Turkeys or Groundhogs?

August is out for races (probably a good thing, I swear this heat could turn the cow atop Amy's into leather). October I've reserved for Palo Duro. But what to do in September?

I've come across two options so far: the Turkey n TATURS 50K (organized by the Tulsa Area Trail Runners) or the Ground Hog 50K (Puxahawatawny, PA). I'm intrigued by both. Turkey n TATURS begins at a YMCA in Tulsa and purports proceed up and around Turkey mountain. Yes, a mountain. I confirmed the existence of the alleged "mountain" with an Oakie friend, but I'm still dubious. Yes, I'm a native flatlander, but I still know when a fast one is being pulled on me. I'm unconvinced there is anything that remotely resembles a mountain in Tulsa. Heck, I'm not convinced there's anything steeper than a speed bump in Tulsa. Isn't this the land where the wind goes sweeping down the plain?

But even more intriguing than the mirage mountain, is the potato start. Apparently, the race begins with all sorts of ritual potato sacrifice -- exploding potatoes, potato cannons, a bacon-wrapped potato pyre topped with a pool of molten cheese (okay, so the last is fantasy, but wouldn't it make for a great aid station?).


The Ground Hog 50 K is also intriguing. Supposedly, PA also has mountains. The RD seems cordial and well organized. An appearance by Phil himself has been promised. (If he sees his shadow does that mean 6 extra miles?). But I'd have to fly into Pitt, rent a car, and then drive another 80 miles. All this for 50K and a woodland varmit? Hmmm.

Alas, I think Tulsa will win out. Potato pyrotechnics aside, the race location--a natural area quasi hidden in a city--appeals to the urban runner in me. There's just something special about running along a trail that appears from its immediate surroundings to be wild and isolated, but then you look up and there's the city skyline, as shining and gleaming and structured as the trail is not, and you know that too soon, you'll be passing under the freeway colonade, or running up to a bayou overpass, or passing by the apartment complex, and heading back to your little corner of that gleaming skyline, back to structured tasks lists, and climate control, and sterile air, and manicured but cold planters of generic, perfectly color coordinated annuals and greenery, but for this moment at least, its just you and the swamp rabbits, tucked away from it all, playing in the bushes like a kid.

Marathon: the quintessential running experience?

It's that time of year again--the annual crisis of my running conscience. Registration for the 2010 Houston Marathon came and went in about 48 hours. And while the bike cops at Memorial Park ticket the illegally parked Houston-Fitters, and the blackberry buzzes with fundraising solicitations from registered friends, the nagging thoughts resurface: can I really call myself a runner if I don't run marathons?

It's not about the distance. I've completed longer - 50K's (slowly). It's more about the experience. The thousands of other runners. The loads of spectators. The bands playing in Memorial Park. The not having to give a primer on the metric system. The having that easily communicable, universally-understood, 3 digit classifier of athleticism -- the marathon finish time.

It's also about the walking. Trail race terrain can be technical, and the race distance is usually sufficient to justify some walking. At least in my experience, walking inevitably happens before mile 26. On the other hand, a flat, fast marathon like Houston is run -- without walking - by elite runners and weekend warriors alike every year.

So, cue the nagging. From the little voice that says "but there was walking involved" whenever someone commends running longer than 26.2...and says "but this would be a lackluster marathon finish time" (the 5 extra miles, soul-sucking sand, and curse-inducing roots notwithstanding).

And there's the rub. I detest running on concrete (almost as much as I detest loops) about as much as I revere the tranquility of single track in the woods. The thought of paying good money to pound away on pavement, on city roads I can run anytime, with a few thousand too many other runners, is enough to make my quads cramp.....but am I missing out on the quintessential runner's experience....is the marathon (or half) the universal language--or the secret club code--of "true runners"?