Bridge Run: Consciousness Streams On
GRAND RAPIDS (9/17/05) - The Gazelle Sports Bridge Run spanned the stream of the Grand River, here lazy and there turbulent, four times along the 10-mile route and twice along the 5K route.

In the 10-mile, Kyle Baker, of Grand Rapids, bridged the distance ahead of nearest-rival Rob Hyde, also of GR, by more than three minutes to take the title with a time of 49:33. Janet Becker, of GR, outran Katie Popovich, of Birmingham, by more than two minutes to win the women's crown in 1:03:39.

At the shorter distance, Jeremy Hurley clocked a chip time of 15:24 to clip fellow Grand Rapidian David Haagsma by 14 seconds. Kim Thomas, of Coopersville, posted a 21:53 to beat Holly Vanwyck, of GR, by 45 seconds.

Leading runners might have been too zoned in to let their minds wander, but in the journey of at least one trailing racer the Bridge Run spanned a stream of consciousness.

Prologue: As I pull into a tiny parking lot along Monroe Avenue at dawn, Vanishing Woman noses her compact car into the space left of mine. Although strangers to each other, together we get directions to Rosa Parks Circle and walk the block to registration. She hopes to do the 10 miles under 7:00 pace.

The moment she registers she runs away like a nervous deer before hunting season. With those slender hips and powerful legs, she'll be as fast as her goal suggests.

Back at the parking lot, I find Linebacker Man choosing a shirt from the front seat of a van in the space right of my car. We exchange nods and a word of two. He's accompanied by three young women with swift figures.

While drifting down Monroe Street with the crowd of runners I get a greeting tap on a shoulder from one friend. While shaking out my muscles behind the starting line I get a greeting hug from another.

Ten-mile runners on the left and 5K runners on the right.

Mile one: Vanishing Woman darts ahead like a startled deer along northbound Monroe. Ten-mile runners peel to the left and 5K runners bear right. As we approach a river crossing on the 6th Street Bridge, I pull even with Vanishing Woman, calling her by a nickname on her license plate. She says, "Isn't this pace a little fast?" I say. "It seems like it."

Just beyond the end of the bridge we pass the mile placard at 6:45.

Mile two: After a right turn, Vanishing Woman crosses from my right to my left to run along the street's centerline, saying, "I like to run in the middle of the road." I say, "I like to, too, when there's not too much traffic." She says, "I run at 4:30 in the morning. I don't worry about traffic."

The little jab from last year's back in my left knee.

At a right turn Vanishing Woman drops behind. While crossing a second bridge over the river I lose track of her.

My watch reads 13:31 at the placard.

Mile three: Back on Monroe, heading north, the fractured pavement spurs me to imagine stubbing a toe, pitching headlong, finishing the race with skinned knees and hands and with bloodied chin. Weird thought. After a right turn the street slopes upward into the morning sun, the light blinding me to a surface in the tree-cast shadows ahead that might be rough enough to trip me. Noise ahead resolves, once I enter shadow and can see again, into an aid station.

Now it's a left turn.

The knee's still touchy; let's hope it doesn't go lame before I'm done with the miles; 10's the magic number.

On the downhill Linebacker Man overtakes me with friendly encouragement. He leads me through a left turn, a short downhill and a curve to the right, to the north, into Riverside Park.

As I pass the third placard I get a third split of 6:54.

Mile four: I follow the broad back of Linebacker Man along winding trails through the park. We fly past a knot of six joggers, one of whom calls after us, "Are you in the Bridge Run?" Neither one of us, though companionable, wastes enough breath to reply to people not in the race.

I get a 6:54 fourth split.

Mile five: We've just passed the four-mile placard when we meet a racer coming back along an adjacent trail. "The leader?" I ask Linebacker Man, who says over his shoulder, "Looks like it." The runner's Baker, already separated from the field, about to pass the six-mile mark, running almost 50-percent faster than Lineback Man and me.

The route makes a 180-degree loop to the left and starts back south, nearer the river now, before we hit the fifth placard.

I'm halfway home in 33:58.

Mile six: Tendrils, clouds and layers of mist clothe the river.

Linebacker Man shouts twice to the left toward the file of runners moving northward through the park. I'm too occupied or too unfamiliar with them to pick out any of the three women with swift figures among their peers. Next thing I know, Linebacker Man's behind me instead of in front.

Vanishing Woman's back there, too, more like a hound now than a deer, spurring my flight.

What's the chances that three runners parked side by side would race at near the same speed?

My feet hurt. With my cushioned socks, the nail on my left big toe's getting too much pressure inside my racing flats; it could turn black and fall off if it takes too much damage. Why didn't I clip my toenails before today?

My sixth split, at 6:59, is my slowest so far.

Mile seven: I'm blinded by sunlight again, this time on the short uphill block going east out of the park. I'm beset again by an image of insult or injury in a headlong tumble.

Following a right turn I steel myself for a long, shallow climb; Linebacker Man fails to materialize as he did going down the same slope. Another right turn and I pass the noisy aid station, taking a cup of water, and head downhill to a left turn onto southbound Monroe.

With a check of my watch I know I've missed the seven-mile placard.

Mile eight: It's a long view down Monroe, runners receding to a vanishing point. When I pass a turn to the second bridge the route crossed earlier, I still see runners ahead; now the surroundings look unfamiliar from the early part of the race.

The route angles right to follow a trail along the river's edge. It turns right onto the first bridge we crossed, going west as before. The one- mile placard still standing at the far end leaves me briefly baffled.

One mile to go?

With a check of my watch I know I've missed the eight-mile placard.

Mile nine: Vanishing Woman pushes me. She might be charging across the bridge even as I exit and turn left. She might be on my heels even as I cross a paved courtyard and a street to follow an undulating trail above the river's west bank.

My legs feel like vessels emptied of fuel.

I pass the nine-mile placard at 1:01:14, my overall pace at 6:48.

Mile 10: An odd jog in the route - the white-lime arrows not evident for an instant - gives me a shot of frustration because none of a few people scattered around the intersection respond to my signals for direction. I find the solution on my own. The confusion would have been nothing without exhaustion.

I turn left, cross the river a fourth time on a third bridge, turn left, turn right as someone says, "Just a tenth of a mile to go," follow a jog to the right, and spot a short upslope into the finishing chute beside Rosa Parks Circle.

My chip stops the clock at 1:08:09, or 6:49 per mile.

Epilogue: While a volunteer removes my chip, while I sit talking with Ricky Watson, 55, of Grand Rapids, who finished a place ahead of me, Vanishing Woman crosses the finish line. She's unsure of her time but thinks she must have kept her pace under 7:00. We exchange names. She says, "I'll look for you."

Linebacker Man doesn't cross my path in the crowd.

A day later, searching the posted results, I found no trace of Vanishing Woman by name, estimated age or logical finishing time. I might have imagined she wore a bib. One bib number in the series near mine yielded a message of "no results."

My 34th place out of 370 male and female racers brought me a sense of accomplishment but no hardware. Of 29 men in my age group, four beat me to the finish line: Scott Liversedge, of Grand Rapids, in 1:00:10; Randy Bates, of Ada, in 1:03:07; Kip Carle, of Saranac, in 1:05:45; and Bruce Behnke, of Cedar Springs, in 1:06:13.

My age group showed good bridge work. MR