Ouachita National Forest, Perryville, Arkansas
Saturday & Sunday, October 7 & 8, 2006
“They’ll be comin’ down from Kansas and from west Arkansas.
It’ll be one great big old party like you never saw.”
(I guess I’ll start writing while listening to James McMurtry on the PC iTunes.)
Actually, we were heading to a little west of central Arkansas, about 35 miles west of Little Rock, and it wasn’t a great big old party that we were going to, but a nice little 100 mile jaunt through the woods of the Ouachita National Forest for the 16th running of the Arkansas Traveller 100 and if I happened to show up at Uncle Slayton’s family reunion in Oklahoma well, then, I must have missed a turn.
As for this short, well, ok, long story, it may appear that I have a photographic memory and can recall the tiniest of details. That’s fiction, as is, probably, most of this. Well, not really. To the best of my recollection things and terrain happened as they are written. I have the benefit of the course profile and map while I’m writing and that helps a little.
For what it’s worth, the split times I give at each aid station are what I downloaded from my watch the day after the run. They may not match the “official” aid station times since sometimes I hit the split button on my watch before the aid station, sometimes while I was in the aid station, and sometimes just as I was leaving the aid station.
Finally, for those that might be wondering, I don’t run with an iPod or any music. I seem to go through these things with my own private soundtrack. So, sit back, have a six pack handy, and I hope you enjoy my story.
The stuff before . . .
It was a whole lot easier packing and traveling to a 100 mile run as opposed to an Ironman triathlon. No bike, no wetsuit, no need for 18 zillion changes of clothing. Well, ok, I brought that last option, but clothes don’t take up too much space, comparatively speaking. I still needed to bring my fueling of choice (Perpetuem, HammerGel, Succeed! Caps) as well as my race morning PopTarts, because you can’t be sure that you can find PopTarts everywhere. As a standard disclaimer, I have no financial interest (nfi) in any of that stuff, though I’m always open to sponsorship.
The flights from Philly to Charlotte and then Charlotte to Little Rock were painless. Although I did have to give up the remainder of my tube of toothpaste. I know the regulations said only three ounces were allowed and my toothpaste was in a four ounce tube. I figured that since there was only about an ounce they’d let it through, but no. Other than that, no problem and I made it to the hotel in Little Rock fine. Renate was taking the long way – Philly to Los Angeles to Dallas to Little Rock – because of that little thing called a job that she has. So, I checked in, went to the dining area and bought two bottles of beer then settled down to wait for the Love Of My Life. She made it fine. We went out to dinner, washed down with a couple more beers, and then called it a day. That was Thursday.
Friday morning Renate went shopping at Wal-Mart, because I guess that’s what you do in Little Rock, Arkansas. No, seriously, we needed a few things. In addition to her chair, cooler, and lantern, she ended up getting a brand new Timex Ironman Triathlon watch to replace her old one. It’s kind of ironic that her old one was actually purchased in Kona, Hawaii at the Ironman race back in 2003 and her new one is picked up at a Wal-Mart in Little Rock, Arkansas.
This brings to mind a running joke (no pun intended) between Renate and me. It took her a bit of time to come to grips that I was actually going to do a 100 mile run. When she finally did, she said, “Ok. So where are we going?” I hadn’t totally figured it out, but it was between two. “Arkansas or Kansas,” I said. She got this funny look on her face. “Let me see if I understand this,” she said. “For Ironman races we go to New Zealand, we go to Switzerland, we go to Brazil. For this we’re going to Arkansas?” “Or Kansas,” I replied. “I haven’t decided, yet. And then probably Texas for the second one.” Well, like I said, at least the traveling is easier.
Now, back to Friday in Arkansas. Renate had a conference call to deal with then we headed about 35 miles west to the run site. We did a little deviation to find the first crew access spot that she would be driving to. That was the Lake Winona aid station and would be about 32.5 miles into my day. We got close to where we thought it would be and then turned around. It was nice to give her some idea and to see a Forest Service Road up close and personal. It didn’t appear, at least for this one, to be any real issue. Well, other than on the way back when the huge truck came barreling towards us at a high rate of speed. We were lucky there was a little turnoff right there. Then we had to sit for nearly a minute waiting for the dust to settle.
We finally made it to the packet pickup/start/finish area. I got weighed. I got a little white band put on my wrist. I got my packet of information from Chrissy. She and her husband, Stan, are the race directors. I introduced myself to Chrissy. “Hi. I’m Steve.” Of course, I had just given her my name thirty seconds earlier. She said there was no number in my bag of goodies, but that I would get my number tomorrow morning. Ok. She also strongly suggested that I prepare a drop bag with my lights to have delivered to the Powerline aid station. Just in case. And then she suggested it again.
All that done and we were left with a couple of hours to kill waiting for the pre-run briefing and then dinner. We spent most of that time chatting with Ted from Colorado. It was his first time for the Arkansas Traveller, but he’d completed about six other 100’s. It was enjoyable talking with him and he was patient with my questions and truthful, it seemed, with his answers.
There wasn’t much of surprise at the pre-run briefing. Chrissy had all the people doing Arkansas for the first time stand up. I stood up. Then she had all of those standing that were doing their first ever 100 mile run to remain standing. I remained standing. I didn’t look around, but I wasn’t alone. I’d hazard a guess of about 15 to 20 hundred mile virgins. And, the looks of, I don’t know, not pity and not concern, maybe more “I vaguely remember my first hundred” from those that were sitting along with a round of applause. I was hoping that, in roughly 36 hours, I’d be a 100 mile “veteran” with vague memories to go along with it, as well as a nice shiny belt buckle.
There wasn’t much more to the meeting and soon it was time for dinner. I was getting a tad anti-social so we sat at a picnic table and ate our spaghetti. Then we headed back to the hotel in Little Rock. I put my lights and a long-sleeve shirt in a bag, labeled it with my name, number, and “Powerline” for the aid station. I had a beer while watching the baseball game. Then called it a night.
Saturday morning came way too early. I didn’t sleep well at all. I woke a little after 1 am and then just stared at the ceiling for a couple more hours, hoping to return to the land of slumber. It didn’t happen and I got up a little after 3 am. It’s going to be a long day, I thought. (That wasn’t the first time for that thought, nor would it be the last.) I did my normal morning stuff and we were on the road a little after 4 am.
Renate parked, right next to Ted who “camped” in his car at Lake Sylvia, and I did more morning stuff and then the hurry up and wait for the 6 am start.
For a lot of my Ironman races, my good buddy Vincent (who’s birthday is today – today being the day of the run, not the day I’m finally writing this – happy birthday, Vincent) was either a fellow competitor or was there aiding and supporting his speedy wife, Jody. Before getting in the water to start the long day, we’d shake hands and I’d tell him, “Just a walk in the park, Kazanski.” I thought of him and I thought, well it’s not really a walk in the park, “Just a run in the woods, Kazanski.” And, Renate and I headed over to the start line.
Lots and lots of trail to run . . . lots and lots of trail . . .
You pick ‘em up and put ‘em down . . . a little bit of trail is done . . .
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It was a little chilly and some runners were standing close to the kerosene pots marking the start line for some tiny bit of warmth. I had taken off my brand new pre- and post-event rugby shirt purchased in Ireland and given it to Renate along with a last semi-kiss (Renate was suffering with a cold and didn’t want to give it to me. So, I didn’t get my regular smooches when I saw her, just semi-smooches.) and a promise to see her every few hours. I was standing around in my bright yellow sleeveless t-shirt, but I wasn’t especially cold. I’m sure there was some last minute instruction, but I don’t recall. At 6 am, there was a boom. And 127 persons of questionable sanity began a slow shuffle down the road with the cheers of those doing the questioning ringing in our ears.
“100 bottles of beer on the wall . . . 100 bottles of beer . . .” Oh, crap. If that song stays stuck in my head it’s going to be an extra hellacious day. |
 Running down a dream . . . (6:00 am) |
The first couple of miles were on paved road, Highway 324. Initially, it was uphill. Not steep, but steady. (For a few years, from 1998 through 2002, this had been the finishing stretch when the staging area was at the Camp Ouachita Girl Scout Camp. Because of construction at the camp, the start/finish area has been moved to the Lake Sylvia day park area, about a half mile south on Highway 324. It was good to get this uphill out of the way in the dark of Saturday morning instead of in the dark of Sunday morning.)
It was still dark, dawn wouldn’t break for another thirty minutes or so, but with the full moon it was bright enough running along the road. I was carrying a small flashlight and I randomly turned it on.
The thought entered my mind to make a spectacle of myself and run the opening road miles at marathon pace. But, with no TV coverage, there was nothing to be gained. So, I just moseyed along with the crowd at about 9:00 per mile pace. There was a lead pack of however many somewhere down the road and a trailing group of all the rest. In the dark, it was hard to tell what was going on, but, I’d guess, I was somewhere in the top 25. I was running alongside one guy, not talking much, just trotting along. There was some conversation going on around us. Just a group of folk out for an easy Saturday morning run.
In just under 20 minutes, we were done with pavement (until the very end) as we made the left turn onto FSR (Forest Service Road) 805. The gravel road was fine for running and I thought, out loud, “this isn’t too bad.” The guy I was running with kind of chuckled and said this was about as good as it was going to be for the run. All righty, then.
There was a big “5” nailed to a tree which kind of amazed me. Wow! Mile markers. And, just under a mile further along, the first aid station at Brown’s Creek. (5.8 miles, 56:44, 9:46.9 mpm) We were told at the pre-run meeting to make sure the volunteers recorded our numbers at each aid station so I made sure to tell them that number 115 had made it this far. They said they would get my number when I went back through this aid station the second time. I guess things were still pretty stacked up and trying to record numbers and times would have been more of a hassle than it was worth. So, I just had my water bottle topped off and headed back down the road.
I guess this is as good a place to talk about my nutrition plans as any. I was wearing my double water bottle belt that had a couple of zippered pouches for extra supplies. One bottle was filled with four scoops of Perpetuem and four Succeed! Caps (electrolyte capsules). That was 520 calories and the plan was to consume roughly a quarter of the bottle every hour. I also had a flask filled with four servings of HammerGel, another 360 calories, again with the plan to consume a serving every hour. That would give me around 220 calories per hour, plus whatever I took at the aid stations. The other bottle was filled with plain water and I would drink as desired. I also had some extra Succeed! Caps along with some Tylenol and NoDoz for later (if needed) – a nice assortment of pills.
Not nutrition related, but I was also carrying some toilet paper, a few band aids, spare batteries, a bandana, the course map, and the small flashlight I started the day with in the various pouches of my belt. I could have given Batman a run for his money if we compared batbelts.
Now, back to the run at hand. Or foot. Feet? Whatever.
The next aid station was called Flatside Pinnacle and was 3.4 miles down the road. Nothing sticks to mind about this section. It was so long ago. This time they recorded numbers. (Lap: 3.4 miles, 36:49, 10:49.7 mpm Total: 9.2 miles, 1:33:33, 10:10.1 mpm)
Now, it was time to run on the actual Ouachita (pronounced Wa•shi•ta´) Trail. Good, old single-track trail with lots of rocks and twists and turns. Much more of what I was used to from my previous ultras. The initial part was a bit of uphill walking, but it quickly turned into something that was fairly runnable. And trending downhill.
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It was about this point where the discomfort in my right knee mysteriously went away. Right from the start there had been a little bit of a twinge in the knee. Nothing painful, just not something I really wanted to deal with for 100 miles. For the most part, I was able to put it out of mind – I think the relatively gentle pace helped in that regard – but it was always there to some extent. That is, until the trail section. I don’t know if it just took 90 minutes to loosen up, but I’m thinking the varied footing and stride adjusting was more of a factor. Whatever, I was happy to notice no negative feeling and I was hoping it would stay that way for the rest of the trip.
I first started leapfrogging with Chris from Arkansas (we didn’t introduce ourselves during the run, but I went up to him after he finished) on the Trail. I heard him coming up behind me and was ready to yield the trail, but he said “you’re good” so I just kept my pace. I told him to let me know when he was ready to pass and after a bit he did. A mile or so down the trail he pulled up to a tree for a break and I continued on. Of course, he caught me again and, again, said “you’re good.” Based on earlier running, he was going more quickly than I wanted to, so I let him pass as soon as I had the opportunity. |
 Back At the Start/Finish Area - after the run is underway (7:48 am) Putting the “Porta” into Porta-Potty |
I vaguely remember the 10 mile marker and 2.5 miles after that was the return to the aid station at Brown’s Creek. I made sure to check in with the volunteers. (Lap: 3.3 miles, 35:19, 10:42.1 mpm Total: 12.5 miles, 2:08:52, 10:18.6 mpm) I had my water bottle topped off and grabbed a big handful of potato chips. One of the volunteers emphasized that there was a walking hill right after the station, so it would make sense to eat something while walking. (Come to think of it, the same was the case back at Flatside Pinnacle. In fact, it seemed like a bunch of the aid stations were in little valleys which allowed for easy walking and eating.)
So, I had my handful of potato chips and was back on the Trail. I wasn’t doing any mental calculations, yet. It was way too early in the day for any of that. Mostly I was just focusing on getting to the next aid station. In this case, the next one would be special. It was a crew spot so I’d get to see Renate. I wonder if she was able to nap after we started out.
Unfortunately, the section of the Ouachita Trail after Brown’s Creek was a bit on the tedious side. Much more uphill and a bit more rocky. Plus sections on the sides of hills that were barely wide enough for one person. Nothing to do but get through it one foot at a time. And be thankful we didn’t have to come back and do this loop at night. (The first 17 miles of the course was a, sort of, figure-8 that we only did once. Then it was 41.5 miles out and 41.5 miles back on the same route.) In fact, Chris, who was back behind me, asked this very question. I assured him that we only had to do this stuff once.
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And, upon reaching the aid station at Lake Sylvia (heck, the finish line is right up there . . . can’t we stop?) we were done with the Ouachita Trail portion of the Arkansas Traveller 100. (Lap: 4.5 miles, 53:21, 11:51.3 mpm Total: 17.0 miles, 3:02:13, 10:43.1 mpm) It was just after 9 in the morning and, fortunately, I was still feeling good. (And right on schedule. Renate had sent out a note to my family after the start telling them I’d cover the first 16 miles in three hours. One of my brothers said “3 hours to go 16 miles? At that rate it’ll take all day!” Another brother sent in “At that pace you might even show up live on Google Earth.” Of course, Mom asked, after wishing good luck, “Just one question. Why are you doing this???” It’s nice that I’m able to keep the family entertained.) A kind volunteer refilled my water bottle. I got a fresh bottle of Perpetuem and a fresh flask of HammerGel from Renate. Got a quick semi-smooch. Grabbed a PB & J sandwich square. And returned to my journey.
(There were 25 aid stops during the day. If you spent three minutes at each one, that would be an extra 75 minutes to the day. My goal was to get in and out of as many as possible as quickly as possible.) |
 Approaching the Lake Sylvia Aid Station (10:02 am) |
And, for the first time in about ten miles, we were back on Forest Service Roads. This one was the unpaved extension of Highway 324. Stan mentioned the number at the pre-run briefing, but I don’t remember. It’s not important, anyway. I do remember it as being nice and smooth and runnable. It didn’t last too long, not even two miles, but it was nice. (I knew I was thinking how great it was going to be for the end of the run. Somehow or other, during the course of the night, I had convinced myself that it was about five miles long. More about that at the appropriate time.) We crossed over FSR 132 and started running on FSR 132C.
(I’ll let the Grateful Dead play on the iTunes as I write for awhile.)
Not quite as maintained as the bit we were just on. And one of the longer stretches between aid (5.7 miles). At some point, Chris goes trotting by, there’s no difficulty passing on the gravel roads. He had his music in his ears and had opted to go shirtless for the daytime hours. He looked like he was doing pretty well.
We also got to deal with our first (and, turns out, only) water crossing of the Traveller. Kind of a big puddle/small pond type of thing. Not really sure how deep it was. There were stepping stones over on the left side that worked well. There were also a few spots further along where the entire road was a mud puddle, but they could be skirted by running on the very edge.
I think somewhere on FSR 132C was where I first hooked up with Brian from Illinois. He and Laurel from Maine (who I met way back on FSR 805 near the five mile marker) were probably the two people I dealt with the most during the morning/day/night/morning.
And, I noticed the 95 mile marker, facing back the other direction. Kind of cruel to see that. It reminded me of the Ironman race up in Lake Placid. The bike and the run (heck, even the swim) are two laps of their particular course. So, when you’re on the first loop, you see a small number for what you’ve done and also a big number for what you’ve done when you get there the second time. It’s pretty sucky to see a “7/20” when you’re on your first lap of the run. Seeing it the second time, though, is nice. I was looking forward to seeing the “95” again. This time from the proper direction. And, who would have thought I could have written a whole paragraph about a mile marker?
Finally, the end of FSR 132C and the Pumpkin Patch aid station. (Lap: 5.7 miles, 1:02:10, 10:54.4 mpm Total: 22.7 miles, 4:04:23, 10:45.9 mpm) In and out with a filled water bottle and a handful of orange slices. Next aid station is pretty quick, only 2.3 miles down the road. And we’re now on FSR 132, a major gravel road in comparison to FSR 132C, for a spell then onto FSR 212.
I don’t recall what section I was running when a guy jumped out of an SUV and started taking pictures. I know it was relatively early in the day since I was able to grasp that he was a photographer even before he said “I’m a photographer.” It was also decent running and near an aid station. He asked if there was anybody behind me. Geez. Did I look that slow that I’d be DFL at this point? I assured him that there were plenty of others still to come. He hopped back into his SUV and headed towards the aid station.
Then somewhere after making the turnoff onto FSR 212, I came upon Chris sitting on a big rock in the middle of the road getting something out of his shoe. I had pretty much been running by my lonesome and he caught back up to me and asked if he could pace off me for awhile. I didn’t mind and he stayed back about five to ten feet. He had his music and we weren’t really near enough to chat. Which was fine with me, as I wasn’t really in a talkative mood. I had found out, back on the Ouachita Trail, that, like me, it was his first attempt at the 100 mile distance. I remember thinking, but not saying, that you really have to run your own run. Maybe he thought, by running my pace, he’d force himself to slow down a little.
I just kept running at what felt comfortable for me, though, looking at the course profile as I write this, it has a bunch of uphill so I’m sure I was doing a fair amount of walking. Nevertheless, civilization appeared as the Electronic Tower aid station. (Lap: 2.3 miles, 25:10, 10:56.5 mpm Total: 25.0 miles, 4:29:33, 10:46.9 mpm)
I think this was about the first time I did any math. I calculated that five miles an hour was 12:00 per mile pace and that would be a 20 hour finish. Twenty hours was my absolute “pie in the sky and when pigs fly” goal. Completely unrealistic, but way the heck out there. So much so that, prior to about this point, I hadn’t even figured out the pace for it. I thought I was capable of 22 hours and that was my realistic goal that I’d have to work at to achieve, but it could be done. And, I knew that to be just under 13:15 per mile. Really, as a first-timer, I just wanted to finish before they rolled up the finish line and that was 30 hours. But, for me, I thought, unless the wheels completely fall off, I should be able to go sub-24 hours, which would be just under a 14:30 pace.
Anyway, I did some multiplying and dividing and subtracting and found that I was thirty minutes ahead of 20 hour pace. It was a novelty number more than anything. Kind of like it’ll be interesting to see how long I can stay there, using the mile markers at each five mile increment, as long as I don’t push myself too hard. I didn’t feel like I was in over my head, I thought my running had been pretty comfortable and consistent up to this point. I knew I was going to lose a bit when the lights went out so the plan was to just continue as I was. Paying attention to nutrition and hydration and how I was feeling. Looking at the distance number, I was a quarter of the way to a 100 mile finish.
And now onto some pretty grubby dirt road. Lots of deep ruts and lots of rocks. In this direction it was a bunch of uphill so it was a walking section. I didn’t foresee running down it tomorrow in the dark. I saw the sign for 90 miles and vowed to stop looking for and at the signs facing in the wrong direction. I’d see them when I saw them going home. I lost Chris at some point and started spending more time with Brian. He’s a very quick walker and would easily put distance on me on the uphill sections.
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Then the Rocky Gap aid station. (Lap: 4.2 miles, 44:56, 10:41.9 mpm Total: 29.2 miles, 5:14:29, 10:46.2 mpm) Looking at the split time shows that the recollection I had of this section doesn’t necessarily match up with reality. I apparently got though it relatively quickly. Did the usual aid station shuffle – get the water bottle filled, grab some food, make sure the recorder of numbers has recorded my number – and head back down the road, FSR 179 this time. I usually asked one of the volunteers, if I didn’t see it posted, how far to the next aid station. Sometimes I even remembered what they told me five seconds after leaving. Most times not. Randomly during the day I would pull out the course map I was carrying and get a distance from that. Then I’d look at my watch and, generally using a 12:00 pace, try and “rouculate” (that’s “roughly calculate”) an ETA. Hey, it gave me something to do.
FSR 179 merged into FSR 114, another major gravel road. Nice running. And downhill. There was some kind of building structure here and Lake Winona was over on our right, but I didn’t notice it. I’m not even sure it was visible, but it probably was and I was just in my own little zone. Make a right at the bottom of the hill onto FSR 778. This had been the little bit Renate and I had driven the day before the race to give her some sense of where the aid station would be. It was the first stop she would drive to and I think it helped her to have a little idea as to what to expect. I knew the aid station was about a mile away. And, just like that, or approximately 12 minutes later, there it was. (Lap: 3.3 miles, 38:12, 11:34.5 mpm Total: 32.5 miles, 5:52:41, 10:51.1 mpm) |
 Approaching the Lake Winona Aid Station (11:53 am) That’s me in yellow. Brian from Illinois is on my left. The girl with her back to the camera (shoveling fruit into her mouth if I remember correctly) is the eventual first place girl. |
 Lake Winona Aid Station (11:53 am) “Can I have some water, please.” |
 Lake Winona Aid Station (11:54 am) Waiting for some potato chips. |
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I did some more “rouculating” as I was wandering down the road shoving chips into my mouth. Let’s see, it’s about six hours of run time. At five miles per hour I should have covered 30 miles. This is 32.5 so I’m still roughly 30 minutes ahead of 20 hour pace.
There was a lot of uphill on the way to the next aid station. It’s kind of too bad since it was good running surface. I think this was the area where Brian was a little behind me and every time we’d come around a bend, the road was still going up. He’d just say, “Yeah, more uphill.” I wondered how much running I’d be doing here when I returned. I was hoping that would be just before midnight. Just for grins, and for something to help pass the time, I decided to see how long it would take me to go through “ten bottles of beer on the wall.” I waited until my watch was on a minute then started singing (in my head, not out loud) “100 bottles of beer on the wall, 100 bottles of beer. You take one down and pass it around. 99 bottles of beer on the wall.” It took me ninety seconds to “drink” the ten bottles. Let’s see, that would be 900 seconds for all 100 bottles. That’s 15 minutes. That’s 400 bottles an hour. Times 22 is 8800 bottles of beer if I hit my goal time. I’ve already been moving for a little over six hours so, since I didn’t start singing right away, I’m 2400 bottles behind. Can I sing the tune fast enough to break even? Mercifully, Brian caught up to me and saved me from trying. There was a fair amount of uphill and Brian was much faster walking these sections than was I. |
 Leaving the Lake Winona Aid Station (11:54 am) On the road again. Munching on chips as I walk off into the day. |
From the Lake Winona aid station to the Pig Trail aid station was another sizeable chunk of mileage, 4.6 miles, and it was also starting to get warm. It never really got hot, in my opinion, but I decided to start taking an additional Succeed! Cap from my handy-dandy pill bag that I was carrying in my batbelt. I think I started that before entering the Lake Winona aid station. When approaching an aid station, I would take a healthy hit of HammerGel from the flask. Then I would fish out an electrolyte capsule and wash it down with a big serving of water. Later in the afternoon I would pour the remaining water I was carrying over my head and neck. By the time I got to the aid station, I was ready for my bottle to be refilled. Seemed like a system that worked for me. And I made it to the Pig Trail aid station with an empty bottle. (Lap: 4.6 miles, 1:00:25, 13:08.0 mpm Total: 37.1 miles, 6:53:06, 11:08.1 mpm)
And, all the aid station volunteers were great. Thanks, very much, to them. I’d walk into an aid station and it was always “What can I get for you?” Usually I’d just respond with “Some water, please.” Or, “Soup, please.” Occasionally, I’d make some feeble attempt at humor to the “What can I get you?” query. At an early aid station: “A psychiatrist.” “Sorry. Maybe the next aid station. Have some potato chips, instead.” Towards the end of the run: “A lobotomy.” “Ok. Let me just sharpen this knife.” Some time in the middle of the run I asked, “Am I in Oklahoma, yet?” “Next aid station. Then make a right.” As I said, great volunteers. Maybe I didn’t get what I was looking for since I didn’t say “please.”
I was surprised that there wasn’t much music at the aid stations. Maybe it was an effort to not disturb any hunters who might have been in the area. Though things did pick up a little bit at night. I forget which aid station had the costumed volunteers. And there was a volunteer at one station who wouldn’t let me join the party at the bonfire. “Sorry, there isn’t a chair over there for you. And, anyway, they won’t share their beer.” But, as I mentioned earlier, I don’t want to spend too much time at aid stations, so I’ll get back to the run.
I guess we were still on FSR 778, but this section was pretty deteriorated as compared to the section between Lake Winona and Pig Trail. Lots of rocks. Just not real comfortable running. And these were mean rocks. The kind that when you’d kick them, they’d roll down the trail a ways and then stop right in front of you and try to trip you. I had read somewhere that trail rocks do this, so I can’t take credit for the concept. You’d think that half the kicked rocks would just scuttle over to the side of the road, out of the way. But, no. Ninety-nine percent would be the “try to trip you up” kind. I had to kick some of those buggers two or three times before they’d get the hint and move over to the side.
At least the kind that moved didn’t immediately impede forward motion. Those rocks that were like iceberg rocks, the great majority of their mass below the surface were dastardly in a different way. I kicked one early in the day (I think I almost broke my toe) and my foot stopped. My whole lower body seemed to stop. My upper body kept going and shortly I ended up looking not down the trail, but down at the trail. Because I’m such a finely tuned athlete, I was able to stop my upper body and allow my lower body to catch up before taking the dirt dive.
(Approaching the Club Flamingo aid station seems like a good time to put some Jimmy Buffett on the iTunes.)
Anyway, I’m moving slowly down the rocky road and I notice tiki torches lining the sides. It was still early afternoon, so they weren’t lit. But I guessed I was nearing civilization. And, around the bend appeared the Club Flamingo aid station. (Lap: 2.9 miles, 37:54, 13:04.1 mpm Total: 40.0 miles, 7:31:00, 11:16.5 mpm) Looking at the time, I see I’m still about 30 minutes ahead of 12:00 per mile pace. I know I’m approaching Smith Mountain and, from the course profile that I had seen, it looks to be a pretty nasty bit of uphill running approaching.
Leaving Club Flamingo, after refilling and refueling, I notice a bunch of tiki torches for this direction, as well. Something to look forward to in the dark of night. It’s not a bad trip to the Smith Mountain aid station. Again, I wasn’t sure where the aid station was in relation to the top of the mountain, but it turned out to be before the biggest climbing. Smith Mountain aid station (Lap: 3.2 miles, 37:23, 11:40.9 mpm Total: 43.2 miles, 8:08:23, 11:18.3 mpm)
The section between Pig Trail and Club Flamingo had been pretty bad. Lots of rocks. But, the section between Smith Mountain and Chicken Gap was worse. Well, in a way. It was the section that went to the highest point on the course, roughly 1900 feet above sea-level and it was part ATV trail and part hiking trail. Not like the Ouachita Trail we had been on earlier. This was mostly grass and rocks. Really, it wasn’t too bad and might even have been runable if not for all the climbing. Heck, according to the course map it was even a legitimate Forest Service Road, FSR 762, though there had been a section with barriers across the trail to restrict all by foot traffic. Whatever it was, I was happy to be done with it when I reached the aid station at Chicken Gap. (Lap: 3.5 miles, 53:28, 15:16.6 mpm Total: 46.7 miles, 9:01:51, 11:36.2 mpm) The split numbers show it to be the slowest section so far and the big bit of climbing was a major factor.
Jumping back a minute, I came upon a girl struggling a little bit about a half mile to the Chicken Gap aid station. I thought I recognized her from pictures and asked “Are you Tracy Thomas?” And she was. (Tracy was last year’s overall winner. Chicked the whole damn field, she did.) She had fallen and hurt her knee and was just trying to get to the Powerline aid station where she was going to drop. I had sent Tracy an email about a month before the run with a couple of questions. She was very gracious with her reply and advice. So, it was nice to thank her in person. While we ran together to the aid station, she was very encouraging and told me to go on and have a great run. Thanks, Tracy. I did.
The standard bit of refilling and refueling at Chicken Gap then back onto a regular bit of gravel road for the trip to Powerline and a meeting with my crew. Nothing too terribly exciting, it was only a couple of miles on a nice gravel road, and I made it with no problem. (Lap: 2.0 miles, 23:37, 11:48.5 mpm Total: 48.7 miles, 9:25:28, 11:36.7 mpm)
| Powerline Aid Station (48.7 miles) | ||
 Strolling In (3:26 pm) |
 Getting Weighed (3:27 pm) |
 Strolling Out (3:29 pm) |
This was the first weigh-in station of the race. For those not familiar with the process, I’ll go into it a little bit. You may remember, way back in the beginning, that I was weighed at the pre-run packet pickup. I guess most of the 100’s have a 3%-5%-7% weight loss schedule. If your weight drops 3% from the pre-race number, you’re warned. If it drops 5%, you have to stay at the aid station, refueling, until it’s back above that number. If it drops 7%, you’re pulled from the race, no questions asked and no opportunity to gain any weight back. I had a little wrist band with three numbers on it: my pre-race weight (162), my 5% weight (154), and my 7% weight (151). Never having gone through the procedure, I was semi-curious for the first weigh-in. When the scale read 160, I was happy. (I actually lost four pounds which still would have been above the 3% warning level. When I was weighed the day before the race, the scale read 164 pounds. The scale reader gave me a two pound discount for the shoes and clothes I was wearing even though I was wearing shoes and clothes when being weighed at the aid stations.)
I had arranged a drop bag for Powerline with my lights and a long-sleeve shirt, under “orders” from Chrissy. I hadn’t originally planned on one, figuring Renate would have everything. But Chrissy pointed out that Renate may get lost (visions of Laurel Highlands appeared) or get a flat tire and I’d be up the creek without a paddle, actually, up the trail without a light, when it got dark. And that wouldn’t be a fun place to be. So I packed a drop bag. And, since Renate made it to Powerline without any problem, she retrieved it and had the stuff ready for me when I arrived.
I arranged the flashlight and headlight on my batbelt since it wasn’t yet dark. I left the long-sleeve shirt in the bag for pickup on the return trip. Picked up a few orange slices – “Do you have any orange slices?” “Yes. Right there.” “Where?” “They’re right in front of you.” “I don’t see them.” “Here.” “Oh. Ok. Thank you.” – and continued on my merry way. Next up was Chile Pepper, four miles away.
Along the way, I saw the 50 mile marker and got a split (9:52:26). It had been back in April when I did the Bull Run Run and that 50 mile event had been my longest run ever. Ah, memories of the mud and a run that took “only” 8.5 hours. Now, I was just halfway through what I hoped would be my new longest run ever. And, for what it’s worth I was still 7.5 minutes under 20 hour pace.
I don’t’ remember the run to the Chile Pepper aid station being all that bad, but when I looked at my split afterwards it showed some major slowing. (Lap: 4.0 miles, 57:54, 14:28.5 mpm Total: 52.7 miles, 10:23:22, 11:49.7 mpm) The usual in and out and off towards the Turn Around aid station.
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I was kind of curious when I’d see the leaders heading back after their visit to Turn Around. And, how many I would see. It was a hike to get there, just about six miles. But it was decent running. And it was nice to see homeward bound runners. I started counting then gave up when it looked like some of the guys could have been pacers. Not knowing who was a competitor and who was a pacer was messing up the accounting. I decided I was in whatever place I was in and let it go at that.
Looking at the numbers afterwards shows a surprisingly quick trip to get to the Turn Around aid station. (Lap: 5.8 miles, 1:02:20, 10:44.8 mpm Total: 58.5 miles, 11:25:42, 11:43.3 mpm) It was another crew spot and, even though I’d seen her just a couple of hours prior, it was nice to see Renate again. So far she was four for four for the crew access aid stations. I got fresh fuel and started on the last 41.5 miles of my day. Now, I would be one of the homeward bound. And I would get to visit the aid stations from the opposite direction. I would be seeing the big mile markers facing the direction I was going. I wouldn’t be looking back over my shoulder muttering swear words, thinking it would be a long time before I legitimately saw that mile marker. |
 Arriving at the Turn Around Aid Station (5:26 pm) |
There was a steady stream of runners and walkers heading towards the Turn Around aid station. “Good job” comments and other encouragements were passed back and forth. I saw Ted from Colorado pretty early, looking strong. I saw Chris from Arkansas kind of late, looking not so strong. I passed the second place girl and her pacer, after Turn Around. She appeared to be struggling a bit and I offered a “keep plugging away” that she probably didn’t want to hear.
It was fairly good running, though a bit of it, and I made it to the Chile Pepper aid station with no real issues. (Lap: 5.8 miles, 1:08:36, 11:49.7 mpm Total: 64.3 miles, 12:34:18, 11:43.9 mpm) The usual refilling and refueling, and then out the door. I think by this time I was doing just the chicken broth and Coke combination, maybe a few potato chips. Most of my calories were coming from my bottle of Perpetuem with some additional from random shots of HammerGel from my flask. Next up was the return to Powerline and another date with the scale.
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Along this stretch, it got dark enough that my flashlight came into use. I kept the headlight in one of my batbelt pouches, not wanting to mess around with strapping it to my head while I was moving, and not wanting to stop between aid stations.
About this time a line from “The Road Goes On Forever” got stuck in my mental jukebox. “The stars were high above them, the moon was in the east. The sun was settin’ on them when they reached Miami Beach. They got a hotel by the water and a quart of Bombay gin. The road goes on forever and the party never ends.” There must have been a speck of dust in my brain, because that segment kept repeating. It probably didn’t help that a full moon was visible through the trees. Lots of uphill and, therefore, lots of walking. The forest service was doing what they called a “controlled burn” where, I guess, they set a designated section of the woods on fire and hope it doesn’t spread to an undesignated area. They had mentioned it to us at the pre-run briefing, not to panic if we saw the woods on fire. But to be aware that, as the day ended and it got cooler, the smoke would be more at ground level (the “inversion factor”, they called it). Getting close to the Powerline aid station was where, and only where, I noticed it. And, not enough to bother me. (Lap: 4.0 miles, 1:06:03, 16:30.8 mpm Total: 68.3 miles, 13:40:21, 12:00.7 mpm – Post race number crunching shows this to be slowest split of the day, up to this point, by more than a minute per mile.) |
 Back at Powerline Aid Station (7:40 pm) |
I get re-weighed – still at 160 – and refilled. I also tie my long-sleeve shirt around my waist. It’s not cold, but better to have it and not need it than to need it and not have it. (That’s one of my favorite lines from the Lonesome Dove DVD when Captain Call is handing Newt a gun as the gang is preparing to go on a cattle raid to Mexico. I’m sure it’s used elsewhere in life, that’s just where I remember it from.) I attach my headlight to my head, ignite it and my flashlight and hit that gravel road to Chicken Gap.
“The road goes on forever and the party never ends.” But, it’s a quick spin to the Chicken Gap aid station. (Lap: 2.0 miles, 29:45, 14:52.5 mpm Total: 70.3 miles, 14:10:06, 12:05.5 mpm) I did have a blister on my left pinky toe explode prior to the aid station. I thought I was going to be dealing with the pain and suffering of that for the rest of the trip. But, it was only an issue for a couple of minutes. Probably because all my pain sensors were already overloaded. The pain bucket was full. Any new pain would just spill out. And, I thought that was my sanity dripping from my ears.
The stretch between the Chicken Gap aid station and the Smith Mountain aid station was probably the low point of the run. There was a bit of a psychological hit when I realized that my pace was over 12:00 per mile. I knew that was a completely unrealistic number to be chasing, it just sounded so good to be able to tell myself that I was covering ground at a 5 mph pace. Man! I was motoring!
It was also past 10 pm and working towards 11 pm. It was dark. And the section of course I was on was about the worst terrain-wise of the entire run. I had remembered it coming out, when it was daylight. It was pretty much just an ATV trail, grassy and rocky and, though it trended down, it just wasn’t the easiest stuff to run on. It was also tough to gauge hills in the dark. During the day, I was able to pick out a “start walking” point part way up the hill. Then, I’d pick out a “start running” point right near the crest of the hill. At night, it was based more on feel. “Does this feel steep?” I’d ask my feet. If they said it did, then I’d walk. Of course, they weren’t too quick to tell me to start running again. Stupid feet.
I only really thought once, about “why am I doing this?” And for maybe a minute I told myself that I would finish this one and never do another. And, about as fast as that thought hit, it completely disappeared. I recognized that I was now in uncharted waters, or on unblazed trails to keep it ultra-running related, as far as distance went. If this were the Laurel Highlands 70 mile ultra that I did in June, I could stop moving. But it wasn’t, and I couldn’t.
I trudged into the Smith Mountain aid station. (Lap: 3.5 miles, 1:08:07, 19:27.7 mpm Total: 73.8 miles, 15:18:13, 12:26.5 mpm) And, a new “slowest split of the run.” For what it’s worth, I never calculated splits during the run. The only real math I did was dividing any five mile marker that I saw by five to see where I stood as far as a 20 hour finish went. And, not to keep kicking the same rock over and over, but I was using that number as much for entertainment value as anything. I knew it wasn’t a realistic goal. I still thought 22 hours was possible, however. But, I’d have to regroup a little to get that. It didn’t dawn on me at the time, but I had exactly a marathon to go. And I had roughly 6.75 hours to cover the 26.2 miles to reach 22 hours for the event.
(At the pace I’m moving – and writing – it seems appropriate to put some Cowboy Junkies on the iTunes.)
For some reason I got re-stuck on drinking bottles of beer. I came to realize that the seventies don’t really flow. Too many syllables. In fact, even the sevens aren’t good. Sing it with me now . . . “88 bottles of beer on the wall, 88 bottles of beer” flows much better than “87 bottles of beer on the wall 87 bottles of beer.” And, “77 bottles of beer on the wall, 77 bottles of beer” has to be about the worst beer to take down and pass around. Fortunately, I came up some lit tiki torches and could get a new tune in mind courtesy of John Hiatt. “Thank God the tiki bar is open. Thank God the tiki torch still shines. Thank God the tiki bar is open. Come on in and open up your mind.” It wasn’t actually a tiki bar, but the Club Flamingo aid station. (Lap: 3.2 miles, 44:23, 13:52.2 mpm Total: 77.0 miles, 16:02:36, 12:30.1 mpm)
I would always ask, when preparing to leave an aid station, if there was a trash can up the trail. This way, particularly at night, I could carry one cup of soup and one of soda and drop the empty cups in a trash box. Here they said there wasn’t anything, but to go ahead and take the cups and just drop them next to a tiki torch. Works for me. Dining while leaving an aid station was a legitimate excuse to walk.
It would be nice to have everybody’s split times so I could see if my recollections matched reality, but, since I don’t, we’ll go with my recollections. This isn’t a legal document, after all, so what I’m writing shouldn’t be held against me.
Anyway, Brian from Illinois passed me for good at some point, though I only know that because he beat me to the finish line. I never remember him passing me. And Laurel from Maine and I were leapfrogging for quite awhile. I came up behind her and noticed her light wasn’t shining. There was a full moon, but it didn’t provide a whole lot of illumination through all the trees. I asked if she needed batteries. She said “No,” she just wanted to walk a little with the light off. Maybe she was tired of the suicidal bugs that liked to fly into bright lights, though there really weren’t a whole lot of them. We chatted as I slowly passed her. She was struggling a bit and wasn’t having a boatload of fun. I told her I thought she was the second place girl and to just keep plugging away. Not sure if that did any good, but it was all I could think of as I continued on my way.
Surprisingly, I remembered from earlier in the day that this section of the course was a non-fun place as far as running went. But there were some parts where running was available and on one of these Ted from Colorado goes zipping by, though neither of us recognized the other. When I first heard the noise I thought Laurel had regrouped and was leaving me in the dust. (That had happened way back after the Turn Around aid station. You might remember that I had passed what I thought was the second place girl and her pacer, walking and not doing very well. It wasn’t too long after when she went running back past me. I complimented her on getting back in the race, though she did fade again, for good I think, a little later.) But, it wasn’t Laurel, it was Ted.
He was still at the Pig Trail aid station when I wandered in. (Lap: 2.9 miles, 45:07, 15:33.4 mpm Total: 79.9 miles, 16:47:43, 12:36.7 mpm) At that point we recognized each other and chatted very briefly. He suggested, basically ordered, that I change shoes at Lake Winona. We also checked on upcoming terrain with the volunteers. “You just ran it this morning. Don’t you remember?” Then, Ted was off, never to be seen again. Right as I was leaving the aid station, I noticed the 80 mile marker and glanced at my watch. Five miles per hour would have been 16 hours. I was about 50 minutes over that which, I realized, would probably make 22 hours a bit of touch and go.
We were back on FSR 778 and, though it was a nice gravel road and probably more downhill than up, it was a bit of a struggle. Midnight was on the horizon and everything hurt. I thought I was still pretty sharp mentally and I wasn’t sleepy at all. (I had given up caffeine about ten days prior to the event figuring that when I introduced it back into my system it would provide a bigger kick. I had some NoDoz pills with me, but never felt like I needed them. I don’t know if the caffeine I was getting from the Coke was enough. Maybe it was just all the excitement of wandering around the woods of Arkansas at night.) I had gone past the 16 hours and 20 minutes it took me at Laurel Highlands so I was now venturing into new territory time-wise to go with the distance barrier I broke ten miles ago. Nothing to do but keep plugging away. I was reasonably sure I was going to break 24 hours and get the gold belt buckle. My goal of 22 hours was slipping away.
(As a deviation for you to read while I’m making my way to Lake Winona, I’ll insert a crew moment. On the trip from Lake Winona to Powerline earlier in the day, Renate had taken the “long” way. Highway 9 to Highway 5 to Highway 7 to FSR 132 and the Powerline aid station. For the nighttime trip from Powerline back to Lake Winona she decided to take the “short” way which was basically 20 miles on FSR 132. It was dark. The smoke from the “controlled burn” was pretty bad. She had no cell phone signal. And the theme music from Deliverance was playing in the background. Fortunately, no problems or issues and she made it to Lake Winona well before me.)
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Right before entering the Lake Winona aid station, I decided to take a couple of Tylenol gel caps. I had never taken anything like this in a race before, though they hadn’t ever caused any problems when I tested them in training. Still, I figured, if my body went south, I could at least gut it out (maybe literally) and finish. I wandered out of the dark (I always made it a point to turn off my lights as I was entering the aid station so as not to blind the volunteers) into the Lake Winona aid station. (Lap: 4.6 miles, 1:07:39, 14:42.4 mpm Total: 84.5 miles, 17:55:22, 12:43.6 mpm)
There was a surprise weigh-in and I was happy to still be at 160. Getting my batbelt back on proved to be more difficult than it should have. It kept getting caught in the shirt I had tied around my waist. Not being as physically competent, despite being a finely tuned athlete, as I was earlier in the day only added to the adventure. I think it finally took Renate and a volunteer to get it clicked on. |
 Getting Weighed at Lake Winona Aid Station (11:56 pm) |
 Gaining Weight at Lake Winona Aid Station (11:57 pm) |
Renate had my change of shoes out of the backpack and sitting next to the chair, as Ted had told her that I would be changing. I declined. It wasn’t going to make a whole lot of difference for the last 15 miles and I was afraid that if I sat down, I wouldn’t be getting back up very quickly. My goal time of 22 hours was starting to slip away mentally and I told Renate that the rest of the trip was going to be tough. I told her I would see her at the finish line, got a real smooch, and headed on down the road.
She drove past me right before I made the left turn onto FSR 114 with an exchange of “I love you” and “You, too.” I was on my own again with the bright lights of some piece of civilization – a building and a fence – to provide some illumination. For the big, steady hill that I now had to get up.
(This is a bit of a struggle. Let’s put some Dire Straits on the iTunes.)
There’s lots of climbing out of Lake Winona. There’s no one around. I have just over 15 miles to go. And the clock has struck midnight. Well, at least I didn’t turn into a pumpkin. When the going got tough, I did what I normally do. I started evaluating my training. I knew I hadn’t put myself in the best position possible. As over-trained as I was for Laurel Highlands back in June, I felt I was under-trained for this. I just don’t think I had the miles under my belt that I needed to be truly successful. I came to the conclusion that if I’m going to do Rocky Raccoon in February, and if I want to do well, I’m going to have to get serious about training. I’m going to have to find that happy medium between Laurel Highlands and the Arkansas Traveller. It probably wouldn’t be a bad idea to focus a little better on my diet and to lose a couple of pounds. But, that’s the future, this is now.
I trudged on, eventually finding the Rocky Gap aid station. (Lap: 3.3 miles, 54:22, 16:28.5 mpm Total: 87.8 miles, 18:49:44, 12:52.0 mpm) Wow. That’s a pretty horrible time split. This aid station was peopled with the Hash House Harriers so I asked if they had any beer. They said they didn’t. Mostly, they said, they were just trying to stay warm. I guess they were drinking a bit stronger things, then. It didn’t much matter. I really didn’t need a beer at the time. Well, I did, but it wasn’t in my best interests. This might have been the aid station where they were serving potato soup instead of chicken. It didn’t appeal to me, so a cup of Coke and I was on my way, down FSR 212.
I guess this is as good a place as any to talk about course markings and glow sticks. As a paranoid pessimist, I like lots and lots of course markings. At night, I like the trail to be lit up like a runway, complete with synchronized flashing in the direction I’m supposed to go. Chrissy and Stan and all their course-marking volunteers didn’t quite go to that extreme, but it was very well marked. During the day, the pink ribbons were plentiful and visible. The flour marking the turns and the big signs at some of the intersections made getting misplaced almost impossible. I did briefly miss a turn, more through my own brain cramp than anything, but caught myself almost immediately.
There were some occasions, when the darkness was the darkest, that I could have used another glow stick here or there. Mostly just as a reassurance that I was where I was supposed to be. Some of the pink ribbons had little metallic reflectors and those helped a lot. All in all, it was fine and I didn’t have any problems. In fact, I mentioned this stuff here because it might have actually been here, there was one road where the glow sticks were just laying on the ground, as if dropped from the window of a passing car. I thought it would be a mean joke if some of the local kids had pulled them from where they were supposed to be and then dropped them on the wrong trail. I made sure to randomly look for pink ribbons attached to the trees, figuring they wouldn’t go to that much trouble to screw up a bunch of runners.
And somewhere along the way I passed the 90 mile mark that I had seen from the other direction many, many hours ago. (19:25:24, 12:56.9 mpm) I didn’t do any math to see how I was doing. I just kept plugging away. As I was negotiating the road, I remembered it from the morning. How it was pretty chewed up and wasn’t going to be any fun at night. And, it wasn’t. Still, one foot in front of the other. Even though it had been my focus the entire run – just get to the next aid station – it was pretty much all I was thinking at this point in the journey. Just get to the next aid station. And, I hoped it would be the right one.
For some reason I thought I had gotten misplaced between Rocky Gap and Electronic Tower. I pulled out my map several times to see if it were possible to have taken a wrong turn. I couldn’t see any real problems, on the map, but I couldn’t convince myself. I knew I was on course, I saw scattered glow sticks and confirmed them with pink ribbons. For some reason, I just thought I had missed the Electronic Tower aid station and the next one I would come to would be Pumpkin Patch. I knew I wasn’t going to go back and look for where I went off course, so I would have to disqualify myself. Finally, I pulled into the aid station and confirmed that it was, indeed, Electronic Tower. (Lap: 4.2 miles, 1:10:37, 16:48.8 mpm Total: 92.0 miles, 20:00:21, 13:22.8 mpm) While I was dawdling at the buffet, a new second place girl and her pacer, as well as another competitor arrived. That gave me a little extra impetus to hit the road.
Now, I did some math. The numbers were pretty easy to work with. Two hours to cover eight miles. Fifteen minute miles. I knew I had to be a tick faster than 15:00 per mile to get my realistic goal of 22 hours. I locked onto that thought and that picture and set out running (“but I take my time, a friend of the devil is a friend of mine, if I get home before daylight, I just might get some sleep tonight”). Fortunately, it was good running. And the Tylenol had really kicked in. My legs felt surprisingly good. And, since I now had the extra incentive of avoiding a second chicking, I’d give it my best shot. Up ahead, there’s the body of water to avoid falling into, one more aid station, then five miles of nice smooth gravel road to the finish. At least that’s how I thought it was supposed to be. Unfortunately, my memories from the morning and the nighttime realities didn’t quite mesh.
The body of water didn’t appear. And, though the running surface was pretty good, it wasn’t like it was “supposed” to be. And, when I came upon a bunch of glowing Jack-O-Lantern bags lighting the way into the Pumpkin Patch aid station, I knew the last bit wasn’t going to be all peaches and gravy. (Lap: 2.3 miles, 29:33, 12:50.9 mpm Total: 94.3 miles, 20:29:54, 13:02.5 mpm)
I confirmed that this was the last aid station and just refilled my water bottle and took off. I didn’t even bother with broth or other fuel. I still had plenty of Perpetuem and HammerGel, though I was pretty tired of them by this point. Heck, I was tired of water, Coke, and broth, as well. I guess I was just plain tired of everything. Not sleepy, mind you. Just tired.
I was back on FSR 132C, decent, but not the smooth gravel road I was expecting. I knew there were a few road covering mud puddles to skirt and there was still that body of water out there somewhere. It was really starting to get under my skin. Where the heck was that thing.
Time for another glow stick comment. Chrissy had mentioned at pre-run that FSR 132C was where the local kids, after a night spent drinking, liked to liberate the glow sticks. (She mentioned one year there was a kid driving down the road and the whole inside of his car was glowing green from all the glow sticks that he borrowed.) I saw a glow stick down the way and it was way up high. It looked like the road went up, almost to the sky. I didn’t remember anything quite so monstrous on the way out. It’s a glow stick so I must be going the right way. Check for ribbons, anyway. Yep. I approach the glow stick and find that it’s hung way, way, way up the tree. It’s not really a hill. The kids are going to have to work to free these sticks. It gave me a little chuckle. But, where the heck was the water crossing?
I’m going to write that I came to the 95 mile marker (20:39:47, 13:03.0 mpm) before I came to the body of water. The marker wasn’t where I expected it to be and, obviously, neither was the water. I did some quick math and found that I was about five minutes to the good. Twenty-two hours was looking like it could happen.
Eventually, because I was indeed going the right way, I did come to the water. Basically, it’s a little, tiny pond or a big, huge puddle. Take your pick. Plunging right on through probably wouldn’t have been too much of an issue. Trying to hop, skip, and jump on the rocks lining the right side was more of an adventure. I ended up stepping in the shallows twice with my left foot. (I heard of two others – Ted?? – who fell in.)
I’m approaching the end of FSR 132C. I see another mile marker sign on a tree. I’m not sure what it is, it must be for the outbound direction, but I shine my light on it and see a big 98. Well, hot damn. Two more miles to go.
At the intersection of FSR 132C and FSR 132 sits a guy with a table. Odd place for an aid station I think. He asks my number. 115. Do I get bonus points for still remembering it? He was one of the ham radio guys (and gals?) that were at each aid station – the Central Arkansas Radio Emergency Network, I think – that provided communications between all the aid stations and the start/finish area. It worked out real well and now Renate knew I was a couple of miles away. (She had been napping in the car, parked next to Ted’s, at the finish area with her brand new Timex Ironman watch set to beep at 3 am. When Ted slammed his door, she woke with a startle. She spoke with Ted a bit then wandered down to the finish line where she was able to find out where I was.) The radio guy said it was all downhill and nice, smooth running from this point. And, it was. This was the stuff I thought I had five miles of to finish the race. Well, just under two would have to do.
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I’m trotting along, moving pretty quickly, I think. I’m guessing that if there was a 98 mile marker then there will be a 99 mile marker. I start looking for it. I continue looking for it. I look some more. Guess I’m not moving as quickly as I thought. Ah, there it is, the 99 mile marker. (21:36:49, 13:05.9 mpm) And, I think two thoughts. The first is that I’m going to break 22 hours. The second is that there’s only one more damn bottle of beer on the wall . I feel a little smile coming on.
I break out of the woods and onto the road near the campground at Lake Sylvia. The end is approaching. There are little kerosene pots lining the way. I make the right hand turn into the day park area. Nice, dramatic music is coming over the loudspeakers. I couldn’t tell you what it was. Lots of little string lights lining the way to the finish line. They say something over the loudspeakers. I couldn’t tell you what it was. You only ever get to finish your first once – be it a 5k or a 100 miler – and I was getting a wee bit choked up. I crossed the line and I stopped. I was extremely happy. Handshakes and pictures with Stan. Kisses and pictures with Renate. I had done it. I completed a 100 mile trail run. Finish Line (Lap: 5.7 miles, 1:17:48, 13:38.9 mpm, Total: 100 miles, 21:47:42, 13:04.6 mpm) For what it’s worth, I did the last mile in just under 11 minutes. |
 The End Of The Day (3:50 am) (Photo by Max Baker – Arkansas Traveller) |
The stuff after . . .
(I guess I’ll listen to Little Feat on the iTunes while writing up this stuff.)
I wandered into the big tent to get in out of the cold. There was a small heater set up in one corner and four or five of us were sitting around in various stages of recovery/collapse, rehashing the trip. Renate helped me change into warm clothes then got a couple cups of hot chocolate for me. I wasn’t hungry at all and I really wasn’t all that tired. Just sore. Very, very sore. And happy. Very, very happy.
I didn’t see Ted from Colorado anywhere, he had mentioned something about beer afterwards, nor did I see Brian from Illinois. Though I still thought he was behind me somewhere. There wasn’t a whole lot to be done at roughly 4:30 am so Renate and I packed up and headed back to the hotel in Little Rock. The plan was to grab a few hours of sleep and then come back to Lake Sylvia for the pancake breakfast followed by the awards ceremony. That was scheduled for 12:30 pm so if we made it back around 11 am we’d be fine. A nice, solid plan.
Except for the sleep part. We got back to the hotel and I had a nice shower. It was good to get the grubbiness scraped off and then climbing in between the clean sheets. But, for whatever reason, sound sleep never really happened. I’d doze off. I’d move in my sleep. Something would hurt. I’d wake up. That pattern kept repeating until, about 8 am, I decided I wasn’t accomplishing anything. I got dressed and headed to the hotel breakfast area where I loaded up on scrambled eggs and breakfast potatoes, along with lots of OJ and coffee. Walking was a bit of a struggle – good thing there was an elevator to go from our second floor room down to ground level – and the transition between standing and sitting, and vice versa, was tough. But, overall, I was feeling pretty good.
After two big servings of food, I returned to the room and Renate was stirring. We moved slowly, but steadily and made it back to the run site about 11 am.
Where I had my third big serving of food – it was nice that my appetite was back – and we cheered for all the people that finished between 11 am and 12 noon. There were about 15 people in that time frame and it was nice to listen to the music and then cheer them in. One of those I saw come in was Chris from Arkansas. I went up and introduced myself after he settled in and recovered a little. He asked if I broke 24 hours and was happy that I did. He then asked if I was going to do another hundred. I said yeah, just not today. I think he was a bit beat up, but he didn’t think he’d be doing another any time soon. That’s ok, Chris. You’re young, only 25. You have plenty of time to do other things and then come back.
I also spent some time with Ted (great finish for him, 20:41:51 at 57 years of age for 8th overall) after eating and before the awards and, sort of out of the blue, he asked “So, what did you learn?” Learn? Heck, I didn’t know I was supposed to learn anything. And I certainly didn’t know there was going to be a test. But, seriously, it was a good question. It made me think of the run a little and verbalize a few things. Two of which came to mind pretty quickly. I should have changed my shoes at Powerline on the way back (68.3 miles). If the new shoes didn’t work out, I could have re-changed at Lake Winona (84.5 miles). And, I should have popped a couple of Tylenol before I did. But, I’d never used them in an ultra, so I was leery as to what, if anything, they’d do to me. So, maybe that’s just something I learned through experience – that Tylenol won’t cause me any problems. At least it didn’t on this day.
I also have to learn to walk faster. Brian could really move at a quick pace whenever he was walking. I did run into him at the finish area and congratulated him on his run (20:58:34 and 10th place) and thanked him for the encouragement he gave me throughout the day and night before.
Then it was time for awards. A nice little ceremony where all finishers were called up and handed their buckles. There was a lot of hobbling up to get the buckle from Chrissy. (She wasn’t moving too well herself, having completed the event in 24:34:54. I think it was her 12th finish in the 16 years of the event. Congrats, Chrissy, on your finish. And thanks to you and Stan. A first-class couple running a first-class event.) I’m sure I was grinning idiotically when I picked mine up.
For what it’s worth, my finishing time of 21:47:42 places me 14th out of 81 finishers (127 starters). And, for everybody keeping score at home, the first place girl was 13th and the second place girl was 15th.
At this point in my stories, I usually try to put something in that will make Renate get all teary-eyed. She knows, but I’ll say it again. Renate, honey, I love you very much. I am so, so glad we get to do these things together. Thanks, very much, for all that you do.
And, that’s about it. Thanks, everybody, for reading. Maybe I’ll see you down the trail some day. Or on the roads. Next major event for Renate and me is a return to Disney. She’s going to do the half again and I’m going to do battle with Goofy for a second time. Then maybe another little 100 mile run in Texas.
Miscellaneous notes and observations . . .
I kept the long-sleeve shirt tied around my waist all the way from Powerline. On a couple of random occasions, I thought about putting it on, but I didn’t. The weather was absolutely perfect. The only time I really got chilled was standing at the aid stations at night and then the first little bit of walking from them. Once I was steadily underway, I was fine.
The inside of my yellow sleeveless shirt was pretty grubby, but not the outside. For what that’s worth.
My flashlight and headlight batteries lasted all night with no noticeable dimming. I was carrying spare batteries for both and Renate even had some in the crew backpack. You can never have too many batteries, I figure.
I peed early and often, which was a good thing. Never did have to be like a bear and poop in the woods. Also a good thing.
We were warned at the pre-run meeting that it was hunting season and, if we had to use the woods, not to make any animal noises. I did encounter one hunter early to mid afternoon. He was wheeling his wheelbarrow up the road. I asked if he had any luck and he said yes, though I didn’t notice any carcasses in the wheelbarrow. I still don’t really understand the wheelbarrow.
I tried to get a Cardinals score at a couple of the aid stations. At one (Powerline going out, maybe), a couple of guys were listening on the car radio and told me the Cards were losing. Sometime at night I asked one of the ham radio guys. “Sorry, sir, I haven’t heard,” he said.
I don’t remember there being any roots at all. Not surprising on the gravel road sections, but I don’t think there were any on the Ouachita Trail portion, either. There were plenty of rocks, though, and I almost took a real header on two occasions. Though, and I’m probably jinxing myself for the next event, I never had to touch my hands down. I did twist my left ankle enough to generate a yelp.
There was a Team Competition, between states. There had to be four finishers from a state to be counted, and then it was an age/gender re-calibration of the times and the lowest total won. All weekend, Chrissy was abusing Texas. “Texas sucks.” She said that every chance she got. (By the way, the nice belt buckles are made in Texas.) Pennsylvania had four entrants, but only three of us finished, so we didn’t count as a state. Arkansas won for the whatever year in a row.
Ted introduced me to Tom Brennan, the winner, Sunday morning before the awards. A real nice guy. It was his first 100 mile run. Ever. So much for me being the fastest 100 mile virgin.
Renate gave the chair, cooler, and lantern she picked up at Wal-Mart to a local couple. The girl was an aid station volunteer, working the scale at Powerline. The guy was a fellow competitor. I didn’t catch their names.
I wore my belt buckle proudly on the way home. I’d take Ironman and marathon finisher medals off pretty much after leaving the race site and never put them back on. I don’t think I’ve ever worn an Ironman finisher t-shirt. But, I wore the belt buckle. And, I’ll wear it again on special occasions. Such as for the surprise 50th anniversary party we had for my parents the weekend after Arkansas.