The Finale! Dirty Deeds Run Dirt Cheap, Race Report By Gary Allen

Hey, do yourself a favor, and read these in order, before reading the finale....you know, just so you know what the hell is going on.

PART 1 CLICK HERE
PART 2 CLICK HERE
PART 3 CLICK HERE
PART 4 CLICK HERE

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

Finale.


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!

(photos of hell hour and more, click here)

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

Dirty Deeds Run Dirt Cheap, Pt 1, by Gary Allen

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.

to be continued................

Michelle Roy, 3rd Place Finisher 2011, Race Report

4:40 AM: Stop at Tim Horton's 1\10 mile away from start of Dirty 30. Need to use restroom to rid what I think has to be the last of what my body is capable of ridding.

4:55 AM: Listening to Renee rip air out of her buttocks while waiting for the start.
5:00 AM: Ordered to starting line and "introduced" to the TMB's.....wishing I was back in Tim Horton's restroom.

5:10 AM: Start..running in darkness on muddy trails cluelessly heading to the river.
5:20 AM: Meet Kyle (last year's dirty 30 winner) running back to MoJo's with an 8 inch bleeding gash on his leg....huh.

5:22 AM: Instructed to descend down steep, wooded bank to riverside and continue running. Riverside entailed only muck and brush...not to mention slip, sliding down bank into river. Should I put on my floaties??? Thanks for fellow competitor, Jessica, at this point for reminding me every 5 minutes how great of an experience this was.

6ish AM: First torture station. I struggled so bad, my group had to do extra time at this station til I got it right.
6ish-7:25 AM: More riverside trudging then dry land. Hear a drill sargeant in the distance. I'm thinking, "wonder who is training out here?" Then smarts kicked in....."#@!*"

7:25 AM: Second torture station...ouch.
7:40-8ish AM: Run UP Fort road to Nordic Heritage Center. Why enter NHC through the access road when we can just run up the steep downhill hill ski mountain...bastards! Meet Kate at the top who informs me there is Gatorade for us at NHC parking lot.

8ish-9ish AM: Arrive at NHC for Hell Hour and no Gatorade! Challenged and defeated most, if not all, muscles in my body. 9ish-10:40 AM: Run on....arrive at MoJo's not for finish but another torture station.

11AM: Run on...Main street Presque Isle where my vanity sets in. I have to run at a decent pace just in case anyone I know sees me (regardless that I look like the Swamp Thing and am ready to physically collapse).

11:15 AM: Ralph, "See the path off the railroad tracks that goes down to the river? Follow it and swim across. I'll meet you on the other side." Thankfully, Susan was swimming across as well from the opposite direction. Was great moral support except for the fact she had been crying because she missed her grandfather who passed away over 2 decades ago...huh.

11:40 AM: Back at MoJo's to be told I have to do the same loop I just did but in reverse...bastards!

12ish PM: Finishing 2nd loop and told by Kyle to run hard up hill to MoJo's. I want to cry because I feel I can't and am fearing what is coming next. I decide the better choice is to run up the hill. Then Kyle says, "You don't want to be seen walking across the finish line!"

8 PM: September 25, 2011. Registration for 2012 AD30 opens. Will I register...Hell yeah!!
Michelle Roy

2012 Apocalypse Edition AD30 Letters!

Sept. 22nd 5AM Mojo parking lot. Challenge accepted.
Jared Dickinson
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I'd like to start this off with a poem from a movie i love Police Academy 2: Citizens on Patrol.

Jean, Jean...made a machine.
Joe, Joe... Made it go
Art, Art... blew a fart
and blew the whole damn thing apart...

I have been an avid runner for about 6 days now, and I think I am about ready to take the next step. Running an average of 2 miles a day (12 miles total for the year), I have grown tired of the everyday monotony of running without reward. I need a challenge, and hell, if I can run 2 miles, several times in a week, how hard can a 30 miler be? its only 15 times longer than I have ever run, and I am 32 years old! So, if you take my age divide it by 2- you come up with 16. 16 just happens to be divided by 4 equally, so when you divide 16 by 4 you get 4, and that is my lucky number!!! So, with that little math problem solved, its quite obvious why I should be running this race.. I mean its almost like you knew I would be signing up for it.
Also, the other reason I should be in this race is, I have watched the movies Prefontaine, RUN away bride, cool RUNNINGS, AND Forrest Gump. That is four movies with running in it or in the title, how much more training does one need? I am tired just thinking about all the running i have seen...

so, please accept my letter of intent to run this race...
sincerely,

Matt Lindsay

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Well, I guess this is the year to get my ass kicked. After mulling it over I have decided that I will be (if allowed) attempting to conquer the AD30 Apocalypse with the rest of you crazy cats. This is the race of races, not a race for time but a race for completion. The hype of this intimidates me, I have heard horrifying stories of torture, blood, sweat and tears. So the plan of attack is to...Face it. Challenge it. Overcome it. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. I may regret this, but all I can say is don't kill me, I will most likely have things to do the next day.

Sincerely (with extreme trepidation),

Greg Palm
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So I guess I'm throwing myself into the fires of your hell run. My wife told me that I am crazy and there isn't enough time to train. I said whatever, I have to try it anyway. Again, she said "you're crazy, I'm not gunna nurse you back to health when you are crying about your feet or legs! Kale's gunna have to do it, he put this idea into your head in the first place!" so I guess it's me and you buddy, hope you give good foot rubs.

Beau Taylor
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Kale,

On a whim, that I will regret later, I plan to show up for the run. The past couple of years I have been full of other whims that were really nothing but excuses; half marathons, a Tough Mudder. All chump events done for glory. Now its time for humiliation. I have done nothing to prepare nor do I plan to do much. The tire has yet to be chosen but a picture is forthcoming. In these next eighty days I will try to remove enough grit from my slit to run. Time will tell.

Grady


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To Those Who May Consider This Letter

I have been wondering about this race for a bit now. Thought it could be nice to take a nice little jaunt through the county, and get ragged on by some woods type folk (really the best type of folk). It made me think of something my dad once said. He said "Boy there is going to be a time in your life when you have to do something so heinous and terrible that you will crap in your pants... right in your pants and you wont even care. you wont care because you are in too much pain to realize you just shit in the only pair of pants you have with you. you will crap in those pants and you will move on, you will persevere over those defecated trousers because there is a greater purpose, to do something few have done. I don't know what that thing is but you will know when it comes..."
I believe this is that very event... Though my Dad never actually said those things, if he had I would imagine he would have been talking about this event.... I'm in...It has been a while since I threw up...

-Kyle Winslow
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Maybe it's the wine, but I've decided that I'm finally ready to submit my letter that signs me up for a day of torture... er... the AD30 Apocalypse Edition. While I am lacking the only requirement that I am aware of (the tire), I do have a back-up courtesy of Staples: a calculator that looks like a tire and fits in the palm of my hand (99 cents at Staples for those that are interested).

- Nicole Dubreuil
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I wish to compete in this race..however I noted you already have a Michelle Roy as a finisher. So I think it only fair that if you allow me to race you christen me with a new name. For the entire duration of this race and forever after in regards to the Aroostook Dirty 30 I will be known by this name.

If you accept me as a participant I would appreciate a new name that gives people the impression I have very large breasts.


Michelle Roy from Massachusetts who actually has very small breasts.
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I'm sure that if you look up 'hell' in the dictionary, it would compose of very little... it would look a little something like this:

Hell: pronounced: [hel]
Noun
AD30 2012
'Nuff said

I'm already intimidated by the name... Aroostook Dirty Thirty Apocalypse Edition? At first I was worried that Kale would make us run around with extra volatile nukes strapped to our backs. I was wrong it seems... apparantly it's going to be tires. Every year I seem to come across something dead, two years ago, it was a racoon, and as I stared into that racoon's black, glazed eyes... they seemed to say, "Yeah....you're completely screwed." Last year it was a moose... or at least the leg bones of one. I imagined that my leg would look similar to this one if I continued to do this terrifying race any more... What will I find this year? A fish? A cow? A dog? I guess I'll find out as I attempt to run the apocalypse edition.... I am crossing my fingers that this years event will not involve anything explosive, anything that has an engine, or anything that involves blind-folds. Well I've been stocking up on band-aids, ibuprofen, and other various pain relievers that should (Maybe?) get me through the race... here's to 2012 AD30, I look forward to seeing the various forms of torture that will no doubt torture us throughout the race... see you all in september!

-Keegan Ennis
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Hey kale, this is a letter from Lindsey Mattila: hey sexy, I want to compete in the awesome race known as the ad30. I am Hard core and will dominate all the other bitches out there in my dominatrix outfit. Lots of leather and whips, ohh yah!
-Lindsey Mattila

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So I hear/see that Kale Poland has been waiting looking for an official entry letter from me for the Aroostook Dirty 30, Apocalypse Edition in September. If you remember Kale, I already gave you a "one word letter" late in the afternoon after completing last year's Dirty 30 and after commenting on someone else's FB post...you asked me if that was my entry letter for 2012 and I posted back "yup".

But in case that wasn't enough, here's my follow-up letter. Kale, I intend to again be conquering the Aroostook Dirty 30 this year with....Gusto, waiting for Real challenges from Any tMb's, while Picturing a Yuengling after finishing....as a first time, brand new GRAMPY!! Hope this does the trick for you!
-Brent Jepson

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10 Reasons Why I Am Committing Myself to the AD30 Apocalypse Edition

10. I love Little Debbie oatmeal snack cakes.

9. It's another opportunity to sleep on Penny's super "comfy" pull-out chair-bed and use Newman's shampoo on my hair (yes, I did..).

8. I've been wondering what to do with my old Volvo's tires that are under the porch.

7. It gives me an excuse to be bitchy to my family for the whole month of September... maybe August, too...

6. Boyd.

5. I only lost 2 toenails. This year, I'm going for 4!

4. I need another railroad spike for a special craft project.

3. In what other race, will I be described as "built like a brick shithouse" and take it as a compliment?

2. Lunacy is one of the Poland's best traits.

1. Three words: Gary. Allen. Fishnets.
-Amy Poland

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Nate Berry and Sarah Ellsworth
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Dear Sir,

This email is to inform you that I will be selling my soul and driving 6+ hours to east bumfuck Maine to have my ass handed to me on a rusty hub cap by the AD30. I will take every punishment that is given out and look forward to partaking in this "Make a Wish" event for the masochistically minded.

Chad Peduto
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As much fun as it was to join the tmb side of the race after my dumb-ass fall, I wish to be entered into the 2012 dirty 30 race. The most difficult part will not be training for the event, bit keeping my mouth shut as to not give you an other tmb's ideas on ways to torture us. I pledge to make it at least twice as far next year, if u don't consider me too high of a risk to allow to start.
Kyle Washington
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Michelle Roy merged her letter of 2012 intent into her 2011 Race Report!
Read it HERE
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Dear Kale, Dirty-30 and any other fool possibly considering this race,

I have a love/hate relationship with you. I love to write the letter, talk smack, shop for online for inflatable devices and chafing cream, but I hate the weeks leading up to the actual event. I love being a 35 year old mother of three who signs up for adventure races with her teenage son, but I hate the anxiety, self-doubt, regret and fear that creeps into my head and messes with me. I love that I pushed myself farther than I ever have before, but I hate that I stopped pushing when I saw hot coffee and donuts. I love how liberating it feels to run right through the mud puddles instead of tip-toeing around them and I love being able to get slimy, grimy and gross just for the sake of it. But I hate feeling frustrated, pissed off and in pain. I love preparing my Camel-Bak with my teenage son and sharing the excitement and anxiety of pre-race nerves, but I hate getting up at 4:00AM and dressing myself in the dark, knowing those warm, clean clothes will be covered in muddy sweat, prickly burdock seeds and ATV dust in less than 60 minutes.

I love being one of very few women who have taken the challenge. I hate that I’m one of very few women who have taken the challenge.

I’m writing this letter with resolution that I will push my body to 30 miles next year, as it’s only October and next year’s event is too far into the future to really give it much thought. I’m writing this letter with trepidation and remorse because a year is never enough time to prepare and September, 2012 will be here before I’m ready.

I’m in for AD30 ’12, the Little Debbie Edition, and will be in every year until I push to 30 miles. And after that, I’m taking up knitting.

Sincerely, Renée-Don’t-Yell-At-Me-Chalou-Ennis
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Dear Kale and the rest,

I’m amazed at how insanely awesome the Aroostook Dirty 30 looks—and I’m equally amazed at how willing and excited I am to have the opportunity to participate. This may or may not be because I am currently experiencing what must definitely be post-first-marathon-euphoria, but in any case I would love, if you’ll have me, to submit my intent for the September 2012 Dirty 30. From what I’ve read and seen on the AD 30 blog, it’s apparent that my training better begin right now if I want a fighting chance. I’m ready to do that.
I entertain no notion that this race will be like anything I’ve done before. The marathon I worked toward for ten months and completed last Sunday is a newborn kitten in comparison to what this monster will surely be. But, kittens are not nearly as much fun as monsters. Sometimes, the completion of one goal is just more motivation to begin a new one.

Thank you for your time and consideration! While I’m simultaneously frightened, humbled, and excited, and knowing that I’ll regret saying this eventually but I’m going to say it anyway: bring it.

Other than that, I hope you're having a great week, and to see you and Nicole soon! :)
Renee Poisson
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Gary Allen, 2011 overall winner, included his letter of intent in the final installment of his race report.
READ IT HERE
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Dear Kale,

I hope this finds you well. I am having a difficult time putting into words what I am about to write because the angel on my shoulder is still trying in a last ditch effort to save me from the pain that I am willingly setting myself up for.

So to put the angel’s worried mind at ease, I thought I would give myself a mental reference of how far 30 miles is…it can’t be that far right? Wrong. It is the equivalent of running from my house on Beals Island to Steuben or Jasper Beach, depending on which direction I head after getting over the bridge. Not quite the confidence boost I was looking for.

Then I thought, I’ll just try to remember some of the locations in Presque Isle that Gary Allen mentioned in his account of last years’ AD 30. Surely the hills can’t be that high. And then I remembered the lovely hill that he spoke about with the ski lifts. I remember that hill, but from a different angle. I was on my bike at the top, having driven into the Nordic Ski Center and then biked over on one of the trails, looked down and decided that biking down that may not be the best idea. I even found a picture to reference when trying to remember the little hill and noticed the electrical wires look vertical in the picture…not good. This is still not helping to build confidence.

After a few failed efforts to help myself feel confident that the AD 30 can’t be THAT tough, I understand now that it is EXACTLY that tough… and more than likely worse than what I can picture, based on what former participants have said and from pictures they have posted. When I type in into the address bar on my computer, my muscles now automatically start aching in anticipation.

I have never played catch with an automobile tire; I had to Google ‘burpee’ in order to figure out that it’s another name for a squat thrust; I still don’t know what a ‘whooping crane’ is (according to Google it’s a bird); and I can’t remember the last time I did a bear crawl…But the sentence that keeps going through my mind is the phrase at the bottom of the Dirty 30 poster on the blog site, “this year, a 100 year old man completed a marathon in Toronto. People your grandmother’s age are doing Ironman. Get yourself out of the gutter.”

It has taken me a few days to figure out how to write this. As far as I can tell, the biggest failure would be not trying. So with all things considered (and the little angel on my shoulder screaming louder than ever to run away)…

I would like to submit this as my ‘letter of intent’ to attempt the 2012 AD 30.

Sincerely,

Carolyn Gildart

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i've been putting off the letter because the reason i'm doing your race isn't like the other letters. i've worn a relay for life t shirt for pretty much every race run the last two years. i do it for motivation for everyone running. it's surprising how people stop complaining about the hills or heat when they see my shirtnot that i'd ever compare running a race to the hell of what i imagine going through cancer would be like, but i would stay up all hours when my cousin was diagnosed in high school. she's the inspiration to wear the shirt. i kinda think that if she can get through what she's been through i have no excuse to not give what i've got to finish my race, then go back and encourage others to do the same.

-Adam Murchison