(top photo) 2008 race. Savoring the day.
(bottom) Ohio River from atop a bluff.
For three of the past four years, the second weekend in December meant making the five-hour rode trip to Kentucky to run my final event of the season, the Otter Creek Trail Marathon. Otter Creek State Park, a little west of Louisville along the banks of the Ohio, sadly closed following last year's event and race directors Todd and Cindy Heady have since organized the Beautiful Trail races in Louisville. In fact, I've just realized marathoners may be finishing that event as I type these words. Every race has it's little bit of drama and stories, but my Otter Creek memories are particularly vivid--and quirky.
For three of the past four years, the second weekend in December meant making the five-hour rode trip to Kentucky to run my final event of the season, the Otter Creek Trail Marathon. Otter Creek State Park, a little west of Louisville along the banks of the Ohio, sadly closed following last year's event and race directors Todd and Cindy Heady have since organized the Beautiful Trail races in Louisville. In fact, I've just realized marathoners may be finishing that event as I type these words. Every race has it's little bit of drama and stories, but my Otter Creek memories are particularly vivid--and quirky.
I loved the Otter Creek course--an 8-mile loop through rolling pine forest, along pretty Otter Creek, and atop a tall bluff overlooking the lazy, winding Ohio River. There were enough big hills there to grind down your legs, but also flatter areas you could attempt to hammer. That is, if the roots didn't trip you up. Tripping was the norm at Otter Creek. On my first visit there in 2005, I think I went down six times. The header I took at the finish line was a gem. My buddy, Al Chase, had finished just ahead of me and was waiting for me to come in. I had passed through the finishing area three times already on my loops, but was doing the final two-mile out-and-back. Meaning, I would be approaching the finish line from the opposite direction. I was running strong and feeling great--until I tripped on a lip rising up from the cement sidewalk and hit the ground hard just a yard or so from the finish line. I immediately looked up at race director Todd, who was manning the timing table, and asked, "Am I across?" "Close enough," he replied, while my compassionate friend Al was laughing hysterically. 'No," I muttered, "I'll make it official," and I crawled the final few feet to glory. Now, one would think one good tripping story would suffice for any event, but not Otter Creek. Advance to the following year, where on the back end of the course, on a long downhill, I stubbed my toe and went into a spectacular, out-of-control decent, landing on--make that, plowing down--the unsuspecting female runner in front of me. Having fallen on top of the poor woman, I was not hurt, as she cushioned my fall. Luckily, she survived without injury and I apologized profusely as I scurried ahead of her.
Yes, falls were just a part of racing at Otter Creek. The '05 race was also notable for its abundance of ice on the trail, especially on the first loop before temperatures turned the trail to a mixture of ice and mud. My friend Al slipped on an icy section of the creek trail and found himself frantically grasping at branches as he began sliding down the side of a bluff. No wonder he found my finishing line face plant so funny. But I am no better, as I found great amusement in watching Wild Bill, the head cross-country coach at the state champion high school in Indianapolis and my running partner for part of the '08 race, suffer his share of falls on this dastardly course. Thump! I would hear behind me. "Damn, " Bill would say, "I'm gonna feel that one tomorrow." He was much more polite than me, known to hurl resounding F-bombs into the air.
Part of Otter Creek's charm was it's low-key atmosphere. When Al crossed the finish line in'05,
there was no one else there. No one. Not even the race director. "Hello!" Al yelled. "I finished! Anybody here?!" Turns out, Todd was in the nearby parking lot, digging through the back of his truck for something. You see? Low-key. Can't get a story like that from a big city marathon. Cindy prepared terrific pre-race pastas and post-race soups. Her and Todd rented out a cabin at the park where runners would gather the night before the race. A great little gathering. Al and I rented a cabin that first year. It was atop the bluff overlooking the Ohio River and was just yards off the course. We could have turned it into an aid station had we wanted to. And the night after the marathon, he and I went for a walk down the trail. No flashlight was needed as a full moon reflected off the snowy/icy ground. It was magical.
When I crossed the finish line of last year's race, I continued on for another hundred yards or so--and wept. This little race had brought me so much joy after running it just three times. I only knew it with it's trees bare and a chill in the air. I wonder what Otter Creek might have looked like in the summer or fall. The park is now closed--and I'll never know.
