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Friday Sep 25, 2009 #
Note
Ultra Tales, part 6 -- You do what you gotta do
Angeles Crest seem to satisfy my ultra needs for a while, and it wasn't until a year later, October of 1987, that I ventured out again, this time a 50-miler along Virginia's Blue Ridge. Nice course, point to point, mix of dirt roads and trails, nice cool day, finished 5th out of 83, no disasters, no strange happenings, no great agony, nothing much worth writing about.... :-)
I must have had a pleasant reaction to that one as I signed up for another before too long, another 50-miler, this time in the vicinity of San Luis Obispo in central California in April of 1988. Similar course, reasonably hilly, mix of dirt roads and trails. Met up with Charlie DeWeese, who had also been doing some of these ultra things.
I don't remember the race director's name. What I do remember about him was that he seemed much more interested in the fact that he was running the race himself than in his duties as race director. His pre-race briefing left you with the feeling that most anything could happen -- the course might be marked well, or not; the aid stations might be there, or not. But that clearly was not his main concern. Wonderful.
It was a hot Saturday in early April, way to early in the spring to have acclimated to any heat, and way too hot for it to do much good if I had. Not so bad early on, but into the low 90s by the time we were doing the last 20 miles.
And, of course, fears were realized. The course was marked sufficiently, but an aid station at about 40 miles just hadn't shown up. Nothing. Blazing sun, not much shade in the rolling California hills, out of water, and starting to overheat quite badly. I remember staggering up one hill, moving slower and slower, than down into the next big gully, just a little bit of shade, and also a bit of a stream, not much water flowing but there was some.
Now understand that this was also a horse race to (or maybe a ride-and-tie, I'm not sure), and I was regularly passing the various signs that horses leave behind. It sure looked like they had stopped here to drink (and pee), and thirsty as I was, there was no way I was going to drink from this little stream.
But I wasn't just dehydrated, I was also overheated, and that I could do something about. Found the deepest spot I could, maybe 8 inches deep. Got down on my back and got most of my body underwater, just my face sticking up, and just lay there for 5 minutes or so enjoying the coolness. I can't remember if anyone else came by, or what they they might have said or thought if they did, but I didn't care. This felt so good.
Eventually I extracted myself, since at some point I still had to do the rest of the course, I couldn't just quit there. Three or four more slow miles (but not nearly as slow as pre-dunk), then the last aid station, which was there, even had some ice, I grabbed a bunch, put it in my hat, and managed the last 5 miles at a decent pace. 8:57, 13th of 88 starters.
Charlie made it around too. We spent the night in town. Slept well, but woke up at about 6 am (still on east coast time), and both very hungry. We headed off to find some breakfast, wondering if anything would be open that early. In the course of searching we passed an Embassy Suites, hmm, I had seen their advertising promising full breakfasts (if you stayed there). Maybe we could pay something and eat there.
Walked in. Nobody at the front desk, but there was a woman who was doing some cleaning, sweeping the floor. Breakfast is right over that way, she said, pointing the way. So off we went.
It was probably the best breakfast I have ever had, and I'd guess the same goes for Charlie. A full buffet, plus a guy cooking to order whatever you wanted. Charlie may have been worried that he would only get one trip through the line, so his plate was loaded to the max, to the angle of repose I think it's called. He polished that off without difficulty, went back for a similar refill, polished that off too. And I was equally in pig's heaven.
Eventually we could eat no more and it was time to go. Thanked the cook. Went out by the front desk to see what the bill would be. No one there except the same women, still cleaning.
Did you have a good breakfast?
Oh, yes, it was wonderful.
Well, have a good day.
Whatever ethical dilemma we may have faced -- we should go find someone to pay, but they should be out here, and does it really matter -- was resolved quite easily. Out we walked, big smiles all around.
Our plane wasn't until early afternoon. We went to the beach for a while, killed a little time. It was maybe 11 when Charlie let on that he was getting hungry.
What kind of food are you looking for?
Something just like breakfast would be mighty fine.
Angeles Crest seem to satisfy my ultra needs for a while, and it wasn't until a year later, October of 1987, that I ventured out again, this time a 50-miler along Virginia's Blue Ridge. Nice course, point to point, mix of dirt roads and trails, nice cool day, finished 5th out of 83, no disasters, no strange happenings, no great agony, nothing much worth writing about.... :-)
I must have had a pleasant reaction to that one as I signed up for another before too long, another 50-miler, this time in the vicinity of San Luis Obispo in central California in April of 1988. Similar course, reasonably hilly, mix of dirt roads and trails. Met up with Charlie DeWeese, who had also been doing some of these ultra things.
I don't remember the race director's name. What I do remember about him was that he seemed much more interested in the fact that he was running the race himself than in his duties as race director. His pre-race briefing left you with the feeling that most anything could happen -- the course might be marked well, or not; the aid stations might be there, or not. But that clearly was not his main concern. Wonderful.
It was a hot Saturday in early April, way to early in the spring to have acclimated to any heat, and way too hot for it to do much good if I had. Not so bad early on, but into the low 90s by the time we were doing the last 20 miles.
And, of course, fears were realized. The course was marked sufficiently, but an aid station at about 40 miles just hadn't shown up. Nothing. Blazing sun, not much shade in the rolling California hills, out of water, and starting to overheat quite badly. I remember staggering up one hill, moving slower and slower, than down into the next big gully, just a little bit of shade, and also a bit of a stream, not much water flowing but there was some.
Now understand that this was also a horse race to (or maybe a ride-and-tie, I'm not sure), and I was regularly passing the various signs that horses leave behind. It sure looked like they had stopped here to drink (and pee), and thirsty as I was, there was no way I was going to drink from this little stream.
But I wasn't just dehydrated, I was also overheated, and that I could do something about. Found the deepest spot I could, maybe 8 inches deep. Got down on my back and got most of my body underwater, just my face sticking up, and just lay there for 5 minutes or so enjoying the coolness. I can't remember if anyone else came by, or what they they might have said or thought if they did, but I didn't care. This felt so good.
Eventually I extracted myself, since at some point I still had to do the rest of the course, I couldn't just quit there. Three or four more slow miles (but not nearly as slow as pre-dunk), then the last aid station, which was there, even had some ice, I grabbed a bunch, put it in my hat, and managed the last 5 miles at a decent pace. 8:57, 13th of 88 starters.
Charlie made it around too. We spent the night in town. Slept well, but woke up at about 6 am (still on east coast time), and both very hungry. We headed off to find some breakfast, wondering if anything would be open that early. In the course of searching we passed an Embassy Suites, hmm, I had seen their advertising promising full breakfasts (if you stayed there). Maybe we could pay something and eat there.
Walked in. Nobody at the front desk, but there was a woman who was doing some cleaning, sweeping the floor. Breakfast is right over that way, she said, pointing the way. So off we went.
It was probably the best breakfast I have ever had, and I'd guess the same goes for Charlie. A full buffet, plus a guy cooking to order whatever you wanted. Charlie may have been worried that he would only get one trip through the line, so his plate was loaded to the max, to the angle of repose I think it's called. He polished that off without difficulty, went back for a similar refill, polished that off too. And I was equally in pig's heaven.
Eventually we could eat no more and it was time to go. Thanked the cook. Went out by the front desk to see what the bill would be. No one there except the same women, still cleaning.
Did you have a good breakfast?
Oh, yes, it was wonderful.
Well, have a good day.
Whatever ethical dilemma we may have faced -- we should go find someone to pay, but they should be out here, and does it really matter -- was resolved quite easily. Out we walked, big smiles all around.
Our plane wasn't until early afternoon. We went to the beach for a while, killed a little time. It was maybe 11 when Charlie let on that he was getting hungry.
What kind of food are you looking for?
Something just like breakfast would be mighty fine.
Note
Hmm, beautiful today, beautiful tomorrow, Sunday's forecast is for rain and thunder. I guess things are not meant to be easy.
So, got to think positive. Ran the Kettle Moraine 100, bunch of rain early on, about 3 miles of the course flooded ankle deep, still finished well. Did the Laurentian 24 hour rogaine, rain, wet the whole time, managed fine. Lots and lots of orienteering in the rain. Got to think positive.
But damn.
So, got to think positive. Ran the Kettle Moraine 100, bunch of rain early on, about 3 miles of the course flooded ankle deep, still finished well. Did the Laurentian 24 hour rogaine, rain, wet the whole time, managed fine. Lots and lots of orienteering in the rain. Got to think positive.
But damn.