Jordan Alpine Classic

All -

As some of you already know, last Saturday (September, the 18th), I ran in a great race out in Jordan. It was a great challenge and a ton of fun, so I wrote up a little race recap. I hope you like it.

First of all, let me give you a little taste of the event with a direct quote from the description of this 8.5 mile run from their web site:

"If you want a real challenge this fall and don't mind getting muddy and wet, run the Alpine Classic at the Jordan Fall Festival.

It's an endurance test. After the traditional cannon start, runners climb over steep hills, maneuver through woods and fields, and wade across a stream.”

[NOTE: They re-routed the course this year so that there was no stream crossing because the stream was too deep from all of the rain that we've recently received. We also lost the rope climb.The new course was rumored to be longer at 9 miles, but I don't know what the final distance turned out to be.]

“They even climb a 12-foot vertical bank using a 1-inch thick rope.

Mid-way in the race, the course goes down a very steep path, similar to an expert ski trail. It is recommended by some you don't run this part, but rather just sit down and slide.

The race ends at the Jordan Fall Festival grounds near the original Erie Canal towpath."

Some key words that I'd like to point out to you from their description: "real challenge", "endurance test", "steep", "hills", "woods", "fields", "muddy". Those words come close to describing the course. With all due respect to the "Forge the Gorge" run and except for the two marathons that I've attempted, this was the most challenging run I've ever done.

The run started in Jordan at the Fall Festival right next to the chicken barbecue. The wind was blowing the smoke directly off of the chicken and right at the starting line. That wasn't too bad but later, after the finish, when I needed to suck in all the oxygen I could get, it was a bit of an inconvenience. But I digress, lets get back to the start. A fellow on a microphone did a count down. "Two minutes". "One minute". And then the cannon went off signaling the start of the race. I had read about the cannon so I sort of knew what to expect, but still, having a cannon go off in your immediate proximity does get the heart beating. I started with Mike as we headed off on the original canal tow path. It was nice and flat and a good way to warm up for the rest of the race. After a mile, the course did a little jig with a couple of 90 degree turns, some bush whacking and then crossed the road.

On the other side of the road, the course went into the hills at the foot of the first drumlin. We ran up a logging trail to a corn field and turned hard to the right to follow the border between the corn field and the trees. The path kinda snaked up towards what appeared to be the crest of the hill. If you've ever been out in a farmer's corn field, you know that it isn't the smoothest surface to walk on. The corn was probably planted earlier in the spring when the ground is soft; the tractor's wheels leave ruts in the ground. Add some rocks, downed tree branches and mud and you get the picture. There was only enough room for single file running but if you really felt the need to pass, people would step off into the trees to let you. I did pass a group of four or five people and I couldn't help but notice a slight grin as they watched me go by and continue on up the hill. At the time, I was still young and naive and I thought they were just being nice and acknowledging a far superior runner. Later, I'll come back to those smiles.

The course left the corn field and went onto a driveway/private road and then onto a road. This was one of the steepest portions of the course as the road continued on up the hill. As I was running along, I looked up at the crest of the hill and really concentrated on getting up to it. Huffing and puffing and shuffling up the hill to the peak. Keeping my eyes focused up towards the end of the climb. Repeating over and over: "Don't stop, almost there. Don't stop, almost there." Sweat already dripping off my forehead and into my eyes. "I should have trained harder for these hills. I could be in trouble. After this race, I quit running forever. Almost there. Fat and stupid isn't really a bad way to go through life, after all." Then, I realize, I'm almost there. "Don't stop. Don't stop. Don't stop." I keep repeating in beat with my stride as I push and will this old, fat body upwards against all the forces of heaven and earth and gravity that the gods can muster against me. There it is the summit of my climb, the peak of this hill, the crest of the drumlin.

Just as I reach the top, the horizon opens ahead of me and I see it. The damn hill just keeps going. I’ve only gotten to short, level section purposefully placed here to beat me into submission on this early fall morning. Thousands and thousands of years of geological events converge right then and there to align the entire weight of the universe against me and my mission. The hill is trying to turn me into its whipping boy. But I ain't gonna have any of this. Time to suck it up. And as I continue running, I realize heaven isn't up ahead in those clouds, hell is up there. Heaven is back down in Jordan at the chicken barbecue. So I keep going. Keep running. Up and further up this highway to hell.

What's that I see up there? Is it an ambulance? Yes, it is. Oh, the race director sent it out here for me as a little preemptive strike. He thinks I'm going to melt out here on Crossett Road. Not today, dude. My family will not have to hang my used running shoes from a sign on the side of this particular road as a make-shift memorial to the place where I went to the big marathon in the sky. But as I approach the ambulance, I can see that it is mostly there for traffic control and to show us where we leave the wonderful confines of this road and enter the briar patch. So, we head off the left side of the road and onto a path into the trees.

The path has been hacked out of the trees. Wide enough for only one person and thick with mud, it was a wild ride. Now, those of you who've run with me know that I don't run fast, but, because of the limited sight distance, this path felt like an out of control car careening through the forest. Somewhere in this section is a hill called "Science Hill". I think I know why. By running, we are participating in some sort of cosmic, X file-ish science experiment to see exactly how much pain we are willing to pay for the luxury of experiencing.

On this section, you can't see much ahead of you due to the low overhanging trees and the trees and bushes pushing in from the side onto the narrow path. This section leads us to what the organizers claim is similar to an expert ski trail. They talk about going down it. But what they oh so conveniently forget to tell you is there is no chair lift to get to the top of that black diamond. By the time I get there, the path up is a muddy, rutted, slippery SOB of a cow path. I have to walk up sideways so that I can dig the edges of my running shoes into the side of the hill. At one point, I slid back down about five feet but somehow I managed to avoid falling down on my butt.

At the top of the little ski trail, we have to do down the other side. It was a challenge and it was hard on my legs but at least gravity helped me out a little. I mostly walked down it, being careful to not fall. After all, I did have on my good running shirt and I didn't want to soil it.

So, now we're somewhere in Elbridge running on village roads and sidewalks. I'm sure the people who saw us were amused. Mostly mud from our feet to our knees, with some people covered even more than that, we must have looked like we crawled out from under a rock. I hope they know the truth. I do have a reputation to keep up.

Some of the remaining details are nothing but a blur at this point. I do know that, in general, we turned and headed back towards Jordan. I'll attempt to recount a few of the things that I do remember. Shortly after turning to the north, there was a climb up a steep field (next to a private home) that eventually took us to a water tower. When I saw that tower, I couldn't help but think: "A water tower. Damn. Why does there always have to be a water tower?" (A little inside humor for those who've run the Mountain Goat. BTW, The Mountain Goat, as I’ve recently discovered and mentioned, is a totally misnamed event.)

Somewhere further along, there was a short but extremely steep climb up Crego Road. Remember those people who smiled at me when they let me by in the corn field? They passed back by me as I stopped to walk up the hill and to take a stone out of my shoe. It was then that I realized what the earlier smile really was. It was the classic "we will see you later in the race when we pass back by you cuz you used up too much energy too early" smile. How often do I have to see that one before I smarten up? After the race, I located this road on a topography map on the internet and the elevation lines are so close together they almost look like one thick line. Nice touch, adding this hill, don't you think?

Here are some additional highlights that are fighting there way through the fog of my memory:
* There was another section through a different rolling corn field on the side slope of yet another drumlin, along the edges, next to the trees.
* A section that went through someone's back yard and a small sign containing an orange, spray painted arrow indicating a sharp turn to the left and into the brush.
* A long, slow curvy path around a newly mowed hay field that allowed me to see the ten or twelve people who were immediately in front of me.
* A much needed biological break on the side of the road. I held off as long as possible, but some of the downhill sections really caused alot of bouncing around, so I decided to take that short walk off the side of an isolated section of road in order to avoid an accident on the next downhill.

Finally, the course goes through someone’s back and side yard and pops out on the streets of Jordan for a four tenths of a mile sprint to the finish line. At that point, I was in direct contact with the two people in front of me. One was a woman who I had passed earlier as we wadded through a mud bog. The other was a man who I didn’t recognize. For a brief moment, I considered kicking it for the final dash to the line. I don’t know if I could have passed either one of them, but I decided not to try. Finishing behind them was an accurate representation of how we had run during the previous eight and a half miles and it didn’t seem fair to try to alter that over the course of the final couple hundred yards. To try to improve my placement at that point of the race seemed to violate the spirit of this race. So, I stayed in line as the three of us crossed the finish line. My time was 1 hour, 32 minutes. Not great but I had fun. Back at the start/finish line, the smoke from the chicken barbecue was still blowing across the finish area. The festival lunch crowd was picking up a little bit. There was lots of food and drink available from the festival vendors. Most of the early finishers of the race were long gone but a couple of us “back of the pack” runners hung around for awhile soaking in the festival atmosphere.

I am planning on doing it again next year.