2016 Umstead Marathon

I told someone recently that I wasn’t doing any races in March.

“You’re not doing Umstead Marathon?” They asked.

I rolled my eyes. “Of course I’m doing Umstead. That’s doesn’t count as a race.”

For Shannon and I, Umstead isn’t simply a race, it’s our favorite event of the year. The first Saturday in March is permanently blocked off on our calendar, and there is no need for discussion. We will be there one way or another, running it if we can.

Umstead is a family reunion.
Photo by Dennis Geiser

We simply cannot thank the organizers and volunteers enough for putting it on every year. It’s like Christmas, New Year's day and our birthdays combined. It’s a party, a family reunion, a celebration of friends and running and the overlap between the two. We use it to mark the passing of years. “What year did we get married? Let’s see The Rabbit was the mascot, so it must have been 2010.”

Unfortunately, for us, there was no excitement for it this year..

Four weeks ago our dog and my running partner, Dudley Dooright, was diagnosed with an aggressive, inoperable cancer (see previous post). Helpless, we had to watch him slowly decline, being robbed of life and everything he loved to do.  Every day we had to ask him, “Is today the day?”

So it was really hard to care about anything else.

Running especially was no longer enjoyable. If I left the house to go run, he still came to the door, ready to come with me, in denial of his ravaged body. So I would try to sneak out. I would run off alone down the greenway, a knife plunged deep into in the middle of my chest.  

Still he had good moments. He could still play ball, or walk, or swim for a few minutes at a time. So we had hoped to bring him to the Umstead Marathon to spend the day. He would have loved meeting new people and hanging out in the park (as long as he didn’t see everyone run off).

But Friday before the race he wouldn’t eat his breakfast. Not even the steak we had bought him. He was struggling. We had to admit we were keeping him around for us. We called a vet who made a home visit that morning (Lap of Love)

The last ball.

I threw him one last ball, and he ran after it and caught it. Depleted, he laid in the yard and cradled it in his mouth. When the vet came over, he came up to her and wagged his tail. We put him to sleep on the back deck. I sobbed so hard my stomach cramped up and the muscles at my temples ached.  After he was gone I wrote his eulogy, which helped some.

“I don’t know if I can run”, I told Shannon that evening.

“Yeah, me neither.”

As much as we love Umstead, it was hard to muster any energy or enthusiasm. Running a trail race the day after losing my 11 year running partner seemed hollow.

But then I got the idea to dedicate the run to Dudley. As hokey as that sounds, it motivated me. “I’ll run it the way Dooright would!”, I declared. And the way he would run it would be to go out as hard and fast as he could, staying near the front until he finished or until he collapsed.

The 13th annual Umstead Marathon was “The Year of The Fox”. Just before the race, Dennis, a senior member of the conclave (race committee), showed me the beautiful fox shaped plaques to be awarded to the top 15 or each gender. When I saw them, instead of a fox, I saw a dog.

Now I had a mission. Getting in the top 15 was seemed beyond my current abilities. And I was supposed to be saving myself for the Umstead 100 coming up in four weeks. But dammit all. I would get a Dooright plaque, or more likely, I would collapse trying.

Pack is off.
Photo by Dennis Geiser

Before the race I pinned Dudley’s tags with my bib on my shorts. At 9:00 am the pack was off.

Dooright would have taken the lead, but he also would have collapsed at mile 5. So I had to be realistic and not run it exactly like he would have. Instead I settled into the 15th place, counting the men ahead of me several times during the first mile to be sure (not to counting the amazing Lorraine Young, of course). Despite the perfect day, the pace was surprisingly slower than usual, and I felt good and relaxed. Suddenly it seemed plausible I could take home a Dudley memorial.

Around mile 6 on the Sycamore single track I was running alone and I could hear the jingling of the tags on my leg. I imagined Dooright just behind me, or just around the next turn. We were flying on the trail together again.

The day before, the race seemed like the last thing I wanted to do. But quite the opposite, it was the most cathartic thing I could have done, and best way to honor my running partner.

Sycamore
photo by Cathy Stokes

Staying true to the spirit of my running soul-mate, I collapsed at mile 16. Specifically my calves started cramping up. I stopped to stretch them but it didn’t help. The guy who had been on my heels the whole day passed me, dropping me to 16th place. I tried chasing, but couldn’t. After a few steps the muscles started to spasm and threatened to seize up completely. Another guy passed me… and another. I was now in 18th place with 10 miles to go, and I could barely move.  I accepted my failure, but had hoped to collapse from exhaustion instead of simply being immobilized.

Then a miracle happened. As I stood against a tree stretching a women came by, “Do you need salt?” she asked.

“Yes! I think I do!”

“Hold out your hand”, she filled my palm with it.

“Thank you!”, I called as she disappeared over the hills of Turkey Creek. After the race I tried to find her, but never saw her again. Some suggested it was an angel in human form sent from a canine after life.

I licked the teaspoon of salt from my hand, and it was just what I needed. It allowed the 60oz of water sloshing in my stomach to diffuse down into my calves, and I started to jog tentatively. By mile 19, I was running full speed, faster than I ran the first half. I blew by the aid station at South Turkey Creek, and could see three other men in the distance straight down Reedy Creek.

With my tongue hanging out, a bit of drool flying, and tags rattling, I channeled Dooright. Down to the lake and up corkscrew. With my heart pounding at it’s maximum, and my tender quads screaming with every step, it felt so good. Not even the depths of Cedar Ridge slowed me. I passed seven guys, and was passed by one. Dudley would have been proud.

Crossing the finish, Dennis handed me my wooden fox, which will always be a dog to me.

Thank you Umstead Marathon, thank you Conclave, and thank you volunteers, for holding this annual family reunion of friends. Thanks for giving Shannon and I a way to sooth our grief through a day of running in the park. And many thanks to all of those friends who comforted us on what would have otherwise been a rough day.

Goodbye Dooright. We had 11 great years together on the trails. Your pure and unabashed love of running will always be a part of me.

Death of a Trail Runner

We had to put down our dog Dudley Dooright today. He was 11 years old. Dudley was my running partner.

You may have assumed that my running partner was my wife Shannon, the exceptional runner that she is. But Shannon and I are never in sync. I love mornings but she hates them. She has her best runs at night around the time I cannot keep my eyes open, let alone run. She might lag behind on a technical trail, but when she does 20 mile runs in Umstead I’m struggling to finish two miles on aching knees.

In fact, I have never been a social runner. The reason I started running originally was to get away from people. I discovered that running on trails alone was my happy place, the only thing that helped with frequent bouts of depression. But it wasn’t simply the endorphins produced from running.

Running on roads is just rote exercise. A procedure defined by simple equations of stride length and cadence, of VO2 Max and glycogen consumption. But running a single track trail as fast as you can is something else entirely: Intense focus on every root and rock, trying to maintain momentum around the next switchback, through the stretch of ankle deep mud, down and up a gully and then lifting your shoulder just in time to barely miss that tree. There are no thoughts of mortgages or dentist appointments or what the hell you are going to do with your life. Only thoughts of how many steps to take before you jump that log.

I got Dudley as a puppy in 2005. He was obviously a Golden Retriever, though I often refused to acknowledge this. This is because he was a reject from a breeder who dumped him in a parking lot, leaving him to die with a congenital defect. Dog breeders and the demand for “purebred” dogs is one of the main reasons the shelters are overflowing with animals who will never find a home. But I digress.

Shannon and I eventually had a pack of 4 dogs, and we would often take three of them running on the single track trail around the lake near our house (The 4th dog Lula was more into sunbathing than running). We are those obnoxious people who let their dogs run off leash, but we almost never ran into anyone else out there, and the unlikely event someone might be bothered seemed a small price to pay for the sheer happiness of three dogs.

Jorge and Jefferey seemed to mostly enjoy finding disgusting things out in the woods to eat, or roll in, or both. We would often have to call those two away from whatever distraction they found to keep them moving. But Dudley was different. He loved the trail like I did, and just wanted to run. It was a roller coaster ride that he didn’t want to stop. He would run up and down hills or around in circles through the trees while the rest of the pack dilly-dallied. He didn’t really care where we were going, as long is he was moving.

Around 2008, I started to invest more of my time and attention to running. When I figured out how to run more than 15 miles a week without hurting my knees, I ran as much as I could, with my favorite route an 8 miler around the lake. Since the other dogs lacked the stamina and interest, I would only take Dooright with me.

[Dudley participated in an experiment where he was presented with treats behind a long series of strange and complicated apparatus, while being given confusing instructions. The researchers were questioning his intelligence. But seeing his exasperation, he might have been questioning theirs.]

Running with Dudley took no training or instruction because Dudley and I shared the same loves; of trees whizzing by; Of dancing over roots and rocks; Of breathing so hard you’re on the edge of collapsing. We would pour everything we had to getting to the end of trail, only to turn around and head back gasping for breath.

We had a special connection that I cannot explain. Almost always he was there ten feet in front of me, setting the pace. When I couldn’t keep up, sometimes he would stop and look back at me, “What are you waiting for? Come on!”. Or he would run a wide arc through the trees to allow me to catch up.

Dudley knew the trails better than I did, and had a perfect map in his head. Often he would jump off the trail into a swamp or make a hard left and disappear over a hill. Stupidly, I would stop and call for him. But it never failed that he would reappear on the trail in front of me and give the that look, “What? Let’s go!”. On hot days, he would get tired on the way back, and struggle to keep up. So he would cheat and take short cuts to stay in front of me.

His desire to always be in front made him great at racing 5Ks. His laser like focus gave him an edge over other dogs. Of the 12 dog friendly races we entered, Dooright came out top dog in 9 of them.

Around 2012 both Dudley and I slowed down. My knees started to bother me again, and his hips got weak. When we woke in the morning, we would both hesitate before going down the stairs, knowing it was going to hurt. We still tried to hit the trail together, but he couldn’t go as far, and would be stiff and sore afterward. But it was always worth it.

Dooright was great at 5Ks. But his inability to pace himself resulted in him being defeated by the Dirty Dog 15K. Twice.

A few weeks ago, Dudley momentarily collapsed while chasing a ball. After many trips to the vet, he was diagnosed with an aggressive cancer. The tumors in his organs would grow and burst, causing him to bleed internally. They robbed him of all his energy and he could no longer run. Even walking was a struggle.

There was no treatment available that provided any hope. So we just tried to give him as many good days as we could. On Thursday we drove Dudley and the other 2 dogs out to a local trail for a walk. Dudley jumped out of the van and trotted to the trailhead, as fast as we had seen him move in several days.

It was mid-afternoon and we had the woods to ourselves. He managed to walk a half mile, trudging slowly forward with all of his effort. But that was all he had in him, and he just stopped on the trail. We let him rest a while, and then leisurely headed back. He would walk for a hundred feet and then stop and rest. The cancer was tearing his insides up. His stomach was bloated, and is spine and hips protruded from withering muscle.

Seeing him struggle like this was terrible, and Shannon and I decided that it was finally time to let him go. As we neared the car, Dudley stopped and dug a shallow hole and laid down in the middle of the trail, in the shade of large tree.

His nose twitched left and right, detecting distant scents in the breeze blowing in his face. Occasionally his ears perked up when he saw a bird or squirrel or runner going by in the distance.

“Come on Dudley, let's go home.” I tried encouraging him to follow us to the car. But maybe for the first time ever, he didn’t seem inclined to follow me. He just looked back peacefully. I imagined him saying “I think I’ll stay here on the trail. This time, go on without me.”

I sat on a log next to him. A barrier broke inside me and the sadness of losing him poured into and mixed with the happiness of all those long afternoons of running the trails with him. I started crying, deeply. Haven’t really stopped yet as of this writing. It took us a couple days to summon the courage, but we let him go this morning.

I suppose a eulogy for a dog could be considered banal, or you might call this one maudlin. I would accept that.

After all, it’s just a dog. It’s just trails in the woods. It’s just a guy and his dog running as fast as they can to nowhere in particular. It’s just exactly that and nothing else. Pure joy.

2015 Dirty Dog 15K Trail Race Video

Shannon and I took our pack back to the The Dirty Dog 15K Trail Run in Kanawha State Forest, Charleston, West Virginia.

We ran this back in 2013 [report here], and it was immediately our favorite race.

This year I wore my visor-cam to capture the joy of dogs racing off leash through the forest.
[Note: Video may show advertisement you have click off. Sorry, but this is the cost of using the wonderful song "Furr" by Blitzen Trapper]

2015 Dirty Dog Video

This year, all five of us managed to stick to together and run as pack. We were not used to the very rough gravel roads, so we had to walk those sections. Also, it was hot and humid, so we took frequent water breaks.

But we had an absolute blast running the single track with other humans and canines, and this remains our favorite race.

Big thanks to the Todd family and the West Virginia Mountain Trail Runners for putting on this uniquely fantastic event.

Here is a link to Shannon's photos.

Dirty Tired Dog

2013 CARA Run for their Lives!

Jorge suffers the indignity of a leash

Dudley Dooright has been my running partner since 2005. But at 8 years old and 85 pounds, it may soon be coming to an end. 

The humidity this summer has been hard for Dooright. Even a short 1.3 mile run to the park and back leaves him panting uncontrollably on the kitchen floor.

And after he crashed and burned in the Dirty Dog 15K, I was resigned to the fact his racing days were over.

But the "CARA Run for their Lives!" 5K/10K kept popping up on facebook, which made me reconsider. CARA stands for Carolina Animal Rescue and Adoption, a great cause for us to support.

Dudley has been the poster dog for the CARA 5K since 2009

That was his first race back in 2009, when he came in top dog, and won a treasured woobie. Since then he has been the poster dog on the race website. How could we not run this again? 

We decided to sign up for the 5K, figuring he should be able to make it the 3 miles.

I wasn't worried at all about Jorge and Jeffery, as they have aged better than Dooright, and are not bothered by the heat as much.

Dooright gets his pre-race ice bath, excited to race again.
Jorge is pissed we made him get out of bed.
Jeffery just wants to know where the food is.

So we packed the pack into the car and headed down to Sanford this morning. The popularity of the race has exploded since we first did it in 2009, and cars were parked far down the road.
The temperature was nice for August in NC, maybe 67 deg and 88% humidity. Still way too hot for Dudley. So after we got our bibs and I doused Dooright down with ice water.

At the race was the second biggest dog I have ever seen.

As any runner knows, the most important part of pre-race preparation is the "unloading of dead weight".
Minutes before the race, Dooright still wouldn't go. I took him for a jog around the park, but he was just too excited to do his business. Oh well, if we had to stop mid-race, that was no big deal. I didn't expect Dudley to be competitive.

Jeffery and Jorge race to catch Dooright

But once again, I underestimated the old dog's love of races.
When the gun went off, Dudley was transformed from a big, slobbering, panting doofus into a running machine with a singular mission. He locked onto the race leaders with laser like focus and took off.

I had to sprint to keep up with him, weaving through the runners to get to the front. We crossed a couple of bridges, and briefly took the lead on a greenway. Here Dooright settled into a steady pace and let a few fast kids pass him.

Jim Wei and the fresh set of twins crushed the field to claim
the baby jogger category.

I was expecting Dudley to wilt in the heat after a mile, but he kept a steady 6:30 pace, focusing on a couple of runners ahead of us. I had a bottle of ice water and sprayed him down every few minutes, but I'm not sure he even noticed..
Hitting the streets of Sanford, we caught up to the 10K runners who had started ahead of us, and Dooright seemed pick up speed to pass other dogs.

I kept waiting for him to pull over take a big poop, or overheat and collapse, but he just kept going.
Here are the splits from my Garmin, showing his perfect pacing:

Split Time Distance Avg Pace Summary 20:29.2 3.14 6:32 1 6:34.2 1.00 6:34 2 6:34.9 1.00 6:35 3 6:27.7 1.00 6:28 4 :52.4 0.14 6:18

At 2.5 miles I missed the turn for the 5K and cost us a couple of places and a few seconds.
The last half mile I could tell he was starting to struggle, so I talked him through it. "Quarter mile! You got this!", and he would surge ahead again. As we approached the finish, I tried to get him sprint it in, but he didn't have it in him.

Hydration on a hot morning

But he did it again! Top dog in the 5K.
Shannon wasn't far behind, with Jeffrey and Jorge.

All 3 dogs were treated to a luxurious post race bath by the CARA volunteers.

The top notch CARA race crew provide a post race recovery bath

Of course, everyone was amazed and
impressed by Jeffery the 3 legger running the 5K

All runners should get this kind of post race treatment.

At the awards ceremony Dudley was a awarded a dog toy and gift card to Omega sports. Maybe he could buy some socks. Or Body Glide.

Dudley licks his lips at the sight of a fresh woobie.

After Dudely received his award there was some confusion and controversy, as the top dog of the 10K did not receive an award, which was unfortunate.

Anyway this was Dudleys 5th race, and his 4th taking the top dog spot. Not bad for an overweight Golden Retriever breeding reject with bad hips and tendency to overheat.

4 years later and a lot more grey.
Still top dog.

Maybe we are both getting older and slowing down. But we'll keep running (and racing) together as long as we can...

The rest of Shannon's Photos are here.

The Dirty Dog 15K

The Dirty Dog 15K: Where dogs get to race

Off the Leash

Jorge loves to get dirty

Running on a trail with our dogs is nothing but pure, guaranteed happiness; for us and for them.
When we grab the leashes off the wall, they somehow know when we are going to the trail instead of just a walk around the block. They moan and wail and cannot contain themselves.

Even Jorge, who will often refuse to get out of bed for a walk, will pull the leash sprinting at a 6 min pace down the half mile of greenway to the trailhead.

We will often wait until it is raining, so we know we will have the trail all to ourselves. Then we let them run free, as nature intended (animals running free in the woods! Criminal!). They swim in the lake and sprint like crazy ahead of us down the muddy trail.


But it's about more than just freedom. There is a special bond that forms with a dog when you run them off leash. You become a pack. Instead of a collar restricting their impulses, they become more in tune and focused on you for guidance. A natural communication develops; for example, "OK, let's go home", I say, and Dudley will immediately turn around start heading back.

Running with a dog on a trail seems to tap into some shared primal instinct: chasing an imaginary quarry or maybe fleeing a predator. It's about nothing but the pure joy running itself.

Practicing our photo finish

A Perfect Race
A few months ago I discovered The Dirty Dog 15K, a trail race in WV that not only lets you run with your dog, but off leash. This was THE race for us and our pack!

We signed up and started training.

Our Misfit Mutts:
Jorge Francisco - is a pure bred Canadian Beverage Retriever. Which is a misshapen corgi-like dog with a long, tubby body, short little legs, and one crooked paw turned sideways. Found as a puppy in a cardboard box on the side of I-85. He is 9 years old, and will often bark at people on the street without leaving our bed.

Dudley Dooright - A golden retriever reject, born with a congenital defect that left him unable to urinate. A breeder left him to die behind a vet clinic. He is now 8 years old, 10 pounds overweight, with bad hips.
But he is my racing dog. He has placed top dog in 3 races, and won one 5K outright (see post here) .

Jeffery (left) and Jorge training

Jefferey J. Jeffery - A spastic, always hungry black lab mix who lost a back leg when he was young. His previous owner was abusive and abandoned him. Age unknown, but at least 7 or 8 now. Physically he is a great runner despite only having 3 legs, but he is easily distracted.

Lula - The 12 year old hound, who doesn't like running. At least not with us, anyway. She decided to stay home and not run The Dirty Dog.

Carbo loading the day before

Training
Shannon and I took Jorge, Dooright, and Jeffery on many training runs out our 8 mile trail route.

Dooright and I ran over 150 miles in training for the Dirty Dog. I took him on every run I did (except for a few races). Some weeks he ran more than I did, because Shannon would take him for a few miles as well.

On one warm humid day, Dooright and I did the 8 mile single track route at a 7:30 pace, with him slowing only a little at the end. It gave me confidence that he was in good enough shape to race the whole 15K.

Unfortunately our training route was not a good simulation for the Dirty Dog 15K.

The Race Summary
Our pack of 5 camped the night before and walked to the starting line in the morning.
We were trained. We were ready.
How did it go? Well, about mid-way through the race, this was the situation:

• Dudley Dooright was sprawled out in a mud puddle, unable to even stand up.
• Jorge Francisco was missing. 
• Jeffery Jeffery was have a good ol time.
• Shannon was running a half mile back towards the start
• I was standing on the side of a forest road, clutching my throbbing knee and swatting at flies.

But let me give you the full race report...

At the start of the Dirty Dog
Dudley loves racing!

Start

There were almost 300 people and over 100 dogs lined up.

Dooright and I started near the front, because he is competitive and loves to go out fast.
Shannon started a little further back. In one hand she the leashes for Jorge and Jefferey, and in the other her camera to take photos along the way.

It was Jorge's first race and he was nervous and drooling. Some guys standing next to Jorge were talking smack with each other. "Hey don't let chihuahua beat you", they laughed.

At the count of three we were off and there was a bit of chaos. I saw loose dogs running back the wrong way. Some guys tripped over leashes. But Dooright weaved his way through the crowd, pulling me towards the front and up the first big climb.

The first hill.

Pace Yourself!
I thought that Dudley and I had perfected our pacing in training.
He would run in front about a 7:30/mile pace. If he got too far ahead, he would stop and wait for me or find some water to cool off. I had not anticipated how competitive he can be; he loves passing people.

One rule of the race is you must keep your dog on a leash for the first mile, which I did.
After I let him off he surged ahead passing guys left and right.
"Dudley! Hey! Hold on. Dooright!!", I could not keep up.

Eventually he stopped and I put him back on the leash for a bit. But the trail got too technical so I had to let him back off, and he raced ahead again. We were running with a pack of about 4 guys, about 8th place overall. There we at least 2 fast dogs way ahead of us, and it seemed Dooright was trying to catch them.

A few times he took the wrong path, not understanding that the yellow tape meant "do not cross".
But he would recover and rush to the front of our group again.

Splits for Dudley and I.
Note Lap 5.

Knee
Even on the steep, treacherous descent, I couldn't keep up.
Part of that was due to my aching knee. In 3 consecutive weeks, I ran a hard Medoc trail race, bonked badly at the Big Sur marathon, and then pummeled what was left of my legs at the Philosophers Way 15K.

My right knee was wrecked from all that, and jumping down the slick rocks was causing a sharp jabbing pain. But this was a once-in-lifetime race for old Dooright. He had put the training in, so I had to grit my teeth and push through it for him.

Redlining
When we got to the bottom of the hill, there were many stream crossings. Dudley would splash through and get a gulp of water without breaking stride.

It was warm, maybe 70 degrees, and humid, which was pushing his limits in terms of temperature.
I tried to get him to lay down in the water to cool off, but he refused. He was having way too much fun chasing the runners ahead of him.

At mile 4 we hit a huge climb. It was very narrow single track, and steep as stairs. There was a line of about 5 of us trudging up single file, grabbing trees to hoist ourselves up. Dooright would weave his way up ahead until he was out of sight, wait until I caught up, and then go ahead again.

Dudley was hitting his maximum pant-rate, it sounded like 180 pants-per-minute; he was absolutely redlining. He would be right on the heels of the guy in front him, blowing his hot breath on the poor guys legs. I tried keeping him behind me with my hands, but he would squirm past again.

This poor guy was laying in the mud not far from Dudley.

Boiled Over
Eventually we reached the top and came out onto a gravel forest road. Around mile 4.5, we came to small mud puddle, and I got Dudley to lay down in it. His whole body was heaving like bellows with his tongue flopped out of his mouth. He tried to stand up, but his legs were too weak and collapsed underneath him.

When dogs get too hot they can pant so fast that their lungs can't absorb any oxygen. I have seen this happen to Dooright before, and his back legs simply will not work until he cools off.
"That's OK. Stay down."

He had literally run himself into the ground. Clutching my throbbing knee, and feeling my achilles tighten up, I couldn't help but laugh at how similar we were. Our love of racing far exceeds what our aging bodies are capable of.

We sat there for 10 minutes, as all the runners and dogs streamed by. One dog got into the puddle and tried to hump poor Dudley as he laid there. Oh, the humiliation.
After a while he could stand up, but I made him lay back down. "Let's wait for the rest of the pack."
We waited another 10 minutes.

I started to get worried. Where were they? Even Jorge wouldn't be that slow. The runners started to thin out. Something must have happened... 

Jorge Francisco has pre-race nerves

Jorge Takes Break
At the start, Shannon, Jorge and Jeffrey also surged ahead were not far behind us the first mile.

"Hey! That chihuahua just passed us!", Shannon heard someone say. At mile 1, she took the dogs off leash.
She ran another half mile before noticing Jorge was not behind her.

She stopped at an aid station and waited, asking runners if they had seen a little dog.
Then she and Jeffrey started running back to find him.
"Yeah, we saw a little dog laying under a bush way back there."

Apparently, as soon as Jorge had been let of leash he had decided to just lay down.

He often does this when he does not want to go home and get a bath. But we don't know why he did it here.

Shannon found him just as the last place runner was hitting the first mile.

Off and running

Catching Up
So Shannon started again from mile 1, in absolute last place.
She made it back to the first aid station at mile 1.5, just making the course cutoff at 30 minutes.

Jorge was ready to run now, and the three of them managed a decent pace, passing over 50 runners in the narrow trail. Finally they caught up to Dooright and I, and our pack of 5 continued on together.

Plummeting down to the finnish

Finishing Strong
Dudley had recovered and could run again, although no longer pushed the pace.
Jorge looked happy that we all together, and Jeffery was doing still doing great on his 3 legs despite running the extra mile. I had to shorten up my stride to give my knee a break, but was able to grit out the last 4 miles.

With all five of us reunited, we seemed to draw strength from it, and felt the instinct to run together. We took turns leading, but it was Shannon who was pushing the pack along, trying to make up for lost time
"Passing on your left! Two people and three dogs coming through!"

Dooright and Jorge cross the finish line

We passed another 50 people or so, and cruised down the last long descent to finish in 1:55, about mid pack of the 273 finishers.

A man poses with the 3-legged dog who beat him

The real winner of the day was Jefferey, who proved he was the best runner of the our three, despite only having three legs.
He stayed with Shannon the whole time, ran an extra mile, and didn't need a break. It's really amazing he could push himself up those big climbs with only one back leg.

The Dirty Dog hospitality team serving homemade dog treats!

Our New Favorite Race
This was an all around great race.
The course was well marked, the trail was hard but fun, and the volunteers plentiful and awesome.
Finish line food was was wonderful, especially the watermelon. And the homemade treats were a hit

But most of all it lets us combine two of our favorite things.
We can not only run a trail race, but do it with our dogs. It makes our running experience complete.

So we will be back next year with our pack.
Hopefully better trained, and maybe a little wiser too.

The rest of Shannon's photos are here on Facebook

"What the hell? That black dog ate my treat"
Not everyone was a fan of Jeffrey.