How tiny was the race? There were 22 runners.
How tiny is the town? The sign read, "Welcome to Brownlee, population 15 or so".
How close to South Dakota? Gloria had breakfast over the border while I was running.
There is almost nothing in Brownlee. Nothing, that is, except the beautiful Sandhills for which the marathon was named. The race course was on one road, out and back, past the hills and ranches of this town where the cows exponentially outnumber the people.
The packet pickup was in the neighboring (and larger) town of Valentine - some 45 miles north of Brownlee - at Young's Western Wear. Could this event get any more country? Wait, put a pin in that.
At packet pickup, the gentleman admitted they were not very good with their communication, but I already knew that. Their website had not been updated in years, their Facebook page provided minimal information, and the two emails I received prior to the race did not mention much more about the course except a vague instruction of where to meet ("in Brownlee") and to watch out for snakes (yikes). But we did eventually find out from the guy that the race would be entirely on Seneca Road (the first time that road was ever mentioned).
We stayed in a little town called Mullen at the Glidden Sandhills Motel - some 40 miles south of Brownlee and just far enough west that we ended up in the Mountain Time Zone. I had to set my alarm for 3 a.m., which was really 4 Central Time, so we could leave at 5 CT to be at the race by 6 and start at 7.
We actually drove the length of Seneca Road to get to the start, but we could not actually see the course as it was pitch black - the kind of dark that you can only get with no street lights and no light pollution because there is not a damn thing in sight that is illuminated except your own headlights. Freaky.
The race started with little fanfare and I stayed near a cluster of runners for the first mile (8:46) but even though that pace would have comfortably gotten me a sub-four-hour marathon, I felt the need to go faster. Big surprise there.
So I pushed it a bit, but not too much, keeping it in the low-to-mid 8s, which felt great. We were very fortunate to have an overcast day because if the sun was out, it would have been relentless, with no shade anywhere. Instead, it was a great morning for running. Plus, I was completely calm knowing I could not miss any turns, since there were none.
I happily enjoyed the scenery of the countryside - the miles of hills, and the cattle grazing and roaming - for the next few miles (7:46, 8:06, 8:16, 8:06, 8:21). There was mostly silence except for the roving port-a-potty that drove past me and the volunteer on a bicycle checking in with me (as they would do for every single runner throughout the race). I was in a solid third place with big gaps ahead of me and behind me. There were no water stations, save for some coolers with water and Gatorade every few miles, and no spectators except for the aforementioned cows.
Despite the soothing nature of the serene atmosphere, silence is dangerous for me because it allows me to get inside my own head. So I put my ear buds in and started Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart's Symphony 36 in C Major as I ran up some small hills, in a slight total ascent toward the halfway point, through the next three miles (8:36, 8:34, 8:08). I followed that with Mozart's 29th Symphony into the halfway point (8:21, 8:19, 8:10, 8:13), reaching the turnaround.
With an elapsed time of around 1 hour and 48 minutes at the halfway point, I started thinking. And doing math. Which is what always gets me in trouble. The way I figured it, I only needed to keep going at an 8:24 pace to get a negative split, which had been the goal of all my runs for the past several months.
Time for Richard Strauss's "Also Sprach Zarathustra" to get me through the next few miles. I cautiously forged ahead, hitting 7:52 for Mile 14 and waving to the school bus full of half-marathoners on their way to their start at the turnaround point. After a few more miles (7:59, 8:04, 7:59, 7:57, 8:10)., not only was I heading into a negative split, I was creating a nice little cushion, too, for the inevitable slow-down at the end.
Next on my playlist was Dvorak's Symphony 8 in G, which I figured would get me through Mile 23, after which I had the full nine-part suite of Pink Floyd's "Shine on You Crazy Diamond" at the ready to take me to the finish. I felt so good at Mile 20 (8:05) that I texted Gloria, "Mile 20. Hoping for a 3:35 finish."
Mile 21, 8:00. Mile 22, 8:21. Nailing it.
Mile 23, 8:38. OK, that is why I have a cushion.
"Shine On" had begun and I hit Mile 24 with a 9:05. Uh-oh. Why am I suddenly falling apart?
Mile 25, 9:22. My energy is sapped. "Shine On" is more than half-over. I am reduced to a slow trot. My 3:35 and negative split got away from me.
Mile 26, 9:35. Richard Wright's elegant keyboard outro to "Shine On" has long faded away and I am left shuffling toward the finish. A runner passed me by. Ugh, I hate getting passed so close to the finish.
Gloria was near the finish line and, in addition to cheering me on, she let me know that another runner was gaining on me at the last second. So I pushed just enough to cross the line ahead of him, but it turned out that both he and the previous person were half-marathoners. My third place standing was still, somehow, intact with a 3:37:00.
Remember how I said the race could not get more country? Well, instead of a medal, I was handed an engraved boot spur for my finish. Now, that's country!
If only I had cowboy boots.
Oh, and no snakes.
The Sandhills
Start line - That's me in the blue shirt.
The home stretch
Me approaching the finish line
My boot spur trophy
