I decided to run the Morris Broadband DuPont Forest Half Marathon in December. I figured it would be much more scenic than my other closer options like the NC Marathon and Half Marathon in High Point. I had visited the DuPont a couple of times over the years and fell in love with the area.
Team Al: myself, my long-suffering wife, Barbara and my 17-year-old daughter, Genny AKA The Child, arrive an hour before the start. We came up the night before and stayed in Asheville. I pick up my race packet, truly cool long sleeve technical t-shirt and hit the portajohn. I have three goals. Not to be airlifted out. To finish the race no matter what it takes. And if possible to finish in under 3 hours.
It was during the pre-race instructions that I first began to realize that I might be in over my head. We were told to save something for the finish since the last 1.5 miles would be uphill.
My race strategy was to run 13 minute miles. I would run 4 minutes and walk 1 minute using my Gymboss interval timer. So much for that plan. I will have to run the first half faster than planned to gain time for the long climb back to the finish. I know that coming back up I will bleed minutes not seconds.
I ran the first mile in 10:32. At mile 3 I was just under a 12 minute mile pace. Between mile 3 and 4 I saw a man walking back toward the start, face flushed and not looking too good. It looked like he was done for the day. Not a good omen.
At mile 4 I am convinced that I am already in last place. So be it. Maybe there are runners behind me. Maybe just a race volunteer or first responder on an ATV reading the diagram that came with the defibrillator.
I have a new race strategy: ignore the interval time and run anywhere I can. The course is a roller coaster. I run downhill, flats and slight hills. Many of the hills are so steep that I can’t run them any faster than I can walk them. So I walk all of the steep hills, which in practice is almost all of them.
Between mile 4 and 5 we run up and down a small airstrip. Going up and down the 1,000 foot strip I can see runners ahead of me. And I can see runners behind me. Yes! There at least a half-dozen runners behind me. I pick up the pace. Over the next mile or so I seem to see the bulk of the pack heading back in. Most smile as they pass. Many shout “good job.” I marvel at their good cheer and incredible ability to run uphill.
The hills keep getting steeper and longer. Between mile 6 and 7 I stumble on a tree root and nearly go down. I come to the steepest hill yet and think, “You have got to be kidding me.” I round Fawn Lake and begin running back toward the finish. At mile 8 I’m averaging just slightly more than 13 minute miles. If I can hold the pace, I can still finish under 3 hours.
Between 8 and 9 a young woman comes up beside me. She looks like she is about 12 years old, which would make her anywhere from 20 to 25. I’m pushing 50 and everyone looks younger than they are to me. We run together for about a mile until we hit another uphill stretch. She pulls away and I shout “see you at the finish.”
Between mile 9 and 11, the impossible happens. I reel in a runner. Yes I actually pass someone, a woman who looks to be in her 30s. I miss the 10 mile marker entirely. I was counting on checking my pace there since the math would be easy. I’m disoriented and beginning to have sincere doubts about making it in under 3 hours.
Finally I come back to the first water stop, which was 2.2 miles from the start. A man there yells “Think positive, you’ve got it in the bag.” He will never know how much that statement lifted my spirits. I hit the 11 mile marker. 2.1 miles left, almost all of it uphill.
It’s getting tough. I’m tired and my legs hurt. I expected my quads to be killing me with all the hills but strangely they aren’t that bad. I wonder if they are stronger than I thought or if my calves are screaming so loud that I can’t hear the pain from my quads. I don’t want to run anymore but I have to keep moving as fast as I can.
Between 11 and 12 the impossible happens again twice I pass 3 runners: a man larger than myself (That doesn’t happen often) and a man and woman running together. I hit a large piece of gravel with my right heel and pain shoots through my right ankle. Thankfully the pain fades quickly. The last mile is longer than recorded history. I run any stretch of the trail that isn’t near vertical.
Finally I come to a sign that says Safety Zone. The start/finish line is in a safety zone (no hunting allowed), and the zone isn’t very big. I figure I am at most a quarter-mile from the finish. I am also running out of time. My watch shows an elapsed time of 2:52. If I’m going to make my goal of under 3 hours, I have 8 minutes to cross the finish line. I pick up my feet, and begin to run faster. My legs are stiff, and I’m not getting a full running stride.
Meanwhile at the finish line, Genny is watching the big digital race clock. It hits 2:50. She thinks, “Dad has 10 minutes left.” 2:51: She thinks, “Where is he?”2:52: She thinks “Is he going to make it?”
At 2:53 I emerge from the tree line, sprinting for the finish line as fast as I move. My heart rate averaged 141 beats per minute during the race. It passes 170 as I put everything I’ve got left into the last 100 yards. I finish in 2:55:23 by my watch. The posted race results put me at 2:55:53.1. I’ve met all my goals.
I cross the line, a young woman puts a medal around my neck. The medal I’ve dreamed of since I started training on Dec. 15th, through cold, rain and snow. The first real athletic trophy I’ve ever received. A man takes the tear strip from my race number. I have just run my longest race ever.
In just over a year I have gone from walking and jogging on a treadmill in 3 minute intervals to running a half marathon in the mountains. I have succeeded beyond my wildest expectations.
