YAWNIN' WITH THE PACK
Yaaaawn. I did not go into this Saturday's marathon well-rested. Relationship struggles allowed me less than eight hours' sleep over the previous two days—and a couple of those hours came during some nine hours of flying.
5:20 a.m. About two dozen of us set out from Marysville. We'll work our way down from 5400 ft. to Helena at about 4200 ft. Temps in about the high 30's. The first six miles on dirt roads provide constant gorgeous forest views. |
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We turn right onto Lincoln Road for maybe a half-mile stretch on pavement to the Silver City Bar. There we take another dirt road two miles out and then back. Most of the pack (about 155 total) will also come out this way before I finish this segment and cross Lincoln onto Birdseye Road. This rural highway comprises the next ten miles or so.
Temps have eased up into the low 50's. The second half, still net downhill, will throw in a few mostly short rolling hills, especially in the next three miles. One in particular requires shifting way back and finding a new sub-woofer low gear. After another substantial hill a skateboarder could coast down maybe the next seven miles almost nonstop, with only a couple of areas needing a little propulsion. The miles slip past. Excellent conditions, IMAX-worthy scenery, I'm into it and yet yyyahhaawwnn I still get sluggish occasionally. |
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The remaining 10K has two contrasting personalities. The first half giveth generously: a 1.6 mile straightway coasting gently downhill, parallel to the railroad. After the road turns right and passes Fort Harrison it continues to giveth. Then a left turn onto Country Club drive giveth a little more before it flatteneth outeth. Finally I face only the second half's "taketh away" section. The increase totals maybe a couple of hundred feet of gain over three miles and most of that comes packed into two or three brief gruntworthy patches. Stay awake, stay awake.
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The last hundred yards or so even include a very slight downhill—a nice element of course design for those who, unlike me, have anything left for a kick. Fatigue has slowed me; I haven't mustered, nor even ketchuped, the resolve to jog any since entering the city limits. Frankly I'm proud that I didn't sleepwalk any of it. The finish tent offers one treat not typically found at the end of a marathon: beef jerky. You go, Montana. |
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