Blue Hills Trail Race, July 10, 2005. 7.2 miles
I got an email from the Fiends of Blue Hills asking for volunteers to help out at water-stops for the Blue Hill Trial Race, Sunday July 10th .
This sparked an old memory of my good friend Dave LeBlanc telling me about his travails running this beast of a course years ago. I remembered Dave telling me about the widespread panic and mayhem over the entire distance of the course complete with scenes about lost runners who veered of course never to be seen again. Dave said the course map at the start was vague at best, even the folks with experience around blue hills would have pause to determine the real route while under foot. Apparently the trail was chalked out at the turns but after a few runners passing over the course markers, they were quickly erased leaving the more physically challenged to ponder each intersection as if it were their last. Unmanned water stops replete with little or no cups, simply jugs of Stop N Shop water set out along the trail. It was clear in Dave’s telling, the finish was the most heinous thing in running he’d ever seen. Exhausted runners tumbling down the ski run to the finish with all out abandon. Runners at the finish: nursing cuts, bruises and open wounds. Dave said it was something out of a scene in some World War II movie.
He such a bull-shitter, no way.
With this story in my head, I thought, I got to see this for myself. The email came on Friday night, The race wasn’t until Sunday. So it was quickly forgotten. Then on Saturday night after a particularly hilarious game of Bingo, six rounds, first: “any direction”, then “X” then “L” then a “Box” then “fill the card”, we were standing around a camp fire, kids sitting cross-legged roasting smores, folks started talking about the next days adventures. I told everyone about the trail race and folks recoiled in horror.
Run Blue Hill? Run the Sky Line Trial? “Your lying” someone said. So I told them about Dave’s adventure.
And they were shocked to think people acted that way on their own free will.
I have to share this experience, so I call good friend Dave Malliaros.
“Dave, There’s a race tomorrow…Wanna run it?
“Where?” he says.
“Blue Hill” I reply.
“Huh?” he says. So I tell him in the kindest gentlest words, sugar coating everything.
He’s skeptical, but agrees, sealing his doom.
“Meet me there” I say.
“Where?” Dave says.
“I dunno, drive around and look for runners” I respond.
I tottle off to bed and Sunday morning comes quick. I awoke at 6:30am, donned my running togs and made my way to the start.
But I didn’t have clue were the start was.
I figured I’d drive around Blue Hill till I found the scariest group of people I could find, cause to run this beaut you gotta be nuts.
Dave was at Houghton’s Pond and I saw a few runners loitering in the Parking lot and as we approached, I asked if this was the start of the race.
“Race?” one guy said.
“Yeah, around Blue Hill, on the Sky Line Trail” I say.
With a look like he just swallowed a bug, he replied “never heard of it”.
“Not crazy enough” I thought, got back in the car and headed for the Ski Area.
Turning in, I immediately spotted the crazy people:
Skinny males, naked to the waist with the wimin folk not wearing much more.
Loosening up, stretching, lost in their own little worlds, not saying much, preparing for the onslaught to come.
Dave and I arrive at the registration table. It’s early, an hour till the start, and I jokingly ask: “Is this where we sign up for the 5K fun run?” “Oh sure! race starts in hour, face painting and balloon tying after the race, sign up right here” the women said with a wicked grin on her face.
“My kind of people” I said to myself.
As the start time of 8am approached, folks started streaming in. It turns out that this is only one race in a series of races this year The “Grand Tree 2005” fronted by the Western Mass. Athletic Club. And folks are competing for points. I told a small group about the Grand Pricks Series and some had heard of it, that is when I heard the term “Roadie” and it was not used affectionately either. Like the way some southern cracker uses the “N” word. Dave and I were in the midst of “Trail Runners” and the thought of mere road races was repugnant. I saw more than a few disdainful looks again.
At the start, the race organizer was going over a few last minute details, stuff like “Don’t get lost” “Poison Ivy/Oak”, “Rattle Snakes”, “First Aid”, oh yeah, “Course markings”, “Water Stops” and… “Let’s keep it friendly out there”. That got my attention.
“What?” I said.
“What he say?” I repeat.
“He means no pushing and shoving” answered a grizzled old man next to me.
“Is that really necessary?” I say.
“You’ll See” was the reply.
“What the hell am I getting my self into” I think.
He looks me up and down, thinking to himself “Roadie”.
A few folks around now picking up on the conversation.
“Rocks, mud, blood and bruises” another said. A few laughed with particularly evil leers, Like I was some sacrifice or something.
Creepy.
The day was perfect, cloudless, it had rained Friday night hard and the ground was soft.
With a shout we were off.
The start of the race was straight up the main ski slope and angling over to the right, south to the Accord Path along Route138 to pick up the Sky Line Trail heading east over Blue Hill (elevation 635ft). I was startled by the fact that the front runners angrily pushed and elbowed each other in the launch and seemingly floated up the incline bereft of gravity. I slowly fell in line, last, marveling at the energy given off by the group.
I entered this race on a lark but these folks were all business.
Watching the runners ahead I quickly picked up on the fact that you can only pass in very small areas and when the opportunity presented itself, you had to jump, sprint to exhaustion, then fall in line again. Then see an opening, cut, pass the slower runner, sprint, fall in line again, repeat. Onto Sky Line Trail, essentially a rock outcropping, slick with mud.
Not ¾ of a mile into this and I was found myself getting into it.
Starting out dead last, I quickly shouldered passed a dozen runners and was now finding my main competition. Over Blue and straight down the back side over boulders and rocks and roots, skirting along the south side of Wolcott Hill east to Houghton Hill and even a steeper grade up.
The day was cloudless and heating up fast. Sweating profusely I battled on passing and being passed down to the State Police Barracks and across the road, to a much needed water-stop, onto the Bigby Path. Ahead a runner slows, I shout “follow the arrows”, a sharp right and we’re headed back to the road, this segment of the path is also the return and we screwed up, we quickly get turned around, the guys pissed at me, steams ahead, the path is flat and it’s a “Roadies” terrain, I fly by the guy and put the hammer down quickly passing three more. Bigby Path is little more than a mile and a quarter fire road, I quickly make up time.
Almost running into Route 28, the course turns north onto a short segment of Forest Path and it’s back west on Sky Line Trail, straight up the spine of Buck Hill (elevation 496ft) third tallest next to it’s neighbor Chickatawbut Hill (517ft) further to the east. Buck Hill is when the darkness descends, Half way through the race, this section decimates more than one runner, I dig in and spy fellow Wednesday night runner Jim Pike ahead and begin to reel him in. Suddenly he stops to catch his breath and I make my move passing him quickly to get some distance between us.
Jim recognizes me and quickly sets to the chase.
Popping Out of the trees on Buck Hill reveals a 360 degree view and I pause, Jim seizes the moment and flashes by bounding down the slick rock terrain with abandon. I dig in and give chase, another runner closes in behind me sensing my slowness at the top but I shake him off and literally leap down, over mossy damp rocks pushing off of tree limbs to keep balance to elbow past Jim, whose bent over stopped. We begin the ascent to the top of Tucker Hill, another panoramic view and back down into the forest.
One thing I forgot to mention was the insect life in these parts and their uncanny ability to zone in on shirtless runners in their pursuit for a blood meal. I covered myself in Deep Woods Off, the highest concentration of DEET available and wound up tasting the stuff the whole race, yeccch.
Past Tucker Hill and even further down and back to the return short leg on the Bigby Path, water-stop and across the road to North Sky Line Trail, straight up over broken bare rock to Hancock Hill. A quick look at the view, Jim shoves past and it’s the two of us alone to battle it out. I catch him at a wide spot, with two hands shove him into the bramble and sumac to put on a big sprint ignoring the twisted ankles and filthy muddy hands, body and face from scrambling on all fours over the rain-soaked trails.
I wanted him gone.
Jim sensed my anger and dug in not letting up quickly regaining ground.
Now the trail goes up to Hemenway Hill for a look even further in the distance to the towers atop Blue Hill, Christ! A half mile away! But it seemed like two miles. There was a lot of forest in between. Its hot know, matted in sweat, dirt, and smashed bug bodies, it looked like I’ve spent a week out here.
At this point Jim and I strike a truce figuring our survival depended on it to get us out of here.
We emerge at various points along the trail to startled day hikers, by the looks of their eyes, surely they thought their lives were over, beaten and raped by these two escaped convicts eluding the police by scrambling into the dense forest.
Together we surge past the swamp with most voracious deer fly’s around and onto the ascent of Blue Hill. Now if you have ever walked this part of the trail you’d have a hard time. Jim and I were check to jowl running it. I sensed that Jim was toast and gave a mighty push up catching two exhausted runners near the top, and with a final push, heave past them onto Eliot Circle around the crown of Blue Hill. Then Jim lurches past, evens out and picking up steam leaves me in the dust, nothing left in the tank to respond I wobble on as the two other runners stagger past. West onto the ski trail it’s a mad dash to the finish, Jim bounding down the trail and the two others Dan Sullivan and Scott Turner closing in on him. I quickly glance over my shoulder to see two more guys: Rex Miscovitch and John Loring I passed long ago quickly closing in on me. The f- with that, I Dig in and pick up my knees chest high, arms out beside me and bound down the ski run like the filthy near naked animal I was, arms flailing to keep balance, a sprint to the finish and collapse near an ice bucket holding cold juice packs.
“You want me to pour that on you?” Dave Hodgson- Grand poobah of the Friends of the Blue Hill says.
“Huh” I reply quickly trying to regain some civility and command of the English language.
“No thanks, I’m okay” I respond, picking myself up off the dirt slope in front of the lodge. I look to Dave M. sitting there. “Wuh?” thinking he finished ahead of me.
“I got lost and popped out on Canton Ave.” He says.
“Oh” I say, “Lets get out off here”.
Now, If you find yourself thinking "I want to try this"...Your bleeping nuts! And that's a good thing! So get off the computer and run...Roadie.