RR's 100MileJournal

My Writings. My Thoughts.

My Race Report From the Vermont 100

// August 7th, 2012 // Comments Off on My Race Report From the Vermont 100 // Being the Best You, Doing What I know, endurance, Progress, running, success, Ultra-marathon

First of all this is a long post so get some water or wine or Ben and Jerry’s. Memories are a funny thing, they’re incomplete, not perfectly accurate, interpreted based on the teller’s mood, desired outcome and in so many ways imperfect but, to the best of my ability I’m going to recall for me and for you, the journey in my mind and body over the course of the 100 miles I ran.

Mind you, this is my journey. Some runners finished several hours before me and ran the whole way (the best of the best) and experienced only minor swelling or other issues after the race, while some didn’t finish at all and spent hours in the medical tent trying to recover. This is my journey. There is no bragging or pious humility—just me trying to most accurately tell my experience the way it happened and what it means to me.

A bit of context

I did a bunch of triathlons culminating in the Ironman triathlon in 2003 after having been inspired, in early 2001, by a sports special on the Ironman Championship in Hawaii. I got thinking, “Man, what kind of man would I have to become in order to do that?!” A few years later I heard about ultra marathons (any run beyond a marathon, 26.2 miles, typically a 30 mile minimum) and in particular the Western States 100. Now my mind took to seeing myself in who I’d have to become to properly prepare for and ultimately finish a 100-mile race. More on that later.

In most cases, you have to qualify to run a 100 “ultra” by running a 50-mile run in less than 12 hours. Well, despite getting lost in the woods twice and taking a wrong turn on the course to the tune of about 4 or 5 miles, in 2008 I finished The Finger Lakes 50’s in 11 hours and 57 minutes-just made it! My hope to run Western States was dashed when I learned that the next year’s entrants were already selected because of the forest fires that stopped the race from being run that year.

With Western States no longer a possibility and still in possession of the memories of the pain from running 50, I shelved my 100-dream for a time. But last year (2011) I had some major personal issues hitting me so I dove into the sport I do best to find my peace and perspective…I started running. A portion of what happened in my training is captured on www.100MileJournal.com

In ultra distance running you don’t have to be fast (I got that covered!), you just have to keep going. I may never win a race but I figure that I can decide that I WILL finish and then do what it takes to be there to finish what I started. What was the goal I’d started? …to finish a 100-mile race in less than 24 hours.

Why in less than 24 hours? Because as has become tradition in most 100-mile races, if you can train your body and mind well enough to finish in less than 24 hours, you earn a silver belt buckle that says as much. I didn’t want to participate. I didn’t come to just finish. I came to “buckle”. “To buckle” is a verb in ultra-distance running meaning: finishing a 100-mile ultra marathon in less than 24 hours.

The journey to the journey

So after completely jamming my Honda Pilot with a tent, two futons (What’s up with that word? Futon…) and all sorts of running supplies I headed off with my crew (my wife Maria and my sons Devin and Emilio) to Brownsville, VT.

After a couple hours of driving I looked down at the odometer and realized that we’d only gone 82 miles. That was an interesting experience-to consider how many hills and twisty roads we’d traveled and still, we’d not gone as far as I’d have to run the next day. It’s funny, there was a part of me that really was getting how much I’d avoided thinking about the magnitude of what I was doing.

After entering Brownsville, VT, we drove a couple miles on gravel roads completely shaded by a canopy of trees on either side and then to our destination, a private gravel road with pastures on either side. There was parking for runners, plenty of room for equestrians to set up their mini-paddocks and a vast field for us runners and our crews to set up tents.

We parked and immediately began to unload the car and set up the tent. It turned out that my friend’s tent that we’d borrowed was missing the rope and the stakes needed to erect it—just minor things! Long/short we were able to borrow four stakes to hold our tent in place.

At this point, all I wanted to do was to get registered, look around a little and do what I could to hurry time along because I couldn’t stand the waiting. The 4am start time was beckoning and if I could have pushed time ahead so I could just start then, I would have. I’d been thinking about this race for about 5 years; I just wanted my destiny now!

Almost that time

At 4pm, Friday afternoon (7/20), all the runners sat through the requisite meeting teaching us about what to expect, what to look for (signs and markers to keep us on course), where aid stations are, etc. After that I connected in person with Michael Wagenseil, who would pace me for the last 30 miles. We’d only met the week before over the phone, so it was great to shake hands with the man I was in many ways entrusting my dream to.

I had to trust him because in the final stages of a race of this length, it’s normal for runners to have hallucinations, get confused, miss signs and run off course, lose hope, get hurt and much, much more! So in the VT100, runners are allowed a pacer for the last 30 miles. Parenthetically, your pacer cannot carry your stuff, physically help you move or even peel your tired butt off the ground.

It’s interesting, I was grateful to have his help but I never really considered the responsibility a pacer must experience. If they don’t properly train, properly nourish themselves during the race, if they aren’t paying attention to time and pace and even staying on the race course, if they don’t motivate, cajole, irritate, champion and generally moment-by-moment stay aware of what his/her runner needs, a pacer may very well do things that take the achievement away from the runner they came to support. Now two weeks after the race, I’m getting the pressure that there must be for a pacer–my respect and appreciation for Michael is growing.

At 5:30 pm we ate our pre-race dinner and for me, the waiting began. I got in bed by 8 but neither the people outside my tent or my silly sons inside the tent had any notion of getting 7 hours of sleep before the race…The kids stopped giggling around 9:30 and the chatty atmosphere outside my tent faded out around 10:15. We had to wake at 3am so…

At some point I drifted to sleep and dreamt of oversleeping so I awoke at 1:30 and 2am and forced myself to be at peace (I like that, I “forced myself to be at peace”!) and go back to sleep. At 3am the race organizers sounded a car alarm to wake us all. The walking fearful, the ambitious the uncertain and all sorts of other types jogged, walked, staggered and shuffled from their tents to the main tent to sign in one final time. After that, many of us went to our tents to gear up and head to the starting line.

The hour between 3am and 4am raced by as I gathered my “fuel belt” (Gatorade/water/Cliff Bar and peanut M&M’s), jogged a bit and said my good-byes to my family-I’d not see them for 30 miles (5 ½ hours).

The guy on the PA told us “one more minute!” and we all cheered, roared, paused, breathed or did what we needed to before we took off. Me? I roared. The moment had come and there was nothing left for me to do but execute. I couldn’t wait.

And…they’re off

The horn sounded and we crowded out. It’s funny…it’s 100 miles but I still wanted to just get out NOW!! I didn’t want to shuffle behind anyone; I wanted to run! Within about ½ mile or so people were spreading out and though not totally, we began to find people who would be keeping our pace, and we started running with them.

So many of the miles are a blur. Miles begin to blend into other miles. Trails and trees, stonewalls and pastures all begin to blend in. Even the uniqueness of the beautiful houses became cliché and predictable after so many miles but what I do remember is…

The course is a never-ending series of rolling hills. You’re either climbing or descending–after a few miles, neither is easy. I’m a guy willing to risk a lot so just as in the Ironman 9 years earlier when I tucked in hard on my bike and hit 48 MPH on the downhill, I let my legs fly at top speed on the downhills…long, long down hills.

It was on the downhills that I passed several people and “put my stamp” on being one of the top 30 runners-for the time being. A bystander informed me that I was in the top 30. Cool and… I didn’t have much ego about that. Being in the top 30 is great. Staying there is something else. Hills kill legs! If you try to slow your momentum on downhills you kill your quads. If you let it rip, like I did you can very easily put your knees in jeopardy. I did the latter. More on that later.

About mile 7 or so I had to stop and stretch–that darn left hamstring that always seemed to cause me trouble in my training runs! A bit of a maintenance stretch might not seem very eventful but when you have to go 100 miles and you stop…you take your current good pace (as mine was) and just start adding time but no distance. Do this too much or for too long and suddenly your goals enter the realm of possible non-achievement. The thought of not finishing sub-24 struck me as I stretched.

Whether when I was stretching or just running along and was passed by someone—and I forgot to focus only on running my race remember momentarily feeling inferior. This feeling never lasted more than a heartbeat or so—I just kept thinking, “Run your race, Ron”. Others would be stopping to rest/poop/pee/vomit/stretch/re-tie shoes/pick up something they dropped. And by the way, that doesn’t matter anyway. Run your race. I kept my eye on sub 24.

Dawn

The sun came up enough that my flashlight became unnecessary (about mile 8 or so) and on I jogged carrying extra weight in my hand, swapping it back and forth. I was so tired of carrying it but I didn’t want to litter, even though my plan was to leave it on someone’s fence where they’d spot and eventually use it. No, littering will get you pulled from the race, fast. Don’t leave anything anywhere. The thought of being disqualified for something as silly as that inspired me to carry my burden onward.

About mile 15 or so I saw my first spectator and guess who got a new flashlight?? After carrying this stupid thing for a couple hours, a smile came over me as I crossed the road and said as I approached, “I’ve got something for you, my friend. …a new flashlight!” The guy was great, he offered to find me and drop it somewhere but I have to tell you, in a race that is taking place over 24 hours, I wasn’t particularly interested in thinking about anything I didn’t have to. I joked that it was my special gift to him as I handed it to him like a baton and ran off without missing a beat.

Not long after, I needed to make another stop–nature called so I found a place that was easily accessible, well hidden and had plenty of decent leaves around—know what I’m saying?? I dashed out of the woods and back on the gravel road relieved and ready to run.

Bear with me as I pause here. One of the things that will end any endurance athlete’s day in a hurry is issues with nutrition or digestion. So when my pit stop came and went without any sensation of, “you’re not done yet”, I was very, very grateful! More on nutrition and race day eating in a moment…

Back and forth the route traverses mostly between gravel roads, trails and rough pasture (think hidden dips, divots and rocks). Well I headed back in to the thick woods and onto the trails. The trails ranged from smooth and slightly undulating (rare) to absurd ascents and descents on terrain that a motorbike or tractor might not even help on. I now know what a class 4 road is-unmaintained and occasionally un-drivable. Though those too were rare they certainly added “flavor”, pain and fatigue to the mix.

If you think hilly, with plenty of rocks, roots and an occasional mud pit and occasionally smooth spot thrown in, you can imagine what we were running on. Did I mention the horses?? Well, I thought they were there as sort of “sweepers” to be sure there were no runner’s bodies strewn about the trails. Actually they were there to do their own endurance race! About a mile after I freed myself from the flashlight I found a horseshoe! I figured my boys would appreciate it so I picked it up…about 15 miles later.

What was I thinking?! About 15 miles later I finally had a scheduled stop where I’d see my family (mile 30). I immediately gave the prize to one of my sons and eased the pain in my biceps that had been worked out for the last 5+ hours holding things! I wisely decided that I was done transporting things around the woods of VT. I’m shaking my head as I type, because the truth is, if I’d found another horseshoe, I’d have picked that up too for the other son! I didn’t find anymore!

Intermission

There were aid stations every 4-6 miles and every other one was unmanned and the next was manned. Unmanned ones had just water and Gatorade the manned stations, well they had turkey sandwiches or PB&J-on white bread. Gag me! They had a pretty decent assortment of snacks both sweet and sour to include fruit. I survived on fistfuls of turkey (I kept asking the volunteers to grab me a wad of turkey as I didn’t want a sandwich), Chips Ahoy, Fig Newtons, cantaloupe and watermelon.

In my 50-mile run 4 years ago I lived on peanut M&M’s yet the sight of them made me gag during this race–crazy. These events force you to listen carefully to your body—and obey it! Some things are easy to perceive like a gag reflex as you look at a food yet other things require more attention, like one’s need to drink or take salt tablets. Yeah, you should consume water or salt at regular intervals and sometimes you just don’t feel like you can take anymore. You have to learn to carefully balance what you feel like and what you have to do if you’re to survive 20 something hours.

Though I was drinking constantly, one is supposed to pee once each hour—I hadn’t but a bit in my one stop! That meant I wasn’t drinking enough despite my continual intake. It was shocking to me because I drank what seemed like gallons!

At mile 47 the doctor told me I was probably taking too many electrolyte caps-which wasn’t good. I cut back when I found out. So much to do, think about strategize over and yet it means nothing if you won’t keep running. So on I went.

Back to the race

I fueled up, left my family with kisses and sweaty hugs and headed out feeling really good. 30 miles is about 1/3 done and I was feeling strong. That thought didn’t stick with me much. Thinking, “Only 70 miles to go!” isn’t really that encouraging as it turns out. What I did think, was that my next stop with my family would be mile 47. Love, support, kisses and inspiration waited for me in a few hours, so I set my mind to banging out the next 17 miles.

Quick intermission

I have to tell you, it’s weird even writing, “banging out the next 17 miles.” Distance and time takes on a funny quality in a race of this distance. I typically run with a certain number of miles in mind. So I can dash through, leave it all on the road/trail and get home fast. Well, that isn’t possible, Mr. Renaud when you’re 100 miles from your destination. So you just focus on the next aid station 4 or 9 miles away—or the smiles of those you love 17 miles away.

As I considered my next goal, I found it best to guestimate my time of arrival and then let it go until I got close—only then did it become relevant. And for me…Until I got past, good and past, mile 50—more like mile 62, it didn’t even matter to me how close I was to 100. As I said before thinking that I have only 59, 47 or 38 miles to go is almost incomprehensible and doesn’t offer an encouraging perspective. Try it! Say to yourself, “I only have to run 38 more miles” and notice how you feel.

To the race again

The next 17 miles for me were pretty good for the most part. I felt strong, I ran steady and strong but…it’s also where we climbed one (in particular) very steep and long hill in a beautiful pasture between other mountain peaks. My legs felt weary as I finally hit the apex of this climb and did a quick 360 turn to enjoy the view around me. But then the decent… The long downhill culminated in a descent on nasty pasture terrain, followed by loose dirt that was so steep I had to either run (fly!) down or get on all fours and do the crab-walk descend. I “flew” but my knees were beginning to let me know they were not pleased.

Downhills can be pretty taxing anyway but the hardest part of this downhill was that you couldn’t really see what you were stepping on. Like a bald guy with a comb-over, this pasture was mowed but more, the grass was knocked down and hiding I-don’t-know-what. It was really nerve-wracking to keep putting my feet down on the unknown. I was hoping to NOT hit a rock, a gofer hole, some random low-spot that would leave me with a twisted ankle, hyper-extended knee or something else that would take me out of the race. No, I’d trained too long, my body was strong, no nutrition/digestive stuff…ahhhhh! Ah, to be lost to an unseen divot…

I made it safely down this nonsense but it was just after that I realized that I have IT bands, extensor digitorum longuses and peroneus longuses! I began to tighten up from my hips to my knees to my ankles…the pain and tightness was increasing as I ran and I started to slow as I tried to figure what to do about it. “Luckily” someone saw me struggling, knew what was up and stopped to teach me an IT band stretch.

A quick lesson concerning the goodness and etiquette of endurance athletes

A couple things, I say “luckily” because the stretch didn’t help. I probably wasn’t doing it right and I know I was impatient to just keep going and I should have been more patient and just stopped and really stretched but I couldn’t find the stretch (feeling) and figured another day would be better to do research on my personal flexibility. I did feel lucky because, knowing someone saw my suffering and cared helped me carry on.

I have found endurance races to be a place where you can consistently find some of the most selfless, generous and helpful people in the world. You need to learn a stretch in the middle of a race, this guy stops his race to teach me. People give away socks, food, expensive gear, let people stay in their homes, borrow their cars and the list goes on. There is a real brother/sisterhood between…us, yeah, me too. It’s really great to be a part of.

Another funny thing is that many endurance athletes are not shy about their bodies or their body’s functions. A woman I was running with had gotten about 10 yards ahead of me-and as she continued conversing with me, pulled to the side of the trail, thrust her pelvis forward and stood there peeing of the side of the trail (that took by surprise!). Another guy, in the latter 1/3 of the race told me of his issues with diarrhea (7 times in 5 miles!!). You see people pooping 3 feet off the road-heck I ducked behind a tree at and aid station (mile 47), not well covered nearly surrounded by people and got naked from the waist down so I could change my underwear/shorts (not an emergency—just to be “fresh”). I think we’re up to something bigger than looking good or hiding our “secrets” so modesty becomes a luxury and normal conventions take a backseat.

Back to the race

So much for my saying the next 17 were “pretty good”! Though pain was beginning to settle in, I was making really, really good time so I told my wife to make it her mission to find Michael because he’d need to be at mile 70 sooner than I told him…and I couldn’t wait if he wasn’t there.

So at the mile-47 aid station, I loaded up on food and drink and was feeling pretty good except for the issues I was just slightly concerned about. I got on the scale; I’d lost 2 pounds. The “ultra docs” (doctors who specialize in working/dealing with the issues, traumas, concerns, etc. of ultra/extreme athletes), as they’re called, weren’t concerned but the head dude did put me on a cot and work on my one foot. The muscles that run along side our shins…yeah the bottom 3 inches were starting to hurt but he popped the one and off I went. I think I recall him saying that the fascia was stuck to the skin and the muscle. Whatever! My feet were binding up and something was partially freed. Thank you, ultra-doc!

It’s funny, I was running with a guy somewhere between miles 40-45 and he was in extraordinary pain in those muscles that I was just discovering! I just moaned in sympathy yet feeling grateful that I had no idea what he was really experiencing. I was game to be more sympathetic but it wasn’t me, I had to run my race and not only couldn’t I do anything but hear him, I didn’t imagine it could be that bad.

Extracurricular fun

Still running strong (somewhere around mile 50) but beginning to fatigue, I tripped on a rock in the woods. Suddenly, with my eyes wide and my mouth gaping, I took to “running” to keep myself up, bent over at a 90-degree angle with my arms flailing wildly… Yeah. I didn’t fall but it scared the heck out of me. Over the next 20 steps, I wondered, confidence shaken, “How could that happen, I-” PIFFFFF! Right down on my face, spread right out! One guy ran back to me and another ran up to me to see if I was ok, I shook it off and told them I was fine. “Run your race, I’m fine.” I didn’t want to slow them up.

The truth was that I was more than a little shaken. Really, as we get more tired we think we’re lifting our legs over rocks/roots but just not enough sometimes and that’s what happened. But as I dusted myself off, and began to calm down, I started to feel a bit more human-more vulnerable.

That feeling drove me to refocus on what I’d come to do. I came to buckle. The other thing that changed for me is I started telling myself and other runners as they asked when I’d hoped/planned on finishing, was that, “I’m running 100 miles in less than 23 hours.” I also confessed to them, as readily as I admitted the reason why to myself, “I like excitement, drama even…I did not want to create any drama when it comes to the accomplishment of this important goal.” There’d be drama enough (oh boy would there be), I didn’t need to create it by setting a goal (24 hours) that would have me barely making it in time.

Variety is the spice…

As I started getting beyond mile 60, I now had pain shooting “randomly” into my feet and my hips as well. Someone said it to me—but I didn’t remember it from my Ironman or 50-mile run, that often pain, as severe as it feels works its way out over the miles. The message being, “hang in there” and “keep going”. Well, that was true for the first 60 miles but now I was accumulating pain—from mild to general soreness to irritating to extraordinary as the yards—not miles, went by.

It struck me at some point that it was kind of strange that I didn’t feel winded. HAHA! Well, I didn’t feel very winded because the punishment my legs were taking stopped me from running fast enough to become winded! Apparently I wasn’t thinking very clearly either!

“Advice” on the trail

A couple miles before I saw my crew again at mile 62, another runner recognizing that I was hurting particularly on the downhills. He recommended that I run backwards on the when on the downhills to save my legs. What?! I laughed at him (there was some temporary relief!!), and then thanked him as best as I could as I wadded through the pain and my amusement about this astonishingly insane wisdom I’d just been given! Yeah, I get it, I’ll run backwards for two steps and crack my head open. That’ll save my legs, Circus-boy.

I made it to 62 and was so grateful to see Michael. He was dressed in his running gear and looked like he wanted to start running then. It was a real morale boost to see him and to see him chomping at the bit to help and get going. Soon enough—mile-70 would come soon enough. Between mile 62 and 70 there isn’t much to say except every muscle got tighter, my knees began to really holler and that this is when my race began.

Temporary salvation

Mile 70 is the same aid area as 47 and it is well stocked with supporters, crew, doctors, food, beverages and now pacers! The doc worked on me for 2 minutes, I changed my socks, I ate a ton and at 7pm at mile 70 with more fatigue and pain than I’ve ever experienced in so many places at one time my countdown began. 30 miles, two men, one goal: get the buckle.

Bring on the pain

Michael and I jogged off and into the darkening woods. I figured I’d pick up my flashlight at mile 77 and I could continue to make great time now that I’d changed my socks, had some food, was treated by the doc again, was revived in spirit since I got to spend a few minutes with my family and had a running partner. I felt refreshed and ready to tackle just 30 miles. It didn’t seem like that much after 70!

As I recall we did good for a while but it wasn’t long before everything started to seize up. My knees shrieked in multiple locations with every step, my shin muscles screamed with every step, my hips creaked and I, well, I’m not too proud to tell you that though I tried to keep it to myself, I winced and either moaned, grunted or occasionally whimpered with most every step for the rest of the run (with the exception of a few miles sprinkled around where things calmed a bit physically-or the fear of losing my dream overrode my pain!).

Mile 77 came and I hurt; and I was focused on one thing. I started liking this count down for sure. 23 to go. A bit less than a marathon, I could do it! I had to do it. Now on fresh legs, at a decent pace, I could do 23 miles in 4 hours easily but budgeting time now became a joke—Einstein couldn’t calculate when I’d be in. There was nothing steady or consistent about how I was “running”—even walking was killing me.

Miles went by but so slowly. I’d look at my watch and say, “It’s been 30 minutes! That has to be two miles!” But now staggering, walking, jogging, shuffling…the miles a took deceptively long time. I remember thinking, several times, “The race organizers messed up! It’s been 5 miles!! There should be an aid station!” I was appealing to no one, almost hoping that that somehow I’d be vindicated and I’d be moved ahead to my proper place! No one came. Oh the mind games we play at times like these. Only I could save myself by moving and getting done sooner. On we went through the bruising, tortuously long miles, through more pastures (where on one I did feel really healthy and actually jogged steadily), dark and challenging trails and gravel roads illuminated only by the occasional fan driving by and the never-ending chain of chem lights (green glow sticks) that kept us all moving on the right path.

A side note

The cars that crept by (sometimes blinding us with their high beams) looking for their friends, “Hey Jimmy, is that you?!” “No…” whatever runner was queried mustered out. The process began to wear on a lot of us runners. First having to move laterally was getting hard, secondly, being forced into the loose stones on the side of the road by some chipper someone, looking for Jimmy or Tonya got tiring as the footing was poor and patience for any non-essential obstacles diminished quickly.

Getting closer

The next big aid station was at mile 89. It’s also like flypaper to runners. It’s got a place to lay down with medical staff and it’s stocked with hot soup, grilled cheese, baked potatoes, and the usual fare of snacks and various treats—if after 20-something hours of running, one could even call them treats. Like a little resort with both pleasure (the food) and comfort (the medical staff and the knowledge that one is virtually 90% done) it offers the runner’s mind with a seemingly valid excuse to rest a while. But the old adage in this sport goes: beware the chair. Because once you sit—and the longer you sit, it takes super-human strength both mental and physical to get going again.

But I still had to run 12 to get to 89! It was pitch black at this point and the chem lights we were following seemed to offer no consolation in progress. As the steps, yards and eventually miles passed, our conversations consisted of only a few phrases and various utterances.

I said things like: “Ah, oooh, son-of-a…ahhhhh” and “My knees! Ah, ah…” and “Are we going to make it? (in less than 24 hours)” and an occasional “I can’t…”

Michael said: “Just keep moving.” and “Get to the next chem light.” and “You’re good on the uphills. Focus on the uphills.” and “Just keep moving forward.”

For me, “I can’t…” was never, “I can’t do it.” It was me saying, “I can’t lift my legs over these rocks.” But I couldn’t get it all out.

A couple times Michael barked at me, “You can!” I didn’t want to correct him as to my intention first of all because it would take to much energy to be understood and second of all because he was right. “I can’t” has no business being on this course at all!! Thanks, Michael!!

A bit of dialog as I remember it:

MW: Run to the next chem light.

RR: My legs…ok! Ahhhhhhhh-

MW: Great. Keep moving! You’re almost there

RR: I’m going to do two (as I approached running to the first one 100-200 yards away, I’d occasionally do a second)!

MW: Great! Just get to the next one.

RR: -in my mind- What time is it? How far along am I? Could I make it if I just walk? I can’t just walk, what happens if I twist my ankle…I need to bank some time. Ahhhhhhh-ooooooh, Man! How much longer is it. Why aren’t we at the next aid station yet?

MW: How you doing?

RR: I hurt-but I’m moving.

MW: You’re doing great.

MW: OK, walk now, that’s ok…

RR: Thanks. Ah! Grrrrrrr! My knees!

MW: I know. Look Ron, you’re good on the hills, “run” them and take it easy on the downhills.

Though there were times where there was nothing but silence, this as I recall, constitutes the major content of our conversation on the trail—except for one interaction I remember well. I must have been moaning and fussing a lot and I’m guessing Michael was concerned about my ability to finish in less than 24 hours—or he was motivating me. He said something to the affect of: Ron, you’ve done great and if you don’t buckle this year… I heard enough and it motivated me completely! I said, “I didn’t come to see what I could do! I didn’t come to win a plaque or participate! I came for the buckle! I will get my buckle!” He got it and said, “Well, then, let’s get going!” So off I ran, for a time.

Michael and I ran, from time to time, with other runner/pacer duos but for the most part but even then the conversation with them was little and mostly, it was just he and I. No one is very chatty at this point of the race.

We arrived at “Bill’s “, the mile-89 aid station, which seemed to be someone’s home with a couple of barns (it was dark and I wasn’t much for appreciating many details at this point). There was music, cheering fans, the biggest spread of food in any of the stations prior–and about five or six people from the medical staff. It was the final medical station before the finish. I took my turn on the scale and I weighed in at 194.2 pounds. I’d put on 2.2 pounds since the start of the race! As I got off the scale, the medic glared at me, staring me in the eyes to see if I was coherent or delusional or… Yeah I’m delusional! I’ve just run 89 miles and am going out for another 11! Satisfied that I was just a wacky endurance runner and not in any real peril he signed me in and cleared me to continue. I ate way too much food! I was feeling a bit like a party-boy with all of the grilled cheese, Fig Newtons and soda. Who wouldn’t?!

Off we went, back into the woods with our flashlights and though there was still 11 miles to go and despite the pace I was moving at was so slow, I felt a sense of optimism as we headed out. Optimism turned into enduring, as the miles trickled by ever…so…slowly. I thought about a 10.6 mile route that I run and thought of how long that takes me when I’m fresh and healthy and how this is gonna be awhile and with this pain… –Grrrrr! Shut up and RUN!–

Every time my mind fed me junk because of the pain or distance or time, I found another part of me gritting my teeth and fighting back with a surge of focus and either more purposeful walking or occasional decent running–despite the pain. These efforts were often accompanied by a growl or something to urge myself on, things like: “Come on, RON!” and “AHHHH, just get to that tree!”

As the miles wound down, though I didn’t think much about Michael and how he was doing, I was grateful because I knew that there were several times that he “made” me run when I didn’t want to and because of that, I would easily finish under 24. Through the miles, he spoke even when I couldn’t reply, I think just to keep us together mentally—to keep me from checking out.

I remember being in such agony (my knees in particular) on the downhills, that I wanted him to run in front of me so I could put my hands on his shoulders and he could bear some of the impact and slow me down, and reduce the pain. Pacers can’t assist AND he assisted me twice as far as I can remember. How? Twice when I had to stop, I just hung my head and put my hands on my knees. After 10 seconds I went to stand up, got light-headed and started to fall into the gully on the side of the road. Twice I remember him grabbing my arm to keep me from falling over. Once I was up, he let go and told me to get going.

Running through the woods near the end of the race, we came upon a sign that read, “You’ve run 99 miles. 1 mile to go.” Oh my gosh it was hilly and rocky and full of roots and glorious and two people were coming close to passing me (within 20 yards) and I couldn’t have that and I hurt and wanted to just walk it in and Michael said, “no” so I kept running and I could hear people cheering, then I could see lights but we weren’t quite there and my legs were letting me know that the 100 mile deals we made during the final 40 miles were about to be fulfilled but on I jogged—faster now though the pain was getting unbearable and I shuffled on until about 50 yards out with no fear of getting passed by anyone when I told Michael I was just going to walk and he told me that I couldn’t walk across the finish line and then I was 30 yards away…THERE WAS THE FINISH, ABOUT 20 YARDS OUT OF THE WOODS! On I jogged, knowing that this five-year-old dream soaked in postponements, injuries, personal traumas and trials, commitment, rigor, audacity and focus was about to come true.

I did it!! Done. Done and done! I came in 100th place (poetic, no?) out of 300 starters and 218 who finished.

I crossed the line with a very tired smile, staggered side to side and a bit forward to the sound of my crew cheering and a decent handful of people who I’d run with during the last 30 miles hollering for me as well. I bent over to help them put my medal on and then I collapsed. I laid down for about 2 minutes but knew the longer I stayed there the harder it would be to get up. Physically shot, emotionally high yet drained, I thanked Michael and assisted by my wife, I hobbled to my car and she drove me the 500 yards to our tent near the pond.

And then…

As much as I wanted to cheer others across the line, as I said, I’d made deals with my legs, “Stop with the pain nonsense, get me across the finish line in less than 24 and I’ll rest and take good care of you.” My body was having none of the notion to hang out and do anything. I crawled over and into the pond and was bit by one of the crawfish that I saw scatter when I eased my way in so I could wash the 23 hours 13 minutes and 50 seconds worth of sweat and road grime from my body.

I feebly crawled out of the pond, completely satisfied that I was 70% “clean” and as my muscles tightened by the minute I dressed in winter running clothes and laid down in my tent. Winter stuff because I knew my body would be using most of its energy to begin the process of healing me and if I could help a bit by keeping warm…

The morning after

The next morning I woke up after about only 3 or so hours of sleep (about 7am). It took 10 minutes to get out of the tent and there I stood for another 10 minutes unable to move a leg. Michael happened by and he helped me get to the car and drive me to the medic tent. I laid there for about 30 minutes, had two people bear about 70% of my weight so I could lay outside the tent. After an hour of this (I could hear the last couple finisher come in) I decided that I had to go home—right away!

I had my sons look for the race director (Julia Hutchinson) and tell her that I wouldn’t be at the awards ceremony. She walked over and seeing me lying on my back told me what a great job I’d done. And there in a field, laying on my back literally in the shadow of the medical tent, with just my wife and kids looking on, Julia gave me the silver buckle. It was perfect, really. In all my dreams, wishes, fantasies and so on, I never imagined an awards ceremony.

This race was about me seeing what I had in me. What mattered was the meaning I gave the silver buckle because I knew what I’d have to do in my training and who I’d have to become in order to earn it. Even in my sharing with you, any glory I feel, comes from me knowing I did my very best. And having done my best, I realized that all too infrequently have I done my absolute best when I said I wanted something. After having tasted the pain of training and the pain of complete exertion toward this worthy end, I now have a baseline for what my best means.

I have this experience now for the rest of my life. It will guide me, spur me on and douse me in consciousness about what “my best” means at any given time. I’ll say more about this when I mention my lessons learned from this whole thing.

Anyway, after I got my buckle, I laid there on my back, smiling, talking to people who’d recognized me from our running together at various points of the race and waiting. Maria and my older son were packing our car back up…rock stars! Maria pulled right up to the medical tent and two men carried me and set me in the passenger seat of my car because at this point, I couldn’t bear any weight.

It’s funny, somewhere around mile 90, I told Michael that even if someone said that I could rest and finish tomorrow and still “buckle”, I wouldn’t dare take them up on it. “I know I’m going to be in a lot of trouble when I stop.” HA! I didn’t know how right I was while I was creating this fictional opportunity in my mind.

I got home, my wife and father carried me into the tub where I took a real bath and then while everyone was in the garage I dragged myself (without bending or moving my legs—now locked in a 90 degree angle) to my bed where I spent the next 24 hours. I’m completing this exactly two weeks to the day of my completing the race. It’s not been an easy recovery; yesterday was the first day that I looked normal when I walked. I still don’t have full range of motion in my knees or feet but I’m able to get around, and that feels great.

And that’s all…

As I glance up to see my silver buckle, I know, as I did during the hardest part of the race, that it was all so worth it! Knowing that it would be worth it in the end is what got me across the line despite everything. I’ll heal, re-strengthen and have all of the memories as well as the knowledge of who I am, a bit more deeply, for the rest of my life. That feels good.

I was so convinced that I’d never run an ultra again but as I write, I’m touched by something telling me not to give up my ultra career so soon. If we really could recall pain, it might be that women would opt out of having child #2 and ultra distance athletes would know when to stop. But something drives us to not only procreate but to run—to be born again in the heat of the struggle that occurs when bodies scream “enough!” and hearts and minds are called to be their most sober—knowing what’s at stake. What’s at stake is keeping one’s word to themselves despite the challenge and… the discovery of who one can really reveal themselves to be in the sweat and sting that ultra-running is.

Could I have trained harder? Probably. Could I have educated myself better on endurance race nutrition for better performance? Yup. Hey, I got injured in February and couldn’t train again until May for a July race (I didn’t have the proper training time), could I have trained another year and done it and done better in 2013? Yeah… But I wouldn’t change a thing because regardless of whether you or I run an ultra-marathon, we all need to engage in goals in life where we get/have to learn what it means to give our best even when situations aren’t. That day, I gave my best…and that feels good.

And now…

My mind is fully on family, recovery, my business, enjoying ice cream again and discovering a new yoga practice (we’ll see when I start and how long I last!). I’ve got more “100-mile goals” in me, I just haven’t gotten them all sorted out yet. This race taught me a lot about me—about people in general. I’m human and I fail and…I’m hugely capable of rising to the occasion and going far, far beyond my prior conceived limits. If that’s true for me, it’s true for you.

So off we all go toward our own 100- mile goals—whatever they may be. Thanks for being on this journey with me.

Don’t Compromise,

PS I wrote Michael after my race to see how he was feeling both physically and emotionally. He did run 30 miles and had to support someone on a very big day. I’d got to wondering what that must have been like for him. Quoting him (with his permission) from an email he sent me, here is what he wrote:

It has been hard to compute mentally. Running 30 miles is not easy but I had done that before so physically that wasn’t the hard part and I could have run it faster. The hard part was worrying, even being responsible for someone else’s success. Not really knowing where the person is physically or mentally and trying to balance that uncertainty with forward progress and a bit of restraint. We made it so we must have had the right balance.  I can’t help but wonder that if a runner doesn’t have the right pacer, he could be finished (not finish). It was a bummer to consider what you may have thought of me if we hadn’t reached your goal. Who fails the racer or the pacer?  In the end there is always great satisfaction in helping and being a part of someone reaching there goals and you did just that.

Check out Michael’s blog: http://trailrunningny10990.blogspot.com where he shares the race from his perspective—in a much more bottom-line way!

Lessons:

Sometimes giving 100% means 100% and sometimes it means 30%. Because we don’t just run or raise a family or sell or… We all have a lot going on and have to learn to set huge 100-mile goals—of course and to pace ourselves with whatever resources (money, energy, time) we have as we look to live our version of an uncompromised life. Good pacing, endurance requires getting there—getting there with no fuel left in the tank. It means prioritizing so that “there” is worth the life you live en-route.

All goals are not worth your best and from a different perspective… one’s “best” will vary to the degree of the importance of a goal.

It’s important to have goals that are worth the pain of their achievement.

Just because things don’t go as planned, doesn’t mean they aren’t going as they are supposed to go.

Your body has wisdom, listen to it, it’ll tell you what it needs.

Your mind can override your body’s assertions. Our bodies (minds too) will do an awful lot to avoid pain. Listen, hear it’s council but WE can decide for ourselves both what is painful and how much we’re willing to experience to get what we want.

We all need a crew–people who are there for us doing what we can’t or doing what we have no business trying to do if we’re to actually accomplish our intended goals.

People want to help.

Run your race. Do your best, be inspired by others, achieve because you can but…run your race.

Plan, plan, plan and then deal with reality, adjust course and keep moving.

My crew was the best and Michael Wagenseil is great!

Video – A Final Hike

// July 20th, 2012 // Comments Off on Video – A Final Hike // Videos

Prep

// July 19th, 2012 // 1 Comment » // Uncategorized

Corn Starch (don’t ask)…check!

Peanut M&M’s…check!

Cliff Bars…check!

Socks and extra socks…check!

Extra sneakers…check!

Hat…I don’t want to wear a hat. Do you want your poofy hair to be an incessantly infested nest for black flies? No. Then will you be wearing a hat? Hat…CHECK!

1 day, 12 hours and 7 minutes.

I’m excited, nervous, ready to be done…

I’m excited to start. I’m excited to hold the silver buckle that says I did the Vermont 100 in less than 24 hours. I’m excited to see the miles tick past and to get past mile 50 when I feel I can actually start a count down.

I’m nervous that I could get sick. I’m nervous that I could get hurt. I’m nervous that I won’t finish for some reason.

I’m so ready to be done and to put this event, which I hold as both a completion of a long period of training and preparation, heart ache and celebration and a commencement of a new life I intend on creating after this event.

Thanks to all of you who have been with me on this journey and who have asked me about my health (mental and otherwise) and cared so much about this process. It’s from you that I’ve come to realize what a big deal this 100 mile event really is.

This journal will convert in time (give me time!!!) to a journal that captures what I’m working on personally and professionally that honors the ideals in both The Uncompromised and in a big ole goal like, “Run 100 miles, Ron, because of who it’ll make of you to be able to show up and run it-let alone finish it.” So going forward I’ll invite others to contribute what their “100 Mile” goals are and to use this forum as a place for support, advice, appreciation and fun–yup, even fun!

Here I go everyone!

Don’t Compromise, Ron…check!

Injury…

// July 14th, 2012 // Comments Off on Injury… // Uncategorized

I hurt the ball of my right foot. It’s bruised and pretty swollen. Right now I’m walking on my heal to get around. Unreal.

I’ll see what I can do to heal it quickly but no sense not adding a little drama to my race. Sheesh.

Last Run

// July 14th, 2012 // Comments Off on Last Run // Uncategorized

[audio http://100milejournal.com/wp-content/uploads/Trail-Run.mp3]

Last “Long” Run

// July 9th, 2012 // Comments Off on Last “Long” Run // Uncategorized

People come from all over the world to go to NYC–and some passionate runners make the trip just to run in and around Central Park.

So for my last “long” run (16 miles) it was great to have the opportunity to be in NYC this week and do my 16 miles in a couple loops around Central park (plus four miles – each loop around the park is 6 miles).

I got in to NYC at 8:30 PM tonight (Monday) and by 9:26 I was off. It was an uneventful and celebratory jog–except for clouds of marijuana smoke I ran through at a couple different locations around the park. I don’t know why but that just makes me laugh–or maybe it’s the marijuana making me do that! HA!

Anyway, check out the pics of the two raccoons that I saw hitting a garbage can for a late night snack around 66th St.

Not much more to say about the run. Next time I pass 16 miles running it’ll be with 84 to go!

Less than two weeks!

// July 9th, 2012 // Comments Off on Less than two weeks! // Just an Update, Uncategorized

I ran 6.5 today at 90%+ effort. My lungs/legs didn’t adjust until about 4.5 miles in and then I ran harder.

I just kept thinking, “You think your legs are sore now…get used to the pain because in less than two weeks…!” See corresponding picture. Hint: It’s the one where I’m lying down!

I’m going to run 16 pretty hard this week and a couple “shorties” and then oh, man…that’s that! It’ll be time to just jog/stretch and repeat a few times until. I’m so excited to just get running and get into it!

Tough Run Yesterday (7/4)

// July 5th, 2012 // Comments Off on Tough Run Yesterday (7/4) // endurance, exercise, Physical Training, running, Ultra-marathon

I had a really tough time yesterday running 16 and of course the thoughts raced through my mind, “If I’m struggling like this on 16…100?!” I think I was dehydrated.

Why? Because I was sweating profusely (normal as I was running in 85 degree, very humid weather-as well as stopping every 2 miles to do pushups), had the chills and felt completely beat after the run. Honestly it’s about 20 hours later and I’m still thirsty.

Note to self: Drink A LOT before the race and don’t stop drinking throughout the race!! It’s weird, I just didn’t feel that thirsty and I was drinking but…

Anyway, another lesson learned and one more 16 mile run (long run) next week and then I will spend the last week before the race doing 2 mile runs and good stretches. Rested, stretched and ready-whatever that means!

There are so many factors in an endurance event like this, like life. I’m controlling what I can and then just starting the race and running one mile at a time.