State Number 50
– New River Marathon
Fleetwood, NC
8 June 2019
“It’s very hard in the beginning to understand that the whole idea is not to beat the other runners. Eventually you learn that the competition is against the little voice inside you that wants to quit.” – George Sheehan, M.D.
This is it! State Number 50 and the conclusion to my
fifty-state quest.
It’s a bitter-sweet moment as I
complete this milestone in my life.
During the past six years, my journey has taken me to seemingly unknown
parts of the country and to places I’ve never dreamed I would ever visit.
Over the course of my seven-year
expedition, I’ve met some wonderful and amazing people and heard many stories
and experiences I would not have heard otherwise. Now, I can tell some of my amazing stories
and experiences to other runners who may embark upon a similar adventure.
Some may say that I’ve done the
unthinkable and some may say, “No big deal.
I’ve done it several times through.”
Now, that it’s over, I can honestly give a shout out, “What a journey! What an accomplishment!” Now, I can call myself a Fifty-Stater.
The years, my profession and
intermittent injuries piled up, and yes they’ve been a heavy weight on my
shoulders, but I kept going. I kept
moving forward. Kept running, and
sometimes I didn’t even know why I ventured out on such a journey, but I kept
going. That’s what I’ve done – go, go,
go; day by day; week by week; run by run and marathon by marathon.
Now
that my fifty-state quest has come to an emotional close, my question is –
what’s next?
I
may not know that answer, but I will continue to run, train and run. All I know is that completing another round of
fifty states is not in the cards; however, I may visit other states to run a
marathon that strikes my fancy. Who knows, the addictive nature of this sport can draw a
runner anywhere at any time.
In the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina’s High Country, the quaint hamlet of Fleetwood and the spectacular New River Valley is the site and backdrop for the New River Marathon. The marathon boasts more than twenty miles along the New River, one of only fourteen American Heritage Rivers, with picturesque views of horse farms, hillsides of Christmas tree farms and the spectacular surrounding river valley.
In the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina’s High Country, the quaint hamlet of Fleetwood and the spectacular New River Valley is the site and backdrop for the New River Marathon. The marathon boasts more than twenty miles along the New River, one of only fourteen American Heritage Rivers, with picturesque views of horse farms, hillsides of Christmas tree farms and the spectacular surrounding river valley.
I’ve read that the New River
Marathon is a rather challenging course with seemingly non-stop rolling hills,
long hills, short hills, steep hills and other hills ranked beyond
category. Whoever said that my fiftieth
state would be an easy task is living somewhere in la-la land.
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| Course profile |
Following an adventurous rain-soaked
drive from Johnson City, heavy tropical-like rains greeted us as we pulled into
Boone. With the weather forecasts all
indicating periods of heavy rain showers for the next few days, I came to the
realization that the marathon will be one wet and soggy race.
Friday was a much-desired day off
from any sort of running activity. The unyielding
rain and less than ideal weather threw a wet blanket, smothering our planned local
activities as the door pretty much slammed shut on the Grandfather Mountain and
Blowing Rock attractions. We drove to
Blowing Rock only to find dense fog and drizzle at the visitor center. We also phoned Grandfather Mountain to
inquire if they were open, they were, but it was recommended not to visit the
popular attraction due to dense fog on the mountain and any kind of
photographic and supplementary visual imagery would be nonexistent.
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| Blowing Rock entrance |
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| Sim's Pond |
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| Sim's Pond |
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| Foggy dreary view of Price Lake along Parkway |
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| Snapping turtle |
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| Moses Cone Manor |
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| Inside the woodshed |
My wife expressed concerns to me about
the mud and our tight schedule with our departing flight out of CLT. Overhearing this, a passing race official
kindly allowed us to park near the exit gate, thus suppressing any kind of
anxiety or worry about getting stuck or catching our flight.
Race organizers allow for bib and
shirt pick-up race morning. In
the weeks preceding the marathon, my wife emailed the race director on my
behalf requesting Bib No. 50 to correspond to my fiftieth state. He was honored we chose New River as our
final state but couldn’t guarantee the request.
As I received my bib, I happily found it to be #50.
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| Parking area looking towards the woodshed |
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| North Carolina state flag |
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| Old Glory |
With a Tennessee
marathon already tucked away in my back pocket, it was time to run another
marathon, this time in the morning rain on a rural solitary country road
alongside the meandering New River. No
multiple out-and-backs, but rather a combination of a looped out-and-back
course, in some sorts.
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| Before the start |
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| I let the world know this race is No. 50 |
The first half: (9:46, 9:27,
9:49, 10:35, 10:03, 10:41, 12:42, 11:51, 10:46, 11:15, 11:26, 13:59, 10:44)
Runners lined
up on a muddy gravel driveway adjacent to the woodshed. At 0730, the starting horn sounded, as 120 or
so runners charged up a rather sizable incline to Big Flatts Church Road to a
1.5-mile descent to Railroad Grade Road.
As anticipated,
about three miles into the course, a light rain began to fall. Based on my limited knowledge of the high
country, I found that a light rain serves as a precursor to a much heavier
event. Lo and behold, the light rain
suddenly converted to a much heavier intensity, representative of a tropical rain
forest. Mother Nature seemed angry, but she
wasn’t going to deter me from enjoying cool refreshing showers. It was a day to get wet, so I just had to
suck it up. It wasn’t particularly cold,
so hypothermia was the farthest thing from my mind. As long as I kept moving, I would be fine.
The next several
miles consisted of a rolling paved section of a narrow roadway without any kind
of roadway striping. I marveled at the
surrounding scenery dominated by the swollen turbid waters of the tempestuous
New River, the Christmas tree farms with multiple rows of Fraser fir conforming
to the hilly topography and a mixture of scattered broad-leaf trees hanging
over the roadway. I saw tractors left
silent near giant rolls of hay lying motionless in the fields, sitting there
soaking up every drop rain. I thought, “Won’t
the rain spoil the hay?”
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| Along the course |
My shoes and
socks became soaked and sloshy. I was as
wet as one could get and sincerely hoped that I would not end up with any kind
of nasty blister at the end of the day.
According to
the laws of physics, whatever goes up must come down. At the summit of Seats Road, a course monitor
pointed me in a direction leading to a steep descent down Panorama Drive. I judiciously barreled down the rocky surface
as I meandered my way around the provisional streams while being careful not to
careen off the side of the road or slip on the muddy surface.
Sheet flows of
water streamed over the paved roadway. My
depleting energy levels forced me to walk the steeper sections of road. I read the curve tangents and crisscrossed
the curvy road seeking out the shortest possible route while being mindful of
traffic. The rain continued and didn’t
let up as I reached the summit before heading back down towards the river below
and to the half marathon split, crossing in a time of 2:23, more or less.
The second half: (12:36, 14:39,
11:06, 11:26, 12:33, 11:57, 13:36, 12:27, 14:52, 13:02, 13:53, 13:50, 15:44,
6:33 projected pace [final 0.08 mi])
Soon
after the half-way point of the marathon, the rain stopped as quickly as it
began. I knew it was temporary, but a
nice change, nevertheless. With the
absence of rain, the air temperature and humidity levels noticeably
increased. I thought to myself, “It’s getting
hot, it feels better when it rains.”
At
Marathon Mile 14.5, runners make a left turn onto Castle Ford Road to the
“notorious” hill everyone talks about – a one-mile long seven percent grade. Did I have the strength to run up that
monstrosity? Was I going to run it? The answer was an emphatic “NO,” but I did find
some idiots wasting their energy attempting to run as I walked at their
speed. Save your energy people – walk.
Shortly after I
began my ascension, the rain unleashed its fury once again and couldn’t come at
a better time as I began to overheat.
Sheet flows of water carrying dirt and debris washed over the pavement
and roadway swales overflowed with enough velocity to erode driveway
approaches.
The top of the
hill emerged soon after a steep switchback.
I charged down the steep gradient as my thighs and ankles began to
burn under the constant braking. My
downhill form was anything but ideal and I knew I would suffer the consequences
of downhill running as I did at Mt. Charleston.
The road flattened out at Marathon Mile 16 as I crossed a bridge
spanning the New River intersecting Todd Railroad Grade Road once again.
Runners
retraced their steps for the next seven miles passing through the fertile
farmlands of the New River floodplain. A
course monitor standing in the rain at the intersection of Big Flatts Church
Road at Marathon Mile 23 directed runners to proceed straight. Flippantly, I voiced to the nice lady, “But
the finish line is up that road.”
She chuckled
and said, “Sorry, but you have three miles to go. The last hill is that way,” as she pointed.
The hill? Yes, another hill. The final hill. Besides, how hard could it be?
I moseyed by the
Fleetwood post office and a small baptist church with the classic steeple
standing proud, a symbol of understated Christianity, perfect for small
community services, weddings or those searching for quiet contemplation.
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| Mack Woodie Drive muddy mess |
Mack Woodie Drive merged with Call Creek Road shortly after Marathon Mile 25 leading up to one final push up the seven to nine percent grade for the next half mile. As with those around me, walking was the norm, but I kept pushing my pace hoping for a 5:10 finish. The rain had reduced itself to just a light sprinkle, but for how long, I did not know.
As I crested
the hill at the intersection with Big Flatts Church Road, two girls sat quietly
in their folding chairs informing me (and probably everyone else) “it’s all
downhill from here.” As I gazed down the
road, I knew they weren’t completely truthful.
A small hill stood between me and the finish line. From what I learned over the years, you
cannot believe people when they say those words.
I glanced at my
Garmin, made a quick calculation and I realized a 5:10 finish morphed into a
5:15 finish. I pushed up the final hill
to the final left turn down that gravel driveway from whence we began. I focused my attention to the finish line
gantry and charged down the hill passing a runner who I had played leap frog
with for the past ten miles. It was
“operation let-no-one-pass” as I sprinted down the muddy gravel driveway kicking
up mud behind me, clocking in with a time of 5:15:18.
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| Pouring it on to the finish! |
I quickly loaded
up a plate with some delicious strawberries, scones, cookies and a banana from
the food spread. Since time was of the
essence, I had to consume my snacks in the car as we drove to CLT. After a brief stop at a Chick-fil-A in
Wilkesboro to wash up and slip into some dry clothes, we arrived at CLT with only
seconds to spare. Following a long agonizing
run through the airport to our assigned gate, we found passengers already
boarding – but, in the long run, we made it safely to our humble place of abode,
tired and glad to be home.
Overall, I was
honored to have participated in the New River Marathon, thus completing my
fifty-state journey. It certainly
wouldn’t be possible without the great organization and super wonderful
volunteers who donated their time, endured the constant rain, some with mud all
over their clothes and made this event one of my crowning achievements. I consider this one marathon an excursion
into marathoning excellence and the fulfillment of a lofty goal I set for
myself.
RACE STATS:
Distance:
Marathon (26.2 mi) – my Garmin clocked it at 26.08 mi
Date: 8 June
2019
Bib No.: 50
Weather at
start: 63°F, cloudy, drizzle at the start turning
to rain
Gun time: 5:15:29
Chip time: 5:15:18
Average
cadence: 152 steps per minute
Average pace:
12:02 per mile
Overall rank: 104
of 116
Gender rank: 75
of 82
Division rank: 9
of 11
Elevation: 1056
ft gain / 1056 ft loss
Half split: 2:24
(10:59 pace)
Average finish
time: 4:25:53
Standard
deviation: 0:43:40
Age graded
score: 45.46%
Age graded
time: 4:34:25
Garmin splits:
(9:46,
9:27, 9:49, 10:35, 10:03, 10:41,
12:42, 11:51, 10:46, 11:15, 11:26,
13:59, 10:44, 12:36, 14:39, 11:06,
11:26, 12:33, 11:57, 13:36, 12:27,
14:52, 13:02, 13:53, 13:50, 15:44,
6:33 projected pace [final 0.08 mi])
LIKES / WHAT
WORKED:
- Small and challenging course in the Blue Ridge Mountains.
- Asking for and receiving Bib No. 50.
- State No. 50.
- The rain showers.
- Very well-organized event from bib pick-up to the multiple aid stations along the course.
- Super friendly volunteer support.
- A HUGE thank you to the great volunteers enduring rain-soaked conditions!
- Easy parking race morning.
- FINISHING!!
DISLIKES / WHAT DIDN’T WORK:
- The rain showers.
- The wet muddy parking and finish line areas.
- The hills and muddy conditions.
- Roadway flooding.
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| Flag in Statesville causing a constitutional concern |
Final thoughts
With an appreciative nod to an old
favorite, James Taylor, running down a country road is a favorite way to escape
the mental overload and visual onslaught of living in a city. By living in the San Joaquin Valley of
California, it can be difficult to find a refreshing place of solitude.
The New River Marathon is located in
a secluded rural area tucked away in the Blue Ridge Mountains. This marathon gave me the opportunity to
enjoy a morning run on humble two-lane and one-lane roads. Some lanes paved with asphalt, some comprised
of a muddy gravelly surface. The region’s
homes appeared surrounded by open Christmas tree farms, hay farms and small fields,
lined with oaks, ash, elms and various evergreens.
Cars were few and far between on
this early Saturday morning. Was it
because of race day or was it a typical indolent Saturday morning? Some houses I passed still looked sleepy and
quiet, with only a few dogs out for their morning constitutionals. It was late enough in the morning that the
nocturnal animals had turned in for the day, but wet enough for the mosquitoes
not to have an appetite for me.
As I ran parallel to the turbulent
New River, flowing full to its banks, I raced small sticks and branches floating
in the water, but seemed to never pull ahead as the mighty river conveyed its
water faster than I could ever run.
Unlike home, the mountain breezes
move more gently down through the hollows so clean and clear. No stagnant air and unhealthy smells assaulted
me, nor the aromas of nearby dairies and feed mills. Instead, I smelled the essence of tropical-like
rain and fresh mountain air with an occasional fragrance of breakfast emanating
from nearby kitchens.
Mostly, I welcome a turnaround point
to bring a breeze to my face. Although
not a singular turnaround point, the twelve-mile loop around a mountain seemed
not to matter much. So slight was the
air movement on this particular day, when the rain stopped momentarily, I do
wish a slight breeze blew to cool my face; however, as the heavy rain showers stepped
up their presence once again, they helped bring refreshment from the warm humid
air.
As the long loop closed back to the
original marathon route, the view was slightly different of course, seeing the
other side of the trees, being on the other side of the road and the river on
my right side. It is amazing how subtle
changes of view can keep the return trip of an “out-and-back” run from becoming
a tedious exercise. The change in light
and shadows, the opportunity to run down the slope I just trudged up are all
rewards of the return.
I am sure my memories of morning marathons
in the country are colored by notions that parts of our country are still as
untouched and as innocent as they were when I was a kid growing up in Northwestern
California. I like to think everything
is as it was when I moved away many years ago.
When I run the busy streets near my home, I’ll remember the songs of birds, the steady rains dripping out of the rustling leaves of trees and the sound of the New River as it meandered alongside me, eventually joining up with the Kanawha and Gauley Rivers in West Virginia. I’ll hold on these memories during my next run on a quiet country road.
Now, my
fifty-state quest has come to an emotional conclusion. To me, marathoning is a privilege and a valid
reason to feel gratitude. No matter how
miserable I may feel at any particular point during or after a race, I can
always fall back on the fact that being able to run a marathon is something for
which I’m incredibly grateful.
Over the years, I’ve come to realize that running is a
love-hate relationship. I do love to run
and during any particular week, I may put in anywhere between 20 and 50 miles –
sometimes less. But if I told this to
anyone who knew me in high school or even as I started college, I think they’d
be shocked that I was able to grind out over seventy marathons and countless
half marathons. I was the student who abhorred
physical education in junior and senior high school. So, how did I go from avoiding exercise at all
costs to running a marathon? It all
comes down to why I chose running.
I
run for my 10-year-old self, who never got over the embarrassment of being
unable to complete a one-mile run at my grammar school Olympics without having
to walk part of the way.
I
run for my 14-year-old self, who hated those kids who seemed like they exerted
minimal effort to run two laps around my junior high school parking lot – when he
could only muster a half-hearted attempt to sum up the rear.
I
run for my 21-year-old self, whose only true exercise was trouncing up the
notorious hills on his college campus.
I
run for my 25-year-old self, who struggled to run one mile, gave up and took up
cycling as a replacement.
I
run for my 33-year-old self, who experienced the joy of racing with hundreds of
other runners during his first 10K.
I
run for my 36-year-old self, who completed his first full marathon and removed
all remaining discomfiture over being a sweaty, red-faced, barely-limping-along
mess in public.
Finally,
I run for my own self, who craves the amazing peace of mind that comes from
running and completing a full marathon. I
know that when I need a complete mental break or a simple way to jumpstart my
brain with a shot of endorphins, all I have to do is to lace up a pair of
running shoes and head out the door.
Lastly, what did I learn from my journey?
At that time, I thought, “Two states
done – forty eight to go. Will I ever accomplish
such a lofty goal, or am I just spinning my wheels?” It took amazing discipline, dedication and a
lot of planning to conquer all fifty states in six years. In the words of Steve Prefontaine, “You have
to wonder at times what you’re doing out there.
Over the years, I’ve given myself a thousand reasons to keep running,
but it always comes back to where it started.
It comes down to self-satisfaction and a sense of achievement.”
My
destination.
After you run a fair number of states, folks often ask, “Where are you
going to finish?” or “What will be your fiftieth state?” They may offer suggestions – Boston, Hawaii,
Alaska, or Florida. I thought for a long
time and considered many options for my fiftieth state. Developing an algorithm to design the most
efficient use of time and travel is a difficult undertaking. But in the end, the only possible finishing destination
was to a point located in the beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains in the High
Country of North Carolina (Lat 36° 18’ 50” N; Long 81° 31’ 54” W).
It’s all
about the journey.
The best part of the journey is meeting so many wonderful folks. I met some super wonderful volunteers who gave
their time and effort to make a marathon possible and to assist me in achieving
my goal. I met runners who shared a few
moments, a few miles, a few smiles, and pieces of their lives with me as I
struggled during the final ten kilometers. I met many folks running their first marathon
and realizing a bucket list item. I have at times cautioned those runners
that the sport can be addictive and to always be on the lookout for another
marathon to add to their list. I’ve met lots
of fellow 50-Staters who greeted me as an old pal, provided me with
encouragement and congratulated me on my progress. To all of these folks, I thank you for your
support.
When you
have fun, it’s a pleasure. Another benefit of running the fifty states
is seeing one of the most beautiful countries on Earth. I’ve run marathons in the middle of a desert;
in the coal country of the Appalachians; around Narragansett Bay in Newport,
Rhode Island; Niagara Falls; and sampled king cake in Louisiana’s Cajun country.
I’ve visited some monuments that may
mean nothing to the ordinary person (except maybe engineers, geographers, map
makers, or land surveyors); the Nebraska State Fair; the volcanoes of Hawaii;
and the yellow brick road in the Land of Oz. I’ve run alongside the natural beauty of the
leaf change in New Hampshire; the desert landscape of Arizona; under the canopy
of the Big Sky of Montana; dodging snowflakes in the Amish country of Lancaster
County, Pennsylvania; avoiding bears and moose in the Land of the Midnight Sun;
and the rugged Rocky Mountains of Colorado. I ran through the gates of Oregon’s Hayward
Field, remembering the many great athletes who have graced their track. As I scan the faces, Steve Prefontaine’s face
appears as he smiles and says, “Well done.”
My reaction is always the same – my heart starts pounding, with a surge
of energy flushing through my body. Each
and every place creates memories not soon forgotten.
My Dream. Another question
people ask is, “What drives a person to train, travel and complete marathons in
fifty states?” My dream has carried me
through training runs on very hot or very cold days, through runs when mornings
come quickly, and through runs that seemed too long. Some days I ask myself, “Why are you doing
this?” My answer is always the same –
it’s an addiction.
Finally, in 2019, completing my
dream began with me making the final turn onto a muddy gravel driveway and down
the homestretch towards Marathon Mile 1,310 at this wonderful and scenic New
River Marathon. I stopped, received my finisher’s
medallion and realized, my journey has come to an emotional conclusion. However, my long-awaited dream has just come
true – visiting all fifty states, but with a purpose.
My favorite marathon? I find that when I
talk to others about running marathons in all fifty states, usually the first
question is, “What was your favorite marathon?”
That’s usually a pretty tough question to answer as there are countless
and innumerable things to consider.
Each one of these marathons has its
pros and cons, has breathtaking scenery, an organized race with friendly
volunteers and spectators, a unique medal and good post-race fare. Each marathon transmits its own distinctive flair.
The important things to me are the
memories of the race. It might be
running a race with a friend, renewing friendships with old runner friends,
making a new friend you see again from a previous race, being proud of a runner
meeting a certain time goal as I lead a pace group, or offering friendly advice
to a first-timer.
Featured speakers at race expos can
provide knowledge, answer questions, tell amazing tales of endurance, philanthropic,
emotional and good-hearted experiences and their dedication to the sport, or
simply telling funny stories of their running involvements. After an exhausting evaluation of my
fifty-state quest, I would have to say that my favorite marathon boils down to
the Hatfield-McCoy Marathon with the Fargo, Flying Pig and New River Marathons
being close runners-up. The uniqueness,
its detachment from major civilization, history, beautiful setting, challenging
course, pre and post-race entertainment and the local support makes
Hatfield-McCoy my hidden gem. But…New
River is also a hidden gem and cannot be overlooked.
As always, it’s forever onward and
upward – even after the door to my fifty-state journey is now closed.
