Ken Swab's
Bull Run Run 50 Miler
April 10, 2010

"I'll have the goulash," I say after cousin Peter has selected zwiebelrostbraten (sirloin steak topped with crispy onions) at dinner at Cafe Berlin on Capitol Hill. I figure that the red cabbage that accompanies the beef morsels and spätzle won't wreak too much mischief on my digestive system at tomorrow's Bull Run Run 50 mile race, and the spätzle is the equivalent of pasta. At least it should do less damage than the sauerkraut that comes with the always tempting Wurstplatte. Peter's steak comes with potatoes rather than either cabbage or sauerkraut, part of the reason for his selection.

Together with our families, we have met up for dinner prior to both of our second BRRs. Last year the weather was unseasonably warm, and we both suffered from dehydration and stomach issues the last part of the race. While pasta, rather than German food, is the conventional meal choice of runners before a long race, I had success with German food before the 2008 JFK 50 Miler, and Café Berlin is conveniently located for all attending. Besides, it is a chance to carbo load with a beer or two before the race, and Peter and I, as well as the rest of the table, who will not be running with us, take advantage of the opportunity.

Up at about 4 a.m., I have no trouble driving out to Clifton VA where the race begins. It is still dark when I park, and another early arriver and I use a headlamp and flashlight to pick our way across some rocks to avoid stepping in the black water at the edge of a pond on the way to the start area. After getting my race packet, I meet Mark and Kate who are notorious early risers and who are surprised that I beat them there.

At exactly 6:30 a.m. the race starts and I hit the button on my phone to send a text to Emaad that the race is underway. I'm experimenting with carrying the phone to send messages along the way. It is a beautiful day, with temperatures in the 40s at the start that will climb into the upper 60s with little wind and clear skies. Usually I don't like the least bit of cold, but Kate and Mark convince me that I'll warm up soon enough, so I start with shorts, a long sleeve shirt and a hat. They are right, and I haven't gone even two miles before I take the hat off. Shortly thereafter I push up the sleeves of the shirt.

Just a couple of miles into the race and we are running through the bluebells that the race is known for. The low plants grow in profusion along the flat areas by Bull Run and the plants are heavy with their loads of aptly named flowers. At the first aid station I take a Succeed salt tablet in today's effort to ward off dehydration. I've resolved to take one at every aid station, but since I haven't used them to any great extent in the past, I'm not sure what effect they will have on my stomach.

The course goes out and back through more fields of bluebells, and upon returning to the aid station at Centerville Road at mile 11.6 I take another Succeed, along with a chocolate brownie, generously covered in chocolate icing.

By now I'm pretty much running with Mark and Kate, much as I did last year. And last year that may have contributed to my collapse – literally – in the last six miles of the race. I joke with them that I'm on another flight of 'Fly and Die Airlines' whose motto is, 'It isn't a question on whether we run out of fuel, only of when.' But I stay with them anyway.

And then the stomach passenger hits the call button. My stomach announces its presence. It doesn't have a very specific complaint, but it is letting me know that it is uncomfortable. Is it the Succeeds? Or the chocolate brownie? Or maybe last night's red cabbage? I don't know, but I try to reassure it to sit back and enjoy the flight, or at least to bear it, because we have a long way to go.

We pass through the Hemlock aid station at the start/finish. The stomach has quieted down, and I take another Succeed, but skip the overly chocolate items such as M&Ms for some Pringles and some cookies. Kate is faster through the aid stations than Tony Stewart at a NASCAR race and I barely have time to type the four characters ('16.6') of the text message to Emaad indicating where I am.

The Wolf Run aid station (mile 26.1) is famous for its imaginative themes and this year is no different, as the volunteers are attired as the characters from the Wizard of Oz. It is a good thing that we get through the aid station before we meet the Tin Man, fortunately without his ax, on the trail, or else we might have thought we were hallucinating, a sometime side effect of ultra running. One person had told of seeing a Chipotle while running in the woods, so a Tin Man would not have been surprising. And not long two large black horses come toward us, but they are not imaginary, as two women are out riding on the trail this day.

Kate and Mark repeat the aid station fly-throughs, and I have to hustle to catch up. Leaving the aid station at mile 28.1, I try to wipe my hand on a tree and manage to scratch a small puncture into the palm of my hand. As I catch them I hold the bloody hand up and ask, "I wonder how long before the rattlesnake venom affects my running?" While they know I'm kidding, a couple of other near-by runners take notice and I have to assure them that I'm only kidding.

Entering the 'Do Loop', a three mile loop at the south end of the course that signals the turn around back to the finish, we greet cousin Peter leaving the loop. He's three miles ahead at about mile 33 and is on his way to finishing in 10:29, more than 38 minutes faster than in 2009. Entering the loop I text Emaad the distance and the words "feel ok." But the loop takes something out of me, my knees are feeling sore and when I pass thru the aid station of the way back, I text 'tired' to Emaad. Fly and Die Airlines motto looks like it will be fulfilled.

This is the same stretch last year where the flight crashed and burned, and I'm concerned that I may be up for a repeat. But the end doesn't seem to come, and I stay with Mark and Kate up and down the hills that took their toll last year. Maybe the Succeeds are working! I've taken them at every aid station save one - nine in total.

Now, going down the last hill toward the final aid station, 44.5 miles into BRR, at the same place where Fly and Die Airlines crashed last year, something is different. I become aware that my knees are no longer achy and my quads are not sore. I feel as fresh as at the start. 'I have the power!' I yell. 'I have the power!'

Leaving the final aid station, I tell Mark and Kate that I'm going to go ahead. They tell me to go on. I make a stop at a Porta-potty by the soccer fields about a mile on and they catch me. Off I go and then have to stop to get a twig out of my shoe and they catch and pass me. But I'm passed the spot where I was down on the ground last year, and I've definitely picked up the pace and I'm by them in short order.

Now I'm even running up hills on which last year I had to stop every few steps to regain my strength. I'm passing runners. 'Come on,' I urge them, 'you can finish in under 11:30.' No great feat in a race in which the winner was finished five hours earlier (in a course record 6:09), but for those of us at the back of the pack, any source of motivation is worthwhile.

I feel great as I cross the finish line in 11:16, more than 1:13 faster than last year. I finish six minutes ahead of Mark and Kate, all of which came during those last four frantic, manic, fabulous miles at the end. They finish in 11:22, seventeen minutes ahead of their time last year. In all, a fine day for all, from the front of the pack, with new records for men, women, and men's super senior (60+) groups, and for those of ordinary talents.