State Number 26 – New Hampshire
Marathon,
Bristol, NH
1 October 2016
“I have not reached my goal, and I am not perfect…So I
keep on running and struggling to take hold of the prize.” Philippians 3:12
We live in a world of opportunity and adventure, sometimes
each day almost indistinguishable from the next. Only when we break from our daily routine and
take a couple of steps back can we see the ground we have covered and the
accomplishments we have achieved.
As I blaze my path towards surveying the 50 states, I sometimes
wonder what I will find at my next destination.
I’ve trekked many miles; pounding the pavement, driving, and flying, and
have accomplished a great deal in only four years.
Quite often, spectators try to encourage runners by
saying, “You’re almost there!” I don’t
care if I ever hear that phrase during a marathon again, by the way. I know they mean well, but if I don’t see the
finish line – I am not almost there. But
now that I have completed exactly half of the states in our great country, I
can honestly say I’ve blazed a lot of ground towards my goal, but I am still
half way to the finish line. I am not
almost there. I’m waiting for the
perfect opportunity when I can turn and say, “I’m almost there.”
It would not behoove me to hear, “Now that you’re more
than half way, it’s all downhill from here.
It’s the final homestretch.”
Sure, the road may have a net downhill gradient, but I’m convinced that significant
ups and downs may exist along the way that could test whether I’m
gravitationally challenged or not.
At times, my practice of civil engineering relies on
the principles of land surveying by writing and reviewing various legal
descriptions. Every metes and bounds description
must begin somewhere, and that “somewhere” is called the point of
beginning. The point of beginning must
be either a known point or a certain course and distance from such a known
point already established, or the true point of beginning.
The point of beginning of my 50-State quest was, for
obvious reasons, California (Humboldt Bay Marathon). For the most part, I consider the New
Hampshire Marathon as my “true point of beginning” leading into the second half
of my quest.
A runner’s efficiency of movement drops exponentially
during a marathon, making ones effort much harder, particularly after 20
miles. By the same token, the remaining
states I must complete to reach my goal in all likelihood, may become increasingly
more difficult. Being a resident of the
left coast, completing the western half of the U.S. was somewhat easy. But, carrying out travel to the eastern
states could pose more of a challenge than I expect and efficiency of movement
will be an important component.
One could interpret the aforementioned “prize” to
denote eternal life. Yet, just as the
prize can fill our hearts by His spirit to strengthen our legs to “run the race
set before us” (Hebrews 12:1); to me, it can also depict the gratification,
fulfillment and pleasure of being one state closer to my ultimate goal.
Our double-marathon weekend trip commenced with a
non-stop Virgin America Airlines flight from LAX to Boston’s Logan
International Airport (BOS). Virgin
America was a new airline in my portfolio.
The touch screen monitors mounted on the back of every seat on the A320
aircraft delivered movies, music, games, seat-to-seat chat, GPS locator map,
and satellite TV for passenger in-flight entertainment. I was able to watch my favorite live
television programs or listen to some classic country and bluegrass music to
pass the time on our five-hour flight.
Ordering drinks or meals was easy as adding items to the shopping cart
and within a few minutes, they were being served.
We arrived at BOS a little past 2200 hours. I had envisioned in the course of that hour,
catching a shuttle bus to the rental car center would be uneventful and
easy. Wrong! The bus was packed with standing room
only. To complicate matters, a youth ice
hockey team lugging all their gear was also boarding the bus. I figured that they were on their way to the
Blue Line’s airport “T” station. I was
wrong again. They were headed to the
rental car center.
Of all the rental car companies located in the newly
constructed center, the company we chose had the longest line – the others with
no line. With only a couple of agents assisting
customers, the wait time was quite lengthy.
Luckily, they didn’t give our car away.
Subsequent to a minor malfunction of our original car
(Toyota Camry), the Ford Fusion we rented was rather roomy and comfortable with
all the modern conveniences and contrivances – heated seats, push button start,
climate control, and seat position recall.
It was approaching 2300 hours EDT, and after a long
flight, we were getting tired, although our body clocks told us it was only
2000 hours PDT. We left the rental car
center and proceeded on to I-90 into the Ted Williams Tunnel under Boston
Harbor as part of the so called “Boston’s Big Dig” project that concluded in
2007. Traffic was light and after a
$3.50 toll through the tunnel, we merged onto I-93 that carried us over
Boston’s iconic Zakim Bridge.
Digressing, the cable-stayed bridge was also part of the
Big Dig project and comes with an interesting fact. The bridge underwent what is called the
“pachyderm test”. Prior to opening day,
fourteen elephants were herded across the bridge since it is believed that
elephants have instincts that keeps them from setting foot on unsafe
structures. The engineers designed it
right, the elephants made it across, and the bridge continues to function today
carrying tens of thousands of vehicles across the Charles River on a daily
basis.
Our first night was spent in the City of Salem, NH at
the Parkview Inn off I-93’s Exit 1. As I
went to check-in with the night clerk, a large NO VACANCY sign hung on the
glass enclosure. I got the sense the
night clerk did not want to be bothered by any prospective tenants. Since we already had a paid reservation, a
room was available. Another couple
entered the office the same time as I looking for a room for the night;
however, they were unfortunately turned away since they apparently did not have
a reservation. As I left, I could hear
them pleading for a room. Following a
candy snack and a Coke Zero, we turned in for the night for some much needed
rest.
Friday morning welcomed us with overcast gray
skies. It was gloomy, cold and looked as
if it was going to rain, but that wasn’t going to dampen our spirits for some
sightseeing. Packet pick-up in Bristol
was later in the afternoon, so we were in no hurry to get to our next overnight
stop in Tilton, a one-hour drive up I-93.
We arrived in Tilton too early for check-in at the
Super 8, so we drove into the historic townsite, incorporated in the late
1860s, of the city to indulge in some pizza at the Tilton House of Pizza. The downtown Main Street establishment comes
well recommended. Sited on the banks of
the Winnipesaukee River, it seems to be the local watering hole.
My wife ordered the usual cheese pizza and I had to
splurge with a small sized Philly cheesesteak calzone with a side of marinara
(I wondered how big a large size would be).
The great tasting food and the magnificent staff made this a special
lunchtime stop. I really wanted the
Captain Morgan shot with my coke – arrrrg.
The great lunch satiated my appetite for the next
several hours. After visiting the
well-known Tilton Arch at the top of the hill and a few pictures of the state’s
landscape, we headed back for check-in at the Super 8, just around the corner
from McDonald’s. Because of its New
England locale, this restaurant serves up lobster rolls, a staple of New
England. I was tempted to try one, but
from McDonald’s? I passed and waited
until we set foot in Maine for genuine lobster.
Conjuring up an image of imitation lobster meat rolled up in a soggy
bread roll was enough to dull my appetite.
The half-hour drive on State Route 3A to Bristol was
quite scenic. Although congested
sections of the highway slowed our progress, it was an enjoyable drive. The forested areas, New England architecture
and the numerous churches was reminiscent of the opening scenes from the 1980s
television series Newhart.
Prior to our arrival in Bristol, we made a short
detour to Profile Falls on the Smith River.
The water levels weren’t enough to provide a spectacular display of the
power of water, but it was a revitalizing stop with a short hike, nonetheless. During the summer, it looked like a popular watering
hole for locals looking for a fun place to swim and cool off.
Situated along the Pemigewasset and Newfound Rivers and
a stone’s throw from the scenic Newfound Lake, historic Bristol is a picturesque
community of around 3000 permanent residents located in rural Grafton County
incorporated in the early 19th century.
While driving into Bristol, I was charmed with the old
world New England architecture common in that part of the country. The 19th century buildings are
home to many businesses, residential quarters and municipal buildings complete
with a central public square or common area.
A quintessential part of any autumn
trip to New England is to admire the display of the region’s annual fall
foliage colors. The seven colors within
the visible portion of the electromagnetic spectrum are amazing; but in autumn,
it’s even more amazing to see countless shades of brown, red, auburn, orange or
yellow colors taint the contiguous hills.
The amazing mirage of colors light up the landscape like mini fireworks and
is considered a popular draw for New England visitors.
Hundreds of square miles of hardwood-conifer forests
grow on the well-drained hillsides and fertile slopes of the Granite State. Maple, beech and birch appeared to be the
dominate species, mixed with ash, hemlock, pine, spruce and balsam fir. A diverse assortment of understory shrubs and
flowering plants growing in the decaying logs of fallen trees were also
present.
Timed to coincide with the peak viewing season, the
fiery colors of the hardwood-coniferous forests in and around the community of Bristol
were supposed to provide the perfect backdrop for this annual marathon. For whatever the reason, the dazzling colors
failed to appear during our visit to central New Hampshire. Maybe it was due in part to the warmer
temperatures of the summer season hanging on as long as it could or it could
have been from a lack of rainfall over the course of the year. Nevertheless, the hardwood trees began their
annual metamorphosis of reds and oranges and began to meld with the green shades
of the coniferous trees that dominated the landscape. For those who suffer from some sort of
monochromatism or a color vision deficiency like myself, seeing the various
hues and light shades of colors were very difficult, if not impossible.
Every year, packet pick-up is held at Newfound
Memorial Middle School. When we arrived
in Bristol, the school was not yet open for runners to descend on the race
volunteers and officials, so we decided to drive a portion of the marathon
route along the shores of Newfound Lake.
The race takes runners along the country roads and
byways from Bristol and around the shoreline of Newfound Lake, with a short
out-and-back to Sculptured Rocks near Hebron and back along the western
shoreline into Bristol.
We drove along the western shoreline to Hebron and to
the turn-around on Groton Road near the Sculptured Rocks geological site. Because I have a tendency to become absorbed
with geological events, I had to see for myself what made this site such an
attraction. The parking
area was the site of one of the many water stations on the marathon route and
very close to the turn-around point. I
was thinking that in less than twenty four hours, I would be running by this
parking lot taking in some fluids and eating some food for energy on my way
back to Bristol.
The recreational area is a distinctive
example of the power of water. The
Cockermouth River carved out the gorge in the existing bedrock on its way to
Newfound Lake as the last ice age some 10,000 years ago drew to a close. Suspended sands, silts and other debris
carved the curvy potholes and interesting shapes seen today from the turbulent
water of the past.
At first, we saw several piles of precariously balanced
rocks varying in size in and around the stream bed (I guess they could be
called rock sculptures, in a way). My
wife questioned if those are the sculptured rocks we came to see. I immediately objected on the grounds that
those were man-made piles and streamflows would effortlessly wash them away –
no such luck. Once on the bridge
spanning the river, we could see why this is a unique place.
We drove back to Bristol along the same route, this time
paying attention to road widths and traffic volumes and what to expect during
race time. Most of West Shore Road was
somewhat narrow in spots so runners are expected to stay on or near the edge of
the pavement. Numerous signs were placed
along the roads warning motorists of runners on the roadway.
Sure, I’d rather have at least half the road closed to
traffic, but at such a small marathon in rural surroundings, with a limited
budget I’m sure, law enforcement and traffic control services wouldn’t have the
resources needed to provide complete traffic control. As long as I stayed to the left and watched
for oncoming traffic, it shouldn’t be much of a problem.
Packet pick-up at Bristol’s middle school was getting
under way as we pulled into the parking lot.
Of course, we entered the lot through the exit way which caused us to go
against the grain and the parking stall layout.
Pick-up was towards the rear of the school’s main building
down a flight of stairs and into the basement/cafeteria where runners picked up
their bibs and received their tech shirt.
This year’s shirt (both men’s and women’s) was a fluorescent pink that exuded
a bright contrast against one’s surroundings.
Nothing was given out in goodie bags besides a few flyers and
coupons. Hey, it’s small and low
key. What can one expect apart from a
great run around the picturesque Newfound Lake?
That’s what I came to New Hampshire to do. I can’t wait to wear my pink shirt during my
training runs.
The marathon start time was 0900 hours Saturday
morning. This gave us a little extra
time to sleep in, get ready and make the one-half hour drive to Bristol from
Tilton. It seemed to have rained lightly
during the early morning hours. The
skies were overcast and it was a little on the cool side when we arrived in
Bristol. The parking attendant flagged
us to move down the aisle, but nothing was available, so we created a parking
spot only feet away from the finish line in Bristol’s central park. What luck!
We didn’t bother with the clothing drop as the school
building was open for runners to use the restrooms and to keep warm. The start line was just outside on Lake
Street, aka Highway 3A. A few minutes
prior to the start, I turned on my Garmin and, lo and behold, it wouldn’t boot
up the proper way and was stuck on the boot up screen. I wasn’t a happy camper, but I hoped it would
eventually come on similar to what happened at the Chattanooga Marathon.
The school’s jazz band played the National Anthem and within
seconds afterward, the starting gun blasted as the heard of marathon and 10K
runners were off and running down Lake Street under gray overcast skies, while
the half marathon runners were bused to their corresponding start line near
Sculptured Rocks. It is also worth
noting that a fellow marathoner standing behind me graciously sang the National
Anthem for everyone to enjoy.
I heard that this marathon course is very challenging and
a PR is probably not in the cards. With
the demanding hills, the course can test your legs on the uphills as well as
the downhills.
Knowing this, and the fact I was running in Maine the
next day, my strategy was go out slow and steady and walking up most of the
hills. Over the course of the first 8.5
miles or so on Highway 3A, I worked to maintain a steady ten minute pace. I felt good and didn’t wear out my legs on
the hills. My Garmin finally decided to
work around 1.5 miles or so into the race.
I waited until Marathon Mile 2 to start it so I could compare the marked
miles with my Garmin miles.
After more than eight miles, I turned onto North Shore
Road and was met with a rather significant downhill grade. I was able to pick up the pace a bit, but the
steepness and broken alligator cracked pavement sections kept me from pushing
it. It was easy to lose control, but I
had to pull back to save my quads for the next climb at Devil’s Hill. I walked up the nasty hill even though I felt
I had the energy to run. I told myself,
“Not a chance!” The toughest downhill on
the course came immediately after the summit.
Again, I saved my legs and took it easy on my way down as I didn’t want
to risk injury.
The beautiful scenery along the north shore took away
from the agony of the rolling hills and the steep superelevations of the road
curves which made it tough on the ankles.
Paradise Point and the Audubon Preserve were the scenic points of
interest.
The three-mile torment of North Shore Road culminated at
the beautiful hamlet of Hebron where the course finally leveled out. The town consisted of a grassy, irregular
shaped common area with a playground and an octagonal gazebo surrounded by
maple trees. The Village Store and the
quaint Union Congregational Church complete with its steeple and bell tower were
awash with the typical white clapboard siding.
Many spectators lined the road cheering and supporting all the runners –
probably the entire town of Hebron.
The three-mile out and back portion of the course began
as runners left Hebron up Groton Road to Sculptured Rocks. When I made the turn onto Groton Road, I
crossed paths with the number two runner (who was approximately six miles ahead
of me) as he turned back onto West Shore Road for the finish line. There were a few rolling hills, but not
enough where I needed to walk.
I managed to continue my steady 9:45 to 10:15 pace
throughout the out and back section.
When my Garmin read 13.1 miles (Marathon Mile 15.1) I estimated my half
split at around 2:12, a 10:04 per mile pace.
At Marathon Mile 17, back in Hebron, the course turned
onto West Shore Road. This section of roadway
started out with a few tough uphills for the next two miles or so where the
flattest part of the course began. The
road width varied considerably from wide paved shoulders to abrupt edges. I found motorists to be very considerate to
the runners and I didn’t experience any problems.
After the crest of the hill near Berea, I took full
advantage of the nice downhill even though I was still somewhat hesitant on
increasing my pace. Veteran runners say
that the marathon begins at the 20-mile mark.
I don’t dispute that one bit as I have hit the proverbial wall many
times. Whether it was because of my
training or because of the slower pace of the day, I managed to avoid hitting
the wall.
After Berea, the course was flat or downhill with a short
uphill at Frosty’s Dairy Bar at the West Shore Road intersection with Cardigan
Mountain Road (Marathon Mile 22). I
decided to walk the short hill as it was a good place to take in some nutrition
for the final push to the finish. I would
have enjoyed sitting down for a scoop of ice cream, but fortunately for me, Frosty’s
was closed for the season.
The section from Frosty’s to the Our Lady of Grace Chapel
church at Marathon Mile 24 was mostly flat or downhill. I was still managing to keep my ten minute
pace, although I was beginning to slow at times, a sign I was getting fatigued.
My inner dialogue was a good distraction from any
discomfort I was feeling and helped me put mind over matter. I repeated to myself, “You’ve got this! Stay strong!
One mile at a time.”
The penultimate hill came at the church just before
making a right turn onto Highway 3A. The
steep little hill was too daunting, so I had to walk.
After making that turn onto Highway 3A, I looked forward
to the final section of the course. I
remembered at the start of the race as I headed up the hill and how important
it was to conserve energy. Well, the
last two-mile section to the finish was pay back. I had paced myself throughout to conserve
enough energy to run solid for the mostly downhill final stretch. At times, my pace picked up to a sub nine-minute
mile all the way into Bristol.
Knowing I was only yards from the finish, an adrenaline
rush came over me as I made a left turn onto Union Street, but that wasn’t
quite enough to boost me up the final small gradient onto Main Street. I supposed I could have marshaled up enough
energy to run, but after the brisk pace of the preceding two miles, I was
wearing out, but the little walk break helped and gave me the inner strength to
pick it up for the last 0.2 mile to the finish.
I completed this great marathon, tucked away in the rural
mountains of central New Hampshire, in a time of 4:36:27 for a 10:33 per mile
pace. In the for-what-its-worth
department, I finished eight seconds ahead of my wife.
Age graded score: 51.07%
Age graded time: 4:08:20
I was happy with my performance and pacing strategy by
walking up all the significant hills while taking advantage of the downhill
portions. With the Maine Marathon coming
up in less than 24 hours, I felt as if I didn’t overextend myself. Yes, I was a little stiff after sitting down
to munch on some pizza, fruit and snacks at the finish, but that feeling
quickly subsided as I began to move around.
The New Hampshire Marathon is a very simple, basic and
low cost marathon. For the entry fee, it
was well worth it, nevertheless. The
course was beautiful even though the autumn colors hadn’t presented themselves
much. The post-race food and drink was
nothing to write home about, but was enough to placate my appetite after a long
run.
The fourteen aid stations served only water and Gatorade,
so bringing your own nutrition such as GU, power bars, or gels is essential in
maintaining energy levels. Some locals even
set up their own unofficial aid stations serving up beer, fruit, pretzels, or
cookies.
Most everyone seemed to grumble about the finisher’s
medal – and some about the hot pink color of the tech shirt. I suppose that the same undated medal is used
every year only changing the color and design of the ribbon. In a way, it resembled a dog tag and the ribbon
fabric managed to irritate the skin of my neck, so I couldn’t wear it for any
extended length of time. However, I
proudly display it among in my extensive collection of marathon medals.
I’m not the type of runner who runs races just for the
medal. Sure, it’s gratifying to have
nice pieces of bling to display, but running a marathon for the challenge,
scenery, etc. sometimes outweighs the size and design of the medal. This marathon is no exception.
The small contingent of runners made this a very
enjoyable experience. The lack of
spectators and sharing the road with vehicular traffic really didn’t bother me
as it gave me a time to reflect on things, life, enjoying the lake shore,
forests and the quiet. Talking with
other runners was easy at first, but as time went on, the number of runners
thinned out which made talking with others more difficult. Although lake activities were pretty much
“boarded up” for the season, it was still beautiful to appreciate. If this marathon was held during a peak
vacation month, the traffic would likely jeopardize the safety of all runners.
Commencing from the true point of beginning and heading
easterly along the centerline of Highway 104… it was off to Portland, Maine for
the annual Maine Marathon to complete my double marathon weekend. So far, the second half of my quest started
out on the right course.
