The evening is the creation of the Pews Committee aka, Iggy, Oddjob and Allstate - thank you ladies, nice job! See below for highlights from the night.

I have taken on a challenge to make a difference in the life of a child with a serious illness. On April 20, 2009 I am going to run the Boston Marathon to benefit seriously ill children through Team Hole in the Wall.

We all know the joy we find running trails and being in the outdoors. Founded in 1988 by Paul Newman, Hole in the Wall Camps are the world’s largest family of camps for children with life-threatening illnesses. Thousands of kids are served each year at no cost to them or their families. Imagine the joy as the kids get to swim, act, canoe and share many other activities with kids who are going through the same challenges in their lives. For many, it is the first time they have a chance to feel normal again. I want to help them smile again. At the Team Hole in the Wall website, there are letters from parents and campers that you can check out. Their heartfelt letters will move you. Helping to change the life of a seriously ill child is pretty powerful stuff.

My goal is to raise $3,000 by April 1, 2009. I hope you will join me in supporting this important mission with your gift. To make a contribution to bring happiness to a child, you can sponsor me and visit my personal web page at teamholeinthewall.org.

Many thanks for your support and encouragement and for your help in bringing a smile to a needy child. With all the kind hearts I have seen in the Bimble running group I know I can count on you.

Clark

Meanwhile the main pack of runners who had now completed their run and hoped that Margo would have made he way back to the cars, were shocked to discover she wasn’t there. With the rule of “no Bimblers left behind”, they split into three groups and headed back into the woods leaving a couple of others at the cars in case Margo appeared there. The groups had barely disappeared from view when someone by the cars shouted “There’s Margo”, but looking up the trail no one was in sight. “Where?”, came the reply. “In that Volvo station wagon!” And sure enough sheepishly looking out of the window was Margo, safely returned by her rescuers.

So I ran my first 50miler yesterday, the Stonecat 50mile in Ipswich, MA, and came away with mixed feelings.

The day started, as they all do, with an alarm going off well before I was ready to get up. After a quick breakfast in the hotel with a couple dozen fellow Stonecat-ers, I was at the check-in site at 5.30am. Got my number, milled around and listened to some music until the RD gave his pre-race speech. He gave us the usual info, what colors to follow, what arrows to look for, what aid would be available and then dropped a gem of a comment and said that they had to adjust the course at the last minute and the total distance would now be a solid 54miles and dropped the term Horton Miles.  Now, I fully expect the given distance of a trail course to be taken with a grain of salt, but I’d rather know the total AFTER I’ve ran it. Not before so that I dwell on it throughout the race. So on that bombshell, it was outside to the starting line.

The weather outside was pretty dreary. The skies were overcast and there was a thin mist/slight drizzle falling but the temp was in the 50s so there was no chance of pre-race hypothermia. I’ll take a little time here to describe the course. The layout was similar to that of the Bluff in that there was a loop section accessed by an out and back stick section, but the Stonecat stick was less than a mile long leaving more than 12 for the loop. The course was a mix of single track and dirt/gravel fire road (I’d say 65/35, but that’s just a guess) and the terrain was very accomodating and runable with the only obstacles arising when the trail crossed old stone walls. The course rolled quite a bit and was only interspersed briefly with a couple of flat sections. The trails wound their way through your basic New England woodland, some awesome pine sections, through marshland, along the banks of a lake and skirted the edge of the plowed fields of a farm. There was even a small water crossing when the trail passed by a marshy area and the water was flowing over the trail into a little runoff stream on the otherside. This part of the trail was a few hundred yards long and along with the flowing water, there was a long stretch of standing water. There was really no way around it but that didn’t stop people from trying. It gave me great pleasure splash straight through it while runners ahead of me gingerly tip-toed around the edge. HA. This is a trail race. Get over it. The course was well marked with orange streamers, flags and arrows of paper plates which made it nearly impossible to lose your way but I didn’t let that stand in my way and succeeded in missing a turn and bringing my record to 3 for 3 in trail races this year (Curly’s, the Bluff, Stonecat). Apart from the start/finish, there were two aid stations at miles 4.5 and 7.8 well stocked and superbly manned. The volunteers were GREAT; friendly, VERY helpful and encouraging. Can’t say enough about these fantastic people.

Back to the starting line, I purposely located myself in the middle of the pack, hoping to avoid my tendancy to outrun myself at the beginning of races and soon settled into moderate pace. I had a couple of goals in mind for the race ranging from ambitious to attainable. First, I wanted to finish under 9hrs, which I thought was well within me to achieve. Second, I hoped to run under 8hr20min, which I thought was a solid goal. Third, my ambitious goal was a sub 8hr finish (thank you Forrest for throwing that one out there) and lastly, I wanted to run the whole course without walking any part of it. In my only two previous ultras, both 50k’s, I had to walk at some point which is for me akin to somebody trying to stay up all night taking a quick nap. It just doesn’t feel right to me and I wanted the satisfaction of running the whole thing. After the “stick” the loop begins with a very  long but moderate hill and I was surprised at the number of people walking up it. This trend continued the whole race with people walking up every incline we came to and while I understand late in the race your legs give out and you are forced to walk, shouldn’t you try to run? Aren’t hills to be expected on a trail race? Anyway, I continued on and focused on maintaining my pace but about halfway through the first lap, my legs started to ache and soreness began creeping in. By the end of the first lap, I knew something wasn’t right. My legs were killing me, aching all over. I shouldn’t be feeling this way until at least halfway through. Energy wise, I was fine and I had no choice but to continue, albeit slightly concerned. I started my second lap at 2hr 6min and I knew my 8hr goal was out of reach but I felt like 8hr20min was still within my reach. Throughout my second lap, my legs got worse so I tried hyperventilating to force oxygen to my legs hoping that would clear any built up acid and I lengthened my stride to try to stretch the legs a bit but this only slowed the progress of the pain. I never felt like my energy was low or that my legs were tired, they simply ached as if i had already run 30miles. My second lap finished at 4hr20(ish) and my third at 6hr30min. There was nothing for the pain now, execpt to focus on breathing and continue to run. The big kick in the sack came as I set off on my 4th and final lap. On painful legs, I faced my final lap determined to finish and with my 8hr20min now seemingly out of reach I focused on getting as close to it as possible. The dreaded thought of not making my 9hr goal now loomed on the horizon and wanted to waste as little time as possible but as I headed out, I overheard two spectators saying they expected the leader any minute now. I thought, that can’t be right. They must mean an hour or so. As I headed across the field along the “stick” I heard loud cheers and encouragements from the trail ahead and around the bend comes the first place runner, steaming along heading towards the finish line. I couldn’t believe it. Here I am, starting my last lap and he’s finishing his. Talk about disheartening.  All of a sudden, it felt like I was all alone at the back of the pack and I really had to dig deep to motivate myself to keep going. The first 3 laps actually passed by quickly. It didn’t feel like I had been on the trail 6.5 hours, despite what my legs said, but that 4th lap was by far the hardest. The trail was marked with milemarkers, which I hate, and it seemed like days would pass between each one. The image of the finish line and the trail that still lay ahead of me weighed heavy on my mind and I fought hard to stay in the present. I played songs in my head to help avoid thinking ahead and focused on reaching the next aid station. Along the way, I would pass other runners and although we would exchange greetings and encouragements, it felt good to pass them. As I left the trail for the final time and headed across the field towards the finish line, I used what energy I had left to sprint (i felt like I was sprinting, to everyone else, I’m sure it looked like a quick jog) and crossed the line in 8hr 40min 9sec. From there, it was all I could do not to collapse in a heap.

In the end, I came away with mixed feelings. I was disappointed a bit with my time and angry that my legs gave up so early in the race, but on the other hand, I was able to overcome the pain, run the entire course without walking, complete the 50+ miles and finish under 9 hrs. Again, I have to say the course was great and very beautiful and the volunteers were PHENOMENAL, so a big thank you goes out to them all.

It’s 4AM on Sunday, November 2nd,

Shaggy uses the “Jean Paul Jean Paul” technique of alarm setting. First you set the alarm clock on the nightstand making sure the VOLUME is on LOUD, then he calls the hotel front desk wake up service making sure not to upset the wake up person, thirdly comes the alarms on our two watches making sure they reads AM.

5AM: Head down to the lobby to catch a cab to the library were I meet my 5:30 AM bus to Staten Island and the wait begins.

This year they have a new wave start system. There are 3 colors, green, orange and blue and inside each color there are 3 starting times and inside each starting time there are 6 corral assignments. It sounds very confusing but it seemed to work out rather smoothly.

After finding a spot to lay out my blanket I was able to bundle up and stay relatively warm, a cup of hot tea, my banana, a bagel and 5 visits to the porta-potti and before I knew it, we were called to the starting corals at about 9:00 AM.

After 43 minutes the canon fired and we were off, this year on the lower level of the Verrazano Bridge, trying to stay away from the sides so not to get rained on if you know what I mean.

I know the first mile will be slow because it’s all up hill and the second is fast on the way down the other side of the bridge. As I hit the 5k mark I check my watch 25:37 a little faster then I wanted, so I say to myself slow and easy. At 10k I’m 50.40 I’ve picked up more speed, not good. My next mark will be at the ½ marathon hoping to be about 1:52:00 to 1:53:00. The half comes at 1:48:06, out of the 2 million spectators screaming I’m sure I can hear Shaggy yelling, “Slow Down!”

After running through Staten Island, Brooklyn, and Queens I now hit the Queensboro Bridge this is the quietest place on the course, there are no spectators allowed on the bridge but as you come down off the bridge you begin to hear a roar. Jerry says, this is what the Olympic athletes must feel when they enter the stadium. The noise is deafening as you exit on to 1st Ave in Manhattan, they say there are over a million spectators. I’ll never get use to this; it kinda gives me a chill.

Mile 17 ½ I see Shaggy, this gives be a boost of energy. I smile and wave and continue up 1st Ave, which seems a lot longer than last year. Into the Bronx and mile 20 I’m still moving forward. Now I have 6.2 miles to go, just like running a 10k.

Now we head back south through Harlem and down 5th Ave to enter Central Park, as we pass mile 24 the rolling hills of the park start taking their toll. At mile 24 ½ I hear Shaggy again screaming encouragement, you’re almost there, you’re looking great, only 2 miles to go. It was just what I needed.

The last 2 miles came and went and I am headed up hill to the finish, all I could think about is to shut off my watch and look up at the camera. I crossed the finish at 3:43:53 a new PR.

Later I find out that my friend and training partner Linda K. has finished in 3:55: her personal record by more than 14 minutes. I can’t wait to tell her she has qualified for the Boston Marathon. What an outstanding day… …I love New York!

Footnote: In case you were not aware of the results, Scoobie finished 4th in her age group!

Greetings to all!

Sorry that it’s been so long since my last communication, but things have been so crazy here (I know, you’re sick of hearing that!). In addition to moving from Glastonbury to West Hartford, Connecticut in the last month, Joaquín started school at a new daycare, James started at a new high school, Mekyael has taken on new work territories in addition to New England (namely, northern New Jersey and all of New York except NYC and Long Island), and I have been enjoying teaching a new—to me—class (Latina/o lit) and designing another for spring (Writing Through Research; basically a course in advanced research and writing, which I am focusing on film as a rhetorical “text”).

This, however, did not seem like nearly enough to manage on its own, so I also decided to run my first marathon AND my first 50K in October. Frankly, I was more interested in the 50K because it’s a trail race (they call them races, though if I am “racing” against anything it’s old age or uselessness or the occasional tedium of academic life), which I MUCH prefer to road racing, but I needed to be able to run a marathon FIRST in order to be sure I could actually finish 50K (32.5 miles). I’m sure the race organizer didn’t mean that those two distances should necessarily be run within 2 weeks of each other, but the racing season was growing short, and who knows what next year will hold for the Camara-Naynahas, so I decided to go for it.

As many of you know from my marathon text messages (it was automated and connected to the timing chip on my shoe; I wasn’t actually stopping to text everyone with my splits!), that run went fine. The first half was pretty fast (for me), in fact, though I was a little nauseous and had to stop multiple times to answer the call of nature in the 2nd half. That slowed me down quite a bit, but I finished without much ado in 4:26:12. I was up and about and basically back to my usual self the next day. Actually, the only real ramification of the race seems to have been a nasty cold that came on about 4 days later and hung on like white on rice for the next 10 days. To be honest, I was just happy that I wasn’t ill before or during the marathon, so I counted my blessings and focused on mentally preparing for the Bluff.

I was feeling my best since the marathon on the big day, the day of the Bimblers Bluff 50K. We had to rise and shine fairly early since the race started in Guilford, CT, about 45 minutes from our new home in West Hartford. Mekyael and I were on the road by 6:15 a.m. He drove while I drank coffee, ate, bandaged my feet, and adjusted my gear. We also stopped at McDonald’s where I got an egg mcmuffin, hash browns, and oj. (Yes, seriously. Before the marathon I ate sooooooo healthily for 2 weeks, and then I just felt like puking for the last 13 miles. I decided this time I was just going to eat and drink whatever I wanted and see just how things went.)

Mekyael and I arrived at the starting line just in time for the pre-race info session, which I kind of heard, in part. I was probably too far from the organizer, aka Mr. Bimble, considering this was my first “Ultra” event along with my first time on the Bluff, but I caught the bit about tape colors—tied to trees at various intervals to mark the trail—which temporarily switched from pink with black stripes to bright orange somewhere around the halfway mark. I also saw the specially designed finishers’ prize (a cool multifunctional tube of fabric called a “Buff”—they’re cool: look it up online). And then it was pretty much time to start.

We went outside into the damp but unexpectedly sunny New England morn (it had rained heavily most of the day and night before), we lined up as much as possible, and at 8:00 a.m. sharp we were off—somewhere around 195 individuals and 22 relay team members (the actual number of entrants)—for our confrontation with the Bluff, billed enigmatically as “exactly what you think it isn’t.”

Being from Idaho, I was expecting a fairly smooth trail run. This IS Connecticut, after all, and the state is mostly flat with rolling hills rising smoothly out if the even terrain every so often. I also expected reasonably well defined trails that had been tamped down to a hard dirt pack by bikers, hikers, runners, dogs, and horses—a la Boise foothills. Instead, the first 2 miles was basically a hodgepodge of ups and downs, stream crossings, boulder scrambling, and jagged rock of mixed sizes covered in a perfectly camouflaging blanket of new-fallen leaves. At the first creek I hopped up onto a big boulder but before I got a chance to hop down to the stream my feet slipped out from under me and I fell on my a@!. While this was all kind of a surprise to me, I was optimistic and just assumed that after a few miles things would mellow out and we’d all be able to start running in earnest.

Then I twisted my right ankle, hard, for the first time. People started to pass me and ask if I was okay, to which I replied, “Yes, yeah!” as I hobbled along, trying to “walk it off.” After a minute or so my ankle was loosening back up, so I started jogging slowly, and soon enough had picked up the pace to something close to what I was running before, though caution—and perhaps a dawning sense of realization—would dictate that I kept myself down to a thoughtful, observant pace for the rest of the race. And so went the next 7-8 miles. I was feeling great when I cruised into the 2nd aid station at 10 miles. I chowed-down some PB&J and bananas while I thought cheerfully about the next 20 miles. “That was practically cake!” I thought. “50K? Bring it on!!” Then I hit the trail again, which immediately started climbing what was labeled, in a fit of morbid humor, no doubt, “The Escalator.”

This climb to the top of the Bluff was a 4-legged scramble the entire way. I, alas, am only equipped with 2 legs, so I spent part of the time scraping my way upward with my hands in the dirt (which DID help eliminate the remnants of my sticky aid-station snackage) and part of the time standing partially erect with both arms pinwheeling backward as my body stubbornly refused to disobey the law of gravity. After having just run 10 miles, it was a real struggle to the top, but once there I was rewarded with the most scenic vista I’ve encountered since my move to the East. There was a picturesque little lake (or big pond) directly below the Bluff, and the old white colonials surrounding it sat placidly surveying their own reflections in the glassy water. The houses themselves were framed by rustic old barns in an array of browns and burgundies, and beyond that stretched miles and miles of New England’s famous autumn foliage in brilliant shades of crimson and gold dotted in between by still-fading greens. I stopped here for a few minutes to take in the scene, during which time the topography and its surreal beauty reminded me of all the amazing blessings in my life. But then, finally, I had to move on.

Imagine my surprise to find that this was not even necessarily the hardest part of the 6-mile stretch between aid stations 2 and 3. Arguably, it was, but then there were 5 ½ more miles of tough climbs interspersed with steep downhills consisting of the aforementioned camouflaged piles of jagged rock. At this point I was running alone for the first time in the race and following the pink and black striped tape rather casually, when I suddenly came upon a pie plate stapled to a tree with an arrow drawn on it in back marker. The arrow pointed improbably straight toward the sky. Opposite the pie-plate bearing tree was a rock face split by a moderately wide cleft in the stone through which a narrow ribbon of water drizzled, a steady token of the previous night’s storm.

I quickly found some good hand holds and hoisted myself up over the ledge of the 6-7 foot outcropping, then looked for pink and black ribbon. I found some and started off again, relieved to find myself moving downhill soon after. Unfortunately, after making a short loop around the rock projection, I found myself staring up at the same damned pie plate with the arrow pointing skyward. “SH*!” I breathed loudly. “No way!”

“Yes way,” was the Bluff’s satisfied reply. I traversed the rock face once more, and this time at the top I stopped to look around for a while so I could locate pink tape that didn’t turn me around in a circle. That was the first and least serious time that I would get lost during the race, and I thought certainly I had learned an important lesson there.

About four miles later another runner finally passed me. I hadn’t seen hide nor hair of any of my Bluff compatriots since right after the 2nd aid station, so while it always pains me slightly to get passed, I was happy to see another runner and even more pleased to have someone else to navigate the trail for me. Now I could focus my energy on attacking the uphill climbs and keeping my footing. In fact, I was so thrilled that I took off after my cohort in a kind of giddy haze and promptly caught my toe on a particularly bulky rock protuberance and really ate crap for the first time. I still have a neat row of black and blue marks running from my right upper thigh down to my shin, but at the time it didn’t hurt much more than my pride. I caught my breath, pushed myself back up onto my feet, and took off chasing my new running buddy. I wasn’t about to lose her now.

I followed her for the next mile and a half up to aid station 3, just passing her before we hit the highway crossing and shuffled in for some grub at 15.9 miles. Here we snacked substantially, I on boiled potatoes with salt, m&m’s, and bananas (of course). We had three hours to reach the next aid station in order to make the cut-off time of 7 hours at the 22 mile mark, and we agreed that this should be no problem whatsoever. After filling our hydration packs, My New Running Buddy and I started off once again.

Our little party of 2 was destined to part ways soon, however, and despite the fact that she had a bum knee she lost me on the next series of uphill climbs. They had told us at the previous aid station that there were still quite a few people behind us, so I was a little disappointed to lose My New Running Buddy but happy enough to follow the next tough guy who came along. Unfortunately, he happened to pass while I was off in the woods answering the call of nature, followed closely by 2 women who were picking their way cautiously around the flooded out trail. I figured there would be many more coming, so I concentrated on maintaining some momentum and just tried to keep them in sight off in the distance. At this point I was following the faint blue streak of Tough Guy’s t-shirt, which I glimpsed every so often through the foliage and alternating blinding streaks of sunlight cut through by afternoon shadows in the woods. There was also the tape, which had indeed switched to bright orange at halfway, but mostly I stuck by the trees adorned with a swatch of blue paint since the race appeared to have been following this trail marking for quite some miles now. I plodded along, often lost in thought, until I was snapped back to reality by another long uphill climb. I thought the women at the last aid station had said no more steep hills in this section. What the? Then I saw Blue-T-Shirt-Tough-Guy through the trees up above, so I kept on at it, cursing a little under my breath.

Finally, after another ½ mile or so of slogging my way uphill, I crested the long incline and found myself atop a giant stone outcropping that looked down on some more densely wooded forest. There was a blue swatch of paint right in the center of the top boulder, so I started my way confidently down the other side. At this point I encountered a day hiker making her way up the stone ridge (a disconcerting part of the race was to find people walking along leisurely with their Dunkin Donuts coffee cups, looking nonchalantly around at the birds and leaves, having ambled in from nearby parking lots). The hiker was gesturing down the hill and talking at me, so I stopped to see what was up.

“Does this lead back to highway 77?” she asks waving down the hill behind her.

I shrug, “I don’t know. I’ve never been on this trail before. I’m just following markers on the trees until I get to the next race station.”

“Oh,” she says definitively, “well, you’re lost.”

What? I thought. This lady is a kooky-bird!! Who does she think she is? She doesn’t even know where I’m going, so how can she know if I’m lost or not?!

“Oooooookay,” I say patronizingly, about to book my way down the hill anyway.

“No, I’m serious,” she says. “You’re with the other runners, right? Following the pink and black tape?” I nod, suddenly feeling unsure. “Yeah,” she says as she starts on her way back up the hill. “They all turned off way back there.” She points up over the ridge, back in the direction I had just come from, then disappears over the peak.

No. Way. I thought. I started off down the hill in the same direction I had been going for the past ¾ of a mile or so, when it dawned on me that while I had seen other runners off in the distance (or so I thought), it had been a while since I’d seen any orange OR pink and black tape. I stopped for a minute to give the dilemma some thought. Part of me recognized, I think, that it would be a good ways back before I encountered the elusive pink and black tape, and I just didn’t want to have to backtrack that far. After all, I’d already run about 18 miles by then, and, jeez, what a waste of energy! But then again, what if that trail DID lead down to highway 77 (wherever that was)? How much further was that? And then would I even be able to find my way back? I imagined myself attempting to wave down passing motorists, explaining lamely that I was in a 50K trail race and I got lost. While I had wondered absently about my ability to go the distance many times in the weeks leading up to the race, I knew for certain that all hopes of completing the 50K would be dashed by such a detour. Reluctantly, feeling utterly dejected, I turned around.

As I ran down the other side of that long, long hill, I chanted what would become my mantra for the next 16 miles or so and the remainder of the day: “Pink and black; Pink and black; Pink and black.” There it was, just as I had feared and expected, almost a mile in the opposite direction from the one I had been running for far too long. I got back on the trail, determined that I would NOT lose it again. I had to stop a handful of times to meander around a bit looking for the next strip of dangling pink and black. Eventually I would find the trail and move on. My little tangential adventure and subsequent prudence cost me precious time, and I tottered into the next aid station with barely a 20 minute cushion before the cut off time—7 hours. Before the race, I thought that I would surely have made this distance in 5 or 6 hours, tops!!

The kind souls at aid station 4 admired my fingernails (freshly painted in festive Halloween designs), joked with me about falling down, and filled and reattached my water bottles while I ate more potatoes and bananas, plus m&m’s (this last turned out to be a mistake at this juncture in the race). They also packed me a baggie full of pretzels to go, and once again I was off.

To be honest, when I was approaching that 4th aid station I began to wonder if I would make it all the way. If I got lost like that again my timing was going to cut it close. And I was getting tired. I decided to push on with a nagging apprehension at the back of my mind. Soon it didn’t matter, though, because it was 8 miles out to the next aid station, with nothing but woods in between. That meant that after a few more miles I was basically committed to finishing the race, since it was only 2.5 from aid station 5 to the finish. At that moment I surprised a white-tailed deer, a doe, which was foraging on the trail. She leapt off to the side a few yards and stood watching sideways, carefully scrutinizing me. I murmured some assurance that I meant her no harm and tried to keep up my pace.

Some miles later I stepped off the trail a ways to once again answer the call of nature. In hindsight, why I insisted on removing myself so far from the marked path is a mystery to me. I hadn’t seen anyone since Blue-T-Shirt-Tough-Guy way back by aid station 3, so who was I hiding my hiney from anyway? Well, my gratuitous modesty cost me in the end, so to speak. I ambled my way back onto the trail, apparently several crucial yards beyond a well marked bend in the race course, and, following some ancient pink tape (withOUT black stripes) from some race or logging expedition of yesteryear, I once again ran well off the designated Bimblers Bluff route.

THIS time I was running downhill, which is perhaps why I deceived myself into believing that these sad little shreds of tape, tape the color of faded pink carnations, must surely mark the direction n which I was supposed to be travelling. Until, eventually, I ran into a steel gate that blocked access from a road, across which I spotted a sleepy suburban subdivision, and no race volunteers nor aid tent whatsoever.

I was fuming. Aaaaargh!!! I turned and started running back up the long, long hill, huffing and cussing the entire way. I had lost vital time that I needed to make up for now.

Another ¾ of a mile or so back I found the painfully obvious markers where the trail veered off the old logging road I’d been running on. In the now perceptibly fading light, I trundled along, knowing that I was a good 4 miles or so from water (I was out already), from nourishment, and probably from any human company to reassure me.

Unfortunately, it was probably only another couple of miles before I was lost yet again. This time, however, I was chanting my mantra (”pink and black pink and black pink and black!”), and when I lost the trail I immediately circled back to the last legitimate strand of tape. It was probably in part out of extreme caution—since I had already added a couple of extraneous miles to my first 50K—and in part out of dread since the last thing I wanted to do was get lost in the unfamiliar Connecticut woods . . . in the dark.

I wandered around in a big circle for 15 minutes, roaming back again and again to that last precious bit of pink and black tape, but I could not find the next marker! I called out into the woods a few times: “Hello! Hello?” because I wasn’t sure at this point, after wandering so far off course 2 times, how far I was from the next aid station—1 mile? 3 miles? Was there anyone behind me who would come along and help me get back on track? I hadn’t seen anyone for-EVER! I was truly about to give up and just sit down under that damned piece of tape until someone came looking for me, when I decided that I would follow some tramped down leaves a little further around a bend than I had gone so far. I started off again thinking, If it’s not there, that’s it. And then there it was. I breathed a huge sigh of relief. Now I just had to worry about how far I was from the next aid station. The light was ever fading, and I was thirsty.

About another mile on I heard the familiar clanging of a cow bell (a few volunteers had been ringing these loudly at the starting line along with a couple of the aid stations). I happily loped toward the sound of the bell and a sweet, sweet soul who told me I was only a mile from the fifth and final aid station. That meant I was just 3.5 from the finish. I didn’t know if I was going to make the cutoff at this point after all my aimless wandering around. I had lost valuable time at that last diversion. But at least I wasn’t going to get lost in woods in the dark. Sweet Guy with the Cow Bell actually guided me into the last aid station after calling Mr. Bimble on his cellie to let him know I wasn’t dead, seriously injured, or completely and hopelessly lost.

At the final, blessed aid station was a motley crew of guys who were all pleasantly happy to see me. (I had apparently started to worry more than just my little old self.) “Am I the last one?” I asked.

“Yeah, but just finishing a 50K is a real accomplishment!” one of the Crew tried to console me.

“Damn it!” I said. “I didn’t want to be the last one!!”

Now it was on, as far as I was concerned. I had to finish, and do it strong. They offered me food, which I couldn’t stomach at this point in the race, and refilled my water bottles while we all debated the likelihood of my making it to the finish in the final cut-off time (10 hours from the beginning of the race)—I had 30 minutes left—and the necessity of borrowing a headlamp from one of the Crew in order to navigate the final 2.5 (even in the given time, it would likely be dark by the time I crossed the finishline). They decided the mini-flashlight I had stashed in my hydro-belt would suffice, and told me to run like hell to the end.

So I did. Mind you, at that point I knew that I would finish, but the big question remained: Would I get lost in the Connecticut woods in the dark? My answer to myself was a resounding, “Oh, hayell no!”

That last little stretch had to be close to my fastest 2.5 of the entire 50K. A few times I had to slow and look around in the dusk while I chanted, literally out loud, “Pink and black, pink and black!! Where are you, Pink and black?!” But within a few seconds I had gained the trail again and took off like the proverbial bat out of you-know-where.

I was running along at a pretty good clip when all of the sudden I came across a guy just standing there on the trail in the growing shadows. I assumed it was a volunteer waiting for me until he asked solemnly, looking up at the graying sky that still peeked through the tree cover overhead, “So, do you know the way?” I thought this very strange since he seemed to be staring right at a tape marker hanging from the tree directly in front of him.

“Uh, yeah,” I said, “I see 2 pieces of pink and black tape right here so it must be this way!” I ran on, admittedly buoyed to an immoderate degree by the fact that I was no longer in last place. I jubilantly bounded up the hillside facing my most recent encounter, but then it dawned on me, that guy could actually be in trouble.

I stopped and called back: “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just got a few cramps,” he answered.

I wasn’t sure exactly how far it was, but I knew I was close enough to the finish to send someone quickly if he didn’t follow. I contemplated going back and giving him my flashlight because I hadn’t seen one on him, but then I remembered all of the time I had already spent lost out there myself. “There’s more tape up here!” I called down. “Come up this way!” I didn’t know if he followed or not, but I ran on over the crest of the hill.

Just a few minutes later I almost crashed into Mr. Bimble as he ran out of the shadows to my left and popped up on the trail in front of me. “This way!” he said, and after a second, “your husband’s waiting for you!”

“I bet he is!” I called out. I told him there was one more guy behind me who said he was experiencing some cramps. Jerry assured me that he’d go back for him. I followed Mr. Bimble for a minute until he pointed me up one final long, upward slope. Just right up there, he told me, was the end. He turned to go back for my last remaining compatriot out on the Bluff, and let me go on alone. As I crested the hill, a small crowd of volunteers, including most of the Motley Crew from aid station #5, and my husband and baby all stood whooping and hollering and clanging their cow bells like crazy. I couldn’t help grinning like a maniac of the highest order. I ran into the finishers’ chute while Joaquín screamed ecstatically, “Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!” His dad put him down and he ran through the finishers’ chute after me where I picked him up and held him tight with such satisfaction, I can’t even really describe it. It was truly a brilliant moment in a life that’s been blessedly full.

We were there a few minutes later when the final finisher came down the hill, my husband clanging his cow bell like crazy once more. We were numbers 68 and 69 out of 69 finishers, some 126 less than had actually entered to run the Bluff individually.

I hobbled around the house like a decrepit old woman for 3 days afterward, and I slept like a stone from 7 p.m. to 7 a.m. for as many nights, but now, a week later, I don’t feel any worse for the wear. In fact, I feel better, with this sense of accomplishment that makes me smile at the little everyday problems that often consume my thoughts and energy. I went out for an easy 3 miles yesterday, and as I ran I pondered the next challenge I’ll take on. New York ‘09, for sure. Maybe Boston before that, if I can speed up a bit this year. And I have to check the Ultra calendar for next year. A 50-miler—maybe a full hunny?—doesn’t seem out of the question at all . . .

Here’s a link if you’d like to look at some photos of the race day festivities.

http://www.chrisrenda.com/proof_albums/Bimblers%20Bluff%2050K/proofs.html

In case this interminable email isn’t proof enough that I ran it, you can find me in photos #30, 210, and 211.

What more can I say? Except ramble on, folks, ramble on.

The weather could not have been better for my first Ultra Trail Race. As we ran through Timberlands it was quite apparent the storm the night before dumped a whole new thick layer of leaves. The color of the autumn leaves gleamed in the morning sunshine. I coasted through Timberlands touching the old growth trees as I ran by them. I boogied through the race Hill section past the boundary boulders. I yelled at a runner going forward on Race Hill when they should have taken that hard left north into the Genesee Section. Power walked up first long hill. Reassured runners that we were on the right trail once on Red dot. Cruised up to and thru Mattabasset Trail connector (vw green). Carefully navigated gnarly sharp slippery rocks in the Broomstick ledges area. Yelled with excitement on my way down the trail to aid # 2. Met my buddy Nate there. I refueled my water bottle and heard Iggy say “eat like a horse Suds” so I did. Meet and greet with fellow bimblers Iggy and Ticket. Then off up steep trail (escalator) to the top for photo opts.

What a day for a trail race I thought as I paused to re-tie my shoes on the edge of the Bluff cliff. The view was awesome. Clear, sunny mild, and no bugs. The autumn colors were beautiful. I spent a lot of time on top in years past and completing the Bluff race meant a lot to me. So off I went over the Bluff. I found a runner off course on the Lone Pine Trail and helped her re-navigate the way. The trap rock on the trail in this area was all covered with leaves. But somehow I managed to run fast right over it. Thru the pines by the river and over the bridge where some people were walking their dog and politely got out my way. Past barking fenced in dog. Down dirt farm road around the puddles not thru them. Left on trail to rt.77 past flipped over Plank Bridge. I waived at cars as I ran by them up to aid #3. Refueled my water bottle with my special stuff. Ate more pb and j and bananas and soda pop. Ticket comes into station soon after me. I pretty much walked up into the Braemore section to the top of the rocky ridge. Then I starting running again and decided to run up to the Lone Pine Tree and give it a big hug and thank it for being there. If only trees could talk! Off into the Rockland preserve back onto Mattabasett Trail. I’ve got a good pace now with all that food and drink I just had a few minutes ago. Somewhere near the cabin Ticket catches up to me and we share the trail for a while but she eventually passes me. I helped someone navigate the trail near Coan Pond. I saw someone’s ankle blowout. I offered them some homeopathic medicine (arnica montana). It’s good for muscle injuries. They refused but still managed to get to Aid #4 for aspirin and finish the race. I cruised up to that glacial boulder and touched it and thanked it for being there. If only stones could talk!

Into aid station #4 at 1:00 pm. I hung out and ate like a horse and refueled my bottle and enjoyed the soda pop. I left at 1:08. The rest period was well deserved. I thanked everyone there for volunteering and off I ran. Back south on the MT. trail where I helped a couple runners navigate thru the logging section. Now I’m starting to wonder why their off the trail? Are they not concentrating on navigating their way on the trail? The trail is clearly marked with the ribbons as described in the prerace briefing. I soon realize that these runners are tired and one of them is slightly injured. The fatigue and pain can ruin your focus to run and concentrate on the trail. I reassured them to keep chugging forward. As I passed thru the MT. connector trail I noticed my energy level increase. So I picked up my pace and found this second wind miracle and ran with it. Past the mud pits. Past broken blue bike. Left on trail to flipped over rusty cars. Take right back into Genesee area. This is where I really started running hard passing several runners. Down hill and hard right onto Race Hill. I started petering out again at the boundary boulders and realized I was out of water. Water all gone must run will get there. I dreamed of drinking from the river. I knew there were some runners up ahead so somehow I caught up to them and they gave me a sip of water. I thanked them as I passed them. Once I crossed Hart rd. there were all these birds in the trees. I heard turds hitting the ground all around me so I yelled and clapped my hands to scare them off and they flew away. I managed not to get hit. Past the Indian cave but no one was home. Over slippery bridge and still going strong. I made a train whistle noise as I approached aid #5 and got this huge applause. It was so reassuring to make it here. There was no extra beer. So far I’ve come to get here so little to go.

Back into the Timberlands (my favorite section of the course besides the cliffs on Bluffhead.) I knocked on those old growth trees again and thanked them for being there. I paused for a second on the wooden bridge and gave thanks for a beautiful day and thanks for my ability to run this challenging race. Back up on the ridge thru the pine trees trying not to emotionally lose it with joy. The pine needle covered trail had a golden shine in the afternoon sun. It was soft and it seemed like I floated on it in this blissful state of mind. I yelled at some runners to not finish on the road but to finish on the last little trail section between golf course and the road. I ran down the trail and across the road yelling with complete satisfaction. The finish was awesome with tons of congratulations! I was really proud of myself and of my finish time. I did it! All that hard training had paid off for me. I enjoyed every mile of it and had fun.

It has been great training with other Bimblers. I’ve learned so much about physical endurance and mental stamina and self determination. Trail running has been an amazing and rewarding experience for me. I look forward to many more miles on the trails.

Thanks to Mr. Bimble who reassured me from the beginning of my training that I could do the Bluff 50k. Special thanks to Iggy for giving me all those pointers out on those training runs.

Posted by Suds