The Hawk 2014

Lumbering, I came out of the woods that marked the trailhead, followed the tree line past the playground, then made a 90 degree right turn right to a table and a big digital clock. The clock read 5:32:52 and beside that clock was Danny Miller, the Hawk Hundred Race director. Danny asked me how I felt. I mumbled something about much better than the half on the same trails the week before and accepted the medal he handed me and moved on past him to the area to sit down. I know he said something else to me, but it didn’t register. I found a way to a bench seat, and there, alone, I was overcome with emotion. This was last year and this was my first marathon. It was difficult, and the path was difficult and it all caught up with me and I was a bit choked up holding the medal, marathon finisher, in my hand. That was a high point. Unfortunately, things went downhill from there.

Fast forward a year and it was time to toe the line again. I had rebounded from a bad year and was feeling ready to change my fortunes. I was running with my buddy Josh and we were going to treat it as a long training run for FlatRock 50k in 2 weeks. Beyond that, things were all falling into place. Training had gone well, the weather was impeccable, it was time to chase my mojo.

I set my alarm for 5AM that morning which, of course, means I woke up at like 440AM. I quickly and silently got ready (I thought I was silent, but I always seem to make more noise when I am trying to be quiet then when it doesn’t really matter). I snuck out the door into the unseasonably cool air. For Kansas, in September, 37 degrees is about as rare as a free lunch or fast moving DMV line. The crisp air that morning was very welcome, but the fog is what made the day. There was a dense patch hanging over the river valley on my way to Lawrence as well as a dense patch sitting over Lake Clinton. I knew then, things were going to be fun. I got there, got parked, got checked in and found my buddy. We grabbed some breakfast and stood by the fire waiting for the ultrarunners to depart. At 630 they lined up and took off, headlamps dancing in the pre-dawn darkness. From our vantage point in the shelter area we could then turn around and see those same headlamps, dancing like fireflies, in the fog below us. It was really going to be an amazing day.

We were up next so I got my pack and everything and got ready. Soon it was time to get lined up and we slid into the middle with the intense determination to not go fast. Nah, actually we were watching the sun come up, looking at the ginormous dog that would be towing his owner through the marathon, and generally just hoping to keep the pace slow and steady. And with Danny’s call, we were off. Up the road and through the nature path we went, across the open field and back down into the trailhead we went to add the 1.2 miles we needed to make a marathon out of the 25 mile loop. Along the way Josh hit his head on a low lying branch in what would become a theme throughout the course, well, low lying branches was the theme thankfully not hitting our head. After we dove into the trail we almost immediately headed to Saunders Mound where we were treated to some of the coolest views of the lake and the dam shrouded in fog. Up and down we went then back into the trail.

Kansas isn’t the most scenic of states, we don’t have oceans or mountains or vistas that belong on postcards. We do have some gems though. To me at least, and I am writing this so my opinion wins, the Red Trail at Clinton is one of those gems. When you catch it at the right time as we did, you could stop and just take in the scenery. It is a rocky outcropping that runs right on the lake beach, slap some layers of fog, some cranes in the water, sun rising, you have stuff that pictures are made of. Unfortunately I suck at taking pictures and was kind of in the middle of a race, so I left the photo ops to the pros (Mile90) and kept on going. It was already becoming a special day.

Onward we went, continuously trading places with dog, and his owner. We were moving well, but not too fast, consistent I guess. We were running most of the time, walking the larger uphills, and generally swearing at the point rocks as appropriate. The day was getting warm enough that gloves and long sleeves weren’t necessary anymore so we were waiting to shed them at the next aid station. Through the branch hut we went and were on our way to Bunker hill to hit the aid station. As a side note, I LOVE the branch hut. It’s so random, a hut made out of large branches right there on-trail that you run through for no other reason than be there and probably house terror-spiders when it is really warm out. Well, on second thought that is probably why it is there, people trap. Alas, we weren’t dinner today, but I digress. Into the aid station we got.

I love this aid station. It has the best volunteer ever. She takes care of everyone without flinching, hugs all us sweaty folks, isn’t afraid of sweaty packs and gnarly clothing. However, if you are not paying attention to your nutrition or are loitering, she will tell you to get a d!@# move on. She’s the best. Out of West Edge we go, on to Bunker Hill and another one of the majestic Kansas views. Bunker hill is, shockingly enough, a hill. Who knew? However it is out in the open, outside of the trail, run through grassy field. As you weave your way up and down up and down again there is an amazing view of the lake behind you and this morning was no different. Also, Bunker hill has a bunker, because why name a feature Bunker Hill if it has neither. As you come down the hill, you see it, just right there, a door, leading to who knows what? It’s probably Narnia. Anyways, back to West Edge and another refill and a few snacks and onward we go back into the trail.

We were still feeling pretty good but this trail is back loaded and the hills and more angry pointy rocks awaited us, as well as the ever present huge dog dragging and his running mate. This part of the trail has a lot less interesting bits and requires a bit more determination. We kept going and going and going and started slowing down. This is where we needed to remember that this was still training and not a race for us. We did, we walked when necessary, spirits were good, we passed stairs that we have to run up when we did North Shore last year (I hate those stairs to this day). We passed the spot where I fell last year (and had a conversation about no one being around to see falls and getting back up?). We starting ticking off locations that I knew were drawing us closer to finish line. It was here I started to A) hurt more and B) smile more, at least internally. We were getting close and this just made me happy.

About 3 miles out I started walking. I was definitely feeling it and didn’t really want to strain too much as this we still all about being ready for Flatrock, however, we took it in stride and kept on talking and being in generally good mood, how could we not be? We got passed by the big dog for the last time and a few others came by. We came up on the road that we skirt by and talked to the volunteers there for a second who loved the OrangeMud packs and loved our VP2 vest (shameless plug). We were a mile away or so at that point, getting closer to the end. We got passed by the big dog for the last time, which meant it was about time to run it in. We got moving again, and surprisingly a lot of my hurt had went away. I am not sure if it was just the walk or being so close to the end or what but it felt good to run again.

Lumbering, we came out of the woods, followed the tree line by the playground, took a right turn and ran right up to the table and digital clock. There, Danny was waiting, medals in hand, asking us how we felt. This time I said something about the wonderful weather, he remarked it was better than last year and I agreed. I moved past and eyed the food hungrily. This year it was not a teary moment, not a moment for self-reflection. It was… a victory. I finished, did what I needed to do, and got my mojo back. It felt amazing, but more so it felt like I was ready for more. I didn’t run the race any faster (or really any slower) than last year but I felt so much better. After a quick burger and some fruit it was time to go home and play with the kids. That was it, the most beautiful of training runs, it was an amazing day that will hopefully lead to another in Independence.

 P.S. - The AMAZING photographers at Mile90 took all these awesome pics. Check them out, they are awesome people and take the best race pics in my opinion and experience.

P.P.S - Massive thanks to all the people who helped make the race awesome. The Lawrence Trail Hawks for being awesome hosts,  all the phenomenal volunteers taking care of the sweaty folk coming through, Orange Mud for keeping me hydrated, Skora for keeping me moving forward, Injinji for keeping my toes happy, Tailwind for making hydration easy and tasty, Honey Stinger Waffles for being delicious, and BioSkin for the recovery.

Cross Timbers Trail Marathon Recap - DNF

D-N-F, Did Not Finish, 3 letters that runners despise.  Up until Valentine’s Day weekend they were letters that I knew existed, but had not experienced put together as a runner. They were mythical, mysterious, dreaded, like zombies and unicorns. Things that happened to other people.  I had contemplated them, like my first trail race, but not allowed them in. Like door to door salesmen, they were banned from entering and thus, they couldn’t get me to buy into their scheme. Unfortunately, one snuck past the goalie in this case and there really wasn’t a whole lot I could do about it.

I have bad luck, well, more bad timing. Last year saw snowstorms cut short a race trip, ran a half on the hottest day ever (roughly), and had a clan full of super-sick before a marathon. Apparently just the challenge of the race isn’t enough, I must do it with a big sack of life on my back. This race, The Cross Timbers Trail Marathon, was no exception. I had been fighting knee soreness the last month or two and so I eased into training. I wasn’t quite where I wanted to be, but wasn’t completely unprepared. That was the small problem. The large problem came about a week before the time to travel. Kids got really sick, which meant that a few days before it was time to leave I got really sick. Luckily it was one of those in and out in 24 hours, drive through flu type sicknesses. But the damage was done. I drudged myself down to Texas, still reeling a bit.

I can be a pretty stubborn guy. If you tell me I cannot do something, I am probably going to try. I am strongly adverse to quitting or giving up. I think this tends to be a necessary trait for runners. Mrs. Squatch said I should have stayed home, and she was probably right, but I didn’t. So when race day morning came, I wasn’t quite sure what the day had in store for me. I didn’t have quite the same nervous excitement. It was more, anxious dread. I knew at BEST it was going to be very difficult day, and at worse, a DNF was in play. But again, my own head was telling me I may not be able to do this so I needed to try it. Besides, I didn’t drive 500 mi to go even lower and get a DNS (Did Not Start) right?  Off we went to the race, very early in the morning, mostly me in my own head wondering if I had enough in me to do this.

I am going to start with the bad part of the race first and get it out of the way. I felt so much better Sat. morning illness wise. It was basically gone. However I still had some lingering, disruptions. I wasn’t eating as well as I had hoped/needed to be. When I got to the tent to get much bib, I seriously contemplated asking if I could drop to the half (in hindsight this would have been 100% the correct call). I didn’t, I wanted the full or nothing because stubborn. I got my bib and pinned it on and waited. Time soon came and off we went. This is a new trail to me, so I was rather cautious to not go too fast not knowing what all was in store for me other than the general reports/terrain map. It was not easy. It wasn’t by any stretch brutal or impassable, just more challenging than I had though. That really wasn’t a big deal as I wasn’t setting a blistering pace or anything. What really started nagging on me by about mile 3 was that I had no energy what so ever. Everything felt absolutely dead. I felt like I had finished running a marathon and was starting a new one.  This was very disconcerting to me. What was compounding the issue was that I was still having trouble eating. It was around mile 9 that I decided to pull the plug and withdraw. I wasn’t necessarily broken at that point, I wasn’t in acute pain, and I wasn’t violently ill, I just knew that things were deteriorating rapidly and I was putting myself in a bit of danger. Out I went, back to the tent, phone call to my dad to get me, and some real disappointment and lament. My first DNF.

 

This is actually from the Ft. Worth Nature Conservancy Trail we hiked the next day. It was pretty though. 

It wasn’t a total loss though. Now, on to the good stuff. First of all, I did 9 tough miles on what was at that point, basically a shell of myself. Could I have done more, probably, could it have damaged me, probably. I made a decision to protect myself and I was proud I wasn’t too stubborn for my own health and safety. Another reason I made my decision is due to the awesome terrain. There were lot of tricky ups and downs (for me, I mean, I am sure this would be considered a bunny course for them super gnarly trails) and some had decent drop offs to the side. I was getting really worn down and dragging my feet, which generally results in tripping. It’s one thing for this to happen on mile 20, but another at say mile 8. I didn’t want to injure myself, I have much bigger plans this year. So I was at least content with pulling out. Furthermore, I got to see 9 miles of an awesome trail. It was gorgeous. The lake at sunrise was worth the admission. It was misty/foggy out, really just one of those nature moments you soak in. The trail ran along the lake and had very nice views. It was tough enough to require attention be paid, but open in areas to soak it in. The sandy dirt was not super-tough, or super-slick where wet and muddy. The climbs were hard and had names. S.O.B. hill and Stairway to Heaven were aptly named. While not having gas in the tank, I had a lot of fun experiencing the trail. The aid stations were great as were the people in them. The one I stopped at to withdraw was awesome. They were playing catch and having fun until the next runners came, then right to action. They learned my name not just my number and took care of me, keeping my spirits up despite the situation. Plus, it sat right on the lake, so if I had to do the unwanted deed, it was at least a scenic place to do it and reflect for a few minutes.

 

Also the Nature Conservancy. I actually regret not getting more Cross Timbers pictures, it was gorgeous. 

In the end, I am glad I efforted, I am glad I tried. I hate DNF, very very much, but I understand it. I failed to do what I had set out, but perhaps I also was successful at recognizing what was happening and preventing something worse from happening.  It sucks that I was looking forward to this for so long and it didn’t pan out, but, there is always next year. I do need to come back and redeem myself, still stubborn after all. It was an amazing course with amazing people and I want the damn medal. I guess when I get there, it will be that much sweeter. Until then, I have a little motivational agitation.

Hawk100 Marathon (High Point)

I like to start my posts off with something funny or catching so that you, the reader, might actually hang around for another sentence or two. I am having a hard time starting this one off. I am quite literally that speechless about what I did on Saturday. In my previous post I stated I had signed up for back to back races. It was time to reap what I had sown.

 

Back to the North Shore trail around Lake Clinton in Lawrence for me. It wasn’t just the chill in the 5 AM air that had me shaking, I was nervous. The race the week before had shattered any semblance of confidence I had in what I was about to do.  I did take solace in knowing I learned a lot the week before. Eat, drink, pace yourself, be smart. I kept going over that in my head. I took time to go watch the ultra-runners take off for a little extra inspiration. Something about seeing the headlamps dive into the woods like a pack of fireflies was pretty awesome. After that, it was watching the sun rise over the lake that really started getting me amped and ready to go.  By the time we were lining up to start. I was anxious to get going. I felt ready.

This really has nothing to do with the race other than... JESUS LOOK AT THAT THING. I better run FAST lest I get eaten...

 

This race was completely different from the one before. First of all, the weather was amazing. We started in the low 50’s. A nice cool breeze blew for most of the day. Even at the end it as warm but not “I could catch fire if I trip and hit the ground” hot. It was awesome. As we took off the sun was rising, the mist was lifting, was really quite the sight to behold.

 

Aww that's just majestic, I bet it was fleeing that hellacious spider.

For me, cause of my terminal case of stupidity, it was imperative that I start in the back. This would keep my ability to go galloping forward to a minimum. The marathoners started with a little out and back loop through what looked like a nature preserve trail. Easy stuff, single file, CONGA LINE!!!! The group kept me in my place pretty well. Next up was Saunders Mound, a little uphill/downhill with a cool top and a cooler view. More conga line preventing my poor pacing decisions. Finally things started to open up and I had the opportunity to show my true colors and outrun myself. Lo and behold, I stayed put. I fell in behind a couple nice ladies that didn’t mind me stomping and clomping behind them (thank you). They were going about the right pace for me not to shoot myself in the foot. I should probably mention right now that my goal was under 6.5 hours. I had no idea what I should expect and I was rather skittish after the week before and it’s, um, horror?

 

My hands look weird cause I still had the creepy crawlies from that terror-spider.

So apparently I can be taught. I was running within myself. About 5 min of every hour was spent walking. The course wasn’t chock full of hills, so some time was just spent walking of my own volition. It was nice. It was peaceful, and what the course lacked in hills in made up for in good views. The shore line of the lake was magnificent. That was also the hardest part as far as rocks go. It was easy going honestly. I was gliding. It was about 11 miles in that I broke off from the people I was tailing. This was also one of the coolest parts of the course. It was circling up a hill with a bunker (or some structure) built in the side, hence the name bunker hill. At the top we could see across the whole lake/park area. It was exhilarating.

 

Bunker hill was sandwiched between rest stops. It should be mentioned that the Hawk had amazing aid stations. The food and drink were varied and plentiful. The people were amazing. I got my pack felt up one two occasions to make sure I wasn’t lying about my water situation. The best though was definitely the awesome lady who threatened to give me “angry mother eyes” if I wasn’t eating anything and that she would find me if I wasn’t telling the truth. Ahh, nothing says caring volunteers like motherly threats to eat. They knew me well.  

 

Coming out of those stops I was about 14 miles in. I felt good, I was pacing well. Then something happened that has never happened to me up til this point. I fell. I was cruising along thinking about lots of things and nothing at the same time when that ghost root snagged me. Down I went, leaving an offering of blood to the trail gods. But thankfully no one saw me so it never happened. Back on the move I went.  And on to the last Aid station.

 

I had been glancing at my watch from time to time, seeing how I was doing. I was pleased at my time relative to how I felt. Now here I was, about 5 miles from home and pacing well ahead of where I thought I would be. This was a jolt. I took off and ran and ran and ran. It was exhilarating. So exhilarating that when I came to the turn off to go cross the finish line I ran right past it. It wasn’t until I hit a volunteer about a third of a mile ahead that I realized what I had done and backtracked. Back to the turn, out and around the parking lot and down the finish line I streaked. It was…indescribable the feeling of crossing the finish line. The race director asked me how I liked it as he handed me my medal. “Incredible” was all I could think to say. I had done it, and in 5.5 hours no less.  This was a high point for me. First marathon completed and conquered the trail that whipped me the week before.  I even managed to play it relatively smart (minus the running right past the turnoff). 

It would appear the bright green repels SUV sized spider monsters. Well done Trail Hawks.