March 2010 - Space Coast Runners

ing at their watch. Finish time quickly became irrelevant. Finishing became the uppermost thought in my
mind! Seriously, for once I had doubts out there around Mile 27, thinking, "Geez (I used a different word) I
have another 23 miles of this?"
Somehow the next loop was harder than ever but I ended up at a pretty lake, “Colt Creek,” with a good aid station
manned by a friendly young fellow and his mom helping me with suggestions and questions. I continued
running on a trail around the lake drying my shoes a bit. The trail was tough (again) and beginning to look a bit
familiar. The familiarity was confirmed as I came back to the same aid station having just added a 4 mile bonus
to my 50-Miler, to make it a 54-Miler. I was relieved to find that many others were logging bonus miles as
well.
Recovering and reestablishing my bearings took me back to the 33-mile point named, "The Decider," where
the Race Director promised the trail would be dry and runnable from here to the finish. Ha! WoW, is he a
funny guy. I am still slogging along until the 38-mile aid station, “Traffic Jam,” at which time indeed the trail
became dry, runnable and very beautiful. I brought the pace up and settled into nine miles of pure enjoyment,
happy as a lark, thinking I'll get to finish before Chin, Crate, Jay and Jonathan bolt out of the windy cold for
beers at the hotel.
I face planted rather hard at some point after “Colt Creek.” The 50-mile course included a loop that enjoyed
distant gun fire. I was not terribly worried as the heavy booms indicated 30.06 rounds rather than the ever
more dangerous sharp crack of AK-47s, however one wonders, as it goes in the woods, since I had not encountered
another trail runner in 2 hours.
Somewhere along here, and no I do not know where “here” is as my navigational skills were temporarily on
the fritz, I came to a cattle gate. Now I grew up in Iowa so crossing a cattle gate should be routine. This gate
was special though and I believe specifically constructed by the Race Director for this event in order to disadvantage
runners of my exact height. Standing on the highest bar that still maintained stability I simply could
not throw my leg over the top bar! This became very frustrating. Moving up one bar found me wildly swaying
to and fro hanging onto the top bar with both hands. I timed my right leg throw on a forward swing and nicely
straddled the gate, ending up in the sitting position as if riding a bicycle with no seat. Then I remembered that I
am left footed and approached this in a way opposite to guarantee success. But remembering my leftfootedness
was too late now. The gate is still swaying back and forth; I have a steady grip on the bar as if gripping
a saddle horn for dear life on a runaway stallion. I needed to stay in the sitting position, catch my breath
and try to figure a way out
of my predicament. I found
that I could ease my right
leg down a bar on tiptoes
and finally swing my left
leg over the top bar, finishing
by a short jump into ankle
deep mud with a flourish.
As a final touch the
mud sucked my right shoe
off throwing me off balance
to land butt first with a soft
“plop” sound. Well, at least
I could sit there and dig my
shoe out before continuing
onwards.
But I digress.
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