Bernie's Report on the 2006 JFK 50 Mile Run
Dear folks,
Many of you have shared my journey over the last few months - ever since I got the crazy idea (thanks Sharon and Carol) of doing the the JFK 50. I had run only four marathons before this. It was a bit of reach. But it's taught me - a couple of things:
- There's very little we cannot do - including an ultra-marathon.
- Friends make it all better.
I later found out one of ther perks of ultramarathoning is you get to write a race report (thanks Clara). So I wanted to pass this along. And say thanks to all of you.
It's kind of long (so I apologize in advance.)
Bernie
DEDICATION
In every race there are people who run not the fastest, but the longest.
I'm a member of the Montgomery County First Time Marathon program- the Clean Sweepers. That's what we call ourselves because it sounds better than "Back of the Packers."
No matter the name, we are the folks bringing up the rear. For us time cutoffs mean something. They are real.
Long training runs take us all day. We wake up earlier than most runners. We finish later.
We are not natural athletes. We are people who decided one day we would like to try this thing called running. We thought we would just do one marathon "to say we did it." But we stuck around for more.
I have made dear friendships along the way. Friends who motivate me and I motivate them. We believe in each other — and carry each other. Each race. Each mile. Each step Today, I decided to go a little farther. 50 miles. And I dedicate this race to the Clean Sweepers.
THE NIGHT BEFORE
I sat down on my hotel bed in the Comfort Suites and pulled out two thick folders.
- Articles on ultra marathons,
- Excel pace sheets
- Emails on nutrition, course maps, training schedules,
- Course instructions, directions to the start, Do's and Don't lists
- Last minute notes from my coach Mike Broderick
"If the bone ain't showin' keep on goin'," I read from my notepad. That's what Mike told me the week before when we were discussing perseverance.
I studied the splits from the year before and knew that the odds of finishing the race diminish greatly if a runner doesn't make it to an aid station called Weaverton within 4 hours and 45 minutes (even though the official time cut off is 5hr 30min). I knew that the race comes down to the stretch between Weaverton and another race point- Snyder's.
These are the most unforgiving time cutoffs. The race organizers give you more time in the beginning and the end, less so in the middle.
I laid out my clothes for the next morning. My bib number 1255 pinned to my running shirt, running shorts, gloves, hat and watch. Check.
In my water fanny pack I had gels, sports beans, a baggie full of white and red pills — Advil, salt tabs, the just-in-case-toilet paper. Band-aids. A mini-flask of Perpetum powder that would be my "lunch". And my head-lamp.
I was staying in a hotel about 15 minutes from where the race start and was asleep by 9:30pm. A surprise — given that I expected almost no sleep the night before.
RACE DAY
At 2:55am- 5 minutes before the three alarms I set would go off- I opened my eyes. I felt invigorated. Worry was replaced with calm. Fear with excitement.
The only time I remember feeling something remotely close to this was the morning of my college graduation.
I stayed in bed for that extra five minutes — stretched my legs upward — knowing I would be on them for 14 hours today. I said a silent prayer.
At 3:45am I loaded my gear into my car and drove to Boonsboro, Maryland high school. There were few cars on the rural roads at that hour. They were headed in the same direction.
I walked into the Boonsboro high school gym and immediately spotted other members of my running club. We were in the 5 am starting group.
The JFK-50 is divided into two groups. Those who will run it in 12 hours or less start at 7am.
Slower runners are given a 2 hour head start - a total of 14 hours. We all had to make the time cutoffs.
This race was different than other long races I've done. People running 26.2 miles have their names on their shirts. There are colorful characters: a guy dressed like a leprechaun and Tuxedo Man. Sometimes a juggler or two. This race had none of that.
But the mood was still light, a familiar camaraderie. We made a beeline for the bathroom- the last time for hours that anyone of us would use a "real toilet."
Everyone was friendly. Either misery loves company or more likely we were all still half asleep and our brains had not fully tallied what we were about to put our bodies through.
We walked a short distance to the starting line and then a pop. And we were off.
THE RACE
The other runners and I started a slow jog. Most of them quickly outpaced me.
I silently chanted my mantra: "run your own race, run your own race."
There was a narrow band that I had to stick to: Run too fast and I wouldn't have my legs for the end of the race. Run too slow and I would miss the time cutoffs.
I divided the race into three legs. It's the only way I know how to tackle a long distance. Chop it into pieces. Focus only on the task in front of me. Don't think in terms of overall miles.
- 15.5 miles mostly on rocky Appalachian trail (the AT was the warm-up)
- 26 miles of flat C&O Canal towpath
- another 8 miles or so to finish
The first two and half miles are on paved roads-— straight up, climbing the side of Braddock Mountain.
I power-walked up, staying close to a woman named Kitsy who was about my pace.
Someone remarked, "She's the 13-hour pacer."
Stick with the pros, I thought.
We chatted a bit and I asked her as I had asked other JFK veterans in the weeks before, "What's the most important thing to know about this race?" She said, "Be careful on the trail."
THE TRAIL
Kitsy and I parted company as we entered the trail. The Trail. It's so hard to fully explain to people what this section of the race is like. You jog when you can — but each time your foot hits the ground you worry it will hit a loose rock that could be the end of your 7 months of training.
Leaves littered the ground.
And we were doing this in the dark with headlamps and flashlights. It was like the Blair Witch Project with all our light beams bouncing around on the ground as we headed into the woods. What a sight we must have been.
The AT in many ways is a form of moving meditation. You have to concentrate at all times. I reminded myself: "Be in the moment, be present." The second my mind started to wander — I would stub my toe, or hit a rock in a funny way that reminded my all it took was one mistake.
There's a section of the AT that's a hill- the steepest in the entire race. It goes on for about half a mile.
My coach Mike told me during training to get on a treadmill and crank it all the way up to incline 15 the highest it would go. This was that steep.
It's the only time in the race where a flicker of doubt entered my mind. I was huffing and puffing (walking up the hill) And I was only 5 miles in.
THE MIRACLE
In every long race I believe you find a small miracle if you look for it — a moment of sheer wonder that seems to come out of the middle of nowhere.
I had just made it to the top of the long climb. My legs tired, thoughts of uncertainty starting to batter around my head when I heard a faint — but clear enough sound...
... allelujah ... Allelujah ...ALLLELUJAH! ...
It was music and it was getting louder. The sun was not up yet, but the sky was getting lighter and on the horizon was a ribbon of pink. We were high enough up that you could see poking through the trees where the sun would come up.
A couple had posted themselves at the top. They were the only "spectators" around. Good souls. They lit the trail with a few lights and had music to lift our sprits.
I thought about all the warm thoughts and prayers my friends and family were sending my way. And I never doubted again during the race.
Nearing the end of the AT is a series of infamous switchbacks where the runners come off Weaverton Cliffs. Around this time, I heard the pitter patter of feet behind me. They were the elite runners who started at 7am and caught up to us 5am-ers. I let them pass on the left.
I was carefully picking my way over the trail. They were sprinting. They glided over the rocky surface like deer.
I marveled and thought they could probably walk on water the same way.
More than a dozen passed me, including the Naval Academy team runners.
It occurred to me these guys would cross the finish line, eat, shower, drive back to Annapolis and I'll still have another four hours of running to go. I was in good company.
IT TAKES A VILLAGE
Coming off the AT I heard the cheers of the spectators. It was 9:17am. 15.5 miles down.
I had to change out of my trail shoes to my running shoes. A running club member named Jim was the support crew for me and three other early birds. He had my "drop bag." Inside were my shoes, extra fuel supplies even an ace bandage if I needed it.
While I had spoken to Jim several times by email, I had never laid eyes on him before.
He was on the sidelines and had a blue sign — like something you would see in an airport — with our team's name on it.
It struck me as funny. Here I am, a planner- who had built in an unplanned moment - giving my running shoes to someone who I had never met.
Jim was great. He helped me switch shoes, replenish my sports gels and I was off.
The next 26 miles are flat on the C&O Canal towpath.
As I started down the towpath the saying "it takes a village to raise a child" popped into my head. Except in my case it was "it takes a village to get me to the 50 mile finish line."
I had a village, or close to it. Looking back I think I was the luckiest runner out there. I had Jim crewing and I had (blush) 8 people helping me get through the race.
From the moment I got off the AT to the finish, some 35 miles, I was almost never alone.
Sandra and Michelle, two friends from my running club, met me at the start of the towpath. They refilled my water bottles at the aid station so I didn't have to stop.
They started me off on my 8's and 2's. 8 minute run, 2 minute walk — and made sure I was fully stocked with any supplies I might need.
Four miles down the towpath- two more friends, James and Ewa, who do triathlons met me on their bikes.
They entertained me- giving me a review of the new James Bond movie. We had an interesting discussion on nutrition and Hammer gels. We talked about how Ewa wants to do an Ironman in Wisconsin next year.
The river on my left, my friends on my right, the miles ticked away until we got to Antietam aid station. 27.1 miles into the race. It was here I saw Sharon who gave me a big hug.
Sharon was waiting for her daughter Jenny, one of the 7am faster starters. It was nice to see Sharon's beautiful beaming smile.
She's my role model. At 60 she gave up smoking and took up marathon running. Last year Sharon made it 38 miles on the same course before getting snagged by a time cutoff. She missed it by a few minutes.
I also picked up two more friends at Antietam: Laura and Quinton – my third shift.
This was the most challenging part of the race to beat the clock. As far as I'm concerned this was the race.
The stretch from miles 27.1 to 34.4, Antietam to Snyder's.
If you crunch the numbers it really comes down to Snyder's. Make it there before the time cutoff and I knew I would finish the race.
I told Quinton ahead of time, "No matter how much I whine, complain, cry don't let me stop or slow down.
True to his word, Quinton was the timekeeper. I was still doing 8's and 2's and I would ask him, "Is it 8 minutes yet? Can I walk now?" "Not yet," he repeatedly told me.
We did this for most of 11 miles. Laura kept me upbeat, filling my water bottles at aid stations, so I didn't have to stop. Quinton gave me a back and neck massage while I kept running.
I was at the point where I had gone farther than I ever had in my life, hitting 30 miles. The strange thing is that I was so detached from time and distance- that when a fellow runner passed and said, "good morning," I considered — is it still morning? All I knew is that is was daylight out. It could have been 10am, noon, or 3pm.
A few miles down, I heard a familiar voice behind me. It was Mike- my coach who was also running the JFK-50.
I knew this would happen at some point in the race. He's an elite runner.
If it weren't for a sprain, he would have passed me hours ago. Seeing him provided such a mental and emotional pick-up.
He's the guy who put together my training schedule, who answered all my questions, who taught me how to fuel (as opposed to eat), the one who I emailed the week before with a "help- I have a cold — what do I do??!" The one who months before when we met at a coffee shop — and I asked him "Do you think I can do this?" He said "Absolutely."
He walked with me for a couple of minutes — checking to make sure I was ok and giving me more words of encouragement. And then off he went surging ahead. Not bad for a guy running with a sprain.
Mile 34.4 – Snyder's– finally came up. This was it.
I knew that barring any catastrophe I would cross the finish line. I still had gas in my tank and fresh reinforcements. Quinton and Laura passed me along to Page and Carol, two other friends
For Page, Carol and me — this was coming full circle. I ran with both of them the final 13 miles of the Baltimore marathon in October. Now they were going to take me to the finish line of my first ultra marathon.
THE FINAL 8
At mile 42 the course leaves the C&O Canal towpath A runner named John warned me before weeks before the race- Mile 42 they got a little something for ya!
Yes, they did.
After miles and miles of flat towpath, there was a nice hill standing in the way of the finish line.
We tackled the last 8 miles. I had been popping Advil and salt tabs on the canal, but I could feel my legs fatiguing. I thought about all the training I had done in the previous months and pressed on.
The sun was setting now. It was getting harder to stay focused. My mood started to dip as it got darker. A strange feeling — knowing I started in the dark and I was finishing in the dark.
The final 8 miles have official mile markers (the only ones on the course). My mind was getting a little fuzzy, harder to think. Was that 6 more to go or four more to go? — it was harder to keep track.
Also food — Nothing sounded very appealing, although I knew I had to keep eating. A Styrofoam cup of broth helped.
As the sky dimmed- I thought about the months of training.
Riley's Rumble- a half marathon in the summer had prepared me for hills like these. I reflected on the morning when I woke up and ran from my house in Maryland through DC to Virginia- 26 miles. It was all coming down to this- the final stretch.
I considered pushing a little- but thought it wiser to keep this consistent pace rather than risk a muscle cramp or snapping something.
About three miles to the finish we saw two men — one older, one younger.
The elder runner (who turned out to be 62) was struggling leaning on the younger one. We asked if they were ok.
The young man said, "He's determined to finish, but he's struggling."
I told Carol that I was fine and she volunteered to run with the two of them- helping the fatigued runner continue moving forward.
THE FINAL MILE
Page and I marched onward. A third, fourth? wind kicked in and I saw the "1 mile" marker.
I ran that last mile. No more walk breaks needed. Most of it a blur. There were more cars. We were running near a highway. It was nighttime. I knew in a matter of minutes it would be over.
I wanted to savor the moment. My first ultra marathon.
"Round the corner and up the hill," Page told me.
I made the turn —People were lining the streets now.
The finish line was very near.
"Way to go runner!"
"Great job!" "Almost there!" Tears formed in my eyes. I saw flashing lights- heard a loudspeaker. I could see the finish.
My brain mentally calculated one slight incline and it's done.
My legs picked up the pace.
I couldn't believe it — after 50 miles I was in a full sprint to the finish line. A smile on my face. I crossed. 13:17:57.
(correlates: PhilosophicalBumpersticker, FeedingFrenzy, EternalInstant, ...)