- 3/10/10

The Friday afternoon ferry from Anacortes to Orcas was full of lean and hungry types, very obviously distance runners even if you didn’t recognize the usual suspects like Scott Jurek and Krissy Moehl. Lots of familiar faces and old acquaintances; combined with unseasonably glorious sunny weather and the resulting fantastic views over the sound and snow-covered mountains, the friendly company made the trip go by fast. Once on the island, with daylight waning, Robin and I drove over to ominously-named Massacre Bay and the cabin we had reserved on the waterfront. A hot tub under the madrona tree on the bluff overlooking the water, a clear starlit night sky, and a bottle of cold white wine, made for a very relaxing evening; we were not approaching this event with any intent other than pleasure.

The sun was just rising over the sound as we drove over to Moran State Park early the next morning, the morning blaze coloring the skies and placid waters in lurid orange and purples. The forested hills were perfectly reflected in the still waters of the lakes as we passed. It was a delight to be there, especially since the skies were once again clear and we could thus look forward to amazing views over the San Juan Islands from the slopes of Mt. Constitution. It was initially quite cold though, so once we had picked up our race packets we remained huddled in the lodge at Cascade Lake awaiting the race start. This run involves a lot of climbing, and I sweat very heavily, so despite the cold I stripped down to shorts just before the start and tolerated a few minutes of shivering as we lined up on the gravel road for the usual pep-talk prior to the send-off. Everybody in the small crowd of roughly 150 runners seemed to be in good spirits, cold and ready to get going, and with minimal ceremony we were duly sent on our way.

I don’t often run more than about 8 miles, and I had done no training other than once being dragged, whining pitifully all the while, around some considerable portion of the Chuckanuts by Robin in some well-intentioned but ultimately fruitless effort to prepare us for this event. So I knew enough to start towards the back and initially keep the pace moderate; not a problem since the trail is largely narrow single-track and uphill for the first few miles so it is hard to do anything other than move at the pace of the pack you’re in. I soon found that frustrating; I hate not being able to see ahead of me, especially when the going is rocky and rooty, and I hate treading on people’s heels and having others breathe down my neck. It didn’t take long before I began putting in little bursts of speed to get past groups of slower folk and get some space on either side of me. I was surprised at just how much climbing there was on this first stretch, which largely parallels the tumbling creek that joins Moraine Lake to Cascade Lake. I suspect it was quite pretty too, but with the need to focus on my footing and the other runners there was not much opportunity to savor the otherwise peaceful forested surroundings and the little waterfalls we passed.

It was nice to come out onto the open shores of Moraine Lake, where the going is easy and the views are wide. The respite is only brief, and by far the steepest part of the course lies immediately ahead: about a mile straight up the heavily wooded side of Mt. Constitution. It only took me about 20 minutes to get up, but it felt a lot longer; though never as steep as the worst parts of Chinscraper, this climb is pretty relentless in its sustained gradient and rough footing. I was still leapfrogging past other runners, since I am fairly good on the uphills and have a nice long stride, and I was surprised at all the very heavy breathing I heard around me. In contrast I was feeling just fine, rather surprisingly since I assumed that most of the other runners would be in far better shape than I and would know what they were doing. Towards the top of the climb I found myself with a handful of folk with whom I would to-and-fro for the rest of the run; Sharon Stone and Bill Pech were amongst them, as were a few of the numerous runners in the red-and-white lizard shirts of a Portland running club. We topped out roughly together, all of us enjoying the brief flat smooth stretch before we suddenly broke out from the trees onto an open rocky patch with stupendous views over the bay and islands.

Originally I had thought I might run with Robin, but she hates uphills and had fallen far behind on the climb, so I lingered just a few moments on the overlook before moving on. It is a gorgeous spot, with vast views eastward over the dark island-spotted waters to the green mainland, with the jagged white peaks of the Cascades as backdrop against a hazy blue sky. The path that gradually sidles the final mile or two from there up the length of the ridge to the observation tower is mostly flanked by trees, but every now and then a brief break permitted another glimpse of this amazing panorama. It seemed like a sin to be running up this trail and spare only occasional looks at the view, so when I got to the summit I took a long break to soak up the spectacle. I was not carrying any nutrition or drink, so I was also glad to get some water from the only aid station on the run, at the clearing beside the tower. I would have lingered longer were it not for the very nippy breeze blowing over the top; my sweaty body soon got chilled and I reluctantly had to go on my way.

The next few miles were steeply downhill. I don’t much like downhills, since Santa has not seen fit to provide me with new knees and ankles despite those items having been on my wish list for many years. So I did not join the hordes of reveling runners whose happy yodels resounded up and down the hillside as they plummeted to the bottom; I was one of the grumpy old codgers plodding morosely down the slope. The drop went on and on, with frequent sharp switchbacks requiring sharp applications of brakes, and rough footing waiting to trip you up if you gave way to irrational exuberance and really let it fly. I was passed by a handful of runners, though I in turn was pleasantly surprised to pass one or two others who were going even slower than me – apparently I am not quite the worst downhill runner in the world after all. I saved my ire for one woman who bounded past me, arms akimbo, yelling “I feel like a 9-year old !”. I heard her utter this repeatedly as she bombed past those ahead of me; ‘snotty little tyke’ was my uncharitable thought as I made my own considerably less speedy way down.

There was some trepidation as I saw the trail finally flatten out, since I didn’t know to what extent the descent had hammered my joints. I was pleasantly surprised to find that I felt really good, and on the subsequent long and fairly gradual climb I made up lost ground on Bill and Sharon and company again. We were once more in the deep dark woods climbing along the side of Mt. Constitution, with the trail winding around big trees and snaking through little depressions so you could never see very far ahead or behind. The high point finally arrived; another mixed blessing because of course it was followed by another long, long descent. Almost as steep as the earlier descent initially, and just as painful for us decrepit elderly folk who just stumbled along as best we could. I had studied the course profile fairly carefully, so when the angle finally decreased I knew I was probably no more than 5 miles from the finish. The next few miles were really rather pleasant, with a consistent but moderate downhill grade that I could run quite hard. I guess everybody just flew down this part, because despite my own speed I didn’t catch anybody, and although I heard voices above and behind me from time to time nobody passed me. The trail mostly meandered through the woods alongside a little stream dropping down to Cascade Lake; I looked forward to reaching the lake since I knew that would leave only about another two flat miles to run. Some youngster who had passed me earlier made a disparaging comment about this not being a genuine 25k race, only a 14-miler; I had told him I really didn’t know or care one way or the other, but by this point of the race I was quite happy to have it be a bit short if indeed that were so – my lack of training was making itself felt.

I was glad to break out of the woods and find myself on the open sunny lakeshore. The run around the lake is really quite pleasant, since you can see the water all the way and watch the finish area get steadily closer. What makes it a bit harder is that the trail is still quite rough and there are lots of short sharp little rises and drops to get over, not a pleasant thing on tired legs. I had a bit of a struggle on this last part, and two folks passed me, while I got by one other pained participant. I was grateful to pop out of the woods into the lakeside campsite, but I knew there were still two nasty little climbs ahead. From the encouraging cheers of the guy at the campsite I could tell there was another runner not far behind me, so I was going to have to work to hold him or her off. I gave it what I had, even making up a bit of ground on the two runners just ahead of me, and managed to arrive at the top of the last climb with a healthy gap behind me. The finish line was just on the other side of the open grassy area, about a hundred meters away and slightly downhill, and I did my best feeble imitation of a finish line sprint as Al Coyle announced my arrival to the assembled masses lounging in the sun. I finished in around 2:38 and in something like 60th place. Robin came in about 20 minutes later, glad to finish and vowing never to do this race again because of all the uphill that she loathes. Lots of coke and cookies and hot savory soup boosted our morale, and we were well satisfied by the time we headed back to the cabin to spend a very pleasant sunny afternoon kayaking on the still waters of the fjord out to Skull Island.

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