The Savage Gulf Marathon, or, Again, But Faster!
This blog will eventually be the place where I document my training to run 5 half marathons in 5 states in 4 weeks next summer, but as I am still laid up with a leg injury, I’m using it to reflect on some of my favorite/least favorite running experiences. How did I end up injured? This is not the story of that injury, but it is the story of the personality flaw that led to my injury. Enjoy!
In one of my favorite Calvin and Hobbes comic strips, Calvin asks his dad how they determine the weight load limit on bridges, and his dad responds, “They drive bigger and bigger trucks over the bridge until it breaks. Then they weigh the last truck and rebuild the bridge!” (This is funnier in comic strip form than when I write it out. I tried to figure out how to embed an image in this blog and couldn’t. Blame SquareSpace, not me or Bill Watterson). That comic sums up my approach to my own personal limitations—- when it comes to running, or stress, or number of dogs, or extra curricular commitments at school, or drinking (up until October 28, 2021), my approach has always been to try to do more and more until I hit my breaking point, and then back off slightly. This explains why I agreed to help publish a student newspaper as a first year teacher, why I adopted a senior herding dog with behavior problems when we have two little boys at home, and why I ran the Savage Gulf 25K in Tennessee last March.
I found the Savage Gulf Marathon website because I wanted to travel somewhere warm to run a race during Spring Break, and I have an extremely loose goal of someday running at least a half marathon in all 50 states (running a half in Alaska or New Mexico or the like will involve me somehow becoming independently wealthy, but I’ve got many easier states to get to before I need to worry about that), but I decided to run it because it advertises itself as being “brutal, unforgiving” and one of the most challenging trail races in the country. I had already done a variety of races that had seemed like they might be too challenging for me to complete and the bridge was still standing, so this seemed like the next biggest truck to drive across it. I decided to do the 25K (15 miles) instead of the full marathon in a rare moment of clarity. In order to register to run the full marathon you had to supply evidence that you had complete a 26.2 mile race in the past and, although I did have evidence of that, it was over ten years ago and probably not actual evidence that I could survive the experience. So, I did the “humble” thing and signed up for the (relatively) shorter distance.
Because my wife is amazing and cool and understanding, I drove down alone to Tennessee at the beginning of Spring Break with just my dog and an audio book of Dune Messiah to keep me company. The drive was pleasant, the countryside beautiful, and the book interesting if not quite entertaining, so the trip started out great. I spent my first night there in a little Airbnb and then headed down to the aptly named “Savage Gulf” state natural area. It was a beautiful early Spring morning, ideal conditions for a race, and the vibes at the start were wonderful and welcoming. There were only a few dozen runners there, but everyone was in good spirits, even thought the race merch and been ruined in the shirt press and we wouldn’t be able to brag about our achievements with clothing. They took a “before” picture of the group, and off we went.
The first three miles of the race were relatively standard trail running fare—- dirt trails with some gradual ups and downs, plus some spectacular views out over the titular gorge. But at around mile 3, we reached the entrance into the “Stone Door” and decided down down down a rough hew set of narrow stairs , tightly bound by rock walls on both sides, for around a mile until we reached the true challenging section of the race. For the next 9 miles, we would be running over a constant series of rocks and boulders, across several bridges that threatened to bounce you into the creeks below, and up and down a constant series of small hills. There was next to no flat ground—- every step was on a rock or between two pinching rocks, and if I wasn’t wearing a sturdy pair of running trail running shoes I would have had to drop out from damage to my feet alone. There were no truly technical parts of the run that would have required advanced training or specialized gear, but I’m only using words like “trail” or “path” to describe the course because I don’t know a better one for “unending series of assorted sharp rocks that make every step an opportunity to break your ankle.”
I keep using the word “running” for what we were doing, but there were only scattered opportunities to really run. What I did was shuffle along as quickly as I could, trying not to kill myself. At one point, shortly after the midpoint turnaround which had made me feel like I was in great shape, I ended up stacked up behind a few slower runners as we struggled up a hill. One of them asked me if I was trying to run the hill and I said I was, so they let me pass them, which just made me self conscious of the fact they they were now behind me and I would look like a real jackass if I slowed down to the point that they caught back up and passed me again. I pushed on.
When I reached the end of the bouldering section of the race and started the climb back out of the gorge, I thought that I was through the worst of it. But the climb back up to the high ground was, without doubt, the hardest running I have ever done in my life. It was about two miles of steady uphill, moving back up the same amount of vertical distance we had covered going down the stone stairs. It was not technical in the same way—- we were now running on regular dirt path, but the combination of the climb and the beating my muscles had already taken made it feel impossible. For most of that climb, I honestly didn’t understand how I was going to make it up to the top. I thought I would just need to start a new life at the bottom of the gorge, or maybe have to wait for a park ranger to show up with a llama or something to ferry me out of there. I kept going though, one foot at a time, and eventually reached the aid station at the start of level ground, knowing I now just needed to do those three easy miles of trail running back to the start line. And that’s when my legs quit.
I was hit by a series of cramps that ran up and down every muscle group from my feet to my hips. I had no choice but to walk. After a few hundred yards of walking my legs would start to relax and I would try to run again, only to be hit by another wave of pain and involuntary spasms. Back to walking. The people I had raced past back on the rocks passed me. The lady who talked really loud to the other runners and who I had pushed myself to get away from passed me. Runners I hadn’t seen since the start line passed me. I struggled along—- what had taken me about 30 minutes to run that morning now took over an hour as the sun beat down on me and baked in my first sunburn of the year.
When I reached the finish line, I collapsed into a lawn chair and discovered I could not sit comfortably because of the continued cramping all up and down my legs. Any position I put my legs in was only comfortable for a few seconds until everything seized up again and I had to move around. I choked down some salt tablets and regular Coke that the race director recommended as a solution, and I writhed in pain. After about half an hour, things started to calm down and I was able to get to my feet and eat some cold pizza. Another fifteen minutes after that and I was well enough to drive back the airbnb. The bridge had not quite collapsed, but I now had a pretty good idea how big of a truck it would take to knock it down.
A few months after that I ran the marathon I was training for and survived. So, I started training for another marathon, but with a faster goal and a more intense training routine. And then, I was in pain all the time, diagnosed with a stress fracture, and watching football in a walking boot on race day instead of running my November race. My response to those setbacks? Make a plan to run 5 half marathons in 5 states next summer! Please donate to the fundraiser! I’m doing more stretching, I’m taking more rest days, and I have no time goals in mind whatsoever—- that’s what counts as taking it easy for me. None of the races I have signed up for use the word “brutal” in the description. Here’s hoping that’s enough!
