I ran the 2006 Umstead Trail marathon on Saturday (March 11) in Raleigh, NC. Umstead is a 5000+ acre state park between Raleigh and the airport. Durham, Chapel Hill, and Research Triangle Park are on the other side of the airport. If you've ever flown into RDU and saw nothing but pine trees just before landing, you came in over Umstead. It's a great oasis in an area that is really filling in and growing a lot, much like Austin. I used to hike and run a lot in Umstead when I lived in Cary, and still do when I go back to RTP (my home office) for work. I picked this race because it's just 3.5 hours from my home in Virginia (I split time between there and Cedar Park), could combine it with an office visit (i.e., motel was expensed!), and knew the course would be nice.

This course covers all of the Umstead 100 12.5 mile loop, with some extras, some repeats, plus about 4 miles of single track trail. Most of the run is on an excellent bike and bridle trail in the park, with a surface much like Town Lake trail, and a bit wider. It's also incredible consistent, with no rain washout or other ruts. If you like a challenging trail with roots and rocks, this isn't it, but if you'd like to do a 100 without worry about falling on a rough spot in the dark, the Umstead 100 would be your race. If interested, just ask me for info and logistics about the area.

Just to be clear, the race I ran was a 26.2; the 100 is next month. Someday I'd like to do the 100, but today I'll find that I'm far from ready for that.

The marathon is limited to 200, probably due mostly to parking. We were assigned parking among various lots and fields. There are two bigger parking lots in the park, but starting there would require more running on the park roads, or starting/finishing on single track. I think they have some issues and compromises with the park rangers. As it was, the first and last 3/4 mile is on a gravel road that some of the early finishers had to use to leave. Of course when there were runners coming they pulled to the side and stopped, but it still was a bit disconcerting, and dusty. This is the only negative about the race. The organization and support were great.

I came into the race way under prepared. Some of that was due to the flu and a cold the last 3 weeks, but I wasn't really getting in enough miles before that anyway. I decided to go out and hope I could finish under 4 hours, but not be disappointed if I'm far slower.

6am race day, and the fog is heavy. This is mildly encouraging, as high 70s and mostly sunny are forecast, but the race doesn't start until 9. I make my way to the park, and am surprised at how long it takes to drive into the center of the park to race HQ. I check in, and find my friend Chris, who I used to work with when I lived here. He is a past president of the club putting on the race, and he introduces me to a few people. The goodie bag includes tech socks and tech shirt, and there will be a nice commemorative pint glass at the finish. 6 minutes before the start I remember the gaiters. I think about it, see very few people wearing them, but decide to jog back to the car anyway and put them on. Good thing, as I see a lot of people stopping to pick small rocks out of their shoes during the race. I make it back as people are gathering for the start instructions. The siren blows, and we're off.

I settle into a comfortable, optimistic pace. The fog is long gone, the sun is out in full, and it's getting warm. The tall Carolina pines provide only some shade, as the leaves aren't on the deciduous trees yet. 2.5 miles in we hit the 4 miles of single track. Unfortunately I'm already feeling a bit of numbness in some toes, which is the first sign that my Morton's neuroma is flaring up again. I thought I had it solved with PT and orthotics with a met pad, and it rarely bothers me in my Montrails, but here it is. I try scrunching my toes every once in awhile, which often relieves it. But it's way, way too early to have issues.

There are plenty of roots to watch for, but for the most part I really love the single-track trails here, and wish more of the race were on this. The biggest hills are here, and my foot isn't getting any better, so I decide I'll walk these uphills, since that also helps recover the foot while conserving my energy. Most everyone in the front half are running the hill, so I'm trying to stay to the side so I can be passed. A steeper hill comes, and I have more company in walking. I hear the locals calling this "the simulator", I guess to train for mountain races. The foot isn't doing well, and as the single track trail is coming to an end, I consider bailing out since we're not far from the start. Do I really want to deal with this another 20 miles? I decide, what the hell, I wasn't doing this for time anyway, I'll just walk a bit at every mile post and hope it stays under control.

Back on the bike and bridle trail for the duration. My memories of the park is that the rest of the course is mostly flat. My memory is flawed. It's rolling hills, mostly gentle but some are more formidable. It's all runnable if you're doing well. I'm not. By mile 9 I've abandoned the walking 50-100 steps at each mile, and instead start walking up most of the hills. Chris catches me, but he's having problems with thigh muscle cramps, so we walk some together on a long but gradual incline, and we catch up on what we've each been doing. He takes off again, but we'll flip-flop and eventually I'll pass him for good. The sun is high in the sky and the heat is beating down. It will eclipse 80 degrees soon, and is typically humid for North Carolina in the spring, though not drenching like it gets there in summer. I hate walking up so much on this incline, but my whole physical and mental state is chipping away.

By mile 11 the downward spiral continues as I feel a pull on my calf. For the past 20 years I've had intermittent calf strains. If I don't stop right away when I feel this, it'll snap and my race will be over, along with all running for the next 6 weeks. I'm now walking all uphills of any kind plus anytime my calf tugs, and slogging through the rest. I'm really low for a mile or so. I finally decide that running a marathon well is one thing, but just finishing one on a difficult day is also a worthwhile accomplishment, and I'm going to do the best I can under today's conditions without making myself miserable. It doesn't make it a whole lot better, but it does give me some resolve to carry on and not let my mind make things worse. There are others in my predicament, and we trade miseries and sympathies, but encourage each other to keep going and to enjoy a beautiful day in the park. Here I'm enjoying part of the park I had never been in before. The leaders are coming back from one of the four turnaround point, and I say something to most everyone who's coming back that way, and get encouragement in return. My running stretches get a bit better and as long as I don't push too hard, the calf issues are kept at bay. I feel a bit foolish playing leapfrog with some of the slow, steady runners, but I'm just doing what I have to do. I see Elvis at the 13 mile aid station, and wonder about my condition, but he's still there on the return at 16 miles, so I'm either holding consistently daffy, or doing fine. I hope for the latter and continue on.

At around 19 miles I come up on a runner who is reduced to walking slowly and stopping and bending over. I ask how he is doing and he mumbles something that sounds like "not too good". I'm going to send someone back at the next aid station, but I don't have to wait that long. A mile or so up, a volunteer is riding a bike in reverse direction, talking to each runner long enough to make sure they are ok. Another example of the great support in this race. I say that I'm fine, but tell him I'm very concerned about the guy I passed and he really ought to go straight to him, which he does. Later an ambulance comes by on the course, presumably to pick him up. I also find out that the early leader dropped out, and the guy who took over the lead would collapse due to heat stroke 1/4 mile from the finish, and was taken to the hospital. It occurs to me now that this incident may have led to them doing more proactive runner checks.

At about 21 we leave an aid station for a 3 mile out and back. This is good and bad: if you're really in trouble it's an easy way to bag the race and cut off 3 miles to get back, but it's almost too enticing if you're just struggling. All the aid station volunteers were fantastic, and this one was exceptionally vocal, which helped us all out. My mind was in a good state now, and I really had no doubt about continuing here. 3/4 of the way out the descent gets steep and there is a sign, "Welcome to Wheels-Fell-Off Hill". The run down it is nice, but you know you have to come back. I compliment one guy on a good power walk up the hill coming back, and resolve to do the same. It goes well, and I realize that clouds have come out and the wind has kicked up, and I'm finally feeling good now. Back at the aid station I lead a cheer for the clouds, and hope it picks up the other runners who are at the stop. I'm finally enjoying the run, and head for the finishing 2 miles.

I look at my watch and figure that if I can keep a decent pace I'll make it under 5 hours. I'm running well, and even running some of the uphills. I know the last mile is flat or downhill, and I hammer it home to finish just under 4:58, 75th out of 142 finishers. I think I heard there were something like 160-170 starters. The cut off is 6 hours (another park edict) but as long as you made 2 checkpoints (a turnaround points by a road that you hit twice), and are doing well at the 3 mile out and back, they let you finish.

I hang around for an hour or so and watch the rest of the finishers. I'd love a beer in my new pint glass, but I've got 1200 miles to drive by Sunday night so I load up on gatorade and water and some post race grub. The main course is a burrito, which doesn't appeal to me at all at this point, so I grab some banana and bagel slices and fritos. Volunteers continue walking around and checking runners' conditions, and making sure everyone who is driving looks capable. One advantage is that the mild dehydration meant less bathroom stops on the road! I had worried a bit about running a marathon and then driving 20 hours, but it actually went very well, and I'm back in Texas for a few months now. Next up is the Maze 30K.

Bob Clouston