Race Report: Columbia Gorge Half Marathon

I had no idea what to expect. One the one hand...I had been running over 30 miles a week for some time, but on the other hand I still had the memory of the torturous Helvetia Half swirling through my pea brain, but back on that first hand I had been concentrating on base work and lost some weight, but then back to the other, this was in the gorge and the course very hilly.

Lynda and I gotten up way before the sun and headed toward Hood River, which is over an hour away. I had my running clothes in a bag and a couple of Jimmy Dean "D~Lite" turkey sausage breakfast sandwiches wrapped in foil for the ride up as my pre race meal. I had eaten one of these before the CIM so now I fuel up with them before long runs and races, partly for the protein-salt combo, but partly for the superstition of it. I also ate a banana.

After dawn we arrived at the park where the race festivities were set up and were there in plenty of time. I wandered over to the big white tent on the grass and picked up my race packet and bought a shirt, a knit cap was the clothing that came with registration. I went back to the car and got dressed. I tried pinning my bib to several different spots, front of my shirt, front of my jacket, and eventually settled on the right leg of my shorts where it wouldn't matter if I shed an upper layer.

The full marathoners started to gather on the green a half hour before my own start. I got out and help see them off to a raucous ovation as they poured through the beginning gauntlet amid shouts and smiles. No sooner had they disappeared down the road then the half marathoners started filling the chute and I made a final short trip to the car to grab my water bottle and diaper. Not far to the west hung a drapery of dark clouds. They reached for the chop water of Columbia like dementors in a Harry Potter movie and they were moving our way. A thin rainbow suddenly appeared brilliantly nearby and added to the glory of the morning.

I got into the crowd and twisted and slithered my way closer to the start. I've gotten more aggressive about my placement at the start over the years. It's not my way to be pushy but if you're there to get some good numbers it just makes sense to get past slower runners before the clock starts ticking.

The clock started ticking. I swear the same guy announces every single race! It's like airline pilots, the same one flies every commercial jetliner and speaks over the intercom, or at least it sounds like the same guy to me. So no sooner does he get us started but the wall of rain slams into us as if on cue. Perfect! The wind whooped up and the skies just poured down with an icy rain. But it was awesome. Surrounded by fellow runners, amid a shared experience, I couldn't have wished for a better place to be in that moment. As we splashed into unavoidable mud puddles on the unpaved road through the park the guy in front of me shouted "[mother nature] is this all you've got!"

The downpour didn't last and in a way it was refreshing, even baptismal. For a moment I regretted not bringing gloves but that quickly faded as I warmed up. The path took a hard right and the pack pinched a bit as we began a short traverse over a small suspension bridge. Several of us commented to each other about the strange sensation of our feet not meeting the bridge surface in the same place they left it as the span undulated in response to a multitude of stomping.

We followed cones and the direction of volunteers as we snaked through the old buildings and shops of downtown Hood River, Oregon. This part of the course, like most of the early part, was mostly uphill as we ran away from the river and up into the foothills of the gorge. The road becomes so steep after leaving the town that it resorts to a series of sharp switchbacks to hasten it's ascent.

It was in this section that I had the most dread. I had bombed in Helevatia after the early hills there and I didn't want a repeat performance here. I started the climb remembering John Ellis's words "steady going up and attack going down." I found a good rhythm and a nice stride and got comfortable, enjoying the feeling of powering uphill and being able to stay into it. The road eventually leveled off some and then gave way completely to become the Historic Columbia River Highway State Trail, always closed to vehicle traffic.

At this elevation the world I ran past changed from one of an open conifer forest to a drier one of scant pine and small oak with rock bluffs. The scene around me, and refreshing itself continually, was so amazing that I almost felt propelled through it. Even in that moment I was ever aware of the beauty of this place. The incredible vistas of the gorge and river, the iconic white guard rails of the old road and the fall colors. Everything was perfectly placed it seemed.

This is where I found my race pace. Here among my kindred and here in one of the most beautiful scenes imaginable, I found my rhythm and a grace. My legs had carried me up and now I was able to flow along the edge of the chasm with relative ease. Mindful that it was still early in the event, a sudden lower extremity failure was still a possibility as I contemplated the halfway mark, but for now I just motored ahead feeling great.

Just before the M6 marker the road pitched down and wound toward the turnaround cone 3/4 mile ahead. This gave me a huge lift. If I could climb this hill on the way back and feel good at the top, I should be golden. I attacked the down grade, got my first sight of the race leaders already heading back home, and after a few minutes could see the entrance to the tunnel ahead. Up to this point I had been using my Garmin to keep track of my overall pace. But as I went into the tunnel it gave me the loss of satellite alert and from that time on the pace data was no longer accurate. The autolap feature would still give me mile splits based on where the watch thought it was, but it no longer matched the mile markers along side the road. No matter, I still had a good idea of my pace and as it turned out I didn't really need to worry about pace much after the tunnels anyway.

The turn around point was just on the far side of the tunnel. It struck me that this was only the 1/4 point for the full marathoners, the race I had initially thought about entering. I rounded the cone, politely declined water from the volunteers at the table and headed back toward the tunnel. I glanced down at my watch: 52 minutes. I was on pace for a 1'44" finish. I started back up the only long steep grade left on the course and while I still felt fine, it was much longer than I expected. When I finally crested the top, I tried to remember-was there another hill later on? Could I recall any type of significant downhill on the way out? No, I don't think so. It just might be that that was it. It could be gentle hills and downhill all the way now! Awww man, let's do this! Stay steady and get ready for the downhill. Runners were still trudging up the hill in the other direction.

There was a little hill to climb at M9 and then IT hit. The road to Hood River bowed before me. Attack! Attack! Attack! I raced what was left of the course doing sub 7 minute miles on average all the rest of the way. I told myself that the only thing that could go wrong would be some type of stress fracture from hitting the black top so hard. I picked people off one by one occasionally giving an apologetic "sorry, gotta go" or just a "hey".


I flew through the switchbacks like a Ferrari and made the last sweeping turn before coming back to civilization and flats of town. Flaggers were stopping traffic for me at a four way stop when I saw Lynda on the corner with her camera. I smiled and waved my diaper as I ran across the road and coasted toward the final mile which would be winding through downtown once more.

Gone were all the other runners and now I had this sinking feeling that I might f--- up and take a wrong turn. Shirley, I mean surely, this was the way we had come from the under the Interstate? Wasn't it? Yes, I can see someone up ahead and they had to have come this way. Yeah, I remember this underpass with it's dripping water.

I went back across the suspension bridge which was much more stable this go around, took a hard left and pushed to pass a much older gentleman who I was quite shocked to see ahead of me. How? What? Where did he come from and how in the world could he be ahead of me and moving so slow now. No matter, he has to be passed and we'll sort that all out later.

At this point in the course you can look over just a short way and see the finish line, but the route takes you back out toward the river before doubling back and entering the chute. When I got there I gave it a little gas and crossed the line with my fingers on the stop button of my watch. Finishing time of 1'41". Not a PR but not bad either.

They handed me a finisher's medal while I stood there immersed in my post-race euphoria. Not a metal medal, like my others, but a ceramic one, brown and rectangular with a embossed imagine of the gorge, with a guard rail in front. I slipped it on and grabbed a bottle of water. I had worn my Ultimate bottle filled with a diluted Gatorade mix but only took a few sips during the race. I looked over and saw Lynda near the big white tent and walked over.

One of the advantages of finishing this early was being the first to eat the much touted food. No line yet for the Taco Del Mar meal and a hot bowl of home made black bean soup. Lynda wasn't hungry but she sat with me while I ate in the nearly deserted tent, steam rising from me and from the delightful soup. Afterwards we went back to the car while I discretely changed into dry warm clothes. It started to drizzle so I added a rain coat at the last minute.

We milled around for awhile watching the others come in. Eventually the first marathoner came across which brought about clapping and shouts. It started to get cool and we likely would have left had I not thought that I might have placed somewhere in my division. So we waited, standing mostly just inside the tent. Eventually they did post the results on a nearby wall and I patiently waited in a short line to take a look. And there I was...42nd overall, 36th male and 1st in the 50-54 age group. My first trophy!

Well not a trophy but a half-dollar sized blue disk framed with a funky bike chain with the race info etched on it. But my first one none-the-less. I waited around to get it by way of standing on the highest section of a podium-- which was kind of embarrassing. I shook hands with the second place guy but third place decided not to hang around to get his bike chain ribbon.

I hadn't known what to expect to be sure, but in the end it turned out to be a pretty good day.