, I knew they'd have it dialed.

After my last outing (The Algonquin 50K) I visited the dentist to have a broken tooth extracted. After the tooth-pull I was prescribed something called Clindamycin and quickly I realized that I was staying in the bathroom more than any other room. It took me a little while to put two and two together and then I noticed the side effects listed on the bottle. So I've got a race coming up and I can't keep any food in me. Worse yet, I started to feel terribly run down. I contacted the dentist and was told the alternative antibiotic would probably affect me the same way. I made the decision and ditched it. I lost about 6 pounds and I was still looking for a full night's sleep. Getting prepared to travel to Gaithersburg, Janice asked me how I felt about the race, would I be able to run without frequent porta-john stops (that's not exactly what she said, but I'll spare you her crude idea of humor :-) )

Pretty psyched that the race didn't start till 8 am and my hotel was only a couple of minutes drive from the start. Staying on the 12th floor in a seemingly sparsely populated hotel, I thought it was odd that room next to me was occupied. I knew because when returning from dinner, I heard them; they were loud. My dreams of sleeping in were dashed at 3am when I was awakened by yelling and screaming coming from the hallway. Checking out I was informed of some sort of "altercation" that had occurred. So much for sleep. 

While we were getting another dose of snow back home in Harrisburg, in Gaithersburg it rained steadily all night. We had already received an email from the race directors advising the trails would be muddy and this rain was guaranteeing an absolute slop-fest. The race website and follow up emails described offering a 50K and a Marathon option, along with detailing aid stations and cut off times and locations. Runners also had the option to decide their distance at a "Decision Point" near the finish. That point also had a cut off time and missing it meant you had to choose the Marathon and you'd not be permitted to run the additional distance for the 50K. 

Number pinned on and sitting waiting for the start, I felt like taking a nap. My 3am wake up call(fight) had me yawning. Janice called me (she didn't make this trip) and thankfully, talking with her seemed to wake me up a bit. It was no longer raining, but the damp temps in the 30's had me shivering while listening to the last minute race instructions. 

They went over the cut-offs and the "decision point" and considering I never plan on missing cut-offs or dropping, I only sort of paid attention.After the singing of our national anthem, fiddling with my hat; I dropped it in the mud. I had no idea the foreshadowing at hand.

After a brief run on a paved park road we were soon turning into the woods and onto single track trail. The mud began immediately and it was that slippery kind of mud that robs total control from your feet. Running along, it became common to see someone ahead of you suddenly lose their footing and landing on their butts. Or you'd hear the "whoa" behind you and you'd know someone had just bit it. Seeing this also made it obvious that it was only a matter of time till it was you getting back up from the slimy muck.

Ice on the sides, mud down the middle.

Photo by T. Bryant

In any ultra, the first few miles are my time to get warmed up and settle into a pace. These muddy conditions allowed for none of that. In fact the lack of footing, to me, was terribly discouraging. Four straight miles of slipping and sliding along. I was going so slowly that I wondered if any improvement was possible. Yes, I questioned whether continuing was worth it.

Slick tilted bridge

I slipped and fell a couple of times, but the second one was the worst. We were crossing one of many small wooden bridges and this one in particular was pitched with one side higher than the other. It wasn't just slimy, it had remnants of ice as well. In my lackadaisical way, as I crossed that bridge I noticed a large bird flying high over head and calling loudly. I didn't recognize the bird or its song so I was distracted and yes, I slipped and hit hard, The guy behind me said he thought I was done as he had seen my head bounce off the tilted planks. If anything, it was a not so gentle reminder to pay attention and that if I wanted to go bird watching I'd need to do it another day 

Photo by T. Bryant

I did recognize much of this trail. It seemed in places that I might've been going the opposite direction as the Stone Mill 50, but I noticed many spots that seemed quite familiar. During the entire run, The Seneca Creek is quite evident. It's either right next to you, you're crossing it or it's not far over the next little hill. At about the 11 mile mark we came upon a sign that warned of a dangerous water crossing. Now we had already either tromped through numerous stream crossings or crossed bridges and none of the water really looked dangerous. This sign even went as far as to direct hikers one way and horses or bikes the other. We rounded a bend and swollen by the over night rain, this creek crossing was definitely legit. I'm about 6 feet tall and based on the depth on others' legs I wasn't concerned. 

Photo by T. Bryant

As I approached the stream bed to take my turn to wade, I noticed a small woman reaching out to a man's hand for help. She might've been 5'4" and the depth and current were a real concern for her. The water was slightly above my knees and swift. She commented that she had never done anything like this before. I tried to assure and encourage her to take solid steps and not be in a hurry. Before exiting up the other creek bank, there was something submerged we had to step over and soon she was reaching out for a second hand, mine, to ensure she didn't go for a swim. We all made it. I looked back as those behind me were wading and thought a rope would've been nice here. That might've been the sketchiest water crossing I've ever experienced.

Arriving at the Berryville Aid Station

Photo by M. Hoebeeck

At the 15 mile mark was The Berryville Aid Station and I had a drop bag there. My butt was dragging and i was hoping I'd get a lift by refueling there. The descent to the aid station had large steps cut into the hill side made of large timbers resembling over sized railroad ties. They looked slippery as ice so I did my best to avoid stepping directly on them. A young woman in front of me had taken an awkward step and kind of stumbled. In an attempt to not run up on her as she slowed, I did step right on one of those slippery steps and I went down hard again. This one hurt, my left side from my hip up to my shoulder really took a hit. 

Merely a flesh wound.

Knowing the aid station was now quite close, I got up out of the mud and went in search of my drop bag. 

Photos by M. Hoebeeck

I had some alternate/dry clothes in the bag along with more Huma Energy Gels, Pickle Juice, Clif Bar Shot Bloks and a full bottle of Tailwind. I swapped out my bottle and proceeded to change into a dry shirt, wind jacket, hat and gloves. 

Hitting the trail, those dry clothes really gave a me a lift and I felt like a million bucks.I had decided on a new approach to the mud, I was now running right through it instead of wandering off the trail to avoid it. I found myself passing groups of runners at nearly every mud bog as they slowed to figure out how to navigate around it. Somewhere around mile 20, There was a road crossing with some snacks and water. I topped off my bottle and here I realized in my haste to change some clothes, I forgot to grab gels, Pickle Juice or anything else. I was wearing a hydration vest, but I was now basically out of all my nutrition and the next real aid station was about 7 miles away. In few miles of feeling refreshed, I had passed numerous runners and now they were all passing me as my bonk was in full swing. This lack of calories hit me hard and I was now struggling. I felt like I was going backwards.

This was only my second race wearing the new Suunto 9 watch, which is an awesome device. On a major positive note, when I fell on that icy bridge, I walloped the watch face against something hard: probably a post for the railing. I looked at the glass expecting the worse and there wasn't even a scratch. On a funny note, when I fell on those slippery steps I had difficulty getting up at first. I think the cuff of my glove pressed and held the center button on the watch. Leaving the aid station I looked at the watch and it was in a menu I didn't recognize. It seemed as though I was in an area of the watch settings where you would set thresholds for pace and heart rate. While running, I couldn't figure out how to escape that menu. Eventually I found my way back to the current exercise and I thought, "phew, I can now put my brain back to running". Then the messages and alarms started. I'm not sure what I had set, but my watch was now telling me to slow down or speed up, coupled with an alarm every minute or so. At first I let it bother me, but as I started feeling crappy as my calories waned; it became amusing. So I spent the rest of the run with my new awesome watch sounding like a video game. 

The things you see along a trail.

As the miles piled up I was wondering where this "decision point" was and what I would do when I got there. I was running with a couple of guys, my watch read 25.3 miles and I asked them if they knew where this "decision point" was considering a marathon is 26.2 miles. They laughed and said they had heard the marathon was more like 27 miles, almost 28. The good news was they said an aid station was coming soon. 

We dumped out onto a road briefly and I recognized the location as the next aid station is also an aid station on the Stone Mill 50 course. My watch already had 27.3 miles, so now I was really confused and I was sure that this aid station must also be the "decision point" I'd been seeking. I was there with about 15 minutes to spare so I started shoveling food, cameling-up on liquid and I sat down on a chair while a kind volunteer refilled my bottle. I heard a runner ask where the finish was as her watch already had 27 miles. I laughed to myself, but then I  over heard a guy telling a runner, "you can run an eleven minute mile, you can make the decision point". I asked the woman who refilled my bottle if this was that ever important point and she said, "no sorry, it's still about a mile up the trail". 

After cursing a bit, I got up from the comfy chair I was in and hit the trail, pretty well knowing that I was doomed and would miss that next cut-off. I got to that most sought after intersection, I was three minutes late and the kind volunteer directed me up the last painful hill to the finish line. I felt like absolute crap, coming back from a bonk never feels good so I was never happier to miss a cut off time. When I crossed the finish line my watch showed 28.5 miles, the longest marathon I've ever run. Kneeling down to unlace the timing chip on my shoe, I cramped, the first cramp I've experienced since becoming a Pickle Juice Sport Brand Ambassador. That cramp was certainly a painful reminder to never forget my Pickle Juice again. Another kind volunteer helped me with my muddy timing chip, gave me a race magnet and told me to go have a beer.

Photos by B. Jacobs

Just beyond the finish line there was a pavilion with awesome home made hot soups and beer from a new-to-me local craft brewery; Waredaca Brewing Company (tasty IPA!) 

The beer and a couple mugs of soup put me back on earth so I gathered my well stocked drop back, found my Jeep and hit the road home. 

I went to Seneca Creek State Park to run a 50K, screwed that up and dropped to the Marathon and ended up with credit for a 27.7 Miler (that was 28.49 miles long). I can honestly say that's a distance I've never run before. It's better than a full on DNF I guess. I'll take it, fun, challenging day...just another training run with a t-shirt. If you're looking for no frills 50K put on by a group who's events are truly top notch, go run this one. Next up is the HAT Run 50K at Susquehanna State Park near Havre de Grace Maryland on the 23rd.

Stay Positive & Keep Moving - My 2019 Algonquin 50K Race Report

February 9, 2019

This blog post has taken longer than usual, but sometimes real life gets in the way and delays this online stuff. Just happy I'm focused enough to not shove real life aside to accommodate my goofy web ramblings.

It was February and that meant it was time to make the trip to Pokomoke City Maryland for the Algonquin Trail 50K. This would be it's third year of existence and my third year running it. I haven’t repeated too many races, but this one’s fun so I was going back for more.

Hey look Trent, I didn't 

fold my number!

Just a few days before the race an email from the race director arrived outlining the cut off times for the race. January 29^th I snuck out for a lunch run on the mountain and fell hard on ice I didn’t see under fresh snow. (Yep, I had left my Kahtoola Micro Spikes in the Jeep.) 

The mark you make when you find 

the ice under the snow accidentally.

Considering the pain I was now in, I had no confidence that I could beat those cut off times. I don’t know why, but I contacted Trent (the race director) and told him that due to injury I’d be struggling to meet those cut off times. I think it just made me feel better to tell somebody. Tuesday before the race I attempted to run a mile just to gauge the pain in my rib cage and see if there was any chance, I could manage it for 32 miles. It felt ok, it didn’t hurt until I sat back down at my desk to work. This was not exactly the way you want to feel just days before a race.

I didn't know how to spell koozie before this post.

Packet pick up at Hopper’s Tap House in Salisbury was the fun party we’ve come to expect. I got my race number and pile of race swag, dropped off some Pickle Juice for the registration table and did my best to ignore my busted up ribs. 

Pickle Power!

Gotta' love a race that gives away Injinji socks!
#magentaismynewcolor

This year’s race sold out so there was an extra fun crowd of runners milling about, talking running and drinking good beer. Hopper's is a cool place, if you're ever in Salisbury, I highly recommend it. We were starving so we might’ve eaten too much. I won't describe all the different menu items we consumed, but they were all quite tasty. Packet pickup for the Algonquin 50K is a definite "swagapalooza"! All done at Hoppers we took the trip south to Pokomoke City and our lodging for the night.

50k-ish just about says it.

I had tried all kinds of things to fight the pain. I even went over to the dark side and got some CBD cream, but it offered no relief. I’m not a fan of the debilitating feeling that comes with pain medication. Typically, when I’ve had an injury, I don’t bother to fill the prescription pain meds. I was either really wimping out or this pain was immense. It hurt most when trying to sleep. To sit at my desk I kind of had to perch my butt on the every front edge of my chair. With Opioids being all over the news, I was beginning to understand how someone  could become dependent/addicted to pain killers; I just wanted a night's sleep.

A wise man once said, "Don't believe the hype!"

For race day, out of ideas, I fell back on over-the-counter Aleve and Janice put Biofreeze on my back. On top of that I decided that a positive attitude was the only other thing I could apply. Looking back, I know that when I’ve DNF’d in the past, it’s been that positive attitude that was missing. Allowing pain, injury or sickness to overwhelm my thinking ended my day early on too many occasions and I decided that would be the last reason if I unpinned my number this time.

Up and out of bed, it was now time to decide what to wear. The day prior I was walking around in shirt sleeves in Salisbury; it was nearly 60°. As Friday night became Saturday morning that temperature was cut in half. I went outside briefly in shorts and a long sleeve t-shirt and decided I’d wear shorts with layering up top. Then I went to the lobby to find coffee and I ran into another guy from Pennsylvania, Bart Yasso, you may have heard of him (aptly his bib number for the day was 800). Our conversation went from talking about the race to talking about the weather. He said, “you waste too much energy keeping warm” and he’d be going slow so he was wearing pants and a running vest. I admitted to him that he had changed my mind and the decision to wear tights vs. shorts was made.

Janice and I made the drive to the Milburn Landing area and got ready for the "Race Dictator" to say “go”. Dosed with two Aleve and covered in Biofreeze I made my way to the back of the pack so I could just roll out at a slow pace and get a feel for how my day would unfold. There was  now a stiff breeze blowing so the temperature in the low 30’s felt cold. I decided to start with a wind jacket, and I could hand it off to Janice after I warmed up. The Conch Shell was blown and as the pack started moving it became evident that this year’s field was indeed the biggest so far. After just two years of existence The Algonquin Trail 50K had definitely arrived in its third.  It was sold out and showed off a hefty starting field. 

Here we go..

The single track in the first 4 miles was good for me to get a feeling for how to manage the constant ache. Keeping my upper body as still as possible seemed to be working. I did find myself swept up by the pace of those around me and I might’ve been running slightly faster than I wanted to. I arrived at the first of the aid stations and I felt surprisingly good. I hadn’t truly warmed up and it seemed that every time we came upon a windy stretch I was second guessing ditching the jacket. Janice handed me a bottle of Pickle Juice and a replacement handheld. I was carrying a bottle filled with Tailwind, a Huma Gel and a packet of ClifBar Bloks. I rolled out of that aid station still wearing the jacket, figuring I’d get rid of it at the 10-mile mark when I’d see Janice again.

Huma Gel - All Natural Chia Energy Gel

After the aid station at 4 miles the single track is exchanged for a short stretch of paved country road and then a long stretch of forestry road and then double track trail before re-entering the forest and returning to narrow trail. I’d have plenty of space to run at my own pace without someone on my heels pushing the pace.

It was on one of these wide stretches that I realized the beginning of leap frogging with two women runners had begun.  Backpacking on the AT I learned the expression “in your bubble”. While you’re hiking along you move at your pace, you pass other hikers and those same hikers pass you. Typically, at the end of the day you all end up at the same camp and it happens all over again the next day. During an ultra that same phenomena kind of happens, but I’ve never experienced it like this day. I met fellow runner Rob Tidwell that way at the Stone Mill 50. Somewhere around mile-15 we ended up together and finished the 50 miles side by side. He and I even ran an entire 50K from start to finish together. This wasn’t like that, these gals were in my “bubble”, we weren’t running together; they were either somewhere up ahead or somewhere close behind. In any event, I used my placement in relation to them to know that I was maintaining a steady pace.

I cruised into the Furnace Town Aid Station still feeling ok, Janice refueled me, I drank another Pickle Juice and she had me on my way in no time. It might’ve been here that she mentioned in both a disciplinary and a warning tone how little I was drinking. I drink a lot before the start of a race, so I don’t usually start drinking until 6 miles. Here I was at mile 10 and I was handing Janice my second nearly full bottle, I had only taken a couple of sips. I also probably wasn’t eating enough either, I had only downed one Huma Gel and this would be my second aid station where I didn’t even look at their food. Looking back on it those were mistakes, but at the time I felt fine. I didn’t ignore Janice’s pointing it out though, so I tried to keep it forefront in my thinking along with the pain management that was dominating my thoughts. Once again, I was on my way still wearing my wind jacket.

Arriving at Furnace Town

I do need to talk about the aid stations on this course, they’re awesome. They’re staffed with bunches of amazingly dedicated crazies:

Eastern Shore Running Club    Moms Run This Town    

Pemberton Running Club    Midshore Multisport

You may notice the common thread of 'running' in those groups, yep they’re all runners, know running, know what you’re going through and therefore know what you need. The aid stations were stocked with a wide variety of stuff to eat and drink. Pickle Juice was available at a couple of them and I believe Tailwind was at all of them.   There’s actually six of them as you visit two of them twice. 

Just after Furnace Town the real sand begins and there’s this other crew, Vira Maria Ogburn and Sabine Boggs, who I guess are an aid station too. When I passed by, they were handing out Leis, jamming to Bob Marley and offering up Margaritas and Tequila shots. Beach party was more accurate I suppose, but like the rest they were having a blast. While I’m mentioning amazing volunteers, there’s another group that impress more each year and that’s the Park Rangers; they’re everywhere. They’re on horseback, scooting past in four wheelers, in pickup trucks and manning road crossings. It might be my imagination, but it seems that each year the corps of Rangers has grown. No matter where you were on the course you’re never too far from a Ranger, definite course security. They’ve certainly got it dialed.

This year I struggled in the sand. In the past years I was able to find a track of packed sand through this section. This year I couldn’t find that packed sand, it was mostly loose legit beach sand, and I couldn’t maintain a rhythm. Thankfully that sand doesn’t last too long. There were other course differences this year. The first two years the standing water on the trail and the accompanying mud was shoe sucking. This year wasn’t dry, but by comparison it wasn’t nearly as muddy as in the past. Another big difference was the colder temperatures than past years. I’m not one to try to skirt water, there’s no use; the mud on the edges of puddles is usually the most slippery and in Pokomoke River State Park if you stray too far off the trail you will be sliced by the man-eating briers that grow amongst the Pines. (some say if you go way too far, you’ll end up as the Goat Man’s dinner, but that’s another story}. The cold temperature did affect my approach to the water. I waded through the first few puddles, but soon realized how cold my feet were getting and they weren’t warming up. After that I did my best to minimize dunking my feet. I thought about changing shoes and socks and Janice was prepared in her Indy Pit Crew way, but I changed my mind and stuck with the pair of Altra Lone Peaks and Injinji socks I started with. 

Photo Borrowed From Facebook - Taken by Joe Andrews

All day I had been hyper vigilant to avoid anything that could cause a trip and fall. Pokomoke River State Park is full of Loblolly Pines, Holly and Dogwoods and the trail is crisscrossed by their roots. Considering the soil is often sand or a sand mixture a lot of the roots become perfect trip wires as the soil erodes away. Minimizing the movement of my upper body while running seemed to be doing the trick and the pain in my rib cage was bearable. I was scared to death of what could happen if I had a fall. 

Still smiling before the Green Briar Spur

After the 3rd aid station there's an out and back section of the course called the Greenbrier Spur. On the way back you revisit that same aid station at just shy of 20 miles. Coming into the aid station there were some guys along the trail who I had seen at the other aid stations and one of them spoke to me. I looked to respond and caught a toe on a protruding root, sending me head first into the sand. Yes, I hit head first and I was pretty dazed and it took me a few seconds to get back to my feet. Before I could, Janice came over and of course told me to get up and keep going. I guess I'm just happy she didn't expect me to do some push ups or something while I was still on the ground...nothing but tough love from my girl. The crazy thing was, the fall didn't hurt my ribs. I got up and we walked to where she had my resupply stuff, I drank a Pickle Juice and got another handheld. Just then an aid station volunteer came over and asked how i was and that he was an ER Doctor. I knew right away I needed to tell him I was fine and get out of there before he started recognizing symptoms. So of course about 3 miles down the trail I tripped again and this time I didn't fall, I caught myself. The act of catching myself hurt far more that the headfirst dive as all the muscles in your back is what keeps you upright when you feel yourself falling. Thankfully there was no one around to witness this mishap or hear my audible groaning. I'm sure Janice would've definitely had me doing push ups that time.

Pain from the stumble, looking for whiskey

Pulling into the next aid station, I remembered that this one was the ultimate party station and they had whiskey. I never drink whiskey, much less during an ultra, but I had read others proclaiming its pain killing affects so I sought it out. Janice dosed me with Pickle Juice and swapped handhelds and then she heard me ask for whiskey. The guy gave me an actual shot and I downed it. The aid station volunteers cheered and I got an "um, ok?" from Janice. She's seen me drink whiskey once (Cody's 21st Birthday) and here I was downing Jack Daniels with about 8 miles to go in a 50K.  The warm feeling as it went down did not disappoint and even if it was merely a placebo affect, my back pain was back to manageable.  

Arrival at the last aid station meant only 4 miles to go. Oddly Janice looked at me and said, "you got this". I'd find out what that actually meant later. The last mile or so of those four is on the Milburn Landing Hiking Trail which is a diversion from the route used at the start. That diversion was added to the course last year and I was remembering the nasty mud in that section and really considered sticking with the Algonquin Trail and not turning for that muddy mess. I arrived at that intersection and couldn't do it. It wouldn't really be cheating, it wouldn't be cutting the course and I'd end up in the same spot, but I made the turn onto the Milburn Landing Trail anyway. I guess I was rewarded for my honest decision, because like the rest of the course, the mud was nowhere near as bad as last year and soon the finish area was in sight. 

Of the two gals I had leap-frogged with all day (Dani & Erin), one was right in front of me and the other wasn't far behind. Trent Swanson The Race Dictator was there handing out finishing mugs and the challenging day of pain management was finally done. I got to see Gabe, another Algonquin 50K friend and looked at him and said, "I did it". He said Janice had told him about my ice skating adventure so he understood my surprise at surviving. He was happy I had made it too. Crossing the finish line at the Algonquin 50K means the party was starting. With a warm fire place, hot soup and local craft beer; the adjacent pavilion is the perfect post race shindig. This year I made it to the showers while there was still hot water, I missed getting to see the finish of the final runners, but I made it for the group photo. We bid farewell to Trent, hoping to see him at a Shorebirds game this summer and we headed to Rehoboth Beach for the night. This race has truly become a mini winter get away for us. 

2019, 2018 & 2017 - my collection is growing

I'm not sure when it was, but Janice admitted to me later that considering the pain I was in; she didn't think I'd start the race, much less finish. She had mentally prepared herself for a pointless trip to the Delmarva...I'm glad it didn't end up that way. That positive attitude was my secret weapon and I plan to stick with that plan going forward. Next up is the Seneca Creek Greenway 50K near Gaithersburg Maryland.

Couldn't happen without these fine folks!

Photo borrowed from Facebook - Posted by Trent Swanson

Outdoor Delmarva TV Coverage

The Swarmy of Northern Virginia - My DHRT 50K Race Report

August 4, 2018

Massive Kudzu vines along the trail. 

[Yes that haze eventually lifted]

An Ultra I Should Be Able To Finish

In my quest to return to the fun of ultra running, I decided that I needed to find a race of ultra length that was within my current fitness level (fat & slow). I had read about the Dahlgren Heritage Rail Trail 50K because of elite runner Michael Wardian's exploits there. Not only has he won the race, but he put it on the ultra running map by setting the record for the fastest 50K run on a dirt trail. Billed as flat, 100% "runnable" and falling perfectly on my running calendar, I was in. The race is limited to 200 runners and I saw that its biggest year had 89 finishers, so it also fit the grass roots race definition that I prefer. No crazy hype, just a bunch of folks who want to go for a long run, get timed and maybe get a nice t-shirt.

It's Run On A Rails Trail?

The Dahlgren Heritage Rail Trail 50K is run on the Dahlgren Railroad Heritage Trail. (I've got no clue why there's a disparity in the names.) The trail is the remains of an old railroad bed that was opened July 1st 1942 to move guns and munitions to the nearby Navy Proving Grounds in Dahlgren [today known as Naval Surface Warfare Center Dahlgren Division] during WWII and it was abandoned after the war. 

This trail creation came with struggles dating back to the railways original inception. In 1941 the owner of Ferry Farm [George Washington's birthplace] pulled the survey stakes vowing that the railroad would not cross the historic property. The Vice President of General Motors and owner of the nearby Sherwood Forest Plantation also successfully blocked the railroad from his property. Then there's the African American Little Ark Baptist Church, the tracks ran right through their cemetery and no one blocked that intrusion. Hmm...discrimination maybe? 

"The cemetery at Little Ark Baptist Church. 

The unmowed section represents the tracks' former location."

Photo by Dawn S. Bowen, University of Mary Washington | UMW · Department of Geography 

Author of Building a Trail and Connecting a Community The Establishment of the Dahlgren Railroad Heritage Trail.

In recent years the rails trail creation was plagued by the NIMBY population and their concerns of what the trail would bring to their back yards. Hopefully those challenges are all in the past for this rail trail. Living in Central Pennsylvania with numerous rails trails around the area with seemingly more popping up every year, it's hard to understand the resistance to this project.

Yes it's billed as a rails trail, but don't get the idea that it's some well groomed trail of crushed stone. The DRHT is actually quite rugged in places. In the race director's note he mentions "look up, fall down" and I can attest to that. At the start of the trail, for a short distance there are actually still tracks present. Along the entire length of the trail were rocks, roots and some railroad ties still poking up out of the ground. Wide enough to drive a care in some places while down to narrow single track in others. One section really stood out as the hills and trees along there were covered completely with Kudzu vines. It's not the typical rails trail and I was delighted to realize that I wouldn't be running some monotonous paved multi-use trail with playgrounds and ball fields every few miles.

Fredericksburg

Travel to Fredericksburg was quite painful with traffic jams due to accidents starting as early as Harrisburg and then the parking lot labeled "Rt. 95 South" all combined to turn my 3 1/2 hour trip into 5 hours. With the extended travel time I ended up being 25 minutes late (missed) the mandatory trail brief with the race director. Luckily he was still there and I was at least able to pick up my race packet. [Note - on the trip home I was stopped by another traffic accident near the identical spot near Thurmont Maryland] I hustled over to my hotel and began the hunt for supper. The internet steered me towards the historic downtown and Spencer Devon Brewing for my pre-race burger and beer. I had no clue that it was Restaurant Week in Fredericksburg, but it sure seemed like all of Northern Virginia knew about it and they might've all been there. The brewer told me this is such a popular event that people visit from Washington, DC and Richmond. The sidewalks of town were jammed and so was parking. The town looked packed with historic and cultural things to see, but I now considered myself running late so I'll have to return some day to see it. I had the Red Goat Burger, outstanding and the Spencer Devon brews were spot on as well.

A Beer Hunter's Paradise

With dinner done and a quick stop at Total Wine & More to do some Virginian beer hunting*, I was back to the room to finish assembling a couple of drop bags and crawl in bed for a 4am wake up.

                                                                                                                                                                   

*beer hunt·ing  
bir/ /hən(t)iNG/

noun
noun: hunting; noun: plain beer hunting; plural noun: plain beer huntings

1. the activity of hunting locally brewed craft beer especially for sampling and enjoyment of beer unavailable in one's home area.
2. the activity of hunting game while drinking beer - definitely not recommended and most likely against the law in your region.                                                                                                                 
                                                                                                                                                                   

Welcome To The Jungle

I was up earlier than normal on the morning of the race. I had set an alarm for 4am and I woke up looking at the room clock showing 4:03 and I was mad my alarm hadn't gone off, but happy I hadn't over slept. About 30 minutes later while eating breakfast, my alarm went off and now I realized the hotel clock was about 35 minutes fast...oh well so much for that half hour of sleep.

Leaving the hotel, I checked the weather and it looked as though the temperature was listed twice. It was 73°/73° and with closer examination I realized that second temperature was the dew point. Stepping outside it felt as if it was raining and it wasn't. The air was nasty.

Before coming to the race I chatted with local ultra running buddy Rob Tidwell, he and I have run a couple of ultras together and if I have a Virginia question, he's my contact.  He made mention about the flies on the trail. I paid little attention to that comment until hearing the race briefing which included an in depth description of these pesky/painful Deer Flies that inhabit the area. About that same time a race volunteer approached and helped me to stick a deer fly patch to my hat. Back home our forests are full of large Horse Flies this time of year. These flies were smaller, but apparently still had a painful bight.

Still having a few minutes before we started I went back to the Jeep and applied a generous dose of Deep Woods Off. I also stashed Deep Woods Off towelettes in my race vest for reapplication later.That stuff is horrible [toxic] and I've learned to hold my breathe while spraying it, but it seems to keep most bugs away.

About two miles into the run, a woman running near me pointed out that she had six Deer Flies on her tape. I checked my tape and I only had one. The thing was tiny and sure enough it was stuck like glue to that magical Deerfly Patch. I looked again about three miles later and my tape was gone. I was sweating so badly I guess it lost its adhesiveness so I unknowingly littered.

My Boco Gear Ambassador Technical Trucker Hat
Equipped With A Deerfly Patch

With my tape gone, I was on my own with the flying biting pests. Surprisingly I really wasn't bothered by them. I saw plenty of runners around me though who looked like Ninjas, Karate chopping the air to keep the flies away while I ran long un-accosted by the swarm. Deep Woods Off  seemed to be doing the job.

"Air You Can Wear"

For me the true swarm was the heat and humidity. The air was bad from the beginning, but something changed around mile 9 and it suddenly got even worse. The sweat dump was now at a maximum level and my only adjective for breathing was "tight". The extra thick air lasted about two miles and at mile 11, just as we passed under Rt. 218, it was as if someone had opened the window and the air went from awful back to just "bad". In the dim light of morning, I really couldn't see the surroundings, but on the return trip the sun was out. Now I could see that the stretch of trail East of Rt. 218 had low lying swampy water on both sides and the oppressive humidity was definitely ratcheted upward with that water around. The good air side of the bridge had no swamp, but was lined with open fields just beyond tall trees.

I had stashed a drop bag at the two spots they were allowed. Rob couldn't run or come to the race that day, but I got to say hello to his daughter Becca volunteering at the 15.5 mile turn around. I dug in my drop bag to resupply and I also changed my soaking wet shoes, shirt and hat. Dry clothes, although short lived, on a hot humid day can feel awesome.

My trusty drop bags.

I've never been a fan of runners who do silly stuff during a race. The group of runners stopping in the middle of the trail to take a photo, runners with ear buds who have no idea you're there and trying to pass or worse, runners playing loud music from their smart phone; they're absolutely certain you wanted to hear Eye Of The Tiger. Well I was alone just after the turn around and I decided to do something goofy and I called Janice using the phone feature in Facebook Messenger. I wanted to say hello and let her know I was going good. At first we couldn't figure out the video part, but I eventually got to see her out on a walk with Mojo. I was hustling along the border of the cemetery on one side and cows and one enormous bull on the other side talking into my phone. For a brief moment it felt good to be one of those running goofballs. 

Keeping The Body Going

Janice couldn't come along to crew me on this trip so my run was semi-self supported. I wore my go-to Ultimate Direction race vest stocked with bottles of Pickle Juice along with ClifBar gels and chews. I carried two 600ml bottles full of Tailwind and I refilled them with water at aid stations . I also had little vials with pre-measured Tailwind in my drop bags, so at those points I was able to remix Tailwind.

Those are actually paint containers I found at a hobby store.
(Good luck getting them past TSA though.)

With the day's heat and humidity, cramping was a definite possibility. I lost count of the amount of little Pickle Juice bottles I drank to stay hydrated and cramp free. (I was also sure to share plenty of it as it always seems to cause conversation..."eewwww...pickle juice...does that stuff really work?")

I used so much Pickle Juice at this event, I was stoked to come home
 and find a resupply had been delivered while I was out of town.

I can't talk about keeping going without mentioning the volunteers on this course, they were a true boost on a nasty hot day. All of them were upbeat and extremely helpful.

• I'm pretty sure his name was Neil, but the same guy who gave me Deer Fly Tape before the race was also at the turn around and he insisted on helping me and mixing my bottles. He reminded me I was still 45 minutes ahead of the cut off as I casually tied my shoes. I think he would've tied them had I let him. With his kind help I felt like I did have a crew. 
• The nice lady at the first (and last) road crossing with the huge smile on her face, standing in the humidity of the morning and the blazing sun of the afternoon. 
• All the volunteers who stuffed ice down the back of my shirt deserve some sort of award. Getting near me couldn't have been pleasant so I can't thank them enough, the ice was awesome. 

I made sure to thank all of them, especially on the return trip as the heat was cranked and their encouragement and support was priceless.

Vic the Race Director getting set to send
us on our journey in the long green tunnel.
(Pretty sure the person on the right is Rob's Daughter Emily)

Made It Back To The Jeep

My day on the Dahlgren Rail Heritage Trail was less running and more managing. I started out too fast, but luckily recognized it early and consciously slowed myself down. I kept my head at aid stations and used my drop bags wisely. (keeping my head in the game is usually Janice's job) I did find something to catch a toe on and launch a somersault. My graceful tumble included a thump to my head, but it wasn't enough to stop my day. 

I came to King George Virginia with very low expectations. I wasn't certain I could even finish, but I still decided on a goal just so I knew I was making progress on my return to fitness. I hoped that once I decided I felt good enough to run 31 miles, I would shoot for 7 hours as the day's benchmark. (I felt good enough to finish around mile 6 by the way) Every half mile there was a marker. Mile markers can make you insane (just go run the Laurel Highlands Ultra and you may understand), but for some reason the markers here were my friends and I played a simple mind game with them the whole second half of the run. Being an old rail bed, it's as straight as an arrow in places and when the finish line came into view it seemed to take forever to get there. I was surprised that I actually crossed the finish line under 7 hours (goal achieved).  I got to say hello to another of Rob's daughters Emily who was doing the timing. I asked her to please be sure tell her Dad I survived and I wasn't the caboose.

As I sat changing out of my soaking wet clothing I heard a woman say, "wow it's 91°" and then she said, "but at least it's only 85% humidity" and laughed.  I couldn't be happier that I survived those conditions and extremely happy knowing I had taken the next step in bouncing back from a bad patch.

While writing this blog post I learned that my next event, The Chiques Challenge had to be cancelled due to unsafe river levels, so my next adventure will be the Headwaters 50K in Mt. Shasta California. Can't wait for that trip!

Soaking wet, bloody & muddy.

The perfect end to a day.
#bocogear #picklejuicesport #zensah #ambassador