Tempting Fate

Waiting for the start of my comeback race in
March 2015 near St Louis, Missouri.

It has been more than fifteen months since my last blog post and for much of that time I have been unable to run.  The right heel problem referred to in my last post worsened and scans revealed significant damage. I was told that my serious running days were over (not for the first time in the last 30 years!).  The best I could reasonably hope for was to jog 5km a few times a week.

The pain was significant in multiple areas of the heel and I stopped running and started mountain biking as a means of keeping fit.  In March of this year, I resumed jogging, strongly motivated by the opportunity to run, three weeks later, a favourite event in the US for the first time since the mid-1990s. Through experimentation and experience, I have learned to manage the heel in a number of different ways.  Much to my astonishment, I have been able to run, relatively uninterrupted, for the last six months and reached a level of fitness sufficient to resurrect the faint hope of running a good marathon time.

The heel still causes me problems, along with all of the other niggles a 64 year old runner endlessly gets, but I am enjoying my running and still seeing improvement.  I have picked out a marathon in April of next year, six months away, and will now chart my progress towards that race in this blog.  To run a good time, I will have to remain relatively uninjured for the six months, an unlikely prospect.  Just restarting the blog makes me feel like I am tempting fate!

Great Train Races

Runners set out to beat the Puffing Billy to Emerald in
a recent Great Train Race.

Some races have an extra dimension that gives them greater appeal, and I have run a few strange ones over the years.  I don't know how many Great Train Races there are in the world, but I have been fortunate enough to run in two on opposite sides of the planet.

Puffing Billy.

The first was the race against the Puffing Billy, a restored tourist steam train that runs from Belgrave to Emerald in the Dandenong Ranges outside Melbourne.  I frequently ran in the Dandenongs in the 1970s and 1980s on a variety of trails including, occasionally, along the Puffing Billy track, literally.  It is a beautiful part of the world with mountains, towering trees, rain-forested gullies and small farms.

Commuter Train waits to leave New Canaan Station.

Someone had the idea of the The Great Train Race, 13.2 km in length, in the early 1980s.  I think I missed the first one or two events, running it for the first time in May of 1983 (there is a map of the course here).  As I recall, they modified the race format during those first years, as they learnt some lessons.  One time, I think, the train driver gave it his best shot and beat all of the runners easily, making it a bit of a non-event.  Another time, they had runners trying to beat the train to a level crossing, so they didn't have to wait for it to pass.  Nobody got hit, but heavy marshalling was employed thereafter!  From memory I ran it twice, but can only find a record of that first time, 18th in 42:44.  I believe I beat the train on both occasions, each time running back to the start along the track.  It was a fun event and is still on the running calendar today.

The Connecticut version of the Great Train
Race passes by Silvermine Pond.
(©Photo by rogerking)

When living in Connecticut in the late 1990s, I discovered another Great Train Race that ran from the commuter rail station in New Canaan, a nearby village, to the Wilton rail station, 6.8 miles away (there is a map of the course here).  It was much lower key than the Australian version, in several ways, but shared with it a hilly and scenic course, made more attractive by autumn foliage, and lots of fun.

The Connecticut version of the Great Train
Race runs along Old Huckleberry Road.
(©Photo by rogerking)

The first difference was that it was not against a single train, but instead against a notional commuter who, leaving on the train that signalled the start of the race, would have to change trains twice, at Stamford and South Norwalk, before getting to Wilton 59 minutes later.  It wasn't too hard to beat the train.  The second difference was the size of the field.  It was a small local race and you could enter almost up until the time the train left.  In the two years I ran it, there were only 60-80 runners.  I managed third place, in 42:01 in 1997, but was four minutes slower for 46:28 in 2000.  As in Australia, a number of us ran back to the start, at a slow plod, once the last runners had come in and presentations had been made.  Also like Australia, I see the event is still on the local calendar.

For my training today, I ran a very leisurely 5km, and felt OK by the end. but very rusty over the first few kilometres.  Another heavy running weekend coming up.

Organ Pipe Cactii

Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument.

Continuing my reprise of memorable places I ran during a year-long tour of the US and Canada in 1985-86, the Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument, bordering Mexico in Arizona is high on the list.

An organ pipe cactus.

Like many runners, one of the first things I do on reaching any destination is get hold of a map and work out whether there are any appealing places to run.  Sometimes, a trail or road loop jumps out as a very attractive option, and this was the case on the Organ Pipe Cactus NM park map.  I was planning a long run and there, on the map, beckoning, was the 21 Mile Ajo Mountain Loop Road.

Saguaro cactii in the Sonoran desert of the Organ
Pipe Cactus National Monument.

Unfortunately, the park campground was full and we had to stay further south in a commercial campground right on the border, literally, with Mexico.  The next morning we drove back to the park's Visitor Centre and I set out on the unpaved one-way road loop on a beautiful clear sunny day.  Although it was at the height of the season - early Spring in the Sonoran desert - and the campgrounds were full, many of the visitors were "snowbirds', refugees from the northern winter in huge recreation vehicles.  Such vehicles were prohibited from the tourist road loop, which was narrow and rough in parts, meaning that traffic was light.

Sonoran desert landscape in Organ Pipe Cactus
National Monument.

The route meandered through stereotypical desert country, dominated by the unique organ pipe and saguaro cactii, as it gradually climbed towards Mt Ajo (4,808').  After looping around the Diablo Mountains, past rocky canyons straight out of a Western movie, it descended slowly back towards the Visitor Centre, frequently offering grand vistas stretching all the way into Mexico.  I was quite fit at the time and the run was easy and very enjoyable.

In contrast, my run today was a slow 5km on stiff and sore legs around Copa.  It took the whole 5km to warm up enough to run smoothly.  Maybe it's age, or lack of fitness, or excess weight, it's hard to tell.  Although I'm running better than six weeks ago, I still have a long way to go.

Jeckyll Island

Jeckyll Island sunset.

The first time I ran the loop around the northern part of Jekyll Island in Georgia I was on a touring holiday of the US in 1985 and never dreamed I would end up vacationing there a number of times in years to come.

Jeckyll Island bike path.

Jekyll Island is one Georgia's barrier islands and is connected to the mainland by a long causeway.  It has a colourful history, starting with the American Indians and followed by European colonisation in 1510 by the Spanish and subsequently the French and British.  There were slave plantations on the island from the 1700s and it was the site of intermittent fighting between the Spanish and British.  There are still rumours of pirate treasure buried somewhere on the Island.  Between 1888 and 1942 it was owned by the Jekyll Island Club, a group of wealthy families who holidayed there each winter and built a lavish club and some mansion-sized cottages which remain today.

Spanish moss hangs from the trees in the historical
mansion district of Jeckyll Island.

With such a varied history, along with beautiful coastal and marsh scenery, it was a lovely place to run during the Spring Break vacations we had there in the 1990s.  It was also extremely flat, which allowed for fast running when fresh and fit.  My favourite 9 mile loop headed north along the coastal road from one of the holiday houses we rented to the campground where a bike path started and was followed down the mainland side of the island overlooking the marshes and passing some of the old mansions with ancient trees cloaked with the eerie Spanish moss.  It was a magic place to run as the sun set over the marshes in the evenings.  The run finished by following a laneway and bike path across the island and back northwards to the house.  Just writing about it makes me want to go back there for another lap this evening.

Instead, however, I just walked 5km today as a gentle loosener for the tired muscles and sore right knee and Achilles from yesterday's long run.

Grand Canyon

Sharon and I ran to the floor of the Grand Canyon
and back in 2012.  Starting down on Bright Angel Trail.

Although still not feeling great, my 11km run this morning went better than yesterday's and I'm feeling a little more positive about life.  I found it harder than the same run last Thursday, but sense improvement and think I'll be recovered enough to run with Terrigal Trotters's this coming Saturday morning and maybe even get in a long gentle trail run on Sunday or Monday.

In fitter days (1986), I wrote the article below for my running club newsletter
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THE GRAND CANYON - AS TOUGH AS IT LOOKS!   Letter from Dave Byrnes

The Colorado River at the base of the Grand Canyon.

No runner can stand on the rim of the awesome, mile deep, Grand Canyon in Arizona without wondering if they could run down to the Colorado River and back again.  Prior to arrival, I hadn’t planned such a journey but a look down in the Canyon and a quick check of a map kindled my interest and I resolved to make the attempt before I left.  I'm sure many runners had preceded me, and I know there is an annual 'ultra' which runs from the South Rim to the North Rim and return (a forty mile, eight hour plus epic), yet there was still an immense challenge to contemplate. 

Encountering a mule train on the ascent up
the South Kaibab Trail.

The course I planned to follow involved a four mile, gradually uphill, run along the South Rim road from our campsite to the South Kaibab trailhead at 7300 ft; a steep descent along the trail (4900 ft in a little over six miles) to the Colorado River; a couple of miles downstream by the river on the other bank; an ascent of 4600 ft in just under eight miles along the Bright Angel trail; and finally, one and a half miles back to camp (also uphill).  The total distance was to be a little over twenty-one miles and despite my failure to perform well in marathons since leaving Australia, I was confident I would make it.  The real challenge of the run was to be an ascent up Bright Angel without stopping and I mulled over my chances as I set out before sunrise on a clear, cold Sunday morning.  Almost immediately, I regretted the intense physical activity of the previous three days that had seen Barb and I hiking, cycling and running around various parts of the National Park.  Fortunately, we had become accustomed to training at altitudes up to 10,000 ft during our travels, but resting up for long runs had not been one of our priorities.

Further up the South Kaibab Trail ascent.

I decided to throttle back as I ran along the Rim and focussed instead on the magnificent sunrise that was gradually illuminating the brilliant orange/pink cliffs of the Canyon.  Out of the sun, the temperature was still well below freezing and I was glad of my gloves and Goretex top.  After half an hour, I reached the trail head and paused briefly to wonder at the sanity of the venture - at least running downhill would be easy.  From the Rim, you could not even see the Colorado River, only the shadow of the smaller canyon on whose floor it flowed.  The Kaibab Trail zig-zagged its way down an almost sheer drop and I set off gingerly on the ice-¬covered surface; being particularly careful on the tight corners.  Even after the ice disappeared at lower altitudes, the going was slow because of the steepness and frequent turns.  The surface was a curious mixture of rocks and green dust, the latter composed of dust created by the mule trains coloured by their manure.  Lovely.

The top at last.  The South Kaibab Trailhead.

Mule trains are common on the trails and National Park rules require all pedestrians to stop completely if they meet with one.  Apparently, mules are easily spooked and may dash over a precipice carrying an unfortunate tourist.  I met a train on the descent just before reaching the river.  After crossing the Colorado on a suspension bridge, I climbed down to a sandy beach to ceremonially dip my hand in the broad, green, fast-flowing river.  It was just over an hour since I had left the rim, and I had a little less than two hours to complete the ascent in order to achieve my other goal of under three hours rim-to-rim.  I crossed the river on another bridge after stopping for a quick drink near the Ranger station at Bright Angel Camp.  I was feeling good - a result of much more oxygen (a mile lower) and the relatively level river trail that crossed some sand dunes.  I began surprising bushwalkers, who had camped on the canyon floor overnight, from behind which is always a bit of fun.  The trail turned away from the river and began climbing gradually along a small canyon.  The pace was steady and I was doing it easy.  Passing the hikers was exhilarating, but I was forgetting that the ascent was concave with the steepest parts near the end.  I reached Indian Gardens, four and a half miles and 3000 ft from the rim with an hour to go and feeling a bit weaker.  Two and a half miles later, I met a mule train descending and was forced to stop for the first time on the ascent.  Damn.  Feeling distinctly tired, I set off jogging again on the steepening trail and half an hour later met another one.  This time on resuming, I was exhausted.  I couldn’t believe how sapped I felt as I staggered on for another half mile before I had to stop and walk.  The trail was now zig-zagging up almost sheer faces and I even had trouble getting forward momentum to walk.  I looked anxiously at my watch and resolved to walk 50, jog 200 to the top.  It soon changed to walk 50, jog 50, but I made it to the rim, groggy, but with ten minuted to spare.

Las Vegas Marathon

The early part of the 1986 Las Vegas Marathon course.

Running can add another dimension to travelling, whether for business or pleasure, and there are many posts in this blog describing the places where I have been fortunate enough to run.  Including races in travel plans can add even more to the experience.

In 1985 and 1986, my then wife, Barb, and I spent a year touring the US and Canada on a very tight budget ($20 a day plus fuel) in a campervan and ran a number of races.  Perhaps the most memorable was the Las Vegas Marathon in February 1986.  We arrived the afternoon before the race and collected our race numbers from a local running shop before going to the Polynesian Hotel ($15 per night!) on the recommendation of the running shop proprietor.  We were so poor we couldn't afford the pasta party, and instead, cooked some spaghetti bolognese in our campervan in the hotel car park and smuggled it up to our room.

The towers of Las Vegas began to take shape in the
far distance on the 1986 Las Vegas Marathon course.

On race morning, we joined our fellow competitors for the journey to the start on one of those cramped yellow American school buses.  The start was 42.2km south of town along the famed Las Vegas Boulevard, near a small local airport with minimal facilities in the middle of the desert.  By this point, the Boulevard was little more than a service road paralleling Interstate 15, the freeway to Los Angeles.  On arrival, competitors scattered in all directions into the desert looking for suitable bushes behind which to complete pre-race toileting with a modicum of privacy.

Crossing the finish line in the 1986 Las
Vegas Marathon (10th, 2:31).

To say the course was boring was an understatement.  It followed the virtually straight road all the way back to Las Vegas and the finish.  The first 13km involved a gradual climb, but then, after the course crested a rise, glimpses of the casino towers of Las Vegas were occasionally in view, shimmering in the distance.  We ran towards them, but as time passed, they never seemed to get any closer.  The scale of the vista was immense, with plenty of desert and few nearby topographical features. It was a soul-destroying place to race, but finally the city outskirts were reached.  After a few more kilometres and a few turns, we finished in the back lots behind the casinos.

Barb was second-placed female overall, and I was first in the Male 35-39 category and tenth overall.  We hung around the finish for a while, eating the free goodies, before returning to our hotel.  Later, we attended the race presentation in another hotel and discovered Barb had won $750 for her effort and I received $350 for my category win.  Neither of us had any interest in gambling but we splurged on some cheap restaurant meals before moving on the next day, one of the few couples to leave Las Vegas a lot wealthier than when we arrived.

For my training today, I ran an easy 5km around Copa, which was faster than expected.  I'm beginning to feel good.  How long can it last?

Forest Park

Forest Park, St Louis.

Forest Park in St Louis is another location that lives large in my running memory.  Between 1992 and 1997, while living and working in St Louis, I frequently visited the park for races organised by the St Louis Track Club, of which I was a member, and to train on its perimeter track on my own, or with friends.

I wouldn't describe it as the most scenic park I have run through, but it had good paths, greenery and a nice 9km lap.  But, despite its name, little forest.  The terrain wasn't so tough, but the weather could be.  St Louis is renowned for its hot and humid summers and freezing winters, and I can remember running and racing in those extremes as well as in some beautiful spring and autumn weather.

Forest Park, St Louis.

The park has history as well, being the site of the 1904 World's Fair and some of the 1904 Olympics events.  It also hosts several museums, an outdoor theater and the St Louis Zoo.  As a teen in Australia, I could remember watching Marlin Perkins' "Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom" television series produced when he was director of the St Louis Zoo.  Who'da thought, thirty years later, I would frequently be running past his zoo on the other side of the world!

Forest Park in winter.

It was just a 15 minute drive from my home or office into Forest Park along the freeway and I could easily find a parking spot at the park's south-west corner.  Running clockwise, the perimeter lap started with a gentle downhill 1.5km followed by a long flat stretch along the park's northern edge.  If you were feeling good, you could really wind up on this section and then try and maintain your momentum as the path began gently climbing towards the south-east corner, the 6km mark.  From there the path paralleled the highway to the south of the park, passing the Zoo and Science Museum along the way.  This section always seemed like it should be flat, but actually you were climbing most of the way and it was often tough to maintain the pace established early in the run.

Even now, warm humid evenings evoke fond memories of running around Forest Park.

I didn't go for a run today, but walked about 5km while playing golf.  I'm really looking forward to tomorrow's Terrigal Trotters Matcham Valley 15km run, one of my favourites.

Rob de Castella

Me (in green hoops) at the 16km mark en route to my PB marathon
(2nd, 2:19:06) behind Rob De Castella (1st, 2:14:44) at Point Cook,
Victoria, in June 1979.

One of my claims to fame is that I ran second to Rob de Castella, Australia's most famous marathoner, in his first marathon.  The apocryphal story is that Rob only ran the marathon, the 1979 Victorian Championship, to get a place in the Victorian team for the Australian Championship to be held in Perth later in the year.  His girlfriend lived in Perth, and he had no money.

I've often said that to be a great runner you need to inherit the right genes from your parents, have the self-discipline to do the necessary training and hard-nosed racing, and be lucky enough to avoid serious injury.  I think Rob had all of those attributes and used them to become the best in the world.

Winning the Cinque Mulini race
in Italy.

I first became aware of Rob when he was still a junior athlete and can remember him as an impoverished student driving an old Peugeot 403 and camping near us for one of the first Bacchus 12000 races at Griffith (see post titled Bacchus 12000).  There was no arrogance, but you sensed there was enormous potential and I was always a keen follower of his running career and proud to know him.

We were more acquaintances than friends, but often trained with the same groups, especially on the long Sunday runs in the Dandenongs (see post titled Ferny Creek 21).  As I recall, after running the regular 21 Miler for some years, I decided I needed to add some distance to bring it up to 25 miles some Sundays, and was gratified to see Rob occasionally following suit a few months later.  There were also some Wednesday evening runs in Melbourne.  They were fast 15-20 milers after work over inner city parks and roads and I can remember grimly hanging on to the small bunch of class runners as we flew across Royal Park at better than 6 minute mile pace.

Although he had already represented Australia internationally as a cross-country runner, that first marathon in 1979 signalled the start of a famous career that included Commonwealth Games, World Championship, Boston and New York titles, along with a world's best time.

The last time I trained with Rob was when we passed through Boulder, Colorado, where he was living as a full-time professional athlete, while travelling the US in 1985.  The morning run was a few miles with him and Rosa Mota, one of the best female marathoners of her era, and the evening session was on the track at the local university where I was totally out of my depth in twelve laps of sprinting the straights.

He was always a class, or two, above me as a runner, but I felt a kinship because I knew first-hand how hard he trained to get where he did.

I ran just 5km around Copa this morning, but maybe ran a little harder.  I coped well enough, but never felt comfortable.  I was stiff and my knees hurt.  What was more disturbing, however, was the post-run read-out on my heart monitor which showed an erratic beat for the first ten minutes.  It could be a technical glitch, but I was conscious of an uneasy feeling in my chest early in the run.  Memo to self: start slowly and build into future runs.

Marine encounters

Hatteras Island, North Carolina.

Yesterday, as I finished my walk along the Copa beach, I was lucky enough to see a pod of dolphins just beyond the breaking waves.  It's always a thrill to encounter wild animals when out running, and I have written about some of those rare encounters in other posts (Katahdin, More animal encounters, Yellowstone).  Meetings with sea life tend to be even more rare, and yesterday's sighting got me thinking about other such occasions.

Probably the most exciting encounter was thirty years ago when we were touring the U.S. and camped on Hatteras Island, a very long and extremely narrow barrier island off the coast of North Carolina.  Two islands just to the north were Nag's Head, famous for the historic Kill Devil Hills where the Wright Brothers took the first powered flight, and Roanoke, where one of the earliest groups of English colonists in America, comprising 150 people, disappeared without trace some time between ship visits in 1587 and 1590.  Despite the local history, the running options on Hatteras were very limited - either a run along the boring road that traversed the length of the island or along the sandy beach.

Hatteras Island beach.

I chose the latter, and having run a 25 miler the day before, was just cruising southwards along the empty and monotonous beach, when I got the feeling I wasn't alone.  Looking into the small surf to my left, there was a pod of fifteen to twenty dolphins, little more than 20 metres from the water's edge, travelling south at exactly the same speed as me.  I have to believe they knew I was there, because for the next half mile, they maintained their relative position as we eyed each other off.  They then peeled off into deeper water and I was on my own again.  I had another "marine" encounter a mile or two further on, with a very large and very dead hammerhead shark on the water's edge, but that doesn't really count as wildlife.

A whale passes South Point on Wilsons Promontory.

Although not a running encounter, another meeting that lives large in my memory was at the start of a mountain bike ride from the southernmost point of mainland Australia, South Point on Wilsons Promontory, to the northernmost, Cape York, in 2006.  It wasn't possible to ride my bike all the way to South Point for the start because of National Park regulations and difficult trail, so I set out early one morning from the settlement at Tidal River to hike the 42 kilometre round trip.  At the isolated South Point, large and slippery boulders washed by occasionally large swells made it quite difficult to clamber down to the water's edge to fill a small jar of water I was planning to carry for the 4300km journey north and empty into the sea at Cape York.  At one point I wondered whether my journey was going to end where it started, with my body never found, but eventually accomplished the task.  As I climbed back up to a point of relative safety, I heard an incongruous noise just to my right, and there, moving very slowly through the water about 20 metres offshore, and occasionally spouting, was a large black whale.  It was close enough for me to see its eye and it seemed to be looking right at me.  I took the sighting as a good omen, and as it turned out, had a great trip.

I walked 6km today, including some hills, without any difficulty or breathlessness.  However, I am constantly conscious of my heart beating, and although my pulse seems regular, can't escape the feeling that something is not quite right.  I woke in the small hours and couldn't go back to sleep, just lying there hyper-sensitive to my heart beat, trying to work out whether it was functioning properly, and looking for signs that it was not.  It may be, and I hope it is, just some post-procedure anxiety.  If that's right, then my sensitivity will diminish in the next couple of weeks and my confidence will grow, but at the moment I still feel like I am walking on eggshells.

American hype

Early morning on the Vermont 100 course.

Being retired has the advantage of letting me watch the American Super Bowl which is shown live on Monday daytime television in Australia.  In fact, I have probably watched more Super Bowls since retiring than I managed to watch during the eleven years I lived in the US while working.  It always seemed that I was catching a red-eye flight from the US to London when the Sunday night Super Bowl was on, and one of my parenting regrets is that I did not get to watch it with my son more often while he was growing up.

Apart from the game itself, I enjoy the hype which surrounds the Super Bowl.  It's something the Americans generally do very well, including at some of their running races.  In July 2000, I made my one and only attempt to run a 100 Mile race in the Vermont 100.  After driving up the day before the race to rural Vermont and camping in the designated farm field, I had a sleepless night in a small tent, punctuated by the late arrival of race supporters, several thunderstorms, and the very early rising of fellow competitors preparing for the 4:00am start.

A checkpoint on the Vermont 100.

I soon got up myself, readied for the race, and wandered down to the start line in the pitch darkness.  It began to rain steadily, and the 300 competitors, plus spectators, crammed into the large barn adjacent to the start while we waited for the start.  Just before 4:00am, we were herded outside in the heavy rain, and sent on our way down the farm road towards the country road along which the first part of the course ran.  The 300 runners splashing down the unlit track, accompanied torrential rain, bright lightning and crashing thunderclaps, was surreal enough, but it was upstaged by the sight and sound of a pianist in formal attire pounding out the theme from Chariots of Fire on a grand piano on the farm verandah as we passed.  I momentarily wondered whether I was dreaming, then grinned to myself.  What a great piece of theatre, some provided by nature, and some by the organisers.

A scene from the 2008 Vermont 100.

The race itself didn't go too well.  My inexperience at that distance showed when I treated it like a long marathon race, staying in the top 20 until the 60 mile mark, then totally losing control of my quads in the next few miles and withdrawing at 67 miles.  Injuries have prevented me tackling another 100 miler since then, but it's still on my bucket list.  I am now Race Director for a 100 Mile trail race myself, but haven't yet employed a pianist.

I just walked 5km today, and was a little troubled by heart palpitations and low blood pressure near the top of one flight of steps that I, perhaps, ascended too quickly.

JFK 50 Mile

Running the Appalachian Trail section of
the 2000 JFK 50 Mile.

I've never counted how many races I have run, but I'm sure it would be a four-figure number.  Some of those races stay in your memory for one reason or another.  One favourite, which I have only managed to run twice, is the JFK 50 Mile held each November in Maryland, USA, about an hour's drive north-west of Washington DC.

The race has an interesting history. In 1963, President John F Kennedy launched a national fitness drive that included a challenge to the nation's military officers to meet the standard set by Teddy Roosevelt in the early 20th Century of being able to cover 50 miles in 20 hours on foot.  Others were keen to test themselves against that standard and a number of 50 Mile races were organised around the US in that year.  Sadly, Kennedy was assassinated in November 1963, and the Maryland race changed its name from the JFK 50 Mile Challenge to the JFK 50 Mile Memorial in 1964 and has been run every year since.  It is the only surviving 50 Mile race from that time.

Looking over the Potomac near where the JFK 50 Mile
descends to the river.

Being so close to Washington DC and many US military bases, and with its military-related origins, the field always includes many service personnel, giving it another dimension.  For a long time it was the largest ultra race in the US, averaging around 1,000 finishers in the last decade or so.

The C&O Canal towpath.

Apart from my passion for trail ultra-running, the race appealed to me because a section was run along the famous 2,200 mile Appalachian Trail that I had hiked a decade earlier.  Being just half a day's drive from where I was living in Connecticut at the time was an added bonus.

The race is actually a varied mixture of terrain and surfaces.  It starts with a run down the main street of the small town of Boonsboro before climbing 1,172ft on mostly sealed road for the first 5.5 miles.  The field spreads out quite quickly.  The next 10 miles follows the lovely Appalachian Trail, paved with autumn leaves, southwards along a timbered ridge before descending 1,000ft to the C&O Canal towpath which follows the Potomac River upstream.  If you are going well, as I was in 1999, the first year I ran the race (64th, 8:02:17), the marathon-length dead flat towpath is an opportunity to gain time and places.  The second time I ran, in 2000 (118th, 8:48:47), the towpath stretch seemed demoralisingly endless.

The Potomac River along the JFK 50 Mile course.

After the towpath, there's an undulating 8.5 mile run through rural countryside, which can also be a tough stretch if you are running badly, to the finish in Williamsport.  The community support for the race, and the size of the field, along with the military dimension, help make it a special and memorable race, and I hope to do it again one day.

For my exercise today, I played my usual Friday morning 9 holes of golf.  Later, I was pleased to get a call from the Cardiologist's rooms offering me an appointment next week, three weeks earlier than scheduled.  I think I have the Respiratory Specialist I saw on Wednesday to thank for that, and am looking forward to finding what can be done about my heart arrhythmia, and when I can start running again.

Yellowstone

A hiker on the Howard Eaton Trail in Yellowstone
National Park, Wyoming, USA

Whenever I see anything about Yellowstone National Park on the television, or discuss the animal perils of trail-running, I think back to a run I did in the famed Park in the early 1990s.  It's a run that doesn't reflect that well on me, I'm afraid.

We were on a multi-week camping trip with another young Australian family from St Louis, where we were living at the time, and had driven our small Recreation Vehicles (RVs) across the mid-west to Yellowstone.  Andrew, the father in the other family, was an enthusiastic, if occasional, runner and was keen to join me on some of the runs I planned during the trip.  As usual, I spent a lot of time scanning maps looking for interesting places to run, and had spied the Howard Eaton Trail that ran from near our campground at the Canyon Village to a place called Fishing Bridge.  There was a picnic area at the latter and we arranged for our families to drive there and meet us for lunch.  The total running distance was going to be about 25km, which was going to be a challenge for Andrew. 

The Howard Eaton Trail route in Yellowstone
National Park

The trail followed the valley of the Yellowstone River so wasn't particularly difficult, but it did pass through known habitats of grizzly bears and bison.  While I don't go looking for trouble, I'm willing to take calculated risks if I deem the rewards worthwhile, and am fatalistic about the outcome if the worst happens.  We had seen bison roaming in our campsites, and though of intimidating size and appearance, they didn't seem to be particularly aggressive.  We had also seen a grizzly from the road, and they are of even more intimidating size and appearance.  We were caught in a "bear jam" at the time and it was amusing to watch all of the mothers suddenly hustling their children back into their cars when the grizzly we had all got out to observe and photograph turned in our direction.

A bison in Yellowstone National Park

The early kilometres of our run to the trailhead from the campground and along the trail were easy going and we ran at a good pace.  As we got further into the run, our trail crossed a pasture where we could see a herd of bison grazing.  The nearer we got, the more they began to pay attention to us, until they were all quietly watching our approach.  One, in particular, had our attention as it was standing right on the trail.  Our distance closed to less than 100 metres and still the bison did not move.  I was in the lead and telling Andrew I was sure that the bison was playing a game of bluff and would get off the trail (the only alternative seemed to be retracing our steps, and I wasn't keen to do that).  With less than 50 metres between us, the bison put his head down and started snorting and pawing the ground with his right foot, and I started to doubt the wisdom of trying to call his bluff.  I kept running and the distance closed to 25 metres.  Suddenly the bison snorted, lifted his head, and bolted away from the trail.  I think our collective exhaled breaths were nearly as loud as the bison's snort and we continued on powered by adrenalin.

A grizzly bear in Yellowstone National Park

After about 15 kilometres, as we entered a dense pine forest, Andrew's pace flagged and I waited a number of times for him to catch up.  This caused him some embarrassment and he soon suggested I go on ahead.  I was selfishly frustrated at the pace and accepted his offer, taking off through the forest.  Of course, this was the area where we were most likely to meet a grizzly, and any such meeting was likely to end badly.  After a short while, feeling very alone and with all my senses on high alert, I began to wonder whether we might have been wiser to stick together in case of an ursine encounter, but I was reluctant to stop running and kept going.  About 30 minutes later I emerged from the forest and met our families in the picnic ground as planned.  Another 30 minutes passed, still no Andrew, and I started to feel guilty.  After another 15 minutes, visions of a grizzly munching on Andrew began to take shape in our minds.  The guilt finally got to me and I started jogging back along the trail, but had only gone a short distance before meeting Andrew, still happily all in one piece, but exhausted.  He had barely run at all after I left him and the last 10km had taken well over two hours.

My run today was a flat and slow 7km across the sandbar, through McMasters Beach, and return.  I tried some new shoes, but my right Achilles was still sore and my right knee needed nursing the whole way.  However, I didn't force the pace and tried to enjoy the beautiful warm and sunny morning, telling myself that I was lucky to be running at all.

Central Park

Central Park, New York

I was joking with the members of the Terrigal Trotters track group this morning about how the session, which involved striding the straights and jogging the bends of the grass track, was the antidote to the "garbage" runs we do most of the time - the runs we generally do from home, around a regular course and at no specific place, just to maintain fitness.  My own run, following the track session, was truly garbage.  I started slow and finished no faster, coughing and hawking the whole way, and never feeling like a runner.  It's hard to believe, that four months ago, I was hopeful of being in sub-3 hour marathon shape about now.  I seem to be regressing rather than progressing.

Training in Central Park, New York
(courtesy, Robert Caplin for the New York Times)

Turning my mind to happier running times and more inspiring garbage runs, perhaps the best known garbage run in the world is around New York City's Central Park, a run I came to know and love over 16 years of business trips to New York, sometimes for extended periods.  There are other places to run in New York, principally along the Hudson and East River waterfronts, but none comes close to Central Park for interest and challenge.  I soon learned to book myself into hotels and apartments convenient to the Park if at all possible on trips to the Big Apple.  In the late 80s, the seedy Days Inn on W57th Street, a couple of blocks from the Park, was a frequent stopover.  It certainly established my budget-conscious credentials with my colleagues, and the rooms all reeked of cigarette smoke, but the clientele was often exotic and it was common to find the lobby full of ballet dancers from the collapsing Soviet Union (it was also close to the Lincoln Center) or nefarious-looking tanned and bejewelled foreign businessmen.  I also spent a lot of time at the mid-town Club Quarters, a business hotel ten blocks south of the park, and for a three-month period, had an apartment close to Times Square and the theatre district.  Of course, I didn't go and see a single show during that period.

Sharon running in Central Park, New York,
during our Christmas 2009 visit

Even the runs to and from Central Park in the early mornings along the broad and quiet 5th, 6th or 7th Avenues, dodging the hose spray from janitors cleaning the sidewalks beneath the towering skyscrapers, were a time to stretch out and appreciate life's blessings.  Once at Central Park, you would become one of an ever-increasing throng of runners joining the merry-go-round from surrounding streets and apartment blocks.  Most runners travelled anti-clockwise on the largely traffic-free loop road, but not all ran the big loop which took you right up to the edge of Harlem.  Some preferred flat laps of the reservoir which provided great views of the city skyline, while others had their own shorter loops utilising some of the cross-roads and paths.  I liked the full 10km lap around the outer road.  It incorporated some good hills, long straight stretches and plenty of greenery.  You could hear and occasionally glimpse the busy city traffic on the roads adjacent to the Park, but it was relatively peaceful inside the Park unless you strayed a little wide from the pedestrian lane and got shouted at by one of the cyclists who looped the Park at speed.  There were literally hundreds of runners circling the Park in the peak morning hours, and if you were feeling good, you always had somebody up ahead to catch and pass at impressive speed.

The runners exemplified New Yorkers and included some strange sights.  I remember one guy who always ran in shorts and bare-chested, even when the temperature was well below freezing (his chest was very red on those days), as well as a variety of incredibly well-muscled Atlases and Amazons.  Others always looked immaculate in the latest gear whilst a few looked like they had been sleeping in the Park before their run.

I never had a bad experience running in Central Park, though I do vividly remember one morning when I ran there at 4:00am because of an early flight out, and found myself the only runner there.  I could see shadowy figures in places by the side of the road in several places and ended up running down the very middle of the road, adrenalin pumping, ready to make a speedy escape in any direction if necessary.  Nothing happened.  I would love to still be able to run some laps of Central Park on a regular basis, but opportunities are few and far between these days.

Exotic podiums

Finishing the Quebec City 10km Fun Run (5th, 33:50)
while touring Canada in 1985

It was actually drizzling with rain when I jogged a slow 5km round Copa this morning.  It seemed exotic after our long warm dry spell, and may herald a return to more seasonal spring weather, though it stopped shortly after my run.  Although only over a short distance, I was moving more freely this morning, and my right Achilles and arch weren't too painful.  My time was a minute or two slower than I expect to jog round this course when I'm in good shape, so I'm not getting my hopes up.  Tomorrow morning's run with Terrigal Trotters will be more useful in gauging my fitness.

A steady run through the field yielded
a win in the 40+ age group, and 2nd
overall in a trail Half Marathon
while working in Germany

A runner I know has just left for the UK on vacation, and another I know will be visiting there at Christmas.  I was pleased to hear that both are looking to find some races to run while they are away because I know they will savour the experience.  Running some local races adds an extra dimension to any trip.

If you have hopes of a podium finish - open or age-group - there is a frisson of excitement in being the unknown quantity or dark horse in the field, especially in small local races where everybody knows the fast runners.  I have been in races where the fast early starters drop rapidly away and you find yourself in front, others where the pace seems slow and you can't believe how easy it is to get away, and others which became duels to the finish.  I have also been left in the dust by clearly superior athletes.

With the winner of the 60+ age group (I was 2nd) in the
2012 Orange County 10km Santa Run in the US

Depending on the location, the scenery, terrain, smells and culture can feel exotic and stimulating while sometimes the weather can be an experience in itself.  Races draw you to locations and communities that you might not otherwise visit.  Your horizons are broadened, you meet new people and you see different ways of doing things.

I have always sought out races in places I have visited while touring or working over the years and often tweak my schedule to fit them in.  Almost all have been cherished and remembered experiences.  Even now, when I travel on vacation (unless it is a hiking or biking trip) I scan the web calendars and try to work as many runs into the itinerary as possible, always with an eye on those age group podiums.  It doesn't always happen, but when it does you can score nice little trophies to accompany those eye-catching race T-shirts.

September 11th

Pear Tree Point Road, Darien

My legs were very heavy, as I expected they would be, when I set out for this morning's 11.5km run after supervising the Terrigal Trotters track session at The Haven.  I plodded slowly up the early steep hills, with my legs still feeling every metre of yesterday's 30km trail run.  When the course flattened out, I felt a little better, but as soon as I hit the hills again, the fatigue returned.  I was still coughing a lot, but was happy to find that my right Achilles tendon wasn't too bad after yesterday's exertions.  Perhaps a glimmer of light at the end of that particular injury tunnel?

Looking down Long Island Sound from Pear Tree Point
Beach, Darien

As I often do on these tedious runs, I listened to the morning news programs on my radio, and heard a report on yesterday's commemorations in the US of the 12th anniversary of the September 11th terrorist attacks.  I was working in the New York area on that day, on the top floor of an office tower 30 miles north of the Twin Towers, and the events are etched in my memory.  On a very clear sunny day, we could see the smoke rising from the downtown skyline while we followed events on television, and soon sent our anxious staff home.  My company, which was a major supplier of financial information and systems to Wall Street, had a number of offices near the Twin Towers, and I was a frequent visitor to our offices and clients, including in the doomed Towers.  Sadly, six of our staff died, along with many clients.  I knew a number of people directly affected, including some later honoured for their efforts that day.  Our lives had a shadow hanging over them for many months.  Parents at my children's schools had been lost and forlorn cars in the station car parks along our line gathering dust over the ensuing months.  They were the cars of commuters who never came home.

The New York City skyline was incomplete
after September 11, 2001.

There was a pervasive sense of loss in the community, and it affected us all in many ways, large and small.  One of my favourite runs from my home in Darien, Connecticut, went along the pretty Pear Tree Point Road past Pear Tree Point Beach.  Although they were 35 miles away across Long Island Sound, on a clear day it had been possible to get a glimpse of the Twin Towers from a couple of points along the road, something we enjoyed showing our visitors.  It's trivial in the scheme of things, but for our remaining time in Darien I rarely ran past those points without looking in the direction of Manhattan and experiencing a visceral feeling that something was missing.