May 26, 2024
Start Location: Water Front Park
The charm of Vermont is in its quiet solitude— its countryside of green rolling hills, forests, and gentle babbling streams. It is hard to place the feeling one gets when venturing into the rural stretches of this far-northern state. Vermont seems content to go on being a verdantly forested outpost of the busier settlements that surround it— cities like Boston, Albany, and Montreal. It is a state that doesn't seem to want anything— just quiet living and a connection with the land.
But if one had to point to some exception to this quiet small-town embrace, it would be the city of Burlington. With a population of 44,000, Burlington is Vermont's most populous city. Located on the border of upstate New York and divided by Lake Champlain, it would be easy for a passing traveler to overlook this far-north outpost. That's because it lies outside the commonly traversed conduits between more populous areas of Boston and NYC.
But Burlington is well known among those who live in the Green Mountain State. It's a university town, home to Champlain College and the University of Vermont. The city hosts Vermont's largest airport (BTV) and its largest hospital, UV Medical Center. Burlington also serves as a popular tourist destination with its brick-laid commons for shopping and fine dining, hillside hotels overlooking the lake, and its robust camping options outside of town.
It is also the home of Ben and Jerry's Ice Cream.
My trip to Burlington began mid-morning. I left my house thankful to once again be traveling to a marathon that would be held in a neighboring state. After my sixteen-hour round-trip excursion to Maryland two months earlier, I found myself relieved to be making a shorter trip this time around. It makes for a more relaxing weekend.
Ninety minutes into the drive, I found myself crossing over the Connecticut River into Vermont. I said my goodbyes to my home state of New Hampshire, excited for the weekend to come.
Picking the Vermont City Marathon as next on my list to fulfill my 50-state journey was a somewhat difficult choice compared to past decisions. It was based primarily on my desire to visit Burlington and to run near Lake Champlain. The issue was that this particular race had significantly lower reviews than I would normally entertain. Not that there were a lot of other options. Vermont is a small state after all, and my choices were limited.
However, there were a couple other races that stood out as viable options and had favorable reviews— the Green River and the Mad Marathon. But after careful consideration, I realized that these races possessed certain quirks that just didn't interest me.
The Mad River Marathon, for instance, is not constrained to Vermont. It actually spans two states, from Vermont to Massachusetts, and though the course appeared to be incredibly beautiful, I just felt strongly that I didn't want to muddy the waters of how to account for a marathon that could technically count as either state. I know it's a benign issue. But I like to keep everything nice and organized in my brain, and having to decide which state this race would count for made it a non-starter on my list. It was also in August, and I was looking for something a little earlier in the year.
The Mad Marathon, on the other hand, was another raceraves favorite. But this was in July. Another summer race. And when reviewing pictures on their website, I was very turned off by what I saw. The location of the race was in the middle of nowhere, in an area that looked, simply put— hot and landlocked. Dull green mountains hung in the distance past green pastures cut through the center by dusty dirt roads. I pictured myself out there in the stifling heat of July. The humid hung grass and dirt-baked fields. No thanks.
Burlington, on the other hand, boasted Lake Champlain and a small little city to visit and walk around in. Having many fond memories of visiting Burlington as a teenager, I was keen to return. I was also compelled by the size of the event. Most of my marathons had been small-time races thus far. Burlington, with 7500 runners across multiple races, would provide a reasonable entry into larger events. A stepping stone to those colossal giants like Boston, NYC, and Berlin.
And so it was that I decided I would ignore the low ratings and go for it. Following my instincts would prove to be a great decision. The Vermont City Marathon would become one of my most memorable experiences to date.
Burlington:
When I arrived in town, I made my way over to the DoubleTree, which was the official hotel of the race and was where the expo would be held. But with a price tag of $400 a night, I had declined to book a room.
Instead I planned to camp out in the back of my truck, possibly using the hotel as a place to park overnight. Those who are familiar with my previous posts know that I like to travel on a budget. Since lodging is typically the costliest expenditure involved with these trips, I save a lot of money this way.
It's been working out so well that I find myself looking forward to camping out beneath my truck's hard-cover cap. With a futon mattress and a rolled-out sleeping bag, I spend my pre-race evenings breathing in the local air and dreaming of the race to come.
But in doing this, finding a place to roost for the night is always a concern. So far all my previous races had provided special parking, and that wasn't the case in Burlington. Parking would be designated solely to the city streets, and I knew I wouldn't want to be sleeping in my truck in such a populated area. Given the DoubleTree's affiliation with the race, and since I was here for the expo anyway, I figured it made sense to make them my unofficial parking area for the night. The fact that the hotel had a convention center would make it easier for a random vehicle to fall under the radar. Especially on the eve of the race, and with the expo going on.
Pulling into the DoubleTree, I found myself a nice spot in the back of the hotel, close to the convention center doors. The parking space was at the edge of the lot, overlooking a patch of undeveloped land— a green gully of tall grass and far-off trees.
Not a bad view for a hotel parking lot.
I felt a sigh of relief. With the uncertainty of where I'd be sleeping tonight behind me, I hopped down out of my truck and headed inside.
The Expo:
The convention center at the DoubleTree was a higher-end affair than I was used to. In fact, with 7,500 participants altogether and over 1,300 marathoners, this would be by far my largest marathon yet. Even so, the expo was smaller than expected, and the conference room rented out for the event was even smaller.
There were a good number of vendors, though. Their booths were lined up in two rows at the center of the room. The tables for packet pickup stretched along the entire left wall, and there was another row of tables in the back.
I got into line, which was in cluttered disarray and bent away from the tables for lack of space. After waiting a while, I realized there were actually 2 lines, and I started to question if I was in the right place. Eventually, I figured out that I was in the t-shirt pickup line, which was separate from the packet pickup for some reason.
After getting where I needed to go, I got my bib and was then directed back to the t-shirt line, which had since grown longer.
As I waited, I got a look at the expo booths. There were various vendors with whom I was unfamiliar: Darntough, Clif, Melcast, to name a few. There was a woman making her way around, handing out promotional material for her husband's book. A fictional story about a marathoner. It's a shame; to this day I can't remember what the name of the book was. I still want to read it.
The tables at the back of the room were lined with boxes that held the race-day shirts. When I reached the front of the line, I approached a table where a volunteer stood waiting. He was an older gentleman, tall with tanned skin. I noticed he looked uncomfortable, and I sensed that he had some bad news to impart.
The man told me there had been some confusion with the orders, and they did not have my medium-sized shirt. Instead, I was asked to place my name on a list so they could make it right. Confusing the matter further, I was then informed that they did have a bunch of V-necks I could try on.
Unclear on why these shirts were any different, I said, "Sure." Trying it on, I saw that it fit fine, so I shrugged and said, "Ok."
It was a V-neck, so I— like everyone else on the planet— would never actually wear this shirt. Instead, it would be destined to rest, neatly folded in my closet, next to all my other marathon shirts that are ugly and/or fit poorly.
I walked out of the expo with my t-shirt in hand. This was the only swag this marathon offered apart from the finishers medal.
Scope out:
It was mid-afternoon, and with plenty of daylight ahead of me, I hopped in my truck and headed down to Waterfront Park to scope out the starting line. I needed to determine exactly where I was going in the morning, and I also wanted to figure out where I would park.
When I arrived at the waterfront, what I found was a parking lot that looked small and cramped. I instantly knew that I wouldn't want to park here tomorrow. There was only a single exit point to the main road, and I couldn't be confident that I could get out of the area on race day, when certain sections would be blocked off. Even now, the day before the race, the area was difficult for driving. This was one of Burlington's premiere waterfronts, after all. It was a place prone to heavy foot traffic and within walking distance of downtown. Pedestrians were everywhere.
Leaving the waterfront, I proceeded to drive up and down the streets of Burlington. I wanted to check out the street parking situation and decide if this would be a suitable option for me. As I perused the city streets, I was surprised to see that Burlington looked a bit rough compared to how I remembered it. There were buildings that were boarded up, graffiti was everywhere, and the sidewalks looked excessively dirty in certain places. I found myself wondering if it had always been this way or if the area had declined since I visited 20 years ago.
Eventually, I found a parking garage back near the main road (Battery St.) and just up the hill from Waterfront Park. After pulling in, I proceeded on foot, down the hill toward the waterfront. The hill was lined with various options for lodging: Hotel Champlain, Courtyard Burlington, and Hotel Vermont. All would make great options for someone seeking the ability to walk from their hotel to the starting line.
Those staying at the DoubleTree further outside of town would have to take the shuttle. Either that or they could drive themselves and deal with parking in the morning, like me.
Turning off the main road, I made my way down the small street that led me to the entrance of Waterfront Park.
Waterfront Park:
Serving as the epicenter for tomorrow's race, which both begins and ends in the quiet grassy area, Waterfront Park is nestled between Lake Champlain and the city above. At the edge of downtown and with the lake breeze rushing over its grass and through its trees, the park would serve as the perfect quintessentialism of what Burlington has to offer.
A hub of activity, the southern portion of the park hosts the Leahy Center for Lake Champlain (ECHO)—a science museum that features the area's unique lake ecology. The Island Line trail, paved for bikers and runners alike, follows an old railway up the coast of the lake and crosses through the park. This trail would serve as a significant portion of tomorrow's course. The railway that runs alongside the trail, which once was used for transporting timber south to Albany, is still in operation. Just a few blocks south of the park can be found Burlington Union Station— a passenger terminal facilitating Amtrak's Ethan Allen Express.
There were a number of restaurants near the park. The Burlington Market and Café, a busy little place with outdoor seating and a deck. The Skinny Pancake was right across the road. Both restaurants were perched on the hillside overlooking the lake. Further north into the park was the Foam Brewers restaurant. Found tucked away in an old brick building with a charming patio and featuring live music, Foam Brewers is a favorite of locals and visitors alike.
The park itself is narrow and stretches south to north, with a boardwalk that runs adjacent to the water. There are several grassy areas where people can be found playing frisbee and walking their dogs. On the north side of the park live the town boat ramp, a marina, and the harbor authority. Across the grass on the inland side, the park ends at a steep hill, the top of which runs Battery Street. The road serves as an unofficial end to downtown's grid-like streets before the land descends down to the waterfront below.
Further north up the hill, Battery Street runs by Battery Park, named for the artillery stationed there by American forces during the War of 1812. Here the true beauty of Burlington lives in its hillside embrace. Glancing out upon the vast gray waters of Lake Champlain. With sun glinting off its blue, churning waves. And when the sun goes down in this far-north corner of this US of A, Burlington stands out as a starlit giant that can be seen for miles across the lake, like a beacon of humanity in the dark and empty countryside.
After I got a lay of the land, I found a park bench and took a seat. The weather was fairly warm, but the sky was gray, and this made the water look a bit dismal. Peering down at my phone to study the course map, I struggled to line up the starting line with the various landmarks of my surroundings.
In the end, I wasn't entirely satisfied with my assessment of the area. Though I knew I would find my way easily enough in the morning, just by arriving at the park and following the crowds, my uncertainty of where exactly to find the starting line felt like a bit of a loose end.
Eventually, I exited the park and turned left onto Battery Street, which— having looked at the course map— I knew would be a formidable leg of tomorrow's journey. It wasn't the steepest hill I've ever encountered, but it was quite long and drawn out. In the days leading up to the race, I had noted that many reviewers of this marathon from past years had commented on this hill. It was brought up again and again as a notable section of the course that the racer must contend with. And since this was a double-loop course, it meant I would be climbing it twice.
I eventually made a right turn off Battery Street and headed into the town of Burlington. Eventually, I found myself at Church Street Marketplace, which is among the handful of places in Burlington that I remember visiting in my youth. The street was lined with shops and restaurants. Music filled my ears as streams of tourists and locals walked casually along the red-brick passageway closed off to cars.
Before long, I began to notice a significant homeless presence, and I'd be lying if I said this wasn't putting a bit of a damper on the overall mood. One man, who was wearing sweatpants and a wrinkled white shirt, was sitting on a park bench all alone and completely ignored by everyone around him.
I glanced around the marketplace. There were people with strollers and small children. There were folks eating at patio tables outside bustling restaurants, with plates filled with steak and glasses filled with foamy beers. I shuddered a bit in that moment. I have always found it uncomfortable when seeing these two sides of life in direct contrast to each other.
It is a little difficult to enjoy a steak and a warm sunny day with friends and family when the intense suffering of others is literally staring you in the face.
Fortunately, I was broke as shit, so I just kept on walking; I couldn't eat a steak in front of a homeless person even if I wanted to.
But the situation was worse than I thought. When I reached the end of the commons and turned onto the next street, the severity of the homelessness took center stage, and I could see many of them were truly in a bad way. One woman was severely mentally ill, as evidenced by a conversation she was having with herself. Another one was shooting up— right on the street in broad daylight. Making matters worse, they were not the docile sort. A number of them appeared angry and aggressive, and as I came to the end of the street, I encountered one man in particular: He looked me up and down, his eyes went narrow, and his shoulders grew wide. I could see in his eyes that he was looking for trouble from anyone willing to offer it up.
I felt a mild twinge of anger at the blatant display of hostility. I had actually considered bringing my family on this trip, and now I was glad I hadn't. I imagined how upset I would have been if I had inadvertently stumbled down this street with my two young daughters in tow.
To be clear, I don't mean to demean these poor folks. You can't judge a person without having walked in their shoes. And you certainly can't blame someone for being mentally ill. Still, that doesn't mean I would want my family around them.
Leaving the area swiftly, I went on to explore more of this small city. What I found was that many more areas were looking rough, with decrepit buildings and graffiti lining the walls. Many of the buildings were stamped with signs that said "For Rent." Were these signs of a depressed economy? Was Burlington on the Decline?
After having seen enough of downtown, I headed back in the direction of my vehicle. Though I had a rough time finding it. Apparently, when I had left the parking garage, I forgot to note the name of the street I was on. After looking around a bit and visiting a number of identical-looking parking garages, I found myself in the right place. There, in a dark corner of the last place I looked, I spotted the dark maroon outline of my Chevy Silverado. The lifeboat that had carried me and provided shelter for going on 4 marathons.
The Night Before:
I found myself driving away from downtown Burlington, satisfied that I had a good plan for the mornin. I decided that I would utilize the street parking, across the road from Water Front Park. Though the parking garage would have been a fine option too, the street parking would be free on Sunday, and as long as I arrived early enough to park close to the event, I was not worried about leaving my vehicle in an ubscure area. There would be lots of official around, and crime would not be substantial concern.
With that figured out, I made my back to the hotel that I was not staying at.
It was around 6 p.m. when I pulled in and found my parking space in the back of the DoubleTree. With some time to spare before bed, I grabbed a book went inside. The expo had long since cleared out, and the convention center was now just an empty maze of carpeted halls.
The hotel had one of those large atrium style lobbys with Zen waterfalls, large plants, and multiple tiers of flooring, that give the sense that outdoors has been brought inside. There were lots of places to sit and enjoy the ambiance, so I found myself a nice comfortable chair sat down and relaxed.
After hanging out for a while and reading a couple chapters of the book I was reading: The Vampire Lestat, by Anne Rice, I decided it was time to call it a night.
I went back to my truck, opened the tailgate, and climbed inside preparing to catch a solid night's rest. I was feeling good. Excited for what tomorrow would bring. This weekend so far had been more relaxed than my previous marathon just 2 months earlier, and I was really happy with my level of preperation. Despite this, I did have some concerns related to muscle soreness.
Why were my legs so soar?
It was May 25th, and a few weeks earlier I had wrapped up my spring semester at the University of New Hampshire, where I was working toward a bachelor's degree in Neuroscience. Now I was beginning a stretch of summer classes that would last for two months, followed by a month off in August. The summer classes were online, which meant that for 3 blessed months I would not have to make the 45 minute drive to campus each day.
This created a situation that would put me at home for a significant stretch of time, much of which would be spent indoors and tied to a computer. I don't like being stuck inside all summer, but still, it's a nice change of pace from having to go to campus every day.
Making use of the extra time at home, and with the university's fitness center not an option for the summer, I deciced I would commit to the P90X3 workout routine— one of my favorite fitness plans. I've been doing p90x3 for years, though frustratingly, I've never made it through the whole 90 days. It's never been due to lack of motivation, and has always been an issue of scheduling. Its hard to commite to a work out every day, when you have other things going on in your life. Since I would be home for 3 months, and glued to a computer, with no need to leave the house, I thought it would be a perfect time to make it through the whole 90 days.
I had calculated that if I started right away, then I would be finished with the routine just before the start of our family vacation at the end of August.
The chink in the armor of this half-baked plan was that I would have to start my program before running my marathon. So, on top of my marathon training these past couple of weeks, I had been doing the P90X3 workout routine. The first 3 weeks of the program were pretty rough on the legs, and the past two workouts, leading up to race day, had been particularly demanding at a time when I was supposed to be letting my body rest and build up strength. Inevitably my legs were going to be very sore tomorrow.
I pondered this now as I lay on top of my sleeping bag. Oh, how lax I have become. I never would have done this to myself in those early races: willingly set myself up for race day with sore legs. But my desire to commit to fitting P90X3 into my summer outweighed my desire to PR in this race. It was a trade-off I had decided to make.
I felt confident I would finish without any problems, though probably I would have a rough time in the later miles. There was a silver lining, though; despite the sore muscles I would be running with, these past few weeks of P90X had done much to improve my core strength. This had led to more efficient running mechanics, and I could expect that this would further translate to increased stamina.
Now as I lay on my back, listening to the growing drizzle of rain and wind, I felt a tinge of excitement for tomorrow's race. Outside, the air was warm and humid. The impending arrival of summer was carried in by a west wind. The congealing smell of rain and pavement. The slow, hypnotic ping of raindrops. And before long, I was fast asleep.
Race Day:
It was still dark out when I awoke ahead of my alarm. It was 5 a.m. I didn't linger long. A sense of alertness came swiftly. I had slept well.
Good start.
Hopping out of my truck, I assessed my legs by squatting up and down on them like a spring. Stiff. And indeed they were quite sore. I made a mental note that I would need to get some extra stretching in before the race.
Plenty of time for this.
I climbed into my truck, twisted the keys, and the engine roared to life. Things were moving right along. As I navigated my way out of the parking lot, I saw the buses were lining up outside the hotel to shuttle runners to the starting line. I watched as the crowd of runners waited to board.
I would be ahead of these folks at least.
Once I'd crossed town, I found a proper parking space on the edge of downtown and across the street from Waterfront Park. It was getting light out now. Many other cars were showing up and parking all around me. I had changed into my running clothes the previous night, so there was little preparation to do except put on my running shoes. I ate a quick breakfast of oatmeal with raisins.
My mid-race meal would be a slice of whole wheat bread that I made myself. It is a special formulation I've been working on that is made entirely from whole foods and provides a proportional daily requirement of all the nutrients that a person requires in a day. It has a full range of essential amino acids, omega-6 & 3s, starchy carbs, simple carbs, and every vitamin and mineral under the sun. You could go hiking in the mountains for a month and only bring this bread. It has everything you need.
I make a modified version of it for marathons. Extra honey, for rapid sugar absorption, and no yeast. This makes the bread denser so I can fit more calories into less space. I cut the bread into a thick slab and carry it in my running belt on top of my phone.
But when I went to pack up the bread in my running belt— it wasn't there. Frantically I tore my truck apart looking for it. In the bed of the truck, where I had slept, in the cab, and in the backseat. Finally it was sinking in. I had left my running belt at home.
I thought again how lax I had become. I recalled my first 2 marathons. The intensity of my planning. How careful I was about every detail. For the most part, I was enjoying the newfound balance of poise I had developed in regard to these races, but now mistakes were starting to creep in. Never was this more on display than at my last marathon in Maryland, in which I made countless errors as a result of precarious planning.
I made a mental note that I would need to do better next time. As for my running belt—well, this sucked. I wouldn't be able to carry the bread, so I'd be reliant on water stations for my nutrition: Gatorade and energy gels. This wasn't a big deal, though. What bothered me was now I couldn't carry my phone, which is the device I use to record my runs on Strava. I shook my head in disappointment. I really like to be able to look at that data.
I thought briefly about carrying my phone in my hand during the race but quickly dismissed the idea. That didn't sound fun. Screw the data. I really wanted to enjoy this race. No, it looked like I was just going to have to leave my phone behind.
I lingered a while longer. Drank some more water. Ate some more food. But no coffee. I'd learned that lesson well enough in past races.
The crowds were growing thicker now. More and more runners were showing up and parking further up the streets of Burlington. Waves of them were moving down the sidewalk on both sides of the street, in the direction of Waterfront Park.
Finally, I took one last look at my phone. 6 a.m. It was time to go.
I exited my vehicle and began to walk down the hill toward the waterfront. After walking no more than 50 meters, I realized I had forgotten to go to the bathroom. This was important.
I had planned on using an empty water bottle in my truck before heading down there. Gross, I know, but not any grosser than using a porta-potty. Think about it. Porta-potties are disgusting.
My mind went back and forth. I was torn. It wouldn't take long to walk back to the truck. I was so close that I was literally staring right at it. But something in me doesn't like backtracking. Everything had been humming right along this morning. I had forward momentum, and intuitively I just wanted to keep it going.
Plus, I was still anxious about locating the starting line. I really just wanted to get down there. So I pressed on. I would make use of the porta-potties down at the staging area.
This would be a significant mistake.
The Park:
The crowds were huge as I made my way into the park, recalling again that this will be the largest event I've done thus far. I made my way down the boardwalk until I reached the field of grass I had scoped out the previous day. This grassy area was now packed with tents and crowds of runners. I quickly found the porta-potties, which were lined up on the right side of the walkway where the boardwalk turned to a paved path. Fortunately, there were no lines.
Or so I thought.
I waited for a moment at the row of porta-potties, waiting for someone to exit. But every time someone came out there was always some person who'd scurry across the path and beat me to it. That's when I realized that the crowd of people in the grass was not a crowd at all. It was a tightly bound bundle of people who were lined up waiting to use these portable bathrooms. Crap.
My eyes anxiously followed the asphalt path and peered forward into the distance. I still could not see the starting line. But obviously it was up there somewhere. Not having my phone with me, I only had a very loose sense of what time it was. I figured I had around 40 minutes.
Traveling across the grass, I looked for the back of the line and was discouraged to discover that it was very, very long. Eventually, I found my place in the back of the line.
Then I waited. Seasons changed; came passing by. Spring turned to summer. Winter to Spring.
I tried to pass the time by doing some stretches on the ground. But this proved difficult. The line was moving often enough that I couldn't stay on the ground for long before having to hop up to maintain my place. Eventually, I had to settle for simple standing stretches.
More time went by, and though the line was moving, it was becoming obvious that I would not see these porta-potties anytime soon. My bladder was burning now. But there was nothing else to do. I briefly thought about walking back to my truck and using the bottle. But by now some time had passed, and I was worried about how long it would take. I knew we were getting close to the start of the race. For better or for worse, I was staying in this line.
Eventually, I could hear the announcer far off in the distance. He was making his announcements. The race would be starting soon. I looked past the field of grass, where we all stood waiting. This section of the park had cleared out. Like the retreating of the ocean before a tsunami. The few people I did see were scurrying quickly along the asphalt path with the same sense of urgency that I myself was feeling. I had a formidable sense that I was missing the show. Like I'd been left behind.
The minutes felt like hours as I neared the front of the line. So close but so far away. There was a woman one line over from me who had finally reached the front. When a porta-potty became available and her turn had come, she shot a worried look at her friend. "I don't think people are going to make it," she said, then quickly rushed off.
I turned around and looked behind me. The crowd of people stretched all the way to the back of the grass. The line was just as long as it had been when I first joined. No, these people were definitely not going to make it. I looked forward. Was I going to make it?
The two gentlemen ahead of me had finally reached the front of the line and were waiting for the next opening. I asked one of them for the time. "7:55," one of them said.
Jesus. I had 5 minutes.
"Wow, cutting it close," I said. They nodded with the same apprehension.
When my number came up, I darted into the porta-potty. It was not lost on me, even in that moment, that this would be the most urgent backroom break of my life. It was one for the ages. I estimated I had 3 minutes. 1 minute to drain my bladder, and then 2 minutes to get to the starting line.
I left the porta-potty and took one last glance at everyone still in line. Shook my head. Nobody wants to miss the start of the race.
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