2007 Vermont 100 Mile Endurance Run
Vermont 100 Mile Endurance Run
South Woodstock, Vermont

Saturday & Sunday, July 21 & 22, 2007

The Stuff Before The Story

I guess I have to recognize that I’m not a very bright individual.  “Well, duh,” everybody says in unison.  “You’re going to run a hundred miles.  Where’s the intelligence in that?”  Well, the good news is that I think the light in my head finally flickered a little.  The bad news is that it took a long walk on a dark night to get to that point.

But, I don’t want to get to the end of the story before I’ve had a chance to tell it, so, sit back, grab something to drink, and come along on a journey.  I’ll try and keep a pokey pace so that everybody can keep up.  The impatient amongst you can just look at the pictures and probably get a good idea of the trip.

I’ll put the standard disclaimer in.  I don’t know things like road names as I’m running.  I did wear my GPS (and then swapped it out for Renate’s at 47.2 miles and swapped back at 70.1) and it seemed to get pretty good satellite reception, so I was aware of distance and pace, though I was taking those numbers with just a little salt since I’m aware that the device is precise but not necessarily accurate.  I also had heart rate numbers while I was wearing mine (Renate’s doesn’t support heart rate monitoring) and, of course, elapsed time.  I was wearing my standard Timex Ironman watch on my right wrist as backup.  Geeks-R-Me.  What can I say.  I like numbers.  I like having the downloads.  It helps me put details like road names into my report making a long report even longer.

Looking back, maybe I should ditch all the technology and just run.  And then write from a more emotional point of view rather than the analytic point of view I tend to take.  Nah.  Once an engineer, always an engineer.  People reading my reports would never believe that I’m much more comfortable with numbers than with words.  “Then why do you use so damn many of them?” they’d ask.  Hey, it’s how I fit all the numbers in.

For some reason, the recollections aren’t really flowing from this race.  Usually when I sit down to write, with a beer in my belly and another by my side, I can look at the course map, my GPS download, and Renate’s pictures and the details just kind of fall into place.  Well, as much as I think they do.  For this report, that’s not really happening.  I wonder if it’s because it wasn’t an out and back course like Arkansas, nor was it a loop (ad nauseum, almost) course like Rocky Raccoon.  In those races, as I passed sections for the second, or more, time, things that happened earlier were refreshed in my mind.  I wonder, also, if the medical situation affected my memory storage abilities.  I remember lots, as I do with every race.  I just can’t place them as clearly as I’ve been able to do for other reports.  I guess I’ll start writing and see what happens.  The beauty of word processing is that it’s easy to go back and cut and paste and add and subtract and embellish and . . .  Well, you get the idea.  You, dear reader, might want to consume more alcohol than you normally do while reading this report.  Future Vermont 100 racers might not want to use this as a point of reference.  So, as they say, without further delay, here we go . . .

The Day Before The Day Of

Well, with the Friday stuff first, which I’ll try and cover quickly since I know everyone is anxious to get on with the running stuff.

Packet pickup at the Silver Hill Meadow race site was quick as there was no line at the packet pickup table.  Then over to the medical volunteer table for a weigh-in (163 pounds) and a blood pressure check (136/80).  Followed by the realization that we had to go back to the lodge to get my drop bag since that had to be put in the proper pile.

There was a bit of muttering under my breath about why I didn’t think to bring it in the first place.  Along with a bit of muttering about whether or not I really needed one.  But, Renate and I drove back to the Lodge to get my drop bag that had my lights, a change of shoes, and a long-sleeve shirt.  And then we drove back.  Fortunately, about a 15 minute drive each way.

The next adventure was the pre-race meeting which was relatively fast and pain free.  I chatted very briefly with Rick and a little longer with Euihwa, who I congratulated on his Western States run a few weeks ago.  Euihwa and another friend, Chris, are doing the Grand Slam – Western States in June, Vermont in July, Leadville Trail in August, and Wasatch Front in September – and it’s nice following along.  I’d like to do it one summer.  (By the way, I know I’ve mentioned Euihwa in other stories, but I’ve never given a pronunciation for his name.  It’s pronounced “E´ wa”.)

Renate and I got together with Randy and Mara and grabbed a corner of a table and waited for the dinner bell.  Where we noticed it was starting to rain.  On all the drop bags that were piling up outside the tent.  Note to self, either use a waterproof drop bag or put the stuff inside into a plastic bag first.  We also noticed that the food line was starting to lengthen, it was already along one side of the tent, so we got up to add to it.  And tried to avoid the rain that was running off the edge of the tent.  By the time serving started, the line was along three edges of the tent.  I don’t think it made it outside, but some people wouldn’t be eating for quite awhile.

It wasn’t too, too bad once things started moving.  The food itself was ok.  We ate pretty quickly, I was about ready to get away from all the people, and we said our “goodbyes” and our “see you tomorrows” and made the trip, again, back to the Lodge.

Where I went through the process of pinning my number to my shirt and doing all the last minute stuff with my gear that I had already done about a million times.  Well, I did need something to do while quaffing a couple of pints of Guinness.

Fairly early to bed and a feeble attempt to get some sleep, because . . .

Race Morning

The 4 AM start was going to be the earliest race start I had ever dealt with.  Heck, even Ironman races start at the semi-civilized hour of 7 AM.  With my need to get my body functioning as well as my compulsiveness about being the first one to the race site, a 1:30 AM wake up was in store.

Unfortunately, I slept even worse than I normally do the night before an event.  I was overly fixated on the early wake up and I kept tossing and turning.  I know I eventually fell asleep because I awoke with a start at 1:15 AM.  Recognizing that I probably wouldn’t fall back asleep, I got up and started putzing around.  If I had to guess, I’d say I ended up with about an hour and a half of some sort of sleep.  Well, a lack of sleep hadn’t really hindered me in previous races.  Here’s hoping it wouldn’t for this one.

The normal stuff and Renate and I were in the car heading south to the race site about 2:30 in the morning.  Roger and Mary Ivy, frequent travel partners and co-Sherpas, are glad they haven’t signed on for this 100 mile stuff.  Heck, they’re thinking, Ironman triathlons are bad enough.

Obviously there’s no traffic on the roads.  Unless you count the folks heading home from the bars after last call.  We had been warned by the race folks that the police were rather diligent about enforcing the speed limit, but we didn’t see any on our trip to Silver Hill Meadow.  And the other obvious thing, because of my “get there to help them set up” philosophy, was that we got a good parking spot at the race site.

Plus, there was no line at the porta-potties.  So, I took advantage of that and took care of business.  By flashlight.  What a sport.

On the way back to the Jeep, I checked in at the check-in table.  And, no Morgan, I didn’t get to help set up the table.  Nor did I ask if I was first.  But, I got that taken care of, I was an “official” starter, and I headed back the Jeep and Renate to get my stuff together and to put on my race clothes.  And, not for the first time, I was aware of an upset stomach.  Let me go back more to the beginning of the morning.

Normally I eat two Pop Tarts as I’m gathering stuff together in the morning then I have two more on the drive to the race site.  I wasn’t feeling all peachy while eating the first two, but I know I needed something in my stomach.  (I was going to call it nutrition, but Pop Tarts can’t easily be called nutrition.)  I was kind of hoping it was just some pre-race nervousness.  When I could only get one down on the drive over, I started to get just a little bit more concerned, though I was still just thinking nerves.  I really didn’t want to get into a negative mindset right from the beginning of the day.  I was telling myself that I’d feel better once things got underway.  Well, let me get back to the task at hand.

It was about time to leave the comfort, such as it was, of the car and head over to the starting area.

Most people were standing under the tent near the starting line.  Lots of chattering back and forth.  A fair amount of it the nervous sort, I’m sure.  Bob Curci recognized me and called out in greeting.  He had driven all night and was going to crew/pace Chris Mortensen.  Now, all he had to do was find him.  Joe Galioto picked me out of the crowd – a needle in a haystack?  the gray hair and moustache probably help – and introduced himself.  We have a mutual friend in Bruce Marshall, though Joe was mildly stunned when I mentioned that I had never actually met Bruce, we’ve just exchanged emails and notes back and forth.  Still, I’d consider Bruce a friend and I look forward to a face to face one of these days.  Maybe in Boston in ’09. 		        
Getting ready at the car – 3:22 AM
Yep, that’s 3:22 in the morning.


Under the tent at the starting line – 3:41 AM
Bob is looking for Chris – it’s kind of hard to be a crew if you can’t find your runner.  I’m in the background, chatting with Joe.

A couple of pre-race pictures . . . about 3:55 AM

Chatting with Randy and Mara
With the Love Of My Life

Soon enough, it was time to peel off the warm up clothes.  I had managed to forget my pre-race (which double as my post-race) clothes – in fact, they’re still sitting on top of the dresser in the guest bedroom – so I borrowed a pair of Renate’s sweat pants (a little longer than capri’s on me and a nice smooth material) and I bought a long-sleeve t-shirt (which came with a free hat) at the resort gift shop.  Anyway, I took them off and handed them to Renate.  A last kiss along with a “see you in 21 miles” and I went to stand amongst my fellow fools.  I got next to Randy.  A handshake and a “Just a walk in the park, Kazansky.”  That was a ritual I used to have with Vincent before getting in the water to start an Ironman.  Seems like it might be a little more appropriate for an ultra run in the woods.  But, no offense Randy, it just didn’t feel right.  Guess we’ll need to work on something for Syracuse.

Oh, I forgot to mention.  There was a bit of music blaring from the speakers at the start line.  Chariots of Fire.  That was nice.  Then it was played again.  Ok.  And again.  I think by the time we started it was played two dozen times.  Well, maybe only five or six.  But it was the only song.  Funny thing is, it’s the first song that was on the pre-race CD Renate and I listened to on the drive over.  Surprisingly enough, it didn’t get stuck in my head for a hundred miles.  Probably being an instrumental helped in that regard.

Starting Line (0.0 Miles) to Pretty House (21.1 Miles)

You know, I don’t remember any pre-race words of warning.  Just a periodic shout about how much time until the race started.  Sixty seconds . . . thirty seconds . . . fifteen seconds . . . then a countdown from ten.  At zero we all started off into a dark morning, everybody with their own goals and ghosts, their own desires and demons.  It was going to be a long day, no matter how you sliced it up.  I moved along with the crowd, closer to the front than the rear, and listened to the back and forth chit-chat, randomly participating, mostly just alone with my thoughts amongst a crowd.  In the early morning darkness.

There were 29 aid stations scattered around the countryside.  Ten of them were unmanned stops, supposedly just jugs of water and sports drink, leaving 19 manned (or womanned) stations.  Of those 19, Renate would be able to meet me at nine.  It was a tad strange that the first one of those wasn’t until 21 miles into the day.  Well, hopefully, that would give her the opportunity to catch a few z’s while waiting for me to show up.  I had given her an estimated arrival time of 3.5 hours after the start, about a ten minute per mile pace.  Probably too aggressive, but that’s my (bad) habit.

Guess I’ll just run along and see what happens.  According to my weather.com printout, the temperature at the 4 AM start was 60° with a humidity level of 78%, a bit on the muggy side.  It wasn’t supposed to get warmer than the low 80’s, so it wasn’t going to be as brutal a day as it could have been for a late-July run in the northeast of the U S of A.  Something to be thankful for.

The course had been advertised as 70% jeep or dirt roads and that’s what we started off with.  It’s a little disconcerting running in the dark, but it’s more easily done on a road type surface than on trails.  The initial 2.5 miles were on Folding Hills Road.  As with the entire day, ups and downs and not really any flats, folding hills, as it were.  Then a right turn onto some trail stuff.  There was a nice volunteer there telling us we would be running on trails and some sections would be mucky.

We couldn’t see it, but there was a babbling brook off to the right.  And the nice volunteer was right, there was some muck.  Not bad and it was easily avoided.  We were on the trail section for only about 15 minutes, just a stretch to get from one dirt road to another.

I didn’t memorize the distances between aid stations but I vaguely remembered that the first couple were of the unmanned variety.  At this stage of the run, all I was waiting for was dawn’s early light to break so I could turn off my flashlight and put it away.

We made a few turns, following the yellow plates with the big black arrows and started up Densmore Hill Road.  The ups up to this stage had been mostly of the gradual kind.  Things that could be run up patiently.  For the most part, they didn’t require, or suggest, walking.  At least to me.

It was along Densmore Hill Road where it got light enough that I could extinguish mine.  And it was also where we came upon the first aid station, surprisingly enough called Densmore Hill.  It was seven miles into the day and was supposed to be an unmanned stop.  There were a couple of volunteers lending assistance, but I declined anything.

At each of the aid stations, there was a yellow sign with the race mileage covered, along with the distance to the next aid station and the distance to the next handler aid station.  It was good information to have though I often left any given aid station without committing that information to memory.  I’d get ten yards down the trail and forget how far it was to the next stop.  So it goes.

At this first aid station, I was running just a tick under ten minutes per mile pace.  For the most part I was feeling ok.  Not great, though.  As I mentioned, I woke up with a little bit of an upset stomach.  I had popped one of my ginger pills early.  They had worked for me in other races, but it wasn’t doing as much as I had hoped.  At least up to this point.  I was doing my best to take in nutrition and water.  At this stage of the run I was still figuring things would settle down and my internal system would return to a somewhat normal setting.  In hindsight – and there’s going to be a lot of that in this report – I should have backed way off the pace and allowed my system to regroup.  In my defense, your honor, the ginger pills had worked for an upset stomach in other long races.  In my stupidity, I had never had to take one in the first hour of a race.  I pressed on.

And up.  It did seem like we were trending more up than down.  But it was all run-able and I was making decent time.  I noticed an Ironman tattoo on the calf of a fellow runner and I asked him which race he did.  “Lake Placid,” he said, and we talked about that event for a while.  I joked that we could finish up the Vermont 100 and then head on over to Lake Placid and do the triathlon that was taking place on Sunday.  I wonder how long it takes to drive from Woodstock, Vermont to Lake Placid, New York.  Maybe I’ll do that combination next year.  And maybe I should just get through this race first.

I was watching the pace and heart rate numbers on my watch and things seemed to be under control.  I did stop and refresh my water bottle at the second aid station.  Like the first, advertised as unmanned, but manned.  This one was called “Dunham Hill.”  I think if I had paid any kind of pre-run attention to the list of aid stations and noticed that the first couple had “hill” in their names, it might have dawned on, even, me that it was not going to be a flat run.  Well, as I said, so far the hills weren’t really bad.  I had my GPS set on “average pace” (along with elapsed time, total distance, and current heart rate) so I was aware of being right around ten minutes per mile up to this point.  That had really been my target pace for the first forty to fifty miles, so I felt under control.  Except for that stomach thing.

But, things got a little better after leaving the second aid station.  At least running-wise.  It was pretty much a long, gradual four mile downhill stretch, the downhill side of Garvin Hill Road, onto Heartland Hill Road, and down Happy Valley Road.  I commented to a guy I caught up with that, for sure, we were going to have to pay for all this nice downhill running.  We cross over Woodstock Road (routes 4 & 12), complete with a police presence.  It seems to be downtown Taftsville and there are a few folks out cheering.  It’s about 6:30 in the morning, so I’m guessing they were somehow related to the race.  Or insomniacs.  It seemed to be a bit early for tourists.

Some of the recollections from this area are fuzzy, but that’s never stopped me in the past.  I’m going to say we crossed over the big river under a covered bridge.  Well, we used the bridge, but it was covered.  Pretty neat.  I wonder how old it is.  I wonder if it has a Troll.  “I wonder . . .  I wa-wa-wa-wonder . . . why . . . why-why-why-why . . . she ran away . . .”  And there was the first of the full blown aid stations somewhere around here, but I don’t recall which side of the big road it was on.  Looking at my downloaded elevation profile shows this to be the low point of the first half of the course.  I was just over 15 miles into my day and I was just under a 9:45 per mile pace.  That long stretch of downhill sure helped with that.  My natural tendency to run too hard too early also contributed.  But, I was really targeting something closer to ten minutes per mile and I wasn’t really happy with how I was running the race.  I knew I’d be running up soon and the pace would slow.  Plus the heat of the day would increase and my pace would slow some more.  And, if I didn’t get this stomach/nutrition thing corrected the pace would skyrocket in the wrong direction.  Well, let’s see how it goes.  But, I’ll tell you, if there was a bar in Taftsville that was open, I might have pulled up a stool and watched the race go by.  Obviously, this was not a mental high point.  But, things can always change.

And, sure enough, that happened.  I mean the terrain changed.  We do a brief stretch of River Road alongside the river and make a right turn and start up something called High Pastures Road.  All righty, then.  Guess we’ll be heading up about now.  I knew it was about five miles until the Pretty House Aid Station, the first location where I would see my crew.  I took stock of my gel flasks and my nutrition bottle – I was using my normal nutrition products, Hammer Gel in the flasks and Perpetuem mixed up double strength with a few Succeed! Caps in the bottle – and both seemed to be in good shape.  I had finished one gel flask and was into the second.  That was a good sign.  It showed that I was working on nutrition.  Still, I wasn’t feeling all hunky-dory.  I popped another ginger pill, hoping to solve the stomach issues.

The post-event hindsight says that, even though my heart rate was good and my legs were feeling good, the stomach issue should have carried more weight and when I became aware of the pace, no matter what the reason, I should have backed off.  (Guess you really did raise a dummy, Mom.  It’s not your fault though.)  How smart is it to keep attached to your goals, heck, to even start the day with them, when things are a bit out of whack?  Do you start off aggressively with the hopes that things will get better?  Or, do you wait for things to get better and then ramp up?  I obviously went with option number one.  I was still running to beat Randy, goal number one.

So, I plugged along up toward the high pastures of Vermont.  At least I was bright enough to walk when it was required and to run when that was allowed.  On one of the serious uphill hikes, a guy with legs that must be five feet long passed me.  Each one of his steps was equal to about three of mine.  I commented on his uphill walking ability and he said, yeah, he could probably win a race that was entirely uphill.  Turns out he was Nathan, a friend of Randy and Mara.

There was a, truly, unmanned aid station – called South Pomfret, if anybody cares – somewhere near the high pastures.  Once again, I didn’t stop as I had refilled my water bottle at the Taftsville Bridge Aid Station just a couple of miles earlier.  I just continued up, up, and away.

(I’m going to stop with the road names.  They just clutter up the report.  If anybody is that curious, they can go to the GPS data I downloaded to MotionBased.)

That four miles of downhill I had heading towards Taftsville turned into about four miles or so of uphill heading away.  I knew from talking with Chris and Euiwha that the course was always up and down or down and up.  There was no flat stuff to speak of.  I guess I just wasn’t prepared for the length of some of the ups and downs.  I expected more rolling stuff.  Guess I’ll have to see what the rest of the course has in store as I get to it.  Good thing I never fixate on instantaneous pace when I’m running these things.  I always keep the GPS on average pace.

Finally, I made it to the Pretty House Aid Station, in Pomfret.  Wow!  I’ve been to Taftsville, Pomfret . . . sounds like the beginning of one of those hotel commercials.  I neglected to look at the house to see if it was pretty.  I guess I’ll have to ask Renate.  I didn’t spend much time there, only replacing my fuel bottle and both my gel flasks.

Pretty House Stats:  21.1 miles in 3:30:56 for a 9:59.8 pace.  Other than my upset stomach, things were going well.  And, obviously I didn’t know this, but Randy was about fifteen minutes behind me.  And he was on to his second shirt of the day, changing from yellow to orange.  I could include some pictures of Randy, but it’s not his story. 		        
Pretty House Aid Station – 7:32 AM
I’m checking my bottle of fuel. It’s about two thirds empty.
Decent, but not great, for 3.5 hours into the race.

Pretty House (21.1 Miles) to Camp 10 Bear (47.2 Miles)

There was a brief stretch of pavement running shortly after leaving Pretty House.  Chris and a couple of others caught up with me as I got back onto the dirt road stuff.  One of them was Nathan, Randy and Mara’s friend, and he apologized for calling me “old.”  Apparently I came into Pretty House right with him – I still don’t know how I got close to him after that stretch of uphill walking – and he asked “Who’s that fast, old guy?”  Renate and Mara told him I was only 48.  I guess the gray hair really does make me look old.  Should I invest in that Just For Men hair coloring gunk?  Chris mentioned that he found a gray hair the other day – I think he’s 28 – and took his cap off his head to reveal hair that was about an eighth of an inch in length.  I joked that he finds a gray hair and shaves his head.  Since I started turning gray back in college, I’m used to it.

The other guy in our group was John.  I don’t know if he and Chris knew each other, but they were chatting as we were running along.  Nathan had picked up the pace and was a little bit ahead and that was the last I saw of him.  For Chris, John, and me, it was just steady running.  The temperature was approaching 70° and the humidity was starting to drop.  It really wasn’t that uncomfortable.  We just headed on towards the next crew, or handlers as the race literature called them, spot at the Stage Road Aid Station, nine miles from Pretty House.

While we’re running along, I told Chris the correct pronunciation of Renate’s name since I had heard him mispronounce it back at the aid station.  He was all embarrassed, but I told him not to worry about it.  I asked about his girlfriend.  Turns out she’s now a fiancé.  Diane’s her name and I mentioned that I couldn’t really mispronounce that.  Some good natured back and forth banter.  (Renate did mention that it caught her off-guard when, the next time Chris saw her, he pronounced her name correctly.)  Chris, as I mentioned towards the beginning of this story, is doing the Grand Slam – Western States, Vermont, Leadville, Wasatch Front – this summer and we talked a little about that.  He said Diane was going to crew for him at all of them, and we both agreed how much more fun it is to do these events with the ones we love the most being with us every step of the way.  I usually save this for the end, but, Renate, I love you very much and, I’m very appreciative of all you do for me.  Now, back to the pain and suffering at foot.

After the bit of pavement running there was about three miles of the standard dirt roads and an unmanned aid station.  Along the way, Chris was giving me some insight as to what to expect over the next little section of course.  He told me the view at the top of the upcoming hill was worth the climb.  I wasn’t really sure about that.  I’m not a “take a look around, see which way the wind blows” type of runner.  I spend most of my time with tunnel vision (something that will come to haunt me later in the day).  I asked Chris when had the horses caught him the previous times he had done the race?  He said it was prior to the big hill, so we were ahead of the game.  I was happy to still be ahead of the Calvary.  We left the dirt roads and started on some trail running.

I suppose I should mention why I was asking Chris about horses.  Well, it was because horses, and their riders, were set loose on the course an hour after the runners started.  Does that help?  Probably not.  Ok.  Let me go back a little further.

These 100 mile events originally began as endurance horse rides.  I’m reasonably sure the first one was the Western States Trail Ride that started way back when.  The first runner to do the 100 mile course was Gordy Ainsleigh in 1974.  And things kind of went from there to the point where there are more than forty 100 mile runs in the United States.  I don’t know how many endurance rides there are, the Western States – Tevis Cup for sure, but the Vermont 100 Endurance Run and Ride is the last one where horses and runners are on the same course at the same time.  Hence my concern about where the horses were.  Not that there was supposed to be any concern.  The race director told us, at the pre-race meeting, that the horses liked the runners and would be more inclined to move at our speed and be sociable.  Be that as it may (Hey, Uncle Peter!  How are you doing?) I intended to be semi-cautious when in the vicinity of something that outweighed me by a bit.  And, even more than when I started.

Anyway, I hope this answers more questions than it raises.  I’ll now return to my running adventure.

At the beginning of the trail section, Chris, John, and I were still running together.  And the three of us had picked up some company, in the form of a German Shepherd.  He just kept trotting along with us, nice and friendly and staying just a bit ahead, but glancing back to make sure we were following him.  I thought he had come from one of the houses we had passed, so, at one point, I told him to go back home.  Afterwards, Renate told me there were several crew dogs that had gotten loose and lost.  Looking at the map afterwards, it was easy to see how he may have gotten from the Pretty House Aid Station to where we found him.  So, he may have been one of those lost crew dogs.  Hopefully, whatever he was, he made it back to wherever he belonged.  But, for now, he was still following us.  From the front.

Soon enough we started steadily climbing.  Chris just kept saying it was going to be worth it.  And, he was right.  Sort of.  It was a nice view of all the surrounding hills, though I still didn’t take much of a look around.  Nor did I truly appreciate where we were.  We were in a little meadow-type section at the top and the race photographer was there, taking pictures of the pain and suffering.  I was just running with Chris and John.  Then Chris warned me to be careful on the downhill.  It was some ankle high grass stuff, with a few loose rocks thrown in for fun.  And a bit on the steep side.  I let Chris and John go on ahead and I just puttered my way down the hill.  We had lost our German Shepherd friend, he didn’t feel like running up the hill, I guess.

I made it down the hill, finished up with the ankle high grass, and got back onto a jeep road.  The Stage Road Aid Station was just up ahead somewhere.  I was doing a little bit of solo running.  I remember thinking, as I looked at my watch, that it was about nine in the morning.  I should be sitting somewhere sipping on a cup of coffee.  Instead, I was five hours into a day that, up to this point, had been pretty up and down.  Both the terrain and my mental/physical state.  Wheeeee!  Let’s go for a ride.  All the way to the Stage Road Aid Station. 		        
Photo courtesy of Spectrum Photography

Stage Road Aid Station – 30.1 Miles into the day – 9:06 AM

Are we having fun, yet?
I have no idea why I’m “high fiving” Mara.

Stage Road Stats:  30.1 miles in 5:04:52 for a 10:07.7 pace.

I got yelled at by both Renate and Mara when I turned in my partially consumed fuel bottle.  I used the excuse that it had only been an hour and a half so I wasn’t that far behind.  Truth be told was that my system wasn’t working all that well and taking in nutrition wasn’t going as well as it should have been.  Stage Road was an “optional” medical station.  I could have stepped on a scale when it was offered, and it might have been a good idea.  But, believing that no news is good news, I just got a new bottle and got going.  The next handler station was 17.1 miles away. So, if pace stayed reasonably close to what I was doing, just under three hours away.  Hopefully I’d be able to turn in an empty, or just about, fuel bottle and not get yelled out by my crew and my friends.

Just to keep you all up to date with my race against Randy, I’ll tell you that he pulled into Stage Road about twenty minutes after I did.  It gave Renate a chance to take some pictures of the horses.

Stage Road Aid Station – 30.1 Miles into the day

The horses, they are a coming.
Ok.  Here’s a picture of Randy.  Does he need a new shirt?

Leaving Stage Road, there was about a fifteen minute hike straight up a hill on trails.  I came out of the trail sort of onto somebody’s driveway.  (I know this happened a few times.  Whether or not this was one of them is for somebody more familiar with the course to say.)  Then it was pretty much straight down hill to Route 12.  Which was good, seeing how it had been straight uphill to the guy’s driveway.

Crossing over Route 12 (I’m sure there was some police and/or volunteer presence) got me to the Route 12 Aid Station.  That used to be a crew stop, but it wasn’t this year.  No big deal since I just saw Renate less the four miles prior.  Wait.  I don’t mean that to sound like it did.  I like to see the LOML as often as possible.  I just didn’t need any fuel replacement.  That’s why it was no big deal.

For anybody keeping score, the Route 12 Aid Station was number eight of 29.  Hey, I’m more than a quarter of the way through the aid stations.  And, it seemed to be the usual of leaving an aid station and going straight up a hill.  So it goes.  I’m a third of the way done.  Mileage-wise, anyway.  At 5:45 of race time, I’m hoping I’m more than a quarter of the way done, time-wise.  Are those enough fractions for you people?

I’m going to guess it was about halfway through the four mile stretch between Routes 12 and 4 where the horses started passing me, somewhere about 35 miles into the day.  There was a group of four, followed by a single.  I mentioned to the single guy that the four were just up ahead, but he said he wanted to ride alone at this stage.  It was weird having the horses around, but they were nice about it.  Good thing.  They outweighed me by quite a bit.  That stretch was like all the others, up . . . up . . . up followed by down . . . down . . . down.  There were some spots on the course where the runners went one way towards their aid station and the horses went a different way to theirs.  I came trotting down a hill to a “T” intersection.  I was supposed to go right.  There was a bunch of people here, maybe a half dozen.  I vaguely remember them having clipboards and I’m pretty sure they were horse volunteers or crews.  They were reading the runner names from a list of entries and they would cheer us on as we would go running by.  That was nice.  But, it was a good thing it was an easy bit of downhill running.

There were volunteers and a police presence at Route 4.  “Cross over here, go about a quarter mile, then make a left and go through the covered bridge.”  Ok.  Sounds simple enough.  The quarter mile of Route 4 was kind of busy with car traffic.  But, there were orange cones in the middle of the road, so the drivers were aware of something going on.  Not that that’s always a good thing with drivers.  And, it was nice running through the covered bridge.  I still wonder the name of the river.  (I won’t sing this time . . . my little runaway.)

There was an aid station on the other side of the covered bridge.  (I’m all the way up to aid station number 10 of 29 and just over 39 miles as the runner runs.)  I started trying solid food.  I grabbed a peanut butter and jelly sandwich piece.  Other than being hard to swallow because my mouth was so dry, it was fine.  The big question was, how would it settle?

I still had about eight miles to make it to the next crew spot.  Running was going well.  It was starting to get a little warmer out, according to my weather.com page it was in the low 70s, but not unbearable, though I did pour a couple cups of water over my head at the aid station.  There was a lot of out in the open running, and that didn’t help matters.  Chris and I were running together and we noticed some horses cooling off in the river.  Chris voiced the idea that maybe we should do that, as well, but we stayed on the road.

The horses started to get a bit more regular, both in their appearance and with their systems.  The riders would always announce their presence, though it was hard not to notice some thundering hooves behind me.  The dirt roads were fine.  They were plenty wide for me on the one side and the horses on the other.  Some back and forth chatter.  Me and the riders.  Not me and the horses.  Just so you know. 		        
I’m not entirely sure where this picture was taken, but I’m going to
guess it was the Lincoln Covered Bridge Aid Station, 39.2 miles
into the day.  That would make it about 10:30 in the morning.
Photo courtesy of Spectrum Photography

Turns out it was about a two mile uphill section, complete with an unmanned aid station at the top.  Oh, wait.  There was a bit more uphill after the other uphill.  Why the heck does that happen.  I get to the top of the hill and think everything is fine.  I go around the bend and there’s more uphill.  I’m forty plus miles into the day.  It’s, give or take, 11:30 in the morning.  I’ve been up since before 1:30 AM.  I’ve been running since 4:00 AM.  It’s starting to get warm.  Heck, it’s been warm.  I’m starting to not feel great.  Heck, again, I’ve never really felt great.  That look on my face in the last picture probably sums up my mood right about now.  Well, based on experience with this course, what goes up will go down.  And, then, back up.  But, let’s not focus on that thought.

I do get to run downhill to Lillian’s Aid Station, right before Route 106.  I don’t have any notes, but I probably topped off my water bottle.  And, then, a stretch on pavement, Route 106, of about a mile.  I’m thinking this is about where I passed Chris.  He seemed to be struggling, but we had been leapfrogging all morning so I expected him to come back at me.  I told him that, and I told him to keep plugging away.  And, I ran on and I caught up with John.  And we went onto a little trail stuff next to the pavement.  The Camp 10 Bear Aid Station was a few miles up the road.  Or down the road.  Or trail. I didn’t know what was coming.  I knew it was a crew spot, I’d get to see Renate.  I knew it was a medical spot, I’d get to get weighed.

I was vaguely aware that I wasn’t doing very well with nutrition, but I had no idea as to what to expect.  My previous experience with mid-race weigh-ins was back in Arkansas last October.  At the first stop there, I was two pounds underweight which was really no problem.  But, it was cooler.  And, more importantly, I was taking in calories.  I looked at my fuel bottle and wasn’t real happy to see it about half full.  I didn’t even bother looking at my gel flask, knowing that I hadn’t had a hit from it for miles.  I pressed on.  A little downhill section into the Camp 10  Bear Aid Station.

Camp 10 Bear Stats:  47.2 miles in 8:10:57 for a 10:24.1 pace.

I stepped on the scale, as requested.  I gave them my starting weight from yesterday’s weigh-in, 163 pounds.  I watched the weigh-guy slide the little counterbalance down . . . down . . . down.  Ok.  You can stop now.  Things are balanced.  It stopped on the 158.  Not too good, but still ahead of the 5% loss that would have earned me a seat in the food court while I boosted my weight back up to a satisfactory level. 		        
Camp 10 Bear Aid Station – 12:12 PM
John and I were running by all these crew vehicles with all
the crew members clapping and cheering.  I mentioned
that we better not stop and walk here or we’d get booed.

It didn’t help matters when I couldn’t get my fuel belt clipped.  I probably looked like I was semi-incoherent.  I’m sure the medical man didn’t have a warm, fuzzy feeling about my condition and all of that earned me an escort out of the aid station.  The doc was taking my pulse as we walked up the hill.  It probably looked like we were holding hands.  He asked if I had done an ultra before.  I think he was happy to hear that I had done ten, including two other 100s.  I also mentioned that I had done a bunch of Ironman triathlons.  Finally, he left me on my own with the instructions of drinking . . . drinking . . . and drinking some more.  Ok.  Stock the aid stations with Guinness and I’ll see what I can do.

Being Escorted Out Of Camp 10 Bear

Just me and my doctor . . .
About to be chicked by girls on horses . . .

And the horses just keep coming . . .
Hey, Doc, shouldn’t you be getting back soon . . .

I forgot to mention that I had swapped out my GPS for Renate’s.  Otherwise I would have had a heart rate number to give the doc and he wouldn’t have had to hold my arm.  And, not that it really mattered, it “reset” my race distance and average pace back to zero.

Randy arrived at the Camp 10 Bear Aid Station about five minutes after I left.  It wouldn’t be long before he caught me.  My pace had been steadily slowing.  My lack of nutrition was going to be a big problem from here on out if I didn’t get a handle on things.  It was getting warmer, according to my weather.com printout it was about 77°.  A good thing was that the temperature was not nearly as bad as it could have been.  I shudder to think how bad things would have been for me with temps in the mid to high 80s.  Another good thing was that the crew stations would become much more frequent.  After only three in the first 47 miles, there were six crew spots in the last 53 miles.

Camp 10 Bear (47.2 Miles) back to Camp 10 Bear (70.1 Miles)

I didn’t think I was in any danger, but I did resolve to make a better effort at getting fluid and fuel into my body.  I also recognized that I had to slow down a little.  I came to the conclusion that I probably wasn’t going to beat Randy.  I had covered not quite half of the day’s mileage.  I was thankful that it wasn’t any hotter or I probably would have been escorted to a seat in the medical tent rather than back onto the road.  At this point, I had a 23 mile loop before I returned to Camp 10 Bear and another visit with the scale.  I caught up with the guy ahead of me, wearing nice Flag of England shorts.  We had a brief chat about the cautious nature of the medical folks.  He mentioned that it had cost him a high finish in an earlier race when he had to sit and gain weight.  I countered that I understood their concern.  The medical volunteers were only looking out for our well being and our mental state was not going to be 100%, so, even if we thought we felt fine, we may have been closer to the edge than was good.  I wished him good luck, along with a “God save the Queen” and pushed on.

It was a little rolly, easy running, after the doc finally sent me on my way.  Until I come around the bend and, boom, another of the long, steep, uphills that seemed to pop up regularly.  According to my post-race calculations, this was about an 11% grade over three quarters of a mile.  (Now, remember, take all this with a heavy dose of alcohol.  It’s downloaded from my GPS.  Suffice it to say, the hill was steep whatever the number.)

I made it successfully to Pinky’s, Aid Station number 15, the first stop after Camp 10 Bear.  I got my water bottle topped off and, I think, tried to eat something.  I was chatting with the head volunteer and he mentioned that he thought I was in 13th place.  That just screwed me up, more than it helped.  It was right about nine hours on the race clock.  Hey, double that and add an hour and I get 19 hours.  I knew I wasn’t racing smart, but, upon hearing that piece of news and doing some fuzzy math, I immediately thought about a top ten finish.  “You know,” I thought, “if I pass a guy or two, another one or two might drop and I could be top ten.”  Never mind that I was barely halfway through and I was heading downhill physically, and mentally.  I left the aid station trying to pick it up.  What’s the phrase, “stupid is as stupid does.”  Plus, I remember this station as being one of those where I asked, repeatedly, how far to the next stop?  Still, I made the little left hitch and ventured forth.  I had roughly six miles to get to Renate.  I was still ahead of Randy.  I could probably count to ten by threes.  Wait.  That doesn’t compute.  Ah, heck.  As my friend Bob Mina says, “No brain, no pain.”  Actually, I think he says “No brain, no headache.”  But, you get the idea.

There’s another manned aid station, Birmingham’s, at Birmingham Road, about three miles from Pinky’s.  The manned stations are starting to become more frequent and the unmanned stations less so.  A contrast to the first half of the run where there were quite a few unmanned tables of liquids.  I took a split here and I was looking at numbers, but they weren’t telling the real story.  Remember, I had swapped my GPS for Renate’s back at Camp 10 Bear, mile 47, so I didn’t have a true “average race pace.”  I remembered that I had been near a 10:30 per mile pace back then.  Since then, I had covered the nearly seven miles in about a 12:30 pace.  There was the hellacious climb early in this loop, plus the start of the section entailed a walk with the doctor.  Bottom line, was that I had too many numbers running through my head and not enough fuel going to my brain to do anything with them.  Still, I continued to fixate on them.

The stretch, after leaving Birmingham’s, to Aid Station number 17, Tracer Brook, was pretty much all downhill running.  I’m able to pick up my pace a little.  I’m actually able to run.  I know I’m still doing the mental up and down routine.  This might have been the area where John and I got back together – I think he might have spent a bit more time at Camp 10 Bear than even I did – and ran along.  Never really having any conversation, just out for a quiet run together.  We came upon one of the horse holding pens – they had to stop for a few mandatory vet checks and rest periods during their day – and got lots of cheering from the horse people.  Towards the end of the horse area, a lone female rider (without her horse) pops up out of the bushes, making some comment about it not being a good place to take a break.  She asks how many runners are behind us.  “Oh, about a hundred and twenty, give or take,” I say.  “But don’t worry.  What you’re doing is nothing new to us.”  John and I got a chuckle out of that.  And we ran on, though he soon put some distance on me.

Here’s another piece of unnecessary information, I was about ten minutes behind the lead girl at Tracer Brook.  And, as I calculated later, I’m about three minutes ahead of Randy.  I’m kind of surprised he’s still behind me.

Tracer Brook Stats:  57.0 miles in 10:06:38 for a 10:38.6 pace. 		        
Coming into Tracer Brook Aid Station – 2:08 PM
The horses also had numbers.  Written on their flanks.
I kept looking for horse number 133, my number, figuring
I’d be allowed to ride that one.

Tracer Brook Aid Station – 57 Miles into the day

I can’t stand up straight, I have a stupid grin on my face . . .
Yeah, I’m in complete control.
Here’s Randy again.  Hey, Randy, I’m ahead of you, not behind you.
You have to look the other way to see me.

There are about three miles of steady uphill walking after leaving Tracer Brook.  I kind of thought Randy would be tapping me on the shoulder somewhere in this stretch.  And, when I heard “Noone!  I’m coming to get your ass!” I recognized that my major goal, beating Randy, was not going to happen on this day on this course.  Still, it seemed to take him forever to catch up.  I yelled over my shoulder, “What’s taking you so long?”  But, it really wasn’t.  Long, that is.  “I finally caught my rabbit,” he said.  We exchanged mutual words of encouragement and he was by and gone.

There was an unmanned aid station at the top of the hill.  This might have been the one where I arrived with a pretty empty water bottle, some from drinking, some from pouring on my head.  According to my weather.com page, it was about 78°, though it seemed warmer and, as I neared the aid station, I drained most of my water bottle over my head.  When I got to the table, I couldn’t really tell which jug had the energy drink and which one had the plain water.  I took a cup and tested the one I thought to be water.  It was warm, but I was reasonably sure that it was water.  I did have doubts though, because I thought to myself that I really should taste the other jug just to be sure.  But, I didn’t.  I had another cup of the tepid, funky water and filled my water bottle about halfway up.

I took about ten steps away from the aid station and promptly regurgitated that which I had just gurgitated.  (I know that’s not a word, but I figure if I “re” did something then I must have done it without the “re” first.)  That certainly didn’t bode particularly well for the immediate future.  Or, the future future, for that matter.  I figured it was one of two things.  The water was too warm or it wasn’t really water.  It was less than two miles to the next aid station, so I dumped out whatever it was that I had put in my water bottle.  I didn’t want to try anymore, I did have another weigh-in sometime in the distance and throwing up was a good way to make sure I failed to make weight.  I also didn’t want to pour it over my head, since I wasn’t entirely sure it was water.  It was warm, anyway.  I think I mentioned that.

Anyway, after the two liquid burps, my system seemed to settle back down to it’s prior state of just minor agitation.  And, I was even able to take mild advantage of the downhill into Margaritaville.

Of course, I didn’t know where I was when I got there.  Then I recognized the Jimmy Buffett music.  “Hey,” I queried, “is this Margaritaville?”

Margaritaville Stats:  62.1 miles in 11:13:10 for a 10:50.4 pace.  Randy was only five minutes ahead at this point.  Not an insurmountable deficit.  But, I’ve stepped into more of a survival mode than a chase mode.  There will be other races, other chances to try and beat Randy.  Let’s go after goal number two . . . let’s beat Sunday by breaking twenty hours.

It’s probably a good thing I wasn’t aware of the availability of actual margaritas.  Chris told me about it the next day at the race brunch.  Once I found out it was Margaritaville, I remembered that I had my drop bag here.  Renate had already picked it up and just as I mentioned it, she said she had it and would give me my lights at a later aid station.  That was good.  With sunset about 8:30 PM, I wouldn’t need them for another five hours and I didn’t really need to carry them around.  I’m glad at least my crew was coherent and thinking ahead.  All I had to do was ambulate my way down the road. 		        
Coming into Margaritaville Aid Station – 3:14 PM
There’s just so much going on in this picture that you can’t really
see because of the size.  The two volunteers behind me are
wearing Hawaiian shirts.  That should have helped clue me in that
this was Margaritaville.  But, I’m pointing to the aid folks with a
stupid look on my face wondering who put an aid station here in
the middle of nowhere.  I think I’m asking if it’s a horse aid
station or a people aid station.

I got my water bottle filled with clean, fresh, cold water.  I got a new fuel bottle.  Wait.  Let me back up a minute.  This may have been where there was a brief flicker of intelligence on my part.

Since I had emptied my plain water bottle after the upchucking episode, I was sipping more on my bottle of fuel.  That was a good thing.  But, what dawned on me was that maybe I should dilute it a bit and it would go down and not be so upsetting to my system.  I had always mixed my fuel bottles “double strength” for a 3.5 to four hour serving.  I got that idea from my long bike rides.  It never dawned on my that, with running, I was stressing my system much more than I did while biking.  That made it more uncomfortable to take in a thicker solution of calories.  So, I would avoid the fuel bottle and just use the plain water.  By going to a solution with more water and fewer calories, my system would probably be happier.  So, Renate just took my half full bottle of fuel and topped it off with ice and water.

I still wasn’t doing well with my gel.  Nor was I doing well with solid food, the sight of it just turned my stomach.  I was hoping the diluted liquid fuel would help me recover a little.

And, that was another thing about the day.  I think I’m probably writing more in the negative tone.  But, this was a real yoyo type of day, physically as well as mentally.  I’d feel poorly and be shuffling along, but a mile down the road I’d be running along at a decent clip.  And, it was really terrain-independent.  I’d be down in the dumps, just putting one foot in front of the other, and a little bit later I’d be smiling and enjoying my run in the woods.  There didn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason.  I remember that Chris had passed me earlier in the day, when I was in one of my down spots.  He told me to just stick with it, things would get better.  I knew that.  It just seemed to be more ups and downs than in previous runs.  I’m sure the inconsistent fueling was a major factor.

Well, I was still putting one foot in front of the other.  I was still making progress towards the finish line.  Although my goal of beating Randy had vanished, there was still the next goal of beating Sunday.  And, in about eight miles, I’d get to step on the scale and see if I had shrunk anymore.

This is going to sound redundant.  Heck, it is redundant.  There was a downhill leaving Margaritaville followed by a big stretch of uphill.  For a loop section, where we’d end up where we started, there seemed to be much more up than down.  That seemed to be the case for the whole damn day.  Did the state of Vermont only have uphills?  Did you have to go into New Hampshire for some downhills?  How about throwing in some flats just for fun?

Despite my bitching and moaning about the terrain, I made it to the next aid station.  Number 20 on your scorecard . . . Brown School.  As I was pulling up to the table I heard the Grateful Dead music.  I like both Jimmy Buffett and the Grateful Dead, but, if I was a volunteer positioned at an aid station for hours on end, I’d prefer the Grateful Dead.  I mentioned something along those lines to the aid station folks and, obviously, they were in agreement.  I decided it was time to live on the edge and I grabbed a slice of watermelon and started walking away.  Man, that was good.  I backtracked and picked up two more slices before finally heading towards my impending weigh-in.  I had five miles to go to get back to where I once was.  I wonder if the doctor would remember me.  I was sort of hoping not.  So, I set out walking, but I take my time . . . a friend of the devil is a friend of mine . . . if I make weight when I get on the scale . . . I won’t have to spend any time in jail.

Up, up, and away.  Why the heck is everything up?  According to my GPS download, it was a mile and a quarter hike up to the highest point of the race, right around 1940 feet above sea level.  (For what it’s worth, the race started at 1320 feet above sea level.  The lowest point of the day was at 587 feet and there was 18,212 feet of up and, surprisingly it seems, an equal amount of feet down.  That does make sense because the run started and ended at the same point.  Total elevation change for the day was, therefore, 36,424 feet, just under seven miles of ups and downs.  Again, it’s a civilian GPS downloaded to an Internet program.  Take it for what it’s worth.)

After cresting the hill, it turned out to be a long stretch of downhill trotting.  I did have a little quandary.  I sort of had to visit a tree.  But, I didn’t want to lose any weight.  I actually thought this.  On the other hand, the medical personnel like to ask when was the last time you peed.  It had been awhile, but I decided not to go until after the aid station.  I did make sure I drank as much as possible on this downhill stretch.  Had I thought further, I would have poured all my remaining water on my head to further add to my weight.

At the bottom of what turned out to be 2.5 miles of steady downhill – and, true to form for the day, I was bitching about needing some uphill so I could take a walking break – I made a left turn to get to Camp 10 Bear.  Coming towards me was a runner with a number pinned to his chest.  I was baffled and confused.  Did I make a wrong turn somewhere?  Was I going the wrong way?  It dawned on me, after he called out “great running . . . the aid station is about a quarter mile up the road” that he was on his way out of the Camp 10 Bear Aid Station, just starting the loop.  It turned out to be a bit longer than a quarter mile, but I’ll forgive the guy as distances are always fuzzy during a race.  And I did see a couple more runners on their way out.

Camp 10 Bear Stats:  70.1 miles in 12:49:32 for a 10:58.7 pace.  It took me just about 4.5 hours to do the 23 mile loop.  (Exact numbers:  22.9 miles in 4:38:35 for a 12:09.9 pace.  The first 47 miles of the day were done in a 10:24 pace, so I was suffering and slowing a bit more than I would have liked.)

It was with a wee bit of trepidation that I approached the scale.  I don’t remember if it was the same doctor manning the scale.  (Renate, do you remember?  Yes he was, she said, and he remembered who I was . . . )  He asked what my starting weight was.  “163,” I answered.  He asked if I remembered what my weight was the first time through.  “158,” I answered, wondering if that was a subtle test of my mental facilities.  All the while he’s sliding the little counterbalance lower and lower.  He went past the 158 towards the 155.  Fortunately, that was too far and he started working his way back towards the 160, stopping at the 158.  Ok.  I was stable.  I only got a minor lecture.  The temperature had peaked at 79° and would, hopefully, start going down, but I was told to make sure to push the fluids into my system.  I did stop at the food table and I shoved a few orange quarters down my throat.  And I left the aid station without the escort I had leaving here the first time. 		        
Coming into Camp 10 Bear Aid Station – 4:51 PM
At this stage of the game, Randy was about
20 minutes ahead of me.


Camp 10 Bear Aid Station
Eating orange quarters . . . see, I do eat solid food.

Camp 10 Bear (70.1 Miles) to Finish Line (100.0 Miles)

Only thirty more miles to go.

The stretch didn’t start off all that great.  Running-wise.  I was pretty much all by myself at this point.  And, I had been for quite awhile.  There were other runners around, usually in sight, just nobody in my space.  I crossed over Route 106, looking both ways and waiting for a couple of cars to go by.  In past situations like this, we ran on the road.  Here, I got to run on a sideways path of the ankle high grass next to the road.  Not the most comfortable of running.  But, I was running.  And, feeling decent.

Until I reached the next dirt road, made the left, and saw that I had to, once again, go straight up a steep hill.  Ah, well.  One foot in front of the other.  I had been mobile for 13 hours.  I hadn’t totally given up on my goal of getting done before Sunday showed up.  Leaving Camp 10 Bear, I had roughly seven hours to cover the thirty miles.  I wasn’t capable of doing any math.

Other than that I knew 20 hours was a 12:00 per mile pace.  My GPS had average pace as one of the, many, numbers on display.  Oh, yeah.  Renate had successfully recharged my GPS by hooking it up to her laptop for the 4.5 hours between visits to Camp 10 Bear.  Yep.  We are major geeks.  Anyway, I now had my GPS back – so I had heart rate numbers, which didn’t matter at all, other than to let me know my heart was still beating – but the distance and average pace had been reset to zero.  I decided to keep things simple and just see if I could keep the average pace right around 12:00.  I knew I had been faster than that for the first seventy miles, so, if I could keep it somewhere near 12:00 for the next thirty, I could break twenty hours and beat Sunday.

This major bit of uphill, basically right of the bat, was going to put a crimp in the average pace.  And, probably, my mental state.  And, since the GPS was starting from zero, the average pace was increasing at a fairly rapid rate.  Just another example of when technology gets in the way of simply running.  The good thing was, I was aware of the situation and didn’t get all bent out of shape with the numbers.  That didn’t stop me from looking at them every ten steps.  Or, so it seemed.

Things got even slower when, as I approached the top of the hill, I had to make a left turn onto some trail.  Still going up.  Of course.  This was not going to be easy.  Or fun.  I had recovered from my lowest mental state . . . the point where I wasn’t ever going to do another 100 . . . the point where I thought I was racing too much and I was going to DNS my next two races . . . the point where I just wanted to stop.  Anyway, I was beyond that stage.  Still, I was in pain and there remained lots of ground in Vermont to conquer.

It was nice to make it to the top of the hill.  And then deal with some downhill trail shuffling.  And some horses.  (As is the norm with my reports, this bit may or may not have happened where I put it.  It did, though, happen.)  There was a herd, a posse, a whatever, of about eight horses that came up behind me on the trail.  They were patient and waited until there was a good spot for me to pull over before they went by.  I was still looking for horse number 133 so I could hitch a ride.  But, I didn’t see it and it wasn’t long before they were out of sight.  So I just started looking for horse poop so I could avoid stepping in it.


Photo courtesy of Spectrum Photography
Photo courtesy of Spectrum Photography

And I started on the next section of straight uphill hiking.  Towards the top, the race photographer was taking pictures of pain and suffering.  Turns out he got a series of me losing to a horse.  It was a pretty tough stretch, probably close to a half mile.  70+ miles and 13+ hours into the day.  Probably about as hot as it’s been all day.  At least I was in the shade.  Seeing the photographer made me think that civilization might be near.  I forgot that earlier I had seen him in the middle of nowhere.  Funny.  That had also been at the top of a massive climb.  Guess the guy wasn’t into high speed movements.

Let me jump ahead for a minute.  At the awards brunch on Sunday, John Miller, from Spectrum Photography, had the pictures going as a slideshow.  Renate wandered over to watch and John said “Hey, I have a great picture of you and your horse.”  And he brought up the picture on the left.  Renate said she wasn’t a rider, but that the blurry runner in the background was her husband and she called me over to see.  It was kind of bizarre that the picture John thought was of Renate actually had me in it.

And, this is as good a place as any to put in a couple of horse comments.  Most of them, the horses, seemed to travel in groups of three to five.  There were a few larger gangs (herds?), but just a couple of twos and ones.  I had been going back and forth with this particular horse and rider, the ones in the above picture, for a while.  She mentioned at one point that her horse seemed to be a little bummed ever since they left the previous holding area and her horse’s buddy, Spot I think she said, wasn’t allowed to continue.  I don’t know if I was a replacement for Spot, but we seemed to be traveling together a bit.

I guess horses are pretty social animals.  It was neat to see the horses in the fields run along with the horses on the roads.  That didn’t seem to happen people-wise.  Whenever I passed some folks out in front of their houses, they always resisted the urge to run along with me.

Now, back to the task at foot.  I went by John the photographer.  I hoped I thanked him for being out there.  And I went down the hill to the aid station.  This was number 22, Seabrook.  Crunching numbers afterwards shows that it took 1:11:25 to cover the 4.6 miles from Camp 10 Bear, a 15:31.5 pace.  Certainly not anywhere near the target 12:00 pace.  It was now 6 PM and I was slowly coming to the conclusion that I would be out for longer than the six hours that were left in Saturday.

I got my water bottle topped off and I grabbed some watermelon and I headed on the dirt road towards a meeting with Renate.  For whatever reason, the watermelon didn’t taste as good this time as it did earlier.  Who knows why.  It was about time to head into another mental funk.

I had noticed that glow sticks had been hung from some trees with care, in hopes that runners would eventually be there.

The stretch getting to the West Winds Aid Station, at mile 77 (or, as the aid station captain said at the pre-race briefing, mile 76.99 so they could still call themselves the Spirit of 76 Aid Station) was pretty much the same as the day had been.  Some dirt road, some trail, some down, more up.

I had been going back and forth in various places with a couple of guys running together, a young guy and an older one.  I passed them as we did the uphill walk to the West Winds Aid Station.  I asked the younger guy, who was in front, if they were related.  “Yeah,” he said, “that’s my father.”  He went on to add, “My father has done 15 hundreds and I’m doing my first.”  I congratulated him and told him it was great, what they were doing together, and the three of us approached the aid station.

Where everybody was yelling at me and I couldn’t figure out why.  There was a car parked in the way and I was going to go around behind it.  Apparently there was a chute set up that I was supposed to run through and that’s what everybody was yelling about.  Fortunately, I wasn’t moving at a very high rate of speed and I was able to make the correction and go in the proper direction.

West Winds (or Spirit of 76) Aid Station – 77 Miles into the day

Randy coming in – 6:08 PM
It’s nice to see that he’s suffering a little.
Steve coming in – 6:34 PM
That’s the son and father Thomas team right behind me.

West Wind Stats:  77.0 miles in 14:32:49 for a 11:20.1 pace.  I suppose I should continue including the numbers from the Camp 10 Bear Aid Station, since I was still shooting for a 12:00 pace.  So, here goes some more number crunching.  It took 1:43:07 to cover the 6.9 miles from Camp 10 Bear, a 14:56.7 pace.  Furthermore, if you look at the time stamps on the pictures above, you can see that Randy is about 25 minutes ahead of me.  He’s picking up not quite a minute per mile on me.

I could see on my GPS, in real-time, that I was still hovering around 15:00 pace since leaving Camp 10 Bear.  At 6:30 PM, I had roughly another two hours of natural light.  Running speed, such as it was, would take a hit when I had to turn to man made illumination.  Could I get that pace to a more favorable number over the next handful of miles.  I had less than a marathon to go.  I was more than three quarters of the way done.  I was feeling like crap.

I managed to get most of a cup of broth into my system and I picked up my lights from Renate.  And then I headed down the hill back into the woods, chatting with, and pretty much going the same speed, as a volunteer hanging glow sticks.  I thought one of the other volunteers back at the tables said that there was another medical check at the aid station at mile 80.  I knew there was a third one on the course, it just didn’t make sense to me for it to be at a station where handlers were not allowed.  I wasn’t scheduled to see Renate for another eleven miles.  How was I going to get home if  they pulled me from the race?  At least I had lots to think and worry about.

The next stop turned out to be an unmanned station.  So, no one around to weigh me, let alone pull me from the race.  I started paying closer attention to the aid station signs.

There’s an example to the right.  All the aid stations, even the unmanned ones, had them in plain sight.  I didn’t worry too much about the closing time (though there was one, I think Pinky’s way back at mile 51, where I joked with the volunteers about hanging around until it closed) but it was nice to know how far I had gone, how far to the next aid station, and how far until I got to see the Love Of My Life.  The one piece of information that might have come in handy was whether the next stop was a manned or unmanned stop.  But, as I might have mentioned earlier, I generally forgot everything I had read within fifteen steps of leaving the aid stations.

Anyway, the one I was just at was called Goodmans, 81 miles into the day.  I was playing with numbers now.  I was more than 80% of the way through – it’s easy to calculate percent for a 100 mile run – and I had fewer than twenty miles to go.  And I was heading to Cow Shed, 2.6 miles down the pike.  Or dirt road.  Or trail.  Whatever it happened to be.  It wasn’t designated as a handler station, so I was reasonably sure it wasn’t a medical stop.  And, since the one I was at was unmanned, I was reasonably sure there would be humans, and not just cows, at the Cow Shed, since there were not back to back unmanned aid stations that I could recall.  It was nice that I could still reason. 		        
Leaving West Winds
There are a couple of horses ahead of me.


Aid Station Sign
This one was from West Winds.

Shortly after leaving the unmanned station, I came to an intersection.  Everything had been well marked, with the nice yellow plates with the big arrows.  Generally a warning sign or two approaching a turn and a double sign at the actual turn.  I get to the spot and notice that the way we’re supposed to go is uphill while the other way would have been down.  It dawns on me that it always seems to be that way.  Given the choice of heading downhill or heading up, the course designers always chose the up.  Just something else for me to mentally bitch and moan about.  I might have even moaned out loud, the standard whine of “ah, man.”

Other than that, I was just trying to shuffle faster when I could and shuffle slower when I couldn’t.  The sun wasn’t a factor, but it was still kind of warm.  I knew I wasn’t doing well with nutrition.  At least I was starting to pay some attention to the scenery.

Well, that’s not entirely true.  The part about finally paying attention to my surroundings.  I had noticed bits and pieces all day.  I saw a lot of houses tucked back in the woods, off the beaten track, that I could have lived in with no problem.  (Well, if they had high-speed Internet and satellite or cable TV.)  I was aware that there were times when we ran right by some houses and, more or less, down their driveways.  (And, these would not have been houses I would have wanted to live in, even though the horses always took a different track in these situations.)  I remember that there was only one thing that could have been called a stream crossing, where I had to make use of a couple of rocks.  And that there was a horse (and rider) in the middle drinking (the horse, not the rider).

But, let me get back to my shuffling.  I came to a choice between up and down and the course went down.  Happy days are here again.  And, Cow Shed was somewhere up ahead.  I did take a split when I got there, but I won’t bore you with the numbers.  Suffice it to say that I wasn’t getting anywhere near my 12:00 goal pace.  Ah, what the heck.  Here are some numbers.  I had traveled 13.5 miles since Camp 10 Bear in 3:09:28 for a 14:02.1 pace.  So, my overall pace, for this loop, had improved from 15:31.5 to 14:56.7 to 14:02.1.  Again, I was aware of the 14:00 pace for the loop, but I didn’t know what my overall pace was.  I still hadn’t abandoned the sub-twenty hour goal, but it wasn’t really looking good.  Plus, I was informed that the next aid station, Bill’s, five miles in the future, was a medical check.  I had a few orange quarters and headed out.

There was still the random horse or two or three go by.  And, it might have been, on this stretch a couple of cars go by asking if I needed anything.  I was good, but I thanked them for offering.  There were nice houses and a real nice stone wall all along the road – again, here, there, somewhere – and pleasant terrain for running.  Which, surprisingly I was able to do.  It was getting to the point where I was going to need to turn on my flashlight – my headlight was still stowed in one of the pouches of my batbelt – but I wanted to avoid that for as long as possible.  Part of it was mental, a recognition of impending darkness, but part of it was that it was kind of pleasant at the moment.  I was on a smooth dirt road, trending gradually downhill, and I was feeling decent.  I was in one of my “mental up” moments.  The only confusing aspect was that my stomach was growling, I was hungry, but whenever I took a sip of fuel or a hit of gel, my stomach growled in a different manner.  Water going down wasn’t a problem.  But, I wasn’t getting any nutrition.  That upcoming meeting with the scale was going to be interesting.  Maybe I can put some rocks in the pouches of my batbelt.  Oh, wait.  They always made me take that off.  I wonder – I wa-wa-wa-wa-wonder – how many rocks can I put in the little key pocket of my shorts.

And, just about when I figured I was all done with horses, a few more would go by.  I was wondering – I wa-wa-wa-wa-wonder – what they’d be doing for illumination.  And then I turned on my flashlight, leaving my headlight stowed in the pouch of my batbelt.  It wasn’t much longer when I saw the bright lights of Bill’s Aid Station.  I never thought to ask about Bill.

Bill’s Aid Station – 88.6 Miles into the day

Randy and Mara – 8:30 PM
Randy has changed shirts for the third time.
I guess he’s thanking Mara for doing the laundry.
Steve Is Somewhere In The Wilderness – 8:43 PM
It was nice out in the hills of Vermont.
That’s why I decided to spend a bit more time out there.

Bill’s Stats:  88.6 miles in 17:01:25 for a 11:31.7 pace.  The updated numbers since leaving Camp 10 Bear were 18.5 miles traversed in 4:11:53 which amounted to a 13:36.9 pace.  Things were looking sort of semi-good for a sub-twenty hour run.

Then I got on the scale.  And watched the little counterbalance move further and further away from the 158 I weighed back at Camp 10 Bear.  The little weight thingee stops just under the 155.  The young girl working the scales tells the lady with the clipboard that I’m at 154 pounds.  I say it’s more like 155.  The lady with the clipboard is looking at me with concern.  Renate is looking at me with concern.  The rules say that a “weight loss of 5% will result in the runner being observed while hydrating in the station.”  For me, that number would be 8.15 pounds.  I’ve lost just a tick over eight pounds.  Which is 5%.  I think their little spreadsheet had rounded up, so I was allowed a nine pound loss.  (I heard from others after the fact, that the warning weight was actually 6% and not 5%.  So, that would have been when my weight was at 153 pounds.)  Either way, the clipboard lady made me go over to the food table and eat something.  I had a couple of orange quarters and a cup of broth.  I fussed at Renate to make sure my bottles were full and then I left the building.  I didn’t really want to give the medical people a chance to re-think things.  I wanted to slink away under cover of darkness.  The good thing was that I was above the 151.5 pounds that would have made them pull me from the race.

I put my headlight on my head and left the building.  I went looking for Elvis.

Leaving the aid station, I knew I had just under three hours to cover the 11.5 miles if I wanted to take Sunday as a day of rest.  After the battle with the scale, I knew that wasn’t a smart thing to try.  I’ll admit that, while I wasn’t really all that sharp mentally, I wouldn’t have wanted to balance my checkbook.  But, I knew where I was, I knew my name, I knew what I was doing.  I had no good answer as to why I was doing it, but I knew I was in a 100 mile run.  And, I did realize that discretion was going to be the name of the game from here on out.  I guess it had only taken me seventeen hours to come to the conclusion that my body was a little out of whack and that goals should have been adjusted a little earlier.  So . . . I set out waking and I took my time . . . there are friends of the devil that are friends of mine . . . I did make weight when I got on the scale . . . so I didn’t spend any time in jail.

I did have to ask one of the volunteers which way to go and then I saw the signs and glow sticks off through the fields.  It was almost 3.5 miles to the next aid station.  It was just after 9 PM.  There was not much to be gained by pushing so hard I ended up curled in a ball in the woods.  Goal number one, beating Randy, wasn’t going to happen.  Goal number two, breaking twenty hours and beating Sunday, wasn’t going to happen.  Goal number three, beating 21:42, my time from Arkansas, was what I was now shooting for.  Goal number four, breaking 24 hours, and goal number five, just finishing, would, hopefully, not come into play.

It might have been a half mile hike before I got back on the road, probably ten minutes or so.  I was about as mentally funked out as I was all day.  I didn’t like that my weight was so low.  I didn’t like that my stomach was growling with nothing in it and was growling with something in it.  Make up your mind, I kept thinking.  I was tired.  I was frustrated.  I wanted to be done.  I didn’t know how many people were in front of me.  I didn’t care.  I didn’t know how close the people behind me were.  I didn’t care about that, either.

Back on the road, Renate drove by with an “I love you.”  I said, “you, too” and put my head back down and funked on.  Then made a right turn on to a downhill plunging trail.  I was in no condition to take advantage of it, so I just hiked on, following the glow sticks.  I was aware of how bright the stars were and the little bit of moon.  I know that, during the night, there were trail sections with mud, and with puddles, so I’m sure there was some on this section.  Again, I wasn’t moving fast enough where I would be in an unsuspecting mode when I came upon the muck, though a few of the puddles were the kind that covered the entire trail and had to be skirted on one side or the other.  But, considering all the rain in the days before the race, the trails were in good shape.

I made it back to the road, feeling just a little bit better, a little more ready to trot, and I was rewarded with an uphill.  So much for that desire to trot.  I walked on.  And was totally surprised when I heard horses coming up behind me.  Wow!  And I thought I was nuts.  As they go trotting by, I comment, “You guys are crazier than I am.”  They disagreed.  Which only proves my point.

The uphill stabilizes and I’m able to do some running.  It’s a poor excuse for running, but it’s running in my mind.  My system has settled down a little with all the walking and I can take in sips of nutrition.  And I come to aid station number 27, Keating’s.  Looking at my numbers, post-race, shows that it took more than an hour to cover the 3.4 miles, almost a 20:00 per mile pace.  I had eight miles to go to finish the run.  I wasn’t looking forward to more than 2.5 hours of slow, forward progress.  But, I was going to do what I had to do.  I was just going to break it up into manageable chunks.  I had 3.5 miles to the next aid station and a final on-course visit with Renate.  I was going to try and run when I could and walk when I couldn’t.

And, I was rewarded for my running by running off course.  It’s my own fault.  I’ve gotten in the habit of running with my head down, I’ve noticed it on my training runs since Vermont, and it’s even worse when I’m tired and mentally out of it.  It was a decent downhill stretch and I was actually running.  I was kind of wondering about the lack of glow sticks.  And I was also wondering about the lack of horse tracks and horse poop.  Then I noticed some horse tracks on the left edge of the road.  Still, not what I was used to seeing, not the tracks in the middle of the road.  I’m debating with myself as to when I want to turn around.  I’m thinking that the further I get down this hill the further I’ll have to run up it if I’m going in the wrong direction.  I’m telling myself that if I come to an intersection with no signs I’ll turn around.  And I keep running.

There’s a guy in his driveway, taking something out of his car I guess.  He notices my bobbing lights and recognizes me as one of the yahoos running around in Vermont.  He yells, “Hey!  You missed the turn!  It’s about a 100 yards up the hill on the right!”  I thanked the guy and turned around.  I was fairly upset with myself.  So much so that I run the uphill.  It turned out to be closer to a quarter mile back to the missed turn.  And, of course, I saw it right away when I had my head up.  Dumbass.

I knew there were others chasing me.  I knew some of them would catch me.  I really didn’t want to make it so easy for them.

The guy with the flag of England shorts and his pacer, turns out to be his daughter, catch me and go by.  I try to keep them in sight as long as possible to help me with navigation.  It doesn’t work out real well as we get on another trail section.  I figure I won’t be seeing them again.

I was wrong.  I’m back on the road, running my slow pace, when I hear them coming up the hill up ahead.  Turns out they had gone straight when they should have turned right.  The guy’s daughter/pacer was all apologetic, but said, more or less, you get what you pay for.  I mentioned to them that I had done the same thing just a little while ago.

From that point, it’s about a half mile to the aid station, number 28, Polly’s.  I don’t have any stats because, for some reason, I didn’t hit the split button on my watch.  Suffice it to say that I was slow.  But, my mood has picked up.  Especially when, after I mentioned that I only had 5.5 miles to go, the aid station volunteer said, “No.  It’s only 4.5 miles to the finish.”  Hot damn, I thought.  That was the fastest mile I ran all day.  If I stay here long enough maybe a couple more miles will disappear.  The guy told me I had plenty of time to break 24 hours.  I could even take a nap over in the barn if I wanted.  I mentioned that I had a pint of Guinness waiting for me at the finish.  He asked, “Only one?”  Renate kept quiet this whole time.  She had the cooler with the Guinness in the Jeep parked just over there.  She might have been afraid that if she mentioned that, I might have just pulled up a chair and had one.  But, I realized the party doesn’t start until the race is over.  I bid farewell, got my last on-course smooch, and set out with a little bounce to my step.

I knew it was about 11:15 PM.  I knew I wasn’t going to cover the last 4.5 miles in less than 45 minutes.  I did figure I could do it in less than 2.5 hours, so I would beat my Arkansas time. 		        
Polly’s Aid Station – 11:16 PM
Having a good old time with the volunteers.

The bouncy steps didn’t last all that long, pretty much until I got out of earshot of the aid station.  Then the darkness and the pain and the lack of fuel and any other negative I could latch onto crept in and deflated my bounce.  It turned into the “one foot in front of the other” shuffle.  I just followed from one glow stick to the next.  Just get it done and get it over, I kept telling myself.  I was all by myself, but I was wondering how long until I started getting passed with regularity.  It reminded me a little of my adventure back at the Laurel Highlands 70 in June of ’06.  Well, whatever was going to happen was going to happen.  I’ll still finish and I’ll still get my buckle.  I started to feel a little of the chill in the air.  Not enough that I really needed my long sleeve shirt, which I didn’t have, but enough to let me know that it would be a good idea to keep moving.

Plus I got my first hallucination of the run.  I’m doing my excuse for running and I notice what appears to be a very deep chasm off to the right.  I’m kind of close to the right edge of the road and I’m wondering (I’m wa-wa-wa-wa-wondering) why there isn’t a guard rail to keep folks from going over the edge.  I move a little towards the left, towards the center of the road.  And then I notice it’s really a small pond type body of water and there’s really nothing to be afraid of.  Still, I moved all the way to the left edge of the road.

I vaguely remember another pack of two or three horses that went by shortly after I left Polly’s Aid Station.  I made the same comment to them that I had to the previous group, about them being crazier than I.  They were pretty well covered in glow sticks, so I just tried to keep them in sight for a bit.  But, it didn’t take long for them to get gone and I was left with a song in my head . . .

        “Is there anything a man don’t stand to lose
        When he lets a woman hold him in her hands
        You just might find yourself out there on horseback in the dark
        Just riding and running across those desert sands”

I saw the last aid station on the course.  It was of the unmanned variety, a table off to the left of the road.  Right at that point I made a little hitch to the left and got on some trail.  I chastised myself for not looking at the little yellow sign on the table telling me how far I had to go.  Ah, well.  It was more than a mile and less than four.  I was guessing it was all going to be on this trail stuff.

And, that was another weird thing for me.  In my two previous hundreds, I knew what the last stretch to the finish line was like.  In Arkansas, it was because the course was an out and back.  In Texas, it was because the course was a loop, run a bunch of times.  Here, in Vermont, it was going to be virgin ground for me.  Whatever was around the next bend would be new.

Plus I was on this trail stuff that had been chewed up by a bunch of runners and even more so by the horses.  It was soft, though, and I thought that if I was going to fall, this would be a good enough place to do it.  There was the random big rock though as well as some horse poop, so I decided I’d try and stay on my feet.  Plus, it would take a tremendous effort not to just lay there and take a nap.  And that wouldn’t make Renate happy.  I trudged on.

And I got passed by a few people.  At some point I had to climb over a stone wall.  That was a little confusing to me, but it was well marked on both sides, so I knew I was on course.  Almost literally.  I almost fell over the wall.  It certainly wasn’t a very graceful crossing on my part.

I came to the section of trail where there were yellow plates on both sides.  This had been mentioned at the pre-race briefing, that we shouldn’t go outside of the plates because there were a bunch of tree stumps at ankle level.  Ok.  I was capable of staying between the lines.

Then I started to see glow sticks along the ground, in gallon jugs – of water? – lighting the way.  Well, I thought, this is new.  See?  Nothing was getting past me.  I was a sharp as a tack.  I figured I must be getting close to the end.  That thought about not knowing the finish stretch came up again.  I just followed lit jug to lit jug.  And I came to a stone wall with jugs intermittently spaced along it.  Then I saw a whole bunch of the jugs lined up one right next to the other.  It looked to be on the same type of wall.  I thought that looked neat.  It must be the finish line.  Kind of like runway lights.  A whole stretch of them.  Only one problem with that vision.

I kept running in the opposite direction from them.  I saw the long line of lit jugs, randomly, through the trees.  Why the hell am I going so far out of my way if that’s the damn finish line?  That’s mean.  Still, the path was taking twists and turns.  I was back to the regularly spaced glow sticked jugs on the ground.  Fine, if I have to run circles before I get to that big string of lights, that’s what I’ll do.  And, don’t go telling me that I imagined that big mass of lights.  I know it was there.  I just needed to get there.  Or, so I figured.
I come around a bend and someone asks me my number.  A last mental check to see if I can continue?  “One . . . three . . . three,” I say, not looking down at my chest even once.  He calls out to the darkness, “One . . . three . . . three coming in.”  What?  What about all those lights back there?

I come out of the woods and see the banner welcoming the 100 mile runners.  I ask if I can stop.  Someone sitting at a table says not yet, keep going.  I cross under the banner and she says I can stop.  I stop.  That last 4.5 miles from Polly’s to the Finish Line took an hour and forty-five minutes, a whopping 23:00 per mile pace.  Well, I was done.  The whole thing had taken 20:45:29.  I had beaten my Arkansas time.

It’s over . . . so, do you want to do another?

I shuffle, heck I’d been doing that for miles, over to the food tent.  I have no desire for food.  I have a desire for warmth and a chair.  I’m feeling very beat up, a tad cold, and somewhat sleepy.  A little disappointed with my performance, a bit disappointed with my lack of mental strength.  But, I don’t spend a lot of time dwelling on things.  There will be time enough for that later.

        
Finish Line – 12:47 AM
Renate’s camera does this flash . . . flash . . . flash thing.
I make it into the tent and the helpful, bubbly volunteer – how the heck can somebody be bubbly at 1 AM in the morning? – asks if she can get me anything.  I ask about warm stuff and she starts with hot chocolate.  I don’t let her continue . . . that’s what I want . . . can I get two, please?

There are a bunch of horse people sitting in the chairs around the heater.  Renate finds me a chair and positions it out of the way.  A couple of folks – runners? – are stretched out on the cots.  I slowly work on getting out of my grungy clothes and into some clean stuff.  The hot chocolate is going down pretty well.  Better, though, is that it’s staying down.  I’m starting to think about a pint of Guinness.  I opt for another cup of hot chocolate first and Renate heads over to get it for me.  There’s still no desire for any solid or more substantive food products.

The father and son, Bill and Ryan Thomas, appear in the tent.  Some good natured bantering back and forth with me.  We spent a bit of time going back and forth during the middle miles, but I never saw them after the West Winds Aid Station at mile 77. 		        
Recovery Tent – 1:13 AM
That’s a cup of hot chocolate, not a cup of Guinness.

I’m fading fast.  Renate, God bless her, is as well.  I want my pint of Guinness.  But, do I want it because of a misguided sense of bragging rights?  Or, do I want it because it tastes good?  I decide I want it because it tastes good, but that I can wait until we get back to the hotel.  I would have liked to have hung around until Chris made it in, but I had no idea where he was or how he was doing.  It wasn’t fair to Renate to stay any longer.  We made the slow walk back to the car and then started the drive back to the hotel.

Along the way out, we drove a stretch where runners were crossing  on their way to the West Winds Aid Station, mile 77.  We stopped to let a couple of them cross over.  I was really glad to be sitting in the car on the way to the hotel instead of on the trail with 23 miles still to go.

I drank half of my pint of Guinness while getting ready for the shower and the other half while I was drying off.  Maybe one of the more unique pints I’ve had.

And So It Goes

Well, except for some closing notes, that’s about it.  I’m kind of surprised as to how long this story ended up.  Maybe it’s because, while I am generally pretty good about beating a dead horse completely into oblivion, for this event I had some live horses to write about.  Yeah, that’s it.  I’ll blame the length of the report on the horses.

I ended up in 20th place, out of 143 finishers.  (199 folks started at 4 in the morning.)  Kind of surprising to me that I was able to finish so high up given how poorly I felt almost the whole run.  Randy broke 19 hours, finishing tenth overall.  Congrats to him for a very fine run.

Bruce Marshall – you remember him?  the Internet buddy I’ve not met – told me to look out for another friend of his by the name of Herm Richards.  Turns out Chris also knows Herm.  Chris and are running together and he asks if I know Herm.  I say just by name.  Chris mentions that Herm took a bit of a fall early in the morning while it was still dark and ripped the fingernail off the little finger of his left hand.  Renate and I, Chris and Diane, and Euihwa and his family were sitting around at the awards on Sunday when Herm came over.  I went down to that end of the table and introduced myself and we chatted about the race a little bit.  I mentioned to him that most people lose toenails at these things and not fingernails.  He had a strong race, finishing 12th overall and first in the 50 to 59 age group.  Oh, he had also finished first in that age group for Western States back in June.

According to my GPS, I spent 29 minutes during the day not moving.  That’s pretty good.  Figure that there were 29 aid stations, so I spent a minute, average, at each one.  Obviously there were most of the unmanned stations that I just ran right through.  And I did spend more than a minute at the three weigh-in spots.  I guess, all told, I don’t have any real problem with that number.

I believe I mentioned that the course was advertised as 70% jeep or dirt roads.  The great majority of the rest was trail stuff.  Though there was a fair amount of paved road.  Some of that was busy with traffic, but never a real problem.  With the trails, there did seem to be quite a bit of ankle high grass stuff to run through.  It was a little harder picking up horse divots on that stuff than it was on the actual trails.  And, there was very little rocky or technical type trails.

I knew going into the race that it was mostly up and down.  I didn’t expect, however, the number of very steep climbs that I encountered during the day (and night).

I am going to, for sure, try a new nutrition strategy for the Green Lakes Endurance 100k at the end of August.  I am a very loyal, to a fault sometimes, individual and I tend to stay with the things I’ve always used.  But, what’s the definition of an idiot?  I think it’s something to the effect of doing the same thing time and time again and expecting different results.  I’ve never had a good nutritional run beyond 50k.  And/or five hours.  It seems that things go south in the longer events and they go south hard and fast.  Well, it’s time to try something new.  It may not be better.  It may be worse.  But, I’m hoping, it will be different.  I’ll be sure to let you all know.

I may have mentioned somewhere up above that I might be racing too much.  I know doing two hard 15k’s – the July 4th Good Neighbor Day in Downingtown and the July 8th Boilermaker in Utica – two weeks before Vermont was not a real good idea.  Let’s see, what have I done, including Vermont?  The Disney half marathon and full marathon in January . . . the Rocky Raccoon 100 mile in February . . . the HAT 50k in March . . . the Bull Run 50 mile in April . . . the Trail Dawgs Trail Marathon in April . . . the Rocky Mountain Double Marathon in May . . . the two 15k’s in one week in July . . . the Vermont 100 mile in July.  That’s ten races in seven months.  Yeah.  I might be racing a bit too much.  Maybe I should take a break . . . Nah . . . How does a 100k race in Syracuse sound?

Miscellaneous links (which may or may not work) . . .

For anybody with too much time on their hands, here’s my MotionBased download of the race.

Here's Renate's photo album of the race on Kodak Gallery.  Registration may be required.

Thanks, everybody, for reading.  Hope you had a good time.  By the way, if anybody has any comments, queries, suggestions, corrections, etc., please pass them along.

Return to Noone's Saloone & Golf Club.

Originally published on August 29, 2007.