Bad Ass Mother Fricker

Registration Fee (Elvira Eichleay)

Running: it's the easiest outdoor activity you can do. It requires little more than a pair of suitable shoes. There's no learning curve, no requisite equipment to buy, no fees to pay. It can be done in any weather, in any place, on any surface, wearing anything, and an hour is plenty of time for it.

In the world of outdoor pursuits, running is about as simple as it gets. Just walk out the door and go. Because of this, I've always been a runner.

Races? I've run more of them than I can remember, the first one when I was 8 years old. That was the only one that involved an ambulance, because an 8-year-old can only hit a dead sprint for about 2 miles before he collapses. In all of my races I rarely did as well as I'd like to have at the time, but well enough to now be proud of most of my past results. Then at a certain point I realized that it just wasn't worth the registration fee to sign up for a run I could just as easily do on my own for free, whenever I like. Hell, I could do it every week and race against myself every time. Yeah, it's fun to train for an event with a group of buddies, and it's nice to have aid stations and timing chips, but my T-shirt collection is out of hand and all those everybody-gets-a-medal medals are just sitting in a forgotten box somewhere.

So I made up my own running event. A free one. I wanted any runner to be able to do it, regardless of how serious they are. It could be something to train for, but still attainable for those who didn't have the time to train because everybody could do as much or as little as they want. The course would eliminate the need for water/aid stations and the things you'd get with your registration fee. A running event for everybody. 

Of course it had to be on the funnest trail network around, which happens to be just beyond the patio behind my house.

The event was piloted this past weekend, recruiting participants strictly through word-of-mouth over the past few months. I called it the Mother Fricker because we held it in Pittsburgh's Frick Park. Here's the flyer I sent out:

Four loops. Optional distances between 2 and 20 miles. Free registration, just get rid of a pair of shoes you probably should have gotten rid of months ago. And, most profoundly, no timing. It would be an event that need not be taken seriously; just get out and run. Who wouldn't want to join in?

The Mother Fricker would happen on April 9. Early April around here is usually good running weather. Not necessarily the dryest time of year, but very unlikely to be cold and snowy. 

Not this year. For the first-ever Mother Fricker, the forecasters predicted 2 - 4 inches of snow overnight beforehand. 

Bull-headed and committed, three of us spent all morning the day before marking the course even though we were told there was an 80% chance all the markings would be covered with snow by morning. Holding onto that elusive 20%, the course was marked in white flour and yellow corn meal. That put the event budget at about $30, a cost I can probably nearly recoup if I can manage to sell a BIG BOX OF USED RUNNING SHOES (various sizes) on Craigslist. 

Prior to alpha loop (Elvira Eichleay) 

As the scheduled event time, 8:15, approached, one of the participants, Michael, plopped two dozen donuts onto the table that up until then had only contained a 7.5 gallon jug of water, a clipboard, and two hand-drawn course maps. There were no energy bars and no portable toilet. Cars were pulling into the lot and a few more runners began to mill about, stretching, stuffing things into pockets, sipping water, and hopping up and down to ward off the cold. 

A man who called himself an associate of a representative of the organizer of the event, who would for at least 5 more hours deny all culpability and responsibility for the event, called the runners into a huddle. He announced that he was speaking on behalf of the representative of the organizer. "Welcome to the Mother Fricker. If you get lost, try to make your way back to this spot, because that's where your car is." A few chuckled, but he wasn't that funny. 

He then explained the course and apologized for confusion created by the snow that was falling because it looked "a whole heck of a lot" like the flour that was only 24 hours earlier dropped onto the trails at the intersections. Everybody introduced themselves to each other, including the youngest participant, Jake, who was celebrating his 15th birthday. 

Fifteen runners began the alpha loop, an 8 mile course through the slag heaps that tracked along infamous trails by the names of Beyond, Crater, and Humpular, to mention a few. The course winded up, down, and through a particularly steep and gnarly network in a forest surrounding the steel industry's wasteland of by-product. Just after the runners began, a 16th runner dashed out after them, and then about ten minutes later another car arrived and a runner darted out of it, grabbing a map off the table. 

Before long, the group split into three distinct packs. Butt-sliding down the steepest descents and clinging to roots and saplings to get up them, all 17 starters made it back to the lot within an hour, grabbing a swig of water before heading out for the second half of alpha loop. One runner dropped out in an attempt to avoid a knee re-injury. "That's steep!" she exclaimed when asked. Another runner was not  present at the pre-event meeting, missed a critical turn just out of the lot and was off course.

The second half of alpha loop began for the remaining 15 runners with a 1.2 mile ascent of the slippery Iron Grate trail, a thrilling descent for local mountain bikers. By the top, the mud was starting to thicken underfoot, and the runners began to notice added weight on the soles of their shoes. The climbing was now mostly behind the runners, but the snow was accumulating. Traversing the entire park on contours about 40 feet apart, the packs began to spread out on the Goat Path and Falls Ravine trails. At a right turn onto Bradema, things got slick again for a full mile of descending through a thick bisque of mud and snow. At the bottom, it was a one-mile trot back to the cars. 

All 15 runners to complete alpha loop had done so with at least some time to rest. A few said good-bye and  some fresh runners arrived (including the youngest runner to that point, 13-year-old Xavier).

The headcount gets fuzzy at this point. Approximately 15 runners began beta loop, a 6 mile course that began with a ridiculously steep jaunt up a scree field that nobody could run, much less walk without using hands. Another traverse of the park, this time at a lower contour, brought the field - led by a group of 4 including Xavier - to a sketchy road crossing and then to a place where anybody who went to Central Catholic has spent a Friday evening partying. Rather than chugging 12 ounces of Beast, though, they dropped down a steep hillside and connected back into the park's main trails for a long circuit. Tossed in among the Homewood and Tranquil Trails were signature off-the-beaten-path singletrack called the Stinky Bridge and Backyard trails before the home stretch back to the lot. By now, about ten runners had completed 14 miles of the stickiest, sloppiest, and steepest Frick Park terrain available. In between loops, runners were leaving and others (including 10-year-old Simon) were arriving to strike a balance.

This is the point where the Mother Fricker prevails. The next loop, gamma, would be 4 miles long. After running 8- and 6-mile loops, the psychology involved in then running a 4-mile loop is easy to manage. And, it would be the first half of alpha loop. The runners knew what was ahead, and by comparison to the other loops, it would be short. No sweat.

It was now snowing in earnest as gamma loop began. Most of the field knew the course from alpha, and so newbies jumped right in for the ride. There would be more mud, more snow, and more wind, and somehow it had gotten steeper. So steep in fact that at least one ascent required teamwork. 

The five Mother Frickers

Running the gamma loop were 8 runners who had started with alpha loop in a field of approximately 12. Despite the fact that only one 2-mile loop remained, at the end of gamma, three of them said something about something and drove off. Five were left for the two mile delta loop. 

Seven runners finished the delta loop, five of them thus completing all 20 miles of the event. That loop, a run of the ultra-fantastic 276 Trail, required two creek crossings and at least a dozen switchbacks, because 276 is a trail that was designed with limited acreage. Essentially high-fiving along the course between those switchbacks, the last remaining runners hobbled and grunted out the last of their reserves. 

Throughout the day, one runner, Chuck, was in the lead pack for every loop. He's a general contractor in the East End who worked the Mother Fricker into his marathon training regimen. His son, Otto, came and ran gamma loop with him. Congregating in the lot after the event,  everybody congratulated him on his performance and then asked if he'd mind taking the box full of trash that had accumulated that day since he had such a nice truck. That's what kind of event the Mother Fricker was. 

If I could give myself a nickname, I'd like for it to be ANALOG. Try this sometime: just lace up and run. Leave the watch at home; no phone, no music. Just try it. Do it in the forest, where you don't need an iPod to drown out the noise of traffic. Run at an unknown pace for an unknown amount of time. Maybe shorten it a bit if you want; or make it longer. Run on a trail you've never run, just to see where it goes. Stop for a bit and walk, just because there's no clock ticking. Then run like the wind, off trail, like you're a predator. If you're really fast, you might catch something.

Git r dun.