Curly's Half Marathon Trail Race

Another Trail Race
I think by now, I have laid out my position on trail running. The connection with nature, the lack of carbon monoxide emitting vehicles and the somewhat more gentle pile driving of the knee’s all make this seem, at least in theory, as a much more appealing alternative to pavement.

So Why do Anything Else?

Like almost every other enjoyable activity in life, there is the inevitable downside. To me running in the woods on a bright sunny warm summers day, is the equivalent of being in your moms basement. Because basking in the warmth of that cosmic solar glow is so invigorating, the thought of hiding beneath a canopy of dense forestry is almost sacrilege. Couple this with the massive assortment of biting insects, ankle deep muck and potential season ending stumble over trail debris, and the enjoyment factor is vaporized.

The Racing Circuit
As this most wonderful summer has begun to wind down and transition to fall, the racing circuit is making its transition to the fall slate of events as well. Planning the events that I will partake in is certainly not a daunting task, as my resources, transportation and array of events is limited. Every season has that handful of showcase events where a strong contingent of elite athletes from out of town descend upon the Berkshires to embark on a local event. The Josh Billings Runaground Triathlon, is clearly at the top of this select list. Since the other event on the 4th of July was my chance to showcase my stupidity and compete less than 24 hours after a week of hospital incarceration, the “Josh” is going to be my chance for redemption.

The Lead up to the Josh
With the Josh merely two weeks away, and my training absolutely cresting, the stage is set for a showcase indeed. OK, what’s the hitch? Curly's Trail Marathon and Half-Marathon, A half marathon killer trail race involving multiple thousand foot ascents, ridiculous downhill cliff like descents and a plethora of season ending disasters waiting to happen. My total and utter disdain for these things would have clearly been enough incentive to scratch this off the schedule, not to mention the strategic positioning of the event being 7 days prior to the Josh. As is usually the case, ego brain also known as Dangerous Dan is always looking for an opportunity to beat an already broken and beaten body further into submission. As I contemplated participating in this insane endeavor at the Pittsfield State Forrest, I enjoyed a week of 138 miles of road work. You would have thought that if the Thursday night 20 miler (plus 10 at 5AM) didn’t seal the deal on bailing on the Half on the mountain, then the 14 on Saturday followed by an all nighter complete with copious amounts of booze and no dinner would have been the death blow.

In fact, as I sat with a dear friend sipping hi octane iced coffee, I believe I said,

"there's no way I can do that thing tomorrow"

Sunday Arrives
As hurricane Hanna is barreling up the eastern seaboard surely rendering the course a swampy catastrophe waiting in the wings, I look at my watch through my blurry eyes to see that it is now 5AM. It is dark, I have a bad ass hangover of epic proportions, a throbbing head, and feel like I have just traversed the Sahara Dessert void of water. Registration starts in one hour! Damn, I had better throw back some Advil, pound a pitcher of water, gear up and get a move on if I’m gonna be there for the starting gun. So after I reviewed my health insurance policy, my employee handbook section on short term disability, and any loop holes in my life insurance policy, I headed out.

The Race
As is the case every time I participate in one of these crippling trail half marathon's, I think to myself, why the hell do I do these things. And I can never really come up with a good reason. I got no sleep, my body was aching, and it was pouring rain. A half dozen trips to the outhouse, a layer of bug repellent, a 3X caffeine Goo, and a diet coke and I was starting to feel it. This was to be another mind over matter endeavor of monumental proportions.

Scanning the crew of bad ass trail runners that frequent this circuit is a sight to behold. Not only do I know none of these freaks of nature, if I were to find out that they were all related, it would come as no surprise. To be fair, they are the most wholesome, down to earth people you will ever want to meet. Ego’s are clearly checked at the door. The usual road racing egotistic blather regarding splits, PRs, training programs and footwear is not part of this posse’s vernacular. We’re talking bandanna wearing, backpack toting folks that looked like they live on the course. Who the hell would care about pace when your sailing along up a washed out river bed at an 11 minute clip, then cruising down a cliff at a 5:30. So there I stand, finger ready to engage my timing device, clad in my usual attire. Boarding shorts, road racing shoes and a pair of hole laden damp socks. That's it, no water belt, no gators, no hat or fuel pack, shorts, shoes n socks.

The Gun, (whistle) Goes Off!!

The first half mile or so went pretty well, nice grassy field, fairly flat and the rain starting to taper. The next 2 miles can only truly be appreciated by those on the course. If you've ever tried to run up a ski trail, you may be starting to catch my drift. Other than the dude with the tail and webbed feet in the lead, the entire field was walking. I didn't pay 50 bucks to drag my ass out of bed and go to a race to walk. To be fair once again, 15 minute miles is not exactly running, but hell, I was NOT walking! As I crested this first behemoth of an ascent, I was perhaps 2nd or 3rd. Lizard man was likely at the 5 mile aide station already. The core of the race from miles 5 through 9 were pretty uneventful, I was keeping pace with the top 4 or 5 runners. Now the dude I was trying to reel in for what seemed like eternity, was toting a full sized back pack. Now I never asked, nor did I even want to know what the hell was in that thing, I just could not imagine what equipment would be so vital that it would require a back pack. He did know we were doing a half marathon, not a trek to Canada. Mile 10 proved to be the glimmer of hope I had prayed for. As the course twisted and turned through thickly overgrown terrain, I found myself stepping out into the bright sunshine staring right at Potter Mountain Road. Not exactly highway 101, but a more conducive surface for kind of training. I peered ahead at about a 1 mile stretch of a crippling climb of what I would estimate at 600 to 800 feet. The throttle was wide open and by the time I crested that bad boy, I was less than 50 yards out of the lead.

So What Happened?

It was now mile 11, and the sprint was on as we re entered the woods once again. In an effort to not mis lead anyone into thinking I was closing in on man beast who had already completed the half on his way to a smooth 3:37 Marathon, I was part of the halfers running our own race. That being said, mile 11 was a steep descent down a washed out riverbed snaking through a sparsely wooded area as we made our way toward the base of the mountain. This is perhaps the most psychologically tormenting element of these races. My adrenaline was peaking, my tank was far from depleted, but I was ill equipped with the technical skills required to descend this wide open. The trio of experienced trail runners pulled away.

4th place, 2:05:05