Owl's Roost Rumble Trail Half-Marathon Race Report

Executive Summary:
1st overall in 1:15:29. Marc Jeuland (2008 Olympic Trials marathoner with a 1:05:50 half time) raced amazingly for second, and did the lion's share of the work. It was one of those cat-and-mouse races with tactics, nerves, non-consensual makeout-sessions with dirt, surprised Bambi, and non-consensual makeout sessions with surprised Bambi. Come to think of it, that last one could have been a hallucination. It's law school finals period, and I really, really [Ed. note: REALLY] miss studying the environment.

Pre-Race:
Law school finals! We had two 8-hour exams (on which OUR FUTURES DEPEND) this week, so the training has been scattershot. With my running caught in the crossfire of the fully medicated Dick Cheney that is Contracts, I decided to enter a competitive trail half-marathon the day after the test. There is no better taper than sitting at a desk all day! Loneliness just makes you want it more! Crying is an outstanding ab workout!

On Thursday night, I studied in my usual abandoned parking lot (which luckily has a great sunset view). There was a travelling carnival staging behind me this week, so all of my Contracts memories are associated with the smells of funnel cakes and actively fermenting porta-potties.

The tests were awesome, which is good because it almost makes up for apparently looking forlorn enough, alone in the shadow of a hot dog stand, to be asked by a Ferris Wheel operator if I needed someone to talk to. Fortunately, no talk was necessary. The spooning, however, was a godsend.

After a night with amazing people eating sushi and ice cream, I woke up with an extra pep in my step (for those counting, that makes it 3 peps). In honor of the incredible Lucho, it wouldn't be a race report if I didn't disclose that the aforementioned sushi made my bowels operate with the whooshing efficiency of a fully greased slip-and-slide. In this analogy, I guess the slip-and-sliders are business students.

Drove to Greensboro, both Tooting It and Booting It at volume 24 in the car, and arrived 30 minutes before the elite wave went off. Jogging to the line, I saw wonderful human being/photographer Shannon, and asked her if there was anyone to worry about. She pointed out Marc, who I knew from stalking. Let me clarify...internet stalking. I mean, the binoculars are far too fuzzy to tell me anything about his PR's.

Strip to the underwear, explain that I am working my way through college, and that Cinnamon is a family name, gun sounds, AND THEY'RE OFF!

In fairness to my flabbier physique, I did have both a pack of Gushers and a Capri Sun during yesterday's test.

Race:
The race began with a half-mile on roads before plunging onto the rooty forest single-track trail. Immediately, Marc and I were side-by-side, beginning our running tango that would last nearly all the race. As we hit the trails, the forbidden dance progressed as I took up the rear and just tried to keep my hips moving forward. Wait..........ummm.........let's just move on.

Passing the mile in 5:08, it became clear that Marc actually was the real deal, and I proceeded to hold on for dear life. Relaxing up the hills and bounding on the descents, we continued yoyoing on a 10-yard string. By mile 4, I had decided not to look at the watch, and just attempt to make it a race. I felt good, but I knew breaking away was a pipe dream--he was too strong to allow me to escape unless I went with a balls-to-the-wall move. Worried about maintaining sphericality, and wanting the wall's misery to last for as short a time as possible, I decided to wait until the last 800 meters. In retrospect, it may have been cowardly, but it was solely due to how much I respected Marc's ability.

Shame dog understands why I raced that way.

Six miles in, the true climbs began. He effortlessly bounded while I effortmorely scurried, until we came to mile 8. Complacency is never more visceral than when the taste of dirt scrapes across your lips. Marc began to slow after my reckless root-jump, and I screamed for him to go. I didn't want charity, but now I had to catch. Skirting the lake, his shadow bounced ahead up the trail as the coursing caffeine of the fall flowed through my veins. By 9 I caught just as we surprised a deer, and we passed 10 in 56:39. The trail leveled slightly, and I had time to catch my breath. I think Marc relaxed a bit too, and chills of excitement began radiating from my spine to my toes. To give you a glance into the race-day mind, at mile 11 I smelled rotten eggs. Now, the obvious explanation is anaerobic bacteria releasing methane, but I chose to think that Marc farted. While obviously a substantial initial boost from the afterburner effect, this provided a glimmer of hope--he didn't feel good. He was weakening.

So we hit 12, and I felt invincible. Cowardice has its rewards, and I wanted to make the final move completely decisive, using every bit of reserved energy. 1:11, 1:12, the minutes passed with inexorable lethargy while the my legs pushed like a colt against the starting gate. Slight descent into the final climb....wait.....wait.......NOW.

I sprinted. I sprinted with the effort of an all-out 400. My arms burned and my legs went numb past mile 13. I let myself glance back. Marc was out of sight, behind a switchback I had just passed. Stumbling towards the line, I crossed in 1:15:29, with Marc 20 seconds back (both well under the course record set by Aaron Saft, who went on to win the Trail Marathon National Championships that year). It was great, but I don't think getting to the finish line first is all that important. No, I really think it's the experience of being out there that matters. Whether it's a test, a race, a sunset, or just a breath of fresh air, the simple euphoria of being is...well, for lack of a better word, it is awesome.

Thanks so much to Shannon, Anthony, Marc, Shuwen, and Dave for being great. And thanks to you, for reading. You guys are amazing :)

Mountains to Sea 12 Mile Trail Challenge Race Report

Something different with this race report. Hope it is somewhat readable, and not too boring. Thanks for reading, you guys are awesome :)

Megan and I smiling at the start.

Gun sounds, and the jokes and smiles quickly fade to focus. With the first half-mile on pavement, Duncan Hoge (2-time Uwharrie winner) went off well below 5 pace. At that moment, I knew this was going to be a battle. I let him lead onto the trail, and the first steep climb. About 150 meters from the summit, I pulled around on his right. In an attempt at winning the race before the end of the first mile, I immediately slowed, and forced him to come back around. I wanted him to see vulnerability. I wanted him to relax in a false oasis. When he reclaimed the lead, I sat back strategically. 50 meters to the summit.....20.....10.......GO.

Commit! Commit! Commit! My brain screamed a familiar mantra, knowing that a loss of sight would be a loss of mind. I didn't dare turn around; I wouldn't show weakness. But Duncan stuck. The searing attack became a slow-burn, where I tried to keep the pressure on without withering on the technical trails. We hit a short road-section at mile 3, and he was still there. Mile 4, still there. A knock-out blow became a rope-a-dope, until a sustained climb at mile 5. He was so efficient that I didn't recognize the fading of his footsteps. But by mile 6 there was a gap. The aid station rung their cowbells as I passed. 5 seconds....then 10....20.....suddenly, more cowbell rang through the forest. He was there, but now was the time.

I went. My brain refused to let go of the persistent ringing of the cowbells, hearing his footsteps through the peaceful morning. It was a trick though. There was a gap. Time to go. Attack! Attack! Attack!

Crack.

FUCK! My ankle. The mud has a metallic taste. 2 seconds becomes 5........10. Self-pity wells under my eyes. Sadness is a neutered emotion. Once it takes hold, the empty embrace is completely consuming. Just then, as the fatiguing force becomes heavier and heavier, something lifts. There is someone behind me on the trail. Not Duncan, chasing his prey. No...Megan. Life.........Beauty...........Strength.................Speed.

FUCK THIS! I scream violently, telling the rocks and roots what I think of their mothers. That scream becomes internal, drowning out the ominous sound of cowbells and the penetrating pain of exertion. Mile 7 becomes mile 12 in a blur. 1:15:54 for 1st place, a 1:40 win and course record. Duncan second, and La Sportiva's Josh Wheeler third, 4:10 back. Megan won by 10 minutes in 1:26. She is amazing.

Sharing a pre-race North Carolina sunset.

This was the hardest race I have ever done. It hurt. It tore off any facade of stoicism, and substituted the nakedness of vulnerability. But in the vulnerability--in the agony, and especially in the weakness, came a wholly new feeling. From the depths of desperation came the peaks of empowerment. By letting go, and succumbing to the pain, I never had so much control. I was the one testing my limits. I was the one testing my will.

But I wasn't "one." The word I is pregnant with the idea personal empowerment, which is not why this race meant so much. No, this race meant so much because I was never alone in the journey, not even for a single rock jump or root stumble. A perfect soul was always with me, even when she wasn't right at my side. And that combination, the singularity of suffering combined with the duality of devotion.....from that combination came strength.

We run to glance over the edge, and in doing that we see what life can be. As beautiful as that feeling is, it is limited because it is self-contained. Seeing Megan cross the finish line, she radiated--she represented--the universal beauty. So we run to explore what life is. But we love....well, we love to see what life means.

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Thanks to all of the awesome people at the race (especially Alicia, Mary, Kim, and Jason). And thanks to you, for reading. You guys are amazing :)

Al Buehler Trail 5k Race Report

Executive Summary:
1st overall in 15:25. Power-thrusting and porpoise porn ensue.

Pre-Race:
Jogging to the track, I ran by a gathering of compression shorted people congregated around several porta-potties. Being both the shrine and the water-cooler of the running community, I provided my offering to the fellowship, then caught up on the gossip in spandex-world. The gentleman I spoke to was adorned in his Saturday morning-best white Under Armour shorts, and I asked him what the hubbub was all about. Doing a hip-flexor stretch that can only be described as a prolonged power-thrust, his mouth said that there was a race this morning. Meanwhile, his groin seemed to be saying that there was something very interesting to the left.

Being the type of person that is distracted by both shiny objects and liberal groin bulges, I entered the race just before it was about to begin. The course was a lap and a little bit of Al Buehler Trail, a hilly packed-gravel path that treats all Duke runners like the wife in a Lifetime Original Movie.

It hits because it loves.

There is something about sitting on the ground, putting on racing shoes a few minutes before toeing the line, that is purely life-affirming. Maybe it's an external stimulus--the sunrise poking through the trees, penetrating the eerie silence. Maybe it's chemical--the endorphins and adrenaline anesthetize awareness, outside worries blur out of focus. But, to tell you the truth, I don't think it is either of those things. They are easy, they are everyday. No, I think that the rush of life emanates from the same source as the disquietude of death.......it is the unknown. Toeing the line and peering over the edge, our frailty--our vulnerability--reflects back. But just by glancing across, and seeing what is on the other side, our strength--our invincibility--shines strongly through. Failure is inherent in a race, just as failure is inherent in life. We will weaken. We will die. Just by testing that limit, though, just by toeing the line, we see what life is. We see what life can be. And life...well, for lack of a better phrase......life is beautiful.

I figure now is the time to get my flower pictures out of the way. I also wrote some delightful sonnets about the sunset...

You can tell whether grammar and syntax are important to you from whether you are currently seizing violently after reading that last paragraph. With those thoughts coursing through my veins like heroin delivered via rusty turkey baster, I interrupted everyone else's start-line epiphanies by removing my shirt. My milkshake may not bring all of the boys to the yard, but it is fat-free! Unfortunately, it is also covered in unexplained red marks and smells vaguely of brown bananas. Ummm....I guess I'm trying to say is that there is rhetorical similarity between delicious and nutritious, and contagious and infectious. Ladies.....

Gun sounds....AND THEY'RE OFF!

Fighting for position.

Race:
We careened down a steep descent at the start, and I heard the racer in second curse loudly. Yes, good sir, I do have no conception of pacing. I opened a significant gap on Mr. Fiddlesticks on the first steep uphill, and I went to work on finding a sustainable rhythm over the wet path. It was strange, I know every inch of the trail like the back of my hand. What I mean is that both are slimy and probably cause some type of warts if you rub your face against them. But also, each step traced thousands before it, so that a race transformed into a journey. Each step explored a path that became wholly new in the moment, and each stride carried with it a firm purpose.*

*Firm Purpose is also the name of my legal practice/personal training studio.

**Firm Porpoise is also a local enterprise, and it's as disgusting as you'd imagine. Unless you're a porpoise.

Flipper thought it was only going to be a photo shoot.

Leaning forward over the climbs, and striding down the descents, I came to the biggest hill on the course just under a mile to go. Accompanied by the same searing legs of a hundred hill reps, I attacked the familiar foe and crested the climb at 14:56 for a lap of the 2.95 mile trail. Then, falling in control down the descent, the tape broke in 15:25 for the net-downhill course (a few minute win). It was an amazing race for a great cause, and an awesome training day. More than that, though, the race made me think. It made me think about the unknown; it made me think about the future. I don't know the answers to those big questions, I certainly haven't solved any mysteries. But thinking about the most perfect girl in the world at my side, my amazing family, and all of those daily moments, I do know one thing......

Life is beautiful.

Thanks so much for reading! You guys are awesome, and I hope the start of your Spring has been absolutely perfect :)