Botanical Gardens
6 miles 45 minutes
73 miles down, 20-27 to go this week.
Rushed into this run because, thanks to a text from Patrick, I remembered that the Avett Brothers were in Morgantown tonight; an event that I have tickets to. Legs couldn't have been more stale, but nothing that some quality music by the Avetts, can't fix! The NHL season also resumes tonight for the Minnesota Wild. Over the past half decade I have convinced myself that I am a member of that organization and love nothing more than the Wild. I have missed less games than most of the players' parents I would assume. Luckily we are playing in Edmonton tonight. It's fortunate because I should only miss the first period with the time zone difference, and Edmonton sucks so we should win. I will be up and at em again in the morning.
Last summer I set out west for my first trail marathon. Much like the Mohican 100 miler, I signed up for this race incredibly far out from the race and ended up suffering an injury that was so severe that I can't recall what it was. I ended up only getting to run three weeks leading into my travels. That was fine with me because I wasn't traveling out west to win a marathon; it was more of a vacation. I had never run more than a few twenty mile runs before this race and almost never ran on trails, but life changes on a dime sometimes. For some reason I just felt like a shake up in my training. That reason probably stems from loads of little events that led to me veering into a new realm of the running world.
Let me start off by saying that I enjoy nothing more than road trips; especially by myself. Almost everyone I have talked to can't believe that I traveled 60+ hours in a car that week by myself; said they couldn't do it. I understand. People probably can't travel alone for a long time for the same reason I can't travel alone with them. Bathroom breaks, picky eaters, tired of sitting in a car, bad taste in music, talk too much, don't talk enough, snoring, and whining are just a few of the reasons why I would never volunteer to travel with most people. I am the lowest maintenance person in the world when I need to be. Few bags of trail mix, coffee, and a bottle of water or Gatorade (also serves as my bathroom) is all I will take in on a day of traveling. You are sitting in a car all day, how hungry can you get? I will never stop for a bathroom break unless I am also getting gas. And once I get that feeling of having to go to the bathroom, I have max 200 miles before leaking. If there are more than 200 miles left on the tank I'm riding in, out comes the bottle. Peeing and driving sounds dangerous, but I have plenty of practice via texting and driving. I am no stranger to sleeping at rest stops, too. My HHR is just big enough to lay comfortably in the back once I put the seats down. I will typically have every blanket and pillow I own already back there; I've had better nights of sleep in my car than some hotels. Once in Minnesota I spent three straight nights sleeping in my car. Washed my hair and brushed my teeth in the bathroom of the welcome center right off of i90 on the Minnesota/Wisconsin border. But that's another story.
My trip to Wyoming was broken into two oddly even drives. The first day I drove 15 hours straight across i70 until I hit Kansas City. 15 hours on one highway may sound boring, but it's amazing to think about. I wasn't in a hurry, but I only made one stop that wasn't for gas. In Illinois I saw an exit advertising Lincoln's home; a sign that I have seen half a dozen times when driving to St. Louis or Oklahoma. I decided to get off and check it out. I enjoy US history and try to enjoy rest of the world's history. Once I got off the exit I checked for the little signs that tell you how far your desired fast food joints or gas stations are and in which direction. Lincoln's home had an arrow pointing right with a small 20 mi below it. In that moment, I had a new understanding on my true opinion of President Lincoln. "Eh, he wasn't that good of a president" I said and hopped back on the interstate. Now Clinton, I would have driven 20 miles to see him, or anything that has ever been a part of his life. I arrive in Kansas City and meet up with an old teammate from Oklahoma. My freshman and only semester in Norman, Kogel was the team captain and veteran (that's how I saw it at least). So getting to crash with him in his new pad in Kansas City, now graduated from OU, was amazing. He was easily my biggest role model while out west that fall. A fellow Twins fan, we played a few games of the newest MLB game on his xbox and called it a night. The next morning we attempted to run at the ass crack of dawn and it was hilarious to me. He was coming off of a stress fracture and I still can't remember my excuse for being in pathetic shape. I just remember that 5 or 6 mile run all but did me in. I left soon after the run and hopped in my car, laughing at the idea of running a marathon up and down the Teton Mountains in a couple of days.
i70 took me in again and introduced me to the state of Kansas. Prior to this trip I had driven through every state that borders Kansas, but somehow always missed all of it's greatness. I hated driving through Kansas for the same reason I hate running on treadmills. I feel like I'm getting nowhere. Also, I got pulled over twice in Kansas; they get a D for hospitality. The speed limit is 70 in Kansas. I was on the left of a semi and traveling 85 when I passed an officer. I was quite upset with myself because it's Kansas and you can literally see cops from a mile away. I quickly got over in the right lane, but the damage was done. Within minutes there was the three colors of freedom, red white and blue, flashing behind me. I pulled over, obviously, and had my license and registration in hand along with my quick, smartmouth responses ready. I was more mad at myself than him, but it's the American thing to do: take your anger out on someone that's just doing their job. Not once did he ask me how fast as was going, but he was all over me about not using my blinker to return to the right lane. Then he had to be a stupid cop with stupid questions.
"West Virginia? That's quite aways."
Bout 17 hours, yep.
"What brings you out here?"
Just trying to get to the Tetons for a race.
"THE TETONS!? Why would you drive all that way for a race"
...because that's where it is.
No one wants to talk to cops. I get back on the interstate and within twenty miles I am back in the left lane and going 85-90 again. I get back over into the right lane after passing a semi because I am not one of those idiots who drive in the left lane all day regardless of if there is anyone to pass. Sure enough as I get into the right lane, a state trooper is passing me, heading east. You would have Anyway, trooper switches from eastbound to Digembound and hauls ass after me. I look down and my speedometer is on 90. I pull over, prepare my "It's not reckless driving because there are no turns or cars and I am very capable of handling my car at such a speed, just like you are. You are no better at driving because you have a badge" speech that would do nothing but make sure I get slapped with a ticket. License and registration was still in my driver side door from the last officer. I hand it over and he just starts riding me about not using my blinker to get in the right lane; once again ignoring my obvious disregard for their joke of a speed limit. I am flabbergasted. I know it's a 'law' to use your blinker when switching lanes, but so is obeying the speed limit and not driving like a Quaker in the left lane. With only a few hundred miles until the Colorado border and back into the other 49 states that don't enforce the courtesy blinker law, I knew there wasn't enough time to start a new habit. What I learned about Kansas? You can drive as fast as you like, but you have to use your blinker or we will all die.
I feel like Colorado is imagined by outsiders as 100% beautiful. There are ski resorts, and mountains, and water, and hippies, and every annoying person from the eastern shore that needs to move west, as far as the eye can see. Well Colorado is the most eastern paradise, but the first hundred miles into Colorado from the east is a continuation of the midwest. Doesn't get more boring. And then you hit Denver, at 5 oclock. I have never driven across the country without hitting a major city at the worst time. Typically, it's Chicago. Thus, I hate Chicago. That night was my last night without my reservation in my Teton Valley Cabin so I called it a night between Cheyenne and Laramie; leaving a five-six hour drive all through Wyoming for the next day. On the first two days of driving I had a constant stream of music going through my car, but I did not listen to a single song that third day in Wyoming. It was mid-sixties all day, tasty air, and beautiful scenery. I rolled my window down and tried my best to convince myself that this was my new home. I enjoyed that drive so much that on any given day I would drive 25 hours just to take that 5 hour drive; especially once I got off of the i80 and headed north up a smaller highway. I quickly took the role of the drivers that so often irritate me. Trucks pulled into the left lane of a two lane/two way road, when traffic wasn't heading toward us and passed me every few miles. I didn't touch the speed limit because I was driving alongside the mountains and working my way toward Grand Teton. Unlike the entire midwest, there was finally something to see outside of the car.
I stayed in Driggs, Idaho. It was one of the many very small towns that rested in the Teton Valley. Driving into the valley was terrifying. For months leading up to that trip my steering wheel would shake every time I touched the brakes. To enter the valley you have to climb for miles up a 12% incline, and then head down the other side, just as steep. My steering wheel was beyond vibrating. It viciously shook and soon it felt like my entire car was shaking. I assumed either my car was going to disintegrate or I was about to travel back to 1955 and go to the Enchantment Under the Sea with my parents and Biff. Thankfully, my car stayed in one piece. Sadly, I am still not Marty McFly. The rest of my day wasn't eventful. I picked up my packet at the Dream Chasers running store, went to a local pub and ate some pasta, and just walked around the small town. It was beautiful. Only one stop light in the whole town; something about the vibe I got from everyone that I encountered was just unexplainable.
THE RACE
Before the race started I concluded that I would run trail races for the rest of my time. Just sitting around with complete strangers at six in the morning chatting about life was honestly a life changing event. In my previous world of running, you throw on your tough guy serious face and can't think about anything except executing the race plan. No talking to anyone, this isn't suppose to be fun, we are here on business. In this new reality everyone is sharing laughs and talking about how excited we were to spend a day up in the Tetons. I met this beautiful woman that I talked to for an hour before the race. She shared all of her race experiences and the cool places she has been and I confessed that I was a trail and marathon newbie. She'd run marathons all over for the past decades and assured me that I almost picked the most difficult first marathon. 'Be sure to walk a lot of the first four miles' she told me.
Up to this point I planned on running with some people, making friends and finishing middle of the pack. Just spend a day in the mountains. But when the air horn sounded it suddenly sunk in that I was in a race. I relapsed right back into my competitive mindset and bolted up the side of the mountain. We climbed over 2,000 feet in the first four miles, none of which I walked. I could now see no one behind me and sat in second place. Being at the top of Fred's Peak was the first time I have ever
From mile four to thirteen I maintained a huge lead over third place because not a step of those 9 miles were uphill or even; Plummeted downward. Now, halfway through the race, my competitive drive is still going strong, in my head. I had never started a race so unprepared or out of shape and there was only so much I could do with the quality of my fitness. Not to mention my first extended run at altitude. So I struggled harder over the next 13 miles than I hope to ever struggle again. I knew at the twenty mile mark we stopped just climbing and began hitting rolling hills. At nineteen miles I couldn't point out anything that had not given out on me. Legs- shot. Back- shot. Arms- shot. Head- slouched. I walked the majority of the 20th mile as you could see the top from a kilometer away. There sat an aid station that I was convinced was a mirage. 3rd and 4th placed stormed by me at probably a solid 2 miles per hour pace before I made it to 20. Once I got there I kept getting asked if I wanted to pull out. It's funny, there wasn't a muscle on me that wanted to continue, but I wasn't driving 30 hours to DNF. Plus the mountain had hurt me so bad that I took it personal at that point.
I crawled in, finishing 4th. The crowd applauded because I still beat nearly everyone, but I felt terrible. I will never forget the relief that came when I crossed the line; knowing that I didn't have to run anymore. A lady put my medal around my neck which almost sent me to the ground. A friend that I had made who passed me before the 20 mile mark extended his hands of Snake River Brewing Co beer. I took one of them and he kept the other one held up. 'Both for you'. I wobbled over to the table of snacks and grabbed the three chocolate snackpacks and a spoon before I laid down on the wooden step that led to a ski lift. I laid there for thirty minutes, coming in and out of consciousness it felt like. Finally I peeled myself off of the step, threw away the two bottles of beer and wiped the chocolate from my face; to this day I am not sure as to whether or not any of the pudding actually made it to my mouth. I then had a brand new problem; I was drunk. After dying several times over the course of a marathon, two 8% beers felt like 15 beers. Not only could I not drive the five miles back to my cabin, I couldn't find my car. I just now remembered what injury kept me out of training- IT band. I took my IT band strap off in my car and noticed that it had rubbed enough to strike blood behind my knee. After lying there in the back of my car, forcing a free burger down, I drove back to my cabin. Slept on the couch for a handful of hours and then set off for the local grocery store to refuel. That day I ate a half gallon of ice cream, bag of tater tots, bag of chicken nuggets, two boxes of kool aid jammers, a gallon of choco milk, and ordered a pizza that night to eat in the hot tub. I remember the cashier girl, had to be in high school, asked me if I was 8 years old when I checked out the same food a kid would buy if he was sent to get groceries. I told her that I am 8 at heart.
Here is a link to a short video slideshow of my trip out west.
OH, yeah the drive back. It sucked. No one wants to drive 30 hours to Morgantown. Drove 15 hours, slept in my car in Omaha and then drove back. It was so hard to drive from the greatest place you've been to a place that you don't particularly want to go to.
Tomorrow:
- Avett Brothers Show Recap
- Attempt to run again
- UNPREPARED MILE PREVIEW!
When a Dig'em hippie toes the line against a track thug..... *our future
ReplyDelete*I bleed because nature demands it *