JFK 50 Mile or “Oh, Snap. Crackle. Pop. November 19, 2007
Posted by anton in : Race Report , 3 commentsAs Scott said: “Some days you are the bug and some days you are the windshield.”
Call me Bug.
The JFK 50 Miler is America’s oldest and biggest Ultra-marathon. This was the 45th edition, my 9th JFK and my 18th Ultra.
Scott, a Trifuel brother, came down from the wilds of Jersey with his delightful bride to be, Melissa to take part in the shennigans.
It would be Scott’s first Ultra.
Up at 2:00 a.m. on race morning, Scott sleeps in till 2:15.
A quick breakfast and on the road a little before three, ready to face the big grip.
We arrive at Boonsboro a little sooner than expected and have some time to gnaw on till we finally go in the building at about four…
The JFK has two starts..one at five a.m., the other at seven. We took the five. I finish my JFK’s now in about ten hours and change and know that anything can happen…Being the soul of caution, I like the time cushion. Scott agreed and so there we were standing at the only traffic light in Boonsboro at five on a frosty morning.
I introduce Scott around…Vince “Our man from Dublin”. Fred, who if successful, would chalk up his 31st JFK, and some others…A beautiful morning.
At the stroke of the hour, so goes the gun and we are off…rolling on the road and then up. Up South Mountain, site of a Civil War battle that proved that life is cruel,brutish and short for so many young Americans. Off the road and onto the trail proper for a mile then a breakout to Reno Monument Road and up..again…to the top of Lambs Knoll, a hard surfaced road the steepness of which defies description…Scott agrees that if this section came late in the race it would be cruel and brutish.
We get off the road and back to the trail, running in the dark flashlights aloft to help but it isn’t long before it is light and we can move at a quicker pace…I feel great. Scott whips along..the two of us chatting away like two lads at the skate park. We laugh and cackle.
At about mile six of the race my ankle decides it’s done for the day.
I step on something which is easy to do here since the treadway is a mosiac of rocks and roots and sticks covered with leaves. My right ankle rolls to the outside and SNAP! It hurt…bad. I’m not a whiner and have a high tolerance for pain (thanks Dad)…but this hurt. I try to walk it off and it seems to feel better. We head off and the ankle isn’t bad…SNAP! Again. The joint is now a weak link I wish I could say goodbye to..Scott is helpful and supportive….despite it all we are still talking and laughing..I say “I’m sorry” once too often for having to slow down and Scott says “You say I’m sorry again, and I’ll pee in your shoe.” That’s why I like him…he understands one of the basic laws of life.
“Say what you mean, or you can never mean what you say.” No mincing of words with our Man from Jersey.
The miles click off albeit at a much slower pace and I am wacked twice more with the dreaded SNAP! I can feel the ankle swelling. My shoe is tight.
Coming off the AT we are passed by the leaders who started at 7 am…We are here an hour and a half later than I am in a normal year. This will be a long day. On to the C and O Canal after snacks and a morning dose of Ibuprofin we trundle along running for five minutes and walking for one. The Canal towpath is flat and dirt and winds along. For some it’s boring. For me, it’s home. Though they don’t know it is this flat dirt road that helps to make this an easy fifty miler. Many other races of this length are cruel, brutish and seem twice as long. For the next twenty-six miles we fall into a metronome like life. Like Pavlov’s dog we live by the electronic beep of my watch. The beep becomes a yell and then a scream. Good beeps when we get to walk, Bad beeps when we have to run again. We get good breaks in the aid stations which are killer…literally everything from soup to nuts. My running club is there, the MCRRC, dispensing salted potato’s and other goodies. Thanks guys. At about mile thirty we sort of disappear into this fog for four miles and hardly say a word. It was my rough patch, which always comes along. We make the aid station at mile thirty-four, like an oasis in the desert. The next miles seem quicker and conversation returns.
We are passed by folks I know from the 7 a.m. start. Rich, who looks awesome and later by Kevin who asks “Anton, when did you start taking the 5 a.m. start?”…I mutter some comeback as he disappears…looking down at my right foot which is now spilling out over the top of my shoe.
We shuffle, shuffle, crawl, crawl and the miles to go get less. We chat, laugh, groan, belch, fart, ogle, snack, drink and talk with those who pass or who we manage to slip by.
Mile 40…my ankle finally caves. With a loud POP and a wave of pain that almost makes me heave, I pull up. An angel drifts by “Need some tums?” Manna. My stomach is calm again and we trudge on…
Back to the hard surfaced road at mile forty-two…the last eight miles rolling. No more beep to herd us along we run to the rhythm of the road…walk the up hills and run the downs and flats…most of them anyway. We are still laughing and happy. How could you not be? We are here. Now. Living. G.B. Shaw wrote that “The complete man knows the world he lives in.” To that I add…”You cannot know the world, until you know yourself.”
Today, I know who I am.
Soon we are in Williamsport and the finish line appears…it’s dark. My first dark finish since my first JFK but it doesn’t matter. If we had started at seven we would have missed the time cut offs.
We cross the line, hands held in the international sign of a tie finish. In the results, our time is the same…twelve hours and forty-three minutes. Two hours and more slower than my usual and again it doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t have changed anything about the day. Anything.