WEST VIRGINIA DOWN; 47 STATES TO GO!

Yesterday, I completed the Hatfield-McCoy Marathon. The heat, the high humidity, and the hills conspired together to ensure this would be no personal record day.

I had checked weather forecasts for Goody, KY & Williamson, WV on my iPhone using the WeatherBug Elite application. It predicted temperatures in the mid-60s for the start of the race, climbing to the low-70s by race's end (at least the end for me). When the starting gun sounded, the temperature was already at 71 degrees. By the time I finished, five hours and fifty-six minutes later, the temperature had climbed to over 79 degrees and humidity was at 100% in nearby Pikeville, KY, according to wunderground.com.

The course's major hill occurs from about the six and eight mile marker and is known as "Blackberry Hill". Blackberry? Sounds painful for an iPhone advocate! I can unequivocally say "The Blackberry experience is a miserable one". There were also other, smaller hills along the way. The last one, occurred around mile 22 or 23, was, in some ways, worse than Blackberry Hill. It wasn't as long and it wasn't as steep, but the temperature was higher and the fatigue factor was much greater.

I ran with my buddy Carol, whom I'd met at the R.U.T.S. in Paducah, KY. We started out doing a Jeff Galloway-style interval technique, consisting of running two minutes and walking one minute. As the mile markers rose into the upper teens, it became obvious that, at our current rate, a sub-six hour finishing time wouldn't happen. At the twenty-mile marker, there was 10km left and only an hour and fifteen minutes remaining before the six-hour hour. I decided to use up what I had left. I'd either make it sub-six or crash 'n' burn along the way. Since my best 10km time is only about one hour and three minutes, it seemed like a Herculean task twenty miles into the race. I remained doing the 2 minute run/1 minute walk until mile marker 25, where I ignored my interval timer and just ran. I was hoping for better than 5:56:05 when I crossed the finish line, but I was relieved when it wasn't higher.

The race director, David Hatfield, did a fantastic job. At Friday night's pasta dinner, his monologuing, with his folksy humor, were my favorite part of the race. With the exception of one area, the race organization was top-notch. After the finish, you get your medal (a nice one) and, after your finishing position is posted, you can go to a table to pick up a finisher's award. It consisted of a metal plaque with the race logo and your finishing position engraved on it, attached to a block of wood, stuck down in a Mason jar. It was beautiful, clever, and creative ... quite the conversation piece. The problem? When I went to the table to retrieve mine, it had apparently been given to someone else. The ladies working the table seemed unsympathetic to my plight. After several minutes had passed, it became obvious that no quick-fix was to be forthcoming. I realize they can't pull one out of thin air, but there should have been an offer to make it right. I would have settled for an uncustomized one, without my finishing position (nothing to brag about anyway) or an offer to mail me one. An inauspicious ending to an otherwise great race.