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Dances with Dirt 50 Miler

Hell Michigan
9/6/08

The Start & Pre-race Rituals
Constellation Orion and his two dogs, the brothers Canis, stopped their eternal battle with Taurus the bull to stare down at pre-race antics from a clear and crisp dark Eastern sky. The uber-cool music of Jack Johnson serenading hundreds of head-lamped-humans waiting in lines to use the port-a-potties, disturbed their otherwise docile battle in the stars. The 2008 Dances with Dirt ultra marathon was percolating.

Staring up at the perpetual melee before the early autumn sunrise, something else dawned on me, ripping me from my celestial wander..A cup of 5am Foldgers has peppered my large intestine telling my body the carb caches are full and the by-products need to be exorcized. Port-a-potties and headlamps are simply a good time.

The starting line had a festival-type of feel unlike that of a typical cement road-race. The only thing missing from this field party was a keg of beer and a jacked-up 4x4. People were milling around smiling, laughing, making light of the ultra-endeavor they are about to broach. It was as casual as a jean-day in some corporate setting.

In a culture where words like crazy, freak, idiot, and/or just plain stupid are taken as words of grand complementary stature, I felt right at home toeing the line. The gun went off at 6:15am, releasing two hundred or so crazy fools. Yes, I am proud to say I was/am one of them.

Section A: Awakening (4.75miles)
The sweat pouring off Orion had soaked the grass along the lake and my immediate concern was that my feet might get a little wet before we even hit the trail (after Styx I will retract this memory and never admit to it).

The trail was marked with white blazes, glow sticks, and the occasional blinking red light. There was almost a spooky, Sleepy Hallow, type of vibe along the trail. Looking ahead I witnessed the trail consuming the frontrunners as the distance between headlamps increased. Chasing the front-pack, was a string of Christmas lights slithering through Icabod's domain.

Running with a headlamp is always a joy. The rocks, roots, and little drop-offs are always camouflaged. The result is usually a trip and fall. Over the years a technique of dropping the shoulder and doing a basic combat roll has been the automatic response.

Section B: Limbo (3.70miles>8.45)
The trail meandered through flirting with the established dirt roads until finally dumping onto Monks road. The light fog was lifting, reveling pristine country living

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