My apologies if this run report gets out of hand, but attempting to describe a 376-mile run might be a bit tricky...
The preparations went according to plan. My two-a-day runs successfully made 5am running a natural habit rather than a painful, stiff, loathsome task, and afternoon runs were just icing on the cake. Admittedly, my long-runs left a little to be desired, but I was banking on a solid running history to help with the mental aspects so inherent within the long-run side of training. I had made something of a calculated gamble by taking a slightly alternate training philosophy building up to the run; rather than arrive at the start in peak physical condition, I had opted to arrive in decent condition, focusing more on the mental side of training. This decision was made with the idea that when you are on the absolute razor's edge of fitness, falling off the other side into injury is a very real risk, and pounding the pavement day after day after day after day seemed like a powder keg of injuries waiting to be lit. I didn't want to provide a spark.
Finally, after months of preparation, it came time to get the show on the road. My crew of Tony Bolan and Dannie Cutts loaded into the van with me and headed down to Gulf Shores for what would turn out to be quite an odyssey. The dichotomy never ceases to amaze me; the ease of the 6-hour drive southward belied the imminently contrasting 10-day return trip.
We arose ever-so-early the morning of Day 1 of the Alabama Relief Run to get a good start to the longest scheduled day. After donning all appropriate gear, we headed to the southern terminus of AL Hwy 59 at the beach in Gulf Shores, took the requisite pictures with one foot in the Gulf, and I was off and running. For whatever reason, the magnitude of the task at hand was driven home by a simple statement from Dannie when we pulled into the parking lot next to the beach. "Okay, John, this is where you get out of the van."
After a short stop or two making sure we had safely extricated ourselves from the city of Gulf Shores and crossed the Intercoastal Waterway, Tony and Dannie began what would become an all-too-oft repeated pattern of driving 5 miles up the road and waiting. I made it to the first several aid stops entirely too quickly, still burning off the adrenaline that accompanies the beginning of anxiously awaited events, but soon enough, I settled into a relatively "sustainable" pace.
The rest of Day 1 passed relatively uneventfully. The distance, along with some pretty strong headwinds eventually took their toll, so the 5-mile legs gradually shortened to 4-mile legs, which, in turn, eventually turned into 3-mile legs, and various stops were punctuated with humorously appropriate landmarks or crew antics, such as Tony playing portions of the Forrest Gump soundtrack on his iPad. The end of the day foreshadowed days to come, however, with several miles run on dark, winding roads. I'm not sure who was more nervous at that point, me or the crew...
Listening to "Against the Wind" from the Forrest Gump Soundtrack...
I came to the end of my first day of the ARR. 57.7 miles in the bank, and the longest day of the run in the books. I piled into the van at the designated end point for the day, and we made our way back to the hotel in Bay Minette, roughly 10 or 15 miles back. (I commented on how depressing it was that we made it back to Bay Minette so quickly when I had just spent hours running away from it). I set my own precedent for nightly rituals by showering off (much to Tony and Dannie's relief....), eating the pizza we had ordered, posting updates online, and crashing out on the bed.
4am of Day 2 arrived. Holy crap it's early. What have I gotten myself into? Everything is tight. I'm too sore to walk. My feet hurt. Bad. I've hardly even started this thing. How did I expect to keep this up for 9 MORE DAYS? It's too big. I'm not ready. I should have known...
Stop. Can't let those thoughts creep in...
I knew waking up on Day 2 would be a mental battle. So many miles already covered (nearly 100k...), and yet sooooooo early in the overall progress of the run. My spirits were lifted when I looked over to see that my brother Peter had arrived sometime during the night to assume pacing duties for the day. He knew I needed the help that day, but with the mental beat-down that accompanied the 57 solo miles of Day 1, he'll never fully know just how crucial he was in the continuation and eventual success of the run.
Shady looking character...
We made our way out to where we had left off the night before. Still dark. Peter and I strapped our headlamps on and wandered out into the darkness as Tony and Dannie drove on by to find a place to meet us 5 miles up. It was nice having some company out there. As tends to be the case when he's come out to run with me on various other ultra adventures, the conversations and commentary that come along with Peter's pacing proved to be a source of substantial amusement. I *almost* forgot how intimidated I was with the distance.
Peter and I made it to the first crew stop of the day soon enough, Peter still digesting something of a life-altering, transcendental experience (if you want more details, you'll have to ask him; all I know is that several state and federal agencies subsequently got involved, sealed off the area, generated a cover story of "abnormal floral/faunal activity," and soon reported the existence of 3 newly discovered species). Tony and Dannie had to work for a while to calm him down enough to even speak coherently...
Why is Peter's right sleeve pulled up?
The next several legs went by relatively well, and at the 20-mile mark for the day, Peter decided to take a bit of a break to rest his aching knees. He had been working under a house for Alabama Rural Ministry (ARM) the day before, which banged up his already tricky knees, so I was thrilled to have had him that long. He had gotten me through the crucial early miles and into a good running rhythm. The following solo 18 miles went by rather well, and Peter even came back in for the last 12 of the day.
The Brothers Nevels... Getting it done...
Good Times during the Alabama Relief Run
After the last few (dark) miles of the day, Peter and I piled back into the van and were taken back to the hotel we had checked into in Monroeville. Dannie went out for food and supplies while I tended to online updates and cleaning up. Peter grabbed the food and had to head back to Auburn that night; I'm not sure which was tougher for him, the 32 miles or the 2+ hour drive back afterward. In any case, he lived up to everything I had hoped for his pacing day. Job well done.
Day 3 came with the same aches and pains of Day 2, but the mental battle was just a little easier. I was over 107 miles into this and had no intention of letting a little foot soreness stop me...
The first few legs came and went, largely without incident. The first real internal battle occured during the fourth leg of the day. We had noticed that the next town up the road, Grove Hill, was 6 miles away, so when asked "how brave are you?" by Tony, I accepted the challenge to add the extra mile (sounds easy.. it's just one more mile... but at that point I really had to think about it...) to get into town. Sometime around mile 4 of that leg, Real Bonk #1 hit.
I've hit "the wall" of the marathon before. Yeah, it sucks, but you can get through it. I've noticed that when I get really strung out in ultras, say around mile 60 of a 100-mile race, I'll run into Real Bonks. This is when your body is rebelling from what you're asking it to do (run), just like in "the wall," but in a more coercive fashion, but the real danger of Real Bonks lies in the added mental battle. I had managed to hold off the Real Bonks up to this point with good nutrition/hydration, and sufficiently short days, but I hit it hard coming into Grove Hill, which much to my chagrin, was actually located on top of a hill. Fortunately, with a good stop and an upbeat crew, I got over my little bout of self-pity, got to feeling a little better, and got back on the road, finally getting to Dixon Mills to stop for the day.
Real Bonk #1 in Grove Hill
Compared to the way I felt at the end of Day 3, the start of Day 4 wasn't *that* bad. I was kind of getting my mind wrapped around the morning routine of waking up in pain and running nonetheless, and much to my surprise, I usually loosened up rather well (although the foot pain never really went away...) I made my way northward, having a pretty good day as the temps pleasantly rose and I made my way through several small towns, the crew performing fantastically as always.
Rarin' to go...
Going.... kinda....
Warming up yet?
Good spirits in Demopolis
The day went by pretty well until the last few miles. I had come into and out of Demopolis still feeling pretty good, but as I made my way back out of town and onto some pretty rural stretches of highway, the miles seemed to start dragging. The last two stretches of three or four miles apiece seemed to last......for.......ever......, and yet another Real Bonk took a firm grasp. I ended the day by collapsing into the van, the weight of the day illustrated well by a photo I didn't even know was taken until we uploaded it online; it shows me in my typical post-run position for a given afternoon: curled up in the fetal position in the back seat of the van, trying to hold it together while keeping my feet out of contact with anything else...
The toll it takes...
Day 5 was a landmark day, for multiple reasons. I knew that we were scheduled to meet a substantial crowd when we arrived in Tuscaloosa that day, to which I was really looking forward. The day got started just like the previous few, with me hobbling off into the darkness, eventually breaking out into a jog, while Dannie and Tony drove 5 miles up the road. I was running pretty well, all things considered, for the first two and a half or three miles. Then the wheels came off. I have heard it said that "You will be wistful for the wall of the marathon when you are in the Death Grip of the ultra," and in my vanity I thought I knew what that meant, but the morning of Day 5 taught me otherwise.
Suddenly, with little to no warning, I simply couldn't run. It wasn't a physical pain issue, but in a way that defies description, I just could not run. The log trucks that I had been battling for days seemed bigger, closer, hurling even more bits of pine shrapnel than days prior. The sparse vehicles out at 5am seemed to multiply, forcing me over onto the nonexistent shoulder to stop and bear the brunt of their hurricane-force wind shears. The damp cold seemed to saturate every fiber of my being as I placed one foot unsuredly in front of the other...
As these scenarios hit me, the mental demons saw a chink in my armor and swarmed from the depths of my own personal hell to drag me back down. I stumbled onward through the darkness (normal walking was another casualty of the predicament, slightly controlled falling forward is probably a more accurate description), the hellacious weight of the run dominating my thoughts...
I'm not even halfway there.
I can't make the schedule of the day.
I can't fight this foot pain any longer.
I can't take a single decent WALKING stride; how can I possibly run another couple HUNDRED?
...and then the even more insidious thoughts started creeping in... the ones where your brain has switched sides and is trying to trick you into giving up...
I've already gone 200 miles, no one will think any less of me for stopping now...
I've already got a huge distance PR, one that most people won't ever catch...
I've gotten enough people's attention; Habitat will get plenty of donations based on what I've already done...
You're hurting so bad, all you've got to do is say the word, and it will be over...
You're being inconsiderate to your crew if you make them worry about you like this...
You can make this suffering end...
It'll be okay... just say the word...
I grappled with these thoughts for what felt like an eternity in the cold, dark morning, when I finally saw the glint of my headlamp's reflection off the van. As I approached I saw Tony and Dannie standing in the road, shouting something, which I eventually figured out was something about how I was feeling. All I managed as a response was "I just need to sit down for a minute..." They had noticed that I was running late getting to them and were very nervously waiting just a couple more minutes before getting back in the van to head back down the road to look for me.
The next few hours are lost in a blur to me. I fear that they are painfully etched on my crew's memories. I know that I couldn't lift my head up without severe dizziness and nausea, and Tony, a former Air Force medic, said I was glassy-eyed and hypothermic, which I assume was a consequence of my slowly walking rather than running. At some point I went from sitting in a chair on the side of the road to the van, heat cranked up all the way, where I apparently spent around 2 hours before getting to the point of not shivering (with Dannie and Tony sweating their butts off... sorry guys....).
As the hours wore on, I slowly came out of the haze, regaining some body heat and getting some food and fluid in me. At some point, my Inimitable Mother arrived (another odd feeling for me was noting that when she got there, the sun was out and high in the sky... when did that happen? It was still pitch black outside when I stumbled to the van... had I been out of it for that long?) With the weird time-warp of seemingly instantaneously going from total darkness of early morning to broad daylight, the tide of battle turned against the mental demons. It was at some point during this episode that I had to make the very conscious decision to continue rather than throw in the towel. I don't know if it was out of bullheadedness or continuing delirium, but regardless of the source, the outcome was the decision that "dammit, i've come this far; i'm gonna finish this thing!"
Tony's criterion for letting me get back on the road was clear, cognizant eyes, and at some point I got there. With my Inimitable Mother by my side, we told the crew to go 1 mile up the road and that I was walking every step of this mile. I made it through the mile, had a bit of down time to rest as a news crew met us for the first interview since beginning of the run, and went out for another, then two more, with a little more confidence with every yard passing under our feet. Somehow I had made it out of the woods...
My Inimitable Mother and Me
Eyes clear enough, Tony?
In stark contrast to the beginning of the day, Day 5 ended in a fantastic parade through town. Over the previous few days, the crew and I had been in contact with both Habitat for Humanity of Tuscaloosa and the organization Rebuild Tuscaloosa, both of which had helped put together a great event for the end of the day. I met up with people from both groups in a park on the edge of Tuscaloosa, and along a with a police escort, 20 or 30 of us had a lane to ourselves at rush hour to run down 15th Street, a main artery of Tuscaloosa, before turning into campus and ending at Bryant-Denny Stadium, with a Pep Band from the Million Dollar Band, Bama's marching band who had been contacted and recruited by a friend of a friend, playing as we ran by the onlooking statues of all of UA's national championship coaches. As we ran through town, Leah of Rebuild Tuscaloosa was pointing out the damaged areas of town, bringing a very real sense of why I was running. Awesome way to end the day. (The Dreamland Ribs we had later weren't a bad way to cap it off, either...)
Heading down 15th St.
The next morning came early, but heading off into the darkness wasn't nearly as bad on the heels of Day 5's finish. On Day 6 I had the pleasure of being joined for a few miles by my good puddy Mataddy, a friend from college, who had driven over the night before to run a few miles with me. (In case you're wondering where a name like "Mataddy" comes from, it's a native Hawaiian name stemming from an ancient legend upon which I had the pleasure of expounding in a brief video interview at a crew spot; I'm still awaiting the publication of this documentary)
Doing a phone interview on the Griff Show... or maybe talking about the Legend of the Mataddy...
Day 6 was significant for more than simply good crewing and pacing, it was also October 27, which was the 6-month anniversary of the April 27 storms, which given the motivation behind the run, was a notable occurrence. I had seen some damage in Tuscaloosa, but a huge swath of rural destruction caught my eye on the road on Day 6. As Mataddy and I neared a crew stop, we saw quite a few trees down in a clear path that the tornado took, and when we got to the van, we realized that the nice pulloff that Tony and Dannie had found was actually a driveway for what used to be a house. I had seen slabs before, but out here in the middle of rural Tuscaloosa County, with on one and nothing around, it was different. This house, for whatever reason, put a hauntingly real spin on what had happened here half a year ago. Sobering. Here, more than before, the point was driven home: this run was bigger than me. It was about more than me. I had made that statement earlier, but the remains of the house made it abundantly clear that I had a reason for this run, and I was going to put everything I had into it before letting the demons of Day 5 get the better of me.
Why We Run
The rest of Day 6 went by rather well. Mataddy completing his pacing duties, and SuperCrew Dannie and Tony still performing at an unbelievably phenomenal level, we called it a day in Fayette, grabbing a bite to eat at Pizza Hut before calling it a day.
Last Steps of the Day
Day 7 started with a bit of a delay. A cold front had come through, dumping rain on the area, which normally wouldn't stop me; however, with narrow roads and ever-unpredictable drivers, we decided that a delay in the start in the interest of health and safety was in order. This did not hurt my feelings, as I got some extra sleep after making the decision circa 4am. We all made the most of the delay, as Tony and Dannie took care of some laundry, and we all got a more substantial breakfast than we had had in days. In the mean time, a complement to the crew arrived, as Eric Fritz showed up to pace with Suzanne Erickson to crew, followed shortly by Jon and Kelly Elmore, who would take turns pacing. We were finally getting far enough north in the state to know people interested in coming out to pace. Thank goodness...
As the rain lightened, we got out on the road, and off we went. Jon and Fritz were blazing up the road, with me in tow. Truth be told, it was a little different, but a nice change in pace to stretch out the legs and have a very definite group with whom to keep up. In an odd way, the faster pace was a mental break for me, as the physicality of it wasn't tooooooo bad, and they were the ones setting the pace, taking that responsibility off me.
An interesting event occured on the road at the Bobo Store stop, a lady who had heard what we were doing just drove up and handed us a bunch of $20 bills for the cause and directing us to a restaurant up the road in Winfield. We ran on up the road a few more miles, and when we got into Winfield, the mayor met us at Aroma's Cafe', where we were treated to dinner on the house and regaled with local stories and history. With full stomachs, Elmore, Fritz, and I took back off through Winfield, with a police escort this time, and made our way to Guin (passing through the distinctly different town of Gu-Win en route...)
Excited to be eating well in Winfield
We ended our day in Hackleburg, site of the Wrangler Distribution Center that was destroyed, along with much of the rest of town. Our end-point was the Panther Mart, which was partially destroyed in the storms, but as a hub of town was rebuilt first. There we met 16 employees of Wrangler, some of whom were in the plant when it was torn apart by the tornado. It was great to get to talk to these folks, who were not only glad to listen to my story, they were glad I was raising awareness for theirs. Perhaps the most meaningful takeaway from meeting the Wrangler Plant workers was the incredibly positive outlook they all had. This was a sentiment held by all the people we met along the way who were dealing with the aftermath of the storms. The overwhelming positive outlook of these people was a true testament to their collective character.
The Resilient People of Hackleburg
The night of Day 7, we were hosted by the Police Chief of Hackleburg. Arrangements had been made days in advance, but somewhere along the way some lines were crossed, because we were informed by the chief himself that he had only heard of our arrival about an hour or so before we came into town. Regardless, he housed us in a 14-foot travel trailer he had in his yard, and even bought us a propane heater and kept his house unlocked so that I could get a shower. The reality of the situation was even further demonstrated by the fact that the police chief, who was charged with keeping order in town during the chaos of the immediate aftermath of the storms and the ensuing months/years of recovery, had lost his own house in the storms and was in the midst of rebuilding. Even so, he was willing to host an eccentric runner and his crew, and he was anxious to tell us about his son's role as the starting quarterback for the high school football team.
Day 8 got off to a pretty good start. It was likely the coldest morning of the run, but I was moving well and in good spirits (this was particularly important that morning, because if you've ever been on Hwy 43 heading north out of Hackleburg, you've seen some rather impressive rollercoaster hills that get darker and colder in the valleys...) In any case, I made it to the first crew stop (yep, you guessed it... 5 miles up the road...) and hopped into the van to warm back up before hitting the road again. While thawing, who should drive up but my Inimitable Mother, who accompanied me the rest of the way into Phil Campbell, the road to which included another hill or two...
As we approached Phil Campbell, a police officer met us on the road and escorted us into town, but what caught my attention was the surrounding area. Even 6 months after the storms, the devastation was still very apparent, but on an even more important level, the amount of new construction occurring was amazing. My Inimitable Mother and I made our way into town, noting structures in varying stages of demolition and, conversely, in progressive stages of construction, a truly inspiring run through town.
Coming into Phil Campbell
When we got into downtown Phil Campbell, we were greeted by a group of local folks who had heard about the run and wanted to come say hi. Yet again I was taken aback at their overwhelmingly positive attitudes, and I was humbled by their gratefulness for my effort (they thought far too highly of me, as evidenced by their kind words, and shown clearly by a boy, probably 8 or 9 years old, who wanted his picture taken with me and just stood and stared he met me, having to be reminded that his name was Austin by his mother; I wish I had that picture...)
We met some great people in Phil Campbell
While we were there, a fellow name Andrew Reed was filming our run through town and got an interview with me. Andrew is finishing up a documentary of the aftermath of the storms in Phil Campbell and was putting together an epilogue of continuing efforts; I am flattered that he wanted to make a brief segment about me, which he posted online at http://youtu.be/03rQVS9ABvo
After we had met with the people of Phil Campbell for 45 minutes or an hour, we began making our way out of town, but on our way out, a car pulled up, and a spry lady, seventy-something years young, hopped out. She had met us downtown earlier and jokingly mentioned that she wished she could get out there with us, to which we had told her to grab her shoes and come on. Lo and behold, there she was, pointing at her feet, indicating that she had changed into her walking shoes, and she proceeded to run with us for a couple hundred yards, and then walked for around a quarter mile, telling us about all the people that passed us on the road.
We made our way out of town, and soon we were joined by several die-hard members of the Austin High School XC team, along with their coach and a couple parents. The runners were a nice addition to the day; I thoroughly enjoyed the company, and I think most of them enjoyed the somewhat adventurous nature of the run, many of them even getting distance PR's for the day. A couple of the guys even sprinted to their finish point.
A-High XC Representin....
After a while, as was inevitably the case, their time on the road ended, and we only a couple hearty souls were left, including Kelly Elmore, Austin XC coach, Barbara Dunn, mother of a couple former AHS runners (both of whom are currently on collegiate track/XC rosters...), Jon Elmore, who would drive his van up the road to the next crew spot, then tempo run back to wherever we were, run back to the crew spot, and repeat the process, and toward the end, my ever-Inimitable Mother. I've got to brag on her, because she pushed through the mental and physical trials to end up toughing out over 18 miles that day, a big single day distance PR for her.
I just think this is a really cool picture and should be on an album cover somewhere...
We ended the day (in the daylight!) in Moulton, reaching the town square right at dusk, at which point we met Lynn and Melissa Williams, who led us to Melissa's parents' house, where we were being hosted for the night. After cleaning up a bit, Melissa fed us some glorious lasagna, followed by her famous brownies, a phenomenal meal to say the least. After finding internet to post the standard online stuff and grabbing a milkshake, I got back to the house and went promptly to sleep.
Finishing in the daylight!
(and what's that growth on Elmore's head???)
The morning of Day 9 got off to a great start; the night before, my Darling Little Sister Lynn had joined us and was starting the day with me; this would be the first morning I had had company at the start in the dark since Day 2 with Peter. We got on the road, and although it was a bit chilly, it was an enjoyable few miles in the dark. Lynn ran the first 8 with me before I asked her to ride for a few miles in the interest of saving her legs a bit (she had to run her sectional cross country meet a mere 4 days afterward...). She had made the typically tough first few miles rather enjoyable, and now that the sun was up and warming things nicely, she took a well-earned nap in the van while I made my way up and over Trinity Mountain (much bigger than I remember...), working my way toward Decatur.
Lynn meeting up with me after Day 8, ready to run...
...and then all tuckered out after a bunch of early-morning miles...
As I made came away from Trinity and toward Decatur, I was greeted on the side of the road by Rodney Darby and his wife, who had been following me online and came out to say hi. Rodney is a branch chief in my office at USACE (I'm but a lowly engineer...), and after talking with them for a few minutes, Rodney handed his wife the contents of his pockets and asked her to meet us up the road in a mile or so; he was going to run with me a bit. So, still in his sandals, we took off down the road, and after the first mile, he decided to go another! Eventually we got to the next crew stop, where his wife had found the crew van and was waiting, and we talked for a while about how the run was going before going our own ways...
At this point, my Darling Little Sister came back out of the van to run into Decatur with me, which was great company to have. We made our way into town to be greeted by a huge crowd outside the Princess Theatre, many of whom were wearing Alabama Relief Run t-shirts. I sat and visited with the ever-growing crowd for around an hour and a half before hitting the road again, except now we had a veritable entourage and a police escort, who got us across the somewhat less than runner-friendly TN River bridge (a run that many runners have wanted to do...) Once over the river, we made our way northward (as always..) toward Limestone County. The group consisted of quite a few friends, former teammates, Darling Little Sister, and Bruce McLellan, editor of the Decatur Daily, who helped get the word out about the run. It is worth noting here that I suspect quite a few drivers were somewhat surprised to see us, because part of the group that joined me was ultrarunning couple Rob and Kathy Youngren. This wouldn't be odd except for the fact that Rob was nursing a stress fracture, which had him off running for a while; not to miss an opportunity to take part in the ARR, Rob simply hopped on his unicycle and uni'd the entire 20 mile remaining distance of the day....
Running toward Athens with Rob on his unicycle in the background...
We made our way into Limestone County, various people joining in on the run here and there, eventually making our way to the eastern side of the county, which had been hit pretty hard in the storms. Glen King, another runner from Athens, was pointing out landmarks and tornado paths through the county, and for the last mile or so, Braden Preston, a coworker of mine, joined us. Braden joined Glen in telling us about the area, including pointing out his house under construction, which is nearly finished; it was destroyed on April 27, and according to Braden, even now he is still about 2 weeks behind where he was before the storms.
I'm such a diva... getting a chair while everyone just stands around and waits...
(tour guide Glen King on the far right)
We finished Day 9 right around dusk, with a few of the youth from my youth group coming out for the last half mile or so along with Davy Helms, a friend and youth worker who is also the architect and chief technician of the ARR website. Since we were so close to home, Tony, Dannie, and I made our way back to Decatur for the night to sleep in our own beds, but not before grabbing an overly nutritious meal from Camino Real, which has been voted in the Nevels Universal Polling System to be the best Mexican restaurant for the last 11 years.
uh-oh... I've riled up the Inimitable Mother about something...
(Helms IT Services doing recon work in the background...)
1 more day.
The start of Day 10 was particularly nice. This is due to the fact that we got to start a couple hours later in broad daylight, we got some extra sleep, it was a short day, and it was the last day (believe it or not, a bittersweet thought....). In any case, we got underway around 8:20, and I had been less than a mile before a van pulled off to the side to let a few passengers out to run with me. We made our way down the road to the first crew stop, where we had an impromptu interview with Chris Welch, one of the runners that had just joined me, who is also a reporter for the Huntsville Times and really helped get the word out about the run.
Got some company early
We made our way down the road, eventually taking the last turn of the run, which was significant to me. We still had 9 or 10 miles left, but it was a straight shot to the Tennessee Line...
Right about that time, we met Tabitha Davis, a coworker, and her daugher Shaun-Pri, who joined us for the remainder of the run. Shaun-Pri is a quick sprinter, but she toughed out 10 miles with us, finishing up the day with a distance PR for herself (and probably a few stories as well...). Over the remaining few miles, a few more runners joined and left, but before I knew it, we were less than a mile from the finish. As we began cresting a little rise next to a field, Tony drove by in the van and said, "You see that steeple over the hill? That's where you're going!" The finish was in sight.
I can see it.
We crested the hill, and I saw State Line Road and the Tennessee State Line sign, and my pace quickened. I saw a large group from Holmes Street UMC, where I am the youth director, but my full attention was on the line. I lengthened out my stride a bit, quickened the pace, and as I crossed the line, I jumped up and gave a heel click, which has become a traditional finishing celebration for me in tough races. (and it was caught on camera by the WAFF Channel 48 news crew...)
I've been looking for this sign for a week and a half...
I was done. 376 miles. 10 days. Countless stories.
We took pictures and talked with the people who had come out to see the finish, and before long, to bring his comment from Day 1 full circle, Dannie said, "OK, John, you can get back in the van now."
Almost two weeks have passed since I finished, and I'm still trying to wrap my mind around all that happened on our trek up the state. Tony, Dannie, and I saw so much, did so much, went so far, it's difficult to even try to capture any substantial portion of it in writing. As I look over what I've written for the run, I keep remembering more that happened each day. It was truly an amazing experience for me, and I am eternally grateful for Dannie and Tony for facilitating it, pulling me through it, and supporting me the whole way. This run was bigger than just me; I just ran. The Alabama Relief Run was a collective effort of countless people and organizations to bring awareness back on the continuing recovery effort of those picking up the pieces of their lives in the wake of the April 27 tornadoes. I was just lucky enough to be a part of it.
Tony (left) and Dannie (right) pulled me through a lot and were the best crew a runner could imagine. They are the reason this thing worked.
We did it, guys. We did it.
