Lake of the Woods Rant

Part Un. I haven't been running the Mahomet trails for a while (injury) until recently. One of the things I always looked forward to while running them on the weekends was the possibility of seeing Jeff Riddle out mowing. And when I was lucky enough to be out there running when he was mowing, I always looked forward to seeing him on another loop or path, and it definitely boosted how I felt about running and about humanity in general. So it was with some sadness that I ran without even a glimmer of hope or anticipation of a Jeff siting, or freshly mowed evidence that he had been there. I had only the fond memories of how, before I really knew him, the Lawnmower Man would smile, wave, and offer words of encouragement whenever I went by, as he selflessly labored in the hot sun simply for finding reward in the happiness of others. Altruism is not dead. Thanks again, Jeff, for all the years, and I hope they don't screw up our beloved Riddle Run.

Part Deux. I really enjoyed running Clinton last Friday. The trail was in the best shape I've ever seen it (no mud, no snow, no thick layer of leaves), plus there were some really great improvements made to it. Specifically, many of the tired old bridges have been replaced with beautifully constructed, bomber wooden bridges, with thoughtful strips going across for better traction. I couldn't help but think of these bridges while running across the stupid whaddycallits that the wise Lake of the Woodsers plunked onto our trails for their "improvement," further insulted by the treacherous hunks of giant gravel. I'm sure even the deer avoid running across it.

Angels and Demons: Sitting out while everyone else is running

Here is an article I wrote that appeared in the Second Wind Running Club newsletter about running-related injury, and a picture of me at the Clinton Lake 30-mile Trail Run.

I have often complained about how men avoid seeing the doctor when clearly they should. But I have been guilty of this myself when it comes to athletic injuries, and I recently had my first serious running-related injury.

I felt a twinge in the back of my left calf during an easy fun run, several days after successfully running my first Clinton ultra, something I had prepared all winter for. The first question that came to mind was this: Is this a real injury or is this something I can run through, like a cramp? After stopping to stretch, I continued to run, and my calf experienced the dreaded pop and the sudden onset of pain as my muscle seized.

My angel sits on one shoulder, and my demon sits on the other. I consult with both when facing life’s decisions, and neither had been aroused yet, because the answer to my question was pretty clear when I tried to run through the pain. I simply couldn’t. I could barely even walk through it.

I got home, and I RICEd (Rest. Ice. Compression. Elevation.). I massaged. I broke out the night splint. I googled “calf strain.” I found this from Runner’s World: “If it’s more of a sudden tightness, in the calf for example, stretch the muscle, and again, massage the area. Continuing to run without taking action just makes a tear more likely.” Oops.

Me: When can I run again?

Angel: When you have no pain.

Demon: You might have a little pain but it will go away when you’re warmed up. You can at least try, can’t you?

Several weeks later, I was working the aid station at the McNaughton trail run. With the beautiful trail, the perfect weather, the camaraderie of my fellow runners, and the inspiration of the McNaughton racers, I couldn’t help myself. Plus I had another race to train for. I tried running. It hurt. My calf popped within the first mile.

Friends recommended I seek medical attention immediately, and I made a promise to a friend that I would, and I did. I went to the sports medicine clinic and was examined by a trainer. He couldn’t feel a dent, which would confirm a tear, but he couldn’t rule it out. That would require ultrasound and an appointment with the doctor, which he suggested making right away. Unfortunately the good doctor was out for three weeks.

Angel: You should still make the appointment.

Demon: By the time the doctor is back, you’ll be healed up. Why bother?

Me: Why bother indeed?

Continue RICE, cross-train on days that I’d normally be running (deep water running or kettle bell, anyone?), start neuromuscular massage (which I was planning to do anyway for general maintenance)…. Two pops later, prompted by the most innocuous of movements, the slightest firing of the calf muscle as I pushed off the ball of my foot, three weeks had passed, and I was back to square one. I made the appointment, but by the time the doctor could see me, it had been more than a month since the initial injury.

It was plain as day on the ultrasound image that I had suffered serious longitudinal tear that went down practically the entire length of my calf. Between two layers of muscle was a wide gap full of blood. Now I had six weeks of physical therapy ahead of me for what should be a full recovery, starting the very next day.

Was this an overuse injury? Could I have prevented this? Was I really stupid (again)? No, said the good doctor. This was simply “bad luck.” Although I should have come in earlier, because I undoubtedly made a bad situation worse, I could pull the tail out, at least a little, from between my legs.

Angel: Do everything the doctor and physical therapist tells you. If you start up again too soon, you risk re-injury.

Demon: What does your doctor know? The longer you delay your return, the more your fitness level will decrease. You’ll get fat!

Angel: Stay positive, focus on your cross-training, and eat better. Consider races far into the future to have something to think about when you’re in the pool, but don’t commit because the demon might pressure you to return to training too soon.

Demon: After a few runs, you’ll be right up there with what you were doing before in no time.

Angel: Return slowly when you’re pain-free. Run gently on soft surfaces. Run short distances. Keep cross-training. Listen to your body and to other runners who have gone through injury and running-withdrawal.

Demon: You will be miserable during your injury because running was your way of relieving stress.

Angel: Volunteer more during your recovery. This will make you happy and keep you engaged.

Demon: Just forget it then. Put your feet up and pop a beer. Running is no good for you anyway. Look at all those injured runners. If you must, take up a new sport.

Angel: Patience. You will always have running.

I am still recovering as I write this. There was no one angel. There were several, some of whom might actually read this. You know who you are, and I thank you. The demon was of my own creation, and it is not alone.

Working Off the Turkey in the Mountains of Kentucky

Here is an article I wrote that appeared in the Second Wind Running Club newsletter about one of my first trail runs, in Harlan, Kentucky, November 24, 2007. I've done two marathons and three ultras since I ran this course, which makes me want to return to it. (Photo by Sarah Tsiang)

The Saturday after Thanksgiving, I ran the hardest race I’ve ever run. In a nutshell, I simply ran a ragged race and got my butt whooped by the Appalachians.

I was going to be in Kentucky for Thanksgiving, so I investigated to find out whether or not there were any trail runs nearby. I was feeling pretty good about how my running season was going in this, my third season of running with the club.

I did better than I expected in several local trail races, and religiously ran the Tuesday fun runs and Thursday trail runs with the Buffalos all summer long. So I signed up for the Mountain Masters 16-Mile Trail Run in Harlan, Kentucky. I aspire to someday do a trail marathon, but not having trained enough to do one this year, this distance seemed perfect.

There was one thing that gnawed at me. I read the following comment on the race website: “… a hill ceases being a hill and becomes a mountain when you can reach out in front of you and touch the ground in front of you...” Okay, so there will be hills. Well, here’s how it went.

I got up before dawn to drive southeast from Richmond, where I was staying. The wide expanses of the bluegrass turned into the mountains of coal mining country near the Cumberland Gap, close to the Virginia and Tennessee borders. From a shopping mall, we piled into a yellow school bus for a lumbering 20-minute ride up switchbacks to the Little Shepherd trailhead.

The trail runs about 14 miles along a 2,000-foot ridgeline on Pine Mountain. Almost everyone had to drop trow’ to relieve themselves before starting the race, which was a new experience for me. It was 24 degrees, with a dusting of snow, and practically no leaves on the trees.

After being warned about the dreaded Mile 12 and told by the race director that someone had already checked the route for bears, we were off. We could expect aid stations about every four miles. It was uphill right off the bat.

The trail was mostly dirt and gravel road, and we immediately spread out. When I got to Mile 2, I couldn’t believe it was only Mile 2. The hills started to bug me right away. On top of the ridge, the scenery was beautiful, although you could see some scarring from mining. These were not the molehills of east central Illinois. These were huge—steep and long!

At mile 8, I’m thinking: “This is the last run of my running career. The next time the race truck comes by, I’m going to ride it and get a DNF. I don’t care.” An aid station came just in time, however, and I had the boost of learning that I was not the last person on the course.

I began to walk up the steeper pitches. At around mile 11, the trail started to go down…way down. This was the sign that the infamous Kingdom Come hill was coming up. A little jaunt down a highway, and there it was, at the entrance of the state park.

That part of the trail was actually paved. Good, I thought, good traction—no wet leaves hiding the rock. But even walking, I was pausing every 10 steps. At the top, I laughed. At the next aid station, I was congratulated and told that there were no more hills after that.

I was in the home stretch, and knew I was going to make it. They lied. There were at least two more hills, of the variety of those earlier in the race. But after having the life sucked out of me at Kingdom Come (what a great name), they loomed large.

The finish line was finally in sight. I saw other runners, and my family was there. In one last bit of cruelty, you had to run past the finish and do another quarter mile or so and turn back. Even within that short distance, even knowing I was almost done, I was reduced to walking. It must have been the five-degree incline that did it.

A finisher’s medal was hung around my neck, and I went back on the bus, where I had some newfound friends. I don’t know what my time was, but back at the mall, I got a beautiful clay candleholder (made locally) for coming in second in my age group. I also received a fleece jacket as a door prize.

It took me a week after that to get back on my horse and run again. I am now beginning to think that maybe I had a good time and that I should give it another go next year. The race was very well organized, and everyone was incredibly friendly. This race is only three years old, and I was the first person from Illinois to run it. I hope more of us do.

Before this race, I had it in my head that 16 miles is not that long of a distance, hills or no. But 16 miles of trail is not just 16 miles. It’s 16 miles of this trail, on this day. It’s like I never tire of running the same Mahomet trail every week. The trail is never the same on a given day, and neither am I.

Everyone Loves a Fat Ass

Here is an article I wrote that appeared in the Second Wind Running Club newsletter about the Fat Ass run in McNabb, Illinois, on January 10, 2010. (Photos by John Steele)

On January 10, in subzero temperatures, three Second Winders and I joined 70 others to run the McNabb Fat Ass 50K on a middle-of-nowhere course nestled in the cornfields about an hour north of Bloomington. A Fat Ass in general, and this race in particular, epitomizes the spirit of running for its own sake in the company of other like-minded souls. That the scenery was beautiful, the people were cheerful and supportive, and the aid stations excellent was icing on the cake. On snowy roads, the race certainly lived up to its motto: “Many are cold, but few are frozen.”

What is a Fat Ass, you may ask? A Fat Ass is a no-frills, long-distance, fun run, traditionally held after the winter holidays—the idea being to work off holiday gluttony. Its universal slogan is “No Fees, No Awards, No Aid, No Wimps,” its original logo is a pink pig, and about the only thing guaranteed is the existence of a course to run.

The first Fat Ass was held in 1979 when Joe Oaks started the Recover from the Holidays Fat Ass 50, an informal 50-miler for low-maintenance runners along the shoulder of Highway 1 in northern California. Word spread, and Fat Asses began to sprout up all over the world. There are now at least 40, including a couple in our own backyard: The Riddle Run and the Kennekuk Fat Ass.

The McNabb course is on scenic country back roads, much of it alongside a creek. There are fields, woods, and rolling hills, and an up-close-and-personal herd of cows. The run starts with a one-mile warm-up followed by a five-mile out-and-back that you repeat, for 11, 21, or the full 31 miles. The narrow road is paved but primarily run on packed snow. Most participants were ultrarunners from the Midwest, many of them repeaters. Home base was a junior high school, where we could take hot showers in the locker rooms and enjoy free pizza in the gym afterwards. There were well-stocked aid stations at the start, halfway point, and turnaround, where volunteers did an amazing job keeping the water and Gatorade from freezing. How fun it was to munch fresh cantaloupe in the snow!

Running in cold weather presents a clothing puzzle. Layers are key, and people wore lots of them. Because so many faces were covered, the pizza party was a series of revelations. I ran in warm-up pants with wicking long-underwear underneath, a wind-proof shell over a light fleece top, topped with a neck gaiter, headband and hat, bottomed with Smartwool socks and trail shoes, and wool mittens. Signing in at the start, my fingers were so frozen I could barely write. Recording my finishing time with mittens off (4 hours later after 21 miles) the weather felt downright balmy. Cold undoubtedly stressed the body, but I did not feel the discomfort of cold during the entire run once I finished the aptly named warm-up mile.

Utrarunner Bob Rehn has been Race Director (RD) of the McNabb Fat Ass for 14 years. What prompted him start the Illinois Version Recover from the Holidays Fat Ass 50 (McNabb’s official name) was an article about Fat Asses in UltraRunner magazine. What has kept him going is seeing people return year after year—people like Bill Dey, who has run McNabb for the past six years. Bill does not normally run long distances on roads, but he makes an exception for McNabb. “It seems okay because of the very rural setting,” he explained. “I enjoy the fact it is an out and back course, and you see every other runner no matter how fast or slow they are, five or six times on the course. I’ve run other ultramarathons where I might go an hour or more without seeing another runner. This event is much more social.”

“The thing about the Fat Ass,” said Bob, “ is there’s no pressure. It’s not a race unless you want it to be. You get to run long with other tough-minded runners, on what I think is a beautiful course, and completing it gives you a great sense of satisfaction and accomplishment. I'm just happy to be a part of a run, where on a cold January day, people will drive miles to run 31 miles out in the middle of nowhere and have a smile on their face the whole way,” he said. One of those smiling was Fat Ass newbie Andrea Stack.

Andrea decided run McNabb because others were and she had never run in that part of the state. “I thought it was really great how all of the runners cheered all of the other runners on when running,” she said. “It was so much fun and encouraging. It made you feel like you could run farther than what would otherwise be possible. I would never run that far all by myself!” The 21 miles she ran was her longest to date. Lindsey Spangler concurred. “It sounded like fun,” she said. “Something different, plus I like to meet new people.” It helped all of us to have someone reach out and ask us to come along. This makes a strong case for being in a running club. Sometimes just a little nudge is all it takes.

Closer to home, the Kennekuk Road Runners has its own Fat Ass, and our local Fat Ass, called the Riddle Run.

The Riddle Run, held at the Buffalo Trace course at Lake of the Woods in Mahomet, often coincides with the coldest part of the year. Last time a record 125 ran the four-mile loops of trail on a chilly day made challenging by a layer of snow that refused to pack down. The “winners” (of the complete 28 mile ultra distance) got travelling trophies: a stuffed Buffalo (female) and roll of toilet paper (male). If you don’t finish the 28 miles, you are a DNF, and whining results in a DQ.

The origin of the Riddle Run is typical of Fat Asses. RD Jeff Riddle heard about the concept, liked it, and kicked off the First Annual Mahomet Trail 12-mile Run and Advanced 28-mile Fun Run in 1982. Jeff wanted his run to be about and for people who loved to run, regardless of their natural ability, so he chose this quote from G.K. Chesterton as the race’s motto: “A man must love a thing very much if he not only practices it without any hope of fame and money, but even practices it without any hope of doing it well.” After several years, the race became simply known as the Riddle Run.

In that first year, five of 12 finished the 12 miles, and only one finished the full 28, in trying conditions replete with deep snowdrifts deposited by a blizzard. That morning, Jeff grabbed some leftover cupcakes his wife Debbie had baked to bring with him, which began a tradition that continues to this day: every finisher of the Riddle Run receives a homemade cupcake. The first 28-mile winner was none other than Jeff. “I just kept walking in the snow,” he recalled, “so I won my own race. No one was at the finish, and I never expected anyone to be.” All runs have their moments, and a classic Riddle Run moment occurred in 2006 when Mark Daley arranged to have a local radio station play the national anthem for the start. During the song, a flock of geese performed a perfect flyover, on cue, airplane-style!

Like Jeff, Kennekuk Fat Ass RD Marc Reddy learned about the proliferation of Fat Asses and wanted to create a race to appeal to runners of all levels, so he morphed the Weekend-Before-Fat-Tuesday Run and Party into a Fat Ass run. Offered were four distances, in increments of 7.1-mile loops around Lake Mingo, ranging from the Fat Ass (four loops) to the Large (three), Average (two), and Small (one) Asses. Last year, the Baby Ass was introduced on the 3.29-mile Howl course. “We make sure to tell everyone this is not a race and sometimes make fun of some who try to race the Asses,” he said. “It is a day of fun, friendship, eating and maybe a few brewskis. What is memorable about KRR’s Fat Ass is many of the participants party while they run or walk. We have special pig prizes, music, Deb’s famous Hot Italian Sausage, plus everyone brings food to share.” Deb, Marc’s wife, is RD this year.

Ultimately, it’s the people are who make a great Fat Ass. It’s a fun, no-pressure way to run a chosen distance, whether it’s your first ultra or something shorter. So when the temperatures plummet, run a Fat Ass—you won’t regret it. At the very least, you’ll work off some of the holiday tonnage and make some new friends.