There's just something about the Night Hawk 50k! (10 mile, 20 mile, 50k race put on by the Lawrence Trail Hawks on the Clinton Lake North Shore Trails) Some crazy epic thing seems to happen every year. In just its first three years, the race has been run on roads due to muddy trails, there have been several ambulance rides for injured/dehydrated runners, near biblical swarms of bugs, lots of heat/humidity related DNFs (did not finish), and some standing by the fire pit to warm up post-race (in late June!), and this year, a crazy intense thunderstorm that blew through during the race.
I had been watching the forecast on wunderground.com all week to see if the late night chance of rain might diminish. Per it's name, the Night Hawk is run mostly at night, an 8 PM start. I assumed that the heat was a given, as it was forecast for mid 90's at start time and mid 70's around 2 AM with high humidity. On race day though (June 30), our weather radio at home went off, warning of possible severe thunderstorms for Douglas County through 11 PM. I checked the radar and everything looked clear, but we've all seen powerful storm cells just "pop up" when the conditions are right. About 45 minutes before race time, Deanna texted to ask me if we were getting wet at Clinton Lake. She said that at home in Baldwin (about 20 miles SE of Clinton) they were getting 60 mph winds and hail. At Clinton Lake, the sun was shining and all was still, although some ominous looking clouds were visible and the temp had dropped rather nicely. A last look at the radar before the race start showed some nasty weather down by Wichita that was headed our way. It was cool enough that I considered carrying just one handheld water bottle, but I opted to stick with my original plan and carry two.
There were around 150 runners signed up for all three races, and everyone starts at once. That meant we had about 50 yards to get sorted into single file as we ran across the open field to the trail head. Not wanting to get stuck in the middle of the conga line, I positioned myself towards the front of the pack. About 100 yards down the trail I realized that I was going WAY too fast and pulled off the trail to let some runners pass, hoping that the next group would be going slower. I repeated this maneuver a few more times before I slowed to a realistic pace. Even then, I felt I was going too fast for a 50k, but dammit, it was fun! This is what is known in certain circles as "going out like an asshole", the saying wasn't invented for me, but it may as well have been. I refer to it as irrational exuberance.
Fair skies and cooler temps for the start (pic by Mile 90 Photography)
The 50k race consists of three 10 mile loops. Once I got settled into a decent pace, the rest of the loop was mostly uneventful. I had some fun conversations with folks running behind me, one a K-State professor and another a high school teacher from western Kansas (that's him behind me in both pics, in the green shoes). I had to wait for the race pics to go online before I found out what these people actually looked like as they were running behind me in the dark (likely thinking, why is this old dude trying to keep this pace?). The highlight of the loop was the Lands End aid station at the 6.5 mile mark (then 3.5 miles back to the start area), lots of familiar friendly faces cheering everyone on. I grabbed some water, coconut water, a handful of dates, said hello and thank you to as many volunteers as I could, and was back on the trail.
So relax! Let's have some fun out here! This game is fun, OK? It's fun goddamnit. - Crash Davis in Bull Durham (Photo by Mile 90 Photography)
Two things of note did happen towards the end of the loop. First, as I jumped over a log in the trail, I felt my calf cramp up in mid-air, likely from pulling my foot up behind me higher than on a normal stride. I reasoned that this was from running at too fast a pace in the high humidity. The next thing that happened was that Matt (the western Kansas teacher) asked, "was that thunder or fireworks?". It didn't take long to figure that one out. In the last 1/4 mile of the loop, the blue trail runs right along the shoreline of the lake. The temperature dropped and the wind really picked up, you could hear the waves rapidly crashing against the shore, about once per second. There's a section of dead and dying pine trees in this part of the trail, and the wind was whipping the dead needles off of the ground and pelting us as we ran through.
When we got out of the trail to the open area of the start/finish, the storm was going full bore. The rain was coming down sideways from the wind, and lightning was flashing. The volunteers at the aid station were frantically holding on to the pop-up shelter tent to keep it from blowing away, and trying to keep the food dry. I heard one of the runners that was heading back out for loop two mention something about cancelling the race. I was having too much fun to stop, so I filled up my water bottles, grabbed a handful of soggy potatoes and headed back out for my second loop, hoping to get started before the race directors could stop the race. I knew that the race was cleared by the Trails Council even in the event of rain, so I didn't think that the race would be called. There had been so little rain in the past month, that it would take a real downpour to really muddy up the trails. That theory was about to be tested.
Running back out for loop two was quite the experience. The lightning didn't seem very close, so I wasn't very worried about that. Heading out for a 10 mile loop in just shorts and a t-shirt in the middle of a roaring thunderstorm was one of the most frightening, exhilarating, funnest, craziest things that I can remember doing. I was actually laughing when I first hit the trail. That feeling didn't last too long though.
About a half mile along, things started getting sloppy. After a mile, there was a river running through the middle of the trail and I was slipping and sliding everywhere. Apparently wool socks make all the difference when wearing sandals on muddy trails. At the Psycho Wyco in February, while wearing my trusty Kakuetta Trail wool socks I managed to slog through 30 miles of mud and never came close to losing a sandal. But without the socks, my bare foot just slid right off the footbed of the sandals. As I slid laterally, my foot would pull on and shift the position of the straps until I simply couldn't keep the sandals on my feet. I would look down and the strap would be between the wrong toes, I would look down a few steps later and the sandal was hanging off the side of my foot. I'd do my best to step back into them but then the whole process would repeat. I managed to get to the two and a quarter mile mark before accepting the fact that I wasn't going to walk essentially barefoot through 8 miles of mud. I had shoes and socks in my car back at the start, so I turned around and started heading back. After a few minutes, I got to the marina road crossing and told the volunteers that I was done and was heading back in on the roads, and I started walking. Soon, enough mud had fallen off that I tried to run again. My sandals were staying on (barely) on the flat roadway, so I kept running, eventually at a pretty good pace.
By this time, the rain had stopped and I was toying with the idea that I still might be able to finish this race. Then, as I was going up the last big hill about a quarter mile from the start, the first round of leg cramps hit. The double whammy of running the first loop too fast plus slipping and sliding through a mile of mud was too much for me I guess. The change over to running on pavement probably didn't help either. One car stopped and asked if I needed a ride (they were helping with the race) as I was bent over trying to remain upright on the roadside near the top of the hill. I sort of grunted no thanks, that I was way too muddy to get into their car. The cramps started to subside and I made it a few more steps up the hill when a truck pulled up. It was Les, one of the volunteers from back at the marina road crossing. He had come to check on me (I found out later that he had strict orders from his wife Tesa to get me safely back to the start, we really do have the best folks in the world in our little tribe!). I tried to wave him on, but he wasn't going anywhere, he was either going to give me a ride or an escort back to the start. I was determined to walk it in when the second round of cramps hit. That's when Les stopped his truck and I allowed that I would ride in back if he would lower the tailgate. Thank you so much Tesa and Les, I might have just curled into a ball and rolled back down the hill if not for you!
My race was now officially over. Any thought of putting on shoes and starting loop two were quickly drowned out in a few cold beers. I just couldn't face 20 more miles of mud with sporadic stop-me-in-my-tracks leg cramps. There was also the ethical dilemna of having accepted the assistance of a ride in the back of a truck during a foot race. No rule specifically against that that I've read (as long as you run the entire course), and I would've just started loop two over again, but still, the beers sounded better than puzzling that question out.
So now I have about nine weeks left to train for the Hawk Hundred. Training is going great, but my racing hasn't been going too well. After 30 some races without a hitch, I now haven't finished my last two races. Yes, there are very good reasons for not finishing, but it's not exactly how I thought it would go. They say that you learn a lot more from failing than from finishing, and I think that's probably true. I've definitely learned a few things, and I plan to put all of those lessons to good use in September, see ya then if not sooner!
