 |
|---|
 |
LOSING MY VIRGINITY AT BIG SOUTH FORK by Dave Milner Until this morning, I was a virgin. A trail racing virgin. I lost my cherry near the Tennessee/Kentucky State line, and let me tell you - having your cherry popped on the rugged, rocky trails of Big South Fork is no picnic. My dear friend Kibby Clayton (who passed away in 2003) and other running friends had raved about what fun The Big South Fork 17.5-mile Trail Run is. After not getting my The Big South Fork coincided with the weekend I was to do my first 20-miler in preparation for a December marathon. Two and a half miles of warm-up would give me 20 for the day, with company and great scenery. Race director Bobby Glenn describes the course on the Knoxville Track Club website:
In looking for some kind of objective measure of the terrain's difficulty, I ran across a post on the KTC bulletin board by Maryville runner, John Barrow.
The course, he continues, " starts out wide for about a mile, then narrows to typical trail - if the person in front of you runs out of gas you may have to wait for 50 or so yards 'til there is a wide enough spot to pass. "But the long uphill pull at the end, Barrow informs us, "ensures that those with plenty of gas in the tank will have an opportunity to show it off, so no need to get edgy if you have to wait to pass someone along the course." I would discover that this and its converse - that those running out of gas will have a hard time disguising the fact - ring very true at Big South Fork. "At times the foliage closes in on the trail, slapping you on both shoulders as you run - no way to pass in those sections. Beautiful run. Gotta pick up your feet, though. Experience on this trail is no guarantee of getting through without a fall or two, as you tire and catch a toe on a rock or root." Sounds fun, huh? The real test, I thought, wouldn't be the terrain. It would be whether or not I would survive a night of camping with my wife and 2 year old Siberian Husky, Zola. Although I am far from being an experienced camper, my wife Alisa's idea of camping is to check in at a Motel 6. 'Twas the Night Before Not actually owning any camping gear, I borrowed a tent, a sleeping bag, a lantern, and some yoga mat-style inflatable air mattresses, from a colleague at work, and loaded said outdoors gear into the back of my Isuzu. Since we didn't leave Nashville until 7:00pm, setting up the tent would provide three challenges: First, figuring out how to set up an unfamiliar 5-person tent in the dark. Second, dealing with my wife's down-spiraling spirits and verbal abuse as I failed miserably at challenge #1. And third, making sure Zola stayed calm and quiet amid the chaos and critters. Anti-climactically, though, these challenges didn't need to be met, since by the time we rolled into Bandy Creek Campground, all the camping spots (apart from one, I would discover later) were occupied, or reserved. I suggested moving into one of the reserved spots, since we could be packed and away by the time those pesky, forward-thinking, pre-planning, incoming campers arrived. But my wife would have none of this. Plan B was to drive to Oneida, where, I figured, the Holiday Inn would be fully booked and I would be on the business end of a verbal blitzkrieg from the wife for not having planned this trip better. Actually, for not having planned it at all. Oneida was just 12 miles away, but the roads were twisty with many switchbacks, and I was now tired (it was almost midnight). After a few miles I passed a Ranger Station and saw signs of life. I pulled up alongside a friendly-looking Park Ranger, whose name was Kevin. I asked him if there were any other campgrounds nearby, and, if not, where the nearest cheap motel was. It turned out that Kevin was running the race in the morning too, and he was just getting off work and had a paper plate full of hot food in his hand. We got talking and he suggested we stay in his basement. I almost took him up on his offer, but received one of those "don't even think about it" looks from the wife. Kevin did, however, escort us to the nearest motel, the Calloway Motel, whose sign as we approached offered rooms for just $28. "Great," I thought, "I had resigned myself to the fact that I would be forking out 60 bucks for to spend 6 or 7 hours in a motel room." When I rang the buzzer, a middle-aged woman in her night gown appeared, quickly assessed my level of desperation and told me that a room would cost $49.00. Granted, there was a sign that said there was a $10.00 charge for checking in after 10:00pm (read: for waking her up), but last time I checked, $28 plus $10 equals $38. "But the sign..., " I started. She said there was an additional $11 surcharge to be assessed for Bonehead Big South Fork virgins who didn't get their shit organized prior to dragging the missus and the dog 2½ hours into the boonies without first securing a place to stay. Okay, she didn't actually say this, but it was in the stern, but slightly smug look she gave me. She told me the sign had read $28 for years now. "But isn't that false... " I started again. "You're parked outside Room Number 9, You want that one?" she inquired. "Sure," I said, handing over $50, hoping she hadn't eye-balled Zola yet. I decided I would exact revenge for her false advertising by circumventing the $17 surcharge she would surely have come up with for dogs weighing 45 pounds or more who shed like crazy. Alisa snuck Zola into Room #9, while I grabbed our bags. The Room was cozy, and warmer than our tent would have been, and this made Alisa very happy, and me somewhat relieved. Without any unfamiliar critters running around, Zola slept well, and so did we. The morning greeted us with rain; rain that increased in intensity as we drove nearer to the Bandy Creek campsite, where the race would start. While picking up my number I saw several familiar faces, including Mike Brown and Kathy Bell, two of Kibby Clayton's closest friends, who now live in Georgia. I logged about 2½ miles of easy running before making my way to the start. On the start line I saw another familiar face, Josh Beckham. A teammate on the nashvillerunner.com Racing Team of roughly equal ability on the roads, I figured Josh might be a good person to key off, especially since had had run this race last year. In the sixty seconds prior to the race starting, Zola managed to free herself from her collar, leash, and Alisa, and decided that she was going to do a spot of running herself. Fortunately, a woman nearby managed to grab Zola as she squatted down to poop. Go Time! When race director Bobby Glenn (left) fired the starting gun, with his arm stuck out of his truck window, a field of 218 hardy souls took off down a damp gravel road. After about half a mile, running right behind Josh in a lead group of five that quickly separated themselves from the rest of the field, I realized that I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I felt like a kid on a bicycle, riding without training wheels for the first time. But the road ahead would, I knew, turn in to some sick BMX-style, injury-inducing road less traveled. Granted, the run was 'only' 17½ miles, a distance I had covered on the trails of Percy Warner Park only a few weeks earlier, but I knew from the finishing times from last year's results, that the terrain had to be more challenging than anything the Warner Parks had to offer. After about, well, not much time at all really, Josh and eventual winner, David Smith of Knoxville disappeared into the mist ahead. I was running in 5th behind a guy named Chris Manis, hailing from Ooltewah, who had run BSF two years ago. The first 15 minutes or so felt very, very easy, but I was, after all, going downhill. "Everything we've just gone down, we'll have to come back up," Chris said. Exactly 18 minutes into the run, the heavens opened up and let loose a deluge of heavy rain for about 40 minutes. It was raining so hard that my eyes were stinging, and I had to squint. Little streams were cascading down the hills along with us. I tracked Chris for the first hour. We chatted intermittently, with me acting as look-out if someone approached from behind. After about 65 minutes, a guy dressed in all black joined us. At an aid station where I stopped and indulged myself in a leisurely cup of Gatorade, and where Chris drank on the run, I lost him and the man in black and never caught them again. At 80 minutes, the point at which I had planned to pick it up, I, well, slowed down. There's no other way to put it. I had become completely isolated in 6th place. There was no one within view or earshot, ahead or behind, and a general feeling of fatigue and discomfort manifested itself in laziness. "Aaah," I though, "now I can give in to my aching hamstrings and Achilles' tendons and slow to a more leisurely tempo." I promised myself I would started working hard again if someone challenged me from behind. About 15 minutes later, I realized I was being hunted. My pace had slowed, partly intentionally, partly because my legs had ceased cooperating. I was easy prey. And the hunter, in the form of a muscle-bound guy in an orange t-shirt and bandana caught me. I assumed a position of submission, moving to the right on a switchback so Bandana guy could get past. Bandana guy thanked me and moved past me like I was in reverse gear. Realizing that he was more interested in larger prey, like 4th place, I told him that the guys in 5th and 4th were probably about 45 seconds up. Bandana guy thanked me and then bounded over a particularly rocky section that I negotiated with an arthritic lack of grace and confidence. I was figuring on about a 2 hour finish time, and so when my watch read 1:40, I thought I had perhaps 20 minutes left. All I knew about the course was that the last 2 miles were particularly tough, and uphill, and that there was a ladder to negotiate with "about a half-mile remaining," Chris had told me an hour earlier. I met each turn with eager anticipation, hoping to see the ladder, a sign that I was almost home. A two hour finish, I reckoned, would see me bound up the ladder at around 1:56 or 1:57. I look at my watch. 1:58. No ladder. 2:00. No ladder. 2:02. Where's the bloody ladder? I was getting irritable. I had tripped over tree roots twice in a 5-minute period, and just wanted it to be over! When I finally reached the ladder, a 90-degree, 12 foot climb onto a rock ledge, I took my time, one wrung at a time, savoring what I had been anticipating for so long. I spent so long climbing the ladder, I probably should have written a postcard. Once I had climbed it, I surveyed the territory, to ascertain whether I was been hunted one final time. I was. I decided to pull my sorry self together and commit to not being passed again. About a minute later, I was face down again, having tripped on a rock. The penalty for not picking up my feet, per the advice of Mr. Barrow. This time, instead of instantly pulling myself to my feet, I wallowed in self-pity for a good 15 or so seconds, convincing myself that I could finish stronger and more effectively fend off a challenger if I remained horizontal for a few more seconds. Usually, I relish a challenge in the last half-mile of a race. Armed with a decent amount of natural speed, I can usually out-kick most challengers at the local level in the last few minutes of a race. Here, with my hamstrings screaming at me, and not really knowing how far was left to run, the last thing I wanted was a cramp-inducing challenge down the home stretch. I pulled myself together and tried to get out of sight before the hunter got to the top of the ladder. I threw in a surge that probably saw me leap from 7:30 per mile pace to a 7:29 clip! Finally, when my watch read 2:07, I thought I saw, or heard, or just maybe sensed, people gathered around the finish line. I hit a nice firm, level bit of trail and figured I was on easy street to the finish line. Just as well, since my quads and hamstrings were just about to give out on me. I didn't look behind. I didn't dare. And then I am directed away from where I thought the finish was and up a long, grassy hill. One last kick in the pants before the finish. I crossed the line in 2:11:09, placing 7th overall, some 19 minutes behind overall winner, David Smith (left, seen her running in 2002), 14½ minutes behind Josh, and 11 minutes off the 2-hour barrier I was hoping to breach. The course records of 1:49:27 for the men and 2:11:38 for the women were not threatened, although Smith's 1:52:47 clocking was very impressive given the condition of the trails. And the women's race had a sprint finish, with just one second separating the first two female runners. This run was much harder than I'd anticipated, and by tacking Big South Fork at the end of what ended up being an 80-mile week, I didn't give the terrain the respect it deserved. In return, I got my butt kicked by the trails, and the rain. The last twenty minutes of the race I was truly miserable, and I can say, in all honesty, that this run was just as challenging as any of the three marathons I have raced. And I think my expletive-laced response to my wife's question "How was it?" summed up just how challenging it was. As John Barrow added at the end of his post, "After the race we all say 'never again!' but we keep coming back." I did say never again. And, more than likely, I'll be back in 2005. Personally, I think Glenn and Barrow make the run sound far easier than it is. It may have been the case that the 60 miles I'd already ran that week clouded my objectivity, but as I write this, 4 days after the race, my quadriceps are still pretty sore, and 80 mile weeks are nothing unusual for me. A barbeque picnic served before the awards ceremony was a nice touch for a low-budget race like this with only a couple of sponsors, and the BSF vacuum coffee flasks given away as age-group awards were more appreciated than a useless plastic paper weight would have been. Big South Fork's numbers have grow every year and they usually have participants 10 different states. As Bobby Glenn remarks, "It's a great change of pace for the road runner and a great prep for a half-marathon, marathon or ultra. The organization was slick, despite the challenges inherent in setting up an off-road run, particularly in such foul weather. Also, the volunteers did an outstanding job. I can't imagine standing out in the middle of nowhere for 3 or 4 hours, handing out (and picking up discarded) paper cups of Gatorade and water is much fun, but the volunteers at each aid station greeted each runner with a barrage of smiles, encouragement, and positivity, and I would like them all to know that their efforts were very much appreciated. Doin' It Next Year If you are an experienced runner, I would recommend you pencil in the Big South Fork Trail Run next October. Although it was tough, I think almost every runner would find it a rewarding running experience in a beautiful locale. I'd recommend re-reading the above article and consider it a "What Not to Do" list. Race information will be on the Knoxville Track Club website (www.ktc.org) mid-summer next year. The race entry fee is $25 ($35 if you want the sweatshirt), and entries -- both online and mail-in -- close approximately 6 days before the race. There are no race day entries. There are few options in terms of entertainment near Big South Fork, so bring some good books. There are, however, a plethora of tiny churches, several of which had amusing slogans outside. Nearby motels worth considering are Tobe's, the Calloway, and the Holiday Inn in Oneida, 12 miles away. In Jamestown, 23 miles away, is the Wildwood Lodge, the Big South Fork Lodge, and the Jordan Motel. A map of the course is available on the KTC website. Running the trails in Percy Warner Park should provide good preparation. If you want to check out the area in advance, the Big South Fork National River & Recreation Area is located at Kentucky/Tennessee borders near I-75. Once heavily worked for its abundant natural resources, the Big South Fork's fantastic natural geological formations are again blanketed by lush vegetation. This vast wilderness stretching into Tennessee for a total of 113,000 acres is an outdoor lover's paradise, with a variety of recreational opportunities. The terrain is the rugged, mountainous forestland of the Cumberland Plateau. It is bisected by a deep gorge carved by the Big South Fork of the Cumberland River There are 150 miles of marked hiking trails in the Big South Fork. Numerous overlooks offer breathtaking views of the rocky gorge and cascading river. Trail information and maps are available at the visitor center at Bandy Creek. Park Headquarters - (423) 569-9778 Getting There |
|---|
entry in early enough last year, I vowed to run the race this year. I had never attempted a trail race before, but didn't think it would be dramatically different from perhaps running the yellow horse trail in Percy Warner Park a couple of times.
