You know you’ve hung around with the younger set too long and way overdone it when three Ibuprofen, two beers, and two buffered aspirin don’t even touch that crippled feeling.

As I hobbled about the house last Sunday making a valiant attempt at completing a chore or two, I couldn’t help but wonder “What was I thinking?” on Saturday when I agreed to enter the Marsh Island Adventure Race. “No” seems to be missing from my vocabulary.

Paddling friend Karen Francoeur, a veteran of a couple of these races, talked me into it, saying our third paddling partner, Dr. Robert Causey, had agreed to participate. (I learned later she told Causey that I had agreed to do it.) Anyway, I found myself on the phone with the two of them Friday night getting briefed on what to wear and what to bring for Saturday’s big event (that I presumed was going to be a three- or four-mile orienteering challenge).

Right!

As I left the house at 7:30 Saturday morning, I told my wife I’d be back around noon.

Right!

See, I’d totally dismissed the rhetoric on the race flyer – “Do not expect some cutesy lil’ downtown 5k, or some little trail run. This race is packed with adventure: hills, bogs, creeks, rocks, roots, dirt, mud, heavy brush and more. Wear clothes you don’t mind ruining, and bring Band-Aids if you are concerned about some bleeding…”

I dismissed this as hype, and besides, I was going to do Course A, a “user-friendly course that will take 2-4 hours to complete” – not “Course B [that] will kick your … – [and take] 6 to 8 hours to complete (if you can).”

I was still in the dark until shortly after 8 a.m. when Jeff Hunt, University of Maine’s Maine Bound director, started the pre-race briefing. Contrary to what I’d read the day before about there being two events – one for us out-of-shape, observers of life, and another for the hardcore fitness junkies – there was to be only one, long, slightly modified event.

Hunt assured us the course had been trimmed slightly due to the gale force winds whipping down the Stillwater River. We’d only have to do the downwind portion of the paddle. We’d still portage around the Stillwater dam, and from the Steam Plant parking lot across campus to the Maine Bound headquarters behind Memorial Union (30-minute bonus). The biking portion (God knows how many miles that was) would be “wet” in a few places, he added.

Right!

Then, after a few cautionary notes, Hunt gave each team a map marked with our control points. At each would be a yellow triangle with a couple of letters on it that we were to note on our route sheet and turn in, thus proving we’d found the proper spot.

Slowly the scope of this outing was sinking in – we’d be doing a lot of walking (the diehards were to be running) and searching to find this batch of 12 controls. You’d think that a yellow triangle about 12 inches on a side would stand out like a sore thumb, and it does, as long as you’re in the general neighborhood and looking in the right direction. It’s getting to the neighborhood that’s tricky.

We had about 15 minutes to study the map and plan our route, then we got the call to start the race with the “mystery” part – scaling the climbing wall. Fortunately for my team, only one team member had to do it so we elected Francoeur. She did well and we were off at a brisk walk to the first control point.

It helps to be with folks who know the campus ski trails. Causey works on campus and Francoeur spends much of her free time skiing or riding the university’s trails. We nailed the first control with ease.

It didn’t hurt that it was tied to a wire fence surrounding an electrical substation and the hint was “electric.”

Our spirits boosted, we decided to bushwhack to the next point. The strategy worked like a charm. We managed not to impale ourselves on branches or to fall into holes, and No. 2 “pole” came into sight in minutes. This wasn’t going to be all that hard after all, I stupidly said to myself.

We bushwhacked again and wound up in a large field off Park Street.

“Long grass” was our hint, and by George, there was a lot of it down there in the center, along with a good bit of water. This one turned out to be a bit more of a challenge, but Causey soon spied it and we were off into the far corner of that field. This leg seemed to take us to Old Town!

The next few points were pretty easy, partially since Francoeur figured out the likely place ahead of time. But ol’ No. 7 turned out to be our Waterloo, and I mean that there was quite a bit of water. We danced around slough holes, trying not to get too wet, backtracked around the same muddy spots several times until we finally found it. I was beginning to think bad thoughts about Jeff Hunt. Later I learned almost everybody had trouble here.

We managed to find the next five after a fashion (and a lot of walking) and found ourselves at the river checkpoint where we’d launch our canoe and paddle back to campus. There was a delay at this point while Causey attempted to turn his fuzzy-lined, orange lobster gloves right-side out. (He eschewed my expert advice about blowing them up, saying he didn’t want to get them damp.)

Pushed along by wind and current, the paddling portion didn’t seem too bad. We seemed to make good time despite the fact that the stern (where my overweight butt was located) wanted to get out in front. I struggled a bit to keep it in line. The portage across campus turned out to be more of a struggle than any of us had thought, but we worked out a system to change carrying positions every few minutes – sort of fire-drill style.

This would have been a great time to end the frivolity. My feet were tired, my legs were a little sore, and I was feeling like I’d had enough fresh air for one day. Besides, it was time for lunch – what lunch? Oh, yeah, I had a Luna Bar, plenty of Gatorade, what more could I possibly want? (How about food!?)

It was time to bike. In about two minutes I seriously regretted not having my own mountain bike. (The shifter is dead, so I grabbed my wife’s bike – the one with the short frame.) I couldn’t get my legs straight no matter how high I raised the seat, so I was pedaling in an uncomfortable position (picture the Laugh-In tricycle). But, I thought, how long could this section be?

Oh, right, this was an “adventure race.” The map looked foreboding. We’d be going to Gilman Falls Avenue near the Old Town airport and a dozen places in between. It turned out that most of those in between places were in alligator country – except the critters had gone south because the water here was skimmed with ice.

On our way to the third control point, Causey decided to take a mud bath. Francoeur and I studied the map (suppressing giggles and acting concerned) while he changed in the woods. (This was going to be a long section. Fortunately he didn’t hurt anything but his British pride.)

The swamp section turned out to be just that. We skipped from soggy spot to soggy spot, trying to stay on slippery logs as we wheeled the bikes through water that at times was close to the wheel hubs. By the time we logged our last control spot it was nearly dark and we headed back to campus via the bike path from Stillwater Avenue. I lowered my head, clenched my teeth and set course for the barn.

A cheer went up from the few folks who remained as I flopped through the Maine Bound door at about 5:15 p.m. Hunt said our time was about 7 hours, 15 minutes. Our overall time put us next to last. (The leaders were in the four-hour range, but I’ll bet they didn’t stop for a mud bath or to smell the dead leaves). But we’d had fun – sort of …

I kept telling myself that all day Sunday as I hobbled around on two legs that seemed to be on strike.

Jeff Strout can be reached at 990-8202 or by e-mail at jstrout@bangordailynews.net.