Trail of Fears: Running trail at night

Here is an article I wrote that appeared in the Second Wind Running Club newsletter about trail-running at night.

This is not a general article on running at night. This is a specific article on trail-running at night. There’s a difference—the main one being that on a trail you don’t need to be visible to cars. Also, many people run in the dark because they have no choice: At certain times of year, it’s simply dark when they have the time to get a run in.

People used to fear almost everything about the hours after sunset. It was “not a place for respectable men, and especially not respectable women, to ever be, ” according to U of I historian Craig Koslofsky. But by 1700, as lighting technology evolved, “night was now seen as an opportunity.” From a trail-running perspective, as headlamp technology has evolved, night is an opportunity for respectable runners to experience the trail in an almost magical way.

Most people try to find well-lit areas to run in at night, for very good reasons, including the obvious: It’s less risky to run when you can see where you’re going. Seeking out dark trails on purpose is done for other reasons: It’s an interesting challenge. Having less psychological distance from the stars helps you feel connected with the universe. It’s a hoot!

As a runner, how better to embrace the night than to run in it? Some nights might have a moon, and it’s a heavenly experience to run by moonlight. A full moon presents itself every month, and many local trail runners take to the Buffalo Trace trail at Lake of the Woods to partake in a Moon Run. There are several variations to the Moon Run. If the full moon falls on a Tuesday, there may be a Burrito Loco run. This entails the Fun Run at Meadowbrook, followed by a Burrito Loco at El Toro on South Neil, followed by running the 5-mile Buffalo Trace loop. (There is a beer variant to this one as well.) Another variation is the Moonathon, which happens if the full moon falls on a Thursday. Moonathon rules are simple: The runner who logs the most miles between 6 and 10 pm wins the traveling trophy (a beautiful sculpture). The Buffalo trail is practically a grass sidewalk, but if you don’t know the course, it is possible to get lost. Also, in fall, care must be taken to avoid peril by fallen walnuts or hedge apples. The trail is run in the opposite direction than usual (usual is counter-clockwise). The trail is not run in reverse solely to be confusing. It’s just that going the usual way, you hit the woods first and field last. Run the opposite way, the woods are more illuminated the higher the moon. To some, wearing a headlamp or carrying a flashlight, is cheating. (It was more fun, too, before the park eliminated the stream crossings and replaced them by gravel minefields.)

Another popular place for night-running is the North Woods trail at Clinton Lake, a ten-mile loop. On August 19, about 20 of us showed up to celebrate/mourn the end of summer. Some were first-time night-runners, many were first-time-Clinton night-runners. I’ll describe this run as an example of what you can expect when you do a night trail run.

First, everyone gathers at the starting point and trades notes on gear, mostly headlamps. What kind do you have? (I have a Petzl Tikka.) Do you wear it over the bill of your hat, or under? (I don’t wear a hat with a headlamp, never tied it. Cindy Ginsberg wears hers on her handheld water bottle.) Are we crazy? (Yes, I said to the guy in the truck—the last of the fishermen to leave the parking lot.) And then you take off.

At first, it’s no different than any other run, but once you enter the woods and plunge into low light, your pace slows way down. (Tip: If you have any doubt at all about your headlamp batteries, bring extra. Otherwise, you will drive yourself batty with angst.)

One of the first things you’ll notice is that it’s nice to be right behind someone. You can light-draft off their headlamp, copy their footfalls, and have a warning if there’s anything to trip on. “Ooof! Root.” “Whoa, slippery bridge.” What’s not so nice is that if it’s dry, you can see the dust blown up by their footsteps—the dust that you are inhaling—because that little cloud of Brownian motion is illuminated by your headlamp. Sometimes the trail looks like someone sprinkled chalk on it. I guess you don’t notice it in the daylight, but I think it’s just what clay powder looks like in a headlamp.

In my case, it’s not long before I’m alone. This time, I had a group in front of me and behind. The Clinton trail is hilly and windy (as in winds around), so there are chances to see both groups when the trail jackknifes. Tiny bobbing beams, like little spaceships containing friendly aliens. (Tip: If you are truly alone out there, make sure someone knows where you’re going and when you’ll be back. Remember Aron Ralston.)

As evening turns into night, you’ll feel pockets of warm and cool air as you dip in and out of depressions along the trail. You’ll hear different sounds rise and fade as you pass certain areas. Wee-ah wee-ah wee-ah cicadas give way to chirping crickets, the trills of frogs and drones of bullfrogs herald watery areas. Owls talk to each other in otherworldly hoots, gliding on soundless wings. (Tip: Don’t bring an iPod.)

Alone, you will soon grow used to your moving circle of light, and your focus will concentrate as you travel inside your cocoon. Your senses will be heightened. You may notice a dark outline below your eyes, as if your cheeks lead down into a black hole. It’s a sensation hard to describe, but you swear you have glasses on when you don’t—that the blackness is the lower rim of your glasses. You reach up to adjust the phantom glasses only to touch your eye directly. It’s unsettling, too, when you attempt to make this adjustment several times during the course of your run, even if you have never run with glasses on before.

It’s Clinton, so for me, this always involves some walking. It’s during the walking parts that you can turn your headlamp off the ground to look around you. It’s so cool to see the eye-shine of spiders, whose eyes glow like little stars the size of pinpricks, which are everywhere in places, reflecting your headlamp. You may come across the proverbial deer in the headlights, only the headlight is you. That their eyes seem to glow is caused by the light-reflecting surface behind the retina, which helps animals see better in the dark. If you stop running altogether, turn your headlamp off to see what your setting is really like. Melt into the night scene for a moment.

In spite of your headlamp, you can’t quite see enough to anticipate the physical sensation of the ups and downs of the trail. Surprises abound, even if that part of the trail is devoid of roots and rocks. This is another reason to keep the pace slow, especially on an unfamiliar trail. Another thing you can’t quite see is where the heck you are. Sometimes the familiar landmarks—the rickety bridge, the tree with the tin can in it, the trashed appliances—are out of light-beam reach. This actually works in my favor. If I don’t know where I am, I don’t know how much more I have to run. If I don’t know a hill is coming up, I won’t dread it. If I don’t know where the steep ascent ends, I get that heroic feeling when it’s over before I know it. Plus, there’s the exciting sensation of being on an entirely new trail, even if you’ve run it many times in daylight.

From a critter standpoint, it’s nice to run at night in the Midwest. No mountain lions, moose, wolves, bears, oh my! For thousands of years, though, Christians identified night as a time of evil, natural and supernatural, full of the devil, ghosts, and witches. It’s hard to shake this notion. You are on high alert. So I about jumped out of my skin when a rather large, tan animal bounded past me from behind and cut in front of my path. What was that!? It turned out to be Cayenne, Ken Welle’s dog. Ken had gotten off to a late start and was catching up to the front group. When the adrenaline rush subsided, I laughed.

When the run was finished, we gathered in the parking lot for well-deserved calories, liquid and solid. We talked about how neat it was to have just done such a thing, and we just enjoyed hanging out. (Tip: when you talk with a fellow runner during a night run, do not blind them with your headlamp. Some folks sport fancy headlamps with a red-light setting for this and, according to Elliot Brinkman, for sneaking around in areas you shouldn’t be.)

Yeah, you can trip in the dark, but I would argue that you can trip in the day, too. It’s all a matter of focus. During the day, an interesting bird or view of the lake may take your eyes off the trail at the wrong moment. At night, your eyes are almost always on the ground in front of you. Because you can’t see very far ahead, your brain has to process visual feedback more quickly. You are more in the moment on a nighttime trail run. (Tip: If you are older, expect your eyes to react more slowly to adjustments in light.)

There are lots of ways to add new dimensions to a run. Running in dramatic weather, running on ice, running in sweats wearing a lead-filled vest in July, or running in a red dress. Adding night running to your repertoire is an easy way to mix it up. Admittedly, it’s not for everyone, but nighttime trail-running is a simple thing to try. Go to your favorite trail at night. Start running. If you don’t like it after, say, 100 yards, turn around and come back. If you do, welcome to the dark side!

Heed the cry: and don’t just talk about it, do it

Here is an article I wrote that appeared in the Second Wind Running Club newsletter for Sep/Oct 2011 about volunteering for races.

How many times have you seen this in your In Box?

From: Tricia Crowder

Subject: [Secondwind-l] VOLUNTEER CALL

It seems like every race, these notes eventually stop coming, indicating that volunteers have been found. So if you’re like me, you don’t always respond to the call. As it turns out, many of the races that Second Wind helps manage are staffed by the same people time and time again. Perhaps involuntarily, our involunteerism is wearing them out. But really, when we don’t volunteer we are missing the best parts of being runners.

I’m writing this the day after the 2011 Howl at the Moon 8-hour ultra at Kennekuk, where I was an aid station volunteer for the third time. I knew I wanted to be there to see old friends and make new ones. Because I was injured, I couldn’t run it so I worked it, which brings me to my first point: Working a race is a great way to stay connected to the running community when you can’t run. When I do come back and start racing, it won’t be a hey-where-you-been situation. Instead, it’ll be a natural progression back into the running part of running. You see, as running sage Tony Suttle is fond of saying, it’s not about the running.

In the six years or so that I’ve been running, there have been hundreds of people, both behind the scenes and part of the scenes, who have made my race experiences not only positive but possible. They are the ones who make races fun, safe, and organized. Working a race is a way of paying it forward.

Sometimes there’s the general sense of helping a collective group of runners. Then there’s the special sense of helping someone in particular. At the Howl yesterday, I smiled when I thought about the previous year’s Howl when I offered my help to an older woman who was struggling on the course. She didn’t know anything about S-caps or gels, and on such a hot day, it was clear that she needed some. I gave her some from my stash and walked with her until she revived. Then I offered to pace her for a loop, for which she was grateful, but then I immediately regretted it when she told me she was a walker and not a runner. I wanted to run a loop, but I walked with her anyway. It turned out to be one of the most memoable and rewarding loops I’ve ever done. The distraction of talking about her family and her life helped her finish the race. I was so happy to see her embraced by her husband at the end of what was to be a successful Howl for both of us.

Working a race can even be life changing. In 2009, I worked the overnight shift of the McNaughton aid station. That year, runners competed in 50-, 100- and 150-mile distances as part of the McNaughton Park Trail Runs ultra in Pekin. The lights of our aid station shone like a beacon of hope as runners who had run all day soldiered on through the night by headlamp. I got a glimpse of the ultra world at that aid station, and the seeds of my running aspirations were planted. Working a race can give you a preview of what it’s like to run it.

After working local races, you may want to branch out and work one completely out of your jurisdiction. I did that last year as a volunteer at the Ozark 100, in Missouri, miles from here. I felt right at home, and I got to experience a new running venue by running part of the trail after my aid station duties were over. Not only am I a member of our local running community, but I am part of the larger community of like-minded individuals, united by our love of running and the great outdoors.

I was surprised when Tricia told me recently that our club routinely has to struggle to come up with enough volunteers to staff races, especially during the races themselves. Part of the problem is that many would-be volunteers can’t do race-day jobs because they are running the race. That’s when we need to step up, if we’re not running that day. Working a race is also a good way to get our non-running or not-running-that-day family members and friends involved in what we do and in the camaraderie that comes from working with other race volunteers.

If you run 5Ks, try working a marathon. If you run long trail races, try working a short road race. Curious about triathlons? Working one is better than a front-row seat. Want a little excitement? Try working the finish line of a short, fast race. Keeping runners organized in the finish chute, pulling bib numbers, or clicking times keeps you on your toes. In the last stages of a race, when most of the crowd has left, you may be the only ones cheering for a runner as they finish. You may have a bigger impact than you’ll know.

Runners are part of the race. They are its raison d’être. But it’s also the volunteers that make the race happen. We depend on each other, and in many cases, we are each other. How many times does it feel good to be truly needed? In a race, it’s every time.

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Photos by Brian Kuhn.

1) Gregg Rose, coordinator for the Howl 2011 aid station, awaits the first runners.

2) The full monty of the Erns: Teresa worked as a scorer, daughter Jessica worked the aid station, and Marty ran at the 2011 Howl at the Moon ultra.

3) Darby Rude hoists the Gatorade at the Howl aid station.

Running in a Winter Wonderland, in snowshoes!

Here is an article I wrote that appeared in the Second Wind Running Club newsletter about the Jeremy Wright North American Snowshoe Championships snowshoe race on March 6, 2011, in Beaver Creek, Colorado.

I was in Colorado in March, and a major snowshoe race was taking place at the resort where I was skiing. I like to run. I like activities with the potential for cold toes. Perfect. I was in pretty good shape this winter, yet I had never snowshoed before. How hard could it be? It wasn’t dangerous. What did I have to lose? Wouldn’t it be a nice break from skiing? Why of course! And so I entered the Jeremy Wright North American Snowshoe Championships snowshoe race.

The March 6 race was the last of three in the Beaver Creek Snowshoe Adventure Series, the winner of which would be crowned North American Snowshoe champion. The series boasted a $15,000 purse and attracted world-class snowshoe racers from across the country, including many accomplished trail runners and mountain athletes (like Josiah Middaugh, Bernie Boettcher, Peter Maksimow, Brandy Erholz, Travis Macy, to name a few). The races were held at McCoy Park, a beautiful Nordic area with miles of trails for snowshoers and crosscountry skiers perched at 10,000 feet. The 10K race was filled with serious competitors, but the more casual 5K race made a point of welcoming the rest of us.

Snow was falling fast in thick tufts on race day, after several inches of powder had blanketed the mountain the night before. We rode up a ski lift to the start and hunkered in the warming hut, filled with everything familiar to a runner: shelves of drop bags, racers suiting up, tables filled with bananas, cookies, energy bars, Gatorade, hot tea, and cocoa. The snowshoers were a friendly bunch to hang out with, and I was surprised that there were three times as many women as men in the 5K.

There are many types of terrain-specific snowshoes, and I took advantage of the free running demos offered at the site. Typical running snowshoes have aluminum frames, are about 7–8 inches wide and 22–25 inches long, and have crampon-like teeth that bite into the snow for traction. My snowshoes were about 1.5 pounds each, and I wore trail running shoes with them. Like every snowshoe, they sink a little, and so you drag some snow with every step. Hence the going is slow, and it’s very much a strength activity: a quad-burning, lung-searing, heart-pounding workout, especially if you’re not acclimatized to the high altitude. How nice.

McCoy Park offered breathtaking views of three different mountain ranges, but they were invisible through the fog of heavy snow. Trails wound up and down, through meadows, thick pine forests, and aspen groves typical of the Rocky Mountains. The course comprised groomed snow (tilled by a snow cat), single-track, and off-track sections (called powder zones). I heard that at some points along the 10K course, the women had to branch off from the men and run a separate path so that their leaders had to break their own trail. Otherwise, the leading women would be following the tracks of the top men. No one is spared.

More than 350 racers competed in both races, and we all started at the same time, with a gradual ascent that very quickly separated the seasoned snowshoe athletes from the rest of us. The race began with a gradual ascent up a groomed section. Even the groomed surface had plenty of snow on it, and as I started to run, the snow kicked up behind me, throwing it onto my backside. Within the first half mile, I was already reduced to walking. I had plenty of company.

Running in snowshoes requires launching up and forward, lifting each foot so it clears the snow and adjusting your gait so that your snowshoe doesn’t whack into your other leg. The motion becomes especially exaggerated in fresh snow. The time to run was on the downhills, but these were tricky because you had to maintain your balance. Your foot is not striking a predictable surface, and in areas of fluffy snow, you don’t get much traction. In the singletrack sections, you found yourself running in a narrow trench, compressed by the footfalls from those ahead of you. Losing your balance could mean planting yourself. If this sounds dangerous, though, it’s not. Again, we’re talking about slomo and soft landings.

Most of the pack I was with trudged the uphills, jogged and then briskly walked the flats, and trotted the downhills. Very little talking took place. The snow absorbed most sound beyond one’s own cocoon—a world of labored breaths and muffled crunching of snowshoes packing snow crystals. Beaver Creek’s tagline is “Not Exactly Roughing It,” but here we were.

Near the end, I could hear music booming and a voice announcing the name of each finisher. As I kicked it into gear for a “strong finish,” I felt that familiar rush of adrenaline, which gave way to a flood of happiness as I crossed the finish line. I was the 59th female in the 5K with a time of 1:03:41. The first place female for the 10K did it in 1:02:11.

Better technique and lots of practice will improve my snowshoeing. And no doubt, adding snowshoeing to the mix will improve my running. Next winter, when the snows return to Illinois, instead of heading out on the slippery streets and partially shoveled sidewalks, I’ll be strapping on my new set of snowshoes and reliving my Rocky Mountain high.

Lessons learned from a short race

I ran the Buffalo Trace race on Saturday. This is on the same course that I run every Thursday. The Thursday before, I was reduced to walking a good part of the way. I was just beat from running that week, including a Burrito Loco run.

Note for those unfamiliar with the Burrito Loco run. We have moon runs on the Buffalo Trace trail every month under a full moon. We run the course backwards from usual, by moonlight, usually starting around 9 pm. If you bring a light of any kind, you will be ridiculed. We have fun runs at Meadowbrook every Tuesday. If a full moon happens to be on a Tuesday, it's a throwdown for the Burrito Loco. You run to fun run, then hop on over to El Toro II, where you must consume a Burrito Loco and a minimum of two bears, then drive to Mahomet for the moon run. I did not go to El Toro (due to a bathroom remodel at home, I opted to take a shower at my gym, to at least get the first layer of grime off), but I did consume the required two beers.

Okay, so I've gotten complacent about short runs, which to me are now anything less than about 5 miles. Funny how that line gets moved the more you hang out with the Buffalo, our trailrunning group composed mostly of ultrarunners and their peculiar friends. I came in second (age group, of course) last time I ran it , which was year before last. Last year, I sat out due to a calf tear. The woman I was runner-up to was not running it this year. Plus, a herd member threatened to nickname me Baseball if I didn't beat a certain runner, whose nickname is Slugger (as in Louisville). So I did want to run it. But still, I did not prepare properly.

Here's how: For breakfast, I had coffee and fresh pineapple. That's it.

I ran a fast pace in the beginning and I thought I'd lose it, but it felt comfortable and I kept it up until... mile 4.5 or so, finish line practically in sight, crowd noise crystal clear. My friend B. had already passed me about half a mile ago and was going to take first. That was never a doubt. But then I heard heavy female breathing down my neck. Convinced I was going to be saddled with the shame of being called Baseball, I picked up the pace. Alas, it was too early to do so, as I would find out. I began to heave with every step. I slowed it down only to be passed by someone decades younger than I. I should have run my race on my own terms. Things were getting worse and I had to come to a complete halt, bend over, and puke my brains out. Coffee and pineapple.

"As I lay dying," at least eight people passed me, including --- no doubt --- the woman who would take second. I took third and retained my non-nickname.

Lessons learned (I hope): Run the race on my own terms at my own pace. Kick it up only when close to the finish (I'm still figuring out the equation involving the variables p=pace, t-zero=time to start running faster, n-heave=number of heaves per set distance, t-puke=time to puke, d=distance to finish line). Eat smart: standard carb breakfast (bread) with low acid fruit (banana) and less coffee. Adjust attitude: Running a short distance is a big deal if you run it faster than you're used to, and just because you run a course every week doesn't mean you know anything!

Swampstomping in Elvis Country

Here is an article I wrote that appeared in the Second Wind Running Club newsletter about the Swampstomper trail run, near Memphis, Tennessee, on January 15, 2011.

The snow faded, and the corn and bean fields gave way to cotton and rice as a group of Second Wind runners headed south, through Missouri and Arkansas before crossing the Mississippi into Memphis. They were headed to Meeman-Shelby Forest State Park in Millington, Tennessee, to run in the annual Swamptomper, a 25K/50K trail race held on Sunday, January 15.

The twelve of us had reserved two of the park’s five rustic cabins. Perched on the shore of a pretty lake, they were shouting distance across the water from the race course turnaround aid station. Packet pickup was at the start-finish, the Mississippi River Group Camp Lodge, which the race FAQs notes “is not hidden by a Romulan cloaking device.” This is another way of saying that without a GPS, it can be difficult to find. The race director gave runners the option to switch races up until packet pickup, providing the flexibility needed for many of us during the winter months when training might not have gone as hoped. Most of us ran the 25K, which started at 8:30 am, and a few ran the 50K, which started an hour earlier.

Ellen Erhardt, Chris Bryon, and Don Frichtl had left Friday to soak up some local culture. Tony Suttle, Lindsay Spangler, and I drove up the next day to find our cabins empty. Where was everyone? We were admiring the colorful sunset reflected in the water when Bill and Becky Dey pulled up. They told us that their getting lost on the way down resulted in the sighting of a white buffalo at a safari park. No lie. We lit a fire in fireplace and commenced lounging. Eventually the text messages from the other group started coming in. They had been joined by former Second Winders Tim Gill and Karin Gibbs, from Louisiana, and Brian Kuhn and Jen Burton. The first message, from Don, began: “Dinkin beer on Beale….” [sic] followed by several others, including another that read “Listdn to walkin in Walkn n Memphis!” [sic] It dawned on us cabin-dwellers that the communal homemade spaghetti dinner we had planned might not happen until quite late. And didn’t we have a race tomorrow?

The revelers did come home to roost, and a yummy meal ensued, complete with lamb and goat meatballs, followed by the pièce de résistance: King Cake, brought by Karin and Tim. This traditional Louisiana cake, associated with the Epiphany, resembles a giant cinnamon roll with sugary icing and colorful sprinkles. Hidden inside is a tiny plastic baby. Custom dictates that the lucky person who winds up with the piece containing the baby is charged with supplying the cake for the next year. Poker-faced Brian surprised everyone when the plastic baby came shooting from his mouth when least expected.

Race day: Sunday morning. The start-finish line was literally a crack in the road.
It was a brisk 35 degrees, but it was pretty dry with tiny patches of snow in only the shadiest spots. Some of us wore shorts and were quite comfortable once we got going. “Unlike last year,” said Tony, “we were blessed by almost perfect conditions.”

Six of the group ran Swampstomper last January in conditions that lived up to the race’s name. “Knee deep puddles,” recalled Lindsay, “sloshing in water for 16 miles.” The course followed the road a very short distance before plunging down a steep ravine into heavy woods. The well-maintained, single-track course followed ridges and bottoms. Most of it was flat with a handful of steep climbs, the steepest of which was ascended by stairs. Dead leaves littered the ground and clung to the trees, but there were also patches of bright green water horsetail in low-lying areas.

Numerous wooden bridges were covered with chicken wire for traction. Flood-prone areas were evident, and as I ran I realized just how lucky we were to not be fording the streams that were mere trickles on this day. There were a few stretches where cypress knees popped up from the ground, which could have dire consequences if you fell, but the main hazards were tree roots. I never saw the Mississippi River, which we were running along, perhaps because it was hidden by the bluffs we were running between.

The 25K course went out about 3.5 relatively easy miles before starting a 3-mile loop that was more challenging, followed by another 3 easy miles to the turnaround, where you could see our cabins. Then it was back to where we came from, but skipping the loop. The 50K runners did the entire course twice. This layout allowed runners to greet each other as they met running in opposite directions. (That’s how I learned that Don shed his shirt. He was the only shirtless person I saw.) The two aid stations and their staff were outstanding.

Most of us 25K runners ran well, and big smiles were everywhere. After receiving finisher medals and clay medallions, runners were treated to grilled hamburgers, hotdogs, accoutrements, and a warm fire burning in a barrel. But it wasn’t over for everyone. Most of the 50Kers were still on the course.

It was too cold to hang out post run, so we returned to our cabins, which I mentioned were near the turnaround aid station. This gave us 25Kers the opportunity to yell words of encouragement across the water to our 50K comrades, who would have about 9.5 miles to go. Some of us drove back to the finish line to cheer them as they came in.

That night brought us to Beale Street, where we enjoyed its famous nightlife, with live music in every bar. (One band noticed that were clumped together and asked us where we were from. It turned out their bass player was from Bloomington, Illinois!) We also enjoyed the camaraderie with some fellow runners from Evansville, Indiana. We recognized each other by our new Swampstomper shirts.

Linsday summed it up succinctly: “Good food, good company, good trails!”

Note: The 2012 Swampstomper will be on January 15 and start at Poplar Tree Lake instead of the Mississippi River Group Camp Lodge. Race registration will open at 6 am on September 16, 2011.

There’s mud in them thar hills!

Here is an article I wrote that appeared in the Second Wind Running Club newsletter about the Pere Marquette Endurance Trail Run near Grafton, Illinois, on December 11, 2010.

One of the pleasures of running is The Road Trip. In this case, the road led to Pere Marquette State Park, near Grafton where a hilly trail race with crazy weather potential would take place. It could have been rain, sleet, snow, ice, mud, muck, or some combination. Race instructions read thusly: “We accept no Wimps or Whiners. Harsh penalties exist for anyone caught looking Wimpish or acting Whiner-like.”

Sometimes the road trip participants are a result of the domino effect. Someone gets the bright idea to do the race, talks someone else into it, and the armtwisting goes down the line, with the added pressure of entering before the race fills up. That’s what happened in the case of the Pere Marquette Endurance Trail Run, a 7.5-miler touted by its organizers as the Midwest’s “most grueling race.” Hard to say if that’s truly the case, but on December 11, 2010, it had to be the muddiest.

Seven Second Wind road trippers did the club proud, most notably Ellen Ehrhart, who won her age group (1:19:34). Chris Byron, Tony Suttle, Lindsay Spangler, Bill and Becky Dey, and I all ran well and vowed to return next year. This year’s race filled up in a record 10 hours and 21 minutes. “Pere Marquette is a really fun event, and I’d recommend it without reservation,” said Tony. “If you decide to run it, don’t hesitate to enter or you’ll be sitting on the sidelines.”

Lindsay almost didn’t make it into the race. By the time she signed up, it was full. Getting on the waiting list paid off. “I got into the race, so I exceeded my expectations,” she said. “I love mud, and it was a great road trip with the Buffalo.”

Pere Marquette is Illinois’s largest state park. It lies in an historic area along the Illinois River, close to its confluence with the Mississippi, and boasts scenic vistas of the two rivers amidst pretty woodlands, rock outcroppings and limestone bluffs. The course is a short line before becoming a loop, so that the first mile and a half is run both at the beginning and end of the race.

“Becky and I had run this race in 1998 and 1999,” said Bill. “In 2000 I started running ultras and had less time for shorter races. When Ellen and Don (Frichtl) told me about running the race last year, I recalled how challenging and fun it was. Both times I had run the course, it was either dry or frozen. The amount of mud this year was a big surprise and added additional levels of fun.”

Ellen ran it for the first time last year. “It was very cold,” she recalled. “The ground was frozen, which actually made the course fairly fast. With the mud this year, most times were slower as people lost time from sliding side-to-side and even backwards in some areas.” Her time was about seven minutes slower this year than last. Indeed, in the race’s 22 years, the 506 runners who finished posted the slowest average ever (1:40:54).

Race day began with packet pickup in the park’s lodge—a massive, historic, log-festooned structure built by the Civilian Conservation Corps in the 1930s. A live bluegrass band added to the festive pre-race atmosphere. According to Ellen, the race is one of the best organized—from registration, training runs (she and Chris did one), and waitlist transfers, to results, awards, and post-race refreshments. The variety of cookies was staggering.

The trail starts innocently enough for the first mile before climbing. The hills could be steep and painfully long. Ellen pointed out, however, that the hills were never steep in the way that it hurts your knees to run downhill because you are trying to brace continuously to keep yourself from falling forward. “Both Clinton and Forest Glen have a few short but steep downhills that make it a little difficult to run,” she said, “and McNaughton also has some short steep ones that are murder on your knees in muddy conditions. The downhills at Pere Marquette are quite runnable in comparison.”

The course oozed with ankle-deep, Illinois River gumbo mud. Mercifully, there were enough flat sections and some gravel and leaves to provide some mud relief and to help you feel that you were really running rather than clomping, slogging, or zombie-walking. Plunging headlong downhill in the mud with full commitment separated seasoned trail runners from everyone else. “I like mud!” said Bill. “The combination of mud and steep ascents and descents made for tons of fun.”

Eyes keenly focused on the next footfall to minimize the extent of the inevitable slo-mo mud slide. Being socked in by the weather meant that any vistas would have gone unviewed anyway. The fine-textured soil made the mud very slippery, and the rainfall the night before as well as the drizzle throughout the day kept it that way. Temperatures in the mid-30s were comfortable. Some wore shorts, some didn’t. It would have been a great opportunity to film a Tide commercial. Held only a day later, it would have been a great opportunity to film a horror movie as temperatures plummeted into single digits, with blizzard conditions a little further north.

Thanks to a wave start, in which runners were dispatched in groups every 30 seconds, there was usually plenty of room for the arm-flailing necessary to maintain one’s balance. “The seeded/staggered start is fairly unique for trail runs,” Bill stated. “It did help to somewhat minimize congestion on the trail.” The wave start was one of Ellen’s favorite things, too. “It was hard to see the other runners from my wave take off running up the first hill,” she said, “but I decided before the race to keep my breathing in check and power walk. It paid off for me because I caught some of the people in my wave within the first mile, some in the third mile, and even a couple in the sixth mile. Of course, I was passed by many who started in later waves, including Byroni, but I felt like I ran my own race and enjoyed every step.”

Whoa-inducing skids were the order of the day. “A highlight this year,” said Ellen, “was the group of hecklers at the very top of the first hill where the mud was the worst with slippery clay. This part of the course is also the last downhill so the hecklers were there to encourage the runners to ‘go for it’ as they slid down this hill. I didn’t fall, but I think those who did received some extra hearty cheers.” (Yes, Virginia, there is online video, here and here.)

“All the additional running really helped,” Tony said, referring to the increased mileage and hill work he’d been putting in since retiring last summer. “Who would have thought that running more would make you a better runner? I usually set the bar pretty low on expectations, but I have to say, this time they were not only met but exceeded.”

A brutal flight of stone stairs,the kind you’d expect in Dracula’s castle, cruelly awaited at mile 6. If you didn’t have enough energy in reserve, it was here that you withered. The trail later descended into a gnarly slot between two boulders, which made their first appearance on the way up at around mile 1. After that, it was smooth sailing to the finish line. “My time wasn’t very good, but I placed fifth in my age group,” said Lindsay, “and I was able to make good progress considering I was in the last wave, and the course was pretty eaten up by the time I started. I also didn’t fall, which was a huge accomplishment.”

Among the mud-caked finishers, no wimpish or whiner-like behavior was to be seen. There was a little fishpond near the finish in which runners could wallow and rinse off before heading up to the post-race party inside the lodge. Speaking of parties, registration for next year’s race starts at midnight September 1. Let’s have a sign-up party that night!

Note: The Pere Marquette Trail Run is an extremely popular race. Registration, capped at 650, filled in less than a day this year. You are encouraged to mark your calendar for September 1, 2011 (date that registration will open and close), and sign up to see what all the excitement is about. If you have run the race in the past, you will be put in a wave based on your last finish time. If you have not run the race, it is based on your 10k time, or best estimate. Also, if you sign up and your plans change you can transfer your bib number to someone on the waiting list. Therefore, you don’t lose your entry fee if your plans change before the cut-off day for transfers, and you may also help out a fellow runner. For additional info, visit www.teamgodzilla.org.

Photos:
Bill Dey, right, approaching the notch. Photo by Kate Geisen.

Becky Dey, photo by Lori Vohsen

Mud schmud. Age-group champ Ellen Ehrhart with Chris
Byron. Photo by Lindsay Spangler