While most of you are staring down Day 3 of your 2012 New Year’s resolutions, I find myself with less than five months to go on my annual birthday resolutions. Make that “first” annual birthday resolutions: When I turned 55 last May 11 I got to Googling and discovered that 55 is a somewhat pivital year for a male. Among other things, our muscles and organs begin to atrophy; we shrink, on average, 0.4 inches a year; we dehydrate more easily; our joints stiffen … . Suffice it to say that on May 11 of last year I didn’t feel I could wait seven months to set some goals, so I set 10 immediately.  All with a theme of 55.

Here’s a status report:

1. Run 11 5Ks (11 x 5 = 55). So far, I’ve run three, all last summer. The good news is that 5Ks are a dime a dozen — or more accurately, at least one a weekend, so the opportunities are there. Plus, I’ve ramped up my running of late (prompted by a more immediate and daunting goal, the Uwharrie Mountain Run on Feb. 4) and feel ready to get back into a 5K rythym. I should fess up, though, that on New Year’s Day I blew off a prime 5K opportunity: the Run in the New Year Run, which was, literally, three blocks from my house. But it started at midnight and my wife laid odds, based on my New Year’s Eve track record, that I wouldn’t make it past 10 (I didn’t). Still, I’m optimistic
2. Climb “The Mummy” at Linville Gorge, a 5.5-rated rock climb. This remains unchecked as well, though again, hope springs eternal. I’ve hooked up with the Triangle Rock Club’s Climbing Meetup, been climbing with them at the TRC and know that when it gets warmer, the group’s leadership (comprised of climbing instructors for the Boy Scouts) will be leadings us outdoors. Asterisk: The leadership being leaders and deciding things like where to go, I may have to substitute another climb of equal or greater difficulty.
3. Do a 55-mile backpacking trip. Bit of a conundrum here. Two weeks ago, Chris David and I did a 50-mile backpack trip on the North Carolina Bartram Trail and the Appalachian Trail. Chris, who’s been backpacking since the 1960s, said it was the hardest trip he’s done. Hence, the conundrum: Does the level of difficulty compensate for coming up five miles short? I’m inclined to say yes, especially if I can’t pull off a planned 60-mile backpack trip on the Mountains-to-Sea Trail along Falls Lake.
4. Do a 55-mile canoe trip. Again, unchecked but confidence reigns. I’m in the midst of writing a book on adventure sports in the Carolinas, with paddling as a primary focus. The trip may take place in a kayak rather than a canoe, but the fun factor alone should assure that this happens.
5. Do 55 continuous push-ups. As I wrote last May: “I’ve been especially slack over the years on strength training; with my muscles atrophying staying strong becomes even more important.” Turns out, I’ve discovered, the “atrophying muscles” claim isn’t speculation. I’ve been doing pushups regularly, three to five times a week, in sets of three or four. On the last set, I do as many as I can pump out. In October, I got up to 38 on that last set and plateaued. I’ve recommitted on this one and hope to cross it from the list by the end of February.
6. 55: Total of my waist size (30) and BMI (25). Now, three days after the Thanksgiving-Christmas-New Year’s bacchanal, is not the time to be taking measure of one’s waist and BMI. Again, check back the end of February.
7. Resting heart rate of 55. Just measured it: 48. (Confession: It was already 54 when I set the goal.)
8. 55-mile mountain bike race. That book I mentioned that I’m writing? Mountain biking is another focus area. I’m looking to accomplish this goal at the Pisgah Mountain Bike Adventure Race in May. The race takes place in the Davidson River area near Brevard and ranges from 45 to 70 miles depending upon your orientation skills. That should assure I get in at least 55 miles.
9. 55 miles on my mountain bike on my birthday. This didn’t happen, I noted at the time, because I had to pick up the kids from school. So when I do it between now and this coming May 11, I’ll add an asterisk. Oh, and at least half of the total — 28 miles — needs to be on singletrack.
10. Umstead 100 endurance run. First timers such as myself are restricted to just (“just”?) 50 miles in the Umstead 100 endurance run, which is March 31. Alas, I missed the registration deadline and the race is full. In search of an alternative. Suggestions welcome.

Let’s see, according to the 55 for 55 Goals Tote Board that makes me two for 10 with just over four months to go. Wish me luck with my goals, and best of luck with yours in 2012!

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The hardest part of a race? Anymore, it’s just getting in.

This morning, at 7:59, I sat at the keyboard, my right index finger poised of the Enter key. In the window of my browser was this address: http://www.sportoften.com/events/eventDetails.cfm?pEventId=7902 — the site to register for the Feb. 4 Uwharrie Mountain Run. The site was set to go active at 8 a.m. today, Nov. 1, 2011.

7:59:57, 7:59:58, 7:59:59 … 8:00!

I punched the Enter key and what may well be my toughest challenge in this 20-mile trail run was on. For the first five minutes I watched a circular gray arrow spin in the browser window. Then I began getting a “Database Error” message. I rebooted (when in doubt … ) and somehow found myself on the registration site for the 2010 Uwharrie Mountain Run. I regrouped and managed to advance to the circular spinning blue arrow in the browser window. Hope! It was 8:21 and I was feeling wildly optimistic, giddy even. At 8:27 I was on the registration site, by 8:37 I had appeased the god of credit card verification and was officially registered. I pumped both fists in the air, elated: Only 38 minutes of cajoling the computer machine to register. I was in, baby!

Yesterday, I ran into Triangle ultradistance running icon Joey Anderson on the Neuse River Trail. Anderson was in taper mode for next weekend’s Mountain Masochist Trail Run in Virginia and was doing a short six-miler. We chatted a minute before Joey asked if I’d run Sunday’s Monster Dash 5K at Cameron Village.

“We had over 1,000 runners,” Joey said, and by “we” he was referring to race organizer The Athlete’s Foot, where he works. A thousand!? I thought back to the first Monster Dash two years ago, which had less than 200 runners and last year’s race, which had maybe 400. I thought about the tight venue — both the course itself, an out-and-back on Clark Street and Oberlin Road, and the limited opportunities for parking. I also thought about the race’s ties to Cameron Village, and how relocating the race wasn’t an option. I wasn’t surprised when Joey said, “They’ll probably have to cap it next year.”

Ah, the dreaded cap: the limit on the number of people who can enter an event. The cap: the reason I sat pensively at the keyboard this morning at 7:59:59 with my right index finger poised over the Enter key.

Virtually every race — from foot races to triathlons to cycling events to … whatever — that has been around for two or three years and has developed any reputation has a cap. Sometimes the cap is no big deal. Occasionally, you can even register for a capped race on race day. Often, though, you need the stars to align and be something of an online zen master to get into a popular race. Last year, for instance, I toyed with the idea of entering the Umstead 100. Alas, the notion didn’t occur until the afternoon of the day registration opened; by then, the 250 slots for the race had been snapped up.

As for the Uwharrie Mountain Run, I was surprised to find that registration remained open as of 11:15 this morning. But if you’re interested in running, I wouldn’t dawdle.

In the first three hours registration had already topped 800.

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Yesterday, our look at the volunteers who make possible every run, triathlon, road bike ride, mountain bike race, adventure race — whatever kind of amateur competition you can think of — left off with a bevy of helpers trying to help an ailing 42-year-old Richard McKnight of Arizona finish the last five miles of the Umstead 100 endurance race. Today, a look at more of the 300-plus volunteers who made the Umstead 100, held April 2 and 3, happen — and whether they could help get McKnight to the finish.

For a man who’s been up 24 hours — and may not get any sleep for another 10 — Joe Lugiano looks surprisingly fresh. Good thing, because he is to the runners of the Umstead 100 what Lady Liberty has been to millions of immigrants: the symbol of a long, arduous journey about to end.

Lugiano is the assistant race director of the Umstead 100, in which the majority of 251 runners will run eight laps on a hilly 12.5-mile loop course. Lugiano wears many hats as one of the race’s 300-plus volunteers — nearly a week earlier he helped begin setting up and he’ll be here into the coming week making sure no trace of the Umstead 100 remains in 5,579-acre Umstead State Park in Raleigh. Right now, with daylight just beginning to spread, he’s the friendly face that tells runners their quest is over. And the friendly face that will appear in many of their finish-line photos.

“This woman wants a belt buckle!” says Sally Squier, one of the race’s five captains and a fellow greeter as she escorts 37-year-old Kathy Wolf of Ohio to the scorer’s tent. Lugiano quickly disappears into the tent and reappears with a shiny bronze-colored belt buckle awarded to first-time finishers. He and Squier flank Wolf, who manages a smile despite having run for nearly 25 hours, 36 minutes and 8 seconds. Two minutes later there’s another finisher, 39-year-old Tammy Madison of Maryland, to welcome. They are the 80th and 81st finishers, respectively, that Lugiano has greeted; he won’t be done for another five hours, until 52-year-old Kim Sergeant of Texas crosses the line with just 6 minutes and 36 seconds to spare before the 30-hour noon cut-off.

Actually, not all of the runners at this point are finishing; some still have a lap to go. And in less than an hour, at 8 a.m., Lugiano will have to make some tough decisions. Eight is the cutoff for letting runners back on the course. With just four hours until the race is officially over and support on the course ends, it’s unlikely these runners won’t make the deadline. Sill, Lugiano reserves the right to some discretionary wiggle room.

“I’ll look at their splits,” says Lugiano, “and if the last couple are reasonable … sometimes they get rejuvenated with daylight. I’ll have them sign a liability waiver noting there won’t aid available on the course after noon.”

A tough assignment for anyone, let alone a volunteer for whom the Umstead 100 is pretty much a year-round job. For a week or two after this race ends there will be clean up and storage to deal with (the race’s tents and other gear are kept in  storage garages). Then, preparation will begin for next year’s race, picking up substantially after online registration opens in September. (This year’s race filled up in a matter of minutes.)

With no paid staff, it’s up to an army of more than 300-plus volunteers to make the Umstead 100 happen. They come from as far away as Philadelphia and Florida. Many are fellow runners, recruited through the local North Carolina Roadrunners and Carolina Godiva Track clubs. Sally Squier gets members of her motorcycle club to pitch in. All money raised for the race — most from the $150 registration fee, some from sponsorships — goes into the race. The Umstead 100’s food bill alone, says Race Director Blake Norwood, is $5,700 — and takes a team of 12 volunteer shoppers three hours to spend at a local Sam’s Club.

There are some perks to volunteering. First-year volunteer Rebecca Sitton shows me around the ample gift shop occupying a corner of the race’s lodge headquarters. It’s got every Umstead 100 souvenir a runner could want — from the traditional commemorative hats and T-shirts to blankets and flashlights. Only most of the goods aren’t sold to the runners: they’re given to volunteers as gifts.

“We take good care of our volunteers,” says Norwood. “We appreciate so much what they do.”

When Sitton isn’t helping with gift selections, she’s dispensing advice. Her big “plastics” tip? “If the runners would just get sick they’d feel so much better.”

A cap, even a blanket, is small reward for the amount of time the volunteers put in (most do a minimum 4- to 8-hour shift at the race). Not to mention the occasional indignity.

“Get some sleep last night?” Lugiano asks Squier as they await another finisher.
“No, we had a bat in the cabin.”
“A little bat?” Lugiano asks.
“Well,” Squier elaborates, “it peed on Jennifer.”

Another runner crosses the finish and after congratulating him Squier gently takes him by the shoulders and points him toward the lodge. “You need to get inside and get warmed up and get some breakfast.”

Inside, the runner will be taken care of by Ben Dillon and crew. Dillon’s official race title appears to be “The Pancake Man.” He got up at 2 a.m. to start mixing 15 pounds of batter, which his crew began serving — along with scrambled eggs, omelets and the other breakfast staples — a couple hours later. The main perk to Dillon’s job: On a night when the temperature has dipped below freezing, it’s the one warm spot in the Umstead 100.

Dillon, who is 60 and has been running for 25 years, says the kitchen will remain open until noon, until the end.

“We’ll be here for the last runner,” he says. “They’ve been out there for 30 hours. We owe them that.”

After the race, Lugiano will stick around and help with initial clean-up and to get the race results up on the Web site asap. (“People have become fairly demanding with the Internet,” Norwood says.) Lugiano doesn’t expect to get any sleep until after 6 p.m., at the earliest — that’s 36 hours after the race started at 6 a.m. Saturday, more than 38 hours after he reported for work. For now, there are more finishers to greet.

The finish at the Umstead 100 is a rather cruel climb of about 40 yards. Still, even after running 99.99 miles, most of the runners attack it with gusto. One of the more surprisingly strong finishes comes just before 8 a.m.

Three hours earlier, 42-year-old Richard McKnight of Arizona wobbled into Aid Station II. Ninety-five miles of running had begun taking its toll: he was cold, exhausted, disoriented. A triage team of volunteers spent 45 minutes reviving McKnight to the point where he was willing to at least attempt the last five miles. With Heiko Rath, a volunteer pacer by his side, he pushed off from the aid station tent into the predawn cold. Now, at the finish, he looks more like someone who’s finished a 5K than a 100-mile run.

“If it wasn’t for him,” McKnight says looking to Rath, “I wouldn’t have finished this last lap.”

Thanks to Rath and some 300 other Umstead 100 volunteers, McKnight has a shiny new belt buckle and a lifetime of bragging rights.

The post Umstead 100 ultra volunteers go the distance (Part II) appeared first on GetGoing NC!.

McKnight is one of 251 ultra runners participating in the 17th running of the Umstead 100. At 6 a.m. the previous morning — Saturday, April 2 — they started running a 12.5-mile course on Umstead State Park’s bike and bridle trails. A few stopped after four laps — 50 miles. Most, McKnight included are doing the full ultra enchilada, eight laps for 100 miles earning them a western-style belt buckle commemorating the feat. An elite few have already finished, packed and headed home: Winner John Dennis crossed the finish around sunset the previous evening, finishing in 14 hours and 7 minutes, an 8-hour and 28-minute pace that would make most 5K runners (that’s 3.1 miles, 3/100s of the Umstead 100) happy. Most of the rest have spent a long, cold night battling a variety of demons, real and imagined. They’ll tell you they wouldn’t have made it without the army of volunteers pulling four- to eight-hour shifts to attend to their needs.

The Umstead 100, like every other run, triathlon, road bike ride, mountain bike race, adventure race — whatever kind of amateur competition you can think of — wouldn’t happen without volunteers. They hand out water, they offer split times, they give orange slices and PBJs at rest stops, they handle your registration, they take the timing belt off your sweaty ankle. Perhaps most important, they offer encouragement when, more than water or a banana or a Fig Newton, what you really need is a, “Keep Going! You can do it!”

“These are the best volunteers that can be found,” says Blake Norwood, race director and founder. “We are second to none and we live up to that.”

In the case of Richard McKnight, the volunteers have their work cut out for them. His last and final lap has been his worse. By his own admission, he likely wouldn’t have made it to the mid-course Aid Station II (ominously dubbed “Tom & Jerry’s Ptomaine Tavern) without the help of Heiko Rath, one of 70 pacers who have volunteered to accompany runners once they hit the 50-mile mark.

Roth helps McKnight to a camp chair inside the propane-heated aid station tent. At 5 a.m., the tent is staffed by eight volunteers, many of whom are nearing the end of their graveyard shift. John Thompson and John Gozjack are the first to greet the incoming runners, offering just about anything they could want. The tent is overstocked with oranges, muffins, cinnamon rolls, animal, crackers, apples, cookies, Chex mix, hard-boiled eggs, Pop Tarts, fruit, hard candies and cookies. Hot dogs, hamburgers and ribs are on the grill. There’s coffee and hot chocolate. The early morning’s big sellers: potato soup and chicken rice soup.

“People need everything,” says Gozjack, which sparks a conversation with Thompson, both veterans of such events, about what “everything” constitutes.

“They won’t let us do beer here,” Thompson, says in reference to the Pabst Blue Ribbon served in Dixie Cups at a local marathon.

McKnight is wrapped in a blanket and quickly attended to by Dr. Laurie Cameron, who’s come up from Charlotte to help. She begins a casual conversation with McKnight, in part to assess his physical condition but also to determine his mental state. This initial chat will serve as his baseline assessment; if his mental facilities don’t show improvement in a half hour or so, regardless of his physical condition, he won’t be continuing on.

“People usually come to their own conclusion” about whether to keep going, Cameron says. “If they’re too confused, their pallor is bad, they’re cold and shivering and they’re not coming around with food and blankets, then we’ll send them to the hospital and warm them up with IV fluids.”

Cold is a particular concern with dawn an hour away: The thermometer outside the aid station reads 30.

A steady stream of volunteers checks on McKnight and a handful of other runners who have settled in the triage area around him. Most stay 10 to 15 minutes, just long enough to thaw under a blanket and down a Styrofoam cup of coffee.

McKnight appears to have turned a corner mentally. He’s suddenly conversant, concerned now with finishing rather than simply surviving. Cameron, like many of the volunteers, is a runner. She took up running a few years ago after gaining 100 pounds following a divorce. She’s now into ultras, having completed 86 miles of  recent 24-hour Freedom Park Run in Morganton. She supplements her medical advice with running advice.

“It can be easier to run at a 4.5- to 5-mile-per-hour pace than to walk at a 3-mile-per-hour pace,” Cameron tells McKnight.

“I’d rather shuffle a mile in 15 minutes than do what I’ve been doing,” he replies, adding, “I don’t want to push it too early and have the last five miles be miserable.”

J.T. Newnam has been checking in on McKnight’s progress. Newnam is currently in charge of Aid Station II while his dad, Tom, one of the race founders, takes a catnap. The younger Newnam has volunteered at most of the 17 Umstead 100s and understands the ultra runner psyche. He knows they need encouragement. He also knows that a dose of reality and a little humor help, too.

“It’s gonna be a miserable five miles anyway,” he says.

Tomorrow: More volunteers and Richard McKnight’s last five miles, and a slide show.

Photo: Dr. Laurie Cameron, in orange fleece, and Heiko Rath, in black wearing a headlamp, work to get Richard McKnight back in the race.

The post Umstead 100’s ultra volunteers go the distance (Part I) appeared first on GetGoing NC!.