Heart of America

Run September 2, 2019 - see note at bottom for photo credits

For me, the marathon is the longest “paced” race. By that, I mean a race where I run the entire distance at basically the same speed. In ultras, I make frequent pace adjustments depending on the terrain, conditions, and how my body is responding. At marathon distance or less, I decide the pace and force my body to either deal with it or collapse. Given that ultimatum, the legs and lungs go with the first option for around two and a half hours. That means I’m dealing with a body that is in outright revolt for the last half hour of a marathon and my pace usually does falter a bit, but my times for the first and second halves are usually within a minute of each other.

Then, there’s Heart of America. Nominally a road marathon, in that it’s an accurately measured course on roads and bike paths, it runs more like an ultra. I’ve run it twice before, both times finishing around 20th overall and second in my age group with times of 3:20 and 3:18. That apparent consistency is belied by mile splits ranging from low 6’s to over 9 minutes. As the finisher medal proudly proclaims: “Heat, Humidity, Hills. No extra charge.”

Fog descending on the start area

The Columbia Track Club has mounted a feeble defense against the heat by setting the start time at 6AM. The early hour crimps my normal pre-race routine a bit. I usually like to be up at least three hours before the start, but decide I’ll make do with two and get out of bed just before 4AM for my 30-minute pre-run. For Labor Day in Missouri, it’s downright chilly; not even 70 degrees. The humidity, on the other hand, is within a point or two of 100%. There’s a thin layer of fog hovering about 15 feet off the ground.

At 5:30, I jog the half mile from the meet hotel to the start and run another mile or so to get loose. The fog layer is both thicker and closer to the ground than an hour ago. In an oddity unique to this race, nobody wants to toe the line. Maybe it’s some sort of weird Columbia thing and I’ve missed the memo, but in all three years I’ve run this, there’s been a gap between the field and the start banner. I know there are faster runners in the field, but I wind up on the front row with only three others and even we are a couple feet shy of the line. I suppose, in this age of chip timing, you could make a case that it’s objectively faster to take a running start at the line than to be right on it, but, c’mon, that’s just silly in the context of a three hour race.

A handful of runners shoot off at well under 3-hour pace. I settle in with the next group which includes perennial finisher Andy Emerson of Columbia. Andy has the longest active streak of finishes. That streak is the only reason he’s in the race this year. He ran 148 miles in a 48-hour ultra last weekend and doesn’t think it’s very likely he’ll repeat last year’s 3rd place performance. As he’s about my speed and over 50, I’d normally be keeping an eye on him but, if he beats me a week after that effort, I’m just going to quit running altogether. I’m surprised he’s even taking it out this fast. Then again, it’s pretty hard to argue finishing strategy with someone who’s brought it home 16 years in a row.

By mile 4, the fog has descended all the way to the ground. I had brought my clip-on light to avoid stepping in a pothole in the dark. Now, I decide to leave it on in hopes it makes me a bit more visible to cars. This might not have been the best day to go with the grey and black outfit.

Our group has been reduced to four. Now heading south, the undulations begin. Andy drops off on one of the rolls. The first big climb comes at mile 7 and our remaining trio shatters entirely with me in the middle. While I don’t generally fret over positions in the first half of a race, I decide that keeping the next runner in sight will help with motivation. The fog is quite thick at the top of the hill, so even his 100m lead means I only catch the occasional glimpse of his outline.

Mile 9 comes at 66 minutes, which is in line with my rough target of 3:10-3:15. The second hour of a marathon is usually my best running and the next couple miles are gentle downhill on gravel, which is good terrain for me. It seems a good time to push a bit. I close the gap to the runner ahead at the base of the descent and keep the pace firm to make the pass stick.

We follow the Missouri River for half a mile, passing a campground where a good number of spectators have decided to stop to cheer. Among them are a few SMUT (Sunday Morning Ultra Training; Columbia’s ultrarunning club) runners who recognize me and give some encouragement. While certainly appreciated, it’s not really necessary. I’m in remarkably good spirits for this stage of the race. Knocking out a couple 6:40 miles on a long descent can have that effect. The course moves from the gravel road to the Katy Trail (also gravel, but actually a lot smoother than the road) for a mile. I pull back on the reigns just a bit knowing what follows the trail: Easley Hill.

The field trudges up Easley

Boston’s Heartbreak Hill is rightly enshrined as the most famous ascent in running. It’s placement at the most critical point in such a prestigious race is unrivaled. However, if you are talking to someone who really knows running and drop the name “Easley Hill”, there’s a good chance they’ll know you’re referring to the climb off the river at Heart of America. This race is small, but it’s been going for 60 consecutive years and word of this sort of thing does get out. Twice the height and slightly steeper than Heartbreak, there are three plausible approaches: 1) walk it, 2) run it very slowly, 3) run it right and hope you don’t pay too much for it later.

Most choose option 1. In a race where the second half heat can be crippling, this is the sensible choice. Option 2 doesn’t get many takers, but it worked fine for me in both of my previous outings. Today is going well and, while the humidity is crazy high, it’s still fairly cool. This seems like a day where taking a chance is in order.

I’ve found I can get away with 2 or 3 tempo surges in a marathon as long as I get back to m-pace after five minutes or so (Daniels, the training manual I pull most of my ideas from has a bunch of workouts specifically designed to enhance this ability). The problem is that it takes more like 8 minutes to run Easley. I’ve already put in a 10-minute push on the descent. As the second half has no major obstacles, another long surge seems risky but feasible.

I switch to tempo pace for the climb, passing the only relay team still ahead of me. Nobody comes by! With half the race to go, there’s no particular reason to be excited about this fact. However, given the drubbing I took on the first climb, it is something of a confidence builder to hold my own on the big one. History suggests that I have somewhere between 30 and 45 minutes of solid running before my pace degrades to “whatever’s left”. It’s time to start running this like a real marathon.

The next six miles are me in my sweet spot. Aside from a nasty valley between 17 and 18, the road is gently rolling. I’m tired enough that the pace feels solid but it doesn’t really hurt yet. Temperatures are still in the 70’s despite the fact the fog is completely gone and the sun is starting to break through. I knock out one 7:10 mile after another; never deviating by more than a few seconds, picking off another place in the process. Stretches like this are what keep me coming back to the marathon. There’s nothing euphoric about it. It’s the simple satisfaction of doing a hard thing well.

At mile 19 the course returns to gravel. This is a change from previous years when we stayed on the highway. While I’m delighted that we’ve traded the dreadful run-in on the shoulder of a busy highway for a picturesque trip through the woods on a country road, it does call my shoe choice into question. In total, nearly a third of the course is off pavement and the Zoom Flys are definitely road shoes. In addition to having crappy grip on the loose surface, they offer very little rock protection and my feet are getting a bit beat up. It doesn’t cost me much time, but a stiffer sole and a bit more tread would have been worth an extra ounce on each foot.

Leaving the gravel at 22, we then get an out and back section around Phillips Lake. I catch one of the runners ahead of me before the turn and see only two more on their way back, the closest being a couple minutes ahead. There’s not much chance of closing that in the three miles remaining and nobody behind is moving faster than me, so I just focus on staying as close to my pace as I can.  Leaving the lake, I pass Andy coming the other way. It looks like he’ll finish under 3:30. 8-minute miles on this course a week after a 2-day ultra. I give him a shout out for turning in what has to be the most impressive performance of the day.

Running up the hill from the lake, the various members of my body have finally taken to torches and pitchforks in protest of the effort. Something in my side lets go. It feels like a stitch, but it’s way too high on the rib cage. Knowing I have some cushion behind, I back off and run an 8:10 for mile 25. The pain relents, giving me the face-saving pleasure of getting back on pace for the final mile rather than staggering in.

I cross the line in 3:12:49, good for seventh overall and first in my age group. I had hoped for the Masters win, but the sixth place runner was 41, so no luck there. That small frustration does not spoil the day for me. While the new course is a bit easier than the old one and the weather was unseasonably nice, there’s no question that this was the best I’ve ever run this race. In fact, one could look at my half marathon splits (96:36/96:13) and conclude I ran this “longest paced race” darn near perfectly. And, I’ll just delete the mile splits from my watch and let one believe that.

Note on photography (Race Directors Please Read!)

The opening photo is from SMUT runner Abigail Rolbiecki-Adams who was roaming the course on bike. The medal shot is by me. The rest are by Mile 90 Photography. They’ve been the official photographers at many races I’ve done and they always do a great job. Furthermore, they get the fact that many of us simply want some pictures to show friends and put on blog posts. If you want a nice print in frame, they are happy to have that business but, unlike many race photographers, they aren’t going to gouge you for a digital image. They also don’t insist that the organizer cordon off the start and finish so you can’t even get friends or family to take their own pictures for you. They charge the race a shooting fee and you can download the digital photos for personal use for free. EVERY runner I have ever talked to about this would happily pay an extra $5-10 on the entry fee to have this arrangement. I, personally, have signed up for more than one race simply because the info page mentioned Mile 90 would be there. It indicates more than good photos. It shows the race director would rather pay for a service that the runners want than get a kickback from a provider that just wants to fleece them. Hire these folks and I’ll come to your race. Others will, too.