Over the River 8-Mile Run

Our 4th stop on the Tennessee State Parks Running Tour took us to Paris Landing State Park and the shores of Kentucky Lake. A month ago, when I signed us up for the run, it seemed like a good idea. Oh, an eight-mile race four weeks from now? No problem, I thought. My daughter and I are already running five miles, so we won't even need to add a full mile a week onto our long run to reach eight by then. Piece of cake!

But as the race drew nearer, and I had only recorded one long run of seven miles, reality was beginning to set in. A few days before the run, I read on the Paris/Henry County Chamber of Commerce website where the Executive Director proclaimed that it's "fun and exciting to see the runners compete on such a difficult course." Did she just say "difficult course?" Wait. What? This was never mentioned in any of the pre-race literature I'd read, which consisted of a one-page flyer including this brief and vague description:

Course: starts in parking lot of park inn. About half the course is in the park the other half is on Hwy 79 crossing over the river bridge. The Tennessee Highway Patrol will close one lane of the bridge. Runners will be able to run in the emergency lane and one driving lane while on Hwy 79. Every mile is marked. Certified Course TN 10086MS.

Ned McWherter Bridge over Kentucky Lake

 

That's the description for which I'd modeled my training, a description which neglected to suggest there could be a certain degree of difficulty associated with this thing. So I'm three days out from running a suddenly "difficult" 8-miler and my longest run to date is 7 miles. Once again, I had managed to concoct for myself a recipe for race day disaster.

 

Before the run, near the start/finish line

 

We arrived early to check in and collect our free gift for being two of the first 100 pre-registered for the run, which was a 100% acrylic Friends of Paris Landing stocking cap. Very nice caps indeed, although quite unnecessary on a day which would see afternoon temperatures climb into the 70s.

 

After a thorough dynamic stretching and warm-up session in which I hoped the pain in my hips would miraculously disappear, much as it had just prior to the beginning of our last race, we made our way into the crowd gathering at the start line. I explained to the fellow next to me how we'd never ran eight miles before and may have hinted that we were less than optimistic about our upcoming performance. His words were music to my ears, as he explained how quickly it feels like you are across the bridge and back. And how, once back in the park, it's all downhill. Well, not all downhill, he quickly qualified, but . . . Yeah, yeah, I knew what he meant: Once back in the park, we've got it made! Now, as the gun sounds, I am instantly feeling much more confident about these eight miles ahead of us, thanks entirely to this kind stranger's timely remarks.

 

It's downhill out of the park to Highway 79. Turn right and there's the bridge straight up ahead and not too far away. The Tennessee Highway Patrol has not one, but both eastbound lanes shut down for the race. This made it quite roomy (and safe) for all of us out on the roadway. Yep, there's the Ned McWherter Bridge, still staring me straight in the face. I notice the highway patrol is alternating the westbound and eastbound traffic along the two westbound lanes. I think about the drivers of those cars, waiting their turn and probably cursing us under their breath right about now. Damn, is this bridge getting closer or am I running on a treadmill? I was told it would be no time before I'd be back across this bridge. I remember a trip we'd made to Colorado when I was a kid growing up in Kansas. I was so excited to see the Rocky Mountains appear on the horizon. An hour later, my enthusiasm viewing those same mountains off on the same distant horizon had dwindled considerably. And so it was with this bridge.

 

There was a water station set up on the far side of Kentucky Lake. That's right, I said "was." There was a water station there before someone stole it! Somebody saw a table with some water and cups set up along the road and just had to have it. That left runners with only one water station, positioned somewhere far, far away on the park side of the bridge in mile 6 territory.

 

Finally I was back across the bridge, but Highway 79 was dragging on forever again. Approaching the park, I see runners on my right but we're going left. We're on the road that ultimately leads us to the finish line, though I know that's not where we're headed, much as I wish it was. We still have 3+ miles to go. And now we take a right and go over another bridge, which leads across Hwy 79 to where I had seen the runners just moments before. We run across the bay from the Coast Guard station and by the marina where I see some people fishing. Oh, how inviting that looks from here! Why can't I be fishing right now? Just me and a chair, and maybe a fishing pole thrown in for good measure. 

 

I leave the marina behind and again it's up and over Hwy 79. We have less than two miles to go, and I'm ready for the easy part to begin. That is, after all, what I was promised before the race. Instead, we take a detour to the cabins, which are naturally built on top of a tall, steep hill. Circling the cabin area, I pass a few people but could really care less. I'm now in survival mode. I just need to finish this blasted race and live to blog about it.

 

Coming up behind a fellow examining his watch, I ask, "How much further?" The reply is about 0.30 miles. Now that's what I'm talking about! I pass him up and see a couple we know from home who have already finished. They shout words of encouragement as I head uphill yet again. They tell me if I can make it to the stop sign at the top of the hill, it's an easy chip shot from there. It's a struggle, but I top the hill and, as advertised, there's the finish line off on the right. It's a slight descent and then one final mild ascent to the finish. I'm at the end, having ran the entire course to this point, headed downhill nonetheless, and so I can't believe what I'm about to do. I don't want to do it, but I do anyway. I stop running. The guy with the watch passes me back. I probably just lost a point to that guy, I think to myself. Ten seconds or so later, I start running again. But there will be no sprint to the finish, as I am totally out of gas.

 

I cross the line with a gun time of 1:18:47, placing 8th out of 12 runners in the 40-44 men's bracket. And, sure enough, the guy with the watch placed 7th in the same bracket, about 7 seconds ahead of me. My daughter crossed the finish line ten minutes later. She would receive a medal as the runner-up in the girls' 14 and under category, which had a total of two finishers.

 

Merry Christmas from Paris Landing State Park

 

Thanks to the Friends for the new stocking cap!