The Mississippi Blues Marathon:

Hills, Hills, and Did I Mention Hills?

As the fall of 2014 became the winter of 2015, I continued my quest to complete a marathon in every state.  The options have become smaller as the number of states dwindle.  I am almost done with the eastern half of the country and, of course, winter means heading either south or west.  

Originally, I was going to go to Texas in January for the Houston Marathon and then to Mississippi in March for a marathon in a state park.  But I learned that not only was Houston sold out, but that there was a lottery to get into it.  In actually I was months behind any possibility of going to Houston.  So in looking at other possibilities, I finally discovered that I could go to Mississippi in January and Texas in March.  In Texas I would actually fly to one of the two Houston airports and run a small marathon at Seabrook, a bit outside the metropolis.  This actually appeals to me more than Houston itself.

For Mississippi, I chose the Mississippi Blues Marathon in Jackson, Mississippi, the state capitol.  I flew down on a Thursday evening for the Saturday event, because flying Friday would have made things tight, especially getting to the expo.  I did have a sighting of a somewhat famous person.  The plane from Philadelphia flew to Reagan National in Arlington.  We then transferred to another plane which would go directly to Jackson.  Being a smaller plane, we had to get on a transport that would take us out to the plane away from the terminal.  While standing in this vehicle, I watched as others boarded.  One man has hair so perfectly coiffed, it looked like it might have cost $500 to style.  Then I noticed his glasses and the shape of his face and realized we are going to Mississippi.  I turned and asked someone else if he was from Mississippi  When he said he was, I asked "Is that Trent Lott(former MS senator and now lobbyist)?" It was.

Once off the plane, I went to obtain my rental car.  I usually reserve a compact, but I was given a choice of a Jeep or a Camaro.  I chose the Camaro, which may have been a mistake.  I found it too low slung for a person of 6'5" and looking out the side windows for traffic alongside was difficult because of the way the window goes down to a corner in the back with the roof and side blocking the view.  I also turned on Onstar trying to adjust the mirror and had to fiddle with the buttons quickly so that it went off before making a connection with the operator.  When I went to fill the car up before returning to the airport, I could not figure out how to open the gas lid.  In my Honda, there is an inside release, but in the Camaro, you push on the lid and it pops open.  But I did not know that and asked another driver, who called a friend who has a Camaro.  I also was not impressed with the gas mileage of this vehicle that growled any time I nudged the accelerator.

I easily found my motel and settled in for the night.  The next morning after I ate the motel self-serve breakfast, I went out for a walk and headed to a CVS for a few supplies.  A couple of the streets were part of the race course and I started to get a first-hand inkling of how hilly it was going to be.  I had read comments on Marathonguide about the hills and now I was discovering for myself.

Later I drove down to the expo and scouted out the parking for the next day since the race started right there. The expo was small, but I rarely shop at them anyway.  Soon I was outside again.  I walked back to my car and dropped off the bag and then headed down the street to the Iron Horse Grill that I had scouted out in advance on Google Maps.  It was close enough to the lunch hour, so I ordered one of the local craft beers as I studied the lunch menu and later had a second.  The restaurant was in a restored building that was part of an old meat-packing business.  The meat was loaded onto the railroad which ran right next to it, hence the "Iron Horse" name.  Several other runners came in and sat at the bar and we engaged in running conversation.  One guy remembered me the following week and made a Facebook friend request.  

After I ate, I had the afternoon to kill.  I wandered back past the expo and checked out the finishing area.  Right there was a planetarium so I went in and saw most of a show (as I dozed off some between the food, beer and reduced hours of sleep the previous night).  Later, I went into the Mississippi Museum of Art and spent an hour looking at the various periods of artistic output of Mississippians.  I found photographs from the depression era, particularly of black residents to be most interesting.

Later I went to a place for dinner called Burgers and Blues.  Apparently I was there too early as few people were there on a Friday evening.  A musician was just starting to set up when I was ready to leave.  But I wanted to retire early because I would be getting up at 3:30 A.M. in order to have some breakfast before the 7:00 A.M. race start.  Even though an all-day breakfast chain was right down the street from the motel, I had been to one of those (which was remain unnamed) in Huntsville and I found the food to be greasy.  I had done a previous search and found a Denny's about halfway back to the airport.  But it was worth the ride as that food was OK.  I also found the cheap price of gas at the truck shop and decided to stop back in the afternoon on my way to the airport.

Returning to the motel, I went through my preparation rituals and headed out to the car by 5:45 A.M. I wanted to make sure I got a spot in that parking lot.  When I pulled into it, I found it was already filling up.  I wanted to move closer to the front, which would mean a shorter walk from the finish.  As I moved forward in the unlit lot, which apparently used to have buildings in it and perhaps an alley, I drove off a curb in the middle of the lot and scraped the back bottom of the car.  Well, it passed inspection when I returned it, but I did not mention this incident.  Once parked, I sat, alternately running the engine and turning it off, listening to music and taking sips from a gatorade bottle.  By 6:15 the sky was beginning to lighten.  Jackson is in the Central Time Zone, but a lot farther east in that zone than Wilmington is in the Eastern Zone.

Around 6:40 I got out of the car and used a short wall to avoid a waiting line at the portajohns.  Then I gathered my fuel belt and gloves and off I went to join the gathering runners.  It was 26 degrees with a slight breeze.  Around 4,000 runners were starting together in the marathon, half marathon, quarter marathon and marathon relay.  I found the 4:20 pacer, figuring that with the hills, I would be fairly conservative and shoot for a time about five minutes slower than my two previous marathons.  

After the start we ran about a quarter mile before encountering the first uphill.  The first three miles were comprised of a small loop through Jackson State University, a name I remembered from around the time that four students were killed at Kent State.  At JSU two students were killed and twelve injured protesting the invasion of Cambodia, but since those students were black, the incident did not receive as much attention. This loop was moderately rolling hills.  As we headed back through the area where the race started, a woman running by asking if that was it for the hills.  I said no, they are just getting started.  OK boy, was I right.

As usual, the pacer, capable of running faster, had started out too fast.  I told him we did the third mile in 9:23. when we should be averaging 9:55.  As we encountered more hills, I noticed he took them more easily and pulled away.  I followed him for miles, but he was fading into he distance.  Then I lost sight of him.  Next thing I knew he was beside me as he had stopped at a portajohn.  He asked how I was as he went by me.  At this point there was no one with him and he was running on his own.  

By the time I had covered a half marathon, I was slightly under a ten minute pace, but already was feeling the effects of the endless hills.  These hills were not big, but they did not end.  Some, particularly in the latter stages, got pretty steep.  My strength was slowly sucked away.  After twenty miles, I had to take some walking breaks on the uphills.  I logged miles of 12, 13, 14 minutes.  Around mile 23, I saw a guy with white hair go past me, still chugging up the hills, while I was walking.  I had a sense that I had just lost a first place age-group finish.  Later I confirmed that I was correct.  At mile 20, he was four minutes behind me, but he beat me to the finish by almost seven minutes.  I looked up other race times of his.  He consistently ran times over 4:30, whereas I was usually ten or fifteen minutes faster than that.  But despite the hills, he ran his normal race, about 4:33. whereas I slowed down to 4:40.

The race course did take us through some nice quiet streets in neighborhoods at times.  One area in particular was really for those at the high end of the socio-economic scale.  There was one house in particular which had a massive wrought-iron fence around the property.  Another runner later commented that the price of the fence alone would probably cover the cost of two homes of ordinary people.

There was a pretty good selection of food at the finish, especially tomato soap.  I did not wait around as I wanted to get back to my motel which had granted me late checkout to clean up.  I was miffed that no results were available at the end.  I was told to download an App (which would not work on my inherited iPhone 3 anyway).

After I cleaned up and left the motel, I went back to the gas station near Denny's halfway to the airport.  For some reason, there was caution tape around the entire section of gas pumps.  Later I found another station with the price of 1.89.9, which at the time, was 25 cents cheaper than gas in Delaware.  This particular road also had a number of restaurants and after some searching, I found one that offered beer and food.  I got the strong impression that this racially integrated crowd at the restaurant was united in their interest in shoveling in the calories.

I sat at the bar, which was being tended by a young black woman.  On the other side she was tended to two black women, whose appetizers and salads alone would have been enough for me, but who also had a main course served as I was leaving.  Early on the woman tending the bar asked the two woman, "How's my booty, look?", apparently concerned she might be getting a little hefty.  Naturally, I had to make an independent judgement as I gazed for a moment at said subject.  One of the women on the other side looked up at me, grinned, and made some comments to the bartender.  She kept glancing at me.  Well, the question was asked!  But after that I did all I could NOT to study the area again.

Getting into the airport, I quickly got through security and to the terminal.  There had to be a half dozen more runners all leaving on the same plane, which was going to Charlotte, a hub for USAirways.  We spent time comparing our runs and looked up the results, which most had not yet seen. I confirmed I had finished second, after first previous firsts in my age-group in marathons since turning 70.

After Charlotte, on the leg back to Philadelphia, a guy from Bucks County, who had run  the marathon, sat with me and we spent the entire flight talking running.  He's a 50 stater also and he was giving me tips about flying and how to save money, which will be useful in the years to come.

Recommendation:  Well, I have not yet mentioned the medal.  It is a replica of a guitar, over nine inches long, chrome on blue plastic, with a pick hanging off of it, which says the 2015 date. I think the finishers in the shorter races got smaller guitar medals also.  Everyone who has seen it is impressed.

I also got a vest, a small harmonica, and a CD of blues music that I will not listen to again since it was mostly unknown lone male guitar players doing droning acoustic versions of songs that were rather plain.

If I had been there with my wife and we were staying longer, I would have hung around at the finish, listened to the band. and then gone to one of the local restaurants later which were part of the celebration of the running.  The course isn't for a PR;  the Space Coast Marathon would probably be flatter for a Mississippi course.  There is not much going on in Jackson.  It was good for me as an in-and-out, no tourism marathon.