“Dude, you got worked.”
Race reports don’t usually begin this way, or at least they shouldn’t. Then when you find out that those words were uttered by a paramedic, you know it’s going to get interesting.
The Seven Sisters Trail race has a reputation for being one of the most difficult race courses you could ever imagine. For a 12 mile race, finish times are usually a lot closer to a marathon time than a ½ marathon. That coupled with the fact that the race is right here in W. Mass made it a race I had been aching to do for a number of years. The weather race morning was as perfect as you could want for a trail race. Temps were in the high 40’s and we had dry trail conditions. Giddy up! Let’s get it on! My strategy was to go out easy until the turn around and then hammer back to the finish. The problem with that strategy is that by the time you hit the turn around your legs are so spent from scrambling up rock faces and skidding down talus fields, that all you can do for the second half of the race is hold on and keep moving. A couple of miles after hitting the turn around I ran into Laura. As usual she had a smile on a mile wide and her eyes were sparkling like she was going for a walk in the park. I’ve never seen this girl look like she was suffering, and I know for a fact that at this point in the race, everyone was suffering. Seeing Laura gave me a bit of a boost and I found my pace was picking up. Maybe a mile later I heard a cheerful voice yell out, “Is that Bill Terry?” Sure enough there was Tater cresting a climb headed towards me. Just like Laura she looked like she didn’t have a care in the world and was having a grand old time. I gave her a quick squeeze on the shoulder as I ran by and wished her luck. Shortly after this is where my race took a serious change in direction. I was bombing down a steep, but not particularly rocky section when I tripped on something. I don’t know if a rock rolled under my foot, or if I caught a root, I just lost control. The next thing I know I’m sailing off the trail and thinking to my self, “Oh boy, this is going to hurt.” and “Protect your head.” I went careening down the mountain side bouncing off rocks and trees until I came to rest on my right elbow. I jumped up and after realizing that I had miraculously avoided breaking anything, scrambled back up to the trail. As I reached the trail I saw that someone who had been behind me had passed me and yelled out “Are you OK!?” I told him that I was fine and took off after him. This is a race you know. This was when I noticed the blood. I had a deep gash on my right elbow and both my legs were covered with smaller cuts and abrasions. The elbow was bleeding so badly that blood was running down my arm and off my finger tips. Pretty soon I was covered in blood, and when I say, “covered” I mean “covered”. I can honestly say that I’ve never seen so much blood come pouring out of my body. I remember thinking that if it didn’t stop bleeding soon I might not be able to finish the race. The next mile may have been my fastest split of the race. I was jacked up on adrenaline and flying down the course. I caught the guy who had passed me and as I went by him he told me that he had seen the whole crash and was amazed when he saw me pop back up. He told me, “Great job.” I said nothing and kept running.
The rest of the race was pretty uneventful. I just kept on moving and passing people until I crossed the finish line and saw the horrified look on the race director’s face when he saw me. We scrambled around, in vain, to find a first aid kit and I ultimately went to the Notch Visitor’s Center where they broke open a 10 yr old kit that had one piece of gauze and maybe 2 feet of tape. I cleaned up as best I could and went back to the finish to wait for Laura and Lisa. That’s when I remembered that Laura’s husband Tommy Fusari, is a paramedic. I called him on his cell phone and asked him to make sure he brought a first aid kit to the race because I had cut my elbow. He even assured me that he had steri strips and could close the wound when he got there. I’m thinking “Rock on! Moan and Dove here I come!” Tommy gets there about 15 minutes later, takes one look at me and says, “Dude, you got worked!” He opens up his kit, grabs some gauze and looks at my elbow. Then he says, “I can’t close this. Your f@#*$ bone is exposed.”
Long story short, I called my wife, told her what was going on and drove myself to Noble Hospital’s Emergency room where I spent the next 2 ½ hrs having a doctor dig dirt, leaves, and gravel out of the bone in my elbow joint. Let’s just say that it wasn’t a very pleasant experience.
After all is said and done, this is a race, and a race report wouldn’t be complete without race results. Since I didn’t hang around for the awards and I left from the hospital to go hunting in Pennsylvania, where there was no internet access, I didn’t find out until Wed how I did. Mike C. texted to tell me that my 2:27:29 put me in 54th place overall. Not bad considering my “flesh wound”. Despite my experience, it really is an incredible race and I look forward to doing it again.