Prairie Spirit 50 2013

This week's throwback race report is from March 23, 2013.

Be Epic. Well, it's catchy. A bit vague to qualify as actual life advice and perhaps overstating the magnitude of a rails to trails run, but sometimes these prophesies fulfill themselves. My own credo is a bit more specific, but we'll get to that in a bit.

Be Epic is the tagline for Epic Ultras, brainchild of seasoned ultrarunner and race director Eric Steele. Having heard excellent reviews of some events he's directed in conjunction with other clubs, I was willing to give his first foray into "For Profit" race promotion a try. Personally, I've never understood the general bias against people who decide to put on races for a living. I'm quite happy that my accountant, attorney, physician, auto mechanic, and tree trimmer rely on me paying my bills so they can pay theirs. It's a good motivator to do the job right. I'm happy to add a race director to that list if they also provide a good event.

Ottawa KS: Quintessential main street

So, off I go to the Prairie Spirit 50, a 50-mile footrace on an old railbed in Kansas. It's my first competitive ultra in nine months and I figure, if nothing else, it will give me some sort of read on my fitness as the course is definitely PR material. The maximum grade for most railroads is around 2.5% and this one doesn't even get half that steep. The surface is the familiar crushed limestone that tops most of our converted railways in St. Louis. The only catch is the weather which is always dicey this time of year. The forecasters aren't sure what will be coming down, but they're all in agreement that we'll be getting some nasty form of rain, sleet, or snow (probably all three) with temperatures right around freezing.

Upon arriving at the start/finish town of Ottawa, I immediately check out the "trail". My experience in the Flat Five (a favorite summer run which features a couple miles on the Katy Trail in St. Charles) is that grip is a real problem on this surface. The base is too hard for even an aggressive tread to bite into, but the loose dust and gravel on top provide poor contact for a road tread. I've brought my drill and machine screws to stud my shoes. Fortunately, that turns out not to be necessary. While this trail would be no better than the Katy at 6:00/mile, my 50-mile pace is two minutes slower than that. At that speed, I find I can run the trail in road flats with almost no slipping. Just in case the adverse conditions change that, I put a fully-screwed set of trail shoes in my drop bag. I'll have the chance to switch at 16 miles going out and 34 coming back.

I'm doing this one on the cheap; taking in the provided pre-race dinner and staying at the Econo-Lodge. Both turn out to be pleasant surprises. Neither is swank, but certainly far better than one would expect for price tags of $0 and $42, respectively.

Actually, 97 miles to go.

I wake the next morning to the sound of the 100-mile crowd leaving their rooms. They start at 6AM, whereas the 50 doesn't get going until 8. I have the convenient excuse of having a solo at Palm Sunday service tomorrow to get me out of the long event. I'm pretty sure it's further than I'd like to run on a railway, particularly given the meteorological conditions. That said, one couldn't ask for much better weather for the start: right at freezing with no precipitation and very little wind. Since my hotel is a block from the 3-mile mark, I wander over to the course and watch the headlamps emerge out of the darkness. I offer some encouragement: "If this was a 5K, you'd have 100 meters to go!"

It's still quite nice as we line up for the 50-mile start; the nasty stuff isn't supposed to arrive until noon. My strategy for long events is to divide the race into roughly thirds. To borrow Mr. Steele's parlance, the emphasis for the first third is "Be Smart". You can't win an ultra in the first hour, but you sure can lose one. Despite pulling back on the reigns best I can, I find myself leading the field onto the trail, which is actually a paved bike path through the town; turning to gravel as we leave at 3 miles. By the aid station at 4.5 miles, an unmanned water drop, I'm completely alone. Seven hours is a long time with no company, so I'm not at all disappointed that Tom Aten catches up when I stop for a quick pee break half a mile later. We chat as we pass the miles easily, arriving at the first full aid station (9.25 miles) at 68 minutes. That's a fair bit quicker than I was planning on, but the opening hour has been particularly favorable with temps still just above freezing, a slight tailwind, and the first three miles on pavement. Tom spends a bit more time grabbing food than I, but has no trouble catching up.

After another 45 minutes, I get my first indication that I might be overcooking things. The pace still feels right, but my right hamstring and glute are sending a few warning signs. I mention to Tom that I'm a little concerned and may have to slow it down a bit. He obliges with a slight easing. At two hours Tom casually mentions that we're coming up on the next aid station. Indeed, we do appear to be arriving at a small town, but I wasn't expecting to get here for another 10 minutes. I check my watch again. Yup, I read it right: 2:03 for the first 16 miles. This is way too fast, even in such good conditions. Grade for part 1: F.

For the middle section of the race, the catchphrase is "Be Focused". Normally, this means holding onto the pace as it starts to feel difficult. In this case, it means trying to find a new pace that won't result in complete disaster. I decide that my best bet is to find my originally intended pace (roughly 8:10, with the goal of finishing just under seven hours) and hang on as long as possible. Tom continues on at the 7:30 clip we've been running. It's difficult to voluntarily slip back from the front of the race, but it must be done. If he's got the legs to run the full 50 at this pace, then he'll win no matter what I do. My only hope is to get back on plan and hope he fades. Unfortunately, as I watch his metronomic cadence disappear into the distance (and you can see a loooong way ahead on a Kansas railroad), I note nothing that would indicate that will happen.

Now on my own, I am free to observe that the course is really quite pretty. Nothing dramatic, like the mountain ultras, but the plains do have an appeal of their own. The stark horizon of the prairie is offset by the fact that the trail itself has a fairly dense hedgerow along both sides. It's like running through the woods in a field, which makes no sense, but I'm not sure I can describe it any better. While the right half of my drivetrain is still complaining, it's not getting any worse.

Unlike the tiny villages that hosted the aid stations at 9 and 16, the turnaround town at Garnett is large enough that we are again on pavement for a mile or so coming into the halfway mark. Tom heads out from the aid station (which is inside the old train depot), just as I arrive. Rather than immediately chasing after him, I take a few minutes to make sure I get everything I need. Arriving at 3:23, I've still got a chance at breaking seven hours if I can hold myself together. At 3:27, I'm back on the trail heading home.

The first mile back is exposed to the wind that was our friend heading out. While it's not howling, it's enough to be noticeable both in effort and chill. I have a rain jacket, heavier gloves, and a waterproof hat in the back pockets of my jersey if I need them, but decide to hold off for the moment. I'm able to hold the pace, but it no longer feels like backing off; it now feels like pressing. Twenty five miles is a long way to press. And then, the climb begins.

Oh, go ahead and laugh. Yes, Kansas really is flatter than a pancake and the trail only rises 150 feet. However, a steady 1% grade into the wind for three miles is not exactly a morale booster when trying to hang onto a pace by your fingernails. By the time I get to the Richmond aid station at 34 miles, focus isn't going to cut it. It's time to move on to the final phase: "Be Tough".

Providing some motivation for that is the fact that Tom has taken a bit of a holiday at the aid station and scrambles to head out just as I am coming in. I stop for less than 20 seconds to down a couple potato chips (about all I can eat at this point anyway), refill my bottles, and head off in pursuit. In the face of weather that is clearly about to send us a bill for the nice morning, he's donned a bright red jacket, so he's easy to see. And what I see is a runner who is in absolutely no danger of being overtaken by me, despite my increasingly desperate efforts to stay in contact. He is back on his 7:30 pace and is out of sight before the first wisps of sleet arrive.

Aid station workers bundle up.

At first it's just ice pellets. Nothing more than a nuisance. In some respects, even helpful. Much as smelling salts might be offered to a fighter in the later rounds of a bout, the tiny stings help keep my mind from wandering off into a place where I no longer care enough to keep trying. I've conceded the win, and the sub-7 is slipping out of reach, but I could still get a PR and second place is better than every other place but first, so it's worth fighting for. I have no idea how those behind me are faring, but the top ten were only separated by 15 minutes or so at the turn, so it's quite possible I'll see a challenge from behind if I don't hold it together. While this is clearly not the time for heroics, it's no time to give up either.

As the storm gets thicker and wetter, I resolve to stay at something approaching a 9:00 pace. As I reenter Ottawa, it's clear that the issue is no longer in doubt. The trail is deserted each direction for as far as I can see (which is still a quarter mile, even in these conditions). Short of lying down for a nap, I'll PR and get second. I get off the gas completely, knowing that the next few days will be infinitely more pleasant if I jog easy the last few miles rather than hammering them home. By the time I get to the finish, the snow has started accumulating on the ground. The actual finish is inside the community center and the volunteers admonish me not to run into the building too quickly for fear of slipping on the wet floor. Hardly needed advice considering my current shuffle, but I do take care and cross the finish upright at 7:10:10. It's a three-minute improvement over my previous best and, despite my miscalculation in the early going, Tom (who finished in 6:58) was clearly the better runner today, so I have no regrets about the placing.

I am, however, a bit bent about the collapse. Falling apart at the end of a long run is just not the sort of mistake I typically make. Up until mile 35, I still had it in my head that Tom was the young one who was more likely to cave and I just needed to stay in it, letting age and experience work for me. Instead, it was I who faded terribly while he disappeared over the horizon. I don't want to be too down about an objectively good result, but clearly there is some work to do.

That said, how often does one get a chance to win a race outright? I've won three ultras in my life; a 50K and a couple of timed 6-hours. This would have been the longest running win of my career. As much as my early effort made me suffer through the last two hours, I would suffer through the next several years if I thought I failed to win because I didn't try. I won't lose any sleep over that because I know full well that I tried to match the lead and simply didn't have the ability to carry the pace. I'm OK with other people being better than me. I'm not OK going with down without a fight.

So, it's with generally happy thoughts that I return to St. Louis (a trip that takes almost as long as the race due to the snow). I'll concede that some of those happy thoughts are of the knowledge that I'll be home, rested, and comfortably seated in the choir loft while some of the 100-milers are still out there battling the elements. For at flat run on a railway, this was about as Epic as it gets.