My Top Ten Reasons for Running to Ruthenium

(or, how I learned to stop worrying and love the balm)

If you know of the Marathon Maniacs club and the various levels of ranking in the club, from one to ten stars, you may know of my interest in reaching the five-star, or “ruthenium,” level, which can be met by running marathons in three different states within a period of ten days. If you don’t know all this, chances are you don’t really give a crap anyway, but thanks for reading this far. I hope you will somehow enjoy this odd tale of how I set out to reach the level symbolized by this little-known and “rare transition metal belonging to the platinum group of the periodic table.” (See Wikipedia entry.)
The ideal opportunity presented itself this month, with the availability of three marathons within driving distance of my home: the Lower Potomac River Marathon in Piney Point, MD (March 11), the Rock ‘n Roll USA Marathon in DC (March 17), and the Yuengling Shamrock Marathon in Virginia Beach, VA (March 18). And why would one want to do this?

Reason No. 10: Because it’s there. There’s no requirement to have to fly all over the country to do these things, and when the stars properly align and simplify the logistics, you might as well go for it.

Reason No. 9: It’s my anniversary. Yes, I ran my first marathon 10 years ago this month (in one of the rare marathons run within the boundaries of DC), and it was time for a new challenge. Ok, that really had nothing to do with this whole thing, but it did turn out to be nice timing.

Reason No. 8: A chance to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day all weekend. If you were from Butte, Montana, or New York I suppose, you’d understand this perfectly. What it meant for running purposes, is that on March 17, the real St. Patrick’s Day, nearly everybody at the race was wearing green running shirts of some sort, adorned with the appropriate hats, tutus, socks, makeup, leprechaun beards, etc. And on March 18, in the official “Shamrock” race at Virginia Beach, everybody did it all over again, creating for me an International Date Line for St. Patrick’s Day. I must say people in both races looked pretty good. My contribution was to wear my Bighorn Mountain shirt, a sort-of lime green festive color.


Reason No. 7: No apologies needed for being slow. People will forgive you if you just complete the damn thing. In fact, my running friends were very supportive and e-mailed and tweeted me along the way with advice and encouragement. One of them, An, even showed up on his bike and rode with me along the Anacostia River and made sure I stayed relatively coherent. Of course, the pressure of being in the e-spotlight also added an element of performance anxiety, but probably all for the good.


Reason No. 6: See more of your neighborhood in a short time. I’ve seen more of the trails and back roads of metropolitan DC/MD/VA than I ever would have without having taken up this hobby. Kind of like that, these three marathons provided a pavement-level tour of lots of new ground: the beauties of the Piney Point and St. George Island, MD, area, the cultures of the diverse neighborhoods of DC (if you’ve only seen the Mall you haven’t seen it at all), and some rural outskirts and military bases outside Virginia Beach you’ll never see just hanging out on the ocean front.

Reason No. 5: That’s what I’m talking about. No two marathons are identical, and that’s all the more true for three. There’s simply more of the basic beauty of the race to experience by cramming the hassle and discomfort of multiple events into a short time. You’ll adjust to it. Here, I had Piney Point, a small-town marathon put on by marathoners, for marathoners. Person for person, head to head, it had one of the best running fields I’ve seen in a race (and the most Maniacs), with enough of a grace period to fit in runners like me. With great scenery to boot. Rock ‘n Roll DC brought to town the Competitor group’s well-oiled, big-time operation, and I freely give those folks a thumbs-up. There’s something to be said about being able to roll in the trucks, set up like Barnum and Bailey sets up the circus, recruit the local music talent, and get it on. Well done. And Shamrock, a more mid-sized race, has the tradition and local support and awesome venue to pull it off nicely in its own way. Find your own trifecta, and vive la difference.

Reason No. 4: Pain can really be temporary. There are such things as getting a second or third wind, or working out cramps by running through them, or starting an endurance event with long slow warm-ups. What else could explain having hip and foot pains going into the first marathon, or having a strong case of “marathon legs” after the second one, but feeling smoother and more comfortable during the third one? Or finding the “zone” at the end of the last marathon and enjoying the last mile more than I had run in the month previously? Maybe I’m kidding myself and just blocking things out, but it was truly surprising how well that third marathon went. That’s the way running is, right? Sometimes things come together when you’re least expecting it and you get to have your little moment of Zen. You’d never have the experience if you don’t give it a chance.

Reason No. 3: Certain things get prettier at closing time. That last finish line was great. Like at that first marathon, or ultra, but different.


Reason No. 2: Say goodbye to the post-marathon blues. You got no time to weep when there’s appointments to keep.

Reason No.1: It’s great preparation for a Quadzilla!

Running in the New Year

“Caution, runners: speed bumps ahead. Caution, runners: speed bumps ahead. . . .” And so went one of several recordings over the PA system, at both the half marathon and full marathon. I first thought this was a joke, but it became obvious they were serious. This was just another example of the detail put into the planning for the Disney World Marathon weekend. (Yes, the crowds at times got so compact you really could use a warning that the terrain underfoot was going to change.)

Running the “Goofy,” the combo of a Saturday half and a Sunday full at WDW, is becoming a New Year’s rite of passage for thousands of runners like me. It’s a natural time for runners to assess their plans and goals for the coming seasons – how did my races last year go; am I over those injuries; should I go for shorter races in the spring and focus on a fall marathon; work in an ultra; or do more marathons and add a “Marathon Maniac” star or two – so why not start the year with something a little challenging but that’s also a lot of fun? Part of the reason you’re a runner is you really don’t want to grow up anyway (right?), so you might as well go run at the ultimate place for acting like a kid. Then you can see how the races go and narrow down your plans for the coming year.

This was to be my second WDW Goofy weekend, and third overall WDW marathon. My son Toby and I flew to Orland Friday morning, Jan. 6, and checked in at the Wilderness Lodge, a great resort environment that emulates a big lodge built in a western national park. He got out his laptop and went to work on some school assignments while I caught a bus down to the opposite end of the WDW complex to the expo to pick up my bib, shirts, and goody bag. I noted that one advantage of the Goofy seems to be shorter lines to pick up your packet, which is pre-assembled with the shirt for the half (Donald), for the full (Mickey), and for the Goofy. And yes, I like the way the shirt quality has been upgraded from two years ago, the first time I “went Goofy.” I’m walking around the expo wearing the t-shirt of the WDW Radio Running Team -- to which I pledged a little money for its campaign in support of the Make-a-Wish Foundation which grants seriously ill children their wishes to travel to some place fun, like WDW -- and the host of WDW Radio, Lou Mongello, spots me in the shirt and graciously comes over to chat. Eventually back at the hotel, I decided it was too late to take in a park (thanks Delta, for altering our reservations and getting us in an hour later than planned), but the priority was to get in a good dinner anyway. I order the bottomless skillet meal at the hotel’s Whispering Canyon restaurant, full of barbeque and cornbread and the like, something that should guarantee a slow time at the next day’s half-marathon. (And it does.) Well, come on. There’s just no way I’m going to eat sensibly at Disney World. The good food opportunities are way too abundant and an integral part of my pre-travel planning.

I leave the hotel at 3:30 a.m. for the next day’s race, which is to account for a bus ride to Epcot, loosening up at the runner’s village/family reunion area, and walking nearly a mile to the corrals for a 5:30-something start. I find that I’m placed about two corrals back from where I should have been, so I spent the first few miles (still dark, but with sufficient lights on the road) running on the grassy island to move ahead of the rather slow crowd. I convince myself to take it in stride, since there’s nothing I can do about it other than keep moving, at my still-slow pace. The roads open up as we get closer to Magic Kingdom, and I enjoy the sights of the castle and other attractions still in the pre-dawn light. I see Lou and the WDW Radio support team on Main Street cheering us on with some welcome high fives.

It is light by the time we leave Magic Kingdom at about the half-way point and turn back to Epcot. The race goes rather quickly. It has the usual variety of on-course entertainment, including numerous photo-ops with costumed characters, and to celebrate the 15th anniversary it includes roadside videos of old Donald Duck cartoons. I think I enjoy the audio stuff more than anything, including a nice variety of music over the PA systems, high school marching bands (mostly playing in the first hour just off the dark roads), and a lively Gospel choir just before the finish.

The full marathon is similar, but has less Donald Duck and the added routes through Animal Kingdom and Hollywood Studios with the related sights and sounds those provide, including some birds and animals brought out by their handlers, and additional in-theme characters (like Safari Mickey and Minnie). I find that I don’t mind the rather desolate road stretch from mile 18 to 22, because the course always offers something different, and you know that this is only a temporary segment since Hollywood Studios, shortly followed by a return to Epcot, will not be far away. In the “desolate” section I encounter Joe Taricani, the host of the Marathon Show podcast, and he comes over to interview me “on air” when he sees my Maniacs singlet. We chat a couple minutes into his microphone, and I move on. (Later I listen to his show about the marathon, and apparently my interview ended up on the cutting room floor. A good thing for the show, I’m sure.) Even at my slow pace I was passing people almost the entire full, but I found it less of a bother than in the previous day’s half. I found that I was telling myself to settle back and enjoy the last few miles for a change, because you seldom get to have an experience like this. I again pass the Gospel choir and run past the finish line, then suddenly find myself clapping, just for everything. I’m happy with about a 10-minute improvement over the last Goofy, and with the fact that I feel fine and perfectly able to walk around the parks without much post-marathon dragging.

I later enjoy a great post-marathon dinner with Toby and some new and old friends at Boma, Flavors of Africa (again, all you can eat), my third time for such a dinner so it’s now a solid post-marathon tradition. (Thanks, Rebecca!) Toby and I enjoy more of the parks (I think he likes Epcot the best, which I probably do, too), and then we head home Tuesday. I find that I have plenty of ideas going through my head for 2012 and 2013 races, mostly non-Disney, but there’s certainly more Disney in my crystal ball. This year I turn 60, but so far have no plans to grow up.

Horning in on the Bighorns

"We too had lively times.”
Mattie Ross, True Grit

“What was your favorite part of the trip?”, I’ve been asked. I have tried to answer by referring to some of the most magnificent views from the beautiful Bighorn 50K trail run. But that doesn’t quite do it. If there’s one thing better than having a great experience in a marathon or ultra, it’s sharing the good times with a gang of your friends. So I think back about the jokes along the trail, the falls into the mud, the laughs at dinner. It was all part of one memorable experience.

I didn’t know it would turn out that way when I first started thinking about running the “Bighorn Mountain Wild and Scenic Trail Run,” about a year ago. I just knew it would be another fine race coupled with a visit to some of my many favorite spots in Montana. But when I mentioned the race at a party last fall in Bethesda, things started to happen. The next thing I knew there was a group of seven of us making our plans for Sheridan, WY, for the June 18 race. For the next several months we studied maps, trained on hills, and scheduled races as training runs. In my case, there was some step-back time as I nursed various sore extremities, particularly an aggravated tendon in my foot. But in sum, we did all the things runners usually do, albeit with a goal of preparing to handle 50K in decent fashion in altitudes up to 8,000 feet. It seemed a daunting task when you’re accustomed to the low altitudes of suburban D.C., but everybody was up for it.

One of my training races was the well-staged Salt Lake City Marathon in April, running at around 3,000-4,000 feet. This trip doubled as an excuse to visit my old childhood friend Dan, and his wife Marcia and his mother Marge, to experience their great hospitality and the best four days of home cooking you could hope for in any bed-and-breakfast. Maybe it was all due to that good eatin’ and pampering, but that race convinced me that I had nothing physically holding me back for Bighorn, so upon my return I resumed training as much as I sensibly could. And so it went.

We flew into Billings, MT, June 16, two days before the race -- Ken, Emaad, and I arriving on a noon flight, and Jennifer, Clay, Rebecca, and An arriving at midnight after stopping in Denver for storm delays. By then, we Three Amigos had already sampled some of Billings’ finest brews, and then had had supper with my high school classmate, Janet, enjoying the golf course view from her patio as golfers kept pounding the side of the house with wayward shots. (“Did I hit your house?” one golfer queried. “No,” Ken replied. “But this isn’t my house.”) On June 17 it was on to Sheridan, with a stop at Custer’s Last Stand at the Little Bighorn National Battlefield. This mysterious ground has had me spell-bound since I first visited it about 15 years ago, and I was delighted to see the Maryland gang take it in with interest. Ken had not only read up on this battle, but on Crazy Horse and several other battles of the Indian Wars in this area, and we had developed a list of about 10 potential sites to visit.

Post-race, some of us visited the site of the Fetterman Massacre and part of the old Bozeman Trail, but Ken’s energy level was down after spending two or three days with rather severe intestinal problems. He still managed to complete the 30K course, even in his electrolyte-depleted state. His excellent write-up in his blog describing the course and many of the other events is a must read. You can bet that he’s thinking he’s got to go back soon and do the 50 miler as originally planned.

I can never do justice to the scenery of this course through mere words, or mere digital photos. I would have to include somehow the sounds of the countless trickling and raging streams, fed by record-amounts of snow melt. But I could hardly describe the buttes, the forested hills, the view from the climb up The Haul, the fields of wildflowers, the trek through the field of birch trees, and craggy cliffs that looked like Easter Island figures and castles. Truly, I could scarcely blink for fear I would miss something. I was reminded of Meriwether Lewis’ journal entries about passing the White Cliffs of the Missouri Breaks of Montana: “As we passed on it seemed as if those seens of visionary enchantment would never have and end . . . .” Well, there was an end, and after 4,000 feet of descent the last five miles of flat road was a welcome relief for my tired legs and feet.

Dinner that night at a steakhouse was a major treat. With spent legs and reeling from exhaustion, we giddily exchanged stories from the race, as Jennifer and An ate their giant steaks that looked like they had come from the flanks of a Brontosaurus. Emaad and I talked about the many interesting characters running the 100-mile course, including "Yosemite Sam" and others who looked like they had just emerged from the Old Dutchman mine, and the two elven spirits, a pair of six-foot-tall women who we were convinced had just arrived from Middle Earth as they glided along the ground in their effortless trek to the end. Jennifer told us about the woman who unleashed a barrage of profanities when asked “Aren’t you glad we’re almost done.” Or the woman who was picking out her “next boyfriend” among the guys passing her on the trail.

Post-race, the Three Amigos spent time in Billings at Janet’s house, while the two couples went on to Yellowstone. Ken and I explored the sights of Billings, including the Pictograph Caves State Park. Janet arranged a nice happy hour gathering with several of our classmates from the great class of ‘70, and Ken was surprised that some women were still willing to admit having dated me back in the day. We had to put an end to that talk when we left to go to the Mustangs’ minor league baseball game, putting a fit end to a great trip. What’s next? I’m certainly wondering when I’ll be able to do this race again. I have a few more marathons in the next few months close by, the Disney World in January, and maybe work on another Maniac star next spring (requiring 3 states in 9 days). Next summer my priority will probably be to go back to the Missoula Marathon, and along the way catch a group 60th birthday celebration with my classmates now living in Billings. To be sure, I won’t be forgetting Bighorn for a long time, and I probably won’t be satisfied until I get back there. For now, many thanks to the gang for sharing this great trip with me.

Running in the Footprints of Bobby’s Oxfords: The JFK 50 Miler, November 20, 2010

I remember fifth grade pretty well. It was school year 1962-63, the year we lived in Mill Valley, Calif. The Giants indeed were giants, bigger than life to all school kids in Marin County. Living legends Mays, Marichal, McCovey, and Cepeda dispatched the hated L.A. Dodgers and took it to the last game of the Series with the Yankees. We got through the Cuban Missile Crisis, and President Kennedy, certainly among my young crowd, was more popular than ever. He continued to emphasize physical fitness, with backyard touch football games, and with his challenge to the military (and his staff) to complete 50-mile hikes, which quickly became a national fad. Politicians, high school students, Boy Scouts and congressional staffers all started getting into the act. I even remember a joke from the time: (Lewis and Clark came back from their big expedition out west and met with President Jefferson. “Mr. President,” said Lewis, “I’m all for physical fitness, but this 5,000 mile hike business is getting ridiculous!”)

And so it struck a chord a few years ago when I started running marathons and came to learn of something called the JFK 50 Miler, in Washington County, Md. It obviously had something to do with the old 50-mile hikes, but I didn't know just what until I read the web site material. I studied the route and could see its ties to Civil War sites, including the transcendently amazing Battle of Antietam. The race claims its pedigree back to March 1963, a few weeks after Bobby Kennedy walked 50 miles of the C & O Canal in his oxfords. (It’s now run in November, and sometimes coincides with the anniversary of JFK’s assassination.) People kept telling me that “if you can run a marathon you can finish JFK.” Several practice runs and now three JFK finishes later, I’ve become very fond of this remarkable territory. But I continue to wonder: what is the point of going to the expense, tedium, and discomfort of signing up for the race and doing 50 miles of it in one day?

Many people run JFK year after year, and many run it once and never again. My reason for signing up this year was largely ego. My two prior finishes, with the support of co-runners and crew, each took a little longer than 12 hours. My goal was to train better and improve that time: it didn’t really matter how much, just so it was down in the 11’s. I signed up in the July lottery and got accepted. It was clear this would be largely a personal quest, as none of my friends were signing up this time. Our Montgomery County Road Runners Club was starting its own 50 Miler on the beautiful Seneca Creek Trail, and many of the Club’s best trail runners were signing up for that. That was ok. I would get this JFK under my belt, improve my time, and probably be done with it.

Well, I lost some prime training time with an injury – a rolled ankle in early September and residual foot pain that kept me out of serious training for over a month. JFK was looking like money down the drain. And then I recovered. I found that I could run just fine, albeit slowly. So if I could just get in a couple marathons in the month before JFK, not only could I qualify for the four-star level in Marathon Maniacs (if you don’t know, don’t ask), but I might be able to get my legs semi-JFK ready for a shot at a somewhat respectable finish. Why not try, since I’m already signed up. And so it went: Niagara International Marathon on Oct. 24, and Marshall University Marathon on Nov. 7. Time now to get on the Internet and reserve my room at the Super 8 in Hagerstown, near the Nov. 19 race check in site.

I am in the 5:00 a.m. start – a nice handicap for the slower runners who then get a full 14 hours to finish -- so I leave my Super 8 a few minutes after 4:00 on race day and drive to the Boonsboro High School where the runners gather. I miss most of the “mandatory 4:15 pre-race briefing,” but I already know I’m supposed to run single file on the trails, not litter, etc. We walk about a mile to the downtown start, and I see on the bank sign that the temperature is about 34 degrees, about 15 degrees warmer than the last time I ran. People switch on headlamps and flashlights and we’re off. I have trouble getting my new GPS watch to lock onto satellites, at least until after we leave the skyscrapers of Boonsboro. We go up the now-familiar U.S. Alt. 40 to climb up to the South Mountain Inn, where we turn right and get on the rocky and cranky Appalachian Trial. New this time is chip timing, and the first timing mat is at the start of the trail, an odd thing to see in the woods.

The LED headlamps light up things quite well in near-pitch dark, and I enjoy getting on the trail. It’s a bit crowded for a while as people figure out their pace. The crowds thin out when we hit the fire road on the trail, a two-mile respite from having to dodge rocks and roots, but no break from the climbing. Then it’s back to the “real” trail. I start looking forward to the first signs of dawn at the top of the mountain, when it gets closer to 7:00, and you start seeing subtle pink sky off in the distance, growing brighter over time, and the trail gradually becomes more visible (and your headlamp becomes worthless). I reach the aide station at Gathland (part of the Battle of South Mountain) within my usual time, continue the hassle with the never-ending rocks, and eventually enter the switchback trail to come down the mountain. I compliment a woman on her nice race uniform, which she tells me she and her sister are wearing in the name of their brother, who loves the race but isn’t with them today. (Turns out he is on a hunting trip in Montana.) I am again amazed at seeing the leaders from the 7:00 a.m. start to pass me by on the switchbacks, admiring how fast they can run on such difficult terrain. I come off the mountain and see Ken Swab who graciously awaits with my drop bag with change of shirts, hat, and shoes. My feet are already starting to blister, caused I think by my “size-up” trail shoes which make my feet slip around on top of the hard surface of my orthotics as I cover the uneven terrain. When I change my shoes and socks I notice the top of my left foot is red, a little irritated I guess by the shoe when I twist and turn over some of the rocks I step on. (Note to self: do more training on the trails.) Anyway, the change of shoes feels great, and off I go. I pass the Weverton check-in station at my usual time of about 4:22 and head to the towpath for the next 26.3 miles, remnants of the C & O Canal on the right and might Potomac on the left.

This monotony can be as much a test of one’s sanity as it is physical prowess. This time my mental fitness was ok, but it was a physical grind. I had the strength to keep going, but no real “spring in the step,” so to speak. I dueled the rest of the way with the blisters and what turned out to be a bruising on top of the left foot that had started to swell up. Nothing was excruciating, but it was continually annoying. But I still enjoy the various landmarks on the trail that are becoming more familiar. I spot Harpers Ferry and its bridge, and later approach the Sheperdstown bridge and hear the crowds from the football stadium. I miss seeing Don Libes and his interactive aid station at Taylor’s Landing, but it was a lot to ask of him to keep coming back. I miss Coach Cathy who has moved away and no longer can organize our training runs and drop bags as she did in prior years (but I still remember her training tips). I notice a couple of our black MCRRC shirts made for prior JFK’s, so some of the club has turned out. The Reston Runners are out in force, more organized than ever, with nice matching drop bags with a sponsor’s name printed on them, arrayed together at specific aid stations.

Unofficially, I reach Antietam Aqueduct (27.1 miles) about 5 minutes slower than last time, Taylor’s Landing (38.5 miles), about 32 minutes slower than last time (bad patch there), and Dam #4, the last point on the Canal, about 30 minutes slower than last time.
I stop to take a picture of the dam, and a volunteer offers to take a picture of me, with the sun getting low in the sky. It’s obvious I wouldn’t be finishing anywhere near 5 p.m., and thus would be running well after dark, still wearing my sunglasses. (I’ll take them off before the finish line. No sense trying to look cool.) The last 8.4 miles, after leaving the towpath, are on rolling country roads, code words for “hilly”. If I could run all the downhills and walk briskly up the hills, I should be able to at least finish under 13 hours. My new Plan B. I soon get to enjoy the sunset, on my left, and the full moon rise, on my right, simultaneously. I have trouble keeping up Plan B, but pick it up as I get closer to the finish, at the usual Williamsport Middle School, managing a time of 12:56:36, about 50 minutes slower than last time. The road section was tough, but I’m happy as I cross the finish. But I’m never doing this #*(&^*!? race again. I enjoyed the catered burrito supper in the gym, and managed to limp into the shower for one of the last warm showers left in the pipes. I chat a little with a nice guy who I had seen wearing the shirt “The chemo is over, now it’s time to run.” He was talking about how much he enjoyed the race. Several times I thought about Coach Mike, who never even got to the chemo part. Yeah, I think I can handle a few blisters.

I took the last bus back to Boonsboro, where my car was parked, riding with a group of friendly Reston Runners, including one poor fellow who got pulled from the course because he wasn’t making the 14-hour cutoff.

My next few days were marked by sore feet and quads, and a morbid fear of stairs, but I’m fine by the following Saturday. Maybe I’ll reconsider that “never again” thing. After all, what goes around comes around in time. Mays and McCovey were in the parade celebrating the Giants’ Series victory this year. The White House is again preaching fitness. And the 50th JFK 50 Miler is only two years away.

Thanks for reading. You can click here for an interactive Google map of the course, with an option for Google Earth view if you like to play with that. Let me know if it doesn’t work.

Marshall University Marathon
November 7, 2010

This mania of marathon running works in strange ways. It would have made more sense to have made the 400-mile trip to Huntington, WV, in 1995 or 1996, when Montana, my alma mater, played Marshall in back-to-back years for the national I-AA football championship. But as much a football fan as I might be, that seemed too far to drive at the time, while now undertaking that 7-hour drive just to get in another marathon was no big deal. Especially when I needed more long training runs to prepare for the JFK 50 later in the month, or when it notched my ninth state in a year to move up to the four-star level of Marathon Maniacs.

I know that’s not very convincing, but there were other attractions as well. Aside from remembering Marshall as the team that Montana had to face two years in a row (winning and losing one), I had a vague recollection of reading during my first fall at college about the November 14, 1970, plane crash that killed virtually the whole Marshall football team and coaches as they returned from a game against East Carolina. I certainly remembered going with my daughter Natalie to see the 2006 movie, We Are Marshall, about the rebuilding of the team, and the community, after that event. I tend not to go to a lot of tear-jerker movies, but that one was pretty good, and I did think Matthew McConaughey did a nice job (if not a little too cute) as the new coach. (Natalie seemed to think he was very good.) It was a compelling story, and I was curious to see where it all happened. Having now been there, I can say the town has never forgotten for a moment that bit of history. There are memorials, plaques, renamed streets, and, soon, the 40th anniversary.

The drive through beautiful western Maryland and West Virginia on the day before the race got me on time to the packet pickup and pasta dinner (included in the race fee), all held in the school’s big new recreation center across the street from the football stadium, where the finish would be. There was no parking left at the stadium, because it was taken up by the participants in a big state-wide “battle of the bands” (marching bands, that is), but downtown parking was available, just as it was the next morning when I drove in from my motel in the still-dark, West Virginia morning, after scraping the frost from my windows, to the start area about three blocks from the stadium. It was a beautiful, crisp, fall morning all around.

The marathon was sponsored by HealthyHuntington.org, Inc., an organization formed to bring healthier habits to an area that evidently has lagged behind in several health indexes. The runners, of course, were the usual very fit people, most of whom left me well behind. The course was one of the more complicated routes I’ve run. By the map generated by my new Timex GPS watch I never got off course, but there were moments when I wasn’t so sure, even though course marshals were usually within sight of the turns. The course had out-and-back loops both east and west of the stadium on the city’s broad avenues, alternating with two loops headed south a few blocks and then by and on sections of the city’s pretty Ritter Park. About three miles of the park trails were soft crushed gravel, and everything else was the usual asphalt and concrete of a typical city. Although the east and west routes were parallel to the Ohio River, we had but minimal views of that great river.

My running tights had no pockets, and I forgot my waist pack, so I could bring along but one gel packet, crammed into a small shirt pocket, but I thought that would be all right. Well, I did get pretty starved for energy as the race went on since the course aid was limited to water and Gatorade, but no gels or other snacks. Good for the diet, I guess. The other runners were particularly friendly, and I chatted with several other Maniacs, all from out of state as far as I could tell.

You knew the finish was getting close as you entered the campus and saw flowers on the ground, dropped by some of the runners who tried to grab them from a volunteer to place by the memorial fountain as they ran by. The flowers were all taken by the time I got there, but I stopped at the fountain and picked up one from the collection basket and placed it on the ledge of the fountain. Then came THE BIG EVENT: getting tossed a football as you entered the stadium, and then heading down to the other end of the field to make a u-turn and run up the field to score a touchdown at the finish line. (“Did you spike the ball? Do a Lambeau Leap into the stands?” a co-worker wanted to know on Monday. “Yeah, except I was penalized for excessive celebration.”) After enjoying the post-race junk food and drinks on the tables on the sideline I limped slowly up the ramp out the side of the stadium, where I encountered four or five football players in gym clothes on their way to work out in the team gym just next to the field. They looked at me as if they were wondering why I was limping, and in turn I was wondering why they weren’t limping, knowing they had just played a game the day before. (Maybe these guys didn’t get that much playing time.)

Soon it was back on the Interstate for my seven-hour trek home. I stopped a couple times to eat, refuel the car, and, finally, change out of my running tights. I was in a bit of a hurry to get in at least a few hours on the road before the early sundown now that we were off Daylight Savings. I found that I had a lot to think about during the drive home, going over the race and the whole experience of my short visit, and the trip went relatively fast and smoothly, considering the normal post-race aches and cramps.

Did the effort do the job in terms of preparing for the upcoming ultra? I didn’t run well or feel very strong during the race (similar to how I felt at Niagara two weeks ago), but I’ll take it as a positive. I recovered enough to run five miles the next day in relative comfort, and at least I’ve got nice memories from the event. I saw a lot of beautiful country along the way, and I clearly see more West Virginia races in my future.

Merci Canada

“Eventually all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world’s great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of words are theirs. I am haunted by waters.” Norman Maclean.

You could indeed be haunted by waters, in the Niagara Falls International Marathon, as you run 20 miles downstream, the Niagara River usually in view, on your right. I haven’t run a race so far along a single stream since my last JFK 50 Miler two years ago, with its marathon-length section along the Potomac (usually in view, on your left). You have plenty of time to think while spending hours along side something that continually moves, yet doesn't really change. It's indeed a kind of haunting, but it’s a good haunting, and I do recommend it, if you think it might be for you.

I first looked into this race while considering dates to visit my daughter Natalie, who has started graduate school in Buffalo. Late October seemed a good time for both, and this race boasted of many positive reviews, and I thus began looking forward to a nice visit with Natalie (while taking care not to interfere with her study time). It indeed was a nice visit, albeit somewhat short. I also had the fortune of connecting with my long-time friend Gail, now from Toronto, who drove around Lake Ontario to join in a little touring of the area and dinner, on the day before the race. It also happened to be her birthday. (Our friendship goes back to grade school and junior high days, and while in recent decades it has been largely confined to on-again, off-again correspondence, we scarcely missed a beat in catching up when we got together. What a treat!)

Three weeks earlier I had DNF'd at the Freedom's Run in the Harper's Ferry, W.Va., area, due to very nagging foot pain related to an earlier sprained ankle. The problem now seemed almost entirely resolved and I was eager to get in another marathon, for ego and conditioning purposes alike. Although my training had been lacking by this time, I felt confident I could do it.

And so it began, on race day October 24, 2010, with an early morning bus ride from the hotel and casino area of downtown Niagara Falls, Ontario, to the start in Buffalo, N.Y. A prerequisite to getting your bib at the expo the day before you had to be checked off by Canadian Customs, so as you run into Canada during the race you are already cleared and can just waive to the folks at the Customs booths as you go by. The bus ride to the start will stop at the U.S. border, where an agent will board the bus and check everyone’s documents before you proceed. That interlude only took us about 10 minutes, and we were back on our way to the start, with no more document checks.

The race schedule builds in a lot of time to take care of all this. Now I’m not a big fan of long wait times at the start, which is why I often go for the smaller races. But the two hours at the start area in this race was a

remarkably pleasant time for me. The bus lets you off at the lovely Albright-Knox Art Gallery, and you basically have the run of the place until start time – you can browse the Van Goghs or Pollocks, listen to the Flamenco group playing in the hall, or, as I did, go to the quiet auditorium and lay down on the carpeted floor and sleep for an hour. Did I mention there were several restrooms there as well, and that the lines in the men’s rooms were practically non-existent?

Anyway, at 9:30 or so I was ready, and went outside and checked my bag in time for the 10 a.m. start. The bags were well-secured on the buses to go back to the finish, but I decided to carry my passport card with me anyway, in a pocket in my waistpack. Four pleasant miles in Buffalo were followed by a run on the International Peace Bridge, the location of the only real hill on the course, and then about a mile and a half loop in Fort Erie, ON, before starting your 20-mile downstream trek on the Niagara Parkway, still decked out in glorious fall colors.

The numerous water stations on the Canadian side are staffed by some of the best-themed groups I’ve seen in a marathon/ultra – high school groups and private clubs, all showing their spirit and reaching out to give you their high-fives. My fave: the group dressed up as jailbirds (“Caution: Do not pick up hitch hikers. Chain gang at work up ahead.”) This is a great feature of the race that should be advertized. It was about 10 miles from the finish that we caught our first glimpse of the Skylon Tower, the iconic structure that signals the location of the Falls – and the finish. In any event, the curves of the river won’t let you see the Tower again until about three miles out, when you also can make out for the first time a small puff of mist from the Falls.

You again you lose sight of that area as the course twists around some more, but you know you’re getting closer. The last mile takes you away a bit from the river, and you're pleased to see that the roads are now slightly downhill as you wind around some of the downtown streets to the finish.

The finish could hardly be closer to the Horseshoe Falls, and you'll catch a glimpse of the them as the finish beckons. No time for sightseeing yet, but you'll have plenty of time after the race to do that. If you don’t get any mist on you in the finish area, you will in a short walk along the Table Rock area nearby.

There you’ll have some of the best views of both Falls available, as you walk along on your tired legs. And tired and sore they were, as I stopped at the Falls to take a few pictures, and then trekked about a mile and a half to the parking garage that was so convenient to the bus pickup early that morning. (What shuttle bus?) I kept telling myself the walk was doing my legs good, and I'm sure that's true, although it was quite slow going. I then rejoined Natalie at our hotel on the American side, cleaned up and enjoyed a fine "dinner" of pancakes, eggs, and hash browns.

I started home the next morning, and Natalie went back to her class. The eight-hour drive through pretty Pennsylvania was a most pleasant wrap-up to the trip, and I certainly had to count this trip as well-worth it in many ways.

Thank you, Canada, for a memorable experience.

Next up: "We Are Marshall."

Limping Along the C & O Canal

Don’t sweat the small things. And just about everything is a small thing. At least that’s my take on it all, and I’m sticking to it.

These are the days when marathon runners thrive, as the first true signs of fall and its crisp mornings replace the dog days of summer, seemingly for good. As a runner, you’re also a fan of the sport, and there’s no way you can’t get excited about these beautiful days of near-perfect running conditions – even when you’re finding yourself more observer than participant. That’s what I became this weekend, not really by choice, but due to the eventual recognition of physical inability to continue. Yes, that dreaded balrog, the DNF.

It started with a simple ankle roll during a routine run four weeks ago -- at least I thought it was simple. Hey, I was able to keep going another 17 miles afterward, so it couldn’t be that bad. Could it? Well, in certain ways it’s been healing in good order, but there’s been something on-going underneath in the “soft tissue” as my doctor called it (the ultimate medical term for junk inside that’s not bone), causing a stabbing, burning feeling under the foot when I try to run. It was all starting to behave much better, so last week I decided to give it the old college try in the half-marathon event at the American Birkebeiner Trail Run in Hayward, WI.
This was held on a perfectly glorious fall day, with brightly colored trees in northern Wisconsin on a well-groomed, if rather wet from recent heavy rains, cross country ski course. I was surprised how strong my ankle felt, particularly on the many ups-and-downs of the terrain, and the annoying pain underfoot was really quite manageable.

But it was a matter of “pay me now or pay me later,” and the past week was the “pay me later” time. I knew (deep inside at least) that I had aggravated something and had no business running the October 2 Freedom’s Run marathon, from Harper’s Ferry to Shepherdstown, WV. But of course, denial is a powerful thing, especially when it comes to running on some of your favorite ground and you think there’s some way you can run-walk fast enough to beat the cut-offs and not require your friends Chris and Rebecca, who carpooled with you, to wait hour upon hour for you to finish. Well, after arguing with myself for two hours on the marathon course, I decided that it made no sense to keep going when I couldn’t even walk at a moderate pace without a limp. I eventually found a ride at a water station and was driven by some nice volunteers to the finish area. All the stress was now gone and I truly began to enjoy the whole event. I visited the food tent for the runners and helped myself to pizza, did a few pushups in the parking lot, and got my free beer glass (and beer) at the Bavarian Inn. I then met up with Chris and Rebecca, who both had done a very fine job in completing a tough course.

It’s interesting how this day was truly “déjà vu all over again.” My last DNF was four years ago, when I dropped out near that same point (on the C & O Canal) in my first attempt at the JFK 50 Miler, on another glorious fall day, when I got a ride to the finish line and also got to sit and watch all those strong runners basking in the victory of crossing the finish line. Both occasions were opportunities to celebrate others’ achievements, and also to regroup and learn from my own miscalculations. And what have I learned? Well, I’m not going to try any marathons at all, for at least three weeks.