2014 Des Plaines River Trail Races 50 Mile

BroadArrow

Barefooters
Sep 24, 2014
286
332
63
Illinois
I blame it all on St John the Gambler and Zapmamak. They deftly combine "talented" with "highly trained professional" to compose compelling race reports that inspire me to do mildly abnormal things. If you're looking for a quality story, I urge you to seek out their blogs. Here, I will try to create a poor imitation for your scorning pleasure.

Background:

Over the last two and a quarter years, I have gone from "my shoes wore out, so now I just run around (metaphorically) barefoot" to (two months later) "I can't sleep from jetlag, so I'm going to run around (literally) barefoot in the middle of the night until I get tired" to (a few months later) "how about the marathon that runs in front of my house?" to (a few months after that) "50 miles sounds like fun!" That progression led to a fun attempt at the 2013 Des Plaines River Trail Races 50 Mile Ultramaration (that's pronounced "Dez Planes" for you non-Illinois people out there...) with one of my shod friends wherein we became the first people in the history of the event (n=4) to get timed out. Since that time, my buddy got a new job meaning that he is stuck with nights and weekends until someone else becomes the "new guy". So, I had to find someone else to run it with if I didn't want to be lonely.

Story:

Since I'm a loner when it comes to running, all my friends (save the aforementioned one who is really a cyclist with a running habit) are non-runners. Then my oldest brother told me how his business has been installing a lot of gutters lately. All the up the ladder, down the ladder, move the ladder over, up the ladder, ... had led him to start counting calories since he had been losing weight. The verdict was that 5000 calories a day was insufficient. So I said, "Wanna run a 50-mile race with me? How different can 5000 calories in a day horizontally be from 5000 calories a day vertically?" Since he is, uh, crazy, he thought about it for a couple hours, determined that there was a non-zero probability that he would remain married afterward, and he was in.

I signed us up for the race and reserved hotel rooms. Despite trying to leave early Friday, I got up there with my family right at supper and bed time for the children. Earlier than last year and with less screaming, but it was still a small adventure getting them all to sleep. My brother arrived from out of state with only one child left to go down. We managed to get everything set for the morning (printing maps for the family to be able to find the aid stations, setting out our clothes, making sure we have the super-secure "parking pass", blah blah blah) and get into bed after realizing repeatedly that we had 50 miles to talk on the morrow.

After getting a tiny bit of sleep, we drove the mile to the start/finish area and picked up our packets. The kind policemen shooed us off the grass, so we parked the car in the next lot, pinned on our bibs and walked back over to the start line just in time to hear bits and pieces of announcements on the bullhorn. Then the airhorn sounded and everyone started trotting under the new inflatable arch with the race logo.

The course is a giant out-and-back trip along, as the name implies, the Des Plaines River Trail. Even though you are totally in the built-up suburbs of Chicago (e.g., you run right past Six Flags Great America), you would never know it. The trail roughly follows the river through the woods which were simply spectacular with their mostly golden but also orange, pink, and purple leaves. In previous years, just before (and after) the far turn-around, you had to run along a fairly busy road to get to the aid station. Since that totally stinks, the race directors rerouted that section to stay on the prairies and in the woods. But, that shortened the course somewhat, requiring them to lengthen the first little distance-adjusting spur that you run (in the opposite direction) at the very beginning of the race.

This extra spur led to the first bit of major excitement. The DPRT Races also have a full and half marathon that start one and two hours later. Since their turnarounds are, duh, closer in, they were not affected by the distant rerouting, so their initial spur turnaround was at the same spot as it always had been. But when the 50-milers got to that point we were kindly directed by the race officials to run directly into and past the "wrong way" signs for two tenths of a mile. Except they forgot to mark *that* turnaround and put someone at the end. So we're all happily chugging along thinking, "Huh, we haven't seen the front runners come back yet..." Then we do see the first group who yell to us, "Turn around, there's nothing down there!" Of course we're all like, "Ha ha! Nice joke!" Then the second group says the same thing. By the third, we start taking it a little more seriously and think, "Well, it's 50 miles; we're not going to win anyway, so who cares if we accidentally shave a little distance off."

In a flash, all those who had been ahead of us also turned around and, (Hubble's Law) being faster than us, went blasting past and we found ourselves with the volunteer on a mountain bike right behind us. Once the situation had been determined to be a total SNAFU, he had zoomed down to make sure everyone got turned around properly. Great. So we're already DFL with the sweeper on our tail and we're barely more than a mile into it! It feels like last year! The bright side is that we learned that the intended turnaround point was the end of the long bridge which coincided almost exactly with where we turned around in actuality as opposed to those overly exuberant front runners who put in an extra half a mile or something.

What with the little spur where everyone sees everyone else and being at the beginning where everyone is compressed together, the comments began (and continued throughout):

"I remember you from last year! You're the jeans guy!"

"Didn't you try it barefoot last year, too!"

"Where're your shoes?" (to which, the proper response is, of course, "They're in the Hall of Fame!")

I had to apologize to my brother: "Sorry, pal! It's going to be like this alllllllllll day."

And it was:

"I think you need to tighten your laces!"

"Hey it's Jesus!" and "If I didn't know better, I'd genuflect!" Well, thanks for the compliment, but no: I just happen to have the same north/central European genetics as the medieval artists who set the standard for what you grew up thinking Jesus looked like (long-ish wavy dirty-blond hair, too lazy to shave recently, dish rag for headcovering). While he was a great guy, I'm pretty sure he looked nothing like me. For one, I doubt he wore blue jean shorts and an "82nd Airborne Division/Desert Shield 90/10k Classic" t-shirt depicting a camel with an "All American" shoulder patch and running shoes on its hooves.

As we passed the start/finish area somebody yelled to me, "Hey! You're back! I need to take a picture with you again!" It was a young lady who had worked the aid stations and unofficially paced some of her friends last year. She thought the barefoot and blue jeans thing was so great she had taken a picture with me last year. So we repeated the exercise. Of course, I have no idea who she is, so I've never seen the resulting pictures (if you're reading this, post them somewhere obvious like below, on the race's facebook page or on your blog with the keywords "DPRT", "barefoot", and "blue jeans"). Still, it was a nice example of the laid back, "we're all friends here, see you at the finish" culture of non-corporate ultramarathons.

Back to the story. Some rain had fallen over the previous week which slightly raised the river levels. The trail is great in that there are very few true road crossings. Most intersections are handled via tunnels under the roads, purpose built bridges, or by ducking under the bridges that carry the roads over the river. One of those underpasses was slightly flooded so we had been warned by bullhorn that we would have to do a little river crossing twice. When we arrived at that spot, there were two ladies ahead of us who were part way through picking their way across the big riprap on the bridge abuttment. My brother clambored quickly enough across the rocks to pass the ladies (it was really his t-shirt that he gave me back when I was in grade school). I, however, was just like "see ya, shoddies!" and pranced through the mere six inches of water in no time. It was nice to have at least a little victory.

We arrived at that aid station ahead of my wife and kids. After a quick call to them, we decided to press on since one of my kids didn't feel like traversing those rocks under the bridge to get from the parking to the actual station. Despite missing that one, they met us at every other crew-accessible station. So that is one more bit of evidence to support by brother's assertion about my wife: "She totally rocks!"

After that, it was pretty uneventful running through the gloriously colored trees. Overcast, yes; but a great day to be out in the woods zooming along. We just kept up the "airborne shuffle" and tried to knock the miles down in the most enjoyable way possible.

That piddly 10% chance of precipitation was, in fact, realized and we got a little bit damp. But that actually worked out well for me since it kept the surface moist enough that the grit would sink a little bit into the ground rather than exclusively into my feet. My wife offered me a dry shirt at the next aid station, but since it was still raining, I held off under the theory that there was no use having two wet shirts. By the time we got there, the rain finally passed and the colder/dryer air left me with a dry shirt. I still added the extra shirt to help deal with the slight wind and colder temperatures.

We kept up a decent pace until a few miles before the turnaround when the walking breaks became more frequent and lengthy. After the halfway, my brother's legs were feeling the burn in that little inner thigh muscle that brings your leg forward and across when you run. So, we just walked it in for a while. Fortunately, we had put in enough running that there were no orders to pull us from the course yet. But we were close enough to the back that the volunteers were doing their best to stuff my kids full of sandwiches, pickle, cookies, candy, gatorade, or whatever they could so they would have less to pack up and carry out.

During this extended walk, another runner (among several) caught up to us. He was a (relatively) old guy who was pretty proud of being one of the older competitors of the day. But he was pretty out of it at that stage and quite content to walk several miles with us. Between the three of us, we managed some sort of semi-coherent conversation. The old guy was pretty sure we would get pulled off the course eventually, but we were all in agreement to have a go at it until then. Eventually, he got restored enough that he took off ahead at a very slow trot and ditched us. A while later we caught up to him as he was taking pictures and video of people and seemingly part of the point of zooming off was so that he could get us in his collection. But then he was off again. As we went along, every once in a while, people would pass us. Some by themselves, others with relatively fresh-looking supporters trying to keep them going.

As we got closer to the aid station at 38-miles, my brother started saying things like, "I'm really looking forward to this aid station!" We successfully arrived and he decided to drop. After receiving reassurance that he wouldn't be offended if I made a run for it, I gave everyone a squeeze and took off. I probably overcooked it slightly, but it was nice to be back running after 12 miles of straight walking. I pretty much ran through 90% of the distance to the next aid station and re-passed many of the people who had passed us. The next aid station was the one next to the flooded underpass. Since it was getting into the evening, I called my wife and asked for my hooded sweatshirt to add to the mix so I wouldn't freeze. She was already at the aid station, so she ended up traversing the rocks twice with a child in a baby carrier. Did I mention she rocks?

Then it was off to try to make it to the finish line. The sun went down (behind the clouds and tree canopy), but I could still see pretty well because I was back in the maple dominated part. The leaf litter on the ground and the trees above positively glowed. I slowly caught up to one last runner, but after exchanging a few pleasantries and walking a few paces, he took off again and ditched me for good. From there on, I just walked it in. When I started getting close my wife called and asked if I wanted the giant comforter we call the "crinkly blanket". Yes, that would be great for after I'm done since, uh, it's cold out here! Apparently, I was closer than I thought because she met me with the blanket and my older kids. We "ran" together for a little bit. Then they split off and cut across the grass so they could see the finish while I motored around on the path and under the now-illuminated archway and across the finishing mats.

As the race director gave me my finisher's buckle, I said, "Well, you got me across the line this year!" I'm sure they say it to everyone, but I'll indulge my ego just a tiny bit. He shook my hand, we exchanged one of those shoulder-hugs, and he said, "Good work. It was really inspirational what you did out there today!" So I asked, "I'm guessing that I'm the first barefoot finisher?" He responded, "You don't have to guess. I can *assure* you that you are our first barefoot finisher. In fact, you're the only one to ever even attempt it barefoot."

Then it was time to take a couple pictures with my brother and stuff (the race people made sure to take a picture of my feet) and then wander over to the food tent. And most importantly, to yell, "That's what I'm talking about! That's how we do that!" as a few more runners trickled in every few minutes. Including the old guy who was sure we would get pulled and had DNF'd his attempts at shorter ultras. And the middle-aged guy who had looked really beat down and had the two young ladies doing whatever they could to keep him going. He had managed to revive enough to outrun them and went to find some race officials to make sure they didn't get left out there (they came wandering in a few minutes later).



Preparation and Outcome:

Since I know I'm not going to win, my plan is, was, and will be to be a "refuse to suffer" runner. When I got pulled last year, we (my friend and my family) were shooting the breeze with the aid station volunteers. I mentioned that principle and they laughed and pointed out that I was in the wrong sport then. True enough. But, I am happy to report that, a year later, I finished a 50-mile race, quickly enough that they awarded me a finisher's buckle, in full skin-to-gravel mode, and without suffering.

Here is how I prepared. You are a different entity. You get what you pay for and this advice is free... "If you get hurt, lost, or die...."

First of all, you want to pick a race that you think has a surface you can survive. I won't pretend to make a recommendation since, you know, we're all different. I was/am lucky that the DPRTRaces are within striking distance for me as well as have an acceptable surface. The texture is basically like a baseball infield: grit that is coarser than sand, but much, much finer than gravel. Additionally, it is very hard packed so even with the rain, it was like running on a sidewalk. Last year, the muscles of my lower leg and foot that control everything got really tired adjusting each footfall. I ended up walking in the grass for the last section which required way less effort. This year, apparently my feet were stronger and I didn't run in the grass more than a negligible amount right at the start. I aspire to trickier courses in the future, but you gotta start somewhere.

Second, of course, I upped my miles. You're never totally prepared the first few times you try anything, but I put in about 1.8 times as many miles this calendar year as I did before last year's race (and I already had whatever foundation left over from before). I still didn't get in super crazy miles like would be good, but life is life and you don't want to do something foolish and get hurt.

Third, I slowly allowed myself to get sucked into some strength/weight training. I don't know how much can be specifically attributed to doing a few proper squats and deadlifts, but I think it helped to fill in the gaps and make sure that the foundation was secure.

Fourth, I would actively seek out rough surfaces to try to toughen up. Real gravel (like the kind on a gravel road where you have rocks scattered over 75% of the hard dirt surface), I have found, isn't so helpful because it just slows you down to a pathetic pace and maybe gives you a bruise, but doesn't seem to make you much tougher. The real answer is chip-and-seal country roads out in the corn fields. Or, if you live in Washington, DC, for a good time try running 16 miles on the "exposed aggregate" sidewalks around the monuments....

Fifth, my "secret weapon" was to try to heat-treat my feet as much as possible along the lines of Ahcuah's ideas ( http://ahcuah.wordpress.com/2013/06/28/the-seri-boot/ ; http://ahcuah.wordpress.com/2013/08/20/baking-a-seri-boot/ ). My wife picked up one of those electric skillet things that look like a metal casserole dish on a stand with a power supply. I put sand in there, crank up the heat as much as is reasonable, and set my feet in it while I work on the computer.

Sixth, my sleep, food, and water strategy was to try to avoid the problems I have had in my previous long-distance races. In those, my stomach would always seize up and interfere. And since I'm a "refuse to suffer" type, that means slow way down or drop before bad things happen. As usual, I don't really know what the deal is, but my suspicion is that it is an interaction between nervousness and forcing the issue with food and water. This time around, I decided to follow a more "Native American" style approach (as best I understand it, which ain't great). Basically, I would try to get to bed, but if I didn't sleep much, I wouldn't sweat it. Next, I would skip breakfast and just go for it and try to get as far as possible before deciding whether and what to eat or drink. In training, I had done a marathon distance without breakfast and had no problems. This approach worked out well. I would drink maybe a paper cup of water at each aid station and ended up peeing up a storm. I ate a total of about 9 peanut butter and jelly sandwich quarters and one tiny pickle at the far end turnaround aid station and the one just before it. The stomach held up well with only very slight hints of unpleasantry toward the very end when I was going to go slow anyway. My energy was always fine despite limited eating the day before and no breakfast on the day of. It sort of comes down to the math of 50 miles means maybe 5 or 6000 calories? In straight carbohydrate form, you're looking at 5500/4 = 1375 grams [UPDATE: old wrong math: ~ 0.625 lbs] 3lbs of dry pasta. Experience tells me that pasta grows in weight 3-to-1 when cooked, so you're looking at a little under two nine pounds of weight in the body (or drawn from the body). As lipids, you're looking at half as much dry weight. Even though I'm pretty skinny, it shouldn't be too hard to find up 0.5 to 2 lbs of stored energy somewhere in my body without screwing things up too badly. Then, you just snack a little to stay happy, not necessarily because you "need" it. But let me reiterate, I know nothing and merely speak from my non-existent experience. [UPDATE: apparently, my arithmetic is terrible; but somehow, I didn't seem to lose very much weight, maybe 4lbs or so max.]

Seventh, I did a fair amount of pacing math to settle my mind. One aspect (that I actually did last year, but didn't put into full practice) is that by building a simple model you can verify that under reasonable circumstances, a pure strategy (pick the maximum sustainable pace for that distance and maintain as long as possible) is always better than any mixed strategy (alternate between a fast and slow pace somehow). (for you totally geeky nerds out there, your pace-versus-distance curve would need to be not strictly concave up [or down, depending on how you define things] for there to exist a secant line that lies completely on the more favorable side of the pure-strategy curve...) The other aspect was to actually do the simple algebra and plug in plausible numbers for walking and running paces to figure out how much time (as opposed to distance, which is psychologically different to me) you could spend walking and running and still hit the time limit. Putting the two together, you get a tentative strategy like this for "just let me finish!":

* Try to be disciplined and run as slowly as is practical before you get into those weird neither-walking-nor-running inefficient speeds and keep this up as long as possible. In practice, this is, say, somewhere in the 10-12 minute mile range.

* Make sure you spend more TIME running (at your snail-like pace) than walking (say, at a 20 minute mile pace). Even just one minute more.

Then you will finish. Not fast, but you'll finish. (If you really want the spreadsheet....)

Finally: eighth, respect the immortal racing principle: "The easiest way to find yourself in a world of hurt is to try something new on race day". That means same hat as always (dish rag secured by a scrap stretchy cloth tied into a loop), same kind of shirt (ok, due to the cold, I went with a long sleeve t-shirt, but 100% preshrunk cotton all the way), same pants (blue jean shorts; there's something about the weight and stiffness of the fabric that allows you to carry things in your pocket without them bouncing loudly all over the place), and same shoes ("your parent's designed them for you didn't they?"). I did leave my hunting/camping GPS behind, though, so I could focus on doing everything by feel.

The final outcome was, duh, that I finished. Perhaps of more interest is the condition of my legs and feet. My legs didn't feel more than a token amount sore or tired (nor have they in the subsequent days). It has taken great self-discipline to force myself to not go running for two days (although I played indoor volleyball barefoot on day #2 and went for a 3.6mi run on day #3).

The soles of my feet in contact with the ground turned brownish/reddish/blackish, even after washing. But they magically turned back to pasty white/pink after the 3.6mi run on sidewalks today. So, maybe the color was from the leaves and stuff slowly staining the skin rather than busting tiny blood vessels.

My feet in general, of course, knew that they had been utilized (as God intended!). There were no blisters, no bruises, no cuts, no scrapes. The joints of the toes of my left foot felt a little sore, but that is now 99.9999% fixed up at this point. For some reason, the big-toe-meets-foot joint on the left was also a little sore. And I think the front half of my feet were a little puffy, but that is pretty much gone by now, too.

The recovery has been quite an interesting experience. I could feel the improvements, certainly on an hour-by-hour basis and sometimes almost on a minute-by-minute basis. The full recovery process seems to have taken about 2 1/2 days (including the volleyball and short run). My past experience has been that somehow my feet are magically ready for the next run 24 hours after the previous one (supposing that they were feeling stressed in the first place). Obviously, this was a longer effort, so it is not surprising that recovery takes longer, but I have been pleasantly surprised at how quickly it has taken place.

Now, if you have made it this far through a long and boring race report... I am probably going to have another go at it next year. My brother wants to do it again and is already trying to condition his feet so he can train for and run it barefoot. So, if anyone is bored in late October of next year, come on out, see the fall colors, and we can have a good time at this very fun and well-run race.
 
Thanks for sharing your report, BA. I have it on the home page now.