State Number 34 - Sioux Falls Marathon

State Number 34 – Sioux Falls Marathon, Sioux Falls, SD

10 September 2017

 

When my wife and I decided to confront the enormous challenge of completing a marathon in all fifty states, there was one question that kept popping up, both in our heads and from the skeptics.

“You do realize that means you’ll have to do states like Nebraska, North and South Dakota, right?”

At first, resigning to that fact was not exactly out of the question, completely aware that knocking out fun states like Florida, Alaska, the Carolinas or Hawaii could easily top our agenda, I would also have to spend some weekends in less glamorous, fashionable or dazzling states in plain, ordinary and unconventional locales.

You inspire little suspicion in others when you say you’re off to catch a flight to Sioux Falls or Fargo.  Where?  There’s no getting around it, eventually I would have to go there, one way or another.  Over the years, I discovered some very unique marathons.  There’s one that runs near Niagara Falls; through California’s coastal redwoods; through the feudal lands of the Hatfield’s and McCoy’s; through the monuments of DC; or through lands subjugated by grizzly bears and moose with the possibility of being attacked or trampled to death during a marathon.

With all these fun races, there had to be at least one race in every state that was worth the trip.  Yes, it’s probably the Mt. Rushmore or Crazy Horse Marathons in western South Dakota, but a “flatter” Sioux Falls Marathon was exactly what I needed given my fitness level.  In fact, the state’s license plate proudly displays the slogan, “Great Faces, Great Places.”  Could that be any hint for what was in store?

Tackling those hilly courses around the famous and distinguishable presidential sculptures in the world or around an unfinished horse with dementia or possibly some equine sociopathic disorder didn’t fit into our marathon calendar.  Sure, I would likely find those marathons nothing more than short of awe-inspiring, but a run around and through Falls Park witnessing the Big Sioux River spilling and crashing over the hardened ancient Sioux quartzite formations exposed during the last ice age would have to suffice as a superseding awe-inspiring run.

Just a mere two weeks prior to Sioux Falls, we ran the Nebraska State Fair Marathon (State No. 33).  I would consider my fitness level in Nebraska dismal at best.  My training suffered and the discipline I normally exude unexpectedly waned.  So, the expectations going into Sioux Falls were exactly the same as Nebraska – but I did expect a slightly better finishing time.

I didn’t train much in the time spanning Nebraska and South Dakota.  My ever-present heal discomfort still consumes my attention, but seems to be subsiding.  I know any fitness improvements I may gain in two weeks is not possible.  I didn’t want to push it, so slow easy two or three-mile runs had to suffice.  Besides, the summer heat does not want to readily concede to the cooler ambiances September usually conveys.

We caught an early morning Frontier flight out of LAX to Sioux Falls (FSD), with a brief layover in Denver (DEN).  Knowing that Frontier was essentially Spirit Airlines outfitted with a different wardrobe, we were in the dark as what to expect as a function of timeliness, comfort and dependability.

Fees, fees and more fees.  Airlines seem to love fees and will do whatever to keep passengers paying them.  The low-cost carriers like Frontier charge additional fees for overhead space rental; however, like our previous trip to Nebraska, we stuffed or backpacks with our essentials and placed them under the seat, thus avoiding additional fees.

Even the good folks at FSD welcomed runners

Frontier Airlines?  They surpassed my expectations, arriving at FSD earlier than expected.  I believe all airlines inflate their estimated arrival times giving passengers a false sense they arrive earlier than scheduled.  The rather small, but modern airport, allowed us ample time to wait for and catch the shuttle van to our hotel.  Since we were only in Sioux Falls for a much hyped weekend long run (at least for me), we opted out of a rental car.  Besides, what can we see in southeastern South Dakota?  The looped marathon course likely showcases what Sioux Falls has to offer anyway, with VIP access to streets and trails.



My favorite - a looped course

Here we go!  Big race day was upon us.  I was ready to tackle 26.2 miles in the best possible way with no thought of attempting a PR, let alone a BQ.  I was in it to finish¼and that’s it.

After a somewhat restless night of sleep (kind of a norm before a marathon), I munched on a couple of granola bars infused with some peanut butter and chocolate and a can of beet root juice given to runners at the expo.  The beet juice was new to my diet and most runners know not to try anything new before a marathon.  I was a little worried it would upset my stomach – but, surprisingly, it didn’t. 

Our alarm sounded at 0530, early enough to get ourselves together and out the door by 0600 for the 0630 start.  Let’s do this – its game time!  For the second time in the race’s history, the start and finish venue took place at the Denny Sanford Premier Center, just a mere 0.25-mile walk across the street from our hotel. 

The Premier Center is a large multi-use arena designed for large scale concerts and sporting events.  With a capacity of over 10,000, it is the perfect place for a marathon start and finish.

As we stepped out of the hotel lobby, dazzling flashes of lightning contrasted against the dark morning sky with intermittent trickles of rain drops plopping on my face.  Based on what I saw on weather forecasts, the cumulonimbus clouds and rain were to move out by daybreak.  The thought of the starting time being pushed back due to lightning crossed my mind.  I turned on my Garmin for a solid GPS signal before entering the arena – a lesson learned from Fargo.

Nervous runners

Similar to Fargo, starting in an indoor arena is a rare occurrence.  First and foremost, runners need not have to worry about wearing several layers of clothes to stay warm while waiting in the starting corrals.  For a real bonus, genuine restrooms are a real treat (it’s the little things, people).

Greatness.  What makes a person great?  What quality is the most important quality in a person?  These can be challenging questions and if I were to ask these questions to a variety of people, the wide disparity of answers would be amazing. 

My gut reaction to a question about greatness would send me looking for powerful athletes or world leaders known for amazing feats of diplomacy, but I also think greatness can also be defined in terms of character.

During a visit to an upstairs restroom, I overheard an assembly of runners from all walks of life gathered on the second floor of the arena listening to a fellow runner deliver some inspirational messages.  As I pinned my ears to the goings-on, I got the impression the daily message revolved around character, ego and not being afraid of taking the hand of Jesus, if needed, for the duration of the race set before them (Hebrews 12:1). 

The message was not letting one’s ego get in the way of a great, or not-so-great, run.  Being unhappy about your marathon time may be the result of your refusal to ask for help, or not bending to listen or walk with Jesus, and mostly, rejoice in one’s hard-earned effort of running 26 miles.  The hand of Jesus is always stretched out for you as a free gift for healing, restoration for your shame, failure or forgiveness.  All we have to do is accept His hand. 



Thirty minutes before start time

I'm somewhere on the left side

It was 66°F outdoors and seemed ten degrees cooler indoors.  With about fifteen minutes before the start time, a mass of marathon runners (half marathoners started thirty minutes later) gathered in the winding and twisting starting corral.  My wife and I negotiated our way to near the front of the pack next to the super-fast runners as a way to get out early and not be slowed down by a large pack of runners exiting the arena.  Not long after, an announcement informed the runners that due to the lightning in the area, the marathon will be delayed fifteen minutes.

While waiting for the starting gun, I thought of that inspiring pre-marathon message and how I would apply it to the race set before me.  I felt as if I needed that encouragement to see me through and whatever my time, I will be content, gratified and at peace with myself.

The short-lived delay came and went.  It was time – time to begin my weekend long run.  I glanced at my Garmin, and as predicted, shockingly no signal.  After a prayer and the singing of the National Anthem and the sound of a starting gun, we were off and running!

One never knows what will happen on marathon race day, but I’ve done what I could do and now the aim is to give it my all and finish.  That’s all I can ask for at this time.

I joined the 3:25 pace group shortly after exiting the arena until I couldn’t hold on any longer.  Then, settling into my normal groove, I moved to the side of the road and tried not to affect those faster folks behind me with my slower, and much more comfortable, pace.

The temperature in the arena was somewhat chilly.  It was either the air conditioning working overtime or maybe it was the floor ice under the sheets of plywood that covered the floor.  Either way, it was cold and I was glad to get out into the warmer humid air outside the arena.  The cool air did feel good, and as the marathon progressed, I looked back and relished that cold air. 

Daylight began to quickly dominate the skies within the first couple of miles.  The cloudy skies put a smile on my face and if they prevail throughout the day, I felt confident my performance would surpass my disaster in Nebraska. 

The first five miles took us from the arena center into downtown Sioux Falls.  The hills weren’t easy, nor tough, but just the right mix to afford runners a warm-up for what was to come.  Of course, fresh legs do make a difference.   Over the course of these miles, my Garmin indicated each mile about 0.05-mile short of the course’s official marker flag.  I surmise it was from the lack of a signal in the arena.

Charging up the downtown hills at marathon pace gave me a sense of euphoria – but the downhills were even more fun.  A portion of the course’s downtown journey took runners through a section of Sioux Falls’ renowned sculpture walk where various sculpture exhibits adorned the sidewalks.  Some were so abstract I couldn’t figure out what they represent while some were of actual animals, birds or ordinary people doing ordinary things.  Apparently, the sculpture’s artists loan their work to the city and are available for purchase.  Lots of people made their way into downtown and braved the elements to cheer on the runners, which always makes it super fun. 

The next couple of miles took runners out of downtown and the historic district onto the multi-use paths of Sioux Falls’ prominent and well-known Falls Park.  Observing the Big Sioux River spilling over the hardened Sioux quartzite looked magical in the early morning light.

We continued along the pathways crisscrossing the park passing by numerous historical markers and the park’s Overlook Café, Queen Bee Mill and the remains of its penstocks, and the observation tower.  Each one of those structures are built with the quartzite rock quarried and extracted out of the area.  I wanted to stop at each one of the historical markers and read the inscriptions, but with my time-sensitive mission, I decided to come back sometime after the marathon (a post-marathon recovery walk so-to-speak) to enjoy and appreciate the splendor of the park.



Looking strong

After exiting Falls Park, runners embarked on a journey back into a revitalized section of Sioux Falls’ Riverwalk, with views of the Big Sioux River, downtown buildings, sculptures and a variety of artwork forms. 

Riverwalk converted into Sioux Falls Bike Trail through the greenways of Beadle Park, Cherry Rock Park, Riverdale Park and Pasley Park, beautiful sections of parks adjacent to the Big Sioux River blanketed with predominately maple and locust trees, numerous playgrounds, picnic areas and dog parks.

After a short out-and-back section around the Pasley Park’s parking lot around Marathon Mile 10, runners began a journey through some older residential neighborhoods.  The flat sections of park trains suddenly transformed to some hilly sections of roadway – something the race organizers threw in just make things stimulating and attention-grabbing, suggesting to runners, “just because it’s South Dakota doesn’t mean its flat.”  My pace slowly began to taper off, likely from the hills rather than from fatigue.  Cloudy skies still prevailed, but the temperatures and humidity levels changed gradually. 

In a well-kept middle class neighborhood of southeast Sioux Falls, I crossed the half marathon split in a time of 2:18, more or less, just under my goal time of 2:20.

As runners entered the busy East 57^th Street, a tall municipal water tower dominated the nearby background, but first I needed to negotiate an unwelcomed hill before settling into a routine of small rolling neighborhood hills before embarking on parkland trails.

I got the first indication this, again, wasn’t going to be my day when the thought of conserving my energy level needs became first and foremost on my mind.  Giving in to the temptation to walk the hills wasn’t really what I wanted, but reality bites.  Consuming some Honey Stinger energy chews I had previously packed gave me some extra vitality to charge ahead while still remaining optimistic for a sub-five hour finish time.

At Marathon Mile 16, runners again joined the pedestrian/bike trail at Tuthill Park.  The cloud cover began to break allowing for some unwelcomed sun and rising temperatures.  For the next two miles, the shaded areas along the Big Sioux River provided needed relief from the unsolicited meteorological elements.

Over the last couple miles or so, a small, but nagging, pebble somehow made its way into my shoe.  I put up with it all that time hoping it would maneuver itself into a neutral position.  No so.  While in Yankton Trail Park, I relented and had to seat myself onto a memorial flagstone slab bench to remove it, while passing runners asked if I was ok.  I assured everyone I was peachy keen, but I admit, it felt great to remain in a seated position, while watching kids play, runners pass by and the sounds of birds in the trees, but I had a job to complete and time was of the essence and sitting there wasn’t going to get it done.

After exiting Yankton Trail Park, it was back on to a one-mile stretch of East 57^th Street into Sertoma Park, home to several oxbow lakes of the Big Sioux River.  Turning into the park grounds, runners passed by the Butterfly House and Aquarium.  As I made my way into the parking lot, the sound of AC/DC’s Back in Black blared from a stereo system set up near the aid station, giving me some oomph and inspiration for the psychological halfway mark of a marathon – the final 10K.

I run up a short but steep hill near the outer boundary of the park to the top of a flood control levee and into a stiff head wind.  The wind made running difficult and nearly blew the hat off my head and into the river.  To conserve energy, it was again walk time until I crossed the bridge at Marathon Mile 20 to begin my run with the wind at my back.



The dreaded levee run

This was the beginning of what was to be a dreaded five mile section of boring open land on a bike trail atop a levee sharing the road with cyclists who didn’t want to be bothered by runners.  Too bad, so sad I thought, slow down and deal with it.

Spectators were few and far between and pretty much non-existent.  Flyovers by military jets; running past the rear of the Great Plains Zoo while saying hello to the bison, giraffes and rhinos; and watching golfers hack their way down the fairways at the Minnehaha Country Club sort of took my mind off the monotony of the hugely boring levee trail and kept me from going crazy and losing my sanity.  It was akin to being on an endless outdoor treadmill that would never stop.

The cloudy skies quickly departed the scene while I was on the levee.  There was zero shade and zero protection against the intense sun on exposed skin.  I was dying.  I wanted it to be done!  The thought of stopping a biker, jacking his bike and riding to the finish was a novel idea.  But, I could never do that.  I was in it for the long haul.

With 5K remaining, I high-fived a little girl at her “official high-five station” just before crossing under the West 12^th Street overcrossing.  She had this jubilant look on her face as runners extended their hands for a much needed power boost. 

I knew a sub-five marathon was out of the question.  With just seventeen minutes to finish, I knew that would certainly never happen, even on a good day with super fresh legs.  My new goal – beat my time from Nebraska.  All eyes were set on that.  With thirty-seven minutes to run five kilometers, no problem, right?

The final two grueling, demanding and punishing miles on the levee finally came to an end.  Suddenly, the Marathon Mile 25 flag appeared as I made my way off the levee onto Russell Street.  My Garmin still showed a distance discrepancy of about 0.08 mile, pretty much consistent with all the previous miles.  If this course was short, I wasn’t going to complain one bit.



Home at last

I reached into my grab-bag of tricks for everything I had for the final mile, giving it my best shot to finish strong.  When the Premier Center came into view it was a heavenly sight, only a short jog to the finish line.  I was hot, sweating like a pig and ready to call it a day as I entered through the loading ramp doors onto the arena floor while being blasted with the arena’s chilled air.  What a feeling!



Eyeing the finish

I finished with a not-so-great time of 5:20:49, just two seconds slower than Nebraska.  Mission failed.  If I hadn’t stopped for a couple of pictures along the way, walked that half mile, or removed the rock from my shoe, I would have bettered my time.  Coulda, woulda, shoulda.  My Garmin read 26.15 miles.  My guess is that the arena affected my GPS signal and threw off the distance a bit.

Age graded score: 43.91%

Age graded time: 4:40:01

Average time: 4:18:00

Standard deviation: 0:46:03

Food!  I was dying for food.  That’s what I had on my mind closing in on the finish line.  I was more than happy to partake in some of the post-race refreshments provided to the runners.  Post-race food?  Where?  My wife informed me that all the food, beer, refreshments were gone, eaten by mostly half marathoners and the faster full marathoners.  All I got was a bottle of water.  Fortunately, my wife saved a bag of chocolate milk (which I quickly consumed), bananas and other goodies.  She finished over an hour before me.

I couldn’t believe it.  I was not a happy camper and was profoundly disenchanted.  We even voiced our discontent with the race director who acknowledged that miscalculation.  I had nothing to revitalize my day except for my finisher’s medal (at least they had enough for all the participants).  I even scored an extra three-quarter zip event tech shirt from the multitudes of left-over shirts as we left the arena vestibule for a long painful walk back to the hotel.

I remembered that spiritual message I eavesdropped on prior to start time.  Yes, I may be a little unhappy with my performance, but I forbade my ego from getting in the way of my not-so-great run.  Most notably, I wasn’t afraid to ask for His hand to guide me to the finish.  I rejoiced in my hard-earned effort and can be at peace with myself as I sum up my memories of Sioux Falls.

I looked forward to a great meal to satisfy my burning desire for a post-marathon meal.  A Philly cheesesteak fit that bill, but first we took full advantage of the spa, pool and indoor water slide, which we had all to ourselves.  The therapeutic relaxation and the absence of hyperactive and overexcited kids was a godsend.

Hotel's indoor pool area

At the falls

On Monday morning, we embarked on a five-mile post-marathon recovery walk to Falls Park and downtown to enjoy the sculpture walk.  Stopping, seeing and reading all the historical markers at the park and exploring areas in downtown I wasn’t able to see during the run made the tough effort worthwhile.

Sculptures in downtown

As for the race itself, I can assertively say I really enjoyed the first twenty miles.  For Fifty Staters wanting to run South Dakota, to put it mildly, just prepare yourself for the final six miles. 

It wasn’t the flattest or the hilliest course I’ve run, but there was undoubtedly an interesting mix of parks, downtown landmarks, historic neighborhoods and, of course, Falls Park that made Sioux Falls famous.  As for the hills, they were thrown in just to make the course interesting, yet challenging enough to test ones fitness.

With thirty-four states behind me, I have just sixteen states to visit to bring my fifty states journey to a provisional close.  In between now and then, I’m letting myself be lured down a new path, one with its own discoveries, not only to explore uncharted terrain but to reignite the flame of my athletic endurance and fitness levels and re-draw the lines that we call our limits.

I loved the spirit and the people of South Dakota.  We departed FSD on a late Monday afternoon flight.  I went home happy, content and ready to challenge myself to the next state.

It’s onwards and upwards.

 

 

 

State Number 33 - Nebraska State Fair Marathon

State Number 33 – State Fair Marathon, Grand Island, NE

26 August 2017

“In this world you will have tribulation.  But take heart; I have overcome the world” (John 16:33 ESV).

It’s an understatement to say that we’re going to have misfortunes, difficulties, hardships and adversities sometime in life.  Even in my relatively spoiled North American lifestyle, it never ceases to amaze me at how trouble-filled life can be.  There are the obvious things: chronic diseases, storms, earthquakes, wildfires, and mass acts of violence.  And if that wasn’t enough, try adding in the complexities of human interactions like betrayal and dishonesty.  Then add in unpleasantries like bankruptcy, foreclosure, and market plunges that gobble up what we’ve been able to scrimp and save for our golden years.  In a pretty nonchalant way, yes, in this world, we have trouble.

Eventually, whether you expect it or not, trouble is going to find you one way or another, and will leave you begging the question, “Why me?”

“Why me?” may be a loaded question that comes with many emotions.  So, how do these kinds of misfortunes, concerns or troubles relate to the Nebraska State Fair Marathon?  I’m quite certain God isn’t singling me out or punishing me.  Sure, I may be embroiled in my own epic battles, but ever since my last marathon in Fargo, ND on 20 May 2017 (State No. 32), I’m just punishing myself – displeased with my training leading up to Nebraska.  I can’t blame it on the post-marathon blues or anything else.

I felt like a million bucks coming out of North Dakota and with some additional training, the much hyped “fastest flattest course in the nation” would permit me to finish with a great time.  Somehow, the week or so of post-marathon rest seemed to carry over to the next week and to the next week, and so on. 

My enthusiasm for marathoning isn’t enough to immunize me against injury or my drive for improvement.  I don’t have to remind anyone that injuries are commonplace in the running community. 

Over the years, I’ve been really lucky.  But within the last year or so, it’s been constant inner thigh discomfort, and now, ever present heel pain.  Plantar fasciitis immediately comes to mind, but, from what I’ve researched, the symptoms I experience don’t seem to be consistent with plantar fasciitis, but whatever it is, it’s very annoying after a long run.

There’s a catchphrase in our culture most everyone is familiar with and goes along with us most of our lives until one day we really think about how it applies.  “Wait until you’re older.”

I complain about my leg and heel pains after a good run when someone older and more seasoned may say to me, “Wait until you get older,” implying things are bound to get worse.  Not a particularly pleasant thought.  It’s a given, we all get older and there’s nothing we can do about that, but that shouldn’t deter me from my running activities.  I don’t, for the most part, necessarily agree with that old adage, but rather think of it as “It just gets better from here!”

After three days’ rest before the Fargo Marathon, I managed to squeak out 26.2 miles with little discomfort (maybe it was my self-administered acetaminophen).  However, the pain usually holds off until after I sit idle for a period of time.  So, holding back on my training runs, I believe, is more of a psychological end product than anything else.  I want to run, I even use active orthotic inserts for plantar fasciitis, but dealing with the post-run heel pain is something that can ruin my day.  Yes, it’s sad, I end up with multiple “rest days” during the week only to relinquish any kind of weekend long run exceeding ten miles.

In addition to my epic daily struggles, contending with the annual occurrence of the summer season has its disadvantages.  With temperatures frequently surpassing 100 degrees, running in the heat hinders my marathon training.  When it comes to running in high temperatures, my tolerance level drops to a minimum.  After 26 years living in a hot and arid climate, Lord knows if I will ever acclimate.  While the “cooler” pre-dawn temperatures significantly improves my freedom of movement, the mercury still hovers between 70 and 75 degrees.  Besides, hitting the streets at 0400 hours isn’t too appealing.  I have to constantly reiterate to myself, “No excuses!  Get out there and run!  Just git ‘er done!”

Without the proper level of training I deem comfortable, I’ve come to the realization that the State Fair Marathon was going to be nothing more than a training run.  Whatever the finishing time, I’m going to be satisfied.  I’m still going to give it the old college try.  It’s only a run after all, and far short of any kind of misfortune I could be faced with and asking the question, “Why me?”  I’m thankful that I will not have to fathom how I’m going to move forward after the marathon, or that I will not have to figure out how I am going to face tomorrow or if I’ll ever feel normal again – whatever “normal” feels like.

My addiction to marathoning began in the year 2000.  The running of the Nebraska State Fair Marathon is my fiftieth marathon.  While maybe not as special as reaching the ground-breaking milestones of one hundred or one thousand marathons, I should have reason to celebrate Number 50.  After all, it’s only taken me seventeen years.

My running experience has taught me one thing – nothing is guaranteed while running a marathon.  The marathon distance is so long that it gives ample opportunity for anything to happen.  If you start out too fast in a 5K, you may suffer substantial pain causing you to sacrifice a little time over the last half mile or so.  With a half marathon, you might know you overdid it after nine or ten miles.  But over 26.2 miles, you could be riding high for 15 to 20 miles before you even get a hint that the splendor of those miles may come crashing down with a vengeance.  I presume I will just have to take the “wait and see” approach on my performance, and the Doubting Thomas within me frankly fears there won’t be much splendor beyond thirteen miles.

We caught an early afternoon non-stop flight on Spirit Airlines from LAX to Kansas City (MCI) on 24 August.  This being the third time flying into Kansas City, we found that MCI serves as an easy, convenient and economical transit hub for our marathon travels through the corridors of the Midwest. 

The accessibility of low fares Spirit Airlines asserts coincidentally comes with a price.  Besides the baggage and carry-on fees and non-complimentary drinks, passengers do not even have access to a complimentary airline magazine as with other carriers.  Whether in the future or not, it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if Spirit required passengers to cough up a buck or two as a condition to use the loo.

We arrived at MCI just before 1900 hours (CDT).  The sun peaked through the partly cloudy skies that just three days earlier, were within the throws of the Great Solar Eclipse.  As I stepped out of the airport terminal on my way to the rental car center shuttle stop, the temperature and humidity levels had me concerned.  Immediately, many questions about Saturday’s marathon ran through my mind; viz., two of the three dreaded Hs; heat and humidity.  My saving grace, the marathon course lacked hills.  Perhaps partly to mostly cloudy skies prevail, thus eliminating the constant struggle I usually face with sun.

We drove off the grounds of MCI’s rental car facility in an economical car finely crafted by Ford.  Following a quick and easy exit out of MCI, we headed north on I-29 across the glaciated plains along dissected loess bluffs lining both sides of the Missouri River’s floodplain dropping frequently to cross the myriad of tributaries that flow into the river.

We were a little dreary-eyed after our unadorned flight and decided to spend the night in St. Joseph, MO before continuing on to our ultimate destination, nearly four hours away.

St. Joseph, a city of approximately 80,000, “where the Pony Express started and Jesse James ended” is a city steep in history, and a perfect end point to a truly exhausting day.

St. Joe’s ever-present subliminal stimuli of Jesse James or the Pony Express somehow makes it known to its visitors that this is the place where the Wild West began.

We began our Wild West journey with the touristy sites – Patee House, a former nineteenth century luxury hotel and later to be the headquarters for the infamous Pony Express, and the house where Jesse James sustained a fatal gunshot wound to the head.

Certainly not PC

I’ve been to Sacramento, CA numerous times and considered to be the terminus point of the Pony Express route.  Now, I had the opportunity to visit the launching point of the route, the Pony Express Headquarters housed in the Patee House. 

The Patee House Museum is home to the Pony Express Headquarters and the point of beginning of the historic trail across the western frontier¼but it was sooo much more than that.

This place is chockfull of stuff and for a majority of it, I found there seems to be no rhyme or reason for most of the displays.  It’s not like they were categorized or displayed in some manner – there’s just a lot of it, and it’s everywhere!  Even a 1500-pound ball of twine for heaven’s sake.

The museum literature and pamphlets officially bills the museum as a “transportation and communications” museum.  While that may be true, I can reasonably say it’s an “everything and the kitchen sink” museum.

Damn, this guy's tall

There are the planes, trains, automobiles (movie props, dilapidated and restored), junk, license plates, store fronts with something in the display that doesn’t belong, a beautiful carousel with hand carved and painted animals, circus props, elegant ballrooms, paintings and various donated flotsam and jetsam knick-knacks.

Although I was just there for a history lesson on the Pony Express, I did find some of the other uncommon and strange displays rather interesting.  For example, a life-sized representation of the world’s tallest man, Robert Wadlow.  He grew to an astounding 8 ft 11 in with a shoe size of 37AA.  Apparently, he was once in St. Joe for a libel lawsuit about him being labeled as a “pre-acromegalic giant” by a local doctor.  As a kid, I was always captivated with this man and his height.  I wanted to be just as tall.

The house where Jesse James succumbed to his injuries after being shot stood next door to the Patee House.  The small four room house contained a myriad of artifacts and photos dating back to his brutal outlaw days.

Going back in the day

As I stepped in the small square-shaped home, I felt as if I stepped back in time, a time when Marshall Dillon and his scruffy hillbilly deputy Festus patrolled the dirty dusty streets of Dodge City settling down at the Long Branch with their friends for a drink at the end of a chaotic and frenzied day.

The second room is the parlor, the very room and spot where Jesse was killed.  The motion activated speaker system took me back through the years igniting my imagination about that fateful day.  I envisioned myself as a fly on the wall watching Bob Ford quietly drawing his revolver while Jesse adjusted a lopsided frame hanging on the wall, shot him in the head, killing him instantly.  A monetary bounty and the prospect of a gubernatorial pardon from a previous murder was too much of a temptation for Mr. Ford to resist.  Under the crooked needlepoint artwork, a large hole symbolizes the location where the fatal bullet supposedly pierced the plaster wall.

In the room behind the parlor, visitors cannot miss a display of a casting of Jesse’s skull and teeth.  A red plug in the lower right of the skull indicates the entry point of the fatal bullet.

It was a pleasant day in St. Joe which I found to be quite educational.  Besides driving straight through to our destination city, stopping to smell the roses along the way was just what I needed to take my mind off the thought of running a marathon unprepared.

Driving some of the back roads and scenic byways on our way to a marathon host city is something we normally avoid and certainly out of our wheelhouse.  After a good night’s rest, instead of driving a direct route to Grand Island, we dared ourselves by driving some of those back roads exploring some of the unseen treasures not visible from the interstate.

Leaving St. Joseph, we crossed the Pony Express Bridge guiding us into Kansas hooking up with some of the scenic two-lane byways through the eastern Kansas farm lands.  Seeing and enjoying the landscape through a different lens is indescribable as the green hilly farmlands blanketed with corn stalks, soy beans and trees defined the diverse topographical contours of the region.

As we approached the tiny enclave of White Cloud, something unusual grabbed my attention.  Being the seat of government of the Iowa Reservation of Kansas and Nebraska, White Cloud is a sleepy little hillside village with quaint nineteenth century brick buildings and architecture.  Twentieth century grain silos and an elevator hugging KS 7 welcome motorists as they enter the community.  Based on empirical evidence, this area was once home to a loading dock used to supply river navigating vessels and barges with loads of grain for transport up and down the Missouri.  A memorial pavilion stands on a grassy space on the east side of the highway, representing the location where Lewis and Clark crossed the Missouri on their epic journey to the Pacific.

A stone’s throw from White Cloud sits the Four States Lookout, one of the eight wonders of Kansas’ geography.  From a raised wood deck platform positioned high on a bluff, spectacular views may be had atop the rolling loess hills of the glacial hills region with the Missouri River and its expansive, and very visible, floodplain meandering and snaking its way across the foreground.  From the observation deck, onlookers claim to see four different states, Kansas, Missouri, Nebraska and Iowa.  As I looked out over the horizon, I believe viewing Iowa some sixty miles away is a stretch.  Who knows, maybe on a crisp clear day, it’s possible to see a tall object with a set of binoculars.  Neglecting the effects of atmospheric refraction, I calculate one can see maybe only 15 to 20 miles to the horizon.

Due to the fact my profession gyrates around the disciplines of engineering and land surveying, I am fully cognizant of the Public Land Surveying System as a way of platting real property in most areas of the United States.  Digressing, the Homestead Act and the PLSS go hand-in-hand as part of the westward expansion by portioning out quarter-acre sections of land platted by the PLSS.

Less than three miles from White Cloud, hidden from view among the trees on a high loess bluff overlooking the Missouri, is a monument positioned on the Kansas/Nebraska state line that has been very much disregarded in terms of importance.  It marks the beginning point for the surveys of the 6^th Principal Meridian under the PLSS (located 108 miles, or 18 townships, to the west), but its designation has simply been the “Cast Iron Monument”.

The famous monument

This says it all

Without a doubt, the site is certainly low on most anyone’s to-do list and is not an exhibit teeming with visitors; however, the somewhat unknown monument was high on my list of must see activities and my visit wasn’t complete without a photo of the historical marker located alongside the highway and a climb up the steep bluff side trail to the recently renovated cast iron monument surrounded by a faux wood rail fence with an information kiosk nearby.  The obelisk-shaped monument stands six feet tall and bears the inscriptions 1854, 40° N Lat., Nebraska, and Kansas on the four faces.  I signed the guest book, “Greetings from California and the Mt. Diablo Meridian!  Love the restoration and the article in American Surveyor magazine. Craig Anderson, RCE.”  Okay, let’s have the eye roll.

At the conclusion of my pre-marathon hill-climbing exercise (at least it wasn’t as strenuous as Alaska’s Bodenburg Butte, see State No. 25), it was time to resume our drive to Grand Island. 

Oops!  The highway leading into the community of Rulo, NE abruptly and quite rudely ended with a road closure at the bridge spanning the Big Nemaha River, just short of Rulo.  A nearly ten mile unmarked detour, by the way, through soy bean and corn fields around the construction was a little more than we had planned.  A friendly Nebraskan even stopped to ask us if we needed assistance.  Once in Rulo, we crossed the bridge back over the Missouri dropping into the Missouri River’s wide fertile floodplain composed of stratified primordial fluvial deposits. 

My town!

The enormity of flat lands are home to a mosaic of field crops, grain silos, scattered communities and vital wetland habitats.  Visual evidence of ancient river meanders and oxbow lakes gave indications of the river’s fluctuating flow patterns and the ever-changing boundary separating Kansas and Nebraska from Missouri. 

The country roads through the farm lands reconnected with I-29 just south of Mound City.  From there, our northward journey began.  The extracurricular and interesting geological formations of our backroad excursion, in my professional opinion, was time well spent – although, not all may agree.

Situated eight miles north of Mound City and one mile off I-29 lies Craig, MO, a small incorporated city encompassing about 300 residents.  It goes without saying that I must pull off the beaten path and not miss an opportunity to pay a visit to “my” city. 

Apparently, Craig may be small in size, but was certainly large enough to survive the Great Flood of 1993.  From a floodplain management perspective, why someone would stake out a town or openly live on a floodplain of a major river is undoubtedly eye brow raising.

We crossed the Missouri/Iowa state line and diverged off I-29 at Highway 2 through Nebraska City and the miles of endless rolling hills of corn and soy fields to the state’s capital, Lincoln.

From Lincoln, it was west along a straight-as-an-arrow stretch of the transcontinental interstate route I-80 to Grand Island.

Grand Island, an oasis on the Platte River and a former hustling and bustling railroad town of nearly 49,000 is the official site of the annual Nebraska State Fair and fittingly sited along the not-so-known, but historically significant, Lincoln Highway (now U.S. 30).

We arrived in Grand Island in time for packet pick-up and the expo.  Held at a sponsoring bank’s basement, the simple, yet convenient expo efficiently distributed the event’s goody bags and fair entry tickets to all participants.  Helpful and friendly volunteers were on hand to answer any question a runner may pose.  Whether it was the right answer or not, it was an answer and best left to the discretion of the runner.

We made it!

Welcome - note the corn

Being an aficionado and a history enthusiast of the U.S. highway and interstate system, I was thrilled to view the last remaining undisturbed section of the historic Seedling Mile in the country.  Situated near that highway section sits a 1930s vintage filling station, Kensinger’s Gas and Supply.  I can only guess what kind of stories that station could tell.

The day was turning to dusk, and I seriously began to think about how my training will affect my marathon performance.  As I made my way back to the hotel, a Hy-Vee supermarket caught my eye.  Since we lacked some of the bare essentials for a pre-marathon meal, I grabbed a bottled water, two candy bars and a couple of bananas to supplement a granola bar I had earlier packed.  I debated whether to arm myself with a bagel, but something told me to forgo that.

Getting descent sleep in a new environment is always difficult for me.  My marathon rest was certainly not up to par.  I woke up tired and uninspired to run, let alone 26 miles.  I just had to do it and get it done.

I envisioned myself to finish the run in a horrible time.  The front desk personnel only allowed us a 1200 check-out time and with the race starting at 0630, a 1200 check-out time was certainly out of the question.  We would just have to drive back to Lincoln without a shower.

My ticket to run

I fed my inner power plant by munching on my granola bar like a cow chewing cud, supplementing it with bananas while washing it down with gulps of water.  I followed my pre-race meal with acetaminophen supplemented with caffeine to take the edge off any pain I may experience over the first thirteen miles.

The sun had not yet risen as we left the hotel under mostly cloudy skies and into the breezy cool humid air.  The close and easy parking allowed runners ample time to display their fair entry tickets at the gate, drop off any items needed after the run, take some pictures and have a good time listening to the tunes emanating from large speakers stacked near at the start line.

As start time drew near, runners gathered under a metal-framed gantry structure draped with a banner either welcoming those who enter the fair or thanking patrons who leave the fair.  A delightful and special runner’s prayer and the singing of our National Anthem kicked off the fair’s annual marathon.

Despite the warm and humid weather, I forbade my nerves from invading my morning.  I went in with my head held high.  It was another marathon, just like the forty-nine others I had run before, only in a new state.  Unlike many runners around me, with some lamenting the possibility that the warm weather might affect their times to qualify them for Boston, I had no time expectations.  Here I stood, in the middle of Cornhusker Country, ready to gut out 26.2 miles in whatever time I could and a BQ was just a figment of my imagination.  All too often, a BQ doesn’t cross my mind anymore.  Mostly, it seems to be only a pipedream.  I’ve even heralded the possibility of coughing up enough money to pay for charity runner status just to experience the thrill of the marathon.  I even think the capital outlay would be worth it, while I’m still “young”.

Don’t get the wrong impression, I am very much on board with improving my running times.  But whatever is targeting my VO2 max inhibiting my endurance levels, I refuse to succumb to it.  I still have hope that someday, somewhere, perhaps in my 60s (assuming I haven’t fallen apart), my VO2 max levels will be high enough to propel me to run a legitimate BQ. 

The minimum Boston qualifying time for my age is under 3:30, meaning I have to run the first half in 1:45.  Since 3:30 won’t guarantee me a spot, a time near 3:25 would likely do the trick.

The morning, I would say, was not perfect.  It was tepid with a higher than I would like dew point, but nice, nonetheless.  Around 600 or so runners crowded into their respective places are the starting line ready to take on the challenge of a full or half marathon.  The weak sound of a cap gun signaled the start, and we were off and running.  Thanks to the gray skies and cooling southwesterly breeze blowing over the vast corn fields, I thought the day was going to turn out better than I had imagined.  I tore out of the start area looping around the Island Oasis Water Park feeling great maintaining a “blistering” 8:46 first mile.

I was tearing up the flat and fast course and I was caught up in the zone, the “out too fast, hope you last” zone.  I eased up a tad knowing that the glory of these miles could come crashing down at any moment.  I evaluated my form, my breathing, my turnover, my cadence, feeling emboldened by how easy it felt to carry this pace – even with the lack of training since Fargo.

We veered off Locust Street just shy of Marathon Mile 3 onto a bike/pedestrian trail along a trapezoidal shaped grass-lined flood control channel.  The weather was still overcast and cool, but I had already begun to sweat profusely due to the humidity levels.  The pleasantry of the cool breeze in my face was very much welcomed. 

Over the next four miles, we began tearing up the roads through Nebraska’s corn fields.  The lackluster, uninspiring and monotonous scenery was enough to propel me to pick up my pace just to escape seeing the same thing.  I couldn’t wait until we once again viewed park lands and cityscapes.

As I approached Marathon Mile 8, a horse somehow escaped the pastureland in which he belonged.  His buddies were trying to coax him into jumping over the hog wire fence, but he refused.  Instead, as runners approached, he would scamper onto the road telling anyone who listened, that he wanted back in his pasture with his buddies.  I politely told him I had a time-sensitive job to do and couldn’t help at the moment.

Around Marathon Mile 9, we entered the shaded grounds of Hall County Park.  Finally, the first hint of spectators cheering on runners.  Up until this point, I had been running comfortably, knocking out 9:30 miles as if on autopilot.  But then, something happened, my body decided to completely forget that I’ve been running marathons for seventeen years.  All my experience on the roads, with the repetitive plod of running, was harshly erased.  My body crossed into the Twilight Zone, where my memories of running were intact, but my body didn’t make the transition.

Two miles later I entered the grounds of the Stuhr Museum.  I got the first indication that this wasn’t going to be my day back at Marathon Mile 10, but I refused to accept it.  As I ran around the grounds’ circular lot, I glanced at my Garmin at the Marathon Mile 12 marker in a time of two hours flat, one minute slower than my target pace.

This early in the race, I knew there was no way I could keep up a decent pace for the remainder of the marathon.  Had this slowdown happened after 23 miles, maybe I could dig deep into my grab-bag of things and save the day; but I wasn’t even past the psychological halfway mark.  Now, I recognized I had to accept my ultimate fate.

I suddenly faced a dilemma: do I keep going as fast as I can, whatever the pace, or force myself to slow down gradually, at my own pace, and still somehow enjoy the marathon experience?  It wasn’t a hard decision – slow down and enjoy the day since I had no expectations going into this race.  Besides, finishing a marathon is one of the best feelings in the world.

I crossed the half point with a time of 2:11 which began a regimen of walking a quarter mile and running a half or three quarter mile with the hopes the routine could get me to the finish in under five hours. 

Just after Marathon Mile 14, we entered the grounds of the Grand Island Cemetery for a one-mile loop around grave stones.  Who’s ever heard of a marathon course through a cemetery? 

The skies were still mostly overcast and a tad windy, but the temperatures were climbing higher with each passing hour.  Between Marathon Miles 16 and 17, an angel must have swooped down out of the heavens landing next to the bike trail.  A man was there handing out frozen ice pops to anyone who wanted one.  I couldn’t resist!  The sweetness and cold ice hit the spot with the sugar giving me a little, but short-lived, boost.

Wonderful symbol of history

My walk-run routine worked well for me until a couple of miles on the dreaded section of U.S. 30 (the Lincoln Highway).  The cloud cover began to wane and the sun became more and more intense.  Combined with the elevated dew point levels, I felt as if I was beginning to bake.  The shadeless Lincoln Highway was nearly unbearable and I could feel the back of my neck beginning to burn.

Mile after mile of concrete road pounding the feet and legs proved to be more than I could handle.  Walking became the norm and getting through the next six miles of the only out-and-back portion of the course was a sizable and substantial undertaking.  The highlight of this brutal section was when I high-fived my wife at Marathon Mile 18 as she had just crossed Marathon Mile 23 approaching from the opposite direction.

Shortly after, I began to hear some toe-tapping polka and waltz music filling the air with a melodic bouquet.  The great music shined a pool of light on my performance and momentarily took my mind off the discomfort I was feeling.

As I got close enough, it was The Pavelka’s out of nearby Hastings, NE playing that great polka music.  I turned to them and gave them two thumbs up (way up) as they waved and smiled at me.  I guess I’m one of the few souls around today who enjoys that music genre – and I could not wait to hear them once again on my return trip.

My energy levels were rapidly depleting with each and every step.  At Marathon Mile 21 (finally the turnaround point), my walk-run routine suddenly became a walk one mile, run quarter mile. 

Love the name

As I rounded the corner at Gunbarrel Road (love that name) and the Lincoln Highway, the proverbial wheels finally came off.  It was walk time.  I kept repeating to myself, “You know, the more you walk, the longer you must tolerate this heat.”  But my legs just wouldn’t maintain any pace beyond a walk.  My lack of training since Fargo began to rear its ugly self.  All I know, injuries suck!

Since I resorted to a walking routine, I had the time to take some photos along the way.  There on the north side of the Lincoln Highway was Kensinger’s Gas and Supply I saw the day before.  This time, the lighting was better and I had an improved vantage point.

As time went on, I wasn’t able to hear the sounds of the polka music.  When I approached their location, workers were disassembling their equipment and packing up for the day.  The sight of that suddenly instilled a sense of gloom.  I realized, was I near the back of the pack?  It wasn’t much further, when I saw the last runner accompanied by a cyclist summing up the rear.  Being near the back didn’t sit well with me, but what could I do?  I was drained and so looked forward to receiving my medal.

The seemingly unending minutes suddenly turned to a pleasurable memory, the sight of the finish line off in the distance.  I mustered up the last bits of energy from my grab-bag, crossed Fonner Park Road, almost tripping on the cross gutter because of my weakened legs, and entered the pearly gates of the fairgrounds.  Angels were there cheering me on giving me the strength I needed to finish, which felt like running.

Salvaging the marathon and finishing with a semblance of a smile felt like a million bucks.  To me, it’s nothing new to snarl through the second half to finish with an unimpressive time.  It’s not my first rodeo.

Rather than making a decision some elite runners make, like dropping out of a race around 30k rather than finishing, was not an option I was willing to take.  If you have a good training baseline and you can tell early on that a good time is just not going to happen, why fight against the strain and just finish with a smile – no matter the time.

My Garmin read 26.34 miles and I finished with an uninspiring time of 5:20:47, a paltry 12:11 pace. 

Age graded score: 43.91%

Age graded time: 4:39:59

Average time: 4:30:53

Standard deviation: 0:59:11

Not-so-lovely performance stats

I gave it my all for the last 0.2 mile, more or less.  I was so exhausted and hot I quickly grabbed an ice water infused towel, placed it over my head and squeezed out the cold refreshing water.

I made my way over to the food area for a cold bottle of water, chocolate milk, orange slices, bananas, a few doughnut holes and sat down on the curb for a much needed rest, knowing that getting up would be a considerable challenge.

With a much sought after rest, my wife and I walked around the fair perusing some of the exhibits.  The heat index was so intense, walking around the fair was quite uncomfortable for me and I preferred to stay in an air conditioned building or in the shade of a breezeway.  Moreover, my feet were killing me.  What I did notice was just how many of the building cornerstones were laid by Nebraska freemasons.

Me, being stinky and sweaty, we left Grand Island mid-afternoon for a long drive to Lincoln.  I needed a nice shower, but a quick face wipe-down would have to do.

Upon our arrival in Lincoln, a shower was first on my agenda before heading to the indoor pool and spa area for some therapeutic relaxation.  After a delicious Mexican dinner at a recommended establishment, it was back to the room to ready ourselves for our trip back to MCI.

After a good night’s rest and surviving a mean early morning Midwest thunderstorm, it was off to Kansas City to catch our flight back to LAX; but first, a visit to the University of Nebraska campus (home of the Huskers) and the five dollar tour of the state capitol.

Brook Berringer and Tom Osborne statue outside Memorial Stadium.  I'm also directing.

Capitol Building

View of Lincoln from atop capitol building looking north

Over the years, I’ve heard and seen lots about the University of Nebraska, especially the popularity of the football team and how big football is in the Midwest.  It seems like every Saturday during the autumn season, the Big Ten Huskers is somewhere on television, fighting it out with another big school on their famous gridiron.

An opportunity presented itself, a chance to finally visit the campus and see the stadium I’ve seen on television up close and personal.  Whether or not Sunday tours were available, we didn’t have the time for a stadium tour, so we did the next best thing – a walk around the stadium peaking in through the openings in fences and walls to see the field turf.  I even had my chance at assisting UN’s well-known coach Tom Osborne advising a quarterback (Brook Berringer) which option is best given the circumstances.

At 1300 hours, we began a tour of the state’s capitol building.  The fifty-minute, yet very informative, tour of the second floor covered a detailed explanation of the symbolism, artwork, building construction, and the branches of Nebraska government.  Besides walking the floors gazing at the busts of historic figures, the highlight of our visit was an elevator ride up the capitol’s tower to the fourteenth floor observation deck for a birds-eye view of Lincoln.

All of that walking and touring worked up an appetite.  To cap off our Lincoln visit, we chowed down on a delicious burger from Honest Abe’s Burgers & Freedom.  My ultra-messy Firestarter burger laden with jalapeños, pepper jack cheese and a side of hot fries definitely lit a fire inside me.  Sure could have used a knife and a fork with that meal.

Our tenancy in Nebraska sadly came to a close.  With an intermediate stop in Nebraska City to admire the view of the Missouri River from atop a bluff, we arrived at the place from whence we came without incident.  Besides the hustle and bustle of the snarled traffic at LAX, we safely arrived at our humble place of abode.

What about my top ten list for the State Fair Marathon?  Here goes it:

10.  Finisher’s medal and event tech shirt.  The medal is ok, not terrible, but not amazing either.

9.     Complimentary entry to the Nebraska State Fair.  Too bad I was so exhausted and sore to enjoy.  Let’s not forget how hot it was to be outside.

8.     Small field of runners for both the full and half.  The small field made running the bike trails easier.

7.     The ease of the expo and packet pick-up.  Kudos to the volunteers.

6.     The flat and fast course.  The marathon boasts it’s the flattest and fastest in the nation.

5.     Police assistance with traffic control.  Let’s face it, they did a superb job.

4.     The spirit and camaraderie of the spectators.  Without their support, I would have had a tougher time navigating the final miles.

3.     Running the historic Lincoln Highway and a portion of the Seedling Mile.  I love engineering.

2.     The incredible volunteers who made this race a success!

1.     Finishing!  The best feeling in the world.

Truth be told, this marathon may have earned me 77,000 sq. miles or 49,280,000 acres of surface area on my state map.  But as I blaze my path to the stardom of fifty statehood, it is just as big and meaningful as Montana, Texas or Alaska.  Even though I won’t be crossing off my remaining seventeen states anytime soon, I am getting close enough that I can begin to taste the finish.  Slowly but resolutely, the journey continues, one unpredictable story at a time.

Onwards.  With trepidation and even a little reluctance…it’s onwards, nevertheless.  It only gets better from here.

So true