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| Stop eye-balling me. |
5 months 2 weeks post surgery, and finally, a race review. But first, a tangent. I ran the Medoc marathon option last year in peak shape, but missed two gel intakes and suffered a 29 blood sugar near mile 14. I wandered off course and ran face first into a tree. My bib trail name "Hypo Hazard" proved more prophetic than farcical. After inhaling 150 carbohydrates in gels, I slumped on a stump for over 30 minutes fighting the urge to go toward the light. I don't remember much of the final 12 miles, but I did finish. My sub 4 hour goal unrealized, I crossed the line around 4:45. Completely exhausted, it took me over an hour to summon enough energy to drive myself home. You would think such a bonk would leave Medoc permanently on my naughty list, but despite the near death experience, I really enjoyed last year's race. It felt befitting to use the site of my biggest blow up to relaunch my running return. So, enough background, after months of cut open ankle photos, nude ellipticaling, and prologuing; a race review.
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| Medoc decoy. |
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| Medoc Radio. |
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| Medoc night-light. |
Medoc Trail Races are unique in that they offer group camping as part of the festivities. This presents a real devil's bargain: Do you wake at 3 AM and drive from Raleigh (or farther) into the middle of nowhere? Or do you gain an extra hour of sleep by driving from the nearest hotel with indoor plumbing? Of course not, you camp. For those that find fold-out sofa beds sinfully luxurious, the lost art of camping may be for you.
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| Sage advice. |
For you carbo-loaders, there is also a dinner option. As the T1 diabetic envoy, I had respectively declined this offering. The menu was too carbohydrate rich for me, consisting mostly of pasta complimented with sides of Applebees. "Eatin' good in the neighborwoods."
Four group camp sites were offered this year without restriction. If you can find a piece of ground big enough for your tent, its all yours. A word of warning for future
racers, campsite 3 is the social campground. I pitched my tent in prime real estate while it was still light outside and relatively rural in the community. I was close to the fire pit, the showers and my truck. Wise in the ways of Medoc camping, Jim and Jade Wei made an impromptu visit for a little fireside camaraderie, then smugly returned to their secret private campsite, rumored to have both Egyptian cotton linens and a flat screen television. By 11 PM, the ravers, hippies and hooligans had turned campsite 3 into a discotheque, complete with laser lights, tweekers, bar brawls, and I suspect, sexual malfeasance of some sort.
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| No Wei. Way! Party time. Excellent. |
The race organizers had stopped by with warnings of the latest MEDOC sightings. Luckily, a guitar and a budding vocalist, kept the mythical beast at bay. Obscure folklore dictates acoustic renditions of Katy Perry's compendium lull the savage Medoc. After enjoying the fire, a beverage (Thank you Tennessean Steve Stout, master of both fire and spirit), but before the youths had organized a Gangmam style flash mob, I retreated to the shelter of my truck. The flimsy membrane of my tent was no match for jacked up whipper snappers and an aerial blitzkrieg of falling tree nuts.
With all of the seats down, the maximum 64 inch cargo hold offered by my Ford Escape fit my 68 inch frame like a hot dog in a hamburger bun. Although stuck in a fetal position, I felt secure in my Medoc resistant fortress. The falling tree nuts made a tranquil gonging as they hit the top of the metal roof, which proved an easy melody to drift off to sleep. The 40 degree temps and 5 degree tilt of the laid down seats made for an ideal shelter. If you have the chance, just do it. Running a trail marathon is a challenge to brag about. Running a trail marathon with a hideously contorted body makes you a special
breed of idiot.
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| Race morning Medoc sighting. |
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| I hope this includes insomnia and rheumatism. |
This year my surgeon gave me the green light on the 10 mile option, assuring me everything would be fine as long as I did not twist my ankle. Easy enough on a trail run. I targeted 12 minute miles. In an attempt to avoid any competitive stupidity, I started at the very back of the pack. I was still struggling with removing my sweat shirt after everyone else had cleared the start. I finished my last swig of coffee and lumbered off.
The 10 mile race starts 30 minutes after the marathoners and has about a mile of out and back on the roads to prevent trail pile ups. I had forgotten the NB MT101's I had planned on running in, and was forced to wear my new pair of Merrell Trail Gloves. I am still pretty new to zero drop shoes on the road, so I stayed on the grass shoulder. This helped govern my pace to a more doctor recommended speed. I maintained this reasonable approach for a remarkable 20 minutes, before succumbing to my inner bunny. The sensation of racing trails again felt so good, I immediately disregarded common sense. A dead Garmin 305, left me data-less and more susceptible to reckless behavior.
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| Shhh! Linda hears Medoc coming. |
I was fortunate to catch Linda Banks around mile 3. She was yet to warm up, as this 10 mile trail race is about 90 miles short of her usual endeavors. We seam to run a lot of the same races, and after a 6 month hiatus it was encouraging to run with a familiar face. We stayed together for a few miles until she tired of my company and faked a shoe tie.
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| Deanna Ramse finds the finish. |
Near mile 5 I made a new friend and then stalked her. Deanna Ramse, also began with a measured start, before upping the pace at the half way mark. I latched on to her and after having failed to shake me over the next mile, she acquiesced to formal introductions. We did drift apart occasionally as she keeps a pretty consistent pace and I still love to fall down hills. But for the most part we stayed together. We pushed each other, and I ended up finishing much faster than 4 out of 5 doctors agree to be reasonable. We passed quite a few runners over the last 3 miles and I would guestimate a well below 9 minute mile pace.
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| Beats rehabbing by a dam site. |
Two miles over my longest post-surgical run, I was fading as we approached the end of the trail. I could hear the crowd at the finish near the top of the hill and slowed to a walk to gather my reserves, so as to look cool in front of the cheering spectators. I had gained a few steps on Deanna, and softie that she is, she encouraged me on with a tap on the back and a "your almost there." I promised her I would catch up. Spurred on by the siren sounds of the crowd, I let her accelerate toward her certain destruction. Little did she know that at Medoc when you exit the trail and hit the greenway, the finish is still 2 dogleg rights away. I started running again, before the people could see me, and kicked at the first right turn, leaving about 200 yards. What some call dirty pool, I call prior Medoc experience. I was able to catch Deanna, as promised, and pass 2 runners less then 25 feet from the finish, jaunting me into the 23rd place of 25 in my age group. I ended up with a 10:48 pace average, well bellow my target, and just fast enough to feel slightly recovered.
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| Top 3 overall. |
I finished in time to see the specter, Tim Surface, finish the trail marathon in an unholy 2:41:01. A new Medoc record. Running friend, Dan Bedard, (more like post run drinking cohort, as he runs faster than I bike) finished in 3rd and invited me back to the group campsites for refreshments. We were joined by 2 of the age group winners from the 10 miler. I took this rare opportunity to learn the secrets of the fleet of feet. They were all tired and unobservant so no one noticed that I was not an indoctrinated member of their speedy tribe. They spoke freely. Unbound by their secret by-laws and rituals, I will now reveal their 3 core tenets.
First their recovery is fueled by pickles and hot peppers. To date, the USATF, is unable to effectively drug test for any of the major pickled products. Their second secret is a recovery beverage dubbed PBR (my guess is Probably Beer Really), a substance I was unable to positively identify as it was shielded by a red plastic cup. The third principle, "Run faster". This mantra covers both training and racing. After this is fully understood (a process that takes many years), students of the quick, graduate to "Don't slow down".
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| Bling. |
My blood sugar finally dropped to refueling levels, so I headed back to the pavilion to greet the finishers I knew and eat normally forbidden foods. In addition to the usual post-race fare, the volunteers offered a great rice and beans with plenty of salt and bags of cheerios, candy corn and peanuts labeled Medoc mix. I appreciated the gallons of hot coffee too. Medoc takes pride in being a race by runners, for runners and uses the novel approach of spending entry fees on those in the race. Nice shirts, good eats, and this year's surprise finisher's swag was a Medoc branded Nathan hand held water bottle. The finisher medals looked spectacular. One of the three best races in the triangle area. The trails are moderate and the support is top notch. Thank you for another great race Medoc team.
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Scott Lynch adds to my Napolean comlex with his full
sized marathon finisher's medal. |
I watched a lot of my old compadres finish the full over the next few hours. All of whom are looking very fast from my perspective. I am close to being compatible for a long slow run with some of them, but I have a good ways to go to regain my former millage. I experienced a lot more of this race than I usually do. It was a privilege just to run it, and my new status, as born again newbie allowed me to just take it in. I was not caught up in shaving seconds off my mid-pack pace. I just enjoyed the gift of a beautiful day at a terrific race with some great peeps. I have never had a better pre-race stomach. I briefly considered kimchi for breakfast. Its going to be a long while before I surpass my old speeds, and I could not be happier.
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| Brandy Burns trail rash. |
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On a scale of 10, Linda 's knee pain is 3.141592653589. |
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| Steve, Jim, Ryan. |
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| Brandy's Medoc impersonation. |
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| Susan makes me glad I stopped at 10. |
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Its hard work staying this pretty, but hot
showers post-race are a big help. |
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| 6 months post surgery. |
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| Pic stolen from Facebook. |
diatribeTwentyfive
This year's mountain run provided a very handsome race tech shirt, a round white logo centered on a deep crimson long sleeve. The color sticks out smartly against North Carolina's winter landscape and neatly disguises any of your recently let blood from said landscape. Registration was efficient, buses ran on time, bathroom facilities were adequately handled, aid stations were perfect, pre-race bulletin addressed everything. Bull City Running has always put on great races, but they seem to be just showing off now. Kim and Jason's race director experiences lend real polish to this event. You only notice their legions of volunteer minions when you need them. Their behind the scenes efforts allow you to focus all of your efforts on the race, and this race is worthy of your undivided attention. From my heart: Thank you Bull City Running and volunteers. 
Miles 11-15 took my confidence out to the woodshed. I was really struggling by mile 10. I chalked the tiredness up to going out too fast and my shunning of p90x. At the mile 11 aid station my stomach was rolling and I felt pretty bad. My blood sugar was 135 at mile 8, I checked again and was surprised to find a 36. Not a PR for me in a race, but close. The volunteer at 11 was either familiar with diabetics, a nurse, or an angel. I was too low to make decent decisions and my stomach was not going to tolerate my go to Hammer gel treatment. My new aid station guardian insisted on my partaking of some peanut butter, chips, and assorted goodies. I spent some time recovering and the protein settled things down enough for me to suck down 3 gels. I convinced the aid station that I would survive at least long enough to make mile 14 and they let me go with a cargo pocket full of Hammer gels. By now, I was pretty close to last place, although still slightly ahead of the DNFs. I figured my chances of finishing at about half. I made it to mile 14 with a 79 blood sugar. Normal for the pancreas functional crowd, but too close to disaster for me. I had switched insulin delivery systems and was running half the amount of my usual basal rates. My best professional medical guess, my effort level was much higher than usual causing my muscles to slurp glucose. At mile 14 I discovered the hot soup. Chicken noodle soup rules! It fully calmed down the belly and I dined, as if this were my last meal. I figured 15% chance it was. 
