The Race

This is a long post so get some water, wine or Ben and Jerry’s.

Memories are a funny thing; they’re incomplete, not perfectly accurate and in time, can fade into fiction. So I’m writing this as soon – as thoroughly as I can, so that I best recall what I experienced over the course of the 2012 VT 100.

How I Got Here

In early 2001 I became sort of hypnotized by a sports special on the Ironman Championship in Hawaii. (The Ironman consists of a 2.4 mile swim, a 112 mile bike and a 26.2 mile run.) Of course seeing elite athletes excel was inspiring – but seeing regular people – people like me that I could relate to, giving everything they had physically, emotionally, mentally and often financially (to get there) to compete in an event that demands so much … I was intoxicated.

There was something more that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. It seemed extreme. There was a polarity – a holding of two different things at the same time. You start the race with maybe 1000 people but you’re doing it by yourself. There are thousands of spectators, but you pass them in seconds and you’re alone again. You’re doing the same event as everyone else but your training, your fitness and innumerable unpredictable factors figure in to make this race unique to each individual.

Over the years I’d done a bunch of triathlons culminating in Ironman Lake Placid on July 27, 2003. It was one of the most incredible days of my life. In the years that followed, I continue to enjoy running as my primary means of staying in shape but at some point, someone informed me about this thing called “ultramarathons” (a running race over 30 miles).

Not long after I saw another TV special on the Western States 100 – a beast of an ultramarathon with incredible climbs and steep descents, rough trails … again, I felt intoxicated. I had run and finish the Western States 100!

It was during this TV special that I learned about the tradition in 100 mile runs where, if the participant could finish in less than 24 hours, they were given a pure silver belt buckle. It’s already an amazing thing to compete in – let alone finish, a 100 mile run … to buckle is the great achievement. I knew I had to buckle!

I had my eyes on only one 100 - the Western States 100. From my research, in most cases, you have to qualify to run a 100 by running a 50-mile run in less than 12 hours. This was certainly the case with Western States 100.

Time to find a local 50-mile run and get training.

In 2008 I found something about three hours away called the Finger Lakes 50’s. (They run a 50-mile and a 50k concurrently.) The long and the short of this run was that despite getting lost in the woods twice and taking a wrong turn on the course to the tune of about 4 or 5 miles, I finished in 11 hours and 57 minutes! I just made it! After my great relief, my first thought was of getting home and filling out the application for the next Western States 100.

My excitement was dashed when I learned that the entrants from 2008 were already selected for the 2009 race because of the forest fires that stopped the race from being run (2008). 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.

Last year (2011) I had some major personal issues hitting me – as well as the urge to “finish what I’d started” so I dove into the sport I do best to find my peace and perspective. I couldn’t mess with the Western States 100 because entry requires first winning a lottery, THEN registering. I had to know that my spot at a starting line for 100 miles was guaranteed otherwise… All of that training to not be able to run? Not a chance. That’s when I found the Vermont 100 and realized that this course was no joke. Excited… I started training.

Earlier I mentioned finishing what I’d started … I knew that I’d never win the race but I could decide that I WILL finish the Vermont 100 in less than 24 hours. I will buckle!

The Drive to the Race

After completely jamming my Honda Pilot with a tent, two futons (Does anyone else not like that word??) and all sorts of running supplies I headed off with my crew (my wife and 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 long and how many hills and twisty roads we’d traveled – and yet we’d not gone as far as I’d have to run the next day.

It’s funny, it was then that I realized how much I’d avoided thinking about the magnitude of 100 rough, hilly, dark … miles. 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.

Time to Get Settled

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, I would have. I’d been thinking about this race for about 5 years; I just wanted my destiny now!

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. (So in the VT100, runners are allowed a pacer 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!

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.

Writing just now, reflecting, I’m getting the pressure that pacers must feel. As I think about my Race I’m filled with even more gratitude and appreciation for Michael.

At 5:30 pm we ate our pre-race dinner – and for me, my desire to just get going intensified. I got in bed by 8 but neither the people outside my tent nor 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. 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!

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; many people started finding a buddy to run with. 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.

Even the uniqueness of the beautiful country houses on a hillside or in a pasture became almost 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 always. 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 it, but it did feel good. 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 – and knees!. If you let it rip, like I did you still put your knees in – independent, your whole body in jeopardy. My problem would be my knees. 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. That got me moving again. Another thing that happened while I was stretching – or honestly, just running along and someone passed me, I remember momentarily feeling inferior. Though this feeling never lasted more than a heartbeat or so—I just kept returning myself back to, “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. Ultimately, not a good plan. 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 (with an 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. I thought the flashlight was heavy! What was I thinking?! Fifteen 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 getting 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 (un)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 – often with fresh 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 – or even thought of them made me gag during this race crazy. These events force you to listen carefully to your body—and obey it!

If you’ll listen, your body will tell you if it’s something it clearly doesn’t want yet other things require more attention/perception, like: one’s need to drink (And drink what?) 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 all those 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! (Momentarily, skipping ahead, 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.

I fueled up, left my family with kisses and sweaty hugs and headed out feeling really good. 30 miles is about ⅓ 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.

A Side Note

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 or 47 miles to go is almost incomprehensible and doesn’t offer an encouraging perspective. Try it!

Say to yourself, “I only have to run 47 more miles” and notice how you feel. Haha!

Back to the Race

The next 17 miles for me were pretty good for the most part. I felt strong, I ran steady and strong. 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 spin to enjoy the view around me.

What Goes Up …

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.

This pasture was mowed but the grass was knocked down and hiding large rocks and holes. 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!

I made it safely down and away from this nonsense! But it was just after that I realized that I have IT bands! 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 much. I probably wasn’t doing it right. I also know 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. 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 ⅓ 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. 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. 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 bottom 3 inches of the muscle that runs alongside my one shin began to really hurt – I don’t know how to explain it but he “popped” it and off I went. I think I recall him saying that the fascia was stuck to the skin and the muscle. Whatever!

My feet had been binding up and something was now partially freed up. Thank you, ultra-doc! It’s funny, I was running with a guy somewhere between miles 40-45; he was in extraordinary pain in those muscles that I was just discovering! I just moaned in sympathy. I had to run my race.

Extracurricular Fun

Still running strong but beginning to fatigue (somewhere around mile 50), I tripped on a rock in the woods. Suddenly, with my eyes wide and my mouth gaping, I was “running” to keep myself up, bent over at a 90-degree angle with my arms flailing wildly! Oh my gosh. 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. I started telling myself and other runners, (when they asked) when I’d hoped/planned on finishing: I’m running 100 miles in less than 23 hours. If ours was a longer conversation, I admitted to a few that – in life, I like excitement and can even create drama. AND, 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. Twenty-three hours it is!

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 particularly hurting on the downhills, recommended that I run backwards on the downhills to save my legs. What?! I laughed at him but tried it. There was some temporary relief!! Shocked and amused by this wisdom, I thanked him as best as I could as I wadded through the pain.

As we parted ways, I found myself thinking, “Yeah, I’ll run backwards for two steps and crack my head open. That’ll save your legs, Circus-boy.” There was no more backward running.

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: 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. The only exceptions being 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 games our minds 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 (In one I did feel really healthy and actually jogged steadily!), dark and challenging trails and gravel roads illuminated only by the occasional spectator driving by and the never-ending chain of chem lights (green glow sticks) that kept us all moving on the right path.

The cars that crept by (sometimes blinding us with their high beams) looking for their friends. “Hey, Jimmy, is that you?” “No.” muttered whatever queried runner. The process began to wear on a lot of us.

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 hard 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. I knew Hotel California was coming but I still had to run 12 to get to there!

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.” He’d say, “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 too 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. Thank you, 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. 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 effect 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 pounds. 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 were absorbed by the darkness. 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, this is going 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 “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. But 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.

In the dark of the woods, we suddenly 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! Almost! So much happening so fast: Two people were coming close to passing me (within 20 yards) and I thought, “no way.” I couldn’t have that; I hurt and just wanted to walk it in. Michael said, “no” so I kept running. I could hear people cheering, then I could see lights but we weren’t quite there. My legs were letting me know that the deals we made during the final 40 miles (to keep going until) were about to be fulfilled/expire. I jogged on — faster now though the pain was getting unbearable. I shuffled on until about 50 yards out with no fear of getting passed by anyone. I told Michael I was just going to walk and he told me that I couldn’t walk across the finish line!

I was 30 yards away…THERE WAS THE FINISH, ABOUT 20 YARDS OUT OF THE WOODS!

On I jogged, knowing that this five-year 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) 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.

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 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 inside. 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 writing this, the satisfaction, the contentment I feel, comes from knowing I did my best – from that day in the frigid water of Lake George through the moment I crossed the finish line.

Having done my best, I realized that too often I haven’t done my 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. I hope I never forget it guides me, spur me on and douse me in consciousness about what “my best” means at any given time.

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. My wife and my older son were packing our car back up. Rock stars! She pulled right up to the medical tent; a couple guys picked me up, carried me to the passenger side and set me in the seat – because at this point, I couldn’t bear any weight.

A Quick Memory and a Final Thought

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.

Thus ends my Race Report proper. If you’re interested in what happened next, check out my Post-Race Report.

When I got home, my wife and father carried me …