Sunday 18 April 2021

The Viral Load: My 2021 Mountains-to-Sea (MST) 50K Race Report

 

I haven’t raced since the Shakori 40 in November of 2019. It felt great to get back out there and enjoy the thing again. The whole thing.  The anticipation, the visit with JJW, the getting limbs gnawed upon by his pit bull, the Purple culture, the witnessing of the grits, the competition, the finish, and the Moscow Mules as a refreshing reward. All of it.

Because physics. That is why. Time dilation. The faster we travel, the slower we age.  It is the Twin Paradox.  Two twins are together on Earth.  One twin travels on a spaceship at 80% the speed of light to a star system 4 light years away.  To the twin on earth, it appears that the sibling takes 10 years for his journey.  But when the traveler gets back, he is only 6 years older.  One brother is 10 years older, and the other is 6 years older.  Let that sit for a dilated second.  Not magic.  Science. Surreal.  And very real. 

It is mind-blowing, brain-bending, awe-inspiring, and the bald fact that our species can conclude such a thing deserves far more attention than it receives, and there are so many more spectacular things, too!  Yet we continue to fiddle with annoying little hobby shop causes in these inane days, losing the forest for the trees. This is what I was thinking about during my trip.  This in-your-face, hilt-deep, science which leads to bizarre, counterintuitive, Dali-esque, yet delightfully unassailable conclusions. It is predicated upon reason, experiment, validation, repetition, and increasing certainty.  And humans did this. Damned remarkable.

And it is not just time dilation, of course.  It is everything. It is Epistemology: what can be known, what counts for knowledge, and how we make such claims as individuals and as organized human units. Sadly, we seem to have lost our critical thinking capacity in most sectors of society.   This issue, and the contemplation of the perfect Dan Dan Noodle recipe occupied my mind during the race,  when I wasn’t listening to the wailing leather-clad bequeenery of Rob Halford glamming it up.

And speaking of time dilation, The Plague Year certainly progressed at a pace more accelerated than the heartbeat of a frightened Etruscan Shrew.  I started dealing with COVID-related matters at work in January '20 and that led to immediate inundation and immersion in the crisis as the bug lowered its protein-crowned head and charged. Time flew however it does. And now, 15 months later, here I sit, typing.  What happened in that transition zone between then and now?  Well, a few insights emerged, not all equally significant and none directly related to the race:

·         COVID-19 is bad. Granted.  It has killed 3 million people globally with many more sickened.  But, I hope we have learned from it because this isn’t nearly as horrible as it could have been. And it almost certainly will be worse when the next one hits.  The 1919 Spanish (more accurately, “Kansas”) Flu killed 50 million worldwide. The Black Plague of the Middle Ages killed possibly 175 million.  We will prevail over COVID, but this was a practice session. Stand by for heavy rolls.

·         Capitalism is fraught, but it works. The speed at which private industry produced the vaccines for COVID was remarkable and unprecedented.  It begs the question as to why the vax development cycle had been as slow and sclerotic as it had always been portrayed to be by public health officials. I’d like to think that a forthright and purely altruistic ethical position drove such innovation and production, but it didn’t.  It was money.  Profit motivates. Gordon Gekko was right. But, I do wonder about what other technological breakthroughs could be realized and efficiencies uncloaked around fusion power, energy storage, aquaculture, bioengineering, tidal power generation, ethical AI, robotics, cyberdefense, and such, if we put our minds to it. I would hope it will not always take a crisis to impel us out of the innovation doldrums.

·         “Distributed Work” will become the neo-normal.  “Remote work” will go the way of the dodo because there will no longer be a “place” of work for many knowledge workers, but there will be a network of workers. The decentralized network became the "place" over the past year and it worked just fine. I love my home office gig, and look forward to continuing this kind of work at some level in the future.  Not an original idea, btw, I learned it from Matt Mullenweg. Know him. And he is spot on.

·         I’m pretty unWoke and cynical, but oh so lovable.   I live politically between two poles: the dangerous, violent, xenophobic, toxic, anarchic, and thick-browed troglodyte fringe to the Right, and the naïve, intellectually bankrupt, reductionist, strident, authoritarian, “progressive” elect to the Left – the Diaconate of the new Church. But despite this clash of the terminally enfeebled, which at once amuses and petrifies me, I do appreciate the baroque commentary and exposure to diverse opinions however festooned with their many-hued ribbons of batshittery. If we could channel that seething bolus of heterodox ideas toward a more meaningful and practical enterprise, and away from dimwitted, emotion-laden performative scoldcraft, then that would be a good thing for our society.

·         Divorce sucks.  My marriage officially ended in October of this Plague Year. Nothing I ever expected, wanted, or intended, but there it is. Still recovering from that heart-pain and wishing the best for everyone involved. Hope springs eternal though it seems like it springs infernal more often than not.  An upside is that I am really enjoying having grownup independent relationships with my three boys.  All these guys are in the process of becoming and are a sight to see as they continue upon their collective and individual journeys. I love to spend time with them.  But, for the love of God, why do they continue trying to get me to like hip-hop?  Other than the Sugarhill Gang, I mean - they are clear masters of the craft.

·         Bodies are fascinating and responsive.  Inspired by David Sinclair’s book, Lifespan, I conducted an experiment for 3 months where I used InsideTracker, a private laboratory and analysis company, to analyze 46 blood markers before and after I initiated a significant lifestyle change program. The results were notable. What I did was:  switched to a pescatarian diet, broke fast with a probiotic yogurt, took resveratrol, ashwagandha, and NMN supplements, practiced time-restricted eating (only between 2pm and 6pm), dialed back my weekly running volume to around 50 mi vice my norm of 60-65 mi, exercised upper body and core, practiced daily mindfulness meditation, stayed well-hydrated, and  spent more time reading than watching things.  Bottom line is that it lowered my weight, lowered LDL, increased Vitamin D, increased T, lowered C-reactive protein, increased Vitamin B12, mitigated tendon and ligament pain from inflammation, and gave me something interesting to talk about with my friends. It also helped my running.

·         Bidets have potential. I’ve never been a bidet enthusiast, but Ward had one at the Snake Farm, a gift from his brother.  He got it early on in COVID as a way to mitigate against the toilet paper shortage. I tried it and it was disconcerting;  yet I see the appeal.  There were sounds, there was movement, there was water, there were pressure and temperature gradients, there was a control panel with colored lights and icons. There was sensation.   I smile secretly to myself when thinking of the initial research, planning, and engineering that went into the design.  Questions were asked. Plans were drawn. Decisions were made.  Bemused heads were shaken in shock as career choices were questioned. Take that, e. coli.

It was so refreshingly normal to fly again. In fact it was the first time I had flown anywhere since Shakori in November 2019.   Other than the obligatory mask-wearing (I’m a neck gaiter guy but had a regular institutional blue medical style mask for when I would get chastised by airline staff), travel seemed like it always had: early wakeup, drowsy drive,  tepid airport coffee, $17 chocolate bars in the market, lines to endure, struggling to not laugh at the caricatured seriousness of the TSA overseers, and assiduously avoiding conversation with adjacent seatmates.

Jonathan picked me up at RDU around noon on Thursday.  He opted to drive the RAV4 his Mom, Joan, gifted him rather than the usual large, white, menacing panel van which could as easily be used to haul drywall as house gagged captives. Greeting me in the van, along with JJW, was Pogo, Jonathan’s newest canine companion after Tugboat, his zestful, friendly, and sturdy Cane Corso succumbed to brain cancer on New Year’s Eve just a few months ago.  Pogo is a loathsome cur. But, we became friends soon after he lacerated my arms with his talons.  




I enjoyed the company of young Pogo, but also really missed Tugger.  I took a walk out to the back field to his burial place to pay tribute where he lies in peace adjacent to the cairn-topped tomb of Oliver the Airedale. Fare thee well, sweet Tugboat.

Jonathan seems to be doing well.  A writer, mechanic, engineer, luthier, musician, philosopher, heavy equipment operator, and boss-level curmudgeon, Ward keeps moving inexorably forward.  He encounters information, gives it due consideration, and typically dismisses it as nonsense, all in the service of wanting to be left alone and unfettered.  I think a bunker and MREs may be in the offing for him. He has what he describes as “an unpleasant personality.”  This is a true statement. But indeed, a truer friend I could not find.  We’ve been pals for 39 years now.

Food featured in the visit as it always does. Thursday, the day I arrived, we headed up to Saxapahaw and enjoyed a heavy lunch and libations at the Eddy Pub, sitting outdoors on a warm Carolina afternoon enjoying views of the River Haw.  I ate a spicy lollipop chicken appetizer, an 8 oz Picanha steak, roast potatoes, and drank a couple of local ales. It reminded me of times back in mid-‘80s Columbia, SC,  when we would head to the local, and just stay there, the world depending upon our conversations on world problems and the solutions we derived.

Friday morning involved a drive into Pittsboro for breakfast at Verlie's where I felt compelled to abuse my body with sodium and nitrates delivered via a skillet full of potatoes, eggs, bacon, sausage, ham, and cheese.  Oh, so damned good. That evening was a basket of smoked wings, slightly sweet hushpuppies, and a ¼ rack of baby back ribs at the Blue Note Grill, where we also enjoyed some local bluegrass by a band called Morgan Creek.  I think the stand-up bass player was named “Orville.” I really want his name to be Orville. There are too few Orvilles in the world these days. 

Pre-race day Chinese buffet has become a tradition for my NC races with Ward, so we did that. Plates with heaps of sesame chicken, Sichuan shrimp, dumplings, and greens did not last long.  And since I was carbo (and protein, and salt, and fat, and MSG, and potassium…) loading, we finished off that day with a trip to Maple View Farm for what many consider to be the best ice cream in the state.  I opted for a couple of scoops of Toasted Almond and Butter Pecan.  So fresh it needed to be spanked. A food coma nap ensued.

There was also the feel-good normalcy of checking back with my Vermont people.  It was my ex, Carol’s, birthday so I called to wish her happy cake as she and the boys drove to a raptor rescue center for a nice day out together. A spike of melancholy hit and then I recovered.  I also learned some great news from my running group in Montpelier.  The indomitable Richarda E rocked through a quick Unplugged Half Marathon, overcoming some pace challenges along the way to prevail, and the fleet, fairy-footed Dylan B, who was accepted to run in the Western States 100 Mile Endurance Run (WSER), but hadn’t been able to decide whether she wanted to or not, opted to go for it. This is a really big deal and I am so psyched for her. Jim M inevitably overlayered as he trained hard and quipped wryly, and Nathan S, I’m sure, ran exuberantly and with the gratitude he so often exhibits blasting out of his big, beautiful, bleeding heart.  Bravas and bravos to all.

The race was a success on a few fronts: style, result, and lack of serious post-race body horror.  I was happy with it, as I decided to run a completely different race than I normally do. My typical M.O. is to do the research, set defined and realistic goals, establish pace targets, determine water and fueling strategy precisely, and execute with intensity and focus.  I threw all of that away in this race, just to see what would happen. Honestly, the aforementioned Dylan was an inspiration for this approach.  She is a supremely talented ultrarunner, especially at the longer distances, and she doesn’t do any deliberate planning to speak of, or at least that I know of.  She runs by feel, does what her body needs it to do, and sets no concrete goals. Excel spreadsheets are anathema to her.  She does well and is happy.  So, I thought I’d try it. I wore my watch but kept it on the mileage display and didn’t look once at average pace or mile splits, apart from checking in on pace at the 25K turnaround. (Note: I was running 9:36 average at the turn, but didn’t know if that was necessarily good or bad.) I didn’t do a comprehensive post-mortem on my 2019 race and set goals to beat it, though I believed I had the early season fitness to do a sub-5 hour run. I just decided to make it a pleasant morning run in the woods to culminate a welcome vacation spent with my friend.

Bull City Running puts on a great event.  Race communications were timely, clear, and comprehensive.  I knew what I had to do and when. No issues. We picked up my number and schwag on Friday.   Race day began with coffee and a stout breakfast sandwich at the Snake Farm and a 45 min drive to the venue.  I got there at 7:00 for a 7:30 start, stretched, milled about with others, easily identifying the vets and the noobs. No jitters.  In a 50K race with aid stations every 3 miles or so, all you need is a handheld and pocket belt, if that.  Those that had more tended to be new to the game.  I had a handheld, and my elastic belt with some Vitamin I and electrolyte pills, 1 x Gu, 1 x Stinger Waffle, 1 x pouch Sport Beans, and a packet of Tailwind.  I also had my headphones and iPhone on my waist. Pretty self-sufficient. 

The areas which could undercut my race were pretty clear in my mind:  humidity, heat, pollen, lack of trail training due to the stubborn Vermont winter, mud, and injury (falls and ankle sprains). But my training volume was good, weight was low(-ish), speedwork was effective, and confidence was at peak. I felt ready and happy to race again.

The gun went off at 7:30 on the dot, and I took off with the lead pack of 10 runners. There were 75 racers total.  This was a tactical move because I really didn’t want to start mid-pack and have to pick off a bunch of runners on pretty narrow single track as I worked my way up.  It was effective and I ended up running at  #7 after a few miles and there I stayed until near the end.  I got glimpses of #6, but lost contact with him after 8 miles. So, I was alone for nearly the entire race interacting only with the terrific aid station volunteers along the way.  They were an exuberant group and I am grateful for their service. I ran by gut at a pace which felt fast enough to be comfortable and safe.  Single track is definitely not my best surface and I get anxiety about bad falls and ankle sprains which I have experienced frequently in the past, and this was 30 miles of rugged bony undulating trail. 

I decided not to put music on for the outbound leg and ended up thinking a lot about Chinese food, but even more about my overall concern with the epidemic of misinformation and poor reasoning in society, and chagrin that I feel powerless to influence it in any meaningful way.  It seems we have regressed culturally into a tribe-centric epistemology where content, trust mechanisms, and activism exist within an algorithmically defined echo chamber thrumming at just the right frequency for the compromised denizen. This leads to lemming-like behavior politically, and blind obedience to one of the two prevailing orthodoxies. Once upon a time the middle ground seemed like a reasonable terrain to inhabit. Now it just feels like a barren, blasted Hellscape, missing the good loam required for proper and fertile public discourse. The corpulent God of Confirmation Bias is enjoying flagons of strong red wine and chuckling as he watches his work manifest.  But then I thought again about the Twin Paradox and marveled at the fact that human beings have the cognitive ability to reason their way to such astounding and powerful conclusions. And they are True!  Oh, the things we can know about the Cosmos.  But, we can’t seem to get our collective shit together as we interrogate fundamental societal challenges and determine the most prudent pathways to generate positive change. As if I know the answers. I don't.

Then I tripped and nearly impaled myself on a wooden bridge handrail.

The return leg presented challenges, but it was accompanied by a 70’s metal and 80’s hair band soundtrack so all was good.  I twisted my ankle after the turnaround, screamed at the Fates, then did it again, and again.  Three times in about 2 miles. I had a loud and unkind conversation with the ankle which could have been a real joy to watch if someone were around, and without context. I would have been deemed mad.  No individual twist was catastrophic, but the cumulative effect caused me to dial the pace back and awkwardly lighten the load on my left foot, which put a heavier pounding on my right leg/foot.  Then, at about mile 20, I felt my right calf start to cramp and seize, probably due to the excess work.  I stopped immediately, stretched the little bastard out and it helped.  I managed to use pace and stride dynamics to control that calf for the rest of the race, but it clearly slowed me down heading back to the finish.  I reflected a bit on the 2019 race and remembered that on the return leg I'd totally bonked at around mile 22 and essentially death-shuffled into the finish.  This was accompanied by an odd loss of balance where I was constantly leaning to the left as I ran, bumping into trees and almost falling over, for reasons not understood.  That didn’t happen this year.  No bonk, and no imbalance.  My splits were slower for this race, as I later discovered, but it was due to controlling for the injuries; overall I felt spry.

I ended up overtaking a couple of racers who had been ahead of me in the last 6 miles.  One guy had fallen and he was just getting his senses back when I passed, but was okay. Another guy simply smashed into the Wall at speed, and needed to sit down for a while, drink some water, and regroup.  I finished strong, coming in 5th overall and got the age group win with a 5:13:32., slower than last year, but a better race.

Ward collected me, we headed back to the Snake Farm, enjoyed some pizza and refreshment, had a chinwag with his brother Eric for a while and then I crashed.  It was an early flight back to the 802 in the morning.  I feel fortunate to be able to travel and race as I do and be supported by friends, family, and strangers. Thanks, Ward, for your hospitality and conversation.  Next stop, Montana in June for a 50 miler. I’d love to have company.  Thanks for reading, tolerating, and lasting this long.