X Games meets the Marathon

The "toughest marathon east of the Rockies" lives up to its billing

I got my first taste of trail running over the weekend, and in the process, was introduced to a subculture of runners who live off this stuff. The 12th edition of the Athens-Big Fork Marathon took place on Saturday in southern Polk County. I showed up and immediately took in the difference in atmospheres. Marathon runners wear state-of-the-art matching lycra outfits and drink trendy sports drinks and gels that are distributed at stations every mile or two. Marathon courses are filled with crowds and adrenaline and bands and billboards of corporate sponsors. This was different.

The majority of these guys wore bushy wool socks and sported long hair and beards, and spent the pre-race cozied up to a woodburning stove debating gourmet coffee. The others were adrenaline junkies simply here because it's too cold to jump out of a plane this time of year.

About three minutes before 8:00, the race director herded this motley band of about 50 out to the front of the Big Fork Community Center for a picture. After a few warnings, and with little fanfare, he then muttered the words "okay...go." We started out on a state highway, and the course then veered onto a county road, then a forest road, and 2.4 miles in, the real race started. The Athens-Big Fork trail is made up of eight mountains (each way) and has few switchbacks -- the trail simply goes straight up and down the mountains. About 0.4 miles from the trailhead and partially up the first mountain, I knew I was in for a long day. I slowed to a trot to catch my breath and watched as the veterans galloped up the 2,100 foot Hurricane Knob like a herd of mountain goats.

I finally crested the first mountain and took time to snap a picture of this first vista before rushing straight down the mountain to the first river crossing: the Little Missouri River. I tried not to think about the fact that I'd have to do that seven more times -- and that was just to the turnaround.



My biggest concern before the race was how to deal with the river crossings and having wet feet -- not just for the blisters, but for the hypothermia and frostbite since it was 26 at the start. After my left foot slipped off a rock in the first river and went shin deep, I learned by trial and error. With one wet foot and one dry foot, I felt little difference, other than the fact that the wet one went numb and the dry one hurt. From there on out, I did as the others and simply tromped through the river without concern. Five mountains in, we finally arrived at the first aid station at mile 8.5 near Blaylock Creek. I scarfed down some soup and pretzels while a volunteer filled my water bottles and took down my bib number. About half the runners turned around here for the 17-mile "fun run," while the others pressed forward to the end of the trail and the 13.1 mile aid station, which was manned by Team Texarkana.

En route to the 13.1 mile turnaround, I accidentally took the scenic route with runners from Kansas City and Greenwood, and it took us about half a mile before we realized that we must've been off course. We backtracked, and by the time we reached the turnaround, I'd traveled 14 miles, but I was glad to be there. I left my jacket with Team Texarkana and choked down a few Little Debbies before taking a picture and heading back for the finish. Here I am with Texarkanians Brady Paddock, Mike Jones, and Barry Bryant.

I found myself running solitary for much of the trip back. The Athens-Big Fork trail is marked by white blazes, or stripes of faint white paint, on trees along the path. After 15 miles or so, it's easy to mistake patches of moss on the hardwoods for these blazes. This, coupled with the many offshoots from the main trail that lead elsewhere, requires runners to be alert. Running with your head down and listening to an iPod is impossible if you want to get off the trail.

There are lots of distinctions to draw between street running and trail running. For instance, at mile 22, I was running down a mountain and didn't pick my feet up high enough over a tree stob, and the next thing I know, I'm eating a face full of pebbles and mud. "You're having fun now," yelled back a runner within ear shot. It wasn't humorous at the time.

This (right) was my view at mile 24.5, and by my count, this was the last mountain to tackle before running back to the finish. I made it up as fast as I could on wobbly legs, thinking it was my last incline of the day, only to get to the bottom of the other side and looking at an identical mountain in front of me. It felt like I was in the movie Groundhog Day. Demoralized, I made it up and down the last mountain, but not before failing to learn a previous lesson and tripping over a protruding rock and eating another stone sandwich. This time, I stayed down for an eight count. I was mentally and physically whipped. Finally, after 29.4 miles, I arrived back at the Big Fork Community Center, poured myself a cup of coffee, and shared my stories and listened to a few others. Here, there are no finisher's medals or t-shirts, just a notepad where you jot down your own time before heading out. It was a great way to ring in the new year and to see parts of Arkansas that I'd likely never otherwise see.