Dirty Deeds Run Dirt Cheap
The Aroostook Dirty 30
by Gary Allen
The invitation came in the summer. A running event that required an
essay to enter, no fees and it seems no bull. I wrote back.
Sept 24. Midnight. Driving rapidly toward northern Maine on Interstate 95. Destination Aroostook county. The fog is thick. I can barely see the road ahead. I have the cruise control set at 79 mph,thinking a cop might let me off if keep it 1 mph below 80. There are no other cars on the road. Car moose accidents are common in this part of the world. Neither fare very well when they meet. I am dressed as a Spartan. I am wearing a dark maroon toga and little else. The heated seats are toasty on my bare ass. I have Nick Cave cranked on the radio. His dark lyrics make the night and the fog only darker. I figure if I collide with a moose the police will at the very least be amused by a dead roman gladiator driving a Volkswagen Passat with Nicks riffs..."Just remember that death is not the end, When you're standing on the crossroads, That you cannot comprehend, Just remember that death is not the end.", playing on the radio. I study the road intently as the the miles click by. I burst out of the fog and suddenly am in Houlton, now I need to follow US Route 1 North to a place called Presque Isle.
When I arrive at a few minutes before 4am I have no idea where the start is but being a veteran of many races in strange towns I search for clues that will lead me to the start. Road Cones? None. People wearing trash bags? None. Banners? None. Geeks with gadgets?(GPS, fuel belts, i-pods) None. So I stop at an allnight gas station and convenience store and ask about a place called
Mojo. I also purchase a banana, a coke and a bottle of water, cause the race instructions say we need to be totally self sufficient. The lady looks at my costume and with her best cougar smile says, growwwl out the door, take a left, go
thru the light by Walmart then it's on your right sweetie! I was surprised she didn't ask me why I was dressed like I was and that she didn't ask me to come over to her place, but also remembered that Northern Maine is known for being different and maybe she sees roman soldiers thru here regularly? I pulled into the dark parking lot and did not see another person. Strange for a race that would be starting in about 45 minutes, I decide to pull on some running shorts under my ropes and I don by
battle helmet.
I twist the cap of my coke and with a hiss I spray myself with caramel syrup. For a second I am pissed off to get wet then I
remember this race is called the Aroostook Dirty 30 (Yes. 30 miles!) and figure my frocks will be damp before days end as the race organizers also said we needed to be able to swim and to bring a life vest.
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.
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 psychological 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!)
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.
Kale and another TMB gestured for us to take a left turn off the pavement and up thru a gravel parking lot. A motionless ski lift ahead snaked up thru the trees. It was not a good sign that the course was going to suddenly turn flat. It resembled a strange apocalyptic iron insect, frozen in time. A TMB riding ahead reached the sharp incline just before Susan and I and she got off her mountain bike to wheel it as it was simply too steep for her to pedal further. I thought perfect, we can pass her and then she can't torture us any more! I leaned into the grade. That sucking sound ringing in my ears was my own breathing. I sounded more like a teenager on prom night than the athlete I sometimes pretend to be. Susan ground to a walk and soon after I reached my red line and shut my engine down before I exploded. People who are in touch with their bodies know when to back off and when to push and this was not one of them. We climbed using our hands to help lift our heavy legs like awkward puppeteers. Grab, swing, drop. Grab, swing, drop.
We eventually started to run again once the grade lessened and passed the object of our disgust, the TMB up near the summit. She told us to go thru the woods. Susan seemed to know where we were and I followed diligently like a wayward dog, good boy! pant! pant!
Gravity is a wonderful thing and the momentum of running downhill made the memories of the brutal climb seem like it happened in whole other life. We glided downward through the forest on soft grass. Life was good. What made it even better is that I kept expecting to hear the whiz of a derailleur coming up from behind and there was none to be heard. We had successfully ditched the bitch on the bike! They were no yellow brick roads or flying monkeys but it was hard not to hum, ding-dong the witch is dead, the wicked witch is dead!
It was only about 15 minutes later that she reappeared. Where were you?, she scolded. I let Susan do the talking. We had been moving now for over 3 hours and there were hints of what was coming. I thought this will be interesting. As we descended into the Nordic Ski complex. I heard other TMBs talking about how spectators would enjoy watching us be made miserable.
The TMBs rolled up their sleeves and dished out a veritable feast of pain for us, some of it went down fairly easy and some of it tasted really horrible. They ordered us around like convicts at Club Med.
Take this railroad tie and carry it up those steps!
Now, wheel this steel roller up that ramp and back!
Now, do a lap around the field! (about a half mile loop)
Now, stand on this steel car trailer and hold that cement block, Susan you pull it around the parking lot!
Now, do a lap around the field! (about a half mile loop)
Now, you pull Susan on the heavy trailer!
Now, do a lap around the field! (about a half mile loop)
Now, jump up on this box! Whoa. Whoa. Whoa. I told then TMB that I could feel the little remaining cartilage in my knees tearing if I continued and she graciously, professionally and quickly ordered me into another exercise of pain, one that would preserve my running career.
Now, do a lap around the field! (about a half mile loop)
Now, carry something heavy up there. I grabbed a loaded bicycle and started up the ramp. I contemplated letting the air out of the tires about half way up. I justified this thinking if they could mess with us why couldn't I mess with them! Now, do a lap around the field! (about a half mile loop)
Now,bear crawl up that hill, get down on all fours and crawl! The hill was about 75 yds wet grass and mud and very steep. I could feel my fingers digging into the slop for traction like claws. They were gradually and successfully turning us into animals.
Now, turn around and crawl backwards up the hill the TMB shouted!
Now, crab crawl down! Now on your stomachs and crawl head down. This is the point where I started dragging my hind quarters like sometimes happens to old black labs. I started screaming that I was a paralyzed dog. I think in times of physical and emotional distress we all reach a hysteria limit and this was mine.
Now, do a lap around the field! (about a half mile loop)
It all ended as quickly as it began without warning or apology, RUN, the TMBs ordered. About now we had no idea how far we had gone or how far we had to go. The past hour which I would later learn was called hell hour was all that and more. I was sore in places I shouldn't be sore. It felt good to run. We were going downhill and we started singing made up verses to jingle bells. The creator and director of the event Kale suddenly appeared beside us on a bicycle. We keep on singing. I think he must have decided we were either flipping crazy or that we would likely finish. You see the AD30 tries to make you not finish as opposed to the mamby-pamby treatment at other races that is intended to make the event fun. There were no bands, cheerleaders or aid stations here.
We run for maybe another 30 minutes and I stopped a small rural gas station ahead. The rules of the event said you needed to be totally self sufficient. Many carried fuel belts, head lamps and backpacks. I carried nothing but the $10 dollar bill I had tucked in my shorts just before the start. Just as the Beatles have reminded us, money can't buy you love but it sure could buy me and Susan a Coke. I explained to Susan that Coca Cola is an old-school energy drink. Prior to sports drinks we used it with great success. It has caffeine, sugar, liquid and is easy on your tummy. The rules (what rules? ) did not say we couldn't stop. I strode thru the door confidently and the surprised cashier, a youngish rocker looking women wearing an ACDC shirt with her dyed jet black hair, greeted me like she sees mud covered Spartans in there all the time. Best of all were what I presumed were her two daughters. They said, Nice dress Mister! I explained that I was running the Aroostook Dirty 30 and they seemed to know about it or at least they nodded appreciatively like they did. At the end of my transaction I handed each girl a dollar bill and said, now when you go to school Monday you can tell your friends and teacher a guy dressed as a Roman gave you a dollar. They said have fun and I headed out the door.
I gave Susan her Coke and we both gulped them like there was no tomorrow. I had a brief vision of one of those schmaltzy Coke commercials with singing overly enthusiastic people getting all orgasmic over a freakin bottle of Coke!? Then we were off and shortly along comes Ms Wicked Witch of the East on her bicycle. I didn't ask where ToTo was but thought it. She asked how far we thought we had been? Neither Susan and I cared to guess because we had been moving now for over 4 hours and whatever we guessed wouldn't really change the fact we weren't finished until they decided we were.
Many more miles passed and I think we had to play catch with the tire again but I'm not sure I can remember if we did the second time or not? You see our bodies have a wonderful way of blocking traumatic things that happen to us.
We arrived back at where we had started in the dark many hours before after maybe another 30 -45 minutes of steady running. No jumping jacks, burpees or humiliating positions one can only learn by reading the Joy of Sex, just plain old running. Was that it? Are we done? The TMBs standing around causally did not indicate if we were finished or not. We valiantly looked for a sign and none was to be found. Suddenly 'Mr Pain in the Ass TMB Schwarzenegger' handed me a couple of weights and shouted stand in the iron cross position with these at arms length and hold them there until I say stop. My arms shook like a Miami retiree visiting Fort Kent in January. Finally after a few agonizing minutes he said weights down.
Then he ordered us to come stand by the road and alternately raise and lower the weights as if we were praying to mecca over the passing cars. I'd still love to have been in one of those cars to hear the comments.
After a few more exercises we were told to run. So we weren't done after all?. Susan and I had been running together for hours we had bonded and we were going to finish this thing together...so we thought. Guess again. Suddenly without warning Kale said, Gary go right Susan stay straight and that was it. We were separated like whispering school kids. The result of this was at first devastating to me. I thought maybe I have to run further, maybe I am getting extra abuse because I have taken every and any opportunity and made fun of some of the TMBs? I simply couldn't figure it out. Kale was with me and asked you can swim right? I paused and said yes but not great and if I could find a plastic milk jug or a log to help keep me afloat I'd be more happy.
The river bank was steep and I entered the water tentatively. Now growing up on a island would lead one to believe I'd be the next Michael Phelps or something around water. To the contrary when the water is ice cold, all year-round you don't get in it very often or only when you have to. I conjured up my best Australian freestyle and thrashed my way across. As If swimming alone doesn't challenge me enough, doing so with shoes on and with arms and legs made heavy from a days worth of abuse made it extra fun and dragging cape made me feel like a herring seiner. I didn't drown though!
Back up the bank and then more running. Soon I saw Susan coming my way and when we met we stopped briefly and embraced and just as quickly we continued onward without a word. I sensed we were heading back to were we started now so I started speeding up to get the misery over. Once back there again not a person gave me any indication that I was done or not. All they did was point and say to keep-on running. This was hard as we had been now in motion for over 5 hours. We repeated the lap we had just completed and I had to do my best Johnny Weissmuller intimation once again. I actually felt a huge cramp this time halfway across and wondered is this what happens when people drown?
I used the mental game that there was shark right behind me to inject a final shot of adrenalin that carried me back to dry land. Fatigue is a funny thing and the railroad ties I was running on made me dizzy. My brain couldn't process or coordinate where I was supposed to put my feet on fast moving grind of railroad ties. Toss in the strong smell of creosote used to preserve them and this was a tough stretch for me. I crossed the finish line to applause from the TMBs but I worried I was not yet done. Only when someone asked me how it felt and I said, "I'm going to effin' Disney Land" did I fully realize it was over. This event will demoralize, exhilarate, test and terrorize anyone who runs it. I hope to see you all there again next year, after all I am the defending champion!
