The event's official site can be found HERE.
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| Despite the course, the surroundings were beautiful. |
This will be an extra-brief race brief, but a necessary one, for those considering this event in the future. But first, let me start out by saying that, yes, I despise mud runs (and obstacle runs, and themed runs -- as they are most often developed by for-profit companies rather than not-for-profit charities -- but besides that I just don't like them). And yes, this wasn't technically supposed to be a mud run. And of course, the event was well-organized in all other aspects other than the course, the coordinators were awesome, and the volunteers were uber-nice. And, without a doubt, I do not regret going to this event, and would even (maybe) attend again in the future.
Okay...now that I got those caveats out in the clear -- this run was quite miserable.
Let's start, first with an early preview of the rough estimate of the race route. Make no mistake: a preview is helpful 99.9% of the time. For this event, it was not. At all.
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| The race route, though the corn maze (northwestern corner of the route) varied quite a bit. |
The route seemingly ran along trails made way by even organizers, utilizing the unused quartiles of a pumpkin farm, as well as the outer perimeters of said farmland, and of course their corn maze. Not a bad use of farmland, I must say. This was going to be awesome. The only if was the corn maze, which didn't have a specific route layout ahead of time, and was just characterized by a basic run across where the maze would be -- no switchbacks or anything.
Next, let's check out the race-week email and athlete guide, warning of the potential of rain, and noting that the course can get muddy if it rains within a couple of days of the race. Noted. No problemo. I'm wearing my trail runners anyways.
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| Via the athlete guide, A bit of a disclaimer about the possibility of mud on the course. |
Finally, let's check out the weekend that came two days out -- it speaks for itself.
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| Even with the email, nothing could've prepared. |
Dually noted. This may get messy. I'll bring a towel and a change of clothes (which I normally do anyways).
In the 24 hours prior to race day, I checked out grassy areas all around, assessing for the possible damage that I might encounter. The grounds, parched as they usually are after a long summer, were draining well. Sure, there were some puddles here and there, and some mud in the occasional ditch. Hell, I even ran off-road the morning of, being sure to check out even the deepest of ditches for what was to come.
Nothing could have prepared. Nothing, I say.
The first quarter mile started as expected, over the same terrain I'd warmed up on no more than 30 minutes before the start line. From time to time, namely in potholes and in shaded areas (like around the bases of trees), I kicked up a bit of mud, but nothing to really stress over -- after all it did rain in the days previous, and I came prepared and expected a bit of messy.
Then came the Southern edge of the farm, completely shaded by overhanging trees, still desperately clinging on to their orange-, yellow-, and red-shaded foliage. Along the edges of the farmlands' plots the ground sat, devoid of all plant life, lower than the farmland itself. The combination of all of this meant three things: significant runoff, no plant roots, and zero chance of evaporation. The result was mud, fresh and several inches deep, some areas with near an inch of still-standing and stagnant water from the rain showers that had ceased well over a day ago.
When it comes to running on mud, you can step only so lightly. You can use your shoes' toes only so much. One misstep and splat. Not a hundred feet in to this muddied section of "trail" and my left shoe disappeared, without warning of a loosening shoestring or otherwise. I hopped on one foot back to the hole in the mud where, presumably, it'd vanished. Luckily, the trim on my trail runners are bright orange, and "luckily," they feature a loop at the heel. I grabbed at the loop and tugged, and it slipped. I hopped back, tugged again with my body weight in aide, and the loop snapped. I fell, full-weighted in to the ground. So much for hopping on one foot. I got up, stepped with exposed feet back to my shoe -- water and mud and muddy water saturating my left sock and pouring in to my right shoe -- and shoveled the ground up around my shoe with both hands. Shoe untied, I slipped it on, my toes pressing against a bolus of mud at tip of its interior. Shoe on, tied back up, I pressed on. Mud is slippery, and though that was the extend of full-body slippage, twice over my shoes came untied in the following meters. Overall, I'd lost just over two minutes.
With a false sense of mercy, the route turned North in to the barren pumpkin fields (I hadn't reached mile marker 1 yet, by the way). The early assumption was that these would be lined with homemade trails; alas, they weren't. We were running through the center of a crop field -- divots, potholes, lumps, bumps, old crops, and all. Runners were stumbling and tripping a fair bit, otherwise using all their might to stay vertical. Past one mile, we turned back south through the same field, and back in to the mud once more.
Along the Eastern edge of the farms lay the same gutters, but somewhat more exposed to sunlight, which meant only mud and no more standing water. The mud was dense enough at that point to successfully run across, albeit still a dirty job. The same went for the Northern edge of the fields.
Then a turn back south through, this time, currently-used pumpkin fields, with participants running in the ruts between the lines of pumpkins. Still uneven, still dirty. However, somehow, the run seemed faster at this point. My second mile clocked an 8:00/mi, despite a heart rate average well in to the 170's and 180's. I started to think about the massive numbers of muscle groups that had to be active to stay upright, and how much extra energy this run required, despite the 2-minute-per-mile slower speeds.
Nearing the corn maze, I started to count off the number of runners that lay ahead of me -- a tactic I usually employ well before mile marker 1. I counted 9, putting me in 10th. 9th place ("P9") was well ahead, running about the same pace as me. I gave a few hard surges, resulting in zero extra speed. With the uneven terrain and conditions, it seemed smoothness rather than power resulted in speed. For me, that would mean settling for around 8:00/mi paces. P11 was well off in the distance behind me. Looks like 10th place is where it'd be.
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| Of the many attractions available at the farm. |
My first thought as soon as I crossed, unexpectedly, was "that was fun." What!?? That was tortuous. Insane. A legal liability, even! "What a great challenge." And that's why. A solid portion of the non-competitive runners and walkers were already lounging around the finish line, having turned around at "the mud pit" insanity in mile 1. Many were complaining, a few were laughing. With time, more of the complaints turned to smiles, laughs and reminisces of "remember that part when..." Overall, most people seemed to react similarly than I: mid-run, this run was ridiculous. Post-finish, what a blast, muddy shoes and all. What a great story to tell. What a great challenge!
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| The shoes are actually post-rinse. Yikes. |
And with that, all participants would hang around to enjoy the awesome surroundings of the Johnson Family Farm, fresh cider in hand, well-earned finisher's medal around the neck, and proudly-picked pumpkin on display. And that's how I will remember it. Sure, those considering it in the future should heed caution, but most will end up the same: reminiscing of the frantic craziness, odd fun, and bizarre challenge that was the Great Pumpkin Run 5k.
Keep R/B/S-ing.
-tds
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_-/<,_
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P.S. - I cannot stress enough, a huge thank-you to the organizers and volunteers of this run. Even with the crazy of the course, the event was an absolute blast. I really do hope the event continues to grow in popularity.
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