2024 B&A Trail Marathon

Mar 24, 2024

Start Location: Severna Park High School

“It was the best of times; It was the worst of times” Charles Dickens

I crossed the George Washington Bridge in the cold March darkness, peering out my window to steal a glance at the lit-up Manhattan skyline. I had reached the halfway point on my trip from New Hampshire to the “Old Line State.” After 4 hours of driving, my back had begun to feel stiff. This would be my farthest drive to date in my quest to complete a marathon in all 50 states. And soon, I would be scratching Maryland off my list.

I breathed a sigh of relief after crossing the bridge and seeing the vast highway extend off into the horizon. Happy to have New York City behind me. The bustling metropolis, with its boondoggle of roads and bridges, had been an inevitable waypoint along this southward journey. Such is the plight of the southbound New Englander. There’s just no good way to avoid the area without driving many miles out of the way.

Now, with the bottleneck of America’s largest city behind me, it would be highway driving from here on out. Soon, I would be in Severna Park, Maryland, and tomorrow, I would run my first race in over a year.

As I drove into the early light of morning, I reflected on the journey that had brought me here. I had been a regular runner for about 10 years but was still fairly new to doing long distances. I got my start back in 2021 when I ran my first-ever marathon in Keene, NH. It was a whole new level I had taken myself to. Prior to this, I had gotten into running merely for fitness and the restorative effects it has on body and mind. I was quite smitten with my 3-7 miles-a-day routine in those early days. I had never seen much reason to run at distances greater than 10 miles. Not for health, anyway. But the idea of running a marathon, whether for bragging rights or just to see if I could do it, had taken hold somewhere in my mind at one point or another. It was perhaps a byproduct of those triple-A runs I would have some days. The kind that would leave me feeling so invigorated that I’d come away wanting more.

So, it was no surprise that when I finally got around to doing a marathon, I came away with that same attitude. After crossing that first finish line, I became instantly hooked, and I wanted more. It didn’t take long for the potential goal of completing a marathon in all 50 states to show its allure. It’s a lofty goal for a middle-aged man who also happens to be quite busy. But I’ve come to appreciate the added structure such a goal provides. It keeps me motivated and gives a better framework to guide my running.

It didn’t take much research before landing on the B&A Trail Marathon as the best choice for scratching the state of Maryland off my 50-state list. It is a small state after all, which means fewer races to choose from. This small and unassuming race in the suburbs of Annapolis stood out as a low-key alternative to the larger and more popular option of Baltimore’s Running Festival.

B&A is one of those hidden gems, they say. The quiet little races that get overshadowed by larger productions, and yet are so fantastic in their charm, that they are excellent in their own right. They are not big affairs. But their small-town feel is emphasized by the painless and carefree race-day experience they promise to provide.

The B&A Trail Marathon would be my 3rd time running the coveted 26.2 miles. But unlike my previous marathons, this one stood out as not being particularly well-timed. The training had been a bit rushed.

My selection process for upcoming marathons goes something like this: 1) Timing: When do I want to run my next marathon, and what races are available? 2) Rating: How have other people rated this marathon, and what are they saying about it? RaceRaves.com is my go-to resource for figuring that out. 3) Logistics: Can I make this trip work— is it close to home?

But this year, I had to skip the timing consideration. In fact, it didn’t really make sense to run a marathon in March at all. After nearly a year off from running, I had only just gotten started again. It was in the last week of December that I started training, going from 0 miles to 20 a week right out of the gate. But to properly bring myself up to race-readiness, it would be ideal to have 18 weeks. Especially after nearly a year off from running. But based on my starting point, this would have had me racing at the end of April.

So, why did I choose to run a race in March? The reason is a potent one. I was supposed to run this same marathon a year earlier, back in March 2023. That race never happened for me, and frankly, it pissed me off.

It was in late February of that year, with only a month to go before the race, that it happened. When looking in the mirror one morning, I noticed a sizable bulge above my left pelvis. Meeting with a doctor quickly revealed that it was an inguinal hernia. The doctors’ immediate advice was to call off the race to prevent making it worse and to avoid any nerve damage that could result from exasperating the injury. And just like that, my race was over.

I will admit, however, I had considered running the race anyway. In the end, however, despite being driven and despite how much I hate to give up, I had long since learned the importance of taking care of this body and making wise decisions that benefit me over the long haul.

A month later, when meeting with a surgeon who was an expert in hernias, it was quickly discerned that I had not 1 but 3 protrusions: an inguinal hernia on each side, as well as an umbilical hernia; that one I already knew about.

What followed was a full nine months off from running. 3 months waiting for my procedure. Two months to heal after the surgery and another 4 months of avoiding high-impact exercises (running) to reduce the risk of recurrence. Finally, in the last month of that long, miserable year, I put my feet to the pavement once again. Within a few weeks of training, I had already brought myself back up to 40 miles a week, and I decided at that time that I would begin a fast-track marathon training plan to give myself a shot at running in March. My intent was to go down to Severna Park, Maryland, and complete the marathon I trained for a year earlier. Go back to finish the job.

Maryland:

It was approaching noon when I spotted the Baltimore skyline amidst the Patapsco River, emptying into Baltimore Harbor. Glancing to the south, I knew Severna Park and Annapolis lay somewhere down along the narrow strip of land across the river. In the distance, I spotted the sprawling expanse of the Francis Key Scott Bridge, named for the Maryland attorney whose fabled poem would become The Star-Spangled Banner, and later, our National Anthem. It stood over the horizon high above the chilly waters of the bay, like a timeless relic of our nation’s past.

It was another 30 minutes of driving before I found my way into the small suburb of Severna Park. I pulled into Severna Park High School, the main center of operations for this race. I was instantly pleased by the size of the parking lot. Parking is always of chief concern to any marathoner coming from out of town. It’s one of those things that needs to be figured out. And until you get there, it is a nagging concern on a long list of to-dos. But here, I could see parking would be a breeze, and so I scratched that off my list straightaway. Even with packet pick-up taking place inside the school, the traffic in and out of the parking lot was practically nonexistent.

I turned the keys back in my ignition and embraced the sound of quiet after 8 hours of driving. Exiting my vehicle, I made my way across the parking lot toward the high school entrance. I couldn’t help but feel a little apprehensive. The reason was that I hadn’t actually registered yet. My training had been so rushed that I held off on committing to the race until the last weeks leading up to it.

There were too many things that could go wrong. Injuries and whatnot. And having lost 80 dollars from this same race and not getting to run last year, I wasn’t risking a repeat of that. But this backfired somewhat when I learned that I had waited too long and ended up missing the online registration window.

Fortunately, a brief email exchange with the race director offered reasonable assurances that I would have no problems registering in person. Still, 8 hours is a long way to drive based on promises made in an email exchange with a single individual.

Such was the nature of my thoughts as I headed in through the main doors of the building and found myself in the school cafeteria. A long line of tables for packet pickup was sparsely manned by various volunteers. The wall behind the tables was stacked high with boxes full of race swag. The place was practically empty, and there were so few people that I did not have to wait in line.

Still requiring registration, a volunteer sent me to the race director. Within minutes I was signed up and ready to go. Then I briefly moseyed around to check out the expo. It was very small, but that didn’t bother me. I never really buy anything. But I did see they had some good deals on shoes and a pretty decent selection. Probably a surplus from a local store.

The Shake-Out:

With my race bib and bag of swag, I returned to my vehicle and took a look at the time: 1 p.m. Unfortunately, I had a busy day ahead of me. At the time, I was attending the University of New Hampshire, working toward a bachelor’s degree. I had quite a bit of schoolwork to complete by Monday. In an effort to get the degree done quickly, I had been maxing out my course load semester after semester, creating a situation where my schoolwork seemed to take up every hour of every day. And my morning drive had resulted in 8 hours of no work getting done. I was going to need to find a place to do some homework down here. But first, I needed to get my run in.

Returning to my truck, I glanced around the busy streets of Severna Park. It didn’t look like a good place to go for a jog. The main road that the school was on was a 2-lane street with heavy traffic. Instead, I pulled out my phone and eventually located a nice spot, just 8 minutes away, that provided access and parking to the B&A trail. I thought, this is great, I’ll get a look at the course.

Light raindrops began to trickle onto my windshield as I drove across town. The smell of spring rain came in through my vents, and outside the colors of the flowers and the budding green were becoming rich and vivid.

By the time I arrived at the B&A Trail, the rain had turned from a light trickle to a torrential downpour. Still, the weather was slightly warm for March, and with Maryland being further south than my home in New England, I was elated at the advanced hints of spring that the area offered. I was going to get wet, but that was okay. I love a good rain run.

The only problem was that there was a small leak in my truck’s hard cap, and I didn’t want it to get wet back there. With this in mind, I tried to park on an incline so any water that got in would promptly run out the back.

When I put the truck in park and started getting ready, I quickly discovered my first mistake (there are always a few). I realized that I had only brought one pair of running shoes, the ones I would need for tomorrow’s race. I couldn’t use them for today’s shake-out run because then they would be soaking wet and likely wouldn’t dry in time for the race tomorrow. Instead, I would have to do my run in the shoes I’d worn down here. My walking-around shoes. This would be a little weird since the design of these shoes was similar to a pair of Converse— a low-top canvas shoe that is by no means meant for running.

But I would have to make it work.

My shake-out run was an easy 4 miles. Despite the air feeling warm for this time of year, the rain made it feel quite a bit colder. Still, I ran along gleefully. The long stretch of trail, I was happy to learn, was straight, flat, and nicely paved. This would be fine terrain to run on for 26.2 miles. In fact, this would probably be the easiest course I’d raced in yet.

There were other runners out that day. More rain runners than were common, and I attributed this to the fact that they were probably in town for the marathon. This was confirmed when I got back to the parking lot and spotted more runners getting out of their cars. I could see from the license plates of their vehicles they were from out of town. One of them was from New Jersey. The other was from New York.

I grabbed some dry clothes out of my truck and headed to the bathrooms to change. Because my walking-around shoes were now soaked, I was forced to change into my race shoes. Which meant I would have to be especially careful to keep them dry. By this point, the rain had returned to a mere trickle, but the ground was still booby-trapped with puddles and running water from the hillside.

I reflected on the shoe mishap as I drove back into town. It wasn’t a significant problem. But it was somewhat of an early indicator of the cracks that were beginning to form in my planning. Indeed, this would be the first mistake of many over the course of the weekend, in what I would later regard as my worst marathon performance to date.

Getting to know Severna Park:

Severna Park rests on an isthmus, which is surrounded by the Magothy River to the north and the Severn River to the south. While the immediate residential streets surrounding the high school have a certain amount of community feel, the rest of the town finds itself somewhat spread out along the main drag of Highway 2. This main artery stretches its way down the isthmus and is lined with various businesses in the form of strip malls, gas stations, car repair shops, and the like.

After my run, I made my way over to the Severna Park Library. It’s not most people‘s go-to attraction, I realize, but this trip wasn’t exactly a vacation. Though this weekend was at the tail end of my spring break, I found myself in a position of needing to play some serious catch-up. I had spent the previous half of my break spending time with family and now I was paying for that by having to catch up during race weekend. I had a number of projects coming due on Monday, and subsequent days throughout the week.

It was around 3 in the afternoon when I pulled into the parking lot of the library. The rain had stopped, and the sun had come out. Suddenly, I felt overcome with fatigue. I had been up since 3:30 am. The long drive had been tiring enough, but now, after my 4-mile run, I was feeling even more drained. With this in mind, I backed my truck into a parking space with a nice amount of tree coverage. Then I got out, walked to the back of the truck, and crawled inside. There, in the dusty confines of my oil-perfumed truck bed, I rolled out my futon mattress, cracked a window, and quickly fell asleep.

After my catnap, I head into the library with my schoolbag and laptop. The library was small, but it had some charm. It was a circular-shaped building, which makes for a strange layout in my opinion. It was hard to find much privacy, but it was still better than some of the alternatives. I visited a Starbucks on the way over, but it had cramped parking and a lot of drive-through business and was small. It was also loud and dirty.

I worked for several hours in the small library. Children played nearby, and other library-goers were passing by regularly. One couple, an old man and woman, was set up nearby, hunching over a 15-year-old Dell laptop and discussing the gentleman’s strategy for applying for and receiving disability.

I tried to focus on my work, but as time went by, I found myself departing from my studies and just watching people. There was a moment when I experienced a light onset of joy. There is something special about visiting places that aren’t tourist destinations. Getting to visit a real town and perusing their local hangouts. Pretending, for a “day in the life”, that I live somewhere else. It’s like changing the channel. Everything is fresh and new.

As I looked around, I realized everyone in this library must live nearby. These were just townspeople living their lives. There was nothing extravagant about it. And yet, hanging out here in this place was infinitely more satisfying than traveling to a fancy beach destination, where the hotels tower over houses, and the endless fun and centers of entertainment revolve around cheap thrills, like high-priced food, go-karts, and main street arcades.

Now I was curious about the town I had found myself in, and with my computer in front of me, I began exploring the map.

Severna Park:

The small town that hosts tomorrow’s race is found in the middle of an isthmus— a stretch of land surrounded by water on both sides. These narrow waterways are the Severn and Magothy Rivers, both flowing into the larger Chesapeake Bay. The same Chesapeake Bay that would be navigated by a British armada in 1814, resulting in the Battle of Baltimore. A military conflict that would see the British forces repelled and mark a turning point in the War of 1812.

The area has long had a strong military and naval presence. The nearby United States Naval Academy in Annapolis is a mainstay whose influence can be felt throughout the town. The United States Army Intelligence and Military Command is stationed at nearby Fort Meade, and the U.S. Department of Defense has a base further up the bay at Aberdeen.

Severna Park sits between Baltimore, 39 miles to the north, and Annapolis, 17 miles to the south. These two Maryland cities are connected by the Baltimore & Annapolis Trail (B&A). The trail runs up the center of the isthmus and parallel to Highway 2. While mostly winding through forests and residential neighborhoods, the trail occasionally reveals glimpses of local businesses—taverns, coffee shops, and retail stores.

The B&A is a rail trail—meaning it was repurposed from an old railway. I've always thought this was such a great use of outdated infrastructure. Since the area is already cleared and relatively flat, it makes for an ideal public recreation space. There's also rich history embedded in these paths, with the railroad serving as a window into the region's past.

The Tale of Two Cities:

In 1887, the Annapolis and Baltimore Short Line began operations, carrying passengers between the two metropolises. Back then, this important rail was serving a public need, allowing Annapolis residents to access employment in the more industrialized Baltimore. The railway would later become known as the North Shore Line, following its incorporation into another rail system. In 1935 it would change hands yet again and receive its final name, the B&A.

But nothing lasts forever, and in 1950 the railroad ended passenger operations after a series of setbacks. Damage to bridges and trestles along the line had been incurred from various storms, and with declining ridership, the cost of repairs was becoming difficult to justify. The world had changed since the turn of the century when the rail was first laid. Automobiles had become the wave of the future, and that meant pouring money into roads. Not rails.

In 1972 the railway would cease operations altogether. Shortly thereafter, public interest in repurposing the corridor emerged. Through legislation and land acquisitions, Maryland began construction on the B&A Trail, and by 1990 the project would be completed, resulting in a linear park—a long line of civic ownership etched across the landscape. The trail would create a link between the two cities for bikers, runners, and pedestrians. A link between two lands.

The Night Before:

The racecourse was central on my mind as I drove back to Severna Park High School. Entering the parking lot, I found a nice place to situate my vehicle near the main road. It was getting dark as I sat in the driver’s seat with the truck still running. I was studying the course map for tomorrow’s race, looking to see at what points I’d be making any crucial turns.

The B&A Marathon is a loop course— meaning it returns to its starting point. With the exception of the first 1.5 miles through Severna Park, it stays on the B&A Trail throughout the race. It first heads southeast for 7 miles in the direction of Annapolis. It then loops back and passes through Severna Park again at mile 13. From there, the course just keeps going northwest toward Baltimore. Finally, just shy of the big city, the course turns around again at mile 19, resulting in a 7.2-mile return back along the B&A trail toward the high school in Severna Park.

After staring at the map for a while, I turned to my passenger seat. Pulling my dinner out of the cooler, I slowly began to realize that I may have dropped the ball on packing proper nutrition. I had brought plenty of food, just not much variety. It was in my haste to get out the door that morning that I seemed to have opted for simplicity rather than time-draining meal preparation. I had packed multiple to-go containers of beans and rice, but that was it. On its own, this is a pretty solid pre-race meal, with a great mix of protein and carbs.

But now I was starting to think about other phytonutrients. Vitamins and minerals. The beans and rice wouldn’t have everything. I should be fortifying my electrolytes, I thought. Potassium, sodium, calcium— and other important vitamins and minerals that aren’t necessarily found in rice and beans.

This isn’t how I usually operated. Normally I would bring a wider range of food with me on these trips. Fruit, raw veggies, and salads of mixed greens.

This would be only my 3rd marathon, so I was still working on my routine. I had been a runner for a number of years, but I still considered myself new to marathoning. I got my start back in 2021, running the Clarence DeMar Marathon in Keene, New Hampshire. Then I ran another one a year later in Bar Harbor, Maine. Preparing for those early races had been all about maximizing my odds of success.

Fast forward to now, and planning for this marathon seemed to be less about success in finishing the race and more about how I can minimize the time and effort I put into these race weekends. I’m a busy guy, after all.

Now, as I sat staring at my dull meal of beans and rice, I reflected on my oversight. This really had been my most hashed-together race effort yet.

It’s not that I had all-out forgotten to bring proper nutrition. I knew I was cutting corners when I was packing for this trip. But that was the issue. I had been heedless in my preparations. This attitude was a far cry away from my first two races, in which I meticulously planned every detail. From the time I would sleep, to the time I would rise, right down to every calorie consumed.

This race would be an important effort. But the reality was that I had a lot of other things going on in my life this time around, and this race was packed in between all of it. And it was almost seen as just one more thing on the massive to-do list. In the day leading up to race weekend, I found I just couldn’t commit the same quality of energy to this trip as I had in previous years.

But that wasn’t my only angle. There was a part of me that felt a need to test the waters. I wanted to see how lax I could get in my planning. In a lot of ways, I was just a newbie being a newbie. Testing out the boundaries. Figuring out what works and what doesn’t. Giving myself latitude to make a few mistakes, ready and willing to learn from them when they inevitably come.

Such had been my attitude when planning this race. I knew I wasn’t giving it the same quality of time. And if that came back to bite me, then I would learn my lesson. Readjust the dials and tweak the calibration. Rinse and repeat until I reach a point where I no longer have to think. A time when my routine will unfold effortlessly and by rote.

This learning process was something that added an extra layer of enjoyment. After my last race, I had started to take seriously the goal of running a marathon in all 50 states, which would mean many more races ahead. Consequently, there would be plenty of time to learn and improve at what I was doing.

Despite all this, now as I sat there mulling over my race-day nutrition, I was feeling the pain of my lack of preparation. I made a mental note that I would have to add back a little more attention to detail next time. The pendulum had swung too far.

At any rate, I decided I would have to cut myself some slack. The reality was that much of my haste had been the result of limited time. A function of my life situation. I was in the middle of the spring semester, and with a lot of other things on my plate, I was just happy that I had managed to make it down here at all.

With that in mind, it was going to be a rough weekend. On Monday, back in New Hampshire, my first class would be at 10 am. This meant tomorrow was going to be a very long day. To get home in time for class on Monday, I would have to drive 8 hours back to New Hampshire immediately following the race.

The increasing length of these drives was a problem that had been presenting itself as of late. In my quest to complete all 50 states, I’ve naturally started with races in my immediate geographical area. But those were running out, and now I found myself having to travel further and further to get to the starting line. New Hampshire and Maine had already been crossed off my list. Massachusetts and New York, I was saving for future glory, so those weren’t options. Rhode Island and Connecticut were in my sights, but they would both be October races.

The driving was taking an additional toll. This, combined with the busy schedule of being in school, makes race day weekends more extraneous.

They say the race doesn’t begin on race day but instead begins with the first day of training. I’ve always agreed with this. The race is the whole journey, but it culminates on that one last glorious day. That final hump. The day to end all days.

Now, as these race weekends get filled with more driving, I have found that this last hump at the end has become an even more exhausting crucible. For me, the marathon doesn’t end at the finish line. It ends when I finish the drive home.

But I was making it work, and all oversights aside, I was fortunate that the nutrition issue was going to be easy to solve. One of the gifts from the race sign-up happened to contain a bag of Ka’Chava protein powder, and when looking at the nutritional contents, I realized this would have every nutrient I could possibly need.

Mixing the powder in with some water, I quickly drank it down, thankful that I would not have to make a special trip to the grocery store.

It was around 8 pm when I retreated to the bed of my truck, where my futon mattress and sleeping bag were waiting for me.

For budget reasons, I avoid the hotels. Instead, I keep it simple and camp out in my vehicle. Still, there is always some concern about being bothered by someone in the middle of the night. Luckily, this was a very safe area, so I wasn’t too worried. To avert concern by any officials, such as security or police, I always put my race bib on the dash to show that I am with the marathon.

I lay on my back, staring up at the rough fiberglass of my truck’s hard cap. My thoughts were slow. It had been a long day. The light sound of the cars driving past filled my ears like the rising and falling waves of the ocean. The tinny-bronze glow of streetlights flooded in through the tinted windows, giving an eerie glow to the oily shadows of my enclosure.

I tried to think about the race tomorrow, but there was no energy with which to ruminate. Instead, I fell rapidly off to sleep.

Race Day:

I awoke the next morning to the sound of vehicles rushing past. These were the early arrivers. It was 6:30 a.m.

Climbing out of the back, I made my way to the cab of my truck, hopped in, and started the engine. As I waited for the heater to blow warm, I watched the influx of traffic steadily increasing.

The Severna Park High School parking lot has a rather confusing setup. There are several options for which way you can turn, and if you take the wrong lane, you end up in the bus circle, which routes you back to the entrance in a house-of-mirrors kind of way. Like it was designed specifically to toy with you. I had gone through all this the day before. That’s the advantage of arriving a day early. You get a lay of the land.

I sat there watching for some time. My mind was in a fog. Finally, it occurred to me that I wasn’t feeling very well-rested. That’s not what you want on the day of a marathon. I felt groggy and grumpy. It was strange, I thought. I had slept well.

My eyes shifted to my passenger seat, where my thermos was sitting, propped up like it was waiting to get buckled in. I hadn’t planned on drinking any coffee before this race, but now, as I sat there, my brain in a fog, I couldn’t ignore the knowledge that there was plenty of coffee left over from yesterday’s drive. It was probably still warm.

It didn’t take long for this coffee to make its way into my cup, and before I knew it, I was sipping the warm morning brew and feeling the circuits in my brain fire back to life.

So much for running caffeine-free.

I continued to watch the spectacle of cars coming in and getting shot around the bus loop. Slowly, after multiple go-arounds, these cars would make their way one by one into the area where I was already situated. Racers were beginning to get out of their vehicles. Twilight was filling the sky with its blue-gray glow. The dawn’s early light. The day was on.

So, I finished my coffee and got myself moving.

I assembled my things. My running belt, which holsters my phone, my blue shorts, and my black synthetic shirt that I’ve worn in every race to date. And my running shoes, which I had managed to keep dry after wearing them all afternoon. I looked at them now as I laced them up. This was the only apparel I’d ever raced in before. My last pair of running shoes had fallen apart from thousands of miles of use, and these shoes I wore now were my only remaining pair. These had been my trail shoes and were close to falling apart as well. I looked at them now, full of holes. The rubber heel flapped listlessly like a piece of bologna. We’ll see if they hold up.

After changing into my running gear, I drank some water and walked off into the cold morning air. To my right, across the parking lot, the starting line was slowly being erected by a group of volunteers. I briefly stopped to watch them work, but it was too chilly to linger. Before long, I was making a b-line for the high school, not yet knowing the severity of the mistake I’d made that morning.

The Race:

It is true what they say about this race, as described in online reviews. It’s the little things. Despite the morning being cold, I spent my pre-race hour within the warm and cavernous halls of Severna Park High School. There was a courtyard at the center of the school where I watched the light of morning grow brighter. The cafeteria served as the main staging zone. It was pretty crowded, but there were other areas out in the hallways and in the foyer area of the school’s main entrance. Plenty of places to stretch out or just relax. But front and center, the standout luxury was in having access to clean, warm bathrooms— something of a rarity in these types of events.

The bathroom I visited right away upon entering the school. After drinking my coffee, I knew I would have to go, and I wanted to make sure I got this taken care of before the race. With caffeine being a powerful diuretic, I had learned from previous races that it was better to go without it. But it hadn’t gone that way this morning, so now I was just trying to get ahead of it.

With a full hour before the race was to start, I felt I had plenty of time to get the liquids out. Of course, I was drinking water too. I didn’t want to be dehydrated.

But as the morning stretched on, I found myself heading to the bathroom more and more. And each time, I had to wait a bit longer to get access to a urinal. More and more racers were showing up, and this was putting a bottleneck on the facilities.

Later, about 30 minutes before the start of the race, I was in the foyer doing my stretches, and I found myself once again having to go. I arrived at the bathroom to see that there was now a line extending all the way down the hallway, where it then before wrapped itself all the way back to where I was standing. I looked at the time.

25 minutes.

I looked at the line. It seemed to be moving along pretty quickly. So, I got in and waited. More time went by. Though the line moved fast, it was just so very long. When I finally made it to the urinal, I had a cool 5 minutes before the start of the race.

When I’d finished, I quickly scurried out of the school and headed across the parking lot toward the starting line. It was a small race, maybe 300 people, so the starting line was no big deal. There was elaborate coral. Just an inflatable red square, perched over the asphalt of the parking lot. The black thread of wires that crossed between the coral were covered over with blue mats. No starting in waves. Just a starting line, a microphone for the race director, and a small, jubilant crowd. I fell in behind them, at the back of the mass of bodies.

I had arrived just in time to hear the national anthem. I held my hand to my heart as the local singer sang that fabled song that would hold together the fabric of our nation for as long as I had been living.

The Battle of Baltimore:

In 1814, the British Navy attacked Fort McHenry in what would be one of the most decisive battles of the War of 1812.

Several months earlier, the country’s capital in Washington D.C., had been burned to the ground, and British forces had subsequently turned their attention to Baltimore. It was a vital American port city and privateering hub. The British hoped to capture it in order to weaken American morale and economic capability.

Never at any other point in history had our country been so close to being snuffed out. Back then, before the United States had become the economic powerhouse that it is today, our young and fledgling nation was still quite vulnerable to the power of foreign naval forces.

On September 12th, the British troops made landfall, under Major General Robert Ross, at what would be the Battle of North Point, a short way southeast of Baltimore. They were met by the American Militia. The British won the field, but General Ross was killed in action by American sharpshooters, dealing a major blow to their high command.

With the British advance slowed, they waited to coordinate with the navy before attacking the city.

The Battle of Baltimore would begin the following day. While British troops approached by land, the Royal Navy pummeled Fort McHenry with cannon fire from the Patapsco River, trying to force a surrender.

The British fleet was limited in its range, since the Americans had sunk ships to block the harbor, preventing a full naval assault.

For two long days, the British Armada laid waste to the small holdout of the American encampment. But Fort McHenry held firm.

The outcome was a decisive American victory. The British withdrew, and Baltimore resisted capture. It marked a turning point in American morale at a time when the proliferation of the country was far from guaranteed.

Francis Scott Key, witnessing the bombardment, was inspired by the sight of the American flag still flying over Fort McHenry. He wrote a poem titled "Defence of Fort M’Henry," which later became “The Star-Spangled Banner”— the U.S. national anthem.

Key was right to be inspired by the grandeur of our American flag on that day. He was witnessing the rise of a nation. One that would continue to prove itself time and time again. He was standing at the precipice of a country’s bright and abundant future.

A country whose moral high ground was slowly being minted into the collective awareness. The story of a nation that would do things differently, that would govern better than the failed relics of the past. And in this collective thinking lies the seed of superiority. A line in the sand between us and them. And with this new victory, there is evidence that our way is better. What better explanation for our many successes?

After all, the flag was still standing. As Francis Scott Key so eloquently lauded:

Oh, say does that star-spangled banner yet wave

The land of the free.

The home of the brave.

The B&A Trail Marathon:

My hand hung loosely at my heart as I listened to our Star-Spangled Banner sung into the early morning jubilation by a local firefighter.

The small crowd of runners stood poised for success. Standing at the ready. There was an awkward pause. A quiet before the storm. Then the gun cracked. We were off.

My feet shuffled past the cheap readers at the starting line, and I followed the crowd out of the parking lot of the high school and into the residential streets of Severna Park. Like a running of the bulls, the crowd of runners glided through the Annapolis suburb. We turned right. Then left. Left. Then right again.

After a mile and a half of twists and turns, we entered onto the B&A trail at Hatton Register Green, heading south, toward Annapolis.

I was elated as I made my way southeast along the trail, surrounded by my fellow runners. Many of them were Navy. They wore yellow shirts and were all quite young, as servicemen usually are. Their fellow sailors turned out to cheer them on, here and there.

“Go Navy! Go Navy!” one female servicewoman cried. She wore a gray sweatshirt with the words NAVY printed in black.

Another serviceman emerged on a bicycle. He rode leisurely alongside two navy runners who had been in pace with me. He said to one of them with an aloof smile, “I caught you being ‘internal.’”

The rest of the community turned out here and there, at places where the path opened into recreational areas. Since the trail is a linear park, there were many such spaces along the way. Some had playgrounds and other attractions, while others were just parking lots that provided an entry point for park-goers.

It was a cold morning. But the smell of spring was in the air. After half an hour of running, I realized I needed to use the bathroom again. Looking around for a place to go, I found no opportunities. The trail was very public. Finally, I came upon the first watering station, where a couple of porta-potties had been set up. They were occupied.

Not wanting to kill my momentum so early in the race, I decided instead to gamble on finding a place in the woods further up the trail. But this would prove unwise.

As the miles stretched on, an opportunity to sneak off the trail never presented itself. To the left of the trail were public spaces— mostly the backside of businesses— rear parking lots with dumpsters and cars. On the right side of the trail were residential areas. People’s backyards.

There was simply no place to hide among what few trees separated these areas from the trail.

So I pressed on, patiently waiting for the next wave of porta-potties to emerge, deciding that when the opportunity presented itself, I would do what I had to do and wait for one to open up. But the porta-potties never came. Mile 4. Mile 5. Mile 6. Nothing.

At mile 7, when the course reached its southernmost point, it looped back to the north. At this point, I knew when I could expect to see porta-potties again. They would be back at that first water station. But this was 4 miles away, and by now my full bladder had extended beyond mere discomfort. I was in pain. Every stride was miserable, and I could tell it was starting to slow me down.

I grumbled to myself. It was too early in the race to have these problems. It’s bad for the quality of the run, and it's bad for morale. It was starting to look like I was in for a rough day.

To make matters worse, when the course changed directions, I was met with the brute strength of the northerly wind. Something I had been blissfully unaware of on our way down. For the first 7 miles of our southern march, this wind had been helping to push me along.

At least it wasn’t raining, I thought. Thinking back to yesterday’s downpour. If that storm had come one day later, I’d be drenched right now.

The next few miles dragged on. I tried not to think about the porta-potties. They would come eventually. It was out of my hands.

Since the trail was looping back, I was able to lock eyes with my fellow racers, many of whom were signed up for the half. It’s a rare experience to pass by other contestants in this way. Normally, after the original crowd of the first few miles thins out, you lose all sense of the size of the event. The only people you see are the ones within your immediate vicinity who are running at roughly the same pace.

More servicemen were turning out to cheer on their fellow military. “Go Navy! Go Navy! Go. Go. Go. You got this!”

These cheers were becoming so commonplace in this race that I was beginning to feel a little left out. It didn’t occur to these young men and women that they might cheer for the other runners as well. And with very little turnout from Severna Park residents, this race was starting to seem a little lonely.

Some time went by, and I was passing by a hillside lined with gravel and small shrubs. It had a wire fence at the top, which prevented anyone from moving into the trees. I was still on the lookout for a place to go to the bathroom, but this was not it.

Several yards ahead of me, there was a young woman whom I had been following behind for some time. Suddenly, she veered off the trail like an F-18.

Running up the hill, she found herself a small shrub and squatted down behind it. When I say small shrub, I do not mean a big bush. I mean, something more like a Charlie Brown Christmas tree. Completely insufficient for privacy.

I thought, I can’t do that.

But based on the speed at which she left the course, it seemed obvious that she could wait no more.

Fortunately, in my case, relief would come a mile later. I found a line of trees on the other side of the trail, with tall grass and plenty of shrubbery. A rare point where there were no houses. Just power lines and an overpass. An area I must have missed on the way down.

Running into the woods, I burrowed myself deep behind the brush, leaned on a tree, and finally, I let it flow.

Northward:

I returned to the trail, feeling renewed. Breaking back into a run, my pace quickened. All felt well and right with the world. But still, there was the wind. A pernicious force with which to contend.

When I finally made my way to the area that had the portapotties, I no longer required them. As a main water station outside of Severna Park, the area was a beehive of activity. I was met with a wave of cheers from a crowd of onlookers.

At the water table, I slowed to a walk and grabbed two paper cups of water. I sipped them gratefully.

It was not warm outside, so I didn’t see hydration being an issue for this race. But I knew I had lost fluid from all bathroom breaks.

Walking gingerly, I tossed my cups away and grabbed two more. By this point, I was 11 miles in, so I didn’t mind making a quick stop.

Then, I was off again, through the trees and beneath gray skies. When I reached mile 13, I knew that I was passing back through Severna Park. Now would be my northward journey. The course would continue along the B&A Trail up the isthmus toward Baltimore. I was halfway home, and there was nothing left to do but push forward. Into the wind that whisked at my skin and chilled my bones.

The trail continued through the backyards of Severna Park, various suburban streets, and cul-de-sacs. I passed through parks and crossed small bridges. And though the wind was fierce and the air cool, I found myself enjoying the beautiful scenery that Maryland had to offer. The wind-tempered scent of cherry blossoms filled the air. And not far off, but still unseen, I could smell the salty marshes of the area’s brackish rivers.

I was fortunate to find more places along the north section of the trail to use the bathroom because I was constantly having to go. That damn coffee.

It was a silly mistake, given that I had been through all this before: I had learned the perils of caffeine in my first marathon two years earlier. For my second marathon, a year later, I had learned from the mistake and went coffee-free. That marathon had been my best effort yet— never once had to use the bathroom.

This, of course, was why I had fully intended to forgo my coffee for this race as well. But old habits die hard. And there is always some danger they will come creeping back in. Especially when you’re cognitively impaired, like after sleeping poorly, being groggy and grumpy. This morning, I had slipped and shot myself in the foot.

It was a mistake I resolved never to make again.

Middle of the Road:

As the sun climbed higher into the sky, the straight stretches of trail lay out before me. I was getting tired now, and the day was dragging along like a midnight summer’s dream. My fellow runners had become stretched out ahead and behind me, along the trail from horizon to horizon. City to city.

I grumbled to myself as the pain of the run set in. My lack of preparation was beginning to show. Part of me had to wonder what I was doing here at all. These past few years had been a shit show, frankly.

Having enrolled in school at the age of 38, I was making an effort to finally become a college graduate. But doing so with nearly no money and two small children was nothing short of mortifying. With the rising cost of rent, groceries, and everything else— I was feeling the pinch.

I knew I needed to get through school quickly. To that end, I had been taking a full course load since the early days. January terms, summer classes. It seemed I was going a million miles an hour, with no breaks.

And on top of it all, I had been running these marathons.

But while school felt like it was lasting forever, I knew I had to finish. It wasn’t clear if I’d ever get this opportunity again. And so, I doubled down. I would put myself and my family through the pain until we passed the finish line.

And at the end of the day, isn’t that why I run these marathons? As a tool to teach myself to commit to long-term goals and see them through to the end. And that by doing these marathons over and over, I will have laid down the habits necessary to push forward even when things get hard. Slowly engraving these habits into the fiber of being until they no longer require thinking.

And in this way, I will have overcome one of the most destructive habits known to inhibit an otherwise promising aspirant: The habit of not finishing things.

Such was my reasoning anyway.

But I was an optimist when this had all begun, 2 years earlier. Even after suffering a heart attack at the age of 38, I recall coming away from that experience with a jovial laugh of utter defiance. Aging wouldn’t get me. I still had many years left to thrive. I changed my diet and started running marathons. I fixed my health with the careful methodology of an engineer, and with this effective turn-around came the spritely belief that through my newfound lifestyle, I would circumvent the inevitable.

I pictured faster running times. A slimmer waist. Bigger muscles— I was on the up and up.

The pause from work ushered in by covid pandemic would lead to registering for online classes at a local school. The thirst for learning would stick, and I would glimpse in those early days, the way forward. I saw a window, and knew that I must act swiftly.

After the first couple of classes, I would soon become full-time, and wind in my sails, I would plot a course to earning a bachelor’s degree, and that would be my ticket into the graduate school of dreams.

But I was naïve. I made the mistake of thinking that age progression was linear. It is not.

When I transferred out of my tiny town community college, I was at my pinnacle. My marathons were getting faster, and I was feeling on the up and up. But then came the hernia. The doctor’s recommendation to stop running. The wait for the surgery. Everything.

I would turn 40 that year, and it seemed like all at once, I was feeling different. I was sleeping longer and healing slower. Compounded with the fact that I was a 40-year-old man in a class filled with 20-year-olds, I was beginning to feel very old indeed.

My previous optimism was replaced with the painful realization that aging wasn’t entirely up to me. And though I felt I only just recently arrived at a point in my life where I was ready to do great things, I was met with the reality that I would have to get things done with an increasingly slowing body. That things were going to start breaking and that this was something I would just have to deal with.

The Return:

I hit the turnaround at mile 19. The trail had reached a bridge crossing over a busy highway. On the other side, I found myself running through a large park area. The highway could be seen through the trees of the park, and to the right was a large shopping mall.

I had been feeling hungry since mile 16, and that hunger was now reaching critical mass. There was good reason for my hunger. I had skipped breakfast that morning. In fact, it had been my tentative plan to run the entire race fasted— something I’d never tried before.

I had been experimenting with fasting in my training for some time. It can be a great way to calibrate the body’s metabolism for fat utilization.

Any marathoner worth their salt knows about this process quite well. During the race, after burning through the calories we’ve gotten from food, the body’s response is to tap into the glycogen stores found in the liver. But on average, glycogen stores can only hold around 400 calories. Since a runner can expect to burn around 4000 calories over the course of the marathon, these glycogen stores don’t actually take us that far. Once depleted, the body turns to fat utilization for energy instead. A process known as lipolysis and beta-oxidation

But how well our cells perform this switch depends on the frequency with which they perform the process. For someone who eats breakfast every morning and keeps themselves metabolically active, the cells responsible for these biochemical pathways are somewhat on the shelf. But if the body enters into fat-burning mode every day, then the system becomes more automatic.

That’s the shorthand explanation, anyway. Through regular fat utilization, our body becomes geared for using this form of energy more effectively.

That’s why I always like to train fasted and save the fueled running for the actual marathon. A method referred to as “train low, run high.”

But for this marathon I was switching it up. I was aiming more for a train-low, run-low strategy. The reason being that I was treating this race as a training run. The real effort was slated for 2 months later, when I’d be running the Vermont City Marathon in Burlington.

In short, today’s effort is what I call a “fucking around” race.

I’d been wondering for a while how difficult it would be to run a whole marathon while fasting. In my training, I had run up to 20 miles without food many times, with no issues. In fact, I was almost beginning to prefer running this way. As long as the body burns fat efficiently and there is enough fat available, then it doesn’t present many problems. You won’t run at peak performance, but it can still be a great run.

But as the miles wore on, it was beginning to look like this might not be the best race for such an experiment. At mile 18, the combination of the wind and the dehydration from frequent bathroom breaks had resulted in me running out of gas earlier than expected.

Eventually, my form began to suffer, and I was not running well. I knew that going without food would only increase this problem. Not wanting to risk injury from improper running mechanics and thinking about the long-term goal of running a good race 2 months later, I finally relented.

At mile 22 they were handing out energy gels, and I helped myself to a couple of them.

Slowing to a walk, I tore off the top of the gel and squeezed the thick goo onto my tongue. The sudden infusion of glucose felt like ecstasy, as every cell in my body was almost instantly awakened.

Now, with 4 miles to go, I was ready to finish the job. But despite the influx of carbs, my form was still struggling. It didn’t help that my running shoes were worn down at the heels from years of use. I certainly had stacked the odds against myself in this race.

Hasty preparation, no breakfast, and dehydrated from coffee.

Fortunately, I had the wind at my back again. The foggy morning air had subsided, and the warm sun had climbed high in the sky. Now there were 4 miles to go. 4 long miles.

The B&A Short Line:

I wondered about the passengers back in the late 1800s, in the heyday of the railroad that gives this trail its name. Who were they? What were their lives like?

They remind me so much of myself. Just trying to make their way in the world. Seeking so desperately for happiness but finding themselves caught in the daily grind.

I pictured them lining up to catch the train each morning. Finding their seats and then breathing in the morning air as the train chugged its way heartily along.

I pictured them traveling to shipyards or steel mills. I pictured the women arriving at factories to work as seamstresses. I pictured their fleeting moments of happiness punctuating long bouts of hard work.

And as I envision this and do my best to hold them in my mind, they are but fleeting images, cast in sepia, that I struggle to sustain.

Did they ever wonder about me? These ancients of the past? Did they ever look to the future and wonder what would come of these lands when they had gone?

And would it matter? Whoever they were, and whatever their struggles may be, their time was now over. They disappeared into the earth, and now their veins crawl with worms. Their bodies broke down. Giving rise to new life.

The changing of the guard. The changing of times.

And just like those bodies long gone to dust, even these ancient relics of infrastructure, like the B&A rail, which they built to improve their own lives, have followed in behind them. The rails have since gone into the ground, and these railways now crawl with the likes of runners, walkers, dogs, and strollers—random creatures of the future that these ancient relics would have given no thought to.

And now, as I ran along this very trail in the bleakness of spring, at the middle of my life and with signs of age showing up in my bones, I could not help but wonder about these people of the future that I had never given any thought to. And I pictured them trouncing about across these very same lands. Giving little thought to me.

But if they tried to muster some semblance of who I am or what I would become, I would be no more than a fleeting sepia image in their minds. A struggle to sustain.

To Severna Park:

My fellow runners had thinned out quite a bit since those early miles. After having looped back southward, I was once again crossing paths with runners who were behind me. Many of whom were struggling. The bleak but bright sun reflected from their sweat-sheened skin. Each one, trudging forward in half-formed strides.

But soon enough, it was I who was struggling. By mile 23, I’d fallen to a painfully slow pace. Underfed and dehydrated, there was nothing much to be done about it. I focused instead on maintaining proper landing. As long as I could get through this marathon free of injury, I didn’t really care how slow I was.

I was thinking back to my first marathon 3 years earlier. My form had suffered dramatically in the last few miles of that race, and the damage incurred to my tendons would subsequently take weeks to heal. Now, with the upcoming Vermont Marathon on the horizon, I knew I had to prioritize health over speed.

Finally, when I hit mile 24, I began to feel the surge. I was on the home stretch. For the most part, this northernmost section of the trail had been eerily quiet, but as I drew nearer to the finish line, the booming sound of cheers would surprise me. The outpouring of local support had shown up in Severna Park after all, erupting here and there from little ragtag bands of onlookers trickling onto the trail from the residential streets of the town.

It was in the last mile that I said my final goodbye to the B&A Trail. The course returned to the streets of Severna Park. Feeling the energy rise up in me, I started to pick up the pace.

Through the streets of town, I ran in the sun, and I reveled in the fact that I would finish this race despite all the setbacks. Turning onto Robinson Street, I could hear the voice of the announcer at the finish line calling out the names of the finishers. With the end in sight, I went into a full-on run. Shortly after, I turned right into the high school parking lot, and it was a sprint to the finish line.

Within seconds, a finisher’s medal was around my neck and a bottle of water placed in my hand.

A volunteer quickly approached me and asked to take my race tracker, which was attached to my shoe and was reusable. I waited calmly as he removed the tracker from my foot.

I didn’t linger at the finish line very long. Instead, I walked casually back toward the school, my heart filled with the joy that comes from the relief of the finish. I entered back into the cafeteria where my morning had begun. This is where the post-race refreshments were being given out.

Perusing the tables, I was happy to see that there were some healthy choices. I grabbed a banana and an orange. However, as a former meat-eater, I could certainly appreciate the smell of the pulled pork sliders that were being served two tables down. There, the foil-wrapped sandwiches provided by a local BBQ joint were stacked into tall pyramids of meaty, sandwichy goodness.

These folks knew how to throw an after-party.

Exiting the building, I hobbled along the sidewalk and eventually sat down on the curb, where I happily ate my banana and soaked in the radiating warmth of the pavement.

Looking down at my feet, I inspected my shoes. They had held up pretty well. Honestly, I had given myself 50/50 odds on whether or not they’d stay on my feet or fall apart mid-race.

A fucking-around race, indeed.

I rested a while longer, but there wasn’t much time for leisure. With a medal around my neck and holding a banana peel, I got up and hobbled back across the parking lot toward my truck.

Then I climbed behind the wheel, drank some water, and started her up. It was time to begin my 8-hour journey home.

As I drove off into the afternoon sun, I reflected on the past couple of days. It had been a sloppy race. It was poorly planned, with lots of bad decisions and silly mistakes. But at the end of the day, it was not surprising. I had allowed myself the right to be sloppy on this one. And apart from all that, I was proud of myself just for making it down here.

I had effectively driven 8 hours from New Hampshire to Maryland on a Saturday morning and was now making an 8-hour drive back on a Sunday afternoon. All with a shakeout run, a library homework session, and a marathon in between.

I’d be home by 9 o'clock tonight, and tomorrow morning I would wake up at 5 am and head to school. Then it would be back to the grind.

As I drove over the bridge with Baltimore on my left, I took one last look out at the bay and glimpsed the Francis Scott Key Bridge further to the south. A week later, that same bridge would be at the bottom of Chesapeake Bay.