Medoc Spring Race review

 

   I went into this race knowing three things: 

1.  I wasn't ready for it. I had been out of training for weeks and realized it the week before at a local 5k.
2.  The course was going to be muddy from the heavy rains for the past couple of days.
3. It was an age / gender graded race. 

   Out of these three, the third was the only one I really didn't know what to expect out of. This race is modeled after the Dipsea race in California, which just happens to be the oldest trail race in the Nation. They have a formula based on age, gender, predicted race pace and then rank you accordingly to make you "equal," with the first one coming across the line being the winner. In the case of Medoc Spring races, the first 50 to cross the line are given a hat with their ranking number on the back.

Medoc Spring formula for corral placement

   Not sure of what to expect, but unwilling to not give my ego a chance at glory, I hopped in the car early morning and headed back to the mountain that started it all for me. I arrived to a virtual sea of Boston marathon jackets, overall winners and record course record setters. (Including the national trail champion and the fastest overall runner of the Dipsea race for the past two years, both of whom happened to be in the last corral with me.)

   I went to go pick up my bib and race chip, and got an extra surprise. Both our corral and age were going to be sharpied on our calves. The purpose of this, according to the race director, was two-fold. One, we would be better organized for the start of the race, since this wasn't your normal hit the line and go race. Two, it allowed runners to see exactly which group of people were passing them on the trails. 

   I still felt confident in my I-haven't-done-a-training-run-in-two-months style as I met with friends, made jokes and went for my warmup run. I still felt good when the first wave (which consisted of one 72 year old woman) took off thirty minutes in front of me. After 10 more minutes and a few more waves, I began to feel a little more uneasy. By the time we were two waves away from starting I felt as if I had given up coffee cold turkey two weeks ago. My body alternating between hot and cold sweats, nervously making bad jokes, and restless eyes flitting back and forth in their sockets looking for a way out of the situation I had gotten myself into. 

I just want to win a hat...

   And suddenly we were standing there. I looked above me and saw the inflated ballon with the Spring logo on it, to my right was the large race clock that had been started with the release of the first wave. And to my left, if the race records are any indicators, were standing  some of the fastest runners on the continent. (Easily in the top 50, I'm sure.) Just as I was about to curse my own name for registering for this race the voice of Michael Forrester, race director, cut through my thoughts and broke me from my trance. He was thanking us (the last group) for showing up when we didn't have to, and wishing us a good race. 

   Suddenly, while I was still thinking about toeing the line, the elites who had been beside me were off and running in front of me. Trying to shift gears as quickly as possible I burst forward and set my sights on the one just ahead of me. I chased the pack as they took off down the road and seamlessly, like a school of fish changing direction, hooked a tight left turn all together on the trails. Within what felt like seconds we had caught of the slower runners who had set out before us. A good sign, maybe? I wasn't sure how good it really could be as the rest of the group began to pull away from me and separate themselves. 

   Before long we had hit the first mile marker, but I hadn't passed as many as I had hoped. The two advantages I had were that I had been able to see exactly how many people were ahead of in the entire race, and that as I came up behind them I was able to see their corral letter, giving me an idea of where I sat in the race. Up, down, and around bends we went, trying to chase down runners who we knew were ahead of us, even if we couldn't see them. Up came the mile two marker and I crept up on a couple of friends, encouraging them as I ran past. Very courteously, two other runners from the last corral encouraged me as they passed by. I wished them well on their race, knowing that I was going to be fading soon.

Corral Z bears down on the first photographer on the trail

 

 

 

 

 

 

   
   I came upon the mile three marker having encountered hills, stairs, roots and rocks, but sadly, not that many other runners. For a while after the two other from corral Z had passed me I continued to keep them in eye sight, but by mile 3 I had all but lost them. In chasing them down, I found a curious thing happen. Almost every runner who I cam up quickly behind would do one of two things: They would either a) Realize that someone was behind them and shift gears to prevent being caught. (Note: it is extremely hard to pass someone who has a lead on you in a normal race, this one is excessively hard and on occasion, demoralizing.) 

Or,  (and this happened on quite a few occasions) they would:  b) stop, move to the side, and allow the faster runner to pass. I was blown away with just how many people did this. There was no animosity or even an attempt at running as you went by. There was however, typically a cheer to "Go get 'em!" or "Looking strong!" as I and other runners went by. And while I can honestly say that I appreciated the lies and the turning of a blind eye to the sheer distance / speed of the runner in front of me, there was definitely more than once where this stop and slide over maneuver was premature and I found myself thanking them on the outside while trying to suck in enough oxygen to sprint by. (I was OK with just drafting, really!) I found myself pulling the same maneuver during the last mile or so of the race, allowing another runner to slide by.

   
   So what caused so many runners to give up the lead in a race where the lead was all that mattered? There was no age awards, or even gender awards. It was simply top 50, do or die. I think that answer lies in the fact that this is an inaugural race, and that most who came knew of the Medoc trail races that occur every October. Even though the only races are miles apart in what they are, it was largely the same people attending. Perhaps Medoc jacked Frosty the snowman's hat with some of that old Medoc magic in it. After all, was there not an after party? Were there not congratulations all around and didn't the biggest cheers not only go to the top 50, but to the last two who crossed the finish line hours later? I'm not sure what causes this place to be so great. Maybe its the mountain. Maybe the race directors. Maybe the people who come and run here have done so much that some of that good feeling has soaked into the rocks. Maybe its the super talented blog writers out there who keep making references to this place. Maybe it's a combination of all these things. Who knows for sure.

My money is on the 'doc

   One thing I do know for sure is that the Medoc spring races is a 5k. Yes, I'm aware that it's seven miles and some change long, but it's a 5k.  The thing is, after a few years of this running stuff, I think I've come up with an adequate definition of a 5k by combining multiple theories and statements. 5K: A race in which one runs fast and hard enough to feel as though you are going to stroke out / have a heart attack. You make promises you won't keep, get angry at yourself, and eat and drink like you ran Western States. You swear you'll never run the distance / course again.
  
   And yet, we all keep showing back up to those 5k's don't we? Not only that particular course, but others. Always hoping to hit that magical next goal number, be it placement or clock time. So, perhaps the definition should be amended to include the fact that as much as we might hate it while we're doing it, (and perhaps even a day or two afterwards) we ARE going to show back up. If you're reading this and you don't think so, be you beginner or veteran, I challenge you. How many of those "5k" races have you said that, and then gone back the very next year? Exactly. 

Must. Get. Hat.

So while the Medoc Spring Races might be a "5K," I'll definitely be back next year. After all, what other race offers a marathoner friendly toilet and a sword as prizes? (You read it right.)  Besides that, they plan on taking a finishers picture every year. How great will it be to be immortalized in the early pictures of a race and be able to go back and point yourself out as one of the top 50? Since I didn't place this past year, I'm not sure. BUT, I'm betting it feels pretty good. I'll let you know in 2014.


   As always, thanks for reading! Can't wait to see everyone on the trails and roads!

I'll be here next year. After all, the only thing I like more than taking pictures of myself is when other people take pictures of me.