Potawatomi Trail Runs 50 Miler

Potawatomi Trail Runs 50 Miler
By OneBiteAtATime


I’d been looking forward to this race. Last year’s 50 was the first time I had gone ultra-distance. I had never ran a step beyond 14 miles when I started training for it, and that had been some 18 years ago. Last year I survived.

This year, I wanted to run it. Actually, what I wanted to do was double the distance and survive again! I had been training diligently for the 100, but IT band problems jumped up in February, so I made the decision to scale back the race and just go for the 50.

The Potawatomi Trail Runs are held in McNaughton Park, Pekin, IL, generally the first or second weekend of April. There is a 50, a 100, a 150 (which starts on Friday) and this year there was a 200 for a few brave souls. There is also a 30 mile “fun run” on Saturday evening. The course is mostly single trail, 2 creek crossings, and very hilly. Each 10 mile loop has 1600’ of accent/decent, so for 50 miles there’s approximately 8000’.

My family and I arrived at McNaughton before the 6am start – which was great because my 13-year old daughter was with me. And she didn’t give us too much trouble about the early morning! My best friend, Derek, who crewed for me last year came out also. The temperature is cool. I think it was in the 40s. But it is going to be a beautiful day! So the race directors gave some final instructions, I hugged and kissed and hi-fived, and then we’re off!

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The start goes down a hill to about a ½ mile of flat prairie, it’s very runnable. But I’m doing all I can to walk. My strategy is to ease my way into this thing. I find that if I walk the first mile of a long run, it makes the later miles more comfortable. (But it’s hard to walk when you want to run!!!) Around me, I see all kinds of people. What I love about trail running in general and ultra running in particular is the people! Laid back, support each other, all different shapes and sizes, root for one another, hope for all to have success, great people.

Hike up a hill, and we’re into the rolling hills. The first 5 miles of the loops are pretty tough. Lots of up and down. Hike up, run flat, hike down, run flat. I’m trying to walk down as many hills as possible to delay the onset of IT Band soreness. 2 ½ miles in and you’re at the first aid station – Totem Pole. The volunteers at Totem Pole are fantastic! Last year it was the egg burritos. This year it’s the cheese quesadillas! A shot of Mountain Dew, fill my bottles and OUT! Again, loop 1, just trying to control my speed, manage my heart rate on the hills, walk the steep steep downhills to try and eliminate IT Band problems. Through the first creek crossing, which is a blast of cold! My feet are wet and won’t be dry again for several hours. Live with it.

McNaughton is a forest waking up from a long winter. Ground cover is turning green again, trees are casting shadows with their new growth leaves. There is still the crunch of old brown leaves underfoot if you just barely get off the trail. But if you stay on trail, the footing is good. It’s going to be a fast day for everyone. By about the 5th mile, the congestion of the mass start has started to break up. For the first 5 miles, you can wait your turn to climb a hill, or you can blast by people on the sides of the trail, but I’m not in a hurry. I’m settling into a comfortable pace that I know I can maintain. Through the ups and downs and finally up the hill to Heaven’s Gate aid station.

Again, fantastic volunteers! Wonderful food! Monkey bread, salted potato, meatballs! A shot of Mountain Dew, fill the bottles and OUT again! The next couple of miles winds from single track to along the side of the creek to a prairie trail that runs along the side of the woods, back into the single track with some torturous ups and downs to test your will. I cruise out of this section to the second creek crossing where the photographer catches this:

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Up through another section of twisty turny rooty rocky up and down and out through the Frisbee golf course. I pull out my phone and give Derek a “10 minute warning”. I’ll be at start/finish soon.

First loop: 2:03:14. This is 5 ½ minutes faster than last year, and I feel like I’ve run less and walked more. This is a good sign for the goal. I’m aiming to break 12 hours today.

Derek serves up a fresh handful of GU, a few servings of Nuun, and a heaping portion of “You’re doing great! You look good!” I pocket the GU, stuff the Nuun into my hydration belt, and tuck the encouragement deep into my soul – there’s still 40 miles to go!

The first half of the second loop was great! Up and down the hills, in and out of aid stations – cruisin’.

I’m passing back and forth with a 3rd grade teacher and we are swapping bad jokes.

“Why should you never give Elsa a balloon?” “Cause she’ll ‘Let it Go’!!”

“I’m sure you know why 6 is afraid of 7, right?”

I believe on the 2nd loop I met Wayne. Wayne took the early start for the 100. He and I have been talking on Facebook as we have some mutual friends. It’s nice to finally shake his hand. Wayne’s drama would play out over the next 24 hours, but it was an epic battle of man vs. himself and man vs. McNaughton. Spoiler: Man won! He got his 100 mile buckle.

By the second half of the second loop, however, I’m feeling the telltale signs of IT Band stiffness. Not enough to stop me yet, but it’s coming.

Second loop: 2:15:17 (4:18:32)

I meet again with Derek. I don’t want to wait around too long, get stiff, and quit. Derek gets this extremely flattering shot of me:

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I tell Derek that the IT is acting up and it’s going to be a problem. Fill my Nuun, 3 new GU, LETS GO!

I set out down the trail again. 20 miles out of the way, just a little over a marathon to go. I’m starting to really feel IT Band tightness. It’s affecting my gait. It really hurts when I run the downhills. So I go back to the old strategy (from last year) of going down several of the downhills backwards. Only this year, I feel like I can run them.

After about 3 miles I get this text from Derek, “I do believe that you are averaging 12:45/mile and if you keep that pace up, you should finish in less than 11 hours. Great job!!” To which I immediately respond “Yeah but that’s just crazy talk.” While I’m texting I’m realizing that the IT stiffness is really starting to grab me. I remember this quite well. Last year I was reduced to hiking the last 20 miles.

The first 5 miles of each loop is pretty tough, and between Derek’s text and the top of “golf hill” is probably only 2 miles. But this particular 2 miles feels like it’s taking forever. I’m getting tears in my eyes from the pain. I’m looking at my watch and trying to do math in my head. I’m trying to figure out whether I can still make 12 hours. What does the stopwatch say? Is 5:20 where I should be? That’s almost 6 hours! I’m halfway and already over 6 hours?!?!? 5:20? Or was it 5:40? 6:20? The numbers confuse me. I can’t run, I can barely hike. My IT Bands are torturing me. I’m halfway through this thing and convinced that I’m going to be walking more this year than last year. Damn.

I send out this text to Derek, “It’s slipping away bud”. Derek immediately responds, “Hang in there! Let’s talk when you finish this lap”.

Unbeknownst to me, Derek is communicating with my wife. She reminds him that I went through doubts and thought I couldn’t make it after the 3rd loop last year. Apparently, she has more faith in me than I have in myself, she tells him, “He’ll be fine.”

So I just continue to trudge along. I’m alone on the trail. There aren’t a lot of people passing or many that I pass. It’s lonely. “Why do I do this? What am I trying to prove? Who am I trying to prove it to? Really, what is the point of this? I’ve already done this once, why would I do it again?”

So much confusion and turmoil inside my mind. All of this plays out over 4 miles and probably lasts less than an hour, but it feels like forever. Like I’ll never get to the next aid station, but I finally do. Heaven’s Gate aid station is a Godsend. I get some food in my belly, a couple shots of caffeine, a little conversation with others, and things start looking up.

The rest of the 3rd loop is still challenging, but I’m feeling something different in my legs. I’m feeling some pain in the IT band, but it’s different. I can run with it. My tempo starts to increase, I’m able to go down more hills running. I’m still going backwards on the big ones, but things are starting to perk back up. “Is it possible to ‘run-through’ IT Band pain?” I shoot Derek a text that I want to change my shoes.

Third loop: 2:26:36. (6:45:08)

I sit down for the first time. Changing out of the VivoBarefoot Trail Freaks and into the beefier Merrell Road Gloves is frustrating. Not the shoes, but the socks. I cannot get my feet dry enough to get my toes into fresh Injini socks! Ugh! Finally I get them on, and get up. My wife and daughter are there. I want to sit down and tell them all about how I ran through IT Band pain. I want to pull up a camp chair and just hang out. I’m so happy to see them. But I can’t. I gotta keep moving. So, a handful of GU, some fresh Nuun, and out!

I spent too long at the start/finish. Probably 8-10 minutes that I’d never get back. Dang. I’ve got to get some non-toe socks for future events.

Things are starting to come back together on the 4th loop. I’m starting to find a rhythm. I’m feeling a thousand times better than I was 10 miles ago. There’s joy in my running. Passion in my feet. And something else is happening: I’m passing people. I’m floating. Every foot fall I feel lighter, faster. My pace is increasing in the flats, I’m even finding that I’m jogging some of the uphills rather than hiking them all. I’m smiling. I’m a runner. By 35 miles, I am convinced I should have signed up for the 100. I’m positive I could have finished. I feel incredible!

I’m rounding the corner to finish the 4th loop, still feeling great. My buddy Derek is going to hop in with me for the last 10 miles. In my joy, I text Derek, “Be ready, sign the waiver, we’re going to rock this town.”

4th loop: 2:25:05 (9:10:13)

Derek knows I mean business when I come in. I’m filling bottles and about ready to run out, I notice he’s stuffing GU into my pocket. “Glad he’s thinking for me.”

We set out and hit it. I know that I can break 12. As long as nothing goes haywire. I’m walking more than I want to on the first section, but I’m walking with purpose. Get up the hill and into the rolling hills, and things start clicking again. My tempo is increasing. We’re passing people. I’m catching and passing folks who I could see were miles ahead of me a few hours ago. This feels good! Into the first aid station, and all I want is to get some fluids and hammer this thing out. Less than 8 miles to go.

We get into an especially hilly portion, and up golf hill, I hear myself moaning. I say to Derek, “Do you know what that sound is? That is the sound of ultimate suffering” (A Princess Bride reference for the rest of you.) Up and Down. We’re doing well. I feel like I’m clicking off the hills much better this time.

Through the Heaven’s Gate aid station for the last time. “Thanks” to the volunteers. What an awesome community. Through some more prairie and single track and out to a prairie trail that is about ¼ mile long. I turn to Derek (who by the way is doing a 10 mile run essentially “off the couch”, what an animal!), and say “This is about the last flat section, lets open it up.”

We have about a 5k to go. All the chatter stops. It’s just us and the trail. We’re really moving. 3 steps per second like a machine. In my head I hear “One Two Three, One Two Three” or for the musicians I hear “Tri-pl-et, Tri-pl-et”. There is little time for walking the ups now. I’m trying to extract every ounce of energy I have for the finish. “Dang! I have too much. I left too much out there. I could have gone faster.” Live and learn. We’re passing lots of people now. 100 milers are cheering me, “Way to finish, guys!” I’m moaning and accelerating. Ecstasy and agony. Joy and Pain. A determination to accelerate to the finish, tempered by the overwhelming desire to walk. My body is filling with lactic acid and endorphins. I climb the last hill with the low grumble of suffering, look around and notice that Derek has taken a shortcut towards the finish. It’s just me now.

I race through the last Frisbee golf section, watch a little girl get her Frisbee stuck in a tree, but I have no time to help now. Gotta get to that finish. The start/finish area is lined with tents and tarps.
Tons of spectators and runners line the last ¼ mile. I’m running. Can’t sprint, but I’m running. Cowbells and cheers erupt around me. I glance at my watch: 11:19 and some change. “Hurry, John, let’s break 11:20.” Tears are filling my eyes again. I’m experiencing great discomfort and overwhelming joy. Just steps to go. I see my family. My wife and my daughter on the far side of the finish. I’m welling up with tears.

5th loop: 2:09:41 (Total Finishing Time 11:19:54.56)

I cross the finish line and continue on for 30 or 40 yards to where I can be aloneish. I get the tears out and turn around to go hug my family. I get a nice hug from my wife and my daughter, and Derek, my friend.

I go to the race director, Richard, and he says, “Are you finished? Or are you quitting?” I make a “5” sign. I had confused him when I ran passed the finish.

“I just had to go over there and have a little cry. Y’know, you put a lot into these things.”

He smiled and said, “I know.” He grabbed the timing chip off my ankle, and handed me my second Potawatomi Trail Run 50 Mile Finisher’s Buckle.

Buckle.jpg

If I had sat down and written this race report the day after Potawatomi, this part would sound very different. I came home from the 2015 Potawatomi 50 mile trail run immediately searching for a 100 to do. I had had such a fantastic (for me) run and had improved immensely over the previous attempt. I knew from mile 35-50 that I would have been fine in the hundred (which was my intent originally). But here I sit 20 days after the effort, not running a step because I believe I have a stress fracture in my 2nd metatarsal of my right foot. It’s a familiar song for me. Last August, I ran a trail race that was roughly 40 miles. I did well in that effort too, but I came out of it with a stress fracture. Actually, I’m not sure whether I am getting these stress fractures at the events; or whether I am getting them because my feet are trying to remodel after the events, and I’m running on them. One thing I will change for sure: the next time I go ultra-distance, I will take about a week and a half off after to give my body a chance to tell me all of its secrets.

I’m not sure if minimalist shoes are a good idea for these distances. I may try experimenting with some beefier options. Of course, perhaps I should go the other way, and just not run it if I cannot do it barefoot. These are the games we play. I feel like I can accomplish things in shoes that I cannot without. But am I accomplishing things that my body cannot handle? Am I doing things that my body couldn’t handle it if I was getting direct feedback from my feet? My soul loves ultras. My soles? Maybe not.