This blog is a bit longer than usual but if you've ever run, or thought about running the Palmetto or a similar relay it might be of some interest. Also if you know any of this cast of characters it might be a good read but otherwise you'll likely spend 10 minutes of your life that you'll wish you had back so don't say I didn't warn you.
So with no further ado - it's over. Another 200+ mile relay is in the books for Hey Jack! This adventure was a little different for our crew because only 7 of us including Hank Eimer, LT (no names needed), Michael Banks, Ben Duke, Mark Huegerich, Eric Meredith, and myself made the trip. This meant more miles and less sleep, or no sleep for that matter unless your name is LT and you can find a patch of grass to catch a few winks anytime and anywhere. It also meant 7 guys in one van with 5 sets of sweaty clothes which made for an atrocious smell that started to fester about two hours into the race.
Going in we really had no idea what to expect in terms of pacing. Our only standard was the Blue Ridge Relay (BRR) which includes some crazy elevation changes but since we generally run a 12 man team we only run 3 legs and typically no more than 22 or 23 miles. At Palmetto we each ran 5 legs except for Eric who wasn't present at the ceremonial leg distribution dinner so he had the honor of running 6. That put the mileage distribution ranging from the low to the mid 30's.
We rolled out of Hickory at 7:30 headed to Columbia for a journey that would end in Charleston the next day. We got there just in time to watch the Hickory F3 team start at 10:00 and they were one of what seemed like 30 or more F3 teams. We exchanged pleasantries with our Hickory F3 friends, wished them well, and proceeded to get our van in order for the long haul ahead. We acknowledged the strong F3 presence with a nondescript 'H7' (Hickory 7) on one side of our van which apparently was mistaken for "an obvious search for an identity" but rest assured our identity will be clear going forward.
Eric was running the first leg and was lined up with a 90 pound female wearing a Footlocker South singlet (and last I checked they don't sell those in stores), a twenty-something year old military guy that looked like the poster child for men's fitness running for a team called Thunder Thighs, a real deal masters runner from the Rock Hill Strider's / Crazy Legs / Let Me Run group running with only 4 guys, and a guy from one of the F3 Columbia teams. Eric is the guy that looks like he just pulled an all nighter celebrating St. Patrick's Day...
Starting times were based on pace predictions provided by each
team so even though we ran with 7 we were considered a full team and assumed our primary competition would come from the military guys and the F3 Columbia team(s). Being the 'spreadsheet guy' I had meticulously planned our race strategy using our paces from the BRR and having a decent idea how conditioned everyone was. The only real wildcard Mark who seemed to regularly waffle between going and not going, running an 8.30 pace to setting a course record and making this course his, um, girlfriend. And then there was his earache the Monday before which was diagnosed as the most heinous ear infection that a grown man in the western hemisphere has ever experienced and survived to talk about. But he turned out to be perfectly fine and much faster and fitter than advertised.
On the way down Eric had given us the whole song and dance about dealing with some crud and not having run in a while. He went on about how his last run felt awful and not to expect much which is about when I tuned him out so I'm not sure what came next. I knew our adrenaline would be high early on and the temptation to chase 12 man teams would be great but I assumed our group of 'seasoned' runners would run a smart and tactical race. We ran the BRR at a 7:28 pace so we were hoping to be in the ballpark of that pace for Palmetto. Our logic was that a flat course would offset the higher mileage. We weren't too terribly off of the pace prediction but there would be absolutely nothing smart or tactical about this bunch. Eric started with a 6.50 pace then Hank ran 6+ miles at just over a 7.0 pace and Ben followed that up with a 9+ mile run under 7. Even Mark made quick quick work of his 3 miles with at a 7 minute pace. About this time I was coming to grips with the fact that this was a traveling van full of sandbagging liars that had completely abandoned our race strategy. And I was totally on board.
My turn to run was fast approaching at leg 6 with just over 8.5 miles which was mostly flat with one nice downhill followed by a pretty nasty uphill. Banks was on course and we were one of the lead groups from the 11:00 start. I decided to make one last visit to the porta-potty which turned out to be a disaster but I'll spare you the details. The abridged version is that I was across the parking lot doing my thing when I hear a chorus of 'Hey Jack' and 'Hey Jason get your @ss out here'. I promptly put myself back together minus a few essentials which made for a fairly uncomfortable run. Being one of the last teams to come through meant the bathroom accommodations in the early going were less than pristine. And none of them had any toilet paper left so I'm blaming the girls :) Not going in there prepared was my own fault though but I wasn't thinking clearly.
Anyway, Banks ran a 7.00 pace which again was faster than we talked about but everybody else was doing it so why not... He gift wrapped and handed off a lead over the other 11:00 start groups but about 45 seconds later some kid comes flying by and the next 40 minutes or so would be extremely frustrating and annoying. I knew I had a long day ahead with 36 miles to log and was determined to run smart early on but with the team averaging a sub 7.00 at this point combined with being hawked down within eyesight of the transition running smart was out the window. I tucked in behind the kid for a 6.26 mile 1 followed by a 6.19 mile 2. At this point I knew I was an idiot not to mention stubborn which is generally not a great combination.
I totally expected the kid to fall apart......and then came mile 3 at 6.20 and mile 4 at 6.16. I could tell he was starting to labor a bit with the hill coming up so I was looking forward to getting some separation for the second half of the run. He slowed down a bit so I went to pass him but he wasn't having it and decided to sprint to keep that from happening. I swallowed my pride and tucked back in since we were on a two lane country road with no shoulder. Getting frustrated with the slow pace I decided to pass again but was met with another sprint to avoid him giving up the lead position. Normally I'm all about the pursuit position but he was crawling up the hill and I was getting frustrated. For a third time I tried to go around him. I really just wanted to share pacing duties and help us hold a decent pace up the hill but he was either oblivious, stubborn, or had direct military orders not to let anyone pass him. Once again we shared an extended sprint in the midst of an 8 mile run and once again it was all for nothing. Who was I kidding to think I could out sprint a kid half my age anyway.
We were still climbing and I was so close on him that I was nearly kicking the bottom of his shoes with every stride. I wasn't intentionally being a jerk but shuffling up the hill just wasn't working for me. Finally the road widened a bit and I was able to spread out and steadily push the pace. I got a step on him, then two, and once I was able to get a few steps on him I guess he just shut it down. I finished comfortably ahead by a few minutes with a 6.38 pace which I didn't feel until the next day but when it set in it was pretty rough. After the race the kid found me and was very complimentary so despite going at each other pretty good we had a great conversation then headed on our journey to Charleston. I think the term 'old man beat down' was uttered among their group which was fitting because I was every bit of twice his age although beat down might have been a bit exaggerated.
We continued hammering out solid times and managed to stay a couple minutes ahead of the military team. We hadn't seen the F3 Columbia Ramble team in a while so as far as we were concerned the race for the division win was between us and Thunder Thighs. My next leg was out of the transition area where teams with two vans would make the transition from rest van to running van. This exchange area was a camp ground by the lake which would have been an awesome place to get some rest if you were on a team with enough runners to do so. My shortest run of the relay was coming up which was a flat 4 miler that I was very much looking forward to. The sun was setting and the temperature was great so all was well with the world. Well at least it was until Mark exposed us all to this little gem of a dance.
This transition was much more crowded than my first run so we were finally in the thick of it. I watched teams come in and out, most notably a guy handing off to a female teammate. After he handed off to her, he paused a few seconds, then chased her about 15 feet, gave her a kiss and sent her on her way. I scurried into the woods to vomit at the sight of such a public display of affection which all but ruining the vibe that Wiz Khalifa and I had been working so hard on. Hank came barreling down the street, handed off to me, and I backtracked the 2 miles into the park running against oncoming runners. About 1/4 mile out I passed one the military studs on his way in which put them about 3 minutes behind us after 12 legs. Knowing they had 11 runners to our reckless 7 that were running way faster than we could sustain didn't make me feel warm and fuzzy but we just kept the hammer down as best we could. I handed to LT for leg 13 and started getting my mind right for the night runs coming.
South Carolina back roads are a dark and lonely place when the sun goes down. When you couple that with vans that line the roads shadowing runners and cyclists doing the same it becomes a hot mess. My third leg was 10 miles just after midnight. At the start it looked like a parade with 20 vans lining the road because parking wasn't adequate for the log jam of teams coming through. The race director was clear that cyclists could shadow their runners but in my opinion they were just in the way - at least on this particular leg. It was late and dark but there were plenty of runners and traffic on the course so I thought some teams were doing more harm that good. Anyway, what really matters is that this was a great run for me - a long and fairly flat 10 miles with no turns and plenty of action and one where I was able to rack up 14 kills and maintain a pace just below 7.00. And a 'kill' refers to passing another runner or team. Unless it's Banks and he could be talking about real kills depending on who might have crossed him the wrong way.
One thing that plagued me all weekend was the hand off which I botched nearly every time. This time would be no different but wasn't entirely my fault although that could be argued either way. Just as I hit the 'Exchange Zone' and prepared for my grand entrance into the transition area I gracefully began striding through as if I could do this all day. I continued on in the dead of night without the benefit of streetlamps and looking straight ahead floating into a sea of onlookers giving the Hey Jack! call as if running relays was my job. It was about that time that my graceful stride went horribly awry as I planted my foot firmly into a pothole and rolled across the parking lot. Still about 50 yards out I could hear folks saying 'runner down' and could only imagine what it must have looked like to see a headlamp and LED vest go from running to rolling. I could also hear my 7 year old saying 'man down!' as he likes to say whenever he takes a spill. Short of a few skinned knees and an elbow I fortunately came out of this unscathed.
With no regard for anyone trying to sleep and thrilled that I had made it through 3 of my 5 legs logging 22.5 miles and knowing our team was still hanging on to a pace just north of 7.00 I decided it was time to re-energize this bunch. My sweaty bleeding self set in motion a series of high fives and battle cries that even Muhammad Ali would have been proud of. Of course about 10 minutes into my emotional sleep-deprived and punch-drunk tirade I noticed that one by one everyone in our van began lifting their groggy heads and opening one eye like a bunch of groundhogs looking for their shadow in February. I wasn't too worried about rattling the guys in our van but a few women sleeping in the van parked next to us glared at me like they were about to draw straws to see which one was going to slit my throat.
It is worth noting that in the hour leading up my third leg I got a stern lecture from Hank. It was dark, I was getting stiff, I was hungry, tired, and had 20+ miles left - and apparently I made mention of that....over and over and over. At some point Hank gave me the father to son look and said snap out of it. Actually it really went more like this; Hank puts the heavy brakes on the van points at me and says, "Look m..ef'r, I'm tired of hearing your isht. You are going to go out and run this leg and run it ef'n fast and I don't want to hear another word out of your whiney ass." All said with the utmost affection of course. We have a number of motivational speakers on this team but the motivation generally takes the form of a threat against your life combined with personal attack of your manhood. It's generally effective though.
Now I'm all jacked up with 3 hours to rest, or marinate as some of our crew likes to refer to it, and I'm well over half way finished. Plus I have not one but two Chick-Fil-A chicken biscuits in my not-so-distant future. On paper I have a 7.5 miler left followed by an easy 3.1 to finish as we roll into the Sewee Outpost to get some gas and a snack. I can't even remember my last hot meal but for now Twizzlers will just have to do. After a well spent $3 I would learn that Hank had a 3 lb. stash of Twizzlers under the seat and that Banks is practically a walking convenience store with chips, mini snickers, chocolate covered peanuts, powdered doughnuts, etc. We could have funded our trip by selling half of the junk food we brought although we did devour most of it. And I would be remiss for not mentioning the bag of oatmeal chocolate chip cookies Eric's wife sent for us. Awesome! I think I ate three of them before I ran my first mile - but I did eat them half a cookie at a time is if this somehow slowed down my 2 cookies per hour pace.
As we were loading up Huegerich begins rifling through the cooler
presumably getting us restocked with Gatorade and water for the final
haul. Of course conventional assumptions do not apply to Mark so the
next thirsty runner would have to navigate through 24 cold beers, on top
of course, before finding the lone few waters remaining in the cooler.
And keep in mind it's 4:00 am with 70 miles to go....
My next run would be among the least enjoyable 7.5 miles I've ever run in my life. At this point there were very few teams ahead of us so traffic was very thin and runners were few and far between. The military team was still very much with us as we waited at the exchange zone. They had a tall lanky runner set to go out, imagine me two inches taller, 10 years younger, and with more lean muscle. No I wasn't thrilled with it either. Mark handed me the lead and I was doing everything I could to hang on to it.
This leg was darker than dark. It was 5 something in the morning, no streetlights, no stoplights, and no houselights for that matter. The two lane road was flanked by thick tree cover from both sides which was starting to freak me out. Our team van would pass shortly after I started my run but the convoy of other team vans were no longer in the area. And one thing our team will never be accused of is being in the way by shadowing a teammate. Once the Hey Jack! bus passes you can rest assured that there will be no future wellness checks. The lone exception is if you're running a treacherous stretch of course that might result in walking or bringing a grown man to tears.......then you're likely to run into a van of teammates lined up in beach chairs laughing hysterically and taking pictures for posterity's sake.
There wasn't a runner in sight but I knew there were guys behind me so between having the night terrors and trying to hang on to the lead I was holding a decent pace. My mind began playing tricks on me and with every stride my headlamp created a shadow darting back and forth looking like an animal crossing the road. Sometimes it was a possum, sometimes a cat, sometimes a coyote. The animals started getting bigger, then they turned into zombies, and you get the idea. I started going through the scenario of some douchebag popping out of nowhere with a clown mask on then I began running through episodes of a Search for Bigfoot and that stupid half dog half wolf creature on Discovery. Periodically I would hear dogs barking and the occasional van would pass and eventually I would see one lone runner in the distance. I locked in on the blinking lights and was catching her fairly quickly. I wondered if she was relieved to know another runner was on course or terrified at an LED light chasing her on a desolate road at 6:00 in the morning. As I passed her I expressed my feelings towards that particular leg with a simple, "This sucks." and she replied with a bubbly "Oh, I love it. So much better than my daytime run." I playfully told her that she was out of her mind and to keep up the good work. Then she asked if she could get a piggyback ride to the exchange zone. Runners are awesome like that.
I finally hit the exchange zone and in my mind this was it for me. With 3 miles left I felt like I could run that in my sleep so even though my legs were shot I was feeling pretty good about things. I was over the reflective vest, LED lights, and headlamps and was dead set on a chicken biscuit. Nothing else really mattered at this point because I was at 48+ hours without a hot meal. Some of that was my own undoing though.
We still had a very slim lead but we were all feeling those fast miles early on. And when I reference being in the lead I'm referring to the full-all male teams. The Let Me Run ultra 4 guys would eventually catch and pass us as would a couple mixed teams and another ultra team. Through 27 legs and 160 miles we were hanging onto a 7.12 pace but it was starting to take a toll. Banks calf was swelling and LT was dealing with an unconfirmed and mysterious ailment. Fortunately one notable difference between the BRR and Palmetto is that the Palmetto race does not require runners remain in the same running order throughout the race. The only requirement is that a runner cannot run consecutive legs. This gave us the opportunity to move some things around to put healthy runners on the course and hope for the best. Banks and Mark switched legs in the event Banks calf wouldn't hold out on his scheduled run which was a bit longer. He then went on to run a 7.30 pace on a bad wheel approaching 30 miles for the day which solidified his spot as a shark in a sea of sandbaggers.
LT went on to profess that due to some physical limitations that to this day remain undisclosed he could only offer up an 8.50 pace for his final 6.5 run over the bridge leading up to the last leg. Hank and Ben both had legs of roughly the same distance, Eric actually had two legs remaining and was already running a total of 6 legs and Michael was nursing a bad calf. So as luck would have it that left the bullseye on my 3 leg. The leg I had strategically placed at the end of my day that so that I could mentally plan for 4 legs knowing I could get through 3 miles on muscle memory alone. But without knowing the separation between our team and the guys behind us 8.50's over 6.5 miles with guys that seemingly never get tired chasing us sounded like not such a good idea. Of course LT offered to man up and he would have certainly gutted out something nothing short of spectacular but he seemed to be in a bind so I agreed to the switch. Honestly I knew LT's IT band was flaring up and you could see the swelling in Banks calf so I think every switch made was done so against the will of the runner getting fewer miles.
Shortly thereafter, once I had already committed, I start getting the sales pitch for good measure. And it was being being laid on thick. I'm getting the down low on this 'gorgeous' run over the Cooper River Bridge and the winding through the scenic downtown streets of Charleston like I had just won some lottery to run the glory leg. For a split second I thought this might even be a good idea, then I took one step out of the van on my sea legs, refocused, began dreading this run. I would be handing to Eric who was our closer and would be running his 6 leg. The last thing I wanted to do was lose time and hand Eric a slim lead or even worse, give up our lead and force Eric to chase on his final leg. LT handed me the bracelet and I was off, up the ramp and back to cross the bridge.
It was as this point, about 1 minute into my run that I nixed any notion of running the Cooper River Bridge 10K. Ever. It might be scenic but running straight up a ramp then straight back down while weaving in and out of walkers, baby strollers, picture takers, and dodging cyclists is not my idea of fun. And then there was this guy darting across the highway, weaving through 60 mph traffic, and climbing the barrier between the highway and the walkway. Coming straight at me but oblivious to everything without 4 wheels I realize it was just Terry Johnson from Hickory hopping out for a recreational bridge run and some pictures. If I hadn't been completely caught off guard by the randomness of seeing him on the bridge I could have gotten a great Palmetto selfie.
Now about that whole scenic Charleston part. Running on cobblestone sidewalks during lunchtime traffic pulling in and out of parking places while trying to time the crosswalks just right was a complete disaster. And for all I knew there were guys closing in on me because I was by no means setting a blistering pace. At this point there were more recreational runners than Palmetto runners and I'm sure I looked like an idiot tearing down the street during lunch like a grizzly bear was chasing me. Alright, so I wasn't running that fast but it felt like it. I finally saw that glorious Exchange Zone sign, handed to Eric, and struck the I-want-to-puke pose. I would later learn that LT ran 'my' original leg under a 7.30 pace which was a fantastic final leg pace, especially on a bad knee, but at this point I was completely out of surprised faces.
I managed to muster up a final leg at just under a 7.30 pace which paled in comparison to the 6.50 something Ben dropped on his final 6 miler. Prior to that Eric and Hank started this run cycle with running legs at paces of 7.13 and 7.17. No idea where they mustered those up those paces from but those were some big time runs. After the hand off to Eric we had a 10+ minute lead and at this point if we lose it's all his fault. I'm kidding. No really I am. We all headed to the finish to wait on Eric and celebrate a time much faster than any of us expected.
The finish area was great - a big field near Patriot's Point on a beautiful afternoon. There was a Mexican buffet which seemed like a pretty horrible idea given the storm brewing in my stomach. There was also plenty of draft beer which was another disastrous idea for the same reason so I steered clear of both. Only a few teams had crossed the finish line at this point but there were several teams anxiously awaiting their final runner. Finally we saw Eric rounding the corner and heading to the finish across the grassy knoll. We generally cross the finish line together as do most teams but that extra 100 yards just seemed entirely unnecessary as far as my legs were concerned. And then it was over. A fairly unceremonious end which included a quick picture, several high fives, and since no teams in our division started behind us we knew that we were the first overall all-male full team. Another awesome run had come to an end.
We ended up 5th overall with a time of 25 hours 12 minutes and an average pace of 7.19. The only thing left to do now was collect our pint glass for the division win, check into the hotel, take a scalding hot shower, and get some well deserved sleep since we were all going on about 33 hours without a wink. I literally fell asleep in the parking lot, in the driver seat, with the van running while the guys were checking in to the hotel. Apparently Mark was keeping a watchful eye on me but waking up from a dead slumber behind the wheel of a running cargo van is not a good feeling!
Because we're idiots we skipped the naps for fear we wouldn't wake up to watch the ballgames so we headed straight for post race drinks and fried seafood. Priorities ya know. The seafood was delicious but fried food on a very empty stomach after logging all of those miles was not such a good idea. However topping that off with a trip to Baskin Robbins was one of the greatest ideas hatched on this trip so high-five to Banks on that deal. My only regret was not getting two scoops.
Once again we had a blast as we always do. We didn't sign up expecting to win and we certainly aren't in this for medals or magnets but we all have that burning desire to compete and a genuine appreciation for the opportunity to run together as a team. At the end of the day we're just a bunch of middle aged dudes still grinding and having a good time doing it! Overall this was a great experience and a very well managed event. It was great seeing all of the familiar faces on the course and we'll see you in the fall at the BRR.
Hey Jack!
