Owen Putnam State Forest 50 Mile Trail Ultra
Marathon
November 4, 2000
Buck Hales
I tested my limbs for the first time when Karen and I went on a vigorous
walk with the dogs one week after the race.
While my legs generally responded to the signals from my brain, it was apparent
that my toes had indeed suffered an insult.
I suppose, if losing a few more toenails was the only price I paid for
the 50 miler, then I got off pretty easy.
When I was back in the room after the race the parts of my body that
were talking to me were my ribs and ankles.
I must've kicked my left ankle with my right foot a dozen times. Those Gel Nandi trail shoes have flanged
outsoles, like blades. But my ribs? The muscles between each and every rib
ached and stung, especially when I laughed or flapped my arms. I made a concerted effort to do neither, not
hard, considering we'd run from first light that morning until it was pitch
dark again. What amazed us both was how well we actually felt after our 11 hour
and five minute jaunt. Never having run
50 miles before we didn't really know what to expect, so Saint Stephen and I
brought enough provisions and gear along for ten people. Fortune smiled on us and the weather was
perfect-- sunny, dry and cool from 35 to 50 degrees and back down into the 40’s,
as we were finishing. We couldn't have
asked for a better day to run our first 50 mile trail ultra marathon.
Steve and I drove to Spencer, Indiana and checked into the Patriot
Inn. Though it was only 4:30, it was
starting to get dark, but we wanted to find the start of the race before
morning. So we headed up Indiana 46 to
the access road for Owen Putnam State Forest.
Five miles up the road we found the turn off for Horse Campground and
drove deep into the woods. There was no evidence of a race being run there the
next day, but there were people camping there with their horses. By 5:45 PM, it was completely dark as we
drove back to Spencer. Owen Putnam State Forest comprises dozens of large
parcels of land in adjacent Owen and Putnam counties interspersed between
private properties. Most folks along
the road to the camp ground lived in trailer homes. We saw one guy with a trailer, a nice barn and corral with a
couple of horses, pulling up to the gate in his new Mercedes Benz. Indiana is an interesting place. Back at the Patriot Inn, the “expo” was in
full swing. We ran into Wild Bill Hallihan in the lobby. We'd met Bill at the
Milwaukee marathon a month earlier when this spry 70 year old was celebrating
the running of his 100th marathon. He
was here to run the 50 miler-- no not his 101st marathon-- his 102nd, he'd run
Chicago two weeks earlier. The expo
consisted of two card tables, a twelve pack of Busch beer, and the race
director handing out numbers and T-shirts.
We sipped the ice-cold Busch beer and checked in. Jeff Tincher the RD told us about the course
and showed us the roster. He said awards were given as people finished, that
there would be no awards ceremony, but they were having pizza at the community
center after the race. There were 25
people registered for the 50 miler, 9 were in my age group and 5 in Steve’s,
and there were about 30 people signed up for the 50 K, and about 15 for the fun
run-- the “fun run” was ONLY 15 miles.
Norm told us that the course was either up or down and that we had to
ford several creeks, but it was dry--so dry there was nothing to hold the
leaves down. Steve and didn't have a
clue as to what he meant-- yet.
We arrived at Horse Campground just after 6 AM and it was still as dark
as night. We parked amongst the horse
people and ignited the Coleman lantern.
We packed our double water bottle packs and arranged our armory of
running stuff. We knew we’d be back to
the car 3 more times, which gave us a lot of flexibility. The first loop was 5
miles followed by three 15-mile loops.
We decided to run without our belts for the first loop, then belt up for
the long ones. The race was scheduled
to start at 7:10 so it was just light enough to see. With out fanfare the race started and we proceeded at a leisurely
pace for 1.5 miles on a county road to the power line cut where the trail
started. The trail was ankle deep in
grass and the path traversed a series of switchbacks to the top of “Hale Hill”.
There was "butt slide" to get down the other side. Soon we were back on the county road. We ran
along with Bill and watched the field of runners fan out in front of us. He told us about how running had saved his
life-- he sobered up in 1985 and had run over 100 marathons. He said running was a much better habit than
drinking, and not drinking was like getting another paycheck each week. Listening to Bill made that first little
5-mile loop go by quickly. Our split for the first loop was 55:20.
We got back to the car and prepared for the first 15-mile loop. We knew
there was going to be an aid station every 4 miles, so we decided to go with
our single bottle carriers to save weight. By the time we'd used the outhouse,
and loaded up our belts, 7 minutes had elapsed for our first transition. We
followed the arrows 100 yards down the road onto the trail into the woods. In a few minutes we found ourselves alone,
running in ankle deep leaf mulch, unable to see the ground, but able to follow
the trail. It took a lot of
concentration to avoid the roots and rocks under the leaves, and as we ran
along, picking up our feet, we created a cloud of leaf dust. The trail was immediately narrow, hilly, and
serpentine as it wound its way generally down towards the first creek we
traversed. It was narrow enough to jump
and if you stepped carefully, you could avoid sticking your shoes into the deep
mud. Steve and I ran alone finding our
way on the trail, and just when we thought we were lost, we'd come upon a sign
pointing us in the right direction. We were told by OPSF veterans, the best
strategy was to walk the hills and enjoy the scenery, and run when we
could. I felt great and energetic, but
restrained myself. When we climbed the
steep early hills, not quite steep enough to use all fours, but close-- I used
the giant ape swing gait to propel myself up the slopes. By bending deep in the knees, leaning
slightly forward and swinging my arms back and forth, I crested the hills with
ease. Steve adopted a linear arm swing
and took short even steps up the hills.
The first aide station at mile 4 was a card table with several plastic
jugs of water and big jars of cookies and pretzels. I grabbed a hand full of pretzels and cookies and munched them
down as we crossed the gravel road and continued on our way. We immediately crossed the second creek, and
then headed up a long gradual climb into a pine forest. The path was clear of leaves and we could
run with ease being able to see where we were stepping. We ran up the easy hills, crossed a
wide-open meadow, and then followed the trail back into woods. The first stretch of trail was an out of use
road with large gravel covered with leaves.
It was tough not to stumble on the rocks and ruts that crisscrossed the
road and we were happy when the trail took a right fork and headed up into the
trees. After cresting a hill, the path
plunged to the low point on the course, and we crossed the creek one more
time. Then the long ascent to the
highest point in the race began. I
commented to Steve that this was one "big ass hill" and from that
moment on, we began to refer to this stretch of the course as Big Ass
Hill. The trail climbed over several
hundred feet in about 1/2 mile, winding along a ridge to the top of the hill. We saw a sign proclaiming "one mile to
the outback". We continued along
the narrow winding path, going up and down a series of short hills, before we
came to the next sign advertising the "outback" with a drawing of an
alligator. After a very treacherous
quarter mile, we came to the third sign proclaiming-- "don't despair,
you're almost there, Outback in 1/4 mile". We pressed on until the trail emerged from forest into the power
line cut.
We came upon a festive scene. A
white canopy tent, about four or five guys and a dog greeted us. They offered to fill our water bottles and
while we caught our breath, we checked out the spread. They had aspirin, and ibuprofen, Gatorade
and water, cookies, pretzels, medical supplies, Succeed caps, bananas and words
of encouragement. We chatted with the
kind volunteers and mentioned that this was our first 50 miler. One commented that we had definitely picked
a “real hard one” for our first. They wanted to know why we picked this one and
I explained that we had to run a 50 miler during Steve’s 50th year
and his birthday was next week. They wanted to know how we got ready. We mentioned that this was our fifth
marathon or longer event of the year and we’d been working our way up to
this. After lingering for 4 or 5
minutes the other runner at the outback, Don took off with us. Don Clark is a very seasoned ultra runner,
with more than 100 ultras under his belt, including Western States and
Leadville. He was taking a slow but
determined approach, and we soon ran by him.
We were feeling good about this time, the course was tough but doable
and we were right on pace for breaking 10 hours. Then we got to the first of the two killer hills. We crossed the stream and began the ascent. The trail was so steep I had to push my legs
with my hands help get up the grade.
Soon Steve was 20 yards ahead of me as I labored up the hill. It rose sharply for a good quarter mile
before it became more gradual. I was
struggling and a bit impatient with our pace, and as I pushed going down the
other side I almost ran into Steve who was gingerly picking his was down the
equally steep descent. The 15-mile loop
is a long out and back with a three-mile loop at the far end. When we connected with the first part of the
loop, again it was at near the top of Big Ass Hill, which we ran down this
time-- and then up the other side. This
second big hill on the second half of the loop was even steeper than the one
we'd just come over. Once again, Steve
motored on up pulling 30 yards ahead while I hefted my mass up the trail. Finally, we were back to the leaf covered
big gravel root strewn road, then the pine path. We decided that the hardest part of the course was now behind us
we settled into to two miles of easy running.
By this time, I'd drained my gel flask and had taken two more gels. My water bottle was empty by the time we got
back to the first aid station so I was glad to be able to fill it. The first section of the course was back up
the deep leaf mulch trail, which now seemed much steeper and longer than it had
coming out. We made it in from our first
loop at 3:55, covering the 15 miles in less than 3 hours.
By now it was midday and had warmed considerably. I changed from a long
sleeve poly pro shirt to my Virtual Buck singlet and ditched my gloves. With a fresh headband, a restocked belt and
a balance bar in my stomach, we were back on the trail. We got a bit distracted
talking to the guy at the campground who was riding his mule. He likely weighed over 300 pounds, had
thinning Beach Boys hairdo and a missing front tooth. He was mighty friendly and told us all about his mules. This time
our transition took nearly 10 minutes.
I lead for the first part of the second loop and began to press the
pace.
It was hot, and I kicked my left ankle with my right shoe
repeatedly—each time sending a jolt of pain up my leg. We ran comfortably (despite the intermittent
self ankle abuse) and when we got to the stretch of trail that ran through the
pine forest, I began to have a Daniel Day-Lewis fantasy just like the opening
scene in Last of the Mohicans when they ran wildly through the forest chasing
the deer. We ran up the easy hills and
kept pressing. Big Ass Hill seemed
even bigger this time up. For this loop, I didn’t have the gel flask with
me--too hard to reload. So I consumed several gels and was feeling pretty good
all the way to the outback. We passed
many 50 K runners who were on their way back in for their final loop. Soon we were lapped by the lead runner in
the 50-mile race, and while we were standing at the outback, the race’s
youngest runner, a 22 year old from Bloomington ran up to the station, in hot
pursuit of the leader. He was
shirtless, and his legs were bleeding from several fresh scratches. Steve asked
if he'd fallen-- three times he replied.
He never stood still, just jogged nervously in place while Norm filled
his water bottle- and he was off. We
lingered at the outback for five or six minutes while I ate some of the warm
noodle soup Norm had cooking on his camp stove. It was warm and rich and salty-- yummy. While we stood there, Don came up again and we all took off
together.
Then it happened. About 6 hours into the race, at about 33 or 34 miles
we really began to struggle. My fingers swelled up to the size of hot dogs and
I felt this intense hunger overcome me.
I craved a Boca burger. As we
worked our way up the first, then the second huge hill it was all I could do to
keep going. Knowing I had to do this
ONE, more time was so awful. Steve
motored on head, and was now 30 or 40 yards ahead of me. Don was nowhere to be seen. I finally caught Steve on the descent down
Big Ass Hill and we whined and moaned to each other agreeing that this was
“really a bitch”. I tried to pump my
arms going up and pick up my knees going down to increase my heart action and
help with the swelling, but it took too much extra effort. I kept kicking my left ankle with my right
shoe and was sure I had a beat it to a blood stump but couldn't see any blood
through my black socks. Each time I kicked myself I felt a huge jolt of searing
pain and I cursed myself for being so clumsy.
I searched my belt and came up with two more energy gels. I didn’t have anymore of the delicious Carb
Boom gels, but the Chocolate Outrage Gu, despite its consistency, was
tasty. However, in a few minutes I
needed more so I gobbled up the Tropical Fruit PowerGel with double
caffeine. The infusion of glucose in to
my brain coincided with our arrival at the gentle part of the course and as we
re-enacted the Daniel Day-Lewis fantasy, my crisis passed.
Soon we were at the un-manned aide station again and there was an
injured runner sitting there. He noted that the water they had provided for us
was bottled in Tennessee-- "home of the Vice Perpetrator". He made some more provocative political
comments, and, well it must have been the lack of glucose and the dose of
caffeine, but his comment really set me off and I launched into a heated
political debate. Steve made me stop talking and urged me to get running
again. I was riled up and was ranting
and raving for several minutes. Steve
told me to save my energy so I continued my rant internally. He later told me that he couldn’t believe I
could find the energy for this when we were both struggling so much. However,
this interaction had sparked me up and distracted me and soon we were back to
the campground. Elapsed time at the end
of the second loop was 7:15. Our second
loop had taken us 3 hours and 10 minutes to complete.
In transition, I quickly ate a balance bar, bagel, banana, refilled my
belt with energy gels and my bottle with Gatorade. At the finish/start aide station I had another cup of noodle
soup. It was 2:30 PM, and it was quite
warm and light, so I decided to stay in my singlet and we decided we wouldn't
need anything else for the final loop.
In ten minutes, we were back on the trail. It was hard to run with after having consumed so much, but I was
happy to have something in me and waddled off after Steve. He told me that we
were going to take it easy this time and make sure we finished. We knew we faced Big Ass Hill and the two
evil backside bitches, and headed out in a determined manner with Steve in the
lead. Within a few minutes, I was
running comfortably some 10 yards behind Steve. I started to cough a bit and reflected on the bad cold I'd had
two weeks earlier-- a sure sign of excellent marathon preparation, fatigue
induced immune suppression. Then I
started to feel very cold. Already the sun had peaked and it was starting to
cool. I cursed myself for not changing into a warmer shirt and began to panic.
Would I get hypothermia and by the time I finished be on death's door? To
overcome these negative thoughts I picked up the pace, made a conscious effort
to swing my arms to generate some warmth and was soon right on Steve's heels. As we settled in to the third loop, we
encountered a whole pack of horses in the trail. The back three let us pass and we were walking along behind three
others. In a few minutes they let us
pass and we avoided the newly placed obstacles the horses had just deposited. Well
before we got to the first water stop we came upon the Vice Perpetrator
hobbling along the trail using a tree limb for support. He was obviously having a much worse day
than I was. I greeted him warmly and
wished him luck getting in-- he was our running comrade, after all. Steve told me it was good that I was kind to
him and it was good for my karma too. I
needed all the help I could get, no doubt about it.
As we entered the Daniel Day-Lewis fantasy zone again, we were running
close together in single file, my eyes glued to Steve's heels, and we resumed
conversation. Though it was late and we
had a long way yet to go, we were comfortable and moving pleasantly through the
middle miles of the third loop. Even
Big Ass Hill seemed a little easier this time up. In addition, the promise of Outback ahead was especially
cheering. No doubt, I was now
experiencing full endorphin narcosis.
We could tell that there were at least two runners behind us, but Don
was long gone. We'd lost sight of Bill and the others we'd run the first loop
with long ago. We arrived at the
Outback about 3:45 PM and chatted briefly with Norm. He'd taken the sides off the tent and was ready to pack it in,
but glad to wait us and the other two runners out. I had another cup of noodle soup and Norm asked if we had
flashlights with us. Flashlights? Did
we have flashlights? Of course! Steve and I had each made special shopping
trips seeking just the perfect flashlight to carry while running. Steve even
had a headlamp he'd borrowed from his son. The only problem was that we'd left
them in the car. After all it was mid
afternoon when we started this loop and we were too tired to be bothered with
the excess weight. I asked Norm if we'd need one, and he suggested it might be
getting somewhat dark when we finished at the pace we were going. This comment
prompted us to hit the trail and see if we could make it before dark. We
calculated that it would still be light by the time we made the last aid
station, but it might be dark by the time we finished. I managed to only kick myself a few more
times running on the narrow path. It
was almost a relief when I kicked my right ankle with my left shoe blade
instead. We each stumbled several times
on the rough path, and Steve fell once. However, by the third time through, we
managed to keep our feet under us.
It felt like we were running at the speed of light as darkness gathered
around us. As we ran through the deep
leaf mulch, it became darker and darker.
We could still see but we knew it would be dark soon. We encountered two hunters with riffles and
knives hung around their necks, decked out in camouflage fatigues who were
lost. Then we came upon the big old boy
riding his mule down the trail. He was
right friendly to us again but we didn't want to stop and chat-- it was getting
dark. I had a strange
"Deliverance" feeling as we ran around him and his mule.
By the time it was
completely dark we could see the road to the campground that the trail
paralleled and knew we were almost in. The last hundred yards leading up the
road was steep and crisscrossed with roots and ruts. We picked our way through and finally gained the road. We ran the last 100 yards together and
commented on the fact that we had been out for over 11 hours and were still
running! The finish line area was in
total darkness except for the welcoming glow of a single Coleman Lantern, a
more welcome sight we’d never seen! We
called out our numbers and our final splits were recorded. 11:05.
The final loop had take us 3:40 to complete. They gave us a medal and a cup of hot chocolate. Four or five runners had dropped out, and
two runners finished after us. Of the entrants, including the ones who'd signed
up that morning, 24 of us finished. The last two guys finished at least two
hours after us. We agreed that we hadn’t done too bad for a couple of
rookies--couple of very, very tired ones.
The winner, John Nichols finished in 6:29:32 and close on his heels was
Matt King, running his first ultra and the youngest competitor, finished in
6:29:47, just 15 seconds behind.
We woke up on Sunday to a very bright and sore morning. Neither of had slept well tossing and
turning with our aching, screaming legs. We loaded up the car with our
ridiculously large stash of gear, set the odometer to zero and headed up
highway 231. We watched the miles roll
by and noted just how very far 50 miles is.
It took us an hour and fifteen minutes to cover 50 miles of highway-- a
bit faster than we covered the same distance the day before. We know we could’ve taken an hour off our
time—after all, we’d spent 40 minutes in transition or at the outback—but we
didn’t care!
All of the
finishers:
|
1. John Nichols! 37
6:29:32 2. Matt King 22 6:29:47 3. Curt Carey 37 7:11:01 4. Doug Hansel 41 7:35:15 5. Bill Thom 40 8:23:14 6. Patrick McDaniel 35
8:38:22 7. Mike Ward 42 8:45:32 8. Jack Thomas 48 8:47:33 9. Jason Feagan 23 8:49:50 10. Ben Singleton 24 8:49:50 11. Tom McGinnis 40 9:10:28 12. Javier Cendejas 57
9:13:19 |
13. Jose Wilkie 37 9:19:21 14. Herb Hedgecock 53
9:30:06 15. Jon Ferency 33 9:31:12 16. Dick Whicker 52 9:38:13 17. Brenda Gutmann 42
9:53:08 18. William Hollihan 70
10:20:45 19. Del Ruckle 55 10:27:09 20. Don Clark 49 10:33:25 21. Stephen Beatty 50
11:05:55 22. Buck Hales 47 11:05:55 23. Dave O'Brien 66 13:02:16 24. David Heitkamp 50
13:45:00 |