It's brisk and chilly at 9:00 a.m. and I'm surrounded by over 6,800 of my closest cross country runner friends, not including the palpable estimation of a few thousand spectators pressing against the fences nearby, as the race starts. I miss the actual moment and fumble to start my watch timer, somehow thinking that an exact recording will end with a credible result in my favor later on. Though we could ultimately view the lead runners heading off at full gazelle-like speeds, over the tops of thousands of winter hats and a few spikey blue haired individuals in front of us, the unfortunate fact is my group of seven individuals would end up waiting a long couple of mintues before the crowd we were in would actually begin to move forward. Moreover, we would not even approach the semblance of running until closer to four minutes into the race. I turned and grinned at my friend Ryan ... ah, Living History Farms is back! And as always, this was going to be an experience we wouldn't soon forget.
Now, the sheer fact of hosting a race with seven thousand runners has its own logistic impacts, but by combining this with such a
unique cross country course setting it is simply an incredible experience to be a part of. Finding our way out of the starting area and skirting the edges of the 1875 historic replica town, we clicked off the first mile of our adventure and began our trek west towards the outlying countryside. A quick jaunt through the tunnel which leads runners under the I-35 highway elicited a thundering collaboration of hooting and hollering, which echoed for miles I'm sure. Following the dusty roadway past a large barn and horse-powered farm from the early 1900's, we slowly wound our way onto an uneven and slightly rutted field lane which would carry us for the remainder of mile 2.
Here is where the race ends with the pagentry and gets down to the nitty-gritty that all of us runners love so much. The lane abruptly ended on the edge of an corn field and runners were faced with the actual "cross country" aspect many of them had never prepared themselves for. First, we tackled a small hill to climb up into the field, then we proceeded to dodge the deep ruts and old cornstalks as the course curved us around the outer edge of the field and down into a basin area with a few ponds. Carefully rounding each of these water hazards, we blazed our own trail up a long hill towards the north and into a shallow field as our third mile marker quickly approached. With barely enough time to catch our breath, the course then pulled us directly into the woods for the first of MANY creek crossings we would endure. After a leap of faith and cold water up to our ankles, we dug our hands into the muddy walls and clamored our way back out and onto the trail. Many up and down hills later, we emerged onto yet another corn field that would lead us back east and through an old 1700 Ioway Indian farmstead for the conclusion of mile 4. A small road out of the area then directed us back west towards the next challenge and deftly plunged us deep into the most difficult wooded section the course has to offer.
The next mile would be full of deep creeks and hills so steep that many offered climbing ropes just to scale. One such creek required us to make a decision to either cross via a bed of large rocks or choose to wade further downstream through waist-high water. As cold as that water was, we took the latter challenge and felt our bodies react with shock as we emerged. Needless to say, we needed a few moments afterward to allow our legs to thaw enough to return to our former speed. As we approached the next creek crossing, a sign promptly informed us to make a decision ... "Long and Easy" or "Short and Hard". Oh heck, we can never pass up the opportunity for war stories afterward and quickly chose the shorter route. As we passed the sign and rounded the bend, we were greeted by hundreds of runners thrashing through deep mud and water. I think it was here that I lost a shoe one year and had to dig it out before moving onward. I made sure it wouldn't happen again and took a running leap towards the far shoreline. I was lucky enough to land on solid ground and scrambled up the bank, then turned to help a few of our friends out. Once everyone was on dry land again, our troupe headed up the the horrendously steep hill, bypassing the ropes altogether and instead opting for a quicker route through the younger treeline to the right. This would lead us onto the earlier roadway that then took us back under I-35 and "closer" to civilization. Of course, we wouldn't spend much time getting used to the solid running surface and were quickly directed back down into another wooden portion that would yet again challenge our stamina with frequent hill climbs and decents. Ducking under a walking bridge filled to capacity with cheering onlookers, we dove down into the last of our creek challenges. With each getting progressively harder than the previous one, the final crossing called for us to traverse a mammoth 10+ foot deep crevasse filled with knee deep water and mud. This was itself a tough challenge, as the mud made it next to impossible to climb out the other side. Again, teamwork would save the day. The final leg of our journey was ahead.
Passing the sixth mile marker, we dug into the last of our endurance and slowly made our way up the long hill into a hay field. Normally in years past there would be large round bales of hay lining the final approach, all providing an optional climbing challenge to runners, but not to be this year. Once we reached the top of the hill, our path wound us again south and towards the finish in this little historic town. Rounding a few frontier-styled buildings and pouring on the gas for one final burst of speed, we enthusiastically crossed the line and congratulated each other. We had done it ... we had conquered LHF for yet another year!
A few donuts and a yogurt later, I packed it in and made my way slowly out of the parking area. Though I would face more than an hour's worth of traffic before I would reach home again, I reveled in the fact of how wildly popular and extraordinary this race truely is, and how thankful I was to have something like it to remind me of my desire for running. As most everyone who ran it knew, this race isn't about being swift or clean, though there had been a few of each there this day. The
Living History Farms XC Race is more about community and comradery. It's an experience to remember, to share and be shared. And even with all the traffic and congestion runners typically experience each year due to the wild popularity of this race, none of it could ever come close to dousing its runners spirits. They'll only come back hungry for more.
The big question is, will I be back to brave this madness again next year? As my fellow Minnesotans would say, "you-betcha!" Enuff said. Hope you can join me.
I'm not a Lance-fanatic. Yes, I've read both his books, "It's Not About The Bike" and "Every Second Counts", both of which detail what an incredibly unique man of focus he is, but also how very egocentric he can be. Though I have to admire the athlete and cancer survivor for being an inspiration to literally millions of people, I am just not into all that Lance hype. However, I will admit I was a bit more impressed with the guy after seeing him run in the NYC Marathon ... for the second year in a row.
