Most people not living under a rock know by now that our hometown University of Michigan football team won the national championship on Monday. Go Blue! Led by quarterback J.J. McCarthy and running back Blake Corum, they curbstomped the Washington Huskies, 34-13.

What not quite so many people also know is that last weekend, I was participating in a championship event of my own. And, in a way, Blake Corum helped me!

Howzat?

Last weekend, we drove to Elkridge, MD so I could run the 50K at the Mid-Maryland Trail Festival. My first ultra of 2024, and a warmup for the Rocky Raccoon 100 next month. And it so happened to be the Road Runners Club of America (RRCA) Eastern Region Ultra Championship race. Not the reason I chose it, just one of those things.

The forecast for race day was for snow in the morning, followed by rain, with temps near freezing. Despite all that, the course looked like a good candidate for me to try for a new personal record (PR) in the 50K distance. My best time of 5 hours, 27 minutes was set when I was a young punk of 52. Could I beat that time at 62? Why not?

This is not getting more believable.

I’d trained hard the last couple of months after recovering from the Sangre de Cristo 50 in Colorado, and thanks to extra rest over the holiday break, felt ready to hit the trail hard. I did some test runs the weeks before with backpack and simulated aid stations, although as the course was a 5.2-mile loop (run six times) I likely wouldn’t need the pack. More important was re-acclimating the body to eat on the run, which went well, with no stomach issues.

Race morning started out cloudy, and the first loop was dry. Everybody seemed to be running well, especially the relay runners who could give it their all in a single loop, while I needed to grind out six. I’m not competing with them, I kept reminding myself. Really, I wasn’t even competing against the other 50K solo runners; my main competition was myself.

The course featured rolling terrain and wide(ish) well-marked trails, easier than many other 50K races I’ve run. The toughest part was the start of each loop, with a long climb to the top of a hill, then right back down onto the trail, with just one more substantial climb after that. Traditional wisdom says walk those kinds of hills in an ultra, but I felt good enough to run them, and there was that PR to try for.

Snow started on loop 2, hard and grainy, dusting the trail white. But traction was fine until it switched to light rain starting on loop 4, continuing to the finish. The trail became steadily wetter and muddier, and that plus normal fatigue meant my split times got steadily longer.

And then there were the roots. Trail runners like to say that they get taller with every mile.

Around mile 80 or so.

For some reason I fall more often on easy trails than tough ones. My first two falls here were just annoyances, but my third was nasty, as I crashed onto hard, scrabbly ground, bruising my right hip and scraping my knee. And my race bib slipped off my belt. Man, was I pissed. And here’s where Blake, or his spirit, stepped in.

At the semi-final game vs. Alabama, he ran with an intensity that hadn’t been seen most of the season, even with all the touchdowns he scored. “He was running angry,” the commentator said. Well, if he could do it, I could. So after some requisite profanity, I got up and took off, not bothering to look at my knee or clip my bib back on. (I’d hold it in my hand the rest of the way.)

I finished the loop and checked the clock: 4 hours, 26 minutes. I had less than an hour to complete the final loop, in the rain, on a muddy course. But I had a shot. I rinsed my knee, grabbed food, and booked up that final big hill. My knees hurt, my legs were tired, and I was wet and cold. But I was running angry! And on that final loop I passed a lot of people more tired than I was. Each time I did, silly as it sounds, it stroked my ego and gave me more energy.

Up the short, quick hill midway through, through the thicket of tree roots (with no falls), into and through the swampy section, then back to the park and across the finish line. 5 hours, 21 minutes. I’d gotten that PR!

“Where’s Jeff Jackson?” the race director asked as I poked through the food in the finish pavilion. I raised my hand. He gave me a medal. “Congratulations. You are the 60 and over champion!”

 What? Normally the term used is “age group winner.” But this was a regional championship race. The overall winners, plus Masters (40+), Grand Masters (50+), and Senior Grand Masters (60+) are officially category champions. So I’m the RRCA Senior Grand Master champion of the East! (Try saying that three times fast.)

And congrats again to Blake and the football team. What they did was so awesome, I invited them to join my victory parade. Haven’t heard back on the date yet.