Reflections of the 2011 AD 30

Well, It's been about a month since the 2nd running of AD30.

I've been reflecting, and thinking, and wondering. One question I can't seem to answer is:
How in the living hell did that many people finish?

The river running right off the bat should have been a blow to the psyche.
The half mile uphill to Conant Road shortly after.
The 1 million mile uphill to the Nordic Heritage Center should have sent everyone home to lay in the fetal position for the next week.

Hell Hour should have been the nail in the coffin.
If this is so, why did 6 people make it as far as Mojo, at mile 22?
And why in the hell did 5 finish?
WHY?

When I think of this, I shed a tear, and then laugh a little.
The days before the event saw lots of nervous new Dirties, shaking in their britches, demanding that we be nicer, or else no one will do our event in future years. From 2011's finisher rate, there must have been TMBs secretly handing out milk and cookies when Kate and I weren't looking.

Whereas I know this isn't so, this is my conclusion.
Aroostook County, go to Tim Hortons. Go to Walmart.
You are no stranger to being out and about, and seeing athletic types milling around, maybe even clad in MWSC gear, or high school varsity jackets. Maybe even international professional athletes. These are not the tough guys.
Nope. Sorry. Not as long as there are these sick, tough-as-the-nail-they-won-Dirties around.

There's only 5 of them in the County. 2 more in Southern Maine. 7 total. I am telling you right now, these are the toughest people you know. The stuff we put them through was just barbaric.
No strapping young 20 year old men here. No rail thin runner chicks in this group.
We're talking women built like brick shithouses, who can do pushups and squats and burpees all day, and then laugh it off and run 30 miles. Dudes older than 50, hardened by a life of fitness exploits.

In case you haven't been following the Facebook page, the 2012 Apocalypse Edition is set for September 22nd, and is going to suck worse than any other one before it.
And if this pissed you off because you think you are tougher than Michelle Roy, Kyle Washington, Gary Allen, Brent Jepson, Barb Hrubesh, Amy Poland, and Susan Plissey, good.

Submit your letter of intent to kalepoland@yahoo.com and prove us wrong.

Dirty Deeds Run Dirt Cheap, PART 4, by Gary Allen

FOR PART 3 CLICK HERE
FOR PART 2 CLICK HERE
FOR PART 1 CLICK HERE

Dirty Deeds Run Dirt Cheap
The Aroostook Dirty 30
by Gary Allen

Part 4.

Most races go something like this. The faster runners get a lead and eventually they do one of two things, they either win or they don't. The Aroostook Dirty Thirty is a little different. By now Susan and I had become close. Not close like kissy face close, but the inseparable closeness that only athletes get when they are working hard and working together. We didn't say much, and didn't need to, but you could feel it in the air. We were leading and every step was getting us closer to our destination, the finish line. Suddenly, there they are again the TMBs. One who I would later learn is Boyd ordered us to stop and he started screaming at us, DOOOOO IT NOW! Get on the effin ground you dirties! You see the TMBs didn't seem to like it that we were the race leaders and that we seemed to be having fun, so they exacted their wrath on us. I quickly deducted that Boyd either drinks too much coffee or he is just super hyper. He had us sprinting in place...HIGH KNEES, DOOOO IT FASTER! Drop to the ground. COME-ON! Up down, Up down...hey, wait a minute I'm not a yo-yo but this guy seemed like he might be!

He shouted with the force of a boot camp drill instructor. I wondered was he one? ( I would later learn he is US Border Patrol. Remind me to not try and sneak into the USA!) I'd pay to see Boyd terrorize some border jumping Al Qaeda dudes with his extreme Jane Fonda workout. They'd go invade someone else pretty darned quick.

This however, was war on race leaders. It was time to jack in some more bullets into our physiological shotguns. Susan and I didn't say it but we knew what we had to do. If we made this crazy person seem like he was hurting us it would likely only give him impetus to hurt us more. In the middle of one nutty exercise. I shouted, DOUBLE TIME! Boyd looked me square in the eye and screamed back, DOUBLE TIME? DOUBLE TIME! NOW! in his best Marine Corps rebel yell.


They held us there maybe 20 minutes into the following pack caught us and then we were allowed to run on. We had maybe gone only 2 or more 3 miles when we were stopped again by Boyd and his happy band of dominatrixes. (They were on bicycles) This time they stopped us near a wooden bridge where an old car tire laid in the mud. It didn't have a steel rim, just the worn out tread of many miles covered. I wonder how a old tires get out in the woods? Do kids who are making out get a lot of flats? Anyway, the TMBs made Susan and I play catch with the tire. Not catch like we were gently tossing an egg but catch like we were throwing heat in Fenway Park. Every time we made a successful reception they made us step back. Now, throwing a car tire hard at a pretty girl goes against every basic instinct in my body. The tire would loft toward her and she'd hook her bare arm thru the center and somehow stop it's momentum. I could see her arm getting red whelts from the repeated abuse.

We made about a dozen successful catches then pretty boy Boyd shouted, THE FIRST TO DROP IT IS OUT, wait, they way he said OUUTT sounded like Hedi Klum sending a wanna be designer packing on Project Runway? Cool! Reality shows are all the rage. Suddenly this event felt quite real. I dropped the tire with a failed but valiant diving effort to save it. Boyd suddenly was hovering over me and quickly had me doing leg raises, SIX INCHES! he shouted, meaning he wanted me, laying there in mud, to hold my legs out in front of me, exactly a half a foot off the ground. I have the tightest hamstrings on any living homosapien. If archeologists ever find my bones, as I did Bullwinkle's. They'll probably say this one clearly suffered much abuse over his lifetime. What they will never know it that I loved all of it! You see, I can't really straighten my legs as they just don't bend that way. My legs are always cocked into a grasshopper like ready to spring running position. Boyd didn't seem to enjoy my best effort at leg raises and yelled even louder, YOU CALL THAT 6 INCHES! he bellowed.

Suddenly the storm ended almost as quickly as it began and Susan and I were allowed to run. Thank God! What a freak. After a few miles Boyd showed up again and asked us to sing and started asking us a battery of questions as we ran. I quickly figured out he was trying to befriend us so he could then further destroy us and hopefully cause our exit from this event. The TMBs don't really want participants to finish and if they do they want to make damn sure you earned it.

Susan and I turned right and suddenly we were on pavement. I wondered what the passing motorists thought of a spartan and an an attractive woman both covered all in mud running down the road so early in the morning? The paved road felt good under foot. It was a happy time to place your foot and know it would stay exactly where you placed it. Susan and I ran along with an upbeat bounce in our step. I could feel the pace pick up. Kale drove past and gave us a thumbs up and traded directions with Susan who seemed to know where to go next. The road pitched up and we climbed in silence. I had met Susan once briefly at a July 4th Relay event held on Mount Desert Island. This event also encourages costumes and fun. Her team was the Maine Road Hags and mine was Crow Athletics. I wore a rock star outfit that I had used in an all night 200 mile team relay from Woodstock NY to NYC (Yes, that Woodstock!) My get-up featured plenty of black eyeliner. Susan wore a sheer skirt. We got along perfectly and climbed the long grade ahead not worrying about what might be waiting for us at the top.

Dirty Deeds Run Dirt Cheap, PART 3, by Gary Allen

FOR PART 1 CLICK HERE
FOR PART 2 CLICK HERE
Dirty Deeds Run Dirt Cheap
The Aroostook Dirty 30
by Gary Allen

Part 3.

The punishment ended almost as quickly as it began. The dungeon masters
who made us do burpees and whooping crane and whatever else all that
contortionist crap was, seemed satisfied to send us on our merry ways
without so much as a good job. I tend to talk when I run and the four
letter words were flowing faster than the slow moving waters of the
Aroostook River. It was getting light now and and I could finally see,
which was a plus! The three of us quickly became two as Keegan got
quiet and then faded. Funny how when a runner gets quiet it is sure
sign that the end is near. Perhaps this is why I talk almost non-stop
when I run, perhaps because I know that if I get quiet I too will go
over the edge? I wonder, did I learn this or is this some kind of hard
wired, built-in basic survival instinct? I also wonder, if I do this
involuntarily then perhaps I also do so as a sign to others around me
that I am fine even when I'm not? It even could make them fade and me
not, was I actually born to run?! Who knows? Who in heck cares! I just
love to run! My thoughts are certainly no deeper than the shallow, slow moving,
brownish river located just to my left.

I can feel my right arm pumping up from carrying the 7lb Moose femur.
My secret plan that I hatched to carry it for all 30 miles starts to
fade. My dark maroon toga outfit is surprisingly comfortable to run in.
I love the off the shoulder feel. I wonder, do I look fat in this
dress? Does it make by butt look big?

I take a look at my right arm (the one carrying the femur) and yes, I
can see more veins popping than a Fort Fairfield Junkie (a nearby town,
that I know nothing about , but it goes well in my race report . I
have no idea if they have any junkies there or not?)

I reluctantly toss the bone by a Stop sign just as we cross our first
paved road. I placed it there like a dog who hides a bone fully
intending to go back and find it to take it home with me. I never did
go back but unless they have really big squirrels or that cougar gets
loose it should be there next year. Susan seems nice and we run along
thru woods and past potato fields with a nice rhythm suddenly a freak in mask
rockets up besides us and orders us to the ground. Now Bear crawl over there and back she
orders! Ican't see her face but her shoulders make me obey without further
comment. Now plank! Now up! Down! Crawl! What a bitch I think, but at
the same time I love everything about this event including being
treated like absolute garbage. It is nice change as races today all
coddle their participants. Gu stations, Cheerleaders, Music, Shirts,
Medals, 3 Flavors or energy drinks, Massage tables, Mylar blankets and
even an app that will call home and alert mommy to how you are doing.
None of this was found at this event and I hope it never is.

Susan is a total riot and she and I hit it off and quickly build an
alliance, we decide to act like we are hurting more than we are so the TMBs will
think we're more dead then we are and they might even leave us alone.
We also deduct that if they are trying to mess with our heads then we can
mess with theirs, kind of reverse physiological warfare. I think of the
Survivor the TV show that challenges people to outwit, outlast and
outplay each other. I once sent in an audition tape for the show back
when it first came on TV. I tell myself the only reason they never
called me back is because they damn well knew I would I have won or
maybe it as because I used Martha Stewart to introduce me on the video
tape? Martha and I go way back (really) boy would she love this event!

"Today, we're up in Aroostook County, Maine and we're going to paint
some houses some quite lovely and different shades of pastel and its VERY good
thing!" I can hear her now.

(Wait, she has been up here, I actually saw some houses she must have painted!)

to be continued..

Dirty Deeds Run Dirt Cheap, PART 2, by Gary Allen

FOR PART 1, CLICK HERE
Dirty Deeds Run Dirt Cheap
The Aroostook Dirty 30
by Gary Allen


Part 2.

Reaching for the car door handle the thought suddenly crosses my mind
to just drive away. I figure nobody would even know I was here and I
can quietly go back to where I came from, instead I open the door with
a sure click. I am approached out of the darkness by a tall lean
figure and correctly deduct this must be the race founder and director,
Kale Poland. He greets me with a smile and a firm handshake. I meet
another female competitor who asks me if I know Kale and I say I do
not, I mention that I only learned of this event sometime in the summer
and it sounded kinda fun. (I think I heard her sigh softly) I thought,
does this mean it isn't fun? (Men always try to read things into the
little noises women make.) She explained that Kale had once done a quad or
a quint IRONMAN, just for the fun of it. I asked for a further
explanation, cause what I thought this meant surely must be different?
She confirmed that Yes, Kale had once swum 2.5 miles, biked 110 and
then had run a marathon for 4 or 5 consecutive days JUST FOR FUN!

This news re-engaged my basic flight or fight instincts and I almost
went with choice number one and got to hell out of here. This event
surely was way out of my league, thinking I am 54 years old and a
marathon runner and there is nothing much more extraordinary about me,
plus I can't swim very far, and although as the saying goes it's like
riding bicycle, it had been awhile since I actually had.

Suddenly a band of people wearing Halloween and other freakish masks
come from the building. These I later learn are TMBs whose main
purpose in life this day is to make ours hell. As in any race I study
the runners to see if there are any ringers. (You can always tell who
the fast people are.) Most of the competitors are wearing headlamps and
backpacks are all seem to be carrying a lot of stuff. I am still obsessing
about the forewarned swim part and borrow a floaty thing from the nice
women parked next to me. I had polished off my coke and eaten my banana
and had a swig of water that I had purchased from the quick mart cougar
earlier. I thought, I should be able to run 30 miles without eating and
drinking as I had done so a few times in my life with no real ill
effects.

We suddenly lined up and were off. I fell into line behind Kyle, the
winner from last year. I thought, he is wearing a headlamp and he must
know the course. The pace was easy enough but my worn out lunar racers
slipped on the wet mud of the dirt road we were running on. It had
rained overnight and there were big puddles to maneuver around. The
headlamps illuminated the puddles and give them an oily shine. We had
gone less than a mile and suddenly Kale was there and directing us to
duck under a metal railing (note: railings are usually added to keep
people out or from falling off something) into a tangle of blackberry thorns, dense
brush and alders, Kyle was still leading and he banged is way into the
brush with the vigor of an amazonian explorer being chased by a 18 foot
anaconda. I heard him cry out, arrrggh! and then silence, followed by
more silence and then splash. I scrambled over to the edge of the abyss
were I last saw him and looked over the edge and there he was laying,
half in the water and half on rocks. To me it looked like he had fallen
about 15- 20 feet. I said are you OK? He said he was bleeding. I could
see that his leg was badly gashed and he said he didn't think he had
any other major injuries but that he was out for the day. We continued
and my new running partners turned out to be Susan and Keegan. We were
instructed to follow the river. The bank was very steep and extremely
slippery not to mention the waist high tangle of brush and thorns. I
was leading our trio and asked about the trampled brush. Susan said it
was probably from Moose. (These creatures can get weigh over 1000 lbs
and are not very smart or very pleasant at times) We had gone maybe
another 1/2 mile and came upon a pile of very big bones as if a
dinosaur had died recently. The air smelled of death. ( If this was a
dead dino I thought, perhaps a meteor would hit Aroostook County and
make us go extinct too?...One could only hope!) Susan again added that maybe
a bear had killed it. I thought , Oh GREAT! Bullwinkle will trample us
to death and/or a Bear will maul us. I picked up a huge bone that I
called the Moose's femur and we continued running. The bone still had
some meat on it, it smelled really bad and it was slippery. It weighed
about 7 lbs. We'd go about 10 paces and then fall ,10 paces then fall.
Finally, we came to our first aid station. WRONG. These people were
not here to help us and one screamed get down in the mud and do
push-ups...NOW! I placed my Moose bone down beside me and quickly
complied with the instructions being barked out to me. I felt by body
rebel to the difficult exercises being force fed to us by freaks in
masks. These contortions were as foreign to my body at this time of
day, as the the French Canadian language used by many who live not far
from here.

to be continued.......

Dirty vs. Dirty

Who will win in this battle of Dirty Proportions? Renee "3rd Time Charmer" Ennis, or Nate "Ultra Cherry" Berry?

Ode to Aroostook Dirty 30

Written by Barb Hrubesh, Overall Winner of 2010 AD30. She missed 2011 and wanted to be a part of it by writing about her experience in a song!

A long, long time ago
I can still remember
How running used to make me smile
And I knew if I had a chance
I could make the people dance
And maybe they'd be happy for awhile.
But torture maidens made me damn every step that I ran
Mojo's wasn't the last step, Kyle couldn't take one more step
But for this race I couldn't train
Through fog and bogs and sewer drains
No guts, no glory and no brains
The day the runners died


Bye bye ultra runners goodbye
Dodged trip wires and leapt fires but the race wasn't done
Eating Mcgriddles and drinking without any fun
Singing this will be the day that I die

(skip next verse because I couldn't think of anything good)

Well, for 10 miles we've been on our own
And hoping that the TM's have drowned
But we couldn't get that lucky
The TM tried to wear them down
As she made them run all over town
But she couldn't break you and me
And while going through the muck
Barb and Kyle both said _uck (yuck )
And Kale became nonplussed
When we left mile 20 in the dust
And when we rode horses in the park
Back at Mojo's, there stood Mark
And we sang dirges as we ran
The day the runners died

chorus

(skip this verse too - dammit - I'm a runner not a poet!!!!!)

Barb be nimble, Chris be quick
Kyle jumped over the candlestick
because fire is Kate and Kale's only friend.
And as they told us to run
Our fingers were waving (well only one)
No angel born in hell could break that satan's spell
And as the bikes spun in the night
I heard Kale laughing in delight
And Kate was ready for a fight
The day the runners died


Chorus


I met a girl who tortured runners
And I asked her for some mercy
But she just smiled and turned away.
So I went to Mojo's to talk to Mark
Because his soul didn't seem as dark
But the man said he couldn't help.
And in the streets the children screamed
The runners cried and the quitters dreamed
Not a word was spoken
Could it be spirits were broken?
The two runners had such fun
Barb H and Kyle Washington (okay -horrible rhyme but too bad)
Say get up wimps and just run.
Today is your day to die