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FLRC Newsletter - August 2004 |
| Finger Lakes 50s: Not Quite There Yet | |
Did you know that Asian falcons complete their 2500-mile journey across the Indian Ocean in three to four days without eating a single bite? As impressive as their twice yearly ultra is, it is nothing when compared to the bar-tailed godwit’s overall record for nonstop flight: a 7000-mile trek across the Pacific from Alaska to New Zealand. When viewed from the perspective of these ultraflights, my second attempt to crack the fifty-mile barrier seems puny and insignificant. Of course, in Nature there is more at stake—those who fail to go the distance die an early, painful death. And there is a minor consolation of sorts—I am now closely on the tail of Rich Busa’s “lost in action” record. Maybe there’s a Saucony sponsorship out there for me, too.
To begin at the beginning: Although I aborted my first attempt at the 50K mark last year, it was really the smart thing to do given the hot and humid weather conditions. This year, I had a different excuse. Those darn chipmunks took a hint from the race T-shirt and switched the directional arrows, leading me all the way back to the first cow pasture.
Did I say cow pasture? This is a race for animals and not just those of the human persuasion. Race Director Joe Reynolds’ briefing, which traditionally includes instructions on how to herd cows off the trail, got everyone’s attention when he mentioned that bulls were spotted playing King of the Hill in several of the pastures we traversed. On our first loop, the female coeds were lined up at the fence (think Boston/Wellesley College) mooing us on and placing bets. Fortunately, there was nary a bull in sight. On our second go-through, my new best buddy, Kevin Hatfield, and I were out there alone. With fewer betting opportunities, the cows had apparently lost interest and opted for a nap. Kevin, whose goal is to tackle a marathon or higher distance race every weekend of the year, regaled me with tales of his adventures, plus the low-down on airports, flight arrangements and shuttle buses. The actual running seemed to be the easiest part of his quest. Kevin’s stories kept me alert, but with the added advantage that I could respond with the same three or four stock comments, leaving me to concentrate on breathing, which was getting more problematic. Eventually, Kevin either ran out of stories or decided to pick up the pace, and he moved further up the food chain. Left to my own devices, I turned off course and onto my own choose-your-own-adventure 43-mile jaunt. Had I not gone my own merry way, I probably would have finished somewhere after Dave Smith, who actually got to put Joe’s assertive cow-shooing instructions to good use. But while Tom was busily shooing the first group of cows off the path, the second half of the herd was tiptoeing silently along behind him either (a) trying desperately to reunite with their companions, or (b) biding their time, waiting to serve as relay back-ups once the front-runners had faltered. Meanwhile, much farther afield (ahead), cow power having made little apparent difference in the race outcome, a comparatively tiny, but nonetheless formidable, roadblock lay in wait for Sean Andrish, who was on track to beat the course record. Deciding that discretion was the better part of valor, Sean yielded to Skunk, who had deliberately placed himself in the path of progress. While Sean was the winner, Skunk still held the course record directly under his tail.
And as for me, current holder of the 43-mile Creative Distance Award, I figure I’ll take my cue from Roger Bannister, Wes Santee, and John Landy, all of whom faced disappointing defeats in the 1952 Olympics and went on to challenge the psychological barrier of the four-minute mile. Not that I’m headed in that direction either, but you get the idea. I’ve chipped away at my personal barrier for two years now, from 31 to 43 miles---almost there!
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