Seneca Creek Marathon & 50k

Dictated by Joe:
Prelude: Friday night we marked the course from Riffleford to the Lake aid station. It was really neat walking this section slowly; we saw a raccoon and a lot of deer. We also discovered a beaver dam and a funny tree where the beaver had chewed through the trunk, only to have the tree catch on trees instead of falling and remained upright, chewed through the trunk again, and the tree stayed upright again.

Race Day: Woke up feeling like I had a long day ahead of me, just knowing I would have to attack it piece by piece. Lorrin said weather.com said it would be freezing cold all day, but the temp outside was around 40. I piled on the layers, ignored my creaky hip, and set off to go. On the bus ride to Damascus, Paul and I made a pact to run the marathon only, and not let our ambitions get the best of us. By the time we got to Damascus, the wind was really bitter and cold, but I could tell within the first few miles the weather would be much warmer than expected.

Paul and I ran together as the ladies took off. Paul had finished the tough Black Mountain marathon just last weekend and was taking it slow with me. The course was nice, the ground was not too muddy, and it was a very pleasant morning. Aside from the extra pounds of unnecessary layers, I had little to complain about. I thought about ditching my extra clothes at the road crossing and picking them up later but memories of Bull Run '06 made me keep them.

We were a little surprised there was no food at Brink. I had already eaten half a Clif bar waiting for the race to start, and I was glad I brought a pack-full of snacks, always thinking that I might need to be self-sufficient. (This is just a training run for bigger runs, isn't it?) Paul & I leapfrogged with Bob Yarchoan for a while. I replaced my missing half of a Clif bar at 355 and we pressed on.

Past 355, I noticed immediately how the trail markings became scarce and those that were there were surprising ill-tied and had fallen to the ground. I almost wandered into the woods lost a few times. But thankfully Paul, who with Mical had marked the course the prior evening, was there to guide me along. We went underneath the historic stone bridge and through the tulip poplar stand near the Isaac Walton league, a part of the course that always cheers me up. I also enjoy the laurel patch after the powerline on the way to Clopper lake.

At the lake we met Phil and Kim. I unloaded all my unnecessary clothing on Phil (Thanks Phil!) My pack felt 10 pounds lighter. They mentioned that Mical and Cathy were just 3 minutes ahead of us going around the lake. Paul got the grandiose idea of catching them, passing them, and winning the race. I said, 'Paul, you're crazy! We had a pact!' This went on for a minute or two and I finally talked him back to reality, saying 'You'll thank me!' as we started toward Riffleford.

The next section we could overhear fellow runners remarking on how well marked this section was, how each flagging was strategically positioned and well-tied. And it's true, never once did I feel at all concerned about my whereabouts. Paul called it a waste of ribbon, but he just doesn't get it. I pointed out the beaverdam and interesting tree to Paul.

We railed the Riffleford to 118 section, because I usually consider this one of the toughest sections we decided to just get it done with and kept up an almost unbroken pace to Germantown Road. The brisk running on flat ground made me feel the first chinks in the armor - my right hop flexor started to feel worn but I just kept going, hoping for some rest on the varied terrain after 118. Hope I don't pay for that later, I thought.

The next section we just kept going, up and down, resting on the uphills, doing what we could on the downhills, and trying our best to ignore the increasing quantity of peep signs. I guess my humor fails as my pain increases. On and on we went, past the mill, through the nice pines, and up to the fields. I love that section.

At 28 I filled up a little of water, felt a mad rush of people behind me, and someone shoved a peep under my nose that I tried to politely decline. I left Paul to decide his own peep-fate and walked away to eat some of the nut mix I was carrying. Took some salted honey potion and prepared for the next section. This part, like the Riffleford section, is a long and grueling test. Started out strong, I tried to visualize each part because I always leave a section out and it makes it seem unbelievably long. Thankfully I did this twice in the training runs, so it was relatively fresh in my mind.

About a third of the way through, Paul and I were treated to a sight that made Paul later remark 'I didn't expect to see a full moon on this trip.' ... let's just say, people should try to get further off the trail if they need to expurgate their bowels.

Then about half-way through this section, the wheels were starting to shake loose and I took more honey and a nub of my Clif bar which kept me going a few more minutes. But the feeling kept coming back, stronger and stronger. Even the lovely cedar sections on the trail reroute were hard to appreciate. A dizzy, unco-ordinated feeling crept in. Finally we got to the field leading up to Berryville and I decided I needed something or I would not make it to the finish. So I took a salt pill and stumbled down to the Berryville aid station where I slumped in a chair, Hans-Dieter style. (but kept my pants on.)

Katie was there with encouraging words and gave me a cup of mountain dew and filled up my camelbak with just the right amount of water to get me to the end. With great effort I rose from the chair, said farewell, and walked toward the wall. I think Paul was with me, but I had tunnel vision, still in my daze so I couldn't be sure. Somehow I made it across the precarious stream crossing and felt my feet get wet. Feeling awful, I crept up the hill and heard Paul's annoyingly cheerful voice saying 'You can do it' or some nonsense, and he actually pushed me up a few steps. And that, I have to say, was my worst moment. Thanks Paul, for helping me through it.

At the top of the hill, my legs came back to me, just enough to start running again. We felt able to keep a good pace, the salt pill must have kicked in right around there and I was feeling good again, smelling the barn. The prospect of finishing for the first time became real, it was just a matter of time. We passed a mysterious empty growler tied to a tree. As we went toward River Road, some nice guy from Arlington tried to strike up a conversation but I didn't have it in me. We came to River Road, said hi to the cars, and started the home stretch. We crossed the finish in 5:47 - Paul was nice to let me go first.

From Route 28 on I had dreams of crossing the finish and collapsing onto my camelbak as a pillow, but when I crossed the line, I stumbled into a pile of horse manure and decided I could walk to a fallen tree and sit down instead. Talked to Mark Radan, Monica Bachman, and a few others and eventually made our way to the picnic.

Within 20 minutes, I dropped my hotdog when I saw Lorrin sauntering over with a crushing time of 6:05 for the 50k. Mark had a great 6:22 and Cathy, who had planned to do the marathon, stepped up to the 50k and finished with Mical at 6:32. But the surprise of the day was Angelo's return to distance running - he claimed he was going to quit even as early as 355 due to no training, but dug deep and finished the marathon in 7:17. Great job, everyone! And thanks to Mical & Paul for hosting a fun post-race pizza party.

Results are up on MCRRC