2013 Shiprock Marathon

I think I’ve mentioned before that one of the hardest parts of trying to run a marathon in all 50 states is convincing people to join me in some obscure race locations. I think I’ve also mentioned that certain people in my running club, Runner’s Edge of the Rockies, are awesomely easy to persuade.

I’d had a few people tell me that they’re favorite race was one in New Mexico that almost no one had ever heard of. Each time, the runner hesitated just a moment, as if they were deciding whether to keep it a secret. But each time, they told me about a race in the middle of a Navajo reservation near the Four Corners called the Shiprock Marathon.

The drive was going to be about seven hours, and I approached a few people I knew that preferred small races and weren’t afraid to travel. Jim Turosak, who had gone to St. George with me in October (before an extended break while trying to let my calves fully heal), was pretty easy to convince. Once he confirmed, I didn’t really worry about putting the full court press on anyone else.

Apparently, I didn’t have to. By the time we left on that Friday morning, Steve McAnnally (who had done Green Bay with me), Nason Newberg (Vermont City), Andy Hartman (a two-time veteran of the ridiculous Leadville Trail 100) and Kristin Furfari, Andy’s girlfriend who is on a quest to run a marathon each month this year (and could beat the tar out of the rest of us without trying), all joined Jim and me in a rented Suburban, and we headed southwest on Highway 285.

Trying to describe the six styles of humor in the car would be impossible, but if you remember Comic Relief and how they would put comedians with completely different styles back-to-back-to-back, you’ve got a pretty good idea. Each style was unique, but all of them blended together flawlessly. Let’s just say, I really didn’t stop laughing for at least 48 hours.

Andy Hartman ran the brutal Lead Man race series
two years ago. Clearly he knows how to carbo-load.

A little over an hour into the drive, near Buena Vista, Colo., we pulled into a gas station to use the facilities. Jim and I took the opportunity to buy a few lottery tickets, figuring only people in sparse outlying towns ever won. Our tickets were nearly as impressive as winning tickets would have been. We didn’t match a single number on any of them. 

We knew we were going to drive to Pagosa Springs, Colo., after the race, but it also provided the perfect stopping point for lunch on Friday. None of us were too concerned about having great races the next day, as our lunch orders proved. Of course, most of us weren’t as daring as Andy, who ordered some concoction with a hamburger floating in a bowl of green chili.

When we finally made it to Shiprock, N.M., we realized that the campus at Dine College, where the Expo (and bus pickup the next day) was located, was not an option on the iPhone map app or car’s GPS. Fortunately, we kind of ran into it on accident. Of course, in a town of about 8,000 people it’s not too tough to find anything. After picking up our packets and exploring every bit of the 2-3 tables in the expo, we decided to visit the Four Corners monument about 20 minutes away. There’s something to being at the only place where four states border each other. I’m still not sure what that something is, but it is something. We took the requisite photos standing in all four states, playing Twister (“right hand in New Mexico, left foot in Utah,…”) and, well, there really aren’t any other pictures to take. Or things to do there, for that matter.

This is the expo and finish area

So we left for Farmington. It’s about 30 miles from Shiprock, but since there are no hotels in Shiprock, it was really our only choice. It made for a long morning before the race because we had to drive back to Shiprock, where we caught a school bus to the starting line, which was so close to the Arizona border that half our bus actually ended up in Arizona when we turned around.

If you like to hang around the starting line for an hour or two, this may not be the race for you. We were there just long enough to hit the port-a-potty (side note: when I was growing up in Kansas City, we referred to these things by the local company’s name: Johnny On The Spot. I still like that name better than anything that uses the word “potty.”) I was in the middle of stretching when I heard, “Go” or some variation of “It’s time to start.”

I ran with Andy and Jim for a about a mile or two, before I realized that they were clearly going to run much faster than I should even attempt. I hadn’t run more than 16 miles since St. George on Oct. 6, so this was going to be more of a training run, meaning that if I made it 20-22 miles and had to walk the rest, I was good with that.

As I watched them stride into the distance, I looked to my left and saw a woman hurling on the side of the road. We weren’t even three miles in, and I was hopeful that she was running the first leg of the relay – most runners out there were doing the relay – because otherwise she was starting a very, very bad day. I also hoped it wasn’t an omen for me.

Only six miles into the race, I found myself all alone. I’ve run some small races, but that had never happened so soon. A few miles later, I started talking to a man with a Southern accent. He was running his 93^rd marathon, and he was on state No. 46. I’m pretty sure I’ve said before that I don’t run races with headphones on because I find it easier to run when I can talk to people for a while. I really enjoyed talking to this guy from Alabama, and I asked his name. “Forrest,” he said. I started laughing and asked for clarification, “Wait, I’m running across the desert with a guy from Alabama named Forrest?” He, of course, had had this reaction before and quickly verified that when his kids cheered for him, they screamed, “Run Forrest. Run.”

After parting ways with Forrest, I caught up with Tara Klima, another friend from Runner’s Edge who had made the trip down with another friend. Tara was with another woman from the Denver area named Hoa, who she happened to meet during the race (Denver runners tend to migrate toward each other, it seems).

The course itself isn’t the kind that give you a lot of variety. It’s definitely the desert, but the Shiprock itself and the wall that leads to it are pretty amazing. Like St. George, when the sun hits the rocks in this area just right, they glow a beautiful red. I was a little concerned that we would be staring at the Shiprock during the entire race, which can be frustrating because it seems like you’re never getting closer, like the bridge at Outer Banks. With this race, though, you could really only see the area’s most dominating landmark for 7-8 miles, as long as you weren’t looking back over your shoulder. It was just long enough to really enjoy it, and at Mile 14 we passed the wall and wouldn’t really see much of it again until the final few miles.

Kristin ended up catching up to Tara, Hoa and I, and we rattled off a few miles together. At points, I ran alone with each of them, including an extended stretch with Tara, who I had not run with much in the past, even though we are in the same running group.

I wasn’t trying to run my normal race pace, which might explain why I was genuinely enjoying the course. It was just like our average Saturday morning runs, except we were in a completely unique setting. The volunteers at each aid station were phenomenal. I felt bad for a kid who was clearly disappointed because not many people were taking the cut up energy bars he was offering. He obviously wanted to help but didn’t realize that he was, even if only a few people were eating the energy bars. I’m pretty sure the few people who did take them needed them and really appreciated that they were available. The bottom line is that if there are volunteers at aid stations that feel like they’re not doing enough, the race organizers did their job very well. That was the case at Shiprock, and the race director should be commended.

Nason Newberg and Jim Turosak know what it's like
to place in their age groups. I do not.

At Mile 22, my body immediately reminded me about the promise I’d made to myself. I went from feeling strong to feeling like a truck hit me. I started walking, at which point I saw Tara and Steve both fly by. Kristin reached me and said the marathon she had run two weeks before was really hitting her. But I think it’s just because she is really nice that she agreed to walk the next three miles with me. We ran most of the final mile, including the last quarter mile through sandy, desert dirt (the only questionable part of the entire course, but I honestly didn’t mind).

We crossed the line at just over 4:30. Nason, who wasn’t wearing a watch and wouldn’t know his time for at least 24 hours, won his age group, and Jim got second in his age group despite re-injuring his calf a few miles into the race. Both won Navajo pottery as trophies. All of us finished and were happy enough with our performances, so we hit the road toward Pagosa Springs, where Andy promised the natural hot springs and cold beverages provided magical healing powers.

I don’t know about those healing powers, but I do know a great dinner and a million laughs did help.

Andy summed up the weekend nicely on the way home, when he said*, “You know what hurts the worst right now? My abs. I don’t think I’m used to laughing this much.” 

Epilogue: On the way out of Pagosa Springs, we had to go over Wolf Creek Pass, which you may recognize from the song of the same name by C.W. McCall. Well, Andy sang/chanted an outstanding version of that song as we traveled that route. I filmed it but as a favor to him, I’ve decided not to post it here. So you’ll just have to enjoy the original version.

On second thought, I just can't resist. Note: Andy's rule was that everyone had to make chicken sounds throughout the song if we wanted him to continue. I'm not totally sure what kind of chickens some of these people have encountered, but I'm sure they sound exactly like this. Enjoy.




*Editor's note: There is debate on who actually uttered this line. Andy claims it was Steve.

2012 St. George Marathon

If you don’t work in sports, you might not realize just how difficult it is to do anything during the season that isn’t actually related to the season.

I started writing this in October, but basketball got in the way. So did lacrosse. Really, a lot of sports got in the way. That’s my excuse, whether you like it or not.

However, it’s time to finish and post this one, because it was a great race.

-------------------------

Has anyone ever told you a marathon was easy? If so, they were lying.

I’d heard so many great things about the St. George Marathon that I was really excited to run it. It seemed like everyone I knew set a PR on the downhill course.

I’ve run some races with significant elevation loss from start to finish, but a few days before I checked out the stats:

• Pocatello Marathon – 1,550 elevation loss
• Tucson Marathon (My PR) – 2,200 elevation loss
• St. George Marathon – 2,560 elevation loss

Holy smokes. I know the math is pretty obvious, but that’s nearly 100 feet per mile. And, surprisingly, there are some uphills out there, which means the downhills are even steeper.

It took me nearly two weeks to write this blog because, frankly, I’ve been too sore to think about it. Since the first marathon I ran, no race has come close to beating me up quite so much. Usually, I can head out for an easy run a few days after a marathon. This time, I couldn’t tackle stairs for nearly a week after the race.

But, man, what a race. When you think of the “great” marathons that require time qualifications (Boston) or lotteries (New York), nonrunners might be surprised that a little out-of-the-way town in Southern Utah is a marathon favorite.

To register for the St. George Marathon, you have to enter a lottery. The previous two times I’ve tried, I did not get in, including one year when just about everyone in my running group got in except for me (or at least that’s the way it seemed). I really didn’t expect to get in this year, which is why I wasn’t too worried when I found out my friend was getting married in Denver that same day. Oops.

I got in and found out my friend Jim Turosak also got in, and we quickly made plans to travel to the race together. Jim and I traveled to the Pocatello Marathon in 2009, when an injury forced me to bail on the full and run the half instead, so I knew that he would keep me entertained throughout the trip.

We flew to Las Vegas on Friday. It’s funny how weird things become normal after running as many races as I have. I love eating a huge breakfast the day before a marathon, and I don’t care if it’s in the morning or at lunchtime. We landed in Vegas, got the car and I drove us straight to a restaurant I’d found on Yelp. Jim looked a little concerned when I pulled into the parking lot, but I knew there were healthy sandwiches on the menu, if he wanted them. After we sat down and looked at the menu, there would be no sandwiches ordered. I got eggs and bacon with potatoes and an English muffin, and Jim got something else that would make most runners cringe.

The drive to St. George is about two hours and makes a quick cut through Arizona (20 miles or so) before hitting Utah. Because Jim had never been to Arizona before, it sparked the debate about what constitutes “visiting” a state. I’ve always thought it requires a night’s stay. Jim said all it takes a “substantial event,” such as a meal or bathroom break. Regardless, we kept driving, so Jim still can’t claim to have visited Arizona.

Jim Turosak and I before the 2012 St. George Marathon

You have to wake up really early for this race. Buses depart for the start between 4-5:30 a.m. It’s a long drive (roughly 26.2 miles) through the dark, and when we reached the starting area, it was cold. St. George is known as one of the best-organized races in the world, and when we got to the top, we realized why. As we got off the bus, each runner was handed a Mylar (space) blanket. This is a little race trick I figured out a few years ago. At the end of each race, most runners throw away the foil-like blanket they’re given at the finish. But I realized they are absolutely perfect for those times you have to wait around for a race to begin, so I generally throw mine in my gear bag for the next time. St. George’s organizers apparently knew this already.

That wasn’t the best way they tried to keep us warm, though. They set up a series of campfires, and they lit each one as soon as enough people were surrounding it. I’ve seen campfires at a few races over the years, but there was something special about these. Everyone was chatting and making new friends with the people around the fire. As the flames were waning, the call went out to head to the starting line.

The first 5-6 miles were in the dark, and we had to trust that the roads were in good shape because none of us could see much. We just followed the people in front of us. There was a strange calm to it, despite being amidst a few thousand people running down desert roads. Jim and I kept a conservative pace early until he finally broke off about seven or eight miles in. He’s a great downhill runner, so I knew he was going to fly, just as he did in Pocatello where he got a PR and a trophy for second in his age group.

I settled in, hoping to just enjoy the race. As the sun came up, the rocks all around us turned a magical red. I live in Denver, so I can drive 25 minutes to Morrison and visit Red Rocks Park, but that close proximity has never diminished my awe when the sun hits rocks like that just right. In college, I visited Uluru (or Ayres Rock) in the Australian Outback, just so I could see the red glow during sunrise and sunset. As I ran through the outskirts of St. George, I got to enjoy that glow all around me for nearly an hour of my run.

So far, the race organization had been very good, but I soon realized just how good it was. At every aid station, and there were a ton of them, they offered the standard water and Gatorade. Like a lot of races, they also had Vaseline, just in case you might be chaffing in various parts of your body. But then there was something I had never seen. At each aid station, 2-3 people in rubber gloves were rubbing Icy Hot on runners’ legs. At first I thought it was a little strange, but by Mile 16, I decided it was genius. I stopped and a nice woman helped me out. She made a point of saying that I the reason they rubbed it in for us was so we wouldn’t accidentally rub it in our eyes later. There’s no doubt that if I was left to apply it myself, I probably would have rubbed it in my eyes, in my hair and in my mouth. Yes, I become a moron when running (others might argue it’s not limited to running), so I’m glad the St. George Marathon organizers were thinking for me.

My legs were throbbing from all the downhill, so as usual I looked around for someone to talk to. I struck up a conversation with a woman and started running with her. It seemed like everyone on the course knew her. As it turned out, they very well could have. Debbie Zockoll has run the St. George Marathon all 36 times since it was founded. Yes, you read that right. And running with her for a while was nice because I could pretend all the people were cheering for me (they were not).

The final couple of miles though town were sunny, making them a little more challenging than they always are anyway, but the crowds were great yelling encouragement and making them as fun as they could be.

After a rough stretch of finishes, I finally broke the four-hour mark again with a 3:49. I was happy. Jim was even happier after turning in a solid 3:21. We jumped in the car, headed back to the hotel for quick showers and hauled it back to Vegas for our flight. I arrived back in Denver with just enough time to stop at my house for a change of clothes, and I made the wedding with about 20 minutes to spare. Sitting still at the ceremony and reception without falling asleep was tough, but I somehow pulled it off, making it a truly great day.

I hurt so bad right after this race that I couldn't even
take my awesomely nerdy compression socks off.

Christmas Traditions

The blog has been on hiatus for a while. What can I say? Sometimes life and work get in the way. But Christmas seemed like a good time for a new entry.

I like Christmas traditions. And the Kennedys have a lot of them. Some happen every year, and others only when all three brothers can get together. For example, Darren, David and I are allowed to buy each other gifts beginning on Dec. 26. When we’re together, we load into the car and head out to the after-Christmas sales. It’s especially strange, since all three of us detest shopping, especially when it’s crowded. In fact, it might be the only time each year you might catch me in a store instead of ordering everything online.

There was a report from Cairo, Egypt, where Darren and his family live, that my youngest nephew continued another Kennedy tradition, proclaiming, "This is the BEST Phineas-and-Ferb-holiday-pack um, thingamabob, EVER!" You see, no matter what the gift, it’s ALWAYS the best ever. My brother once shouted from the rooftops, “This is the BEST Preparation H EVER.” The neighbors asked him to get down from the roof and quiet down immediately.

Traditions are harder to keep these days. Part of the family is across the world, and my parents now spend the winters in Arizona instead of Kansas City, where we grew up and David still lives with his son.

So, sometimes new traditions need to be formed, and six years ago on Christmas morning I headed out for a little run on the Charouleau Gap, a trail in the mountains just north of Tucson. It’s meant for ATVs, mostly, but I liked the challenge. I’ve run it every Christmas since, usually trying to go farther up than the year before. And I do mean up, because the trail, as the name suggests, rises toward a gap between two mountains. Lately, I’ve been nursing an injured calf, so I knew I was unlikely to go farther than last year’s run of 10-11 miles. It’s not exactly ideal for running, with loose rocks scattered on every switchback, and today’s run was cut extra short by one of those rocks, which I stepped on wrong and rolled my right ankle (an injury I have only slightly more often than calf tears).

That first year, I also encountered a bull in the middle of the trail on my way back down. It stopped me in my tracks, as I tried to figure out the best move. It occurred to me that all that land is free range, and the bull stared at me with no indication that he might charge. I wished him a Merry Christmas. He said “moo” – or maybe it was “keep moooving.” I’m really not sure. I was a little surprised to see him in the exact same spot the next year. And the next. Six years later, I was disappointed to approach the spot and find it empty. Hopefully the old boy was sleeping in. I did, however, run across three deer at the trailhead.

Despite the gimpy ankle, I made it back without too much trouble. Now it’s time to open a few gifts and see what Santa left in my stocking (which most years includes an annex – or grocery bag filled with more stuff).

I’m pretty sure they’re going to be the best gifts ever.

Merry Christmas, everybody. And if you don’t celebrate Christmas, I hope you have a wonderful Tuesday.

Marathon Cheaters

I chose not to post about Paul Ryan’s ridiculous marathon claim, simply because I didn’t want to spark a political debate (or at least throw more gasoline on the fire). However, when I read the story in the New Yorker about Kip Litton, I couldn’t resist this one. Lying is certainly annoying. Cheating is reprehensible.

You can buy a finisher's shirt for a race that doesn't exist.

For those that haven’t read it, Mark Singer wrote a remarkable story (Warning: give yourself time to read it - it's a LONG story) about a guy who claims to run sub-3 hour marathons (sound familiar). However, unlike Ryan, Litton did so much more than make an untrue claim. Litton appears to have cheated in nearly every race he’s run, including the “Western Wyoming Marathon,” which he actually made up completely (including a full list of other “finishers” and their times, not to mention profiles on Athlinks.com).

The reason Litton’s story is so unbelievable is because it’s such an anomaly in the world of running. Honestly, when I’ve been on an out-and-back during some races, I have wondered how easy it would be to simply pull an about-face without going to the turnaround point (it would generally be undetectable because there is rarely a timing mat at the turnaround point). Back in my high school cross country days, I sometimes ran close to another runner, simply hoping he would clip my heel and send me tumbling down a hill, giving me an excuse not to finish.

You know why neither of those things ever happened? Because, like most sports, running has an unwritten code. But unlike other sports, running is individual. So the code is not meant to protect teammates, like a hockey fight to protect your star player or hitting a batter with a pitch to retaliate for a teammate that’s been plunked.

The code in running is based almost entirely on oneself. If I was to cut a course or otherwise cheat, I wouldn’t deserve to wear that medal at the end of the race. I wouldn’t deserve to add it to my list of completed races. And I certainly wouldn’t deserve to accept an award for an exceptional finish, like a top age group finish. For almost all of us, that’s enough to deter us. That and, of course, there’s really no point in doing so. At the end of the day, unless you’re in the hunt for the win, your finish means nothing to anyone except yourself.

Rosie Ruiz sure looked tired after running a mile.

That code is why most marathoners can tell you all about Rosie Ruiz. In 1980, Ruiz acted as though she had won the Boston Marathon. It didn’t take long to realize that she actually had jumped into the race with only a mile to go. Likewise, at the 1976 Olympics in Montreal, Frank Shorter likely would have been declared the winner (therefore repeating as Olympic champion) if drug testing had been as advanced as it is today, because East German Waldemar Ciepinski was almost certainly doping, based on evidence collected from the Stasi. And, a clown in the United Kingdom named Rob Sloan accepted third place in last year’s Kielder Marathon for a 2:51:00 finish, despite the fact that his “run” included a six-mile bus ride from Miles 20-26.

These, like Litton, are the exceptions. According to MarathonGuide.com, there were approximately 523,000 marathon finishes in 2011. Add in the number of half marathons, 10Ks, 5Ks and other distances, and the number of racers last year was staggering. Almost every one of those finishers ran the race without cheating, and I’d be willing to bet nearly all of them were proud of their performance, despite how it may have matched up with the other runners in the race.

People like Litton, Ruiz, Ciepinski and Sloan really frustrate me as a runner. Most of us have good races and bad races, but like all but a handful of other runners, we know that those finishes are ours. And I know that we ran the same course – and same distance – as the winner, the person who finished last and everybody inbetween.

Yesterday, 2,166 people finished the Denver Rock ‘n’ Roll marathon, and 8,138 people finished the half marathon. To all 10,304 finishers of that race, and all the finishers of races around the world, congratulations on your accomplishment. And, thank you for doing it the right way. You have every right to be proud, regardless of how long it took.

Side Note: Originally, I planned on writing about the infamous false claim by a certain politician. While I chose not to post it, I came across the following celebrities in marathon finishes, and I can’t resist posting this excerpt.

Will Ferrell has run a few marathons - and he went all 26.2.

I commend people like George W. Bush (3:44 in the 1993 Houston Marathon), Al Gore (4:54 in the 1997 Marine Corp Marathon), Sarah Palin (3:59 at the 2005 Humpy’s Marathon), Jill Biden (4:30 at the 1998 Marine Crop Marathon), Mike Huckabee (4:37 at the 2005 Marine Corp Marathon), William Baldwin (3:24 at the 1992 New York City Marathon), Will Ferrell (3:56 at the 2003 Boston Marathon), Sean “Puff Daddy” Combs (4:14 in the 2003 New York City Marathon), Oprah Winfrey (4:29 at the 1994 Marine Corp Marathon), Freddie Prinze Jr. (5:50 at the 2006 Los Angeles Marathon), David Lee Roth (6:04 at the 2010 New York City Marathon), Al Roker (7:09 at the 2010 New York City Marathon) and whoever was in the Teddy Roosevelt mascot costume from the Washington Nationals (6:26 at the 2009 Marine Corp Marathon).

Regardless of whether I like their political views or entertainment value, each of them had the guts to train for and tackle at least one marathon.

I’d be willing to bet all of them could tell you their PR’s, too.

2012 Missoula Marathon

22. Missoula Marathon – Missoula, Montana – July 8, 2012
I’d been in a feud with the marathon for the past 18 months. I hadn’t run a race that I’d been happy with since Marine Corp in 2010, and I fell apart in that one. The last couple of months had been especially rough with the heat in Nashville and the nausea in Deadwood. I needed a good race. Or at least a decent one.

Me with Chuck to my left and Annette and Tom

just behind us. The other dude? No idea, but

I'm sure he enjoyed the race, too.

A few days before we were scheduled to fly to Montana, I checked the forecast. High of 94 degrees. Are you kidding me? More than a few times, I thought about bagging it.

But I was going with my friend Jim Lynch, who was moving to Hawaii less than a week after the race, and a few other friends were heading up, too. Oh, why not?

Jim and I flew out on Saturday morning. He’s a veteran with 87 marathons under his belt heading into this one, and he likes to make these trips quickly. We got to Missoula around 1 p.m., following a quick layover in Salt Lake City, and we were flying out at 1 p.m. the next day. After taking care of the usual pre-race stuff, we met up with our friends Donna Wise and Kandy Timinski, as well as Kandy’s friend Jill, for some carbo loading at Ciao Mambo.

Morning came too soon. The questions about why I was about to run a marathon came quickly. Jim and I were up at 4 a.m. and out the door 45 minutes later, heading to the buses that would take us to the start. We found the bus pickup, and the line was literally wrapped around the block. At first, I was a little annoyed (for no real reason, other than it was early and I was cranky), but the nervous, happy energy among those waiting changed my attitude. We reached the starting area, and they had everything we needed (i.e. – plenty of port-a-potties and a bag drop).

The Missoula Marathon is 26.2 miles

of stunning beauty. I am 6-foot-2

of considerably less beauty.

The race started when a cannon fire fired, and fireworks shot off to our left. We started near Frenchtown and headed down a long road with cow pastures on both sides. Seriously, we were on that road for nearly 9.5 miles without making a turn.

Both Jim and I had bibs on our back with pictures of Michael Fontes on them, and I thought about Mike a lot during those early miles. I couldn’t help but think he would love the cool morning with the sun cresting the mountain on our left side.

At dinner the night before, Jim and Donna said they really don’t like talking to people during a race. I’m the opposite. I love meeting new people during races and clicking off a few miles with them. For the first four miles, I kept to my own thoughts and reflections.

Then I ran past a few people, and all I heard was, “In K.C.” I turned and asked if they were talking about the Kansas City Marathon. They were, and I told them it was my hometown. It turned out that two of them went to Rockhurst College in K.C., so we struck up a conversation. I asked if I could latch on to them for a while and they were welcoming.

I generally stick with people for a couple of miles and then we part ways. Little did I know, I would hang with Annette Toomer, her dad Chuck and her friend Tom for quite a while. Chuck was running his 17^th marathon, but Annette and Tom were running their first.

Like I said, I was in a feud with the marathon, and I needed something to help me. I decided I wanted to stick with these guys and try to help them finish their first.

Right after the halfway mark, we headed up the only real hill on the course. It was pretty tough, but Tom (who lives in Missoula) said that the views at the top made it worth the climb. He was right. The next three miles were among the best I’ve ever run during a race. We were high up, overlooking rivers and pastures with mountains all around us. Living in Colorado for the last 14 years, I see beautiful views on a daily basis. But this was different. It was peaceful. It was perfect.

At some point I jumped in a port-a-potty and figured I was probably not going to see them anymore. Instead, I spotted Chuck. We laughed as we speculated that Annette and Tom were probably miles ahead already. I had a great conversation with Chuck, who said the first half of the race was the best he had ever felt during a marathon. We talked about running and families and life in general – this was the first time he had ever gotten to run a race with one of his six children – as we passed a man in a tuxedo playing a grand piano. And we crossed over a bridge with a wide stretch of whitewater below us, and a kazoo playing “band” at the end.

About that time, Annette caught back up to us. It seems she made a stop, too, so she had to track us down. Not long after, Annette and I started to pull away from Chuck. Also around this time, I noticed a guy named Matt who had been running near us for a few miles, so I asked him to join us. He was running his second marathon, but his first had been a few years before.

By that point, we had hit the neighborhoods with enough turns to make up for the straight stretch on Mullan Road to start the race. This was also the point when first time marathoners begin to struggle and to lose trust in their training. Actually, that’s the point when nearly all of us, regardless of the number of marathons we’ve run, begin to struggle and to lose trust in our training.

I can almost guarantee you that Annette and Matt would tell you I was helping them. The truth is that I was using them. I needed something to help me through this race and this slump I’d been in. I hadn’t done a marathon without walking in a long, long time.

Annette's caption for this picture was,

"Kicking Mike Kennedy's ass." She did.

I’m not a marathon expert. Not even close to it. But I do know quite a bit about walking during marathons. And this is all you need to know: Once you start walking, it’s almost impossible to get any kind of rhythm back. I knew the three of us needed to just keep going. Just keep moving forward.

There are not a ton of people along the Missoula Marathon course, but the ones that were out there were outstanding – and I include the volunteers and police directing traffic in that statement. Everyone was friendly, and everyone was cheering for all the runners. I thanked several people for coming out, and they looked taken aback. Their reply was always the same: “Thank you for coming to our town and allowing us to do this.” And that, my friends, is why I absolutely love smaller marathons.

Around Mile 22, I saw a guy with “Kive” printed on the back of his shirt. He was walking and I just said, “Come on, Kive. Run with us.” He smiled and then started running. It was his first marathon, too. Annette, Matt, Kive (real name Kevin) and I weaved through the neighborhoods, never really knowing where we were.

Kive had to start walking again at Mile 24, and at Mile 25 I heard Matt groan. He cramped up bad enough to pull something in his leg. I wanted to finish the race with Annette and Matt, but I knew Annette and I had to keep going. We yelled some encouragement to Matt and told him we’d wait for him at the finish.

Annette really didn’t complain much. She clearly had hit the wall at Mile 20, but she was gutting it out. The last mile was probably the hardest for her, but I kept telling her whatever I could think of that might keep her going.

“You’ve got a mile to go. You can have a beer in your hand in less than 10 minutes.”

“Less than a half mile to go.”

And, finally, “Hey Annette, see that sign? How beautiful is that?”

The sign said, “Mile 26.” And Annette beamed. In fact, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anyone smile that big.

We made one last turn, and people were lining the bridge for the final 200 meters. We saw the finish line, and Annette went into an absolute sprint. She pulled ahead of me and I saw her turn back. I said, “No way. Keep going. This is all yours.”

The next thing I heard was, “Crossing the finish line now is Annette Toomer from Yakima, Washington. And Mike Kennedy from Denver, Colorado.”

Friends Jim Lynch (look for his book coming out soon),

Donna Wise and Kandy Timinski all agreed with me that

Missoula should be toward the top of every marathoner's list

We crossed at 4:08. It’s not a BQ. It’s not a PR. But it’s an hour better than my last two. And it was as much fun as I’ve ever had in a race. I realized it during those final 6.2 miles. I had fallen in love with the marathon again. There is so much more to it than a simple finish time. It’s the things you see, and the people you meet.

I have a feeling Annette is going to drop at least 30 minutes in her next marathon. And I can pretty much guarantee you she will be signing up for another one soon.

Tom had a great race, too, finishing right around four hours. Matt crossed the line a few minutes after us, and I saw Kive finish with a giant, well deserved smile a couple minutes after that.

The Missoula Marathon is nearly perfect. I still love Big Sur, but Missoula is right on its heels. I hope they don’t change the race in any way in the future. And the heat held off until a couple hours after we finished.

A few years ago, Runner’s World called Missoula the best marathon in America. With all due respect to Big Sur, I’m not about to argue. I loved it.

2012 Deadwood Marathon

21. Deadwood Mickelson Trail – Deadwood, South Dakota – June 3, 2012

Me with Tony, Nason and Dean right before the race.

When I started this journey toward 50 states, there were a few that I dreaded for some reason. Among them, right near the top, was South Dakota. The only marathon I knew about in the state was in Brookings, the home of the South Dakota State Jackrabbits and a place I had been sentenced to, er, sent to twice with the DU basketball team. It’s one of those places where I went out to run 10 miles but had to stop at 5 because I ran out of streets and didn’t care to retrace any of them.

Then I discovered this beauty, covering almost all 26.2 miles on a wonderfully maintained trail. Even better, the timing seemed to be perfect, and it’s in the western part of the state, so it was only a 6.5-hour drive. I prefer to travel to races with other people, but obviously some places make for a tougher sell. I was a little concerned about this one, but as it turned out it lined up perfectly for the Leadville Silver Rush 50 Miler in July. Tony Day and Dean Pelligrino saw it as an ideal training race, so neither hesitated long. Nason Newberg, who I’d traveled to both Vermont and Omaha with, agreed to go, too, although he waited until 11:55 p.m. on the final day of registration. Fortunately, he’s fast. Dean rounded up a couple more guys, Brian Mazeski and Ryan Carey, giving us six people that represented a fairly good portion of the 347 finishers.

Tony, Nason and I left from my house on Friday morning, driving north on I-25 into Wyoming, where we turned off onto Highway 85, one of the most godforsaken stretches of highway in the world. Now, I’m from Kansas, and I’ve made the drive across the state dozens of times. It’s certainly not the greatest, but it’s a wonderland compared to Eastern Wyoming. It’s like a dirt cesspool out there. We had lunch at a Subway in Torrington, where I got through a few inches of my footlong shoe leather and cheese. None of us felt great after the “food,” but we pushed onward. After passing through Lusk, the scenery improved slightly, and once we turned east from Newcastle, we discovered that South Dakota is an absolutely beautiful place. This route was a slight detour that added about an hour to the drive but allowed us to visit Mount Rushmore. I’d been there before, but it’s still worth stopping if it’s not too far out of the way. Tony and Nason had never seen it.

An hour north of Rushmore, we pulled into Deadwood and checked into the Comfort Inn, one of just a handful of hotel options in the town. Deadwood is a strange place. It seemed that everyone we met there had a chip on their shoulder, starting with the receptionist at the hotel, who refused to offer us a late checkout after the race on Sunday. She said, “We have two big buses coming in that day, so we need all the rooms.” I’ve never had this problem before at a race, especially when I specifically request it during booking. It’s a minor thing, but we were forced to look into alternatives, which took up quite a bit of time and energy, because the last thing anyone wanted was to crowd into a car for 6-7 hours smelling like a marathon. If you’ve never smelled clothes after a marathon, I suggest you avoid it. Let’s just say, it’s not pleasant.

After a short run to knock off some of the rust from the car ride, we walked into town and found Saloon No. 10, which clearly had been a staple there since the days of Wild Bill Hikock and company. It was dark and sawdust covered the floor, which made Tony speculate that it might be a slight fire danger, and there was some sort of Old West show going on in the back, although we decided to skip it. We did notice that the waitress changed from her costume into jeans right after it was finished. Apparently, the costume is only required during certain hours. We had a couple of drinks and then headed out to find dinner. It seems that Kevin Costner opened up a casino in town sometime after filming “Dances With Wolves” in the area, and there was a good steak house in it. We never actually found it, so we settled on some other place. The steaks were mediocre, and the baked potatoes were only partially cooked, but we filled up anyway. With nothing much else to do, we sat down at a blackjack table. I’m usually not very lucky when gambling, but I went on a little run quickly and played with house money for a couple of hours. Despite losing a double down on a $25 bet, when the dealer had a five showing, I walked away with $75 and figured it covered my race entry.

Saturday was a long day. There just wasn’t much to do, except hiking, and that’s not the best idea the day before a race. We had a great breakfast on a patio downtown and discussed our options. We decided that after picking up our stuff at the race expo, we would drive 14 miles to Sturgis to see why all the bikers migrate there every August. It’s safe to say, we’re still wondering. There’s nothing there. It almost seemed like a ghost town. I guess a lot of bars and restaurants open up for the biker rally and then shut down again. It’s a very strange place. We did get a kick out of a building with the name “Dick and Jane’s Naughty Spot and Chinese Food.” I can’t be sure if it’s one place or two, but I like to assume it’s an establishment where you can pick up both chicken lo mein and lingerie in one transaction. From what I heard, it’s also the only Chinese restaurant within about 300 miles. I can’t confirm that, but I’m pretty sure it was probably the best place in town. We drove back to the hotel and turned on some terrible movie on the television. It wasted some time, but after a while we all got restless. Gulches of Fun amusement park was connected to the hotel, so we headed over to play some miniature golf and ride the go-carts. It’s pretty amazing what you’ll resort to when your choices are this limited.

Dean, Ryan and Brian got into town on Saturday evening, and we made plans to meet up at the official race hotel, which was offering pasta specials in their restaurants. While we were waiting for them to arrive, we headed back to the blackjack tables, where I quickly lost $80. So much for the race entry being covered, but at least I walked away down only $5. I don’t think Tony was so lucky. If you haven’t gotten the drift yet, the entire trip was just a little strange. That continued when we figured out the pasta dinner was in a sports bar, and we were told that all the pasta dishes were taking at least an hour. I have no idea how spaghetti and meatballs could possibly take more than about 15 minutes, and I guess they didn’t either because it actually came out less than 20 minutes after I ordered. We get spoiled when we run in the major cities. Restaurants and stores are so easy to find, and they’re usually open. In places like Deadwood, there are few choices and hours of operation are limited. So on the way back to the hotel, we stopped at a convenience store, hoping to find some things for breakfast before the race. I would not call it a successful stop. We were slightly more successful at the hotel, however, when we somehow convinced the receptionist to give us the room until 1 p.m. the following day. It was going to be cutting it close, but it was worth a shot.

Finally, Sunday came around. Race morning is always interesting. It’s a little bit excitement, a little bit nervousness and a whole lot of logistics, like how do you get to the starting line. We decided to drive to the parking area at the town’s rodeo grounds, where we caught a school bus to Rochford. We ended up on the last bus, and so did a lot of other people. School buses fit two people per seat, uncomfortably. Maybe three young children could fit, but as we discovered, three adults trying to share the bench made for a cramped ride. It was crowded and hot, and we had at least 26.2 miles to drive. I often prefer point-to-point courses because they’re generally more interesting, and you know you aren’t going to double back on any of it. However, driving the entire course right before running it makes you realize just how far you have to go. And it’s intimidating.

It's hard to fake a smile this much when

you feel like you're going to hurl.

They dropped us off at an old church in Rochford, and we stood around for a little over an hour. It’s strange some of the things I notice at races, but this was the first I’d ever seen where there was one line for about 15 port-a-potties. Generally, there would be 15 lines or so. This made so much more sense. I don’t know why more races don’t encourage it. Granted, the line was so long that I stood in it and then walked directly to the back to wait again.

The start was the only portion on the roads. We circled through Rochford, which wasn’t much more than a couple of houses, and then got on the trail. I knew the elevation of this race going in. The first half was uphill. The second half was downhill. It’s actually a great course setup, if you’re trained for it. I wasn’t trained for it. But that turned out to be the least of my problems.

At Mile 8, I felt like a colt was trying to kick out of my belly. I winced and tried to will the pain away. I thought I just needed to find a toilet, so I battled on until the halfway point. Since the half marathon started 13.1 miles into our race, I knew they would have some set up. Those five miles were tough. Uphill is hard enough, but when your body is not cooperating, it’s brutal. I finally made it, only to discover that wasn’t the problem. It was nausea, and it wasn’t going away. I was fine when I walked, but running seemed to shake things up too much. Based on the course, I was hoping for a negative split in this race, since the second half was all downhill. I wouldn’t get it. For the next 13.1 miles, I ran stretches of about a quarter mile and then had to walk to settle my stomach. It was probably the most frustrated I’ve ever been in a race. I wasn’t at peak condition, but I know my legs had more in them. But my insides wouldn’t let me push them.

Fortunately, the Mickelson Trail is beautiful at the worst moments and breathtaking at the best. My race turned into a semi-hike through the woods. We ran along rivers, over bridges and through meadows. Despite my issues, I loved the course. I kept thinking how great it must be to have a trail like that near your home that you could run on a regular basis. Of course, I wouldn’t want to live in South Dakota, but if you put it near Denver, it would be ideal. I struggled on, looking at my watch frequently – not because I was concerned about my time, but because I was worried about getting back to the hotel before we were kicked out. Seriously. This is not something I want to worry about during a race, and it was infuriating that I needed to. We offered to pay for the extra time and the place had extra rooms available (we checked), but they were going to charge us more than our nightly rates if we kept it past 1 p.m. Needless to say, I will not be staying at a Comfort Inn anytime in the near future, especially when Marriott (regardless of which brand) has always been so accommodating.

This course was scenic but challenging.

I finally made it to the finish in 4:57. It was nearly an hour longer than I was hoping, and it gave me all of three minutes to get back to the hotel and showered. Tony picked me up and we decided to test squatter’s rights. We were happy that the housekeepers were busy cleaning the rooms around ours, and they didn’t seem to mind, so we held on until about 1:45 p.m.

As bad as my race was, it could have been a lot worse. The entire second half of the race, I was worried that the other five guys would all be trying to hold the room for me. As it turned out, I was the third one in there. Ryan was running with Tony, Dean and Brian, and they all seemed to be going along just fine. Suddenly, at Mile 22 the guys looked at Ryan and realized his face was completely covered in salt. He was the only one of us who was not from Colorado, having flown in from Toronto the day before, and he was hurting, and nobody had even realized it. He sat down, and immediately his toes curled up. He was really dehydrated, which wasn’t too surprising since the temperature was pushing the upper 70s (although there had been a nice breeze, cooling everyone off a little). They tried to keep going, but at the Mile 24 aid station, Ryan was loaded into a car and driven to the med tent at the finish area. They put him on a cot, and loaded two IV bags into him over the next two hours. After we checked out of the hotel, we went to check on him and found him in high spirits, making jokes and smiling. I even snapped a few pictures of him with Dean and Brian posing around him. We headed back into town to find a lunch spot, figuring the other guys would join us shortly.

Mere minutes before Mr. Carey became a legend.

And then Ryan Carey moved into marathon lore. After laying around with an IV in his arm for two hours, he was discharged. As he was walking out the door, he turned to the other two and said, “Take me back to Mile 24. I’m finishing.” So, they did. When they showed up at the restaurant without Ryan, the three of us couldn’t believe it. But about 25 minutes later, while we were finishing our burgers and beers, Ryan came strolling in with a medal around his neck and a smile on his face. As it turned out, all six of us struggled on the challenging course, but we all made it through. And after it was over, we were all smiling and laughing. It was a strange trip, but I think all of us enjoyed it.

2012 Nashville Marathon

20. Country Music Marathon – Nashville, Tennessee – April 28, 2012

As I said in the post about Seattle Rock-n-Roll, every marathon can be great for some people and dreadful for others. That does not mean future runners of the races will experience the same thing because every marathon is a completely different experience for every single runner. I prefer 55 degrees and overcast for marathons. And I had been fortunate in almost all of my first 19 marathons, as far as weather. I guess I was due. And, while this was called the Country Music Marathon, it was another Rock-n-Roll event, just like Seattle.

The first sign that I might be in for a challenge came in the plane. We were stuck on the runway for nearly 90 minutes before even taking off, so we didn't depart until almost the time we should have been landing. After getting to the hotel, we walked a couple blocks to the convention center for the expo. The line was wrapped around the block. Seriously. I didn’t stand in line at the New York expo. In Nashville, we had to weave around the block, through the top floor, down the stairs and all around the ground floor before even getting into the area to pick up our bibs. That’s ridiculous and completely incomprehensible. Once I got in, it didn’t take long to get the actual bib and shirt, but I was already a little cranky, and that was a bad sign for the race.

Sheryl Crow was smart enough to run the half marathon

and finish before it got too terribly hot out.

We didn’t know where we were going for dinner, and internet searches suggested that maybe there weren’t a lot of options for Italian downtown. The Renaissance hotel was connected to the convention center, so I asked the concierge for a recommendation. He called The Standard, a converted house just a few blocks away. It’s not generally an Italian place, but they added a few things to the menu just for marathon weekend. The waiter told us the specials, including bacon-wrapped bacon. I’m not kidding. The entire menu sounded delicious, but I opted for chicken parmesan. If I get back to Nashville without a race looming, I may have to go back to the Standard and try some of their Southern dishes.

Race day started very promising. We planned to walk across the bridge to the Titans football stadium, where shuttles would take us to the starting area near Vanderbilt. However, there was a taxi waiting at the curb, so we jumped in and happily paid $8 to get us within 100 feet of the starting line. About 30,000 people were running either the marathon or half marathon (80-90 percent were running the half). So the starting area was packed. I noticed there was a Marriott about a block away. Since we had 90 minutes to wait, we walked into the lobby and made ourselves at home. The restroom lines outside were about 90 deep. The ones in the Marriott were about nine deep. We were much more comfortable than most of the runners. Of course, that comfort would not last. The temperature was already pushing 70 degrees when the gun went off at 7 a.m.

I had never spent any time in Nashville, so I obviously didn’t know the area. Several people had told me that the course was great and pretty flat. But those people were lying. The entire first half of the race was a rollercoaster of hills. And just three miles in, I was soaked with sweat. This day was going to be an absolute struggle.

Despite the hills, the first half of the course was nice and fairly well shaded. It’s always funny to see all the runners crammed on 10% of the road in the shade, when the entire street is available. Of course, I was right there with them. The course covered most of downtown and Music Row before shooting out to the campus of Belmont University, which I believe is best known for music, dentistry and Vince Gill cheering for its underrated basketball team. Regardless of their courses, it’s a nice campus. I always like running through colleges. They’re always a lot more interesting to look at than suburban neighborhoods.

After a return through downtown, the course split at Mile 11 as the half marathoners headed toward the finish. I’ve never been so tempted to join them. The temperature was probably around 75 degrees at that point. My shirt was 2-3 times heavier because of sweat, and I had literally been wringing it out. I had never taken my shirt off in a race, but I could tell that my nipples were going to suffer big time if I left it on (in runners' terminology, "bullet holes"). So I went topless, much to the likely chagrin of the spectators and other runners (many of whom were either shirtless or wearing only sports bras).

Without even reaching the halfway point, I was already wondering if I’d have enough energy to finish. I ran about the same pace as a woman for a while and finally decided I needed some help, so I asked her if she would like to run together for a while. Her name was Jess, and she told me that she was graduating from med school a week later. Apparently, she wanted to run a marathon before graduating, so this was her shot. What a brutal day to run your first marathon. We ran together for 7-8 miles, walking through the aid stations while drinking at least 2-3 cups of Gatorade or water each time, but we pushed each other. My head started spinning pretty bad at Mile 18, and I told Jess she needed to go on without me. My race was pretty much over, but I was going to do everything in my power to finish. I knew if I tried to keep running, there was a very good chance that I’d end up in the medical tent. I was in for a very long and very hot walk. A guy from Boston and another from Philadelphia joined me for a couple of miles, which was nice, but I was mostly stuck only to my slightly delusional thoughts for the next couple of hours. On top of that, like Seattle, the second half is filled with out-and-backs. There’s really nothing more demotivating than watching people running the other direction, knowing you aren’t even close to the turnaround point but having no idea how long that will actually be. How easy would it be to just pivot and head toward the finish? Cheating in a marathon like that would be pretty easy. But I don’t know any runners who would even consider doing so. Most of us aren’t really racing anyone other than the clock or ourselves. And I’m sure as hell going to finish all 26.2 miles, if I can. If I can’t, I certainly wouldn’t pretend I did.

Thinking about the finish is what kept me going, even as I watched 20-25 people dropping to the ground all around me. Some were clearly far too dehydrated to continue and others were suffering unbearable cramps, which happens even more than usual when it gets this hot. The final turnaround point is in Shelby Park in East Nashville, which is on the edge of the Cumberland River. With the water so close, the temperatures were even hotter in the park. Miles 21-24 were in the midst of 87 degrees, and the humidity was even worse, too. It was miserable.

I was happy I could stay upright while

walking back to the hotel after the race.

I kept walking, and the sight of the football stadium was such a relief because it meant the end was in sight. A guy named Brian joined me for the final two miles. He was from a small town in Alabama, and as it turned out we had both run the First Light Marathon in Mobile in January. He told me about the races he’d run, mostly in the South. I may end up running Tupelo for my Mississippi race, based entirely on his recommendation. However, it’s in September and the risk of having a race as hot (or hotter) than Nashville would be fairly high. With about half a mile to go, both of us decided we could run it in. I know I didn’t have anything left when I crossed the line. But I finished. It took 5:11, marking the slowest marathon I’d ever done (I won’t say run). It was disappointing, but at the same time I’m proud to have made it through those conditions. Running 26.2 miles is a big challenge in the best conditions. Adding any challenges like heat or injuries is the equivalent of having something in your shoe or your eye. The smallest thing can be absolutely agonizing. The heat during this race was like trying to walk with a pine cone in your shoe.