Race Report: 2008 Living History Farms XC

Race: Living History Farms
Date: November 22, 2008
Location: West Des Moines, IA
Distance: 7 miles
Official Time: 1:05:49
Pace/Mile: 9:24

A light wind blowing, temps hovering in the high 20's, and the slight hint of flurries in the air...the perfect weather for a racing classic. With over 7,500 runners converging Saturday morning on Living History Farms in West Des Moines, this race certainly continues to live up to its billing as the largest cross-country race in North America. Where else can you see runners dressed as reindeer pulling Santa and his sleigh, a flock of women in emaculate white wedding dresses, guys in swimsuits and goggles, the entire entourage from the Wizard of Oz, an Elvis-impersonator or two, and a guy in a cow costume. In a word, this race is 'udderly' crazy!

Hoping to find a better parking spot than last year which would allow me to be closer to the start but also provide me an easier exit with the post-race crowds, I arrived around 7:00 a.m. The area was already beginning to fill up, with scores of runners jogging to and fro, some picking up their race packets with others nervously pacing in an attempt to stay warm. Having picked up my packet the night before, I was glad to be sitting out my early morning wait in a warm vehicle instead of the long line I saw outside the main pickup & registration location. Pulling out my morning newspaper and half of a peanut butter and honey sandwich, I hunkered down to pass the time.

Closer to 8:00, I stepped out of my Jeep and began my pre-race stretching routine. The cold air was certainly crisp, but with this race, I'd rather have it snowy and cold than sunny and warm any day. Finished with my stretching, I walked over to use portable toilets (surprisingly clean) and then ambled towards the large crowds. An interesting mix of runners had already begun to congregate in front of the registration building. It included an impromptu ritual dance by the man dressed in only a indian loincloth, famed for running barefoot in every race he attends, and a small crowd of giggling brides dressed in bright white gowns (soon to be a muddy brown, of course). Though I'm never typically surprised by the costumes which appear each year for this race, I do wonder once in a while whether the people wearing them are a bit crazy. I mean, who in their right minds would wear nothing but a diaper to a 7-mile cross country foot race? Makes me feel somewhat overdressed in my long-sleeve and running tights. But at least I'm comfortable.

Lining up in the starting corral, I realized then just how large this popular Iowa race has become. Crowds of runners extending virtually forever in all directions around me, almost 700 more than last year alone. After a few brief announcements, including that of reminding runners to be sure timing chips were firmly attached to shoes, the entire assembly came together for the singing of the National Anthem in unison. Then the last-minute fidgets before, while we counted down to race start. And we're off!

Having positioned myself in the first 1,000 runners near the starting line, I only had but a minute to wait before those around me began the transition from a slow creep into a nominal running pace. Someone next to me kept asking, "where's the start? where's the start?", to which I replied, "just look for the timing mats". I figured that since we were wearing timing chips, we'd assuredly trot over some sort of timing mats at or near the start that would kick off our official race timing. But as we passed under the final banners and photographers, we all soon realized that someone must have forgotten that crucial element. What, no timing mats? Quickly triggering the chrono on my watch, I increased my pace a little to make up for the 'late' start, eager to make the best time overall that I could.

The first mile of the course took everyone around the 1800's-replica farm town and past the hundreds of spectators that lined its dirt streets, all screaming their encouragements. As the roadway wound up and around the outskits of the village, we then entered the tunnel which would pass us under Interstate 35 to the outlying fields beyond. Mile 2 saw us headed down a dusty road past the large barn and horse-powered farm, just as the crowd of runners began to thin some. Towards the end of this mile, we would turn onto a double track trail along the edge of a tilled field. Having experienced a sprained ankle on this same uneven path a previous year, I did my best to find the flatest route and followed a group of eager young runners as they wound their way past a few of the slower ones.

The next mile found us following the fields as they ebbed and flowed around the existing farmland. The winds were light, but still chilling in their effect on those of us who were beginning to grow warmer with every step. I pulled the zipper on my thermal shirt down a couple notches and rolled my sleeves slightly, trying my best to equalize the heat and cold my body craved and yet required.

Mile 3 clicked by like clockwork, with my watch showing roughly 26:30. In the distance, I could see the hoards of runners as they dropped into the first wooded section containing one of the many famed creek crossings we were sure to encounter. As we followed those in front of us, we entered the woods and were immediately faced with our first water event. Not hesitating, I jumped down to the freezing water below and proceded to scurry as quickly as I could up the other bank. The water had been over ankle-deep, and was quite a shock to the feet. But I knew they would warm up within minutes if I kept my pace. Out the other side and through the trails of yet more hills, we plodded forward.

Exiting the first section of woods, we came upon yet another expansive field. This open portion would last a mile or so. Part way through, we passed over the marker for Mile 4 and past a primitive village site. Nearly tripping on an exposed campfire pit, we turned onto a narrow path that would lead us into the next wooded foray. Again, we were subjected to more ups and downs, creeks and riverbeds. Many times, we found ourselves clawing our way up muddy slopes with only the aid of knotted ropes. Oh, what fun!

Shortly after Mile 5, we once again entered the thundering tunnel under I-35 and left the roadway for the final wooded section of the course. Here, it was hill after constant hill, with more water than we'd experienced the entire first half. By now, my toes were beginning to lose feeling, but I encouraged myself to continue on without a break. At Mile 6, we began a long downward trail towards the final creek crossings. Glancing furtively at my watch, I noticed I was still doing fairly well with a time of about 56:12. Knowing the last mile contained the mother-of-all-hills, I dug as deeply as I could and raced through this final wooded section and launched myself over the final watery pit. Before me loomed "the hill".

Taking a brief 15-20 second respite from the punishment at hand, I quickly assessed myself and began focusing on the remainder of the course before me. I loped back into a uphill jog, picking up pace slightly as I reached the top. All along the meadow above, runners were panting and heaving, trying to catch any air they could. But all of us knew that stopping now wasn't in the cards...that finish line was but a half-mile away. Up and over a few modest hills, not to mention a log to two, we found ourselves on the downhill portion and entering the farm town setting again. Putting on a burst of what available speed I had, I did my best to pass as many people as I could before literally falling over the timing mats at the end.

Walking up the hill from the finish line, I met my friend Tom who had finished a couple of minutes before. He was already starting to tremble from the cold, and mentioned he would be looking for some hot apple cider as soon as possible. Making my way to the post-race refreshments area, I found a couple of donuts waiting exclusively for me. Ah, how did they know?

Do you know when a race is considered hugely successful? Just glance around afterwards and notice the thousands of finishers with telltale grins on their faces, sharing war-stories from the past hour or so. That is Living History Farms in a nutshell. Oh, that and the jelly-filled donuts.

Be sure to check out the Des Moines Register video.