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Race Result

Racer: Steve Smith
Race: Mt Penn Mudfest
Date: Saturday, March 30, 2002
Location: Reading, PA
Race Type: Run - Other
Age Group: Male 30 - 34
Time: 1:11:00
Overall Place: 18
Comment: Not really sure on final time, but it was fun



Race Report:



Short version
=============

I re-upped for next year already.

It was that much fun. Even though hanging with fellow with fellow triathletes is what made this race special, I'd still race it again if I was the only one showing up.

In spite of myself, I raced this race, finishing 18th overall at 1:10 and change (winning time was 58-ish). I started off at a moderate pace and slowly worked my pace up until I was racing at miles 7 & 8, after the last hill. Realizing I would not pass anyone else without digging *really* deep, I eased back in the last 1/2+ mile. I was super pissed that ESW took the prize for muddiest; he finished the race with his face covered in mud.

Why is this event fun? Aside from the Dead Gathering, it's because the Pagoda Pacers are runner's runners. The Race Director's humor is outrageous because he's just plain funny and because he knows little things about runners. If you don't do Mt Penn Mudfest, I would highly recommend checking out any other event these folks put on. Not that I've raced them, but I cannot imagine that they would be any less spectacular. I hear that a few of their races are even *hillier*. Lastly, as Dave Decker mentioned, this is a very spectator friendly course.

Long version
============

Others have adequately detailed Friday's events, so I will not go into great detail there. I will say that I did my part to ward off the evil weather by packing three, count 'em three, trainers and every piece of winter gear I owned. If the weather was nasty, I wanted Dougie Walsh to experience the hel-- fun of cold weather riding :-)

Saturday started off wonderfully. Knowing Trevor's addiction to coffee, I talked Dave Decker into making his first pot of coffee EVER! It was actually quite tasty. We piled into our cars & headed out to Reading. On the way out of town we passed the law firm of, I shit you not, Fitzpatrick, Lentz & Bubba (http://www.flblaw.com/Staff.html). I thought I was hallucinating from Decker's "coffee", but there it is on the Internet.

As we drove from Bethlehem to Reading, we also passed the Lehigh Valley Velodrome (http://www.lvvelo.org/). Sometime this summer we'll have to regroup to watch the Friday night track races and do a group brick on Saturday. I'll bring the trainers & winter gear.

Anyway, the Race Director was a riot. Very laid back, very funny, and pretty damn good at his job. The "Human Power Point Presentation" was spot-on funny and informative. The pink sheets of paper were kinda neat, because the entire course contained similar pink sheets with funny sayings like "The only thing better than Mt Penn Mudfest is ..." four trees later "A Pauley Shore movie" ... more trees "with a love scene!".

There are three kinds of races for me. The first kind are where I show up to support a friend. These races generally end with me getting kicked in the shin because I'm chatting away as my friend is laboring for breath on every step. The second kind are when I show up, look around, scratch my head and figure out whether or not I'm gonna run hard. I usually figure the answer to this question in the first mile or so. The third kind is the rare beast, where I will not be happy unless I physically explode 2.5 inches across the finish line, racing every inch before that at about 99.9% of that intensity. The Mudfest was a type 2 race for me.

I intended to go out easy and then race the last couple of miles. And I did just that. However, unbeknownst to me, I raced the miles in between. I'm not quite sure how that happened. I think the two week rest I'd just come off left me a bit hungry for some speed. Every time I looked at my HRM it was 5-7 beats higher than my normal race pace. Something funny was going on (call 'em hills), and I still need to figure that part out. I certainly felt like I was holding back for a better part of the race. I just got the HRM back from Polar, so maybe they added a few heart beats. Actually, I cannot download any data, so, seriously, something may be afoot.

The gun went off and I tried to get toward the front of the crowd so as to avoid getting "in line" on the first trail. ESW is a tall bugger, so I just kept him in sight for the first mile or so. Mile markers? That's news to me ... the race as a whole was kind of a blur for me. I was either staring at the rocks & tree roots or looking at the glorious surroundings.

I passed ESW ... I was feeling good & I didn't want to get kicked in the shins today. I passed Trevor, who can really motor for a guy his size ... or any size for that matter. I didn't know much about the course, except for the RD's comment "There's really only one hill in this race. It starts at mile 5 and ends at mile 8." So, as I motored around mile 3 or so and hit a couple of interesting hills, I got worried. If this isn't a hill, what are miles 5 thru 8 gonna be like?

I ran along, figuring I was clocking 7-ish miles, waiting for my watch to hit 35 minutes. Round 'bout minute 38 I hit this monster hill. I made it a point to not pass people on the hills before this one. But I was feeling pretty good, so I kept running up this hill, passing a few people who were walking. We finally crested this hill and got back onto a trail that had some switchbacks. That certainly wasn't three miles, I thought; sure, the trail was going up hill to some degree, but not horribly. "That wasn't too bad" I thought. That RD was just pulling our leg, he's one funny bast--

WHAM!!!!!!!!!

If I wasn't paying attention I would have broke my nose as I ran into the mountain. The race course left the nice, flattish trail and went straight up this mountain for the next 3/4 mile. Holy cow. This was steep. By this time I was in the top 25 or so ... and everyone around me was walking this hill. It was more of a scramble. Hands and feet on the ground as we climbed.

It's no wonder the beer/margarita station is at the top of this beast. Because of the mild walk up the mountain, I was feeling strong and passed a number of guys as soon as the course crested the hill and return to actual human-usable trails. I passed Doug Johnston for my last water stop. Doug told me I was about 20th. Figuring the rest of the race was relatively flat (relatively), I decided to push the pace for a couple of miles and pick off a few runners.

I sighted runners one-by-one ahead of me and overtook them. I still had a lot of energy despite my HRM's constant display of 176 (93% of my MHR of 189 ... HA! Time to figure out my real MHR!). At about 8.5 I sighted a guy well ahead of me, and started off to overtake him. The way things were going I figured we'd duke it out on the last 1/4-mile of roads. It was looking like it would be fun. Then he screeched, grabbed his ankle, and started hopping about. Bummer. So much for a little mano-a-mano finish.

I sighted someone else well ahead of me, figured that I would have to dig REALLY deep to catch him and said "Nah." I rolled into the finish line with smile on my face.

I grabbed my brown sugar & cinnamon Pop Tarts, my camera, and went to cheer in the other Deads. Pretty good post-race bagels, and $2 of credit to the Little League style concession stand. It was a glorious day and I think the lot of us gathered too much sun as we sat in left field of Rotary Park, talking tris, life, and everything. Trevor's stomach started growling loudly, and we quickly find a pizza joint to wrap up the day.

Coda
====

But here's the best part. Going out of town, I missed my intended exit, so I decided to take the back roads south out of Pennsylvania. Back in 1998, I quit my job to drive cross country. As I drove down PA-10-South Saturday, I passed a group of abandoned locomotives and other Big Metal Things. WHOA! I have been here before! I spent my very first night of my 18-month cross-country journey in a state park just around the corner, and I shot my first photographs of these abandoned locomotives. I smiled and continued south though the Amish country outside of Lancaster, PA.

Wow, what a weekend. And it had just begun.