State Number 43 - Mad Marathon

State Number 43 – Mad Marathon

Waitsfield, VT

7 July 2018

 

As I open my forty-third chapter on my fifty-state quest, I feel a sense of victory and accomplishment.  Enduring the widely hyped hilly marathon gives rise to a feeling like no other marathon I’ve run.

Race organizers of the Mad Marathon tag their annual event as “The World’s Most Beautiful Marathon” and Runner’s World has placed this marathon on their ten bucket list items for all marathoners (on the same stage as Paris, Rome and the Great Wall of China). 

Compared to most states, there aren’t a whole lot of marathons in Vermont.  While the Mad Marathon has been on my radar for some time, there’s always time to second-guess myself whether a marathon I commit to is the right one to run.

A side-effect and direct consequence of serial marathoning is that you forget how painful and arduous some courses are and then decide to try one again.  Particularly, nasty hill-dominated courses.  But, for some reason (I guess it may be runner’s amnesia), I decided to do it again – run another hilly course.  On the bright side, the tougher marathons are, the better stories one can tell.  You got to do them to be a better runner.

I’ve heard and read great reviews about Mad not only because of central Vermont’s year-round splendor, views of the Green Mountains, challenging rolling farmland terrain, the remarkable covered bridges, old barns, silos and green fields of cattle and other sorts of livestock, but it’s one of those rare marathons that takes place during the peak of summer. 

Over the course of late spring and early summer, I considered my marathon training meager at best. As I coasted off my post-Hatfield & McCoy struggle, I looked forward to the challenge of the famed hills the Mad River Valley can throw at me.

My mission to New England began on 6 July when my wife and I boarded an LAX JetBlue flight bound for yet another long cross-country flight to Boston (BOS).  With the number of times we’ve flown into BOS, we may consider ourselves as part-time Bostonians. 

We arrived Friday afternoon around 1430 EDT, each excited about conquering and checking-off another state and adding a shiny new addition to my motivational cartography plat.  However, with a little trepidation about tackling a notoriously hilly course – there was no backing away now.

Boston greeted us with some ugly warm muggy weather.  However, the weekend weather forecasts all predicted the stale air would give way to lower dew points, dry clean air and clear blue skies.

We secured our rental car and drove into East Boston for an enjoyable lunch at Rino’s Place.  My wife ordered a succulent lobster/shrimp cannelloni while I indulged in a plate of lobster raviolis in a creamy plum tomato sauce.   With stuffed gullets, we escaped the hectic metropolis of Boston and drove up the heavily congested Interstate 93, stopping in Concord, NH for the night before continuing on to Vermont’s Mad River Valley thirty minutes from the state’s capital city, Montpelier. 



Welcoming Québécois visitors to Vermont's capital city

Central Vermont is predominately a haven for winter sports and activities that includes a variety of outdoor adventures such as skiing and snowmobiling.  Numerous ski resorts lie within an hour’s drive from Montpelier.

Even though it may have been a little too early to check in to our hotel as we arrived in Waterbury, we found enough time to tour the Ben & Jerry’s ice cream factory on our way to our afternoon activity, zip lining.  In my view, I found the tour to be a huge disappointment and not worth the time.  Sometimes, certain things are better left unsaid, and that’s all I will say about that.

I have a fondness for zip lining, whether it’s through the canopy of trees, flying over ravines or soaring above canyons.  Arbortrek Adventures in Smuggler’s Notch, just north of the Stowe Mountain Ski Park, affords visitors year-round aerial adventures, even in sub-freezing temperatures (I can’t imagine). 

After missing a highway sign and driving up a dead end gravel road, we eventually found our way to Arbortrek for our zip line adventure.

The three-hour tour takes adrenaline junkies through stands of eastern hemlock (Tsuga canadensis), white birch (Betula papyrifera), red and sugar maples (Acer rubrum/saccharum) and a smattering of ash trees (Fraxinus sp.) on eight zip lines covering nearly a mile of terrain, crossing two sky bridges and rappelling from two platforms.  Although geared for the leisure adventure seeker, the zip lines also appeal to the experienced as well.  Breathtaking views of the Green Mountains abound from tree platforms perched high on the mostly mature hemlock trees.  With the increased likelihood of falling off the platforms (as a couple of kids did), safety is paramount with copious redundancies built into the harnessing gear to prevent any serious mishaps.

Staff personnel fit each participant with a red protective helmet snuggly fastened to the chin, a heavy harness and lanyards and a pair of heavy-duty leather gloves.  Our eight-person group ranged from first timers to those with some previous experience.  Some appeared a little apprehensive at first, but after participating in the compulsory ground school introductory lessons and the shorter span cable lines at the start, the nerves settled and the excitement came out.

Guides informed our group that it is not uncommon to reach speeds in excess of 35-40 mph using the correct aerodynamic postures.  Yes, it’s fast, but it pales in comparison to the sensation of zipping across a canyon in excess of 60 mph on West Virginia’s Adventures on the Gorge’s 4,800-ft Adrena-line.



Stowe gondolas

During our tour, the guides attempted to educate the group with some siliviculture and taxonomy lessons about the region’s native forests.  He stressed that harvesting maple syrup is a big ticket item in Vermont.

Personally, the whole experience was such a buzz I wanted to repeat the adventure a second time.  I know that wasn’t going to happen, but all good things must eventually come to an end.  Following our fun, it was time to head back to Waitsfield to retrieve our race swag.  But before, we checked in to our hotel in Waterbury, not quite as stylish as the “Stratford Inn” characterized in the 1980s sitcom Newhart, but rather a plain ordinary run-of-the-mill hotel chain balanced on the edge of a hillside slope.  The hotel complex seemed newly built with an indoor swimming pool and spa with a relaxing and beautifully landscaped outdoor patio area surrounded by both conifer and broadleaf trees overlooking Waterbury and the countryside.

We worked up quite an appetite following our forest adventure.  After some suggestions by a local resident in our zip line group, we opted for some serious pizza at the Blue Stone in downtown Waterbury.

Fifteen miles south of Waterbury, lies the community of Waitsfield.  This small municipality lacks signalized intersections.  There are no chain stores, no Walmarts, or even fast food eateries in this small winter resort enclave of around 2000 that retains elements of its past while merging them with the modern economy.  Rolling farmlands and pastures abound with herds of cattle, horses, goats and sheep accentuating the region’s characteristic barns, vintage covered bridges and silos, all of which shape the New England landscape.  Flowering plants and tractors tilling the ground or harvesting hay, bring out the unique fragrances and aromas of areas agribusiness activities.

It is customary to hold the marathon expo on a grassy area adjacent to the Mad River behind the historic Waitsfield Inn, a hop, skip and a jump from the marathon’s finish line area at Mad River Green, one of the happening places in town.  The expo was essentially packet pick-up and a late registration table, with one rack selling running apparel and paraphernalia.  We picked up our race swag walked over to the finish line area for some photo ops before heading back to our hotel in Waterbury to relax in the heated spa and ready ourselves for a strenuous Sunday run.

After a month of digesting the heat and hills of Hatfield & McCoy, it’s fair to say that I learned a lot about tough marathons.  It taught me what I need to do, how to pace myself and, most importantly, finish with a smile.

With forty three chapters in the book complete, I’ve been able to say that I’ve finished all of them no matter how ugly the weather, circumstances, etc.  This weekend, the deck of cards dealt a different hand from Hatfield & McCoy.  Instead of hot humid weather, cooler, drier and pleasant temperatures prevailed with a few wispy clouds juxtaposed against a deep blue sky.  The hills were still there, but at least the heat and humidity stayed in Kentucky.

Crazy profile!

Where I live in California’s great central valley, there aren’t many hills to be found, except for the Sierra-Nevada foothills.  In order to get any sort of incline, I have to either drive for twenty minutes to barren and unshaded foothill terrain or run up and down the same freeway overpass fifty times in a row.  In lieu of finding uneven terrain, some runners have suggested tackling parking garage ramps.  Given the dangers present where drivers aren’t actively on the lookout for pedestrians, I’ve kindly turned down that proposal.  However; there’s always the reliable treadmill that adjusts for serious grades, but I just cannot stay on a treadmill for more than thirty minutes, so my options for hill training are generally limited.

With that said, I made it to the starting line with confidence and positive thoughts about the course that lie ahead.  The sun shone brightly in the azure sky with temperatures in the low 50s, with sunlight illumninating the Mad River valley’s deep green hues.  A refreshing northwesterly breeze paraded down Waitsfield’s main highway as an aura of anticipation swept over the crowd of runners. 

The marathon start time is 0700, which I would definitely change if I was the race director. Sunrise begins the day around 0515 near the 45th parallel, and at 0700, the earth’s solar furnace rises high enough causing air temperatures to climb.  

Starting 1.5 hours earlier sure would have been nice so runners could avoid any heat related complications. But, it did mean that I got to sleep until 0600.  It seems that I automatically wake up an hour or so before start time giving me enough time to eat a bagel, banana or some oatmeal and having time for my stomach to digest it.

Approximately 600 runners toed the start line on Main Street just north of the Mad River Green’s northern entrance enjoying the singing of the National Anthem.  With baited breath, race director Doris Ingalls sounded the air horn, sending a throng of bouncing runners on their way. 

The first half:  (8:47, 13:00, 9:23, 8:44, 10:35, 10:37, 9:42, 10:52, 14:03, 11:39, 14:22, 11:20, 12:10)

At times, I have a bad habit of being swept up in the stampede of runners by going out too fast, and this time was no exception.  I genuinely wanted to force myself to begin my run with a more relaxed pace.  I kept telling myself, “go slow.”  After my dreadful H&M struggle, I wanted to enjoy this marathon and not burn out midway through the second half.  Even though I don’t anticipate knocking off a PR, I do know that a PR on a course such as this one is a difficult endeavor.  With that said, I shall just take delight in the aesthetics of the region’s natural beauty.

Gateway to the hills

At the beginning, runners were treated to a rare, flat to downward trending stretch of road – more than enough to tease us for a few minutes.  I went out ignoring my inner voice screaming at me to relax my pace.  Following our brief mad dash along Waitsfield’s tiny Main Street (State Route 100), we turned right onto Bridge Street at Marathon Mile 1 towards the Big Eddy covered bridge spanning the Mad River, acting as a portal to the race’s unrelentless climbs.  Wow, that was an 8:47 mile.  I guess I just tossed my plan’s conservative approach over the bridge and right into the tranquil currents of the Mad River.

Soon after the first mile, an intimidating steep hill appeared before our eyes compelling everyone to reduce their paces.  I thought to myself, ”Are you kidding?  Buckle up, this is going to be fun!”

 

Two miles into the race, as we reached the pinacle of a tough uphill climb, heavy labored breathing was the featured sound of the moment.  Was all that labored breathing due to a lack of oxygen, going out too fast, or was it because of the absence of hill training?  My slow walking pace kept my lungs from requiring more than the usual breath of air.  As the gradual incline continued and as long as I kept my slow pace, I was content.

Pine Brook

Universal edicts dictate what goes up will soon come down.  I let myself lean forward on the downward slope, keeping a slow and steady pace, resisting the temptation pick up the pace too much as to burn out my quads.

The cows are watching

Along the way, I passed a few hand-made sign posts with scribed messages.  One said “Keep Running Cows R Watching” and another said “Ski If You Can’t Run.”  As a long-time skier, how nice it would be if I could step into a pair of Nordic skis and telemark my way to the finish.  

 

With the race’s big hill now behind us, the next for miles were mostly flat as we ran over local roads surfaced with aggregate base material severing large stretches of grassy farmlands.  With the half marathon runners making their turnaround near Marathon Mile 4.6, cows watched from behind the fences, while sheep and horses grazed happily and uninterested as runners paraded by.

Once through with the flat reprieve at the first of three out-and-back segments at Marathon Mile 5, it was the beginning of a steady (but not so challenging) climb upwards towards the second turnaround just past Marathon Mile 6.  This time, there would be no rewarding downhill on the other side.

Steadily onward I ran even with my sock beginning to chafe a hot spot area on my left foot.  I immediately stopped to readjust my sock, but the damage was already done.  I had no choice but to tough it out. 

I watched the miles sluggishly tick off, silently wishing the runners well to my right, who were on the uphill portion of the second out-and-back   Suddenly, I spotted the one and only Bart Yasso happily conversing with a small group of runners as they made their way up the incline.  I thought about slowing and waiting for Bart’s group to catch up so I could join in on the conversations.  But I decided to push forward perhaps catching up with him at the finish.

The road continued on, passing back through the Pine Brook bridge along a rare flat stretch of roadway at the base of a dreadful climb back up a hill I so enjoyed running down just forty-five minutes earlier.  I voiced to another runner alongside me, “I guess it’s time to pay the piper.  It’s time for me to begin walking.”  Without much hesitation, she agreed.

I thought I had reached the summit, but instead, the course make a left turn to the final out-and-back section, continuing its skyward path, totaling a length of about three miles of near continuous uphill.  Having walked almost every uphill section of Hatfield & McCoy, I found myself having to walk nearly every hill of this one, too.  I kept advancing with a shortened stride to the much anticipated turnaround cone a short distance past Marathon Mile 10.

After the turnaround, the terrain maintained consistent rolling topography for the next two miles or so along Common Road.  I was able to maintain a slow consistent jog up the short hills if they weren’t too steep, all the while enjoying the scenic landscape as if it was God’s country. 

Half marathon runners broke from the ranks as Common Road joined with East Warren Road.  I admit I was a little envious of their journey back to the covered bridge at the finish line knowing how many miles that lie ahead.

I crossed the half marathon split in a time of 2:17:35.  It was soon time to play some psychological games with my mind to get me through the second half of the course.  Perhaps the scenery will be enough to override the need for such games.

The second half:  (11:37, 12:35, 13:36, 13:16, 13:38, 12:08, 13:37, 12:50, 13:15, 14:58, 12:29, 10:42, 11:46, 11:38 projected pace [final 0.29 mi])



The Dip

It wasn’t long after half marathon split when runners approach what is affectionately known as “The Dip.”  It takes the shape and appearance of a roller coaster drop, except there weren’t any stomach churning g-forces or puking at the bottom of the undulating sag curve, but I caught myself thinking.  A runner is able to garnish plenty of speed descending a negative slope, but that celerity doesn’t translate into any kind of sustained momentum to propel oneself up the opposite side.  It’s all you, chugging up that long steep incline.  Somehow, in a bizzare fashion, I enjoyed the painful climb up the other side.

After runners dug themselves out of the despairs of The Dip, the road began a long two-mile steady uphill trend to the intersection of East Warren Road and Roxbury Mountain Road at Marathon Mile 15.5 and the beginning of a three mile rectangular-shaped loop.  I grabbed some watermelon, water and Gatorade and continued on my trek as the aroma of wildflowers mixed in with the fresh clean mountain air.

I came into this race knowing the marathon’s theme – hills and covered bridges.  At Marathon Mile 16.5 as we rounded the corner onto Senor Road, we were near the highest elevation of the course, surely a pleasing thought.  Although, there were some minor hills left on the course to negotiate, it was all downhill from that point.

At Marathon Mile 19.5, runners pass by the same Roxbury Mountain Road intersection.  I again grabbed a large slice of watermelon and chased it down with another GU to get me through the final ten kilometers.  With a few runners and walkers on the opposite side of the road, I felt relieved I was over four miles ahead and wasn’t the one bringing up the rear.

Somehow the relentless sun and heat wasn’t affecting my running that much, but I took out my cooling towel, soaked it in some ice water at an aid station and placed it around my neck.  Besides the cooling effect, it also protects the back of my neck from the intense sun.

The one thing I love more than the challenge of the marathon distance itself is sharing the miles with others.  I kept a consistent, but conservative, pace making an effort to save some precious energy for the harsh final push to the finish line. 

I managed to sneak up to a couple of runners from New Mexico who were on a little walk break masticating on some slices of watermelon.  After some idle repartee, I learned one was running her forty-ninth state (Colorado being No. 50) while the other was in the initial stages of her journey.

I offered some advice on my 42 experiences and that some states may require a do-over – for me, Alabama.  They immediately disagreed saying, “They all count no matter the time.”  True; however, they sympathized with me as I explained First Light Alabama and that redemption is in the cards.  One told me she was familiar with what happened at First Light and had a friend who agonized with food poisoning there as well, nearly landing himself in the hospital.  The enlightening conversation made the miles so much more enjoyable than the previous twenty and served to temporarily dissociate my mind from the tiresome hills, heat and fatigue.

The problem with running downhill so far into a race is that it still requires a lot of effort, despite the welcomed gravity assist.  The perpetual chafing from the sock/skin interface of my left foot, as well as the bottoms of my feet, ankles and quads, had taken a beating during the last twenty miles, and when running downhill segments, the pavement seems to get harder and harder.  When faced with another brutal hill around Marathon Mile 23 (The Dip once again), a slow agonizing walk ensued.  As a result of my legs growing fatigued by the minute, it appeared that this uphill segment was much more difficult than the other side. 

Instead, I continued forward on the downhill trending final leg passing familiar landmarks.  At Marathon Mile 24, a typical aid station had been upgraded to a beer station, where a nice bespectacled woman served up deliciously refreshing pale ale from a cooler.  Fatigued and wobbly on my feet, I pulled over to the side nearly losing my balance if not for the fence rail, and took a cup from her hand.  I told her I needed the icy refreshment as a little bump to get me to the finish.  Even if my watch weren’t telling me I was just a couple of miles from the finish, beer stations normally portend the final stretch.  Just two more miles under the flitting, green terrain separated me from finishing my 43rd state and 61st marathon.

The steep downhill grade leading into Marathon Mile 25 exacerbated its toll on my legs.  My quads ached and the painful chafed skin on my foot was no longer ignorable.  I felt the onset of shin splints and my legs felt as if they were dragging a ball and chain.  Negative thoughts quickly enveloped my thinking.  I needed to do something, so I implemented a self-imposed rule requiring two positive statements per one negative thought.  I used this with myself and it seemed to work – if anything, it got me out of the habit of letting negative thoughts rule the day.

I reached the race’s final covered bridge (Big Eddy), the same portal we ran through just past the first mile marker, except this one brings runners back into the realm of reality.  A friendly spectator stationed near the entrance urged me to keep going (easier said than done).  There was just one more mile and one more minor hill to climb.  I told myself “the faster I run, the faster I’m done.”  Sounds easy, but the punishing slope wasn’t going to let that happen.

At the intersection with Main Street stood a friendly sheriff deputy informing me to stay left of the orange cones while giving me with some generous words of encouragement.  I thanked her for her time to assist with the marathon and she wished me well.

After a demanding run, or should I say walk, along Highway 100 (the one that was such a teaser just a few hours beforehand), now awake with a flurry of spectators and vehicular traffic, I turned into a green grassy clearing through a parking lot.  A chute of orange traffic cones and metal barrier fencing morphed into parallel lines of flags representing various countries like an Olympic sport, guiding tired and exhausted runners to a replica covered bridge spanning the finish line.  

The boistrous announcer broadcasted to the world of my presence as I hobbled down the grass-laden chute as if I was the lead runner.  He even pronounced the name of my hometown correctly.  I was aghast, he actually placed the correct emphasis on the correct syllable.  I stopped the clock at a mere 5:17:56, much better than my misfortune in Kentucky, but not what I had expected to run.  Without exception, race director Dori Ingalls was there, greeting me with a hug, just like she did for everyone finishing before me (which was almost the entire field).  At first, I was hesitant to receiving a hug due to the shear perspiration and crusty salt covering every square inch of my skin.  But it’s her tradition and custom.  Thank you, Dori.  Finishing a challenging run wouldn't be the same.

RACE STATS:

Distance: Marathon (26.2 mi) – my Garmin clocked it at 26.29 mi

Date: July 7, 2018

Bib No.: 223

Weather at start: 52°F with wall-to-wall sunshine

Gun time: 5:18:01

Chip time: 5:17:56

Average cadence: 148 steps per minute

Average pace: 12:06 per mile

Overall rank: 188 of 247

Gender rank: 136 of 172

Division rank: 14 of 17

Elevation: 2,106 ft gain / 2,103 ft loss

Half split: 2:17:35 (10:30 pace)

Average finish time: 4:43:26

Standard deviation: 0:54:34

Age graded score: 45.49%

Age graded time: 4:34:35

Garmin splits: 8:47, 13:00, 9:23, 8:44, 10:35, 10:37, 9:42, 10:52, 14:03, 11:39, 14:22, 11:20, 12:10, 11:37, 12:35, 13:36, 13:16, 13:38, 12:08, 13:37, 12:50, 13:15, 14:58, 12:29, 10:42, 11:46, 11:38 projected pace [final 0.29 mi]

I received my finisher medal, grabbed some food at the food tent and walked across the street to the Waitsfield Inn to indulge in some adult libations.

With the race director Dori -- Madness Managed!

 

I’m not a fan of craft beer.  The bitterness of the Heady Topper IPA served in the beer tent was enough for me to dump it in the trash can after a couple of sips.  From what I heard, the “famously rare” beer is a must-try for any beer enthusiast.  Not quite.  Just give me a plain old domestic beer such as Bud or Coors Light.

Following a delightful break schmoozing with fellow runners from Texas (also 50-staters), we, at least I, painfully walked back towards the car wondering where to appease our enormous appetites, something rare for me after a marathon.

The Mad Taco grabbed our attention and we thought a little taste of Mexico would satisfy our hankerings for a delicious meal.  Of all the menu items plastered on the wall, choosing the right one turned out to be a challenge.  Tacos, enchiladas, burritos, tortas, tamales, fajitas, you name it.  Ultimately, I settled on two pork chorizo tacos loaded with beans, cilantro, meat, pico de gallo and mole sauce.

Sadly, our marathon day ended and we drove back Waterbury for some spa/pool time, clean up and have a delicious pizza dinner at The Blue Stone before turning in for the night.  Unfortunately, it was closed so we decided on the next best thing, The Reservoir for a scrumptious burger.

On Monday, with some time to utilize before our drive back to Boston, we had enough energy to take a short hike to Moss Glen Falls, a few miles north of Stowe, and a drive-by of the state capitol in Montpelier.

2011 flood high water mark

 

 

The firehouse burger at The Reservoir - Yum!

State capitol in Montpelier

 

After fighting some Boston area traffic, we arrived at BOS in time for our Delta flight, and after a slight mechanical delay (surprise surprise), back to LAX and to our humble place of abode.

LIKES / WHAT WORKED:

• Great challenging course in the Mad River Valley. 
• Wonderful place to escape the hustle and bustle of the real world.
• Very well organized event from packet pick-up to the multiple aid stations along the course.
• Super friendly volunteer support.
• Obviously, this event is a labor of love for the race director and her staff of volunteers. 
• Hats off to the great spectators displaying their support!
• Mostly shady course.
• Easy parking race morning.
• FINISHING!!

DISLIKES / WHAT DIDN’T WORK:

• The non-stop “mountains” and hills, but there’s nothing one can do about that.
• The heat.  I know, it’s an element that cannot be controlled.
• The food variety at the finish line could be improved.   
• The late start time.

Final thoughts:

If anyone is looking for an amazing race experience, run the Mad Marathon – or the half.  I really cannot say enough great things about this marathon.  Is it hilly? YES!  It is beautiful? Absolutely!  It’s the laid back and relaxed feeling of this smaller marathon tucked away in central Vermont that I enjoyed so much, and everyone was so friendly and helpful.  The old covered bridges, gems of the engineering past and iconic symbols of Vermont, provide a unique and distinctive touch to this event.

A huge thank you to the race director Doris and all her staff and volunteers for making all the runners feel so welcome.

If you have never visited the Mad River Valley, I highly recommend it.  While there, visit the Mad Taco for some succulent tacos, burritos, locally produced ciders or craft beers, but beware, some of the hot sauces can set your mouth ablaze.

Now, I can kick back, relax and digest the hills and beauty of the Green Mountain State before heading back to Boston as I embark on my next marathon adventure.  Thanks, everyone.

As always, it’s onward and upward!