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SRRC Race Reports
JFK 50 Miler: Hagerstown, MD--November 19, 2005
by
Phil Holt
I trotted up the to the aid station. My fatigue was so deep that every step seemed to take conscious effort. My nose was running—I was probably fighting something off and starting to lose—and I was a little bit nauseated. It reminded me of what I read on a cross country team's shirts earlier in the day—“What you call punishment we call fun.” It was November 19, 2005, and here I was running my sixth JFK 50 Mile race.
JFK is always scheduled for the last Saturday before Thanksgiving. The race starts in downtown Boonesboro, MD (near Hagerstown) where the course lugs a couple of miles uphill to where it meets and follows about 14 miles of the Appalachian Trail, descends to the C&O Canal towpath for about 26 miles, then runs along paved county roads for the last 8 miles to the finish at the middle school in Williamsport, MD.
As I took a swig of Pepsi I turned around and saw Siva. He looked lost, which isn't easy because the towpath only gives you two choices of direction—the one you came from and the one you're going in. I got his attention, and he looked relieved. I could see in his eyes that he was glad he only had to run a couple miles back with me to where he started. As we began our trek toward Antietam Viaduct, I apologized to Siva that I wasn't my normal conversational self and didn't have much to say or talk about. He reassured me that it was okay by telling me that he liked me better this way anyway. I mentioned that I had seen Adam a little earlier and that he said “Hi” but kept running right past me. (It turned out later that the little distance he ran put him far enough behind us that I never did see him again that day.)
I was only about 20 miles into the race, and I already felt like I could
hardly go on. If you keep reading looking for a fancy diagnostic answer,
you'll be disappointed—for whatever reason I was out of energy before I even
left the Appalachian Trail. That stretch was particularly stressful this
year because our nice weather had left lots of leaves on the trail,
obscuring the roots and rocks and making it extremely slippery and
treacherous. At least rain would have washed most of the leaves out of the
way. I'm a bit of a trail sissy, and one of my goals each year is to make
through the trail portion of JFK without falling. By the time I was a dozen
miles into the race, I was beginning to feel weary, and the trail reared its
rocky head—I slipped on the rocks and began a slow-motion tuck and roll,
first into a tree, which broke the fall, then into the rocks, which knocked
the wind out of me. I got up and a continued running, checking myself to
make sure that nothing was broken or bleeding (much).
By the time I got off the Appalachian Trail, I was feeling tired and ached all over, but that usually fades as you make the transition to the tow-path. That wasn't the case for me this time. The tow-path was buried in several inches of dry leaves, which crackled and swished like radio interference between the footsteps and conversations. While this makes running a little more work, the only side-effect is that your feet get really dirty. When I changed shoes and socks at mile 28, my feet almost looked muddy from all the dust in the dry leaves. (In fact, my socks ended up with so many bits of leaves in them that I'm still finding debris in the dryer.)
Siva could tell that I was not having my best day, so he kept me company up to about mile 34, when he realized that he would have to run about six miles back to get to the car. His planned mileage for the day was about four or five miles. I think he ended up running about 15. By mile 38, I was feeling completely spent, but was relieved because that is the last major aid station on the tow-path. Just a few miles beyond that, the course switches to county roads, and the mile-markers begin their encouraging single digit countdown to the finish. I found my crew at the aid station and told them, “I'm so beat that I'm nauseated, my nose is running so badly that it's dripping on my shoes, and I'm ready to tell you my secret: I see tired people . . . everywhere.”
By the time I reached the paved road, I decided to walk the last eight
miles. I could do that and finish well before the cutoff. Then a funny thing
happened. After trudging up the long initial hill, I began to run the down
hill stretch that follows. I did a little bit of run/walking for about a
mile, and then found myself running continuously. I had no energy; my head
was deliriously void of coherent thought; I felt a little ill; but the
consistent progress of running felt like a relief. I had nothing left but my
optimism. As I passed the mile markers—5, 4, 3, 2, 1—it was all work, right
up to the last disoriented step across the finish line. But I'd finished
another JFK, learned more running lessons, and am looking forward to my
seventh next year. So here are the lessons I got from this year's race:
• When it isn’t your day, it isn’t your day.
• When it isn’t your day, you can still have a pretty good day.
• When you’re tired or struggling, having a friend to run with really
helps (thanks Siva).
• Nice weather isn’t always the best weather.
• Every mile is ultimately worth it, even if it doesn’t feel like it
at the time.
• Don’t be afraid to fall.
• If you fall, don’t be afraid to get up and keep going.
• Coke is better than Pepsi for calming your stomach.
• After 50 miles, beer tastes really, really good.
The SRRC would love to hear about your running, racing, or crewing experiences! If you would like to submit a race report, to be posted on the SRRC website, please email srrunner@srrunners.org.