After a quick stop to water a tree behind the truck, it was time for the weigh in. Now was the time to determine how well I’d been managing my intake and what kind of shape I was in. I should have peed after I got weighed but it would not wait. I hopped on the scale and the medical Doc asked how I felt? I replied I felt great considering I’d been running all day. He said I was doing well and was only down 2 lbs. I could continue. The girls said they would see me at Tracer Brook, and off I was to start my 2nd loop of three.
It was the heat of the day, humidity was up from all the rain last night, but this was about as bad as it was going to get. I told myself I can do this: Only 2 lbs down, legs still moving well, and no significant problems. The first couple of miles were fairly flat, which was a nice break from all the ups and down, but it did not last long. The course drifted off the nice smooth dirt road and straight up another hill with a few more rocks and roots (but not that bad).
Out of nowhere, the blue sky turned dark, and there was a rumble of thunder in the near distance. About halfway up the hill the bottom of the sky fell out and it was a deluge. It actually felt refreshing, although I was soaked to the bone. The crackling of lighting was popping all around me with no place to go - Nothing but more hill and trees. The trail became really muddy and the road shoes started to lose traction. Nothing to do but keep moving forward, hope no trees fall on me, the lighting doesn’t get too close, and the storm passes quickly.
I approached Pinky’s and the rain was steadily coming down, but that didn’t stop the nice older lady from helping me and the other runners that arrived just before me. She was pretty amazing making sure all the runners were taken care of, despite the rain. You can’t measure the human spirit and willingness to support others so they can succeed. She was the role model for others to follow, and it made me very thankful for all she endured. I thanked her for her support, and I was on my way to Birminghams.
I caught up with a group of runners and just trailed them for a few miles, which had about the same pace as me. The rain finally stopped and the next aid station was within sight. It was the same routine of filling my bottle, grabbing a handful of boiled potatoes, figs, and banana, before I was out across a large wet field. The horse flies had a field day with me as they were dive bombing around my ears and landing on any exposed skin for an easy meal. Soon, there were about 4 or 5 buzzing around me as I started swatting at the air and getting mad. They must have had their fill because before I knew it, they were gone as fast as they had appeared.
I cruised into Tracer Brook (mile 57, 5:23 P.M.) and time to see my crew again. Kate was meeting me at the entrance to the aid station and walking me to where the crew was setup. It was a brief stop but Laura was concerned I was not getting enough food. She was right, but I told her I was eating potatoes and figs at the other stations. I drank another Boost, told them I would see them in 5 miles, and off I went.
It was too good to be true, but time for another long uphill climb that would not stop going up. My hamstrings were cramping pretty good which made the uphill worse than it really was. I just kept my focus on seeing my crew at the next aid station. It seemed to take forever to get to the top of this hill. Another one of those, turn the corner, and still going up with no end in sight. I could not wait for the downhill part to stretch my legs out a little. It took forever, but finally the top, and the end of my quads. The smooth downhill run didn’t workout the way I had hoped, and my quads started to get really tight and almost on the verge of cramping. I knew this moment in the race would occur, just not this soon.
At the famous Margaritaville aid station (mile 62.1, 7:23 P.M.) stood my awesome crew on the side of the road, like they have all day in the heat, waiting to support me. Kate was a little worried because it took awhile to cover that last 5 miles. I told them there was more going up than anything else. Laura was not concerned, for she knew I would start slowing down about this time of the race.
This was a cool aid station with the lights, party atmosphere, and a margarita if desired (which was the last thing on my mind – or stomach). It was after 7 PM so I grabbed my light before leaving. Laura said she would have a change of cloths for me at Camp 10 Bear, and that my brother would be there to pace me the last 30 miles. She said Albert had a fast recovery and felt good today. This was great news and I looked forward to running with him.
I didn’t get ½ a mile down the road when I had to visit Smokey the bear and take care of some business. What goes in, must come out. This is why a bathroom kit is the first thing you put in your waist pack. It was mostly downhill all the way back to Camp 10 Bear. I hooked-up with two guys and a girl and cruised with them as we tread lightly for all of our quads hurt. It was comforting to know, in a strange way, that I was not the only one hurting and still moving.
It soon got dark, lights went on, and Camp 10 Bear (mile 70.1, 9:30 P.M.) was just down the road. Tiki torches and cars lined the road entering the aid station, and my crew was there again waiting for me with one new addition – my brother, Albert. What felt like only a few minutes, was more than 30 minutes, but it was worth spending a little time with everybody. I had already figured out that any hopes for a sub-24 hour finish was gone with my legs starting to cramp, so I might as well take a little time and get regrouped.
Laura had a plan, and before long, it was off with the old soaked clothes, and on with the new. Got a change of socks and swapped to my trail shoes. About this time I was not thinking too clearly, but knew I wanted some caffeine for the night time to stay alert and give my energy level a jump start. I chugged a starbucks espresso and took a nodoz – First big mistake of the race.
I told Laura I would grab a chicken soup when I weighed in. It was hard to get out of the chair and start walking with the legs getting stiff. I was pretty excited Albert was there and would be pacing me. I thanked everyone again, kissed my wife, and said see you on the dark side. We went down for the weigh-in, and this time I limped on the scale. Doc asked how I felt, and had my same reply of good considering the situation. I was only down 2 lbs and informed I could continue. I looked around and saw some carnage, and told Albert we better get going.
It did not take long before we were going up another hill. I had read that this hill would be rocky with some roots. This was true. What was unique was the trail was marked with glow sticks, and it gave a new perception as the glow went up into the dark sky. I told Albert my legs were really stiff and it might take a little while for them to loosen up after spending all that time in the last aid station. I really slowed up and was reduced to a death march with 30 miles ahead of me. Half way up the hill, I realized I forgot to get some chicken noodle soup. I remember being pretty bummed about this because I had been looking forward to it for the last 5 miles.
The closer we got to the top, the worse I felt. I was sweating bad and was worried I might run out of water. My legs hurt more at this time than at any other time that day. They were really stiff, and painful, when trying to muster-up a shuffle. I told my brother it would be slow going from this point. He encouraged me to just keep moving and do what I could. The steeper downhills were very painful with each footstep as shear pain shot through my legs. I tried running the easier downhills, although I must have looked pitiful. I could tell the lactic acid buildup must have been maxed out - It felt like it. I just kept reminding myself that everyone else out here is suffering and still moving – to just suck it up. Ironic enough, it got really bad, but never worse.
My body was still moving, with the same amount of pain, but it was my mind that got worse. I found it difficult to think of anything more complicated than keeping myself moving. I was wondering if this was the dreaded bonking stage when everything stops working and the body just quits. I was almost out of water and still had a way before the next aid station. Albert had already figured it out and said I had too much caffeine at one time which dehydrated me. This was the first time all day I ran out of water, and the coolest time of the day. My thoughts were consumed by getting to the next aid station for water.
What seemed like eternity, Seabrooke (mile 74.7, 11:35) appeared on the side of the road like a lifesaver of light. I drank water and had a cup of roman noodles. I sat down in a chair next to this young girl who was in bad shape. Neither one of us could muster up a hi, how's it going. Out of nowhere, my stomach started to turn and within seconds I was trying to figure how I was going to get out of this chair to keep from hurling in front of this girl. All in one motion, I managed to get up, while empting my stomach. Not once, but several more times until I hit the dry heaves stage.
I looked over my shoulder and apologized to everyone for the mess. The aid station captain was really nice and said no problem, I’m not the first, nor will I be the last. I was thinking to myself, this was not good – dehydrated – low on fuel – and losing everything in my stomach. This is when big brother takes over and does what I was hoping he would do at this point of the race. He got me some more water, a handful of pretzels, and said we needed to get going. Unfortunately, the young girl was dropping, and there was nothing I could think of to change her mind – she was done. I remember feeling bad about this because I was in her shoes just 9 months ago, but for different reasons.
We started down the road, and I was feeling a little better. Running was still difficult, but I was still moving forward. Albert kept track of our pace and time to ensure we would finish on time. He would encourage me to run the downhills, and take it easy on the uphills. I remember a few times saying “not another hill” as the glow sticks looked like they went forever up into the dark sky. He would say don’t look up and keep putting one foot in front of the other. I felt like cussing, like the guys I ran into earlier in the day, but that would take too much energy.
Before long we were at the West Winds aid station (mile 77, 12:37 P.M.) and another chance to see my crew. Renee was sleeping in the truck and Laura was keeping an eye on her like a good mom. Kate and Josh met us and had everything in place for us. I sat in the chair and I told Kate to just give me 10 minutes to close my eyes, and get me going. I was really sleepy, and low on energy, so maybe 10 minutes would give me a quick charge of my batteries. What seems like a blink, Kate was tapping me on the shoulder telling me 10 minutes was up. Josh had my bottle filled, and I had no reason to not get on my feet and get moving.
I had now gone further than I’ve ever been, and announced that I was going to do this. Albert insisted I eat some more pretzels on the way out of the aid station. I forced about half a handful down but my mouth was too dry to swallow any more. I remember for a brief minute what Barry told me about the difficulty with eating food after his cancer treatment with his saliva glands not working. He had to have water to help swallow his food.
From here on, it was really foggy outside, and inside my mind too. It was really wild only seeing the thick beam of light piercing the darkness. It was like running in a tunnel. On one section of the trail, my foot hit a rock and I didn’t have enough strength to keep myself from going down. I hit the dirt and rocks and rolled forward hoping to not damage anything. I got up, brushed the dirt off, and Albert ask if everything was ok. No pain or blood, that was lucky, I was thinking to myself.
We ran by a couple of runners in the woods sitting along side the trail resting when we heard some noise in the woods. We shone our lights in the general area and saw some large deer making their night run through the forest. For a minute, I thought of the video of the deer attacking a man in his backyard, and then laughed to myself.
I remember seeing the road split and not seeing any signs. To the right was up another hill, to the left was a downhill: We veered left. I was thinking to myself we always end up going up hill. Downhill would have been too easy. I asked Albert if he saw a marker and he said no. Vermont uses yellow pie plates with black arrows and the letter “C” as markers. The arrows indicated the direction of travel, and the “C” stood for confidence which was about 1/4 of a mile down the trail to make you feel good that you were going in the correct direction. We went a little further down the road and ran into two other runners with a look indicating that they had taken the wrong turn. One of them sent his pacer down the road to look for a plate. Shortly after, his pacer came running back and did not find a plate. She said this was the wrong direction and needed to turn back. It was only about a half mile off the path, but a half mile feels like 5 miles at this time in the race. Back up the hill and we found the yellow plate behind a road sign, nailed to a tree – difficult to spot from the angle we were running.
I remember very little about the next two aid stations, and Bill’s (mile 88.6, 5:00 A.M.) was a blur. I remember Laura and Kate on the side of the road in a parking area asking what I needed but I don’t remember replying. This is when Laura was really concerned with my well being for she has never seen me in such a depleted and non-responsive state. I can’t imagine what must have been going through their minds seeing me like this.
After what felt like a few minutes, Albert said, “Let’s go.” It was a short walk to the medical station for my last weigh-in of the race. I dragged my feet up on the scale, and was greatly surprised that I was still only 2 lbs down. The Doc told me I could continue, as I looked around and saw some runners on medical hold and sitting in chairs.
Out of the aid station we traveled as the sky started to get lighter. My energy was starting to return with the darkness going away. I remember a few sections we were shuffling along and passed some runners. This started to feel good, so Albert kept encouraging me to get the next group of hobbling runners. This continued for awhile until we met up with this younger lady from DC. I was not in the talkative mood, so Albert was being nice and responded to her questions. She would not stop talking, and started to get on my last sore nerve. This lasted for awhile until she picked-up her pace, and Albert and I looked at each other and said – let her go, thank God. She was a nice person, but I was not in the mood for long random conversations. Not too much longer, she was back in view as we caught up to her. Fortunately, she needed a break, and sat over by a tree, as we forged on to get some distance between us.
Polly’s (mile 95.5, 7:12 A.M.) was the last crew aid station, and Albert said do not stop – keep going. The girls were on the side of the road waiting, and I handed Laura my waist pack and said we were not stopping. They sensed I was feeling better, and was ready to get this over. They yelled “4.5 miles to go”. I was thinking 6 miles in my mind, so this sounded really great.
Albert had done an excellent job of keeping me moving and watching our pace to ensure a finish. I asked how hard do we need to push this last section, and he said, “It’s in the bag. We could walk in from here and finish in 29 hours.” I was concerned because I had heard the last section had some nice size hills. In my frayed state of mind, there were some hills, but not as bad as I was expecting. I kept waiting for a big hill, but it never showed up: Maybe because I was just ready to get this race over.
Although the sun was up, it felt like time had stopped at dawn with the foggy thick air as we emerged from the woods. We were greeted by my sister Sue, and Albert’s girlfriend Maria, on the side of the trail just before the finish line. They walked with us for a short distance before returning to the finish line. I remember Sue telling me how amazed she was in what I had accomplished and it made me feel good. She said how awesome it was to see Albert and me emerging out of the woods, in a thick fog, like it was a movie scene from Vietnam. Another individual on the side of the trail said the end was just around the corner and out of the next short section of woods.
As we approached the banner tied between two trees, I looked around and saw my awesome crew that stayed with me the last two sunrises. My mom and sisters were there to watch me complete my first 100 mile ultra in the state I grew up in. It never felt so good, yet so fatigued, crossing the line as the time keeper announced 28:55.
I went over and gave my wife a kiss and a hug as she whispered “You did it baby” in my ear. I hugged my sister Kate and said thank you for being apart of my crew. Laura took our picture and I saw a tear in Kate’s eye. She just said the whole race was such an emotional experience for her. Kate is not the type to tear up easily so I knew it really meant something to her, as it did with all of us.
I was so glad everybody was there to support me, and my mom was able to see me finish this epic journey. I credit my mom for being able to dig deep and find the strength to run these distances. My little sister, Toni, was actually there, and I didn’t imagine it like I did at the JFK-50 in 07 (see my JFK blog).
Like I said in the beginning of this report, the only reason I was successful was because I had such a great team supporting me. The whole experience was more than words can describe: My incredible crew, support of my family, pushing my limits, and a greater force looking over me.
Post Race Thoughts
Kate was amazing in all the support she provided as a first time crew member. She was most patient, stayed up the entire time, and never missed a beat. She was often the first one I saw coming into an aid station as she guided me to where Laura and the kids had camp setup. Thanks Kate for everything you did and I will always have a very special memory of you for this moment in time. You took time off work, went without sleep, endured long anticipated stretches of time, to only name a few, to be there for me and my family.
To my brother who trained so hard and battled the flu, to be there for me and get me to the finish line. You pushed me when I needed it, encouraged me to keep me motivated, and believed in me when I had doubts in my darkest moment. You kept me out of trouble, and protected me, when we were kids, and you did the same to get me across the finish line. Thanks is just not enough.
My wife and kids who supported me in all the training that was required to toe the line. All the late nights of bring me food on those long runs. Making sure I had all the gear, and more, to succeed in my passion. Although not runners themselves, they would listen to me talk of some running topic everyday, and always show interest. Other runners have told me how lucky I was to have my family support and crew for me. A lot of ultra runners toe the line with little to no support. How blessed I am. I can’t say enough about my wife and two wonderful kids.
After spending a great week in Vermont with my family, it was time to get back to reality. When I returned to work, Steve had informed me that we raised $10K for my buddy fighting cancer. And the donations were still arriving. As for the race results of the 20th Vermont 100 mile endurance race, 266 started the race and only 59% finished. One of the lowest finish rates in the history of the race. Also, and most unfortunately, the Race Director, Jim Hutchison, passed away just days following the race. He will be missed by many.
This race taught me a lot about what went well, and what I need to change to improve in this type of event. I got behind in my nutrition plan within the first 30 miles and never recovered. I was strong up to about 65 miles into the race when my lack of nutrition started to catch me and turned the race into a survival feast. This also impacted my stay time at crew aid stations and lost too much time. It’s like life, you learn as you go, and your experience and confidence grows in time with each success or failure. This was a success in many ways, and I look forward to pushing my limits again.
Driving 1200 miles (one way): An arm and a leg in gas.
Daughter locking keys in truck in remote location in VT: Frustrating.
Running 100 miles to raise funds to help a friend: Priceless.
TAB
After taking two weeks off to let my feet and spirit heal following the Arkansas Traveller 100M Race, I knew time was not on my side to get ready for this next adventure. Some experienced runners say you need 6 weeks to allow your body to fully recover following a 100 mile race. This also depends on the individual, level of training, and your ability to recover. I decided to default to the old saying “Best to arrive at the starting line under-trained than with injury.” I only had a few weeks to train which was not enough to get any long runs in, but I did manage a few shorter runs to maintain my current fitness level and allow my confidence in my new running shoes to increase. Not having any long runs between races did not bother me as much because endurance is slow to build and slow to lose.
Everything was on schedule as we headed back into Hagerstown for the packet pick-up. Afterwards, the hunger pains started to kick in as we found a large Mall with a food court and everything but pasta. We decided to go ahead and eat and Letice and I shared some fried rice from a Chinese fast food place. By this time it was dark and the Friday evening work traffic was in high gear.
The canal section was perfectly flat, smooth, single lane dirt road (no vehicle traffic – only people and bikes allowed) lined with tall trees with half the leaves fallen. The Potomac River was flowing against us on the left hand side and always in view, just a rock-throw away. Every now and then, a kayaker would pass in the muddy colored water or we would see a biker out on a Saturday ride as the swarms of runners passed by.
The cadet caught up to us and we kept passing each other for most of this section. The canal just kept going . . . and going . . . and going. I was not able to get any more food or gels in me and was just sipping on water trying to not lose it. The Tums may have helped but I didn’t notice. I still felt bad and keep getting worse as the day went on. I kept telling James it was okay to go on but he insisted on not leaving me. I thought about Sidney and the pain she and her family must be enduring during their troubling times and said to myself “Who am I to be complaining about my momentary issues?” James asked me if I was okay and I replied that nothing would keep me from crossing the finish line this time – even if I had to crawl the last few miles. There was no way that I was going to let Sidney down. It was the next to the last aid station (Taylors Landing – Mile 38) before getting off this bloody road when we saw my crew for the last time before crossing the finish line. 
