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Dances With Dirt 2001 Report(MI): Mary Gorski

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A LONG DAY IN HELL (Michigan, that is)
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Want a fun day in the woods with a bunch of your running buddies?
Then I would highly recommend that you get a team together to do the
100K relay race at Dances With Dirt - a trail (and sometimes
trail-less) run near Ann Arbor, Mich. (September 8). The highlight of
the event for many is a course takes you to Hell and back, and back
again.

For those not in the know, "Hell" is the name of small town about 20
miles west of Ann Arbor - and yes, it was warm!.

Want to do an ultrarun of 50K, 50M or 100K instead?  Well, if the
words "adaptable," "sense of humor," "able to roll with the punches"
and "easy-going" aren't in any casual description of your personality
profile, I might think twice, or even thrice about making Dances your
vacation destination.

Yes, there was the advertised "insane terrain" but no one who read an
entry form or other promo for the race could whine about that.  Over
and over and over race organizers boasted that they had one of the
most challenging trail courses in the country with waist-high stream
crossings, shoe-sucking mud and other natural wonders.  So even if
bushwhacking through a thicket of thorns or trying to find light
green ribbons sitting on light green leaves was getting on your
nerves, you could never say you hadn't been warned.

I have to admit, I was one of the runners who assumed there was more
hype than substance to the  race organizers' claims.  But let me say,
the terrain certainly was "insane."

So the question is - does insanity make for a fun day?

I was signed up for the 50-mile event, along with three friends who
were making their first attempt at the distance.  And before anyone
says, "Why didn't you have them do something like a JFK or Sunmart
for a first race?" let me tell you that they chose the race.  I
merely went along for the ride (and run).  The location was
relatively close to home and the timing was good.  Skiers once the
snow flies, they didn't want to be committed to a late-season race.

So, flashlights in hand, since the sun doesn't rise near Hell until
about 7 a.m., we joined the rest of the 50M and 100K runners for the
6 a.m. start (50K runners started an hour later).  "Where's the
start" I ask the race official.

"Oh, it's around here somewhereS"  I walk around in the dark looking
for a blue flag, the color marking for the first leg of this
multi-colored course.  "HmmmmS" she says, "it should be around here
somewhere."  Then I trip over something.  It's the desired flag - and
one of the easier ones to find during the day.

So we jog off to the woods, babbling with early race enthusiasm,
catching up with running buddies from races past.  Through a field
and onto a nice hiking trail, so far so good.  We easily follow the
trail with our flashlights for about a mile until we see some
flashlights coming back at us.  They belong to the race leaders who
are  saying that they came to a road and there were no ribbons.
Somehow, it seemed that just about the entire group missed the first
turn.  So we jogged back about a half mile to find where we made our
error.  There it was - big blue ribbons directing runners off the
nice hiking trail and into the woods.  How many times did the race
organizer say, "Follow the ribbons, not the person in front of
you!!!"  The goof was our own fault, time to pay attention.

Moods stayed light as we made our way to the first aid station where
a bottleneck of people trying to fill bottles quickly developed.  I
stood in line, waiting to get my own fill.  "Oh well, it's early in
the race - the next aid stations won't be so congested," I thought.
Later, I learned that while the first runners didn't have the masses
of people to deal with, they also didn't have supplies at some of the
early stations because they weren't set up in time for the front
runners.

Another good reason to start out easy I guess.

A few miles of relaxing trails, stream crossings with wooden bridges,
pleasant conversation, and a light rain that kept things cool on a
warm and humid day.  Again, so far, so good.  I figured that my
first-timer buddies, two of whom were  running together, were having
a good time.

And then I got to Hell.  I grabbed some food, filled my bottle and
said hi to my hubby and a friend.  They are nice to chat with, but
this is a race, so after a minute or two it is time to move on.
"Which way do I go?" I ask a volunteer.

"Just follow the flags," he says.  Well, that's great advice, but the
Hell aid station is the connection point of several legs of the race,
each of which has its own color.  I looked around me and saw a
rainbow of colored ribbons waving in various directions.  Dave and
Jimi (hubby and friend) pointed out my direction.  Evidently their
pointing skills came in handy a number of times after that as
confused runners tried to head off in a variety of directions.

"We finally gave our course map to an aid station volunteer because
they didn't have one and didn't know which way to send people," said
Dave.

Details, details.  A table at an aid station is very important, but
sometimes a little race information is helpful too.  Oh well, got to
be flexible, roll with the punches.  Things would be in place for the
50K and relay runners later.

Once you leave Hell the first time, you find some of the first truly
hellish parts of the course.  I've done shoe-sucking mud before, but
never full-body sucking mud.  I took a step down to a river crossing
and found myself sunk to my waist in mud with my foot caught under a
tree root.  It was like being in quick sand, or so I thought, since I
have never actually been in quick sand.  Only slow sand.  So I racked
my brain for some solution to the problem because I genuinely was
stuck.  "Gilligan's Island!" I thought to myself.  Whenever someone
was in quicksand, the Professor told him/her to try to swim out.  I
gave it a try and merely managed to get the rest of myself coated in
mud.  Thankfully, an angel was floating around the trails of Hell in
the form of a fellow competitor.  On better footing, he was able to
reach out and give me a good yank that eventually led to my departure
from the land of mud.

We bumbled through the woods, mud flapping from our shoes.  There
often wasn't much of a trail, or even a course, but as long as you
stayed committed to finding the next ribbon, you generally could find
the intended route, even if it meant weaving your way through thorn
bushes and other seemingly impassable terrain.  But then I came upon
a tree with several people looking around, including some speedy
looking relay runners decked out in racing flats (the primary event
at this race was the 100K relay that began two hours after the 50M
and 100K races).

When I got next to them I realized why they were standing around.  At
the base of the tree was a pile of ribbons - at one time course
markers.  Evidently vandals had taken them down and we hadn't a clue
as to which way we were supposed to be headed.  So, we worked in a
group, fanning out in all directions to find a course marker.  A few
minutes later the joyous strains of "I see one, I see one!!!!" came
from somewhere off in the bushes.  The rest of us weed-wacked our way
through to the sound of the voice until we all were once again on the
course.  Though once the course was found, the speedy relay folks
were quickly out of sight and us putzy little ultra runners were back
to our day-long plodding pace.

A little more mud, a few more scrapes and we were almost back in
Hell.  The town, that is.  But first, a little bit of trail hell once
again.  Our ribbons took us right through a very angry nest of bees
(or some other mean-spirited stinging insect).  OUCH!!!  I got two
stings, a fellow next to me got three. Just another day near Hell.

We popped out on the road and were back in the town of Hell once
again.  But my how the place had changed since we had last been
there!  Instead of a quiet little aid station, there were now
hundreds of relay runners and support staff waiting for their
runners.  It was fun to see people, but where in the Hell was that
table with the water and snacks?  I hear a voice yelling through the
crowds - once again Jimi and Dave came to my rescue and I followed
their voice to the table.  A quick change of shoes, a mouthful of
PB&J and I was ready for the rest of the day.

"What color do I follow now?" I ask a volunteer.

"Look for the flags and ribbons," he said.

Oh Hell, I've been through this before.  I looked at Dave and Jimi,
and they pointed out the color route and where to find it.

The next stop was back where we started - Half Moon Lake.  For those
who had had enough, they could call it a day there and get credit for
50K.  Many of the 50M and 100K starters opted for this option.  My
first-time buddies and I all kept going.  We came for a 50-mile run
and gosh darn it, we were going to do oneS and then some.

Well, for our commitment we were treated to a lot more bushwhacking,
some hills and mud and even another stream crossing.  But I just kept
my focus on those little ribbons hidden between the trees and grass,
keeping in mind that if the trail was good, I must have gone off
course somewhere (and often, that was the case).

But finally, we reach Hell one last time.  For laughs, I ask again,
"which color do I follow now?" And surprise!  Someone actually knew
and told me where to go (people kept telling me to go to Hell all
day, but whenever I got there, it seemed that no one ever knew the
way I needed to go to get out!).

So I followed that final pink trail of ribbons to the end, only to
panic when I was in eyesight of the finish because the pink ribbons
came to an end before the race did.  "Just follow the orange - they
ran out of pink" I heard someone yell.  And so I did, and so I
finished.  And so did my three first-timer buddies.  The fastest was
ahead of me, and probably ran about 100K instead of 50 miles since he
got lost so many times.  The other two were a ways behind but had
plenty of time to spare and had generally stayed on the course.
Evidently the slower one took it, the fewer times one got lost.

Creativity was quietly encouraged in the race.  I don't think any two
people ran the same course.  Some of the top finishers missed aid
station check points but officials decided that they had been gone
long enough between points that they must have run a sufficient
number of miles. Finishers came from a variety of directions - coming
to the finish line from the route marked on the course map didn't
seem to be imperative.

If you are a stickler for details, this might not be the race for you.

So, back to the original question:  does insanity make for a fun day?
Well, if you were a relay racer, you probably had a hell of a time.
There was a lot of laughing and hooting and hollering whenever I came
near a checkpoint for the relays.  They obviously found insanity to
be fun.

As for the ultrarunners, it depends on whom you talk to.  What might
have made one person mad as hell during the race began to fade as the
satisfaction of the finish set in.  Some were simply happy to have
completed a distance they never thought possible for their little
feet.  Others were content to no longer be stuck in the mud

For me, it was a challenging day in Hell (my legs look like a Rand
McNally road map with big red scratches crisscrossing from one end to
the other as a remembrance of the bushwhacking), but I was still a
happy finisher and actually won some lovely parting gifts.

Insane terrain can be fun but it's not for everyone.

Happy Trails!
Mary

PS:  If interested, results are to be posted at: http://www.danceswithdirt.com
--
Mary Gorski
Milwaukee, Wisconsin
mgorski@execpc.com