Lazy Notes for a Lazy Race...

Somewhere in Hell (a.k.a.: Kansas). PC: Mile90 Photo.

1) I love mountains, but there's a special place in my heart for an endless expanse of prairie. It is, for me, the quintessential American landscape. Only about 4% of the original tallgrass prairie remains today, a majority of it in the Flint Hills of Kansas. So, on the weekend of the 10th anniversary of my first 100 miler, I ventured from the fake Gateway to the West (St. Louis) through the real Gateway to the West (Kansas City) and on down to the tallgrass prairies of the Kansas Flint Hills for the Heartland 100.

2) Heartland 100 is old school. Like, laid back podunk old school. I mean that as a compliment. Compared to most races these days, it's dirt cheap at around $200. There wasn't even a pre-race meeting, you just showed up and checked in an hour before the race as if you were casually popping into a local 5k. And the race packet: 1 bib, 1 set of cheapo bib clips, 1 collapsible cup, 1 prairie/race themed calendar, and the world's cheapest technical long sleeve shirt. Simple. The aid station fare: unremarkable, but sufficient.

3) The course is an out and back that meanders along prairie/ranching roads, almost exclusively gravel, rock, and packed dirt. And while it is Kansas, it isn't "canal style" pancake flat, with around 5,000' of rolling hills, frequently topping out for truly breathtaking views of wide-open expanse. It's one thing to feel isolated and in the wild in the middle of the mountains or a forest, but it's another thing entirely to feel like you're floating, unmoored, on endless miles of open grassland with the sole sign of humanity in sight being the worn-down dirt road you're travelling on.

4) Race day conditions were brutal. Temperatures reached the low-mid 80s. And it's the prairie, so there's literally no shade or shelter from the elements from sun-up to sun-down. And it's October so typical summer training conditions that elicit heat adaptations are long gone. I tried to be proactive, but only snuck in a few sauna sessions before the race, and it most certainly was not enough. A little after 10am, the sun made itself known. I spent about 3 hours trying to slow down, fighting off heat exhaustion. I felt like I was hardly moving. I went from comfortably moving at course record pace (~14:30) for the first 50k to arriving at the turn around in 7:45 -- a 30minute setback in less than 20 miles. For the next few hours, I tolerated the heat better, but the pace remained slow all the way to sun-down. That heat plus exposure was the most exhausting race condition I've ever experienced. I'd honestly say it was worth another 5-7k feet of vert, meaning it likely added 60-90minutes to my finishing time.

5) When I first put Heartland on the calendar, I wanted to take a crack at the course record of ~14:25. But after Hardrock, I didn't put in very good training, and I gained like 10 pounds. So I thought, maybe 15:30. Then I popped my hamstring 3 weeks before race day on a stupid, pointless track workout and I thought, maybe 16:30. Then I had to run in 85 degree punishing sun and I thought, man I'm so slow and I suck so bad.

6) Just as was written, I got to watch the sun go down in a limpid, gold-washed sky and settle into the distant hillside. Though unlike Jim and Antonia, I saw no plough resting against the horizon, heroic in size, a picture writing on the sun. Instead, I was popping a squat, taking care of some business on an unfenced field of tallgrass, admiring the view. Not quite as poetic as Willa Cather had once written, but memorable nonetheless.

7) After sunset, I didn't dare try and pick up the pace, for fear of aggravating my hamstring, so I continued to plod along slowly, walking every little hill. I frequently stopped, turned off my headlamp, and gazed in awe at the stars and soaked in a darkness nearly devoid of light pollution. I contemplated lying down on the ground for awhile, but was a tad afraid of throwing a cramp in my hamstring whenever I'd try to get back up, so, instead, just more standing in darkness.

8) As I approached the final turn onto the paved road back into town, I heard a train, doing its thing, a mile or two away. Then I realized we were heading in the same direction, and a train crossing stood between me and the finish line. I tried picking up the pace while I assessed just where the train was, and quickly realized I'd never make it. I approached the crossing just as the gate arms lit up and lowered. And then I stood there for what felt like 4 minutes, watching the train whiz by in the night. After it passed and the gate arms rose, I casually walked the final 200 yards to the finish. Stupid ass train!

9) My reward for a victory, in 17:15 or so: another buckle, a knockoff super bowl ring to commemorate the 25th anniversary of the race, and a decorative cutting board in the shape of the state of Kansas -- cuz yeah, who doesn't want a cutting board (my 3rd or 4th cutting board running award) to remind them of their greatest regret in life … having been born in Kansas.