My Challenge: The Great Virtual Race Across Tennessee 1000K

The Great Virtual Race Across Tennessee 1000K course

I ran ten miles today.

Although I'm happy with the tempo pace that I achieved therein, I will say that the ten-mile distance usually isn't a huge challenge for me. I run ten-milers several times a week, and I often do longer runs on weekends. I know, I know: when you're retired, any day can be a weekend day. Suffice it to say that I typically do a longer run once a week.

A much greater challenge is to run seventy miles in a week. That's an average of ten miles a day, but such intensity requires consistency and persistence. Such weeks take in some ten-milers, shorter runs on easy days, and the long one. In recent years, I've done a lot of sixty-mile weeks, sometimes hitting 3,000 for the year. Yet seventy-mile weeks have been relatively rare. It's even rarer for me to string together a couple of these in a row. Could I do so every week between May 1 and August 31? That would amount to 2,000 kilometers or 1,240 miles. I'm not sure whether I've ever run so far in such a time period. That's the challenge.

My weekly mileage over the past year

The Great Virtual Race Across Tennessee 1000K is something that I probably wouldn't have considered other times. I would be thinking more about my performance at specific races. But now with the pandemic going on, there are no other specific races; at least no non-virtual ones. And so I accepted the challenge.

The 1000K course is a virtual one that zig-zags across the state of Tennessee. Runners log their miles each day, and they can see how far across the state they've gotten. 1,000 kilometers is about 620 miles, and that averages out to a bit more than five miles a day for the time period. The extra challenge comes in for the over-achievers (like me) who want to double that. They will virtually turn around after the first 1000K and run back to the start.

It occurred to me that I could have run 2,000 kilometers on my own, without paying sixty bucks for the privilege (and the t-shirt and medal). But by registering, I am making myself accountable.

I am in, and I start tomorrow.

My Most Unforgettable Ultramarathon, and What I Learned From It

Marathon & Beyond Magazine had a regular feature called, My Most Unforgettable Marathon or Ultramarathon (And What I Learned from It)  Most people would write an inspiring piece about the achievement of some great goal or something like that. But that’s most people. Here is what I wrote in 2011. Believe it or not, it is a shortened version of the original article.


June 16, 2001

The 5 AM start came early. There was light rain and fog as we began running through the campground and onto the dark gravel and dirt roads. After only a few miles, about 6 of us realized that we were already off course. Coming to our senses, we nearly sprinted the half-mile back to catch back up with the rest of the bunch. The course was actually well marked, but the rain erased part of a chalk mark, making it appear that we were supposed to turn.  The occasion was the Mohican Trail 100 Mile Run. And the fun was just beginning.

Those road miles were at an easy pace. The folks I was with walked up the hills and ran the rest. These hills were substantial, but we hadn’t seen anything yet. After 9 or 10 miles we started on the trails. The rain had stopped, but now we would have to deal with its after effect: the mud and muck of Mohican. It didn’t take long at all for me to take a tumble. The combination of mud, slippery rocks, extreme downward steepness and my dumb story-telling to those around was all it took. I broke my fall with my hands, arm and leg, all of which wound up with cuts, scratches and gashes mixed with mud and blood.

It didn’t help that my wife, Debbie was there to see me at the next aid station. She had agreed to be my crew throughout the day, until it was time to meet my pacing companion at mile 69. And she had gone into the event quite worried about me. And the problem is that I often worry about her worrying. A nervous wreck the night before, she made me promise to never again attempt such a stupid thing as running 100 miles. In a moment of weakness, I agreed. I want to state for the record that Debbie is as supportive of my running as any spouse can be. She was just very worried in this instance.

Expectations were not extremely high. Although I’d been running for 25 years, I was fairly light on ultra experience. My resume included a poor showing at a 24-hour run, a 50k and two 6-hour runs. I had decided to do this foolish thing only three weeks before. After talking with some running friends about it at a Memorial Day race, I determined that if I could do a 40-mile training run the very next day, I’d register. I could and I did. Given all this, I went into the race hoping only to finish.

Experienced ultrarunners had told me to get plenty of food and liquids (“Eat like a horse, drink like a fish, run like a turtle”), yet to not linger at aid stations longer than necessary (“Beware of the chair”). I did eat and drink a lot, but I also did spend a lot of time at the aid stations. The folks there were fantastic. They provided the usual ultra foods, such as bananas, soup, PB&J sandwiches and pizza. But several went out of their way to provide something unique, like those cherry cheese French toast sandwiches. The volunteers helped me clean my wounds, and even helped change my wet, muddy shoes and socks at about half way through. I was terrified to look at my feet and couldn’t imagine how anyone else would be able to. The nice lady simply said, “Don’t look at them yourself, and don’t worry about me. I’ve seen them all”. Of course the clean shoes and socks didn’t stay that way for long.

The middle 60-70 mile trail portion of the course consisted of several loops designated by color code. They formed a cloverleaf, with the Mohican Covered Bridge in the center. Each section had its own personality, and all were quite beautiful. I didn’t know Ohio could get this hilly, or this pretty. At one point we encountered a wall of rocks and tree roots that we had to climb up, hand over hand. But the reward was a view of a nice little waterfall. Later we had to climb down a similar wall of rocks, and then got to run behind another waterfall. There were some really great runs along rivers, several stream crossings, and one actual river crossing. I was already beat when I hit the 50-mile mark in 11 hours.
For some unfathomable reason, I got a second wind at about mile 55. It may have been that there were actually a few level miles, or seeing a wild turkey in the woods, or the beautiful scenery along the river, or knowing that I would have someone to run with very soon.

My friend Dave Kanners met me at mile 69 in order to run with me to mile 88. I sure needed that! Knowing that he would be there kept me going to that point, and then actually having company for most of the rest of the way helped even more. We mostly walked, but there was a bit of jogging and shuffling mixed in. Dave politely put up with my bad jokes and bathroom stops. It was a moonless night and the stars were fantastic.

The final miles were toughest. It was getting light and I could appreciate the scenery once again. But I was in pain. All of my muscles were screaming at me to STOP! It was surprising that my feet had held out this long, but now the blisters were making themselves known. Dry socks helped. At the final aid station, 3.2 miles from the finish, I tried to get some bandages on the blisters, but they kept sliding off as I put my socks back on.

It took me an hour and 12 minutes to complete that final section. That’s only 2.6 miles per hour! Three people passed me - one of them at a full sprint ¼ mile from the finish. As I turned into the campground, there were a few enthusiastic folks to give applause. I said out loud, “I guess I ought to try to run, to earn your applause”, so I did actually shuffle in. My time was 26 hours, 31 minutes, 26 seconds. That was about 30th place, and not quite last of the Mohicans. I was trying to figure out how in the world to clean myself and call Debbie, when she showed up – only a couple minutes after my glorious finish.

And my solemn promise? I recovered surprisingly well and Debbie needn’t have worried; but I had absolutely no desire to ever try anything like this again. The run will forever rank as one of the highlights of my running career. But it wasn’t quite my most unforgettable ultramarathon.


Spring, 2011

Although I had done a few more ultras since 2001, I hadn’t really gotten into them a whole lot; for me, it was mostly marathons. That changed with a successful 100k at Mad City. It was in the aftermath of this successful effort that the thought of trying another 100-miler began to creep back into my head. Heck, it’s only 38 more miles! I had friends who were registered for one or both of the two local 100-mile races, Burning River and Mohican. Naturally they read my thoughts and cranked up the peer pressure to do either or both. Gobs of training miles and a solid 50k run sealed the deal for me. Evidently I could run trails (although Mohican’s and Burning River’s were relatively tough). I could run in heat. And I could run for long distances. What else is there?

Debbie agreed to let me out of my no-more-hundred-miler promise, although I’m not sure exactly why. She did mumble something about making sure the life insurance was paid up. Now the only question was: Mohican, or Burning River?

Burning River’s trails would be, contrary to the remarks of some of my trail dog friends, more doable (read: less difficult) for me. It is also very well-organized. I know this, because I’ve volunteered there in past years. Mohican, scheduled in June, may be less hot than Burning River, which takes place at the end of July.

At the point of my decision, Mohican was also only a couple weeks away. I didn’t think recovery from my recent 50k would be a problem. In fact, that close-by event date was actually the clincher. I’d have the thing over with. It would be out of my system. I would be able to move on to other, (hopefully) faster things. One could only hope.


June 17, 2011

After three hours of running, Ladd Clifford announced that we’d gone 13 miles according to his GPS. Surely we’d come farther than that! I wondered, not for the first time, about the accuracy of those things. But it actually made sense in comparison to where I thought we were on the course. And this was truly the perfect speed for us to run a hundred-miler; we were right on pace. I had only one very small problem at this point: everything hurt.

It was now ten years and one day since my first attempt at this foolish distance. The race was now called the North Face Mohican 100 Trail Run. The course incorporated some of the same trails, along with other new ones. To run 100 miles, runners would do two 27-mile loops followed by two 23-milers. The start/finish was at a (different) campground that was adjacent to the rest of the park. Most importantly, the road sections were almost entirely eliminated; it was virtually all trail now. The trails were as tough as ever, but there would be more of them. This was considered by my trail dog friends to be a good thing. I can only shake my head and wonder about these folks.

When I say everything hurt, I do mean everything: every bone, muscle, tendon, and brain cell. Every stride, every footfall, was painful. I'd felt general pain during runs before, but never with 87 miles yet to go. And that's the part that was hurting those brain cells. One of my painful body parts was my left heel. I had had Plantar Fasciitis off and on for the past six months, but I’d been fortunate in that it had never become bad enough to slow me down very much. At the time, I didn’t believe that it was so much a problem here either; it was just one pain amongst many.

Everything about this run became a love-hate thing for me. I loved driving down to Mohican the night before with Ladd, Frank Dwyer, and other friends. We three guys had planned to stay together as much as possible for the first half of the race. I loved seeing old and new friends at the check in, dinner and meeting Friday night. I've said it before and I'll say it again: ultrarunners are some of the best people I know. I hated not being able to sleep more than two hours in our tiny cabin due to the campfire smoke that was like being two feet away from a chain-smoker. Less humid air and a small breeze would have helped.

The 5 AM start had come early. It was warm and extremely humid due to the rains the night before and earlier in the morning. After a half-mile, we reached the single-track trail. I'd anticipated that there may be a slow-down as we 300 runners (about half were 50-milers; the rest of us were centurions) entered the trail. What occurred, however, was a total traffic jam. Who wants to totally stop running, when there are 99.5 miles to go? Eventually, we started walking, single file, up the switchbacks. It was still dark, and the long line of headlamps traversing the winding trails was surreal.

After some walking, we began shuffling on some of the straightaways. There were some extremely muddy areas, and without trail shoes, I did some slipping and sliding. As unique an experience that this single-file trekking in the dark was, I hated it. I had absolutely no control over whether I could run or walk; I had to do what the group was doing. Even when I could run, it was hard to do so - it was that tough out there already.

Even several miles into the run, I was still with groups of runners going single file. The larger group had broken into smaller ones, but it was still impossible to get around them. And I was still at their mercy in regards to walking or running. Naturally the steep sections were for the walking, but there seemed to be way too few flatter areas. I even asked Ladd at one point: "Do you think there will be anyplace where we can run for more than just a few steps?"

Ladd, Frank and I were never far from each other. After a couple hours, we could stay together, and better avoid the groups. It was probably about 7am when I started to notice the scenery. The forest was truly beautiful, and now away from the crowds, I thought about how much I loved this. I thought about why I run at all; to see sights and experience nature in ways that are impossible any other way.

The epiphany didn’t last long. Things were beginning to hurt. Now at 13 miles, we were only half-way through the first loop. I tried to adjust my thoughts: just make it to the next aid station, then the next, then to the finish of the first loop.

I forgot about the pain for a while as we crossed a stream several times and then climbed up and over a small, muddy cliff. This half-mile or so section probably took a half-hour or more. It was fun, but also frustrating. The rest of the terrain was also terrible, but this part was the worst. And I’d been here before, ten years ago.

Eventually I found that I couldn't stay with Ladd any more. He was moving at a slow, steady pace, but I couldn’t even hold that. My overall pain was still increasing, and the humidity made it difficult to breath. In addition, I was tired. I’m not sure I understood the fatigue; perhaps it was only from fighting the overall pain. In fact, I was actually winded for much of the time. I made a couple remarks about all this to Frank, but he didn’t answer. I think he was having difficulty as well.

By the time we got to the final aid station of the first loop (mile 22 or so), I was totally spent. Ladd and Frank were still there, and I said that I didn't know if I'd be able to complete the circuit, much less start the next one. I don't think Ladd believed me. I hardly believed it myself. In all my years of running and racing, I’d had only one DNF, in a marathon where I very well could have gone on. Until this moment, the thought of a DNF here hadn’t crossed my mind at all. In fact, I'd had no contingency plan whatsoever; I was going to finish no matter what. I was aware that this race had a very low (often well under 50%) finish rate, but DNF’s were for other people. If I had difficulty, I’d just run through it; it was simply a matter of perseverance.

I’ve been running long enough to know that bad patches can come and go. One has a great deal of time to get over something during an ultramarathon (in this case, cutoff was 32 hours). But it only got worse. More runners began passing me. I knew several of them, and they tried to encourage me. It didn't work. Once when I did try to run I tripped and fell. This was on top of a few other minor falls earlier in the race. By now I hated every minute.

Eventually I saw it: a short-cut! This would eliminate the extremely vertical final two-mile section of the course. Since I was going to be dropping, I had no qualms about taking this route back in.

The 25 or so miles had taken me over six torturous hours. It felt so wonderful to get off my feet, not to mention those terrible trails. For all I know, I may have been the first to drop, but I didn't care one bit. I could think of only one word, and I said it over and over: relief! Debbie was there at the campground to take me home. I later learned that Frank dropped at around 50 miles, and Ladd made it to the finish. For me, even though I had badly wanted to finish, everything had changed. I was now just happy to be off my feet.

R to L Dan, Frank, Ladd at Mohican in 2011

And What I Learned from It

    1) I’m not infallible. Based on recent results I felt I had reason to be somewhat confident going in, but nothing is pre-ordained. Sometimes it appears that success breeds success, but success doesn’t last forever. Neither does failure.
    2) A lot can happen in a day’s worth of running. Much of it is bad. Some of it (like injuries) can be so bad that it’s impossible to go on. This applies to nearly everyone and anyone. I now believe that it was the Plantar Fasciitis and road shoes that got me. I must have been favoring my left foot, and this led the other pain and fatigue.
    3) A runner should recognize his or her strengths and weaknesses. This doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t try different things or get out of our comfort zone, but we should at least know our limitations. I’ve had limited success on trail runs and typically do better on roads. This trail run was simply not my cup of tea.
    4) Besides preparation and good luck, finishing an event like this does require a great deal of perseverance. I greatly admire those who can manage to complete such a thing. Mohican (and several others) are not just 100 miles. They’re 100 miles over rough terrain. Yet, Ladd and several others made it. I'm in awe.
    5) My friends had tried to help, and they were disappointed for me (for, not in) when I dropped. I should also mention that my friend Patrick Fisher had been ready to pace me for the final 23 miles. I'd been thinking that there would be none better. Ultrarunners are the best people, period. There, I did say it again.
    6) I should have stuck with my pledge. On the other hand, maybe I needed to be brought down to earth. It was great to see Debbie there when I quit; I was sorry to disappoint her most of all, but of course she was proud of me no matter what.

My Aldi Shoes

I needed running shoes, and there I was at Aldi, minding my own business when these babies popped off the shelf and into my cart. Running shoes (okay, "trainers") for $12.99! I figure that that's ~10% of what other running shoes cost, so all I need to do is get ~10% of my usual mileage (say, 30 or so) on them. Like my "Dan Logic?" I'll let you all know how this little experiment works out.

This, at least, is what I had posted in Facebook a month and a half ago. I received a lot of fun comments. Some said I should buy them out and corner the market. But most warned me to not get injured. A week or so later, I posted this comment: 

Okay, that was dumb. After 6 mill miles, my AT was acting up, so I quit. I may try them again sometime with some decent orthotic insoles. They're probably no worse for me than any other minimalist shoes. You know the kind... the kind I shouldn't wear. Ever.

But then a funny thing happened. I did insert my Superfeet insoles, and this made a whale of a difference! Now the shoes felt good, before, during, and after my runs. In fact, I love them! I now have over 60 miles on them, so I've doubled their expected lifespan.

They are, unfortunately, wearing out. The midsole rubber is wearing down in the heel area of both shoes. So They won't go much longer. But it's been a really good ride.

Your Dog Attacked

As I went by, I heard the barking behind me. I ignored the attack and kept running. The medium-sized white dog managed to get underneath my feet and knocked me down. I landed on my hands, so other than a small scrape under my glove, I wasn't hurt. But I sure was angry.

This occurred in my neighborhood, within a half-mile of home. Some people were in their front yard, and they had two dogs on leashes. I went to the opposite side, giving plenty of room. I was a couple of houses past them when the attack occurred. After I fell, the dog that attacked ran back towards the two people and their leashed dogs. I yelled, "What's with you people? Leash your dog!"

Okay, maybe that first sentence wasn't the best response, but it just came out of my angry mouth. I was thinking of how irresponsible they had been. The people hardly reacted to my yelling at all. It then occurred to me that the dog may not have belonged to them. It may have belonged to a different neighbor that had not kept it under control. I could have asked. But, typical runner that I am, I just wanted to get going on my run. And so I did.

Somone was irresponsible, whether it was the people that I saw, or someone else.

I'll have to get some pepper spray.

Running's Woodstock - A Look Back at the 100th Boston Marathon

This article appeared in the March/April 2006 issue of Marathon & Beyond. It was ten years after the 100th Boston Marathon, which took place in 1996. I hope you enjoy this oldie but goodie.

...

Were you there? Did you attend the greatest rock-and-roll gathering of all time? Woodstock was a one-of-a-kind event attended by thousands. It was a watershed; popular music can be considered in terms of everything that came before it, and then everything that happened and continues to happen afterward. Woodstock still exerts an enormous influence on rock-and-roll music.

Were you there? Did you attend the greatest running gathering of all time? The 100th running of the Boston Marathon was also a one-of-a-kind event, attended by thousands. Boston 100 was also a watershed. Everything that came before—the previous 99 Boston Marathons, all of the New York, Chicago, London, and other big marathons—led up to the 100th Boston Marathon. Everything that came after Boston 100—number 101 on up, as well as the subsequent running of other big marathons—has been influenced to some degree by events on that day. Although it seems like only yesterday, that day, April 15, 1996, is now 10 years in our past.

Every big-city marathon has something special to offer. All have excitement, crowds of cheering fans, great and average runners, and some measure of history and tradition. That said, the Boston Marathon still manages to stand out. No other marathon (with the possible exception of the Olympic Marathon) can come close to matching this history and tradition. No other marathon can match the camaraderie, this gathering of kindred souls. No other community provides this much support for a race and its runners. When was the last time you were treated like a king or queen for a weekend, just for being a runner? When was the last time you were able to commune with so many other kings and queens who all have this much in common: for the most part, they all had to qualify to get there, and they will all struggle together. When was the last time you ran in the footsteps of so many great runners throughout history? If you’ve done Boston, you know the answers. More than any other race, the Boston Marathon has always been a pilgrimage for runners. The 100th Boston Marathon was the pilgrimage to end all pilgrimages. Let’s take a look back to one of the most extraordinary days in the history of running.


THE B.A.A.: WHAT WAS IT THINKING?

The Boston Athletic Association (B.A.A.) has presided over the Boston Marathon since its inception in 1897. The organizers decided several years in advance that the 100th running of their race should be a special celebration. They wanted a running-related party that would be remembered as another major milestone in the history of the Boston Marathon. Would they be successful? Would the event live up to its hype?

With Guy Morse as the race director and Dave McGillivray as technical director, the B.A.A. had a great team in place. The event that they were to organize, however, was unprecedented in scope. Having a celebration this big and this elaborate simply hadn’t been done before.

It appears that they were thinking that this event could, and should, be done big. What better way to acknowledge this milestone than to enshrine it for posterity?


THE QUALIFICATIONS WERE REMOVED

One of the most important decisions for an organizer of any celebration to make is whom to invite. The B.A.A. decided to be as inclusive as possible, even though it wasn’t sure where this would lead. The most striking difference between Boston 100 and other Bostons would be the numbers.

The conventional wisdom prior to the event was that Massachusetts’s narrow streets, especially around the start of the race, preclude large numbers of participants. Although the B.A.A. did some experimentation with the numbers in the years leading up to the race, the total number of entrants had not exceeded 10,000. Most experts believed that any further increase would push the limits of what the course and the entire city could accommodate.

The B.A.A. had been controlling the number of runners primarily by restricting the qualifying times. For the 1996 race, organizers decided to still allow qualified runners a guaranteed entry, while others could try to register and be accepted as space permitted— in other words, until the B.A.A. decided it had enough. But how many was enough? They weren’t saying.


THE NUMBERS SKYROCKETED

Registration didn’t close until much later than originally planned. The B.A.A. surprised itself by not limiting the number of entrants as much as it had anticipated. Some still had to be turned away, however. There would be nearly 39,000 runners lined up in Hopkinton on April 15.

Hopkinton is a quaint, small town in semirural Massachusetts. The population of permanent residents is currently about 13,000. Every year on Patriots’ Day, that number doubles or even triples for the start of the marathon. How would it be able to handle not only the throng of runners, but also the countless volunteers, spectators, police, and bandits this time around?

Prior to 1996, runners were bused to the high school and encouraged to stay there (in the gymnasium or outside) until called for the start of the race about three-quarters of a mile down the hill, into the town. Many did so, but others wandered and explored the town, sometimes using bushes or small stands of trees for bathroom needs. The residents must have been horrified at the thought of four or more times the usual number of runners doing those sorts of things.

The answer was an Athlete’s Village. Runners would be strongly encouraged to stay on the high school grounds. The school itself would be closed, but the grounds would have tents with entertainment as well as informational and motivational speakers, including the ever-popular Johnny A. Kelley. There would also be plenty of porta-potties, both in the village and throughout the town.


THE CHIPS WERE DOWN

It wasn’t so long ago that there was no such thing as a ChampionChip. It had been used only in Europe and for the Los Angeles Marathon before the 1996 Boston race. The B.A.A. correctly determined that the risk of using this new technology outweighed the logistical problems of not using it for 39,000 runners. Since then, it’s hard to imagine any large running event without the Chip. Today, some runners have no experience at all in races that don’t use them.

It all started here in Hopkinton - Some friends who made the pilgrimage (L to R): Dan Horvath, Brian Peacock, Rick Jayroe, Garry Watson, Mike Light

MARATHON WEEK

Boston had endured an extreme amount of snowfall just days before the race. Crews had been busy clearing the roads for days. Would the unseasonable winter weather continue into race day? Would the roads even be clear? The forecasts were shaky. Race officials were duly nervous.

Early in the week, a Boston Marathon Centennial Monument was unveiled. On it, the historic course route was mapped out, set in stone.

The expo had to be expanded to become, you guessed it, the largest running expo ever. It was still held at the Hynes Convention Center, and it was very crowded, but not much more than usual. Special commemorative race T-shirts and hats were given to the runners.

Marathon champions from past years were in attendance at the expo as well as several other events. John A. Kelley, John J. Kelley, Rob de Castella, Amby Burfoot, Bill Rodgers, Katherine Switzer, Ingrid Kristiansen, Joan Benoit Samuelson, and notably Johnny Miles were among the honored invitees. No fewer than 50 past champions would run the race, wearing numbers corresponding to the year of their victories.

A Friendship Run allowed international runners to participate in a jog in order to commune with other visitors and locals alike.

The pastaloading dinner—yes, like everything else that weekend, the largest ever—was a grand affair, with more than the usual amount of hoopla and running-related entertainment. This expanded version required an expanded venue, so a shipping warehouse on the harbor was used. A navy captain decided he wanted to run the race, so he pulled his ship up next to the area where the pasta dinner took place and offered runners a tour.

The snow mercifully stopped as race day approached. Hope sprang eternal.

The entire town of Boston buzzed with excitement for the entire week. Excitement and anticipation were everywhere.

The Author with the New Chip

THE START

April 15, 1996: the day had arrived. Would the B.A.A. manage to bus 39,000 runners from downtown Boston to the start in Hopkinton in time? Eight hundred buses were required for this logistical challenge. The lines and waits for the buses were long, and the traffic getting into Hopkinton was bad. Somehow, however, everyone managed; no bus-riding runners were even close to being late for the start.

The weather held. In fact, it was fantastic: crystal clear and bright, with temperatures in the 40s and 50s. Yes, there were still piles of snow on the sides of the road, but the roads themselves were fine.

The Athlete’s Village concept worked extremely well. The area was able to accommodate the throng, and the entertainment kept them occupied. Porta-potties were plentiful, both in the village and throughout the town. Some had long lines, but others had no lines at all. Some runners still managed to avoid the Village and walk around town prior to the start, but this caused no major problems.

11:00 A.M.: It was time to line up for the start. This many had never lined up for a marathon before. That narrow road never looked so narrow. How long would everyone have to wait to begin? Boston places runners in corrals based on their qualifying times. For the 100th running, a lot more corrals were needed and more side streets to place them on.

Noon: All but the elite runners who have done large races know the drill. The gun goes off, the clock starts ticking, and you and the runners around you are still standing there. This, when you should be running--the clock has started, dang it! Of course this happened in spades on April 15, 1996, but not nearly as bad as even the most optimistic had thought. It took those who had qualified with a 3-hour time just a couple of minutes to reach the start. The 4-hour crowd reached the start at roughly 20 minutes after the noon start. All of the official entrants had crossed the starting Chip pads within 28 minutes of the gun. No one at the B.A.A., even in their wildest dreams, had thought it would go so smoothly. Many of those in the back of the pack had assumed that the elite runners would be crossing the finish line before they had even reached the start!


THE RACE

Although the weather was cool, the typical Boston headwinds would take their toll on many runners, including some of the elites.

As usual, the race attracted some of the best marathoners from around the world. Included were Uta Pippig, who had won the previous two Boston Marathons, one of them in course-record time. Also included was Cosmas Ndeti, winner of three previous Bostons and also a course record holder.
Uncharacteristically for a great Kenyan runner, Ndeti had been brash about his chances to win for the fourth consecutive year. Uncharacteristically for himself, he began the race in the lead, at world-record pace through 10 miles. He had started conservatively and run strong second halves for his previous victories. Kenya was using this race as qualification for the Olympics, so there was a larger than usual group of great Kenyan men along with a few other East Africans in the lead pack. The pack stayed together until mile 22, when former track star and 1995 runner-up Moses Tanui opened up a lead that would carry him to the finish in 2:09:15. Ndeti was third.

Pippig did start slowly and considered dropping out because of several physical problems, including menstrual cramps. The top runners took turns at the lead early on. The indomitable Tegla Loroupe eventually took a commanding lead.

Pippig had persevered, however, and moved into second place behind Loroupe. Surprisingly, Loroupe faded near the finish, and Pippig took the lead in the last mile, winning in 2:27:12.

The early miles were crowded, but the weather was great

The nonelite runners couldn’t help but notice that the narrow roads between Hopkinton and Boston were more crowded than usual. Few complained. Spectators were out in full force—even more than usual for the marathon. All the usual hot spots (Framingham, Natick, Wellesley, Boston College, Commonwealth Avenue) and everywhere in between were brimming with wildly cheering crowds. The volunteers were at their usual best. Everyone sensed that something special was happening.


THE AFTERMATH

Even though this was the 26-mile-long party to end all 26-mile parties, most of the runners were still happy to see that finish line. Many were surprised to not find a chute with people to tear off the number tags. The Chip mats and timing had eliminated the need; all the runners needed to do was to cross over the mats and get their chips off their shoes to hand them in—easier said than done. For many, help was appreciated here as the simple task of bending over to untie a shoe becomes more complicated at the finish of a marathon. The Chips had worked exactly as planned and were soon to become a necessity for large races.

Remarkably, nearly 98 percent of the starters managed to cross the finish line. The final numbers were: 38,708 official entrants; 36,748 starters; 35,868 finishers.

Space blankets on the runners' backs shone like a sea of silver in the bright afternoon sun

Finishers were awarded special commemorative blue and gold medals. The space blankets on the runners’ backs shone like a sea of silver. One of the very few glitches occurred at this point. As runners made their way to the buses to pick up their gear, they were met by a huge crowd of others attempting to do the same thing. Many wound up pushing their way through the throng for over an hour. The buses had been parked too closely together, and perhaps there weren’t enough volunteers for this exercise.

This was but a minor problem, however. The race and the entire weekend had been an unqualified success. Almost without exception, runners praised the event as something they would remember for the rest of their lives. This marathon, of course, was still 26 miles and thus not necessarily any easier than any other. One tired runner, hearing others gush about how great an event it was, exclaimed, “And the best part is, it’s over.”

This one-time event will certainly be revered for all time among those who participated as well as those who watched or helped organize it. It will be remembered as running’s Woodstock, except without the sex, drugs, and rock ’n’ roll. Well, mostly.

The Birds is Coming

Word has it that when Alfred Hitchcock's film The Birds was about to come out for the first time, he wanted it promoted as, The Birds is Coming, rather than, The Birds ARE Coming. When you think about it, it actually makes some kind of sense, even though that way of saying it may not have been the initial one. And it seems a little more creepy his way.

The birds is indeed coming, this being spring and all. Every morning, they're singing up a storm in my neighborhood as I begin my run. And I've had a few minor encounters of late.

Last week a wild turkey ran (it didn't fly) across the road in front of me. I stopped to watch where it was going and why (I know. To get to the other side), but it skittered off into the woods. Turkeys are more common these days, but it's still a little unusual to see one.

Then I encountered a goose. Canada (not necessarily Canadian) Geese are very common in these parts, and they can be pretty aggressive this time of the year. I could tell this one, probably guarding a nearby nest, was going to be trouble by its demeanor. I find that they will usually begrudgingly get out of the way as I approach if I don't show fear. I didn't, and Mrs. Goose did move out of my way, hissing as it waddled. But then I looked back to see the thing flying directly at me. It was downright frightening. What did I do, you ask? I yelled and waved my arms, of course. Mrs. Goose changed course and veered off. I couldn't help wonder what it would have done to me if I hadn't turned. It was only then that I looked around to make sure no other humans were watching and laughing.

Then came yesterday. I saw an owl fly over the road, just in front of me. It landed in a tall nearby tree, so I stopped to check it out. I like owls; I think they're cool. But then I remembered another owl attack that occurred a few years ago. I thought about this owl that was now looking down at me, wondering if I were a large rodent. I decided to move on, just in case.

Twenty at the Twack

Regular readers will be aware that as few as eighteen miles can be considered a long run. But then, twenty is a number that separates the men from the girls, isn't it?

Our running friend sets out at about 5:30. He is running over to the track for today's planned long run. Last week he ran twenty for the first time in a while, but alas. It was only done on the treadmill. Today's long run would be outside and, running gods willing, not an inch less than twenty miles. The track is a nice place to do these lonely long runs because it's not as hard as roads, and there's less traffic. Not to mention any concern about getting lost. The constant turning can be a concern, but it can be mitigated by changing direction and running at least some miles in outside lanes.

Our runner notices salt trucks pre-treating the roads. It's not snowing yet, but some decent amount of the stuff is expected. Strange for April, but not for this one. There have been gobs of snow and it doesn't appear that it will end anytime soon. But it's dry so far today.

When he arrives at the track, he crawls under the fence as usual. No big deal. He does this fairly often, and as usual, there's no one around.

No one, that is, except for the cops. Our runner had been just barely settling down into a decent pace when he notices a police car checking the back of the high school building across the parking lot. He figures they will probably come over to the track next.

And they do. First shining their light from one side of the grandstand, and then the other. Our runner feels like he will get busted for sure. What to do? Crawl back out when they're not looking? No, that seems risky. Prepare to climb the impossibly high fence at a different corner? No, that would be really tough. Prepare excuses for his presence here, and think of different ways to beg for mercy? Yes, probably. Stop running and hide on the opposite side of the grandstand from the cops? Of course, and this strategy ends up getting deployed.

Although our runner had been sure he was seen early on, the cop car moves on. So maybe he dodged a bullet, so to speak. And so, our runner continues his trek at the track, a little shaken at first. But then he settles down to his go-to pace, and the run continues uneventfully.

Soon (okay, maybe not so soon) it's time to head home. Under the fence and onto the roads for the final three miles. He slows a little, but then picks it back up again to finish strong.

Another twenty is in the books.

Ten Again, Unnaturally

No part of me hurts, but I am running so slowly, I'll probably never get to ten. Ten is often the goal, as it has been for years, Ten is the difference between a serious and a not-so-serious effort. Daily tens adds up to seventy for a week, or sixty with one day off. (Editor's note: things don't usually work out exacticaly that way, but even so 60-70 miles a week has been fairly doable.)

Back to the slow part. It's not like I don't have the time. I have nothing but. But I also manage to get more and more tired, to the point of possibly not finishing, when I go this slow. The other concern would be increasing traffic in normal times. But these are not normal times.

What to do? Even as my olde injuries have faded, the old age hasn't. One possible reason for the fatigue is the 58 miles I've run in the past 5 days. That's a bunch. And some of them have even been at not so bad paces. I do occasional speedwork and tempo runs. Now some of this has been on the mill, but I still think it's safe to say that I'm running fairly well. Just not today. I head home after only four miles.

It's been a stinker. But wait. Maybe I can get on the mill. I climb on the thing, turn on the tv, and party on. The party continues for - surprise - six more miles.

It's a bit unnatural, but I'll call it ten. Again.

Nah

Fatigue. Soreness. Dizziness. Difficulty breathing. And, did we mention fatigue? Could it be the dreaded coronavirus? The question lingers for a second or two.

The short answer is, nah. At least, probably not. It's just Dan on another of his not-so-hot daily runs. Dan, you see, has good days and bad days, or, more accurately, bad days and stinkers. Today is in the latter category.

He is half-way through his planned eleven-mile route when the first raindrop falls on his head. Hmmm, he thinks. Could the weatherman have been wrong? Nah, he thinks. But then comes a second and a third drop. He begins to think that the weatherman, who'd stated that the rain would hold off until 8:00 AM was indeed wrong after all, by an hour and a half.

Dan's run, which had started off even more slowly than usual, had only just begun to slightly improve. This rain may cause one of three things: further improvement, further lousy running at the same speed, or a complete Wicked-Witch-of-the-West type meltdown. Guess which one Dan experiences?

Further improvement or running at the same speed? Nah. Anyone who knows Dan and who hasn't been living under a rock for the past 66 years knows that Dan hates cold rain. This day, he hates it more than usual, and he slows down more and more.

That's when the fatigue, dizziness, etc., occur. Somehow, Dan soldiers on, even as the miles get slower and slower. He manages to complete the eleven miles, but he's cold and wet and decidedly unpretty.

And those symptoms: are they better? Nah.