Unseasonal Challenges at Soapstone

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Compliments to the organizers of the 2009 Soapstone Trail Race for an efficiently run event. They continuously manage to maintain that small trail race atmosphere, without the undue heavy hand of bureaucratic constraints. At a little under 15 miles, this race is adequate in length to deter the majority of the general uninitiated, but technically diverse to attract seasoned trail runners seeking a challenge.

New Englanders would characterize the early morning conditions as ‘unseasonal’, those from more temperate climates would question the rationale of seasonality in the unpredictable Northeast. Low grey clouds held in cold humid air as runners chilled in the dull light, half inside their vehicles, fixating over the day’s clothing options.

Drifting down a semi paved road, which marks the first couple of miles of the race, I scanned the competition from a position of dead last. ‘No fear’, I told myself, the debris trail of runners who expend too much effort early on will surely appear in the latter stages. Besides, I was among friends, Iggy and Allstate were just ahead. Chipper had set a higher tempo and was gradually moving out of sight bringing Kathy (soon to be christened) along for company. Spuds was using the race as an early season sampler, a conditioning run for greater exploits to come. Shelly Girl was gone, her early acceleration would yield rewards. [Singlepic=3958,280,200,,right]

Soapstone delivers a punch to the solar plexus just when it is least required. As lungs and legs seek an equilibrium between oxygen debt and a comfortable race cadence, an escarpment wall appears blocking the trail ahead. The suddenness of change in gradient strains every runners’ breathing and we are reduced to shuffling upwards in single file like ants scaling a tree trunk. The reward for this effort when cresting the summit, is a rightward cursory glance taking in pristine broad leaf woods blanking rolling Connecticut terrain.

Jovial banter interspersed periods of silent effort as Allstate, Iggy and myself slipped into a rhythmic pace, suitably aggressive to meet Allstate’s requirement to beat her previous year inaugural effort, but never strenuous enough to silence our verbal interactions. The race midsection is punctuated by long gradual climbs and descents, with underfoot conditions varying at a rapidity between mud, rocks and smooth trail, not to allow the mind drift too far from the task of scanning that baseball-like strike zone where your next footfall is going to be. But interspersed were periods where one was capable of surveying the topography, noting the changes in the landscape and appreciating the moment.

The woods clam its first victim; not a twisted ankle or a bloody fall, but a lost pair of glasses. We came upon a couple of runners on all fours sifting through the leaf pile and decided to provide a helping hand. Five minutes later, we declared our rescue attempt a lost cause, issued our apologies and rejoined the race. Those glasses did turn up in the end, 20 feet from where a branch had removed them from the unsuspecting runner’s face.

A descent along a rocky riverbed terminating in a sharp left turn, marks a physiological midway point in the race. It’s the kind of turn that even well marked, runners find ways to ignore and continue straight. Beyond this point the debris trail begins to appear, a combination of stiffening legs, inadequate fueling and a swelled ankle cause runners to drop the pace. We continue along passing those who fail to keep up, although tiring in our efforts and without the assured stride that evaporates at a point far enough into race for fatigue to be a factor, but not close enough to the end to ignore this inconvenience and expend remaining energy.

I arrive at the final aid station a few minutes ahead of Allstate and Iggy, having drifted along at my own pace and bottoming out onto a service road spotting the cups of Gatorade before noticing the people manning the location. I mixed a concoction and waited for them to arrive. As the minutes went by, the volunteers questioned my motivation to finish the race, I assured them I was merely waiting for friends, jokingly they questioned existence of anything other than imaginary friends, I insisted, I was not waiting for Frodo and Gandalf to appear out of the woods.

Again we were moving with purpose as Allstate pushes the pace, this race has a couple of final twists; another steep hill hidden among the trees and a finish containing sections of paved road. The trail abruptly terminates onto the asphalt testing our limbs ability to adjust, the strong light and open space are an immediate shock to the system. We orientate ourselves to our new surroundings as best we can, strewn across the road and wary of the final effort – an uphill finish. Iggy offers words of encouragement possessed only by those experienced in the physical and emotional roller coaster of ultra distance racing.

[Singlepic=3962,280,200,,left]As we started, we finish together, reunited with our friends they manage to take our picture at that most inconvenient moment, where exuberance in finishing is forever captured as a semi-cognizant drunken pose. We replenish our glycogen stores on the finest burgers and hot dogs, while sharing stories of our efforts. Shelly Girl has earned some ornamental hardware, taking first in her division and lowering her course PB by 20 minutes. We heap praise on anyone of our own who achieves so much and exults so little. Such races are a collective experience, friendships are renewed and new ones are consummated, a shared history is slowly assembled and carried to the next race where new memories will be added. But for now we depart returning to our other lives driven away by the forever unpredictable weather.

Posted by Quietman