Welcome to the High Country

The miles of open road between DeKalb, IL and Meeker, CO were host to my little car as I drove across the Great Plains and over the Great Divide. I had loaded up my vehicle with the necessities I would need for the summer and set my sights for the High Country. I had beautiful weather as my companion and time on my side. I was in no rush since I had the entire Memorial Day weekend to reach my destination. I had an 18 hour drive and I was intending to make the best of it. Passing through the open stretches of the heartland gave me plenty of time for reflection. Gazing at the roads and pastures my thoughts focused on the new surroundings and people I would meet. I wondered how well I would adjust to a new setting with zero friends and family. Transitioning is never easy, but fortunately I have a knack for meeting new folk and warming up to strangers. I knew that with my demeanor and attitude it wouldn’t take long for me to feel comfortable with my new home. What I didn’t expect was to feel like I was at home in new place within the first week.

My purpose for moving to Colorado for the summer was to work with the Bureau of Land Management (BLM) as a Hydrologic Technician. I had taken the summer internship for experience, college credit, and to spend a summer in the Mecca of ultrarunning, the High Country. I had envisioned a landscape like I had seen so much in magazines, youtube videos, and on my favorite website TrailPorn.com. I pictured snowcapped mountains, dusty trails, hills for miles, and the sky that would welcome me with all the colors of nature. The morning I was driving across the border of Colorado I had a golden sunrise and I let out a squeal of joy as I saw the sign that said “Welcome to Colorful Colorado.” I sure felt welcome after seeing that sign knowing I was one mile closer to the mountains I would call home.

A few hours later while driving I got a surge of excitement as I saw the formation of mountains. I blinked hard and looked closer into the distance. Far ahead of the highway I saw the white silhouette that I believed were mountaintops. I couldn’t believe how high into the sky they were reaching. I wanted to believe that I was really looking at mountains so I looked harder. As I scanned the surroundings I realized it was just a cloud formation and not real mountains. I patiently put my giddy nerves back inside to wait for the right moment. I had grown accustomed to running out in the Midwestern country roads and fantasizing that the clouds in the distant horizon were mountains. It felt silly but also made me smile when I would visualize running with an enormous mountain as my background. Mountain shaped clouds became good friends of mine on many runs in Corn Country. It wasn’t long until I blinked hard again and this time the mountains didn’t move. The emotions flooded me as they leaked out of my eyes with my mouth wide open and my breathing momentarily paused. I felt overjoyed and so at peace knowing this moment was exactly what I had been waiting for. It felt like when you see your favorite band perform for the first time or when you take the first step into your favorite amusement park. A sense of euphoria washed over me and I still had five more hours to go until I reached my destination.

The false cloud mountains

The real mountains

I stopped in Boulder to refuel my car and my appetite. I had a pleasant conversation with the gas attendant and also with a fellow patron at a small eatery and pub called Avery Brewing Company. Spending only about an hour there I immediately wanted to end my journey and begin to settle in. The short interactions I had immediately warmed me to this city but I had to reluctantly continue my journey to Meeker. As I left the Front Range I was still all smiles knowing I had many new people and adventures to meet. Having the mountains surround me made me feel small and humble. Having nature stare down at you can bring about a connection we seldom acknowledge. We are as much a part of nature as anything else. The human mind easily forgets this relationship as we are inundated with technology and countless activities that vie for our attention away from nature. I welcomed this feeling and drove further into the mountains.

As I exited the Eisenhower Tunnel, the longest mountain tunnel in the world, I was abruptly greeted by whiteout conditions. I had entered the tunnel with rain coming down and on the other side it was coming down as sleet and snow. The cars in front of me slowed down and I followed their lead. The weather didn’t let up and for the next hour I drove through a blizzard occurring at the end of May. Apparently this is common until mid June in this region. It was at this point when I began to realize I should have packed more cold weather clothes.  Blizzards and cold weather did not dampen my spirit. I drove on and eventually left the snow and entered the canyons. I snaked my way along the Colorado River on the highway that mimicked its path. I had a hard time not staring at the many river features and characteristics I had studied about in my classes. It was like a textbook come alive. Then I was distracted by an Amtrak train which raced along the other side of the river. Of course I won but I couldn’t help imagine what scenic views that train ride must offer. 

Blizzard in the High Country

Racing the Amtrak

My drive continued with light rain and cloudy skies. I had fantastic views of mountains in all directions and I knew I would be arriving to my destination soon. I saw the exit for Meeker and gladly got off the highway. It was still another hour until I eventually arrived at my new place for the next 3 months. I was greeted by my host and quickly unpacked while eagerly asking many questions about the area. I wanted to be settled in quickly and start exploring the mountains. Fortunately, I would do just that. I met so many people and all were welcoming and friendly. With some of these different people I managed to go hiking and feel the altitude, mountain bike over the most technical trail of my life at 7,000 feet, run that same trail twice, see some amazing views my work has to offer, and also managed to attempt a 14er (a mountain that reaches at least 14,000 feet above sea level) all during my first week in Colorado. I have never truly felt more at home in a place I never knew. I can also tell you that while climbing the Mount of the Holy Cross (a 14er) I received the best welcome of all. I was hiking near the summit where it was very steep and I quickly winded myself in the thin air at about 13,000 feet. I was struggling to breathe so I plopped face down on a small patch of alpine grass and breathed heavily into the ground. I felt my chest rise and fall as I took deep breaths while entranced with the views. I noticed the warmth from the sun drenched grass hugging me and making me feel better. If anyone could see me it looked like I was just laid out on a mountain but to me it felt like nature was embracing me and whispering, “Welcome home.”

Work site

 

 

Work site #2

Non-work site

The Past and The Future at the Ice Age Trail 50, 2014

Fred Webber ran the Ice Age Trail 50 mile race in the mid 1980s. Fred was standing near me at the 40 mile checkpoint and aid station located in the Kettle Moraine State Forest. It was a warm day in the mid 60s and for the runners out in the trails it felt closer to 80 degrees. This scenic park hosts this historic race year after year since 1982. The race touts itself as one of the oldest 50 mile races in the country. I was here to watch my friend Mike run this race for his first time. I had run this race myself the year before and had such a memorable time discovering some incredible talents I possess. I still get nostalgic recalling the miraculous recovering and second wind I experienced on this course and therefore felt an attachment here. Today I was here to see my friend Mike run it and support him. I also got to see the leaders of the race but most importantly I wanted to be a part of the enchantment that is found along the trails of an Ultramarathon.

As Fred and I stood on the grassy field waiting for some runners to come in we got to talking about Ultras. Fred is an older gentleman who I had overheard talking about how he used to run this race and how it holds a special meaning to him. He mentioned that running helped him overcome an addiction to alcohol and changed his life for the better. Unfortunately, Fred hasn’t run this race since the early 1990s. His life changed when he had children and spent his time raising them and it left him with less and less time for running. Today Fred doesn’t look like a typical Ultrarunner. He is slightly taller than average height with a bit of a spare tire around his waist. The stories he told me of his days running Ultras were not exceptionally legendary but what was most captivating was hearing his enthusiasm and love of this sport as he spoke about his memories. It was incredibly genuine and his voice carried a tone that couldn’t be any more honest. I felt incredible respect for Fred listening to his tales of how he dealt with cramps and not having all the products or water carrying devices available to runners today. The best part of our conversation was when Fred turned to me and said “Hey thanks for talking to me. It’s hard for me to be out here without running and this helps talking with someone.” He appreciated someone who understood Ultras since many of the other spectators around were just cheering on their family and friends and didn’t run these races at all. Since I could relate with many of the experiences of running an Ultra and with my familiarity of this course we carried on talking for quite some time.

Kate Pallardy getting support while in 2nd place

Fred was here with his family to support his son Phil. Phil was running his first Ultra and Fred mentioned how he didn’t want to put pressure on his son but that he was overjoyed with pride that his son had wanted to carry his father’s legacy and run this race. Phil was getting worried as he hadn’t seen his son since the aid station back at mile 26 almost 3 hours ago. I knew Mike was running a steady pace and wondered if the two had crossed paths out there. Mike is a good friend who has been to Hell and back with me. Literally, we had both run the Dances with Dirt 50 mile race in Hell, Michigan last year and cemented a bond in Ultrarunning. I wasn’t too worried about Mike since I know he can take care of himself. I was more excited to just give him a jolt of positive energy and support. When Phil finally came in and I saw his parents crewing for him I felt joy for them. Not because he finally came in but because his family was sharing in this moment with him. It’s not easy for friends and family to spend many hours standing in a park just looking at people running in and out of aid stations. Especially if they aren’t familiar with the race atmosphere they can have a terrible time wondering where their runner is and why it is taking so long. I heard among the other spectators say that they wish they could see the runners more often along the course. I thought how that might be possible and the idea of having drones flying through the woods watching the runners was one possible way. But then I thought about how it would be a terribly unnatural experience for the runners having these machines flying by overhead in the middle of what should be nature. What these spectators failed to realize is that the way these races are designed is to challenge the runner by leaving them out in the trails alone. They must look within to find their strength and get to the next aid station and eventually to the finish line. Having friends and family along the course is great but it also diminishes the effect of seeing them at the aid stations (typically 5-6 miles apart). I feel that seeing friends and family only so often on the course makes that moment much more special. 

Phil coming into the Aid Station with Fred and Family (Fred at far left)

As Phil was getting support from his family Mike came in shortly behind him. I got to work crewing for him by filling his bladder with water, getting him salt tablets, and even placing an ice cold bandana around his neck. I had specifically picked my brooks “Run Happy” bandana to be a little bit more encouraging for Mike should he happen to look down and read it. Mike embodies a lot of what I love about this sport. He doesn’t care much about times or miles, instead he focuses on having a good time. So this “Run Happy” theme fit perfectly for him. He looked in decent shape and I told him to keep running his own pace and to just keep moving. He looked extremely grateful while the sun kept shining brightly warming up the day. I saw Mike off and didn’t realize that Fred and his family had already left, eager to head toward the finish and watch Phil cross that line. I had my fill for the day and left the race satisfied. I had witnessed the leaders (who would break course records), met some interesting people, and saw the love this sport exudes in the athletes and their family and friends there to support them. As for Fred I was grateful to meet one of the original Ice Age Trail runners and wished I could thank him back. Although he said I reminded him of his younger self, I couldn’t help but feel that I was talking to a future version of myself. One that never lost the love for this sport of Ultrarunning.

Mike coming into the Aid Station

Mike and Mike running happy

For Boston... For Everyone

Last Monday on Patriot’s Day in Boston the spirit of the marathon soared triumphantly. It cascaded along the course of the streets and spilled over serendipitously onto the crowds of eager fans. Those fans lining the streets along the course are fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, cousins, friends, and even pets. I’m fairly certain they all eagerly absorbed the energy. As for the volunteers working alongside the police and medical staff that keep the whole affair in order, they too take in a bit of that marathon spirit. 

So what is this marathon spirit? Well, I can’t explicitly describe it but I can tell you how it made me feel. The morning of the Boston Marathon I woke up frantically worried that I overslept. Having stayed the night at a friend’s place and being woken up by daylight I panicked thinking I had missed the race. Fortunately, I quickly learned it was only 6am and I still had 4 hours before the race even started. I got up and found myself in Jamaican Plain, a historic suburb of Boston, and needed to get back to our hotel in the North End to rendezvous with my pal Adam and my gal pal Penelope. We had all planed on getting together early this morning and staking out a good spot near the finish line to watch for my speedy brother Marvin run his first Boston Marathon.

Marvin posing at the finish chute

This entire trip to Boston was due to Marvin and his qualifying entry into this prestigious race. Once Marvin was accepted entry he immediately let me know this fact and then promptly asked if I was willing to go with him. The answer was of course yes since this year would be extra special due to the resurgence from last year’s incident. Not only had I worn a Run Now Boston bracelet for much of the past year but I also knew that if I ever run this race I would definitely want my brother here to support me too. And lastly, I knew that having someone there for you when you race and seeing them along the course can be an incredible boost.

I left my friend's place and walked to the train. Getting on the T was as mundane as a Monday. The orange line I was on was not a major traffic route for the marathon and most of the commuters were people simply going to work. I was in a less than professional appearance as I had in my lap a dozen of Boston’s finest lagers ready for imbibing in these pre-marathon hours. In my hand I handled a newspaper which had a few articles on the marathon. I quickly read them and then looked at the rest of the sports section. I read that the Red Sox had pulled off an impressive win the night before and smiled knowing that I was a part of that fun game. 

Adam and I needed to kill some time the night before and planned on going to Fenway Park and partaking in the local culture by drinking some beer’ahs and eating some Fenway Franks. What we didn’t plan on was watching one heck of great game of baseball. We enjoyed the game very much and when the Red Sox won in extra innings we spontaneously sang Chelsea Dagger. I’m sure the Bruins fans in the crowd recognized the Chicago Blackhawks victory song but they didn’t let it ruin their good mood. And to be fair at least we weren’t singing the Go Cubs Go song which surely would have given us more hard glares (especially from Adam, a White Sox fan).

Taking in the game with some "beer-ah"

I put the paper down and got off at the Haymarket stop. I walked to the hotel and strolled into a Bakery tucked in an alley behind it down a flight of stairs. Adam met me here and we got ourselves some fresh bread for breakfast. After eating we helped ourselves to some tasty Samuel Adams to wash it down. Penelope arrived soon and we had her helping us tidy up the room before we checked out. She helped mainly by taking my multifunctional headwear and placing it on her own head and also helped lighten my load by putting on a light hoody sweater of mine. To be fair she did trade me a 20 cent hair tie. It was a fair trade if I’ve ever seen one, but I was generous and also threw in a few Boston Lagers to sweeten the deal for this sweet gal.

The time was 11am. The marathon had been started for an hour and we were still tidying up the room. I had already received the mobile alert that my brother had passed the 10K mark and we needed to get going in order to get a good spot near the finish. We all put on our matching Runners Love Boston shirts and rushed out to the street. The sun was out shining brightly and caused a flicker from a bright green Kawasaki buggy. We immediately yelled to the driver that we needed a ride. He heard our pleas and we soon bounded down the streets pushing speeds of 45 miles an hour in this tiny green car telling the driver to go faster and get us closer to the race. With the wind blowing and our laughter going it was quite an entertaining ride. And then, we were there. The finish line of the Boston Marathon was down the street.

The day before Marvin, Adam, and I had walked up to the finish line and observed the excitement gathered around this ornately painted piece of pavement. This section of the street was the ground where records have been broken, thousands have triumphed, and more than a few have dropped to one knee here to ask their beloved to marry them.  But perhaps the most solemn part was another section a few dozen feet away from the finish. There was a memorial set in place where the first bomb had gone off the year before. The names of those people were written there and I noticed a pair of running shoes hanging in the tree above this site. Whose shoes were they?  They must have some meaning but to me they symbolized what we were all here for; to run together, to stand together, and show the world the resilience that the marathon stands for.

The memorial

And so Adam, Penelope, and I made our way through the security checkpoints and found an open spot along the fence to cheer from. We had just heard the first set of cheers and later learned that it was from Meb Keflezighi as he became the first American to win the Boston Marathon since 1983. We did see some of the other elites such as Ryan Hall, Jason Hartmann, and Matt Flaherty come charging in for the finish. Then the slow trickle of the sub-elites started coming in. This is where we spectators really start to come alive. When I started seeing some people slow down or show a grimaced face my voice went up and encouraging words spewed out. I got a few acknowledgements of mostly waves or thumbs up, but I was happiest when I simply saw them smiling back to me. 

The sun was making the day warmer and my head was starting to throb from the yelling and cheering and possibly from the few Boston lagers I had consumed within the past few hours. Irregardless, I continued on my crusade yelling as loudly as I could to help as many runners feel motivated to run the last stretch of the world’s most prestigious marathon. Adam and Penelope joined me and together we created a fine chorus that awakened the other spectators around us and made our section a powerhouse. I felt so alive and connected to these runners that were completing something extraordinary. And then just as I was recharging my lungs for the next burst of yelling I saw my brother and went bonkers. There he was running strong and looking cool as ever. He had struggled a bit since the mobile alerts had let me know his split times and I saw his pace had slowed down. So I made sure to yell extra loud and cheer him on with all my might. He saw me screaming and his face light up. I had cheered so many people on at this point and I was dealing with a pounding headache but seeing my brother running sent a wave of endorphins through my body that I didn’t care I was dehydrated and losing my voice. I was here to support my brother. I cheered him on boisterously and he ran on jovially on Boylston Street to cross the finish line.  

So how does the marathon share its energy? Well if you haven’t picked up on it yet it’s not just the distance or the course. It’s the people and their willingness to put forth a tremendous effort for themselves and for those willing to see the limits of the human potential. They put it all out there for 26.2 miles for everyone to see. The fans are a big part of it too and lest we forget, the spirit of the marathon is indomitable. A lesson the city of Boston has known for 118 years. And when thrown into question last year about its resolve, a resounding answer was heard loudly this year on the streets of Boston. One that will continue to ring every year on Patriot’s Day. 

Potawatomi Runs and Zombies 4/5/14

 

The sun sprinkled its last waves of light through the canopy of trees while the moon prepared to take center stage in the sky above McNaughton Park in Pekin, Illinois. On the grass covered ground there were ruts and patches of worn earth. Standing among a small crowd were two good friends of mine dressed to the nines and prepared for some serious trail running. I stood near them as the Race Director was giving a last minute safety briefing about the race markings and the conditions out on the course. I took a moment to study the runners’ mood and sensed their excitement. The fidgeting of the headlamps, the adjusting of their racing bibs, and the serious look of mentally preparing their own thoughts were all too familiar to me. This was Ultrarunning at its finest. This night we were at the Potawatomi Trail Runs that hosted a 30, 50, 100, and 150 mile race. My two friends, Adam and Dave, would be running their first ultra distance in the 30 mile “fun run.” I was more than proud to see them toe the starting line. For the past few years I had been waiting for the day my friends would be converted to the “dark side” of competitive running by entering the ultra community and running on trails. 

Dave (left) and Adam before the start of their "Fun Run"

This race was unique because it started at 8pm and also wasn’t advertised as a 50K but instead labeled as a “fun run.” Naming it like this removed a bit of the prestige normally heralded by road races which tend to emphasis specific distances and tend to have paparazzi like attention along the course. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. It’s just a different world in the ultra community. There’s no waiting glitz and glamour along the course. It’s mostly nature, yourself, your thoughts, and miles of trails. I smiled at the simplicity this race embodied and felt that this atmosphere of humbleness was a perfect initiation into the ultra community. 

Adam and Dave raising their hands when asked who was running their first Ultra

Adam and Dave had been following my training advice for this race and I was eager to see how well they would do. Also here with me was my brother Marvin to help with the crewing and pacing. Since the course was a 10 mile loop that they would run three times I was planning on running half of the loop with one of them and the second half with the other. Marvin was going to post up at the start and crew them when they passed through. That was the plan, but unfortunately, things didn’t go according to it. 

The race started with a simple burst of cheering and then my brother and I immediately left to stock up on some food for the long night ahead. We predicted a 2 am finish and needed to have some food for the boys after they finish. After a pit stop at the local Arby’s where the lovely Joyce took our order, we promptly returned to the race with a sack of sandwiches and a bag full of curly fries. We had a snack and then prepared for our runners to come in. We made our way back to the start area one hour and forty-five minutes after they had started and surprisingly, there was Adam. He was already done with his first 10 miles and looking around to fill up his handheld with a calm demeanor. I quickly got into pacer mode and asked what else he needed. Once Adam was set we took off into the woods to start his second loop.

As I ran behind Adam I prodded his mind to check on his memory. Asking him what the next hill was like or if the course was muddy was a great way to keep his mind focused and also had the extra benefit of letting me know what to expect. I was impressed how quickly we were moving through some of the technical sections when we suddenly came to an abrupt halt. I hit the brakes as Adam took a rough tumble down a slick slope at a creek crossing. Adam had just told me he had fallen a few times already and seeing it happen in front of me was confirmation of that fact. I waited while he got up and self-assessed himself making sure nothing was broken. I reminded him to take it easy on the slick sections and to kick off some of the mud on his shoes to reestablish some traction on his shoes.

During the run my mind wandered as it has grown accustomed to on these long trail runs. I couldn’t help steal a glance or two into the night sky and revel in the superb running conditions we had this night. The backdrop of stars served as a reminder we can all shine brightly in our own way among the cosmos. It was a chilly night but with us moving swiftly through the trails we stayed rather warm. I wasn’t looking forward to stopping at the aid station near the midway point and cooling down while waiting to pace with Dave and run the second half a loop with him. And sure enough, just as I was thinking this thought, is was time to stay behind at the next aid station to wait for Dave. I wished Adam the best and saw him off. Now it was time to make friends with the zombie crew.

Nick was one of the volunteers working this aid station and he immediately warmed up to me. He was funny and had a total serene vibe about him. One thing Nick said that stuck with me as we discussed various topics was that he knew he wasn’t the smartest person in the world but he believed as long as he made the effort to learn something new every day, he would be alright. Again the humbleness of this sport was evident. I got to know the rest of the volunteers here and learned that this crew of six people was in charge of this aid station from early Friday evening until late Sunday morning. Alex was a 2 year veteran at this aid station and was one of the first to admit he was already in zombie mood and functioning solely on autopilot. He told me that this crew had been working this station for the last few years now and that although it really drains them, they always manage to have a good time. I listened intently to their interesting stories about working these long cold nights as I huddled around a camp fire keeping warm. Finally, Dave come strolling in looking surprisingly spent.

Dave was quick to say that he was done. I was shocked he was throwing in the towel. Usually Dave is able to muster on through tough conditions but he explained that he heard a loud pop in his ankle and that he was only capable of walking on it at this point. I was a little sad that he wouldn’t complete the entire race but completely understood his predicament. I walked with him a bit keeping him company until I reached a fork and decided (with Dave’s convincing) to go back to the aid station and wait for Adam. I reluctantly left Dave but I knew that Adam would appreciate support on the home stretch of this very demanding course. I would be there to boost his morale for the home stretch to the finish line. I went back to the zombie crew and they welcomed me back instantly. They really were such loveable zombies.

While waiting for Adam I was alternating between sitting by the fire and working the aid station handing out food and drinks. I was doing this for about an hour when I got a call from my brother telling me that Adam wanted to talk to me. I was hoping to surprise him on the course but if he was calling looking for me I had to explain where I was. I told him I was waiting for him at the aid station and told him to get moving. I could hear a distraught tone in his voice and could tell he was at a low point. Once he started listing some reasons as to why he ought to stop running I cut him off and asked if there was anything physically wrong. I asked if anything was broke or causing sharp pains. When he replied there was none I told him to start walking. I tried to encourage him to just get moving and not waste time debating whether or not to continue the race. I was relieved to hear him say okay and agree to get moving again. 

Back with the zombie crew I realized I had been bitten by them. I was infected with the zombie virus and starting to brood around like the undead. It was getting close to 2 am so I took a cup of coffee and tried to get some energy in me. Meanwhile, the runners coming into the aid station treated me like one of the seasoned aid station workers thanking me meticulously. I don’t recall how long I stayed at this aid station but it felt like I got so familiar with everyone there, including one small dog that slept most of the time. Eventually Adam came in and I was ready to start pacing again and help my friend finish his race. I said goodbye to the zombie crew and hit the trails after Adam who had started moving ahead of me.

I could see Adam’s fatigue and tried to encourage him by saying a few motivating things and playing a bit of music from my phone. It must have worked because Adam was picking up his pace and I was excited seeing him get a second wind on the last part of the race.

We came into the finish area with my cheering voice being the soundtrack for Adam’s first Ultra finish. Marvin and Dave had been waiting for us in the car and slowly made their way out to congratulate Adam. Although there wasn’t much fanfare at the finish I could see a glow of excitement in Adam’s face. He had this air of satisfaction that let me know he was indeed convinced this sport was for him. And although Dave didn’t finish the entire race, his tough resolve committed to training harder and finishing an ultra before his days are done. This is something I will hold him to.

Running for 30 miles in the woods might not sound like much fun. And I won’t lie and say the whole time is blissful. But there comes a moment out there where you can really learn about yourself and your existence in nature that no amount of reading or TV can explain. Once you get out there and feel the dirt beneath your feet, the breeze upon your face, and the expansion of your lungs working hard to carry you over vast distances that you realize running isn’t just an exercise for your body but also one for your mind. Whatever the distance is, as long as you push past your comfort zone you will test yourself and most certainly gain wisdom from it. Watching my friends compete valiantly and observing the zombie crew work diligently throughout the night made me happy for this sport and the many races that are yet to come. Like Nick had said, “You just keep learning and you’ll be alright.”

Adam's shoes that will undoubtedly see more action

*Technically this wasn’t Adam and Dave’s first Ultra since they both completed the Ragnar Relay in the summer of 2013 as an Ultra team. They had completed over 30 miles each at that event, however that event was a stage race and not a continuous run.