Subject: Bull Run Run 50 Report 4/24/00 Date: Mon, 24 Apr 2000 09:18:02 -0400 From: "Mike Bouscaren" --------------------------------------------------------------------- The Bull Run Run 50 mile run was held for the 8th time on April 15, 2000, in Manassas Virginia, on the Bull Run-Occoquon Trail, within the 4000 acre park maintained by the Northern Virginia Regional Park Authority. This was my 1st 50 mile run. 275 runners started at 6:15 a.m. and 247 finished at various intervals between 6 hours 27 minutes and 13 hours (the time cut off) later. I had trained for the BRR 50 by running 2 50 kilometer (31.2 miles) road races in 1999, six months apart. I learned about the BRR 50 on the internet, along with much ultrarunning lore, information, and advice on many related websites (an ultramarathon is generally regarded as 50 miles or longer). From these internet sites. I followed the ultra training regimen served up by many experienced runners in order to prepare for the BRR 50. Here's an account of my experience: Arriving Friday afternoon for the Saturday morning run (I am one who can't honestly call it a race), I checked in at a hotel in Manassas and went straightaway to the Hemlock Campsite, to register and join in on the pre-run pasta feed. There, I saw some of the "gods" I'd taken advice and inspiration from on the web, to ramp up my training over the past few months. I met others deep in the ultra culture as well - the nicest and most genuine slice of life I've ever encountered . When I asked Gary about a possible bag drop (where I could leave things I might need like socks, snacks, energy powder, etc.) he said the BRR didn't offer such (I found out during the run that the aid stations had so much stuff I really didn't need a bag drop); but, "Since this is your first 50 miler - you must be anxious - why don't you ask Stan and Marge if they would help - they are running the aid station at mile 24.5 and mile 40." I went over and introduced myself to them, and without hesitation, Stan got right up from his dinner, took me out into the dark and into the parking lot to point out his van, under which he said I could leave my drop bag - he'd make sure it would be there at the aid station. In a matter of fact way, Stan told me Marge had just set a personal record for a 100 mile run the previous week. Many people I met had run 100's and much of the conversation during the early part of the run itself (before the energy to talk much had largely been spent) involved past ultra's completed or future plans for such. For me, this crowd was generally at a much higher level of running accomplishment than I'd ever witnessed (including the 9 marathons I've run and the 2 50 k's). For me, this was a crowd of running "gods". I found myself Saturday morning at 5:30 walking in the dark under a light rain toward the Hemlock mess hall, hopeful that a couple more cups of coffee would feed me just a bit more energy. Soon I toed the line and with a simple "GO" from Scott Mills the race director, all runners bumped off single file into the woods for what I had no idea lay ahead. Since I'd never before run long on a trail, and since the "gods" had told me BRR was a good first trail run, I expected it would be like the many road runs I'd completed over the years. Not so. Within the first 2 miles there were stream crossings, rock fields, fallen logs, and just a few straight-aways. The training advice I had digested included the necessity of walking say, 1 minute for every 5 minutes of running, to conserve energy. I had planned to run/walk from early on, but found the single file obstacle course didn't really offer the opportunity to control when to walk or run. In the cliche of sport, "The opposition dictated the pace of play." What's more, when the file of runners finally emerged onto a straight and open path, there was mud, of the slippery clay sort. And of course, roots and rocks underfoot, which called for eye attention (on roads, one can look ahead, or marvel at the sky, or sightsee). I fell down 3 times in the first 14 miles, each time avoiding faceplant with a double straight-arm catch of the ground; it went like this: left foot planted -right foot striding ahead - left toe catches a root, immobilizing left foot while the rest of self propels forward. These falls weren't too enervating, only my ankle muscles tore slightly with every entrapment. Trail runners, I gathered, pick up their feet more, while road runners are allowed an indulging shuffle, if it suits them. The mile 15.5 aid station was also the start location, so most of us had left stuff for ourselves in bags there - I changed socks (feet were already wet) and grabbed some gorp in a zip-lock bag, left my cap (drenched) in exchange for a bandana (I didn't realize how valuable it would be), and moved out. I figured I'd set my mind just into making Stan and Marge's 24.5 mile aid station, since this was about halfway, where I could take good measure of my condition, compared to how I felt after the many 25 mile training runs I'd taken to get ready for this. This is the "Mother Duck" part: for the third time, I caught up to a female runner, about 5'6" 140 lbs. She again had her following of 2 or 3 runners close behind, and they were chatting actively. For me, chatting and running are like walking and chewing gum for the physically challenged - I'm sort of a brief comment guy, if there's any talk at all; e.g., "Way to go" or "Good job." So both the catching up and the chatter made me want to pass by it all for some open sailing, as it were. This is when I took my 4th fall, tripping on a branch hidden in the leaves on the edge of the single path. Again, no big deal, the same straight-arm catch and same leg muscle pull, except this time I went for the "double toe jam" where both feet slam immovable objects, causing much toe pain and no small embarrassment in close view of the file of "ducks" chattering beside me. Part of the great pleasure of long distance running happens when your mind roams freely into the realm of the unconscious, hoisting from the depths of memory and imagination so many interesting deep sea creatures for consideration. After I recovered from the stumble and moved ahead into the more manageable solitude of the trail, I was able to check out my condition: ankle is o.k. but need another Advil - also take another 500mg salt tab, slurp some liquid energy fuel from my Camelback (this stuff is getting too ordinary !), and figure I'm almost at mile 24.5 and refreshment. Then my memory and imagination fish out the thought that this is the same woman who I passed miles ago, and I fell that time, too! Now the Mother Duck looms Freudian: in his life, Mike wants to break free of the controlling female but stumbles, nearly failing as he tries - Mike could fall in line behind like the other ducks (who are mere followers), but Mike's fate is pursue true independence (and nearly break his ankle attempting to do so!). How hard it is for Mike to find true independence - or worse, possibly Mike is destined never to find it! Stumble on, wandering mind! At mile 32 begins the "Do Loop" which has garnered much fanfare from race organizers and participants. I figure it's just harder - steeper hills, bigger streams, more obstacles underfoot - and I'm right. Since my longest run yet has been 31.2 miles, I'm in uncharted territory; still, all body parts are adequately moving, and I'm able to focus. I soon notice there are just 3 of us that I can see in the "Do Loop": a woman with 2 knee bands ahead by 50 to 10 yards (varies), a younger fellow in front of me, and me. But this is nothing like the "Mother Duck" scenario - for one thing, there's no talking; for another, this "Do Loop" requires a lot of concentration - any daydreaming could put an end to this run (ankle sprain being most feared) since the more tired we get the more we have to focus on the mechanics: foot placement, hydration, and now wonderfully, the new discovery of being able to wipe my face with the bandana - such a pleasing relief it is to clean off the salt and sweat and dust. This is the stuff of ultramarathoners, I think; out in the woods, into the 4th set of 10, willing this corpus along (it will go so long as you keep it hydrated and fed), what a man I am! Some new psychic energy helps put more lift in my stride. The aid station at mile 35 had grilled cheese sandwiches -mmm. Having sampled bananas, orange slices, potatoes, cantaloupe, fig newtons, gorp, pineapple, Gatorade, water, Mountain Dew, Coke, orange soda, some other electrolyte drink, and a couple of M&M's, I marveled at how some new little delight so elevated the spirit! Getting to mile 40 from 35 was key. There was yet another threesome in file: again a woman in front, an older guy (average age overall was 44!), and me. The focus needed - to avoid stumbling, to go down the ravines and walk up the other side, then summon the will to run again when the trail flattened out - reached near maximum. At one stream crossing, after I had passed the gentleman with a cheery (not gloating - there was never a sense of competing with anyone other than myself) pleasantry, I caught up to the girl (now it seemed): she said, startlingly, "My legs don't do stream crossings anymore," and plunged ankle deep while I gingerly skipped from rock top to rock top (dry) to the other side. Just that little sense of advantage allowed me to think I was doing relatively well, lifting my spirits yet again. I realized the energy from here on out would be the funny stuff of my imagination and my will. I then believed there was no doubt I would finish. There at mile 40 was Marge (of the 100 miler) and (glory !) chicken soup. This otherwise ordinary food never in my life tasted so good: I rationalized, 10 miles wasn't so much more - just first get to the next aid station - mile 44.5. I dropped my Camelback at mile 40 because I was sick of the taste of the energy fuel and thought I would benefit (if only mentally) from a lighter load. Cottonmouth arrived soon thereafter (it was the Coke, I think), but I soothed my condition with many facial swipes of that ol' red bandana - little things make such a difference ! My back and leg were cramping a bit, but I walked a little to forestall the gripping stoppers, and was able to move on. Coming upon the final major clay mud log step slop, I slipped sideways, catching myself with a sudden reactionary stabilizing move, which immediately sent the cramps into a condition of prominence: right side not functioning. Had to stop running and walk the cramps out. Came back through the soccer fields around 4 p.m., the same soccer fields we crossed from the other direction about 11 a.m., except there were different teams and players and parents and dogs watching, yet the same Dad voice still bellowing; "SHOOT" to some beleaguered and intimidated son or daughter. I thought, why don't you play your own game, Dad ? Going down a ravine after mile 44.5, I figured 3 things: there's just over 5 miles (even couch potatoes can run 5 miles), orange slices really do taste better after you've been running for almost 10 hours, and most importantly, "WATER IS SMARTER THAN PEOPLE." Why water is smarter than people: unlike people who may trip and stumble on obstacles along the path, water always takes the way of least resistance. If I was water, I'd never have fallen or misstepped or banged 3 or 4 toenails into terminal purple loss. Beginning now in this ravine and for the rest of the run, I'm going to run like water. On the BRR website there's a picture of the "ladder steps" leading to the last 1/2 mile of the run. I began to picture seeing them, knowing that after that was a green grass field, then gravel road, then the end. But first the trail had to turn up and out of the riverway toward the higher ground of the finish. By my watch I figured it should be just around the bend, just around the bend ... but there were just more rock fields and stream crossings. The fellow 200 yards behind started yelling, "Where's the turn up - did you miss it ?" causing me to entertain the thought that, after nearly 50 miles of running, now I might be lost. Then just around the bend (smile) there were the ladder steps. Away, doubt! As much as I really really wanted to run up those steps, it was all I could do to walk carefully to avoid the shuddering toe jam, methodically managing to crest the hill onto the green grassy field. It was but a quick jog to the finish, where Scott Mills, race director, greeted me with a handshake and congratulations. It was the most fulfilling 10 hours 39 minutes of continuous effort I've ever enjoyed. People ask, "Why do you run 50 miles ?" I knew before it was to test the limits of will against physical fatigue, to probe deeper wanderings of memory and imagination, when the body's complaints have yielded to a stronger power; but I found a new reason that day: for one glorious (and extended) moment, I too, could run with the gods.