Let's Go For a Run...

Into the Mist...

2012-01-31T19:08:00.000-06:00

It's been a while since I've gone into a race with precisely no expectations other than that of a completion. I suppose most wouldn't consider such an event a race, but since I paid an entry fee and got a shirt, it's got to be a race, right?

It's been nearly three months since my little stroll up the road with the Alabama Relief Run, and as such I figured it's about time for me to get off my lazy duff and make some sort of re-entry into the running community, even if such a return would prove to be slightly anticlimactic. The Mountain Mist 50k appeared to be a tame enough candidate. With this in mind, I set about a rigorous ultra-training regimen of 20-30 miles/week, and I made sure that I prepared for the rugged Monte Sano trails extensively with my 2 runs of about 4 miles on said trails. (ow... my tongue just hurt my cheek...)

With such a monstrous fitness base, and the oh-so-pleasantly damp weather of the weeks leading into the Mist, I was only assured of one thing: it was going to be sloppy (in many respects...)

Race day came; the miles came; the mud came; the rocks came.

And went.

I must admit that an amendment should be made to my previous statement regarding the anticlimactic nature of the run. The truly remarkable feature of the run was how unremarkable it truly was.

In spite of what was, for some, a thoroughly salient day, I was paradoxically thrilled at the mundane sense of routine that I felt. Make no mistake, I don't mean to say that Mt. Mist was boring; quite to the contrary, it never fails to hold my rapt attention. Moreover, I intend no negative connotation with the word "mundane." Riddle's blazing time, Rob's second reverse-double, several friends' PR's, perfect weather, the true fun of slopping through the mud - the list of positive attributes of the day goes on and on.

I still liked the feeling of it being just another day at the office.

Maybe it's the sense of perspective I gained from covering a few miles in October. Maybe it's the sense of perspective I've gained from running, watching, doubling, and playing in Mt. Mist a few times before. Maybe it's the sense of perspective I've gained from the past year and a half of various personal trials and tribulations.

Maybe it's all of it. Maybe it's none of it.

Somewhere along the way, the fresh-out-of-high-school-cocky-thought-I-was-fast-wannabe-ultrarunner changed into something else. I can enjoy the sport for more than I could before. I'm by no means renouncing my naturally over-competitive nature; I simply think that I've gotten to a point that it doesn't drive everything I do running-wise. (maybe...)

I can enjoy the running for what is. I can still train and run fast to enjoy the competitive side of things, and I can still train to run ludicrously long events, but I can also just train to run happy. I'm hoping to light the competitive side again soon, and I'm hoping even more that I can merge this competitive motivation with the "just run happy" motivation in ways I've never done before. It should be exciting to see what ideas we come up with...

Congrats to all Mountain Mist racers. This Mountain Mist stroller is still sitting back and enjoying the ride.

Irony and Contrast

2012-01-20T16:38:00.000-06:00

Ironically, the mild temperature was a bit of a shock to the system at the start of the run. Cold air's bite had lost some of its bark, or at least said bark was beginning to fall on deaf ears.

Pleasant conditions managed to offset a bit of a twinge in the right achilles, both of which seemed to demand attention, the greater of which receiving the lion's share of an audience.

The achilles can wait.

A few cars scattered about, some lazily puttering down the road, many waiting idly while owners tended to business elsewhere, all of them appearing to be out of place in the world through which we run. The oddity of this sentiment was striking with realization that I, too, would board such an entity within a couple hours.

Soon enough, perhaps too soon, the run had ended, and modern life began again.

Is this what it's like to feel anachronistic?

today's run

2012-01-05T19:23:00.000-06:00

it was slow. it was sluggish. it was sloppy.

but even sans form and grace of motion,

by the end, i was happy to be out there,

and isn't that what it's all about?

Enter the Chill

2012-01-03T21:57:00.000-06:00

I am somewhat surprised at how excited I was to get out to run this afternoon. With the cooling temperatures, my typical m.o. is to fight the urge to climb under a blanket and take an ill-advised nap after work.

Not that I don't stay excited about running during the days. Quite the contrary; while at work it seems to consume my thoughts, leaving me pining for "the fix."

However, much to my chagrin (usually...), by the time I've made my 15 minute drive from my office to change, the weight of the day has usually begun to hit, leaving me to fight the mental battle. Ironically enough, the mere act of waging the internal war is usually the first act of surrender; paradoxically, not showing up to fight (i.e., not thinking about it) is typically the best way to get out the door for that first, and often most difficult, step. Once this has been accomplished, the rest is usually a breeze.

Today, for whatever reason, I was as excited about the run when I pulled my bright blue road shoes out of the truck into the cold air as I was sitting in front of a computer screen 2 hours prior.

This bodes well, I hope.

For all to often, Winter brings the aforementioned trickery of the mind. It's a time when we've got to remember what we know deep down as runners. The immediate discomfort, cold, tired feelings are, more often than not, simply false alarms, another manifestation of the weakness we are eternally seeking to purge from ourselves.

We know how to push past it. We understand how it works. We simply need to act on that instinct.

If, as students of this eccentric activity, we can manage ourselves in such less than convenient conditions, then we'll emerge in the springtime that much more fit, ready to race, ready to push that much harder, and ready to enjoy it all the more.

...of course, all that being said, maybe the true mark of success in this situation is learning to "enjoy it all the more" while the nip is still in the air...

City Lights on Clearing Skies

2011-12-29T17:54:00.001-06:00

I was surprised by the number of people out and about so early this morning. Normally my 5am runs are fairly solitary, especially this time of year.

Not that the solitude is a problem; on the contrary, it is one of several motivations for running at such an hour - that all-too-oft cited enjoyment of seeing one's own breath condense in a backlit cloud under the streetlight while hearing nothing but that same breath, punctuated by the soothing rhythm of one foot landing lightly in front of the other.

Certainly, the foot traffic remained at a minimum. Twenty-something degrees tends to assure that.

However, the number of cars in the distance was somewhat surprising. It wasn't enough to disrupt anything from my perspective, simply something noted in passing, as the number of direct encounters was still relatively low.

A pleasant feature of this unusually busy morning was the view from atop a little stob of a street that has become the highest ascent of my morning runs.

Once the turnaround at the top had been made and my immediate path ahead screened for ice, I glanced up to see the lights of Decatur casting a magnificent projection of cool, yellow light onto the already thinning cloud cover.

The clouds have all but cleared out by now, promising a clear, star-filled run in the near future, but every now and then it's nice to be able to enjoy the scene provided by the much maligned blanket of clouds.

Alabama Relief Run: An Odyssey...

2011-11-09T22:51:00.000-06:00

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.

Alabama Relief Run

2011-09-17T22:59:00.002-05:00

Well, after a bit of a hiatus from posting here, I've finally got something worth posting... I think...

Anyone that's followed the musings of this blog no doubt realizes that I've got something of a propensity for attempting slightly unconventional running stunts (among others), and boy, do I have a doozy...

However, as with any event worth noting, there is a bit of background that should be understood. The best background to know is that I really wanted to run Vol State this year.

For various reasons, both running related, and deeply personal, Vol State was an event toward which I felt a very strong calling this year. For those unfamiliar with the affair that is The Last Annual Vol State Road Race, it is a 500k run, mostly across Tennessee, but which briefly crosses at least five states (MO, KY, TN, AL, and GA). It starts with a ferry ride across the MS River, and ends somewhat unassumingly at Castle Rock, GA. No entry fee. No aid stations. No excuses. Either you finish, or you quit. A truly epic undertaking (at least in my mind), I wanted to take a stab at it.

At first, I thought I would have a training course for work in the week prior to the start, which, although it would have put me at roughly a 1.5 day late start, I considered an acceptable obstacle. Rather than try to win the race, I would simply see how many people I could pass and still stay under the time limit (and, truth be told, I would probably keep up with my personal running time to compare with the winning time...). This seemed like a grand plan, with my puddy from Starkvegas ready to come crew for me.

Then another work trip came up that took up the entire week of Vol State, which effectively killed the idea. Dang.

However, by the time of the final nixing of my Vol State attempt, something of a calamity had befallen the state of Alabama. On April 27, a series of storms ripped through the state, devastating quite a few towns, killing over 200 people, and causing untold damage. On April 27, I was in Kentucky, watching helplessly, hoping that my family and friends were alright, and being told NOT to immediately come home to help; I would be turned away by the National Guard and other authorities if I tried. For those that know me, you know that this goes against every instinct in my body.

But in the frustration came an idea. I couldn't run across Tennessee, but I could run across Alabama. And now I had a cause I could rally around and hopefully get others to support along with me. I would be remiss if I didn't mention that running across Alabama is an idea I gleaned from an event several years ago, the Run Across Alabama for Elliott (see http://runacrossalabama.com/ ). But in the Run Across AL, the route went east-to-west; to my knowledge, no one had ever attempted a north-south or south-north crossing.

Slowly the idea took shape: I would run the length of Alabama, from the Gulf Coast to the Alabama-Tennessee state line as a tornado relief effort. Being that the run wasn't necessarily designed to be particularly fast, a little distance was added in to allow me to run along a couple of the tornado paths, one in Tuscaloosa, which was perhaps the highest-profile city hit, and one that tracked along northern part of the state, through Hackleburg, Phil Campbell, Moulton, Athens, Harvest, and other towns.

After a few tweaks and additions, the total distance is currently set at 454 miles, over 100 miles farther than Vol State. Apparently I would not be deprived of the epic run...

Now getting the word out about the run is perhaps my biggest obstacle. Self-publicity is, quite frankly, not my forte'. I figured I would need to give it a name for reference purposes, and after a few consultations with a group of email contacts, I decided on a name that described the effort simply, and appealed to my love of both acronyms and pirates: the Alabama Relief Run or ARR!

I'm working with quite a few folks I know around here to spread the word, with Helms IT Services graciously putting together a website for me, and plenty of help from Eric Charette on the little widgets all over, and I even created a Facebook page and Twitter feed for the event (again, those that know me will see the humor in this...). Hopefully this will be a big enough event to cause a real difference to those affected by the storms. I know it will be a huge event in my life, and now I'm in too deep to bail out, so full steam ahead...

I'll try to keep this blog updated with the latest developments, but should anyone want to learn about the run, all kinds of good info, including a route map and daily mileage goals can be found at the website, which is at:

http://www.alabamareliefrun.com/
http://www.facebook.com/AlabamaReliefRun

2011-01-09T22:55:00.002-06:00

Nashville Ultra (50k)

2010-10-17T20:11:00.002-05:00

Sometimes you just want a good long run.

This was, for the most part, my motivation for entering this race. Given my recent training, or, more accurately, lack thereof, I had no business entering an ultra; on the other hand, given my natural proclivity toward such silliness as "long" running, ill advised or otherwise, I had no business not entering an ultra. That being the case, when my alarm went off at 3:45 Saturday morning, at which point I knew I had to make a go/no go decision, my vocal choice was, "ah, what the heck..."

(I hope I didn't wake anyone upstairs...)

The two hour drive to Nashville went by rather pleasantly, and as I registered I went through the standard mental hoops of convincing myself that "it's not really thaaaaaat far..." (Truth be told, it isn't; I ran the 50-miler here last year and pansied out this year, opting to drop to the 50k distance...).

With between 5 and 10 minutes to the start, I stripped off my thermal layers, hoping that the 37 degree morning would warm up significantly, lest my shorts and t-shirt apparel prove unwise. Soon enough, though, the race director yelled "Go!" and off we went.

Within a few minutes, the pack had broken up, and I struck up a conversation with a couple of guys toward the front. Johannes and Arras (not sure of the names... I'll have to double-check when they post up results on the race website...) were from out of town, and Arras was competing in his first ultra. They were both in the 50-mile division, but we were flying through the first 10 or 12 miles, which was most likely fine by them; they both appeared to be pretty highly trained runners and mentioned that they had trained rather extensively for this race. I opted not to tell them that I was out there on a whim. As much as I enjoyed running with them, at around the 12 or 13 mile mark, a combination of their extensive training and my almost complete omission of such trivial issues as training convinced me that if I wanted the second half of this run to be anything more than a death march, I probably ought to slow down, so I eased off the throttle and watched them bound off into the distance to get the top two 50 mile spots.

The second half of the run was mostly just slogging through to finish. At one point, the course deviated from what it was last year; I thought this would be a nice portion of the run since it took us onto some trails, but given my current lack of trail-fitness, all the off-road accomplished was breaking up any rhythm I had, and try as I might, I never got it back.

Don't get me wrong; I enjoyed the rest of the run, but I never got the speed back, so I just kind of jogged it out. Coming into the finish, I remembered my signature finish from last year, and entertained the finish line crew with a nice jump and heel-click to cross the finish line. The winner, who had shown up at the starting line bare-chested (in 37 degrees...) and had put a mile on Johannes, Arras, and me by the halfway mark, blew away the old course record, nailing a 3:3x, which is a solid 50k time. I spoke with him briefly afterward, and he informed me that he's looking to have a good showing at the JFK 50-miler in a few weeks. I would wager that, barring anything unforeseen, he should do well.

I hung around the finish area, chatting with other finishers as they arrived, before finally convincing myself to hop back in the truck for the 2 hour drive back. All in all, twas a good day. I got what I wanted out of the race - a nice long run and some time to just be "out there."

all for now... back to the real world... i guess...

Gas Giant V

2010-06-23T10:34:00.012-05:00

In most races in which I participate, I would consider myself a runner, maybe even a competitor, but in some races, I would more accurately consider myself a student. In several respects, this weekend's run would most certainly fall under the latter.

I tried my best to DNF. I really did.

The race itself was described by it's designer thusly: "gas giant runs lack the tight organization of a fat-ass event. no awards, no aid, no wimps. lots of fun. (sic)" Whereas this might sound like an odd race description, maybe even a cop-out for the "RD," he is no novice to creating keynote events. Gary Cantrell, also known as Lazarus Lake, is the race director for the fabled Barkley Marathons and Last Annual Vol State 500k, and is a frequent source of sometimes painfully straightforward, yet always insightful and intelligent opinions on the Ultralist. That being the case, when the announcement for this race came, along with the offer for free pre-race lodging at the Cantrell house, my wheels immediately began turning.

While deciding whether or not to run the Gas Giant, I informed Eric Gilbertson, a friend here in Auburn, of the event, to see if he was interested in a somewhat unique race experience (and heck, if he didn't want to pound the pavement, he could always crew...), and he opted to take on the race, which was intriguing to me, because the farther he goes, the better he seems to get.

The day before the race, Eric and I loaded up in my truck and headed northward into Tennessee. Once at Cantrell Manor, we were greeted by Gary/Laz himself, along with his wife and daughter, and the notorious Big Dog, of Ultralist fame (although, truth be told, I spent much more time petting Little Dog than Big). Also staying at Cantrell Manor were Dave Combs, administrator of the Ultralist, trying to complete his first ultra-distance event in several years, Jo DuBose, crewing for Gary and Dave, and John Price, training for his upcoming double Vol State this summer and trans-continental run next winter. Needless to say, we were in fairly illustrious company.

After chatting it up into the wee hours of the morning, reveille came at 5:45 or so Saturday, and everyone was scrambling to get ready to make the hour drive to the start, but not before we all got a chance to pet Big in the daylight, and rest assured, he lives up to his name; as Gary pointed out several times throughout the weekend, I'm fairly confident that my head would fit into Big's mouth, should he feel so inclined. Once we got on the road, and after following Gary and Jo through the backroads of Tennessee for an hour or so, we arrived at Columbia square, where we met a couple other runners, Mike Langille and Zane Smith, and shortly thereafter, we were off...

From the start, Eric and I were out front, and as we made our way out of Columbia, the sparsity that would develop over the course of miles became apparent. The first few miles went largely without incident, although in retrospect we clearly went out at a blistering pace, as we hit the first convenience store in Santa Fe (pronounced Santa Fee, as we were instructed so as not to sound ignorant) in right around 90 minutes for almost exactly 10 miles. Oh well, we were just running comfortably, and it might have even worked to our benefit to get some relatively quick miles behind us before the heat of the day set in.

After grabbing a bottle of gatorade and a payday bar at one gas station and heading to another to... well... take care of a little obligatory bowel business, Zane caught up and bought a bag of ice with which to fill out his water bottles, and he kindly let Eric and me do the same with our camelbacks. The added ice was glorious once we had bid Zane adieu and made our way back out of Santa Fe and onto the highway in the blazing sun.

At this point, the day was really beginning to warm up, and I was starting to fall off the pace. Eric was kind enough to hold back with me for the next several miles to the Fly convenience store, which served as our next aid station. Again, we went inside to grab some fluids and talk with the proprietor for a few minutes while we cooled down a bit. He informed us that the next store was five miles down the road, followed by an eight mile traverse to the Highway 100 crossing, which had several gas stations for re-supply (the Hwy 100 crossing also served as the finish line for the 30-mile division of the race).

All too soon, we thanked him and were off. Again, I was very much slowing down, and Eric waited with me for a while, even walking up one of the steeper hills with me, before settling into his own rhythm and putting an easy 200 or 300 yards on me by the next store, which I was oh-so grateful to see.

This stop was one of the more amusing ones of the run. As I walked up the gravel lot to the store, I saw Eric sitting on a bench, half out of the sun, amidst a decently sized biker gang. Fortunately, as I soon found out, they were all utterly intrigued with the two of us. I got the usual bottle of gatorade and ate some Shot Blocks while sitting down to cool off in the shade. Before leaving this particular store, Eric bought a bag of ice, and we each bought two bottles of water to refill the camelbacks, and left the remainder of the ice for any of the other runners who might stop by later (namely we were thinking of Zane and John Price, who started without crews, as we had). The cashier was even kind enough to let us put the ice back in the freezer and let any future runners know it was there; she was as curious about us as the bikers...

Yet again, we set out for the next long gap to a store, and yet again, Eric was clearly feeling much stronger than me, and before long, he was out of sight, cruising along just like any old day at the office. I, on the other hand, was beginning to struggle. Trying to keep running up the hills that never seemed to end (one was literally 6 miles long), I burned through my water supply relatively quickly. Before too long, I was reduced to walking up all the hills, as ultrarunners of often wont to do. On a brighter note, I think this was the point on the course where we got our one bit of shade for the day (but it might have been the previous traverse, I'm not entirely sure). All along TN Hwy 7, we were utterly exposed to the scorching sun, but somewhere along here, we passed underneath an overpass of the Natchez Trace, so we got 30 feet of relief from the sun. Awesome.

Believe it or not, that 30 feet went by relatively quickly, and we were back out in the sun. Baffling, I know...

At the top of one of the last hills (the actual top, not a false summit like we had seen all day...), I had been reduced to trudging along, and found that even running flats and down hills was becoming rather difficult. I think I was focusing on the running as a way to keep myself from noticing the slighly lightheaded feeling I was beginning to develop. Fortunately, right around this time, Mike Langille and crew arrived. Mike had dropped after passing out and he along with his crew were driving ahead to check on the rest of the runners. In any case, they pulled over a little ways ahead of me, and I walked over to the car. This is where I made my critical mistake: I sat down on the bumper of the car. Almost as soon as I had taken a load off, my head was utterly swimming, and I couldn't stand up straight, not that this particularly mattered, because within a few seconds I was doubled over on the side of the road, regurgitating around a liter and a half of pure water through painful heaves. This is what prompted me to drop.

28 miles: DNF (or so I thought...)

Mike and his crew (aka, my guardian angels of the day), drove me the two miles to the next gas station, where Eric was awaiting my arrival. I went inside to tell him that I had dropped (had to lay down for a minute while telling him, because I couldn't stand up for the 5 minutes it took to let him know what was going on without getting lightheaded and nauseous...). Eric pressed on like a trooper, and Mike, crew, and I started back toward Columbia, 30 miles away, to drop me off at my truck so I could try to come crew Eric for the last few miles. Along the way, we stopped to check on all the runners, and in telling Gary and Dave that I was dropping, I was utterly convinced that I had made the right decision, because I noticed something that has never happened to me before: for a few minutes, I was unable to make my eyes focus on the same thing... weird...

Once they dropped me off at my truck, I thanked them and spent a few minutes making sure I was in a condition to safely drive. I had had almost an hour in a car with air conditioning on full blast to cool me off, and I was back to feeling better (and able to see straight...), but I still walked around the Columbia square for a few minutes just to make sure.

Reassured of my capacity for at least marginal lucidity, I hopped into my truck and drove the 40 miles back to Dickson, where I caught up with Eric making his way through a very highly trafficked part of town, just a couple miles and one turn away from his finish. After checking to make sure he didn't need anything, I drove on to the intersection of College St. and Main St. to try and decipher the finish line riddle posed by Laz. Soon enough, Eric trotted the final stretch to the finish and "touched Fayetteville," as the riddle had instructed (which, by the way, was not quite as straightforward as I had initially assumed... the faded mural map was, shall we say, not quite what I had thought it would be, but given my slightly-more-than-nothing knowledge of Tennessee geography, we figured it out and made sure to have photographic evidence...)

Eric and I waited a few minutes, grabbed some less-nasty clothing (I had yet to change out of any of my running stuff), and within 45 minutes or so, Zane Smith came strolling into town, much to the delight of his crew comprised of his wife and two kids. We all stood around and chatted for a while before Zane and family headed back home, and Eric and I headed to Wendy's to get the first bits of "real" food since starting that morning (fries and frosties count as real food, right...?)

Thus concludes the "race" part of the story.

Thus begins the real part of the story.

Temporarily sated, we piled back in the truck to head back down the road to find the other runners. John Price looked to be in alright shape, so we pressed on to find Dave and Gary as they hammered down the road. I'm not entirely sure where we found them, but it was somewhere between the last store I to which I survived (biker gang store), and the one before that (Fly convenience store).

When I spotted them strolling down the highway, I pulled off the road around 300 yards ahead of them, flipped on the flashers, got out and headed toward them to see if either needed anything. They both appeared to be in decent shape, although I did notice that as soon as I turned my back on them, one or the other would bend down, hands on his knees in apparent discomfort/pain. After walking with them for a ways, I jogged back to the truck to leap frog them, park, and repeat the process.

One or two iterations into the procedure, I met up with Jo DuBose again, crewing for them, to get a feel for how they had been doing. While talking with Jo, the two race horses (Gary and Dave) arrived and stopped for a sit. At this point, their "aid station" antics were on display, as they both took care of whatever needed some care and talked themselves into another mile or so (I know this procedure well, but seeing others do it was simply somewhat gratifying).

During this stop, we also realized that we needed to go pick up John Price, who had called it a day at the 30-mile finish line and needed a ride back to Columbia. That being the case, Eric decided to walk a little ways with Dave and Gary while I drove to pick up John, drive him back to Columbia, and come back to find the two remaining stallions.

By the time I got back, Eric was beginning to get a wee bit tired (I can't figure out why... it's not like he did anything earlier in the day...), so I started walking with Gary and Dave while he would follow Jo in the truck and get little naps between aid stops.

At this point it was thoroughly dark (maybe 10pm?), so I can only imagine what any passers by thought when they saw us meandering down the road. Several times Gary made the statement that it was only a matter of time before the law showed up.

By now, the apparent modus opperandi was to have Jo meet us every mile, but with the marathon mark approaching, she skipped the 26-mile mark to go to the first convenient spot after the marathon point. This convenient spot happened to be at the top of a pretty long, steep hill. As hard as it is to imagine, Gary and Dave were not thrilled to be trudging up the hill at this point, and I learned a few explitive combinations heretofore unknown to me. Things like *****-**** ; yep, that's right *****-****. In any case, we eventually made it up the hill to find that Jo had parked around the 26.3 mile mark, technically giving Gary his 35th consecutive year with an ultra-distance event and Dave his first in a while. But this apparently wasn't good enough for Laz.

Talking it over, they decided to press on to 27.3, and though I'm sure he's glad they kept going now, at the time, Dave was pissed. Gary got up and started meandering back along the highway while Dave talked himself into doing the same. When Dave and I got back out on the road, I beheld a scene that could very well be the stuff of nightmares and horror films for ultrarunners, especially Barkley veterans: as we first got on the road, maybe 50 or 100 yards behind, a car came toward us, creating the incredibly eerie scene of a hulking Lazarus Lake walking down the road in a slight fog and in what had developed by this point into an almost Frankenstein-esque gait, bent on getting to his final destination. I wish I had a camera at the time, but the image might be too much for some readers, so I couldn't have posted it up in good conscience, anyway.

Dave was moving pretty well, so in a few minutes we had caught up with Gary, and sticking to my plan of hanging with whoever was in the back, I struck up more conversation with the ever-intriguing Gary Cantrell. If you have never had the opportunity to meet Mr. Laz, you are truly missing out, for several reasons that you'll just have to meet him to find out.

********************************************************

So it's been a year and a half since I began composing this report. The memories of the event that was the Gas Giant V are still kept in a fond place within my mind.

Whereas the details might not be to the level recorded in the previously written section, I figured that it would be worth bringing closure to such a story.

Over the next several miles, Dave put on a Herculean surge, gapping Gary and myself by quite a bit. Cantrell and I continued our relentless trek toward the intersection that marked the finish line for the two true Gas Giants of the race. Sometime around 1am, Lazarus Lake finished the run that would keep a 35 year streak alive.

We sat around on a traffic island on the outskirts of Dixon at 0100 for a while, Gary rewarding himself with a cigarette and joining the rest of us telling lies and war stories from runs gone by. True to form, before long a member of the local gendarmerie stopped by to see what a bunch of ragged, noisy, aromatic people were doing at such an odd place at such an odd time of night. After we informed him of our day's events, he somewhat warily let us be...

All too soon, we began to feel the time, and opting not to drive all the way back to Cantrell Manor, we looked around for a hotel, and after being turned away at one (I can't say I blame them... I might have turned us away, too...), we were rented a couple rooms for the night at a little motel that had been downgraded from a Knight's Inn (that's right...). The next day we went our separate ways, Eric and I back to Auburn, Gary back home, Dave back to CA, and the rest back to their respective homes. I must say that this was one of the more unique events in which I've been lucky enough to participate. Long distance journey runs on the road are such an intriguing concept.... it may or may not have played a part in an event that would come to bear a year or so later...

24 For My 24th

2010-06-12T10:52:00.001-05:00

from what i understand, most folks my age like to sleep in, especially on saturdays

moreover, on their birthdays, they... well, i don't really know what most folks my age like to do on their birthdays (but i have a good idea)

today, i woke up before my alarm at 4:45 and ran for 3 hours, logging 24 miles for my 24th birthday

they were run with friends, and they were run easy

while most of my friends "indulge" themselves by sleeping in, i'm out doing what we, as a bit of a microcosm of the world, do to truly indulge ourselves

some people might claim that this is a type of addiction or even masochism

but in light of what we know to be true about the miles we run, i ask

who's really the ascetic?

Cotton Row 10k

2010-06-01T00:27:00.002-05:00

I wasn't planning on making this a race report, but seeing as how I just set off a couple of computer models that will probably take another hour or so to finish, I might as well do something productive...

The Cotton Row Run is a staple of the Southeastern road racing circuit. Having been run thirty-one times, it has quite a following, and given its impeccable management, it is a fantastic event in which to participate.

I, along with my Inimitable Mother, Darling Little Sister, and Cool Little Brother, have made it to the last 10 runnings of Cotton Row, and it seems to get more and more fun each year (for me, at least). This year I actually went into it with a somewhat decent base of mileage, so I was hoping to set a PR for the course. My previous best time on this particular race was a 37:02, run a couple of years ago, and I was shooting for around a 36:30, maybe 36:00 today. The reason for the somewhat modest time goal for the race is the layout of the course. The two miles are mostly flat and easy to set a fairly aggressive pace, but after a turn shortly into the third mile, a gradual uphilll starts to chip away at the leg strength, and then the course kicks you in the face when it turns onto the hill. The three-mile mark is on a relatively short (200 meters, maybe?), but incredibly steep hill that has even been graded to prevent vehicular traffic from slipping. This particular hill has reduced me to a modest trot every year and seems to just take any speed out of my legs, which is unfortunate, because shortly after cresting the hill, a sharp turn leads to a long downhill mile, then simply through downtown Huntsville to the finish.

But it's only 6.2 miles, so it should be a piece of cake, right...

We got to the race site about an hour early, and after making an obligatory trip to the port-o-potties, I set about a fairly short warmup along the last mile of the course and back before making one last "download." The I changed into my racing attire that was a hit amongst most of my running buddies that saw it: my old high school XC/track uniform. Some of my ultrarunning buddies were pretty amused, one even quipping "I've never seen you in a singlet before!" Even some of the guys currently on my old high school's team got a kick out of seeing the old uniform (none of them have ever worn this particular style; they've always had the fancy technical fabrics and cool designs, as opposed to my simple nylon uniform... I felt "retro"...)

Clothed in my "old school" Austin High School Black Bears black and orange nylon uniform, I made my way to the starting line, and after the various Memorial Day recognitions, we were off. The first mile of the race winds through downtown Huntsville and is mostly a blur due to the fact that it is spent almost entirely jockeying for a good position. I settled in right behind a friend who is currently a pretty speedy high schooler (has all of my 5k and under PR's blown out of the water), hoping I could pace off of him. I caught up with him right at the mile marker, which came entirely too early, hitting a 5:31. We both knew immediately that this was probably a wee bit ambitious, but I thought, "well, I can't undo it, so I might as well roll with it," and I pressed on. Matt, my high schooler friend (whose sister, by the way, was this year's ACC steeplechase champ...), backed off the pace a bit, being a little less experienced at the 10k distance, and so I was on my own.

Over the next mile, I managed to get into a decent rhythm and held a fairly constant distance behind the next guy, just trying not to slow down any while conserving a little energy for the looming hill. My pacing efforts paid off, as I managed to hit a 5:44 for the second mile still feeling pretty comfortable, which was a nice confidence boost.

After making the left turn onto the residential road leading to the hill, I noticed someone coming up behind me. For a few minutes, I assumed it was one of the Russian women, but as it turned out, it was Alissa McKaig, who wound up in second place overall for the ladies (first was Janet Cherobon, who was well ahead of me the entire race). In any case, Alissa pulled up beside me just as the hill was coming into view, and we exchanged a couple of humorous/nervous/oh crap/let's-work-it remarks about it before embarking up it. Mid-hill, I hit the third mile in 6:06, which is, more or less, where I anticipated being, considering the remarkable slowdown that inevitably accompanies the incline. As always, I simply trotted up it, but for some reason, I felt a bit stronger and more focused on holding the pace than in previous years (as opposed to only being able to think about how much this hill sucks...I didn't really even notice all of the people that are there every year, sitting on the hill, playing the Rocky theme music, and enjoying observing many a runner's misery...), which allowed me to more quickly settle back into a rhythm once we got to the top. This added strength, although it did keep me in front of Ms. McKaig whilst summitting the hill, did not keep me ahead of her once we got to the top; she slipped right around me right at the top of the hill and got a few yards ahead of me to the turn that marked the beginning of the downhill portion. Aha... I had a rabbit to chase...

Down the hill we went, picking up the pace quite a bit, and much to my surprise, I felt fine with the increased tempo, hitting mile 4 in 6:01 (not too impressive, I know, but we still had about two-thirds of the hill during mile 4), and nailing mile 5 in 5:23. Somewhere right around the 5-mile mark, as we were heading back toward downtown, I realized that I felt pretty good, almost comfortable, and definitely better than I had 1, 2, or even 3 miles prior, so I took the surge of energy and slipped back around Alissa. I knew that she probably had a better kick than I do (believe it or not, we ultrarunners don't often focus on a finishing sprint...), so I figured that I needed to put some distance on her before the home stretch (I guess my inner 5-year-old still doesn't want to be out kicked by a girl...).

Into town and back to the home stretch, which is actually around a half mile (maybe more) long straightaway, we made our way to the finish. I was still very surprised at how smooth and relaxed I felt. Make no mistake, I was putting forth a fair amount of effort, but it seemed to click today, which made for a rather enjoyable race. In any case, after hitting the sixth mile in 5:33, I went the extra two tenths, finishing in 35:32, and edging out my race companion by four seconds.

I was pleased with the race and felt fine at the finish (dang... I should have pushed harder; maybe I could have PR'd, which is very difficult to do on this course). I was also pretty surprised that I beat my seed. Going into the race, my final seed was 28th, and I managed to wind up 22nd, which I guess isn't too shabby out of 2048 finishers.

The rest of the Nevels clan did well. Cool Little Bro managed a 52:23 just chillin, Darling Little Sister blazed through it 54:49, which I think is a 10k PR for her (good job Lynn!), and yes, Inimitable Mother trucked through it to snag a 1:06:21. Of the four of us, naturally, Inimitable Mother had the best finish, as I went back somewhere around three quarters or a mile back to find her, ran her in, and somewhere along the last straightaway, both Cool Little Bro and Darling Little Sister joined up with us, so the Inimitable Mother had her Entourage to the finish, as she ought to.

Now to figure out what's next...

Pinhoti Trail Adventure Run - Pacer's Perspective

2010-05-17T22:53:00.010-05:00

A few weeks ago, a couple friends of mine, Rob Youngren and Eric Charette embarked upon an epic task: attempting to set the speed record for the entire 335 mile Pinhoti Trail. Having run both editions of the Pinihoti 100 Trail Run and the Mt. Cheaha 50k for the past two years, both of which cover portions of the Pinhoti Trail, I was somewhat interested in their journey, and whereas logistics precluded my attempting the full trail with them, I could certainly help in whatever capacity they might need for a day or so, and I was lucky enough to be utilized as a pacer for day two.

So bright and early on May 2, I met them, along with their capable crew chief Josh Kennedy, and after shuttling vehicles around, we met Rob and Eric at Chandler Springs, and I set out with them along the trail. Long story short, I ran a hair over 40 miles, and rather than steal Rob and Eric's thunder, I'll simply refer any readers to their blogs at http://munisano.blogspot.com/ (Rob's) and http://siriusultrarunner.blogspot.com/ (Eric's), or the site for the run itself http://pinhotitrailadventurerun.blogspot.com/ .

In an effort to help document the run (and just for kicks and giggles...), Eric was snapping pictures throughout the run, so here are some from day 2. Enjoy...

Refueling and swapping out water bottles for packs

Somewhere on Mt. Cheaha after the so-called "Stairway to Heaven"

I'll let you figure this one out...

At one of several road crossings with Rob

It's a train!

Many more pictures and much more thorough play-by-plays of the full adventure on the aforementioned websites and blogs. (I was only a small part of a much larger journey)

Rest In Peace, Buddy

2010-05-09T18:36:00.002-05:00

Elliott Schotz passed away this morning after battling Tay Sachs Disease for the last year and a half.

The best way I know to look at this is the way my Inimitable Mother said it when we first learned that he was nearing the end of his fight a few days ago. She said, "At least we'll know that now he'll be running around, playing, and eating ice cream, which he never got the joy of doing here."

Rest in peace, buddy. Rest in peace.

The obituary, as is found at http://runacrossalabama.com/ is as follows:

Elliott Beebe Schotz, age 2, of Decatur, Alabama, died on 5/9/2010 of Tay-Sachs disease. He was born in Decatur on November 20, 2007.

In his two years, Elliott taught those around him to embrace each day and brought many people together for greater good. Elliott inspired a Run Across Alabama in July 2009, completion of a friend's first marathon in February 2010, and a continuous 100-mile run by another friend at Delano Park in March 2010.

Elliott’s interests included: sunshine, the beach, pacifiers, shiny balloons, wind, cuddling, animals, Ember (his bedside companion), going for walks, kicking in his bouncy seat, and his sister, Fiona.

Survivors include his mother and father, Eliza and Eric Schotz, and his beloved sister, Fiona Schotz, all of Decatur. Surviving grand parents include Sara and Donald Beebe of Kennesaw, GA, and Herbert and Louise Schotz of Irma, WI. He also is survived by aunts and uncles, Rebecca and John Morehous of Guntersville and Michelle and Chris Schotz of Gleason, WI, and his cousins Sara and Emily Morehous and Jordan and Riley Schotz.

A memorial service and celebration may be scheduled at a later date.

The Schotz Family wants to extend heartfelt gratitude to all who helped and supported throughout Elliott’s illness. The family requests that all memorial expressions be offered in the form of a card or a donation in Elliott’s name to one of the following organizations: 1) National Tay-Sachs and Allied Diseases Association (www.firstgiving.com/run4elliott) and/or 2) Hospice of the Valley (hospiceofthevalley.net).

World Catfish Festival 5k

2010-05-05T20:34:00.009-05:00

I just got a few pictures from the Catfish Festival 5k a few weeks ago. I think they're kind of funny, because I almost look like a real runner in them.

I got to the starting line a solid 30 seconds before the gun...

And we're off...

Cruising into the finish

Talking with Amanda and Clark, who were kind enough to drive me all the way to Belzoni for the World Catfish Festival and even rousted themselves early to come see the finish...

Talking with Armando, who had a solid second place performance at age 52

A post-race picture with Granny

Yeah, I was shamelessly promoting Fleet Feet, but I figured that every now and then, it's fun to at least look fast...

My Week On the Run...

2010-05-04T12:34:00.004-05:00

A bit of a summary of my training for April 25 - May 1, 2010:

Sun 4/25
5.5 (37:25)
Auto-pilot

Mon 4/26
AM: 5 (34:13)
After only managing to get around 30 minutes of sleep last night, I felt the urge to escape after class, whilst transferring massive quantities of binary output data. Physically, probably not the best thing I could have done, but mentally it saved my day.
PM: 6.6 (44:03)
Met Heather at the track for a relatively gentle workout that actually did a good job of helping me to decompress a little after a somewhat stressful couple of days. After the warmup to the track, did a progression run, with two at Heather's marathon pace, then one a little slower than tempo, then one with whatever we had left. I stayed with her during the first three miles, but told her I might stretch out a bit for the last one, so I managed to hit something to the tune of 6:58, 6:37, 6:24, 5:16.

Tues 4/27
0
Running is silly, anyway...

Wed 4/28
11.7 (1:20:06)
Ran over to the high school to run with the AORTA group, which was just planning on doing their standard 10k loop. I ran with Eric, and, as so often turns out to be the case, we ended up tacking on a mile or so to the loop and doing something of a progression-type run, but nothing too quick. After a lazy day off, it felt good to stretch the legs out a bit.

Thur 4/29
5 (35:29)
I wasn't planning on running today, but I got a call from my Inimitable Mother, telling me that Elliott Schotz is not doing so well, and given that I've done a considerable amount of running over the last year in an all-too-frustratingly-feeble attempt to help support him, his family, and research on his vile ailment, going out for a run seemed like a strangely appropriate response.

Fri 4/30
0
Figured it might be worth a rest day for the long weekend ahead. (and it never ceases to amaze me how much extra time you immediately have on days you don't devote hours to running...)

Sat 5/1
16.3 (2:34:07)
Ran roughly the first half (the out-and-back portion) of the Tuskegee Fat Ass 50k, running the Pleasant Hill Trail and Bartram Trail with Marcus, then waiting for the entire race field to pass by us at the Bartram trailhead, before Marcus followed them up the Bold Destiny Horse Trail to assume sweeping duties, while I simply ran back to the start. Twas a nice, relatively easy run that served as a good precursor to tomorrow's little jaunt along the Pinhoti Trail with Rob and Eric...

Total: 50.1 (6:25:23)

My approach to training this week was somewhat strange; I was trying to both use the long weekend (F.A. 50k section on Saturday and PTAR pacing on Sunday) as a solid training weekend, but I also wanted to be somewhat intelligent so as not to be a burden on the already fatigued/swamped PTAR runners and crew chief. In any case, it came together, one way or another. One more week in the books...

My Week On The Run...

2010-04-25T12:34:00.000-05:00

I feel fairly confident that I'm the only one interested in the progression of my training, particularly due to the fact that I'm not really training for any specific race or toward any discrete end at the moment. However, if nothing else, my posting up slightly more detailed accounts of my daily runs than at my daily training blog (which, ironically enough, doesn't necessarily feel like the most appropriate venue for posting the nitty gritty details of my typically ambiguous, jack of all trades type training) can serve as a decent backup to the spiral-bound notebook in which they are currently contained, and it could also afford a point to which I can refer others, should they ever be curious as to the somewhat monotonous nature of my training, on the off-chance that anyone would ever develop such a curiosity.

In any case, I don't know if this will be a regular installment or a one-time post, but, for what it's worth, here's how my week of running went for April 18 - April 24, 2010...

Sun 4/18
9.9 miles (1:13:12)
Felt Good. Perfect Weather.

Mon 4/19
PM: 15.4 (1:53:13)
All over residential Auburn. Felt good to do a semi-long run and tire the legs out a bit.

Tues 4/20
AM: 11 (1:20:44)
Warmed up to Woodfield, around IM fields, and met Heather for 2 x 1.5 mile tempo with 1/4 mile jog recovery. Hit 8:33 (~5:40 pace) and 8:11 (~5:20 pace). Good effort. A bit of a hitch in my upper right hamstring/IT band/glute; I think it's from yesterday's hills.
PM: 7.4 (57:36)
Felt a little sluggish toward the end. Solid day.

Wed 4/21
PM: 13.4 (1:42:48)
Heather's to Kiesel, 1.5 laps, and back. Felt good.

Thurs 4/22
0
Inimitable Mother and Darling Little Sister in town, so I spent the day showing them around. Twas a good day.

Fri 4/23
PM: 11.8 (1:28:16)
Campus loop, out Donahue, down University, residential Auburn. Cruisin

Sat 4/24
PM: 9.3 (1:08:51)
Around Auburn, about half in a light rain.
Celebrating the gift of the ability.

Total: 78.2 (9:44:46)

Delano Day 100

2010-03-15T12:19:00.000-05:00

WARNING: This report is entirely too long, too boring, and too incoherent to be of any interest, but, if you have the urge to delve into it (along with a decent amount of free time and an appreciation of eccentric activities), here it is for your perusal:

A few months ago, I had an idea. I have run the Delano Park 12 Hour Run, twice as an individual and once as a relay team member, but this year I wanted to make it something more, both in terms of running and as something a bit more worth while. I was going to start running twelve hours before the official start of the race, thereby making it a 24 hour run, and to make such silliness worth the while, I took pledges from donors who wanted to sponsor me on a per mile basis to raise money for NTSAD, the same organization for which a group ran across the state of Alabama this past summer. The race directors for the Delano 12 both ran the full way across AL, and one of the directors, Eric Schotz, has a son, Elliott, who is afflicted with Tay Sachs Disease. Having such a worthwhile cause provided some much needed motivation throughout the late night/early morning hours of solo running, the latter miles of painful slogging, and many miles of pounding in training. A few miles into my run, Eliza Schotz, Eric’s wife, brought Elliott out for a few minutes, and seeing the reason for the run drove the point home that it was time to get down to business.

I arrived at Delano Park about 15 minutes before I needed to start, got my aid station ready (consisting of a table, a couple water bottles, bananas, and pb&j), and nervously chatted with the small crowd that had assembled to watch me start. Promptly at 6pm (by the RD’s watch), the Delano Day was underway with me anticlimactically trotting away from the start/finish line.

1 mile: 8:55

The first mile or two went by relatively uneventfully, albeit far too quickly, and slowly, the little group that came out to watch the start thinned out (some had to go to a prerace dinner and packet pickup before getting a good night’s sleep before their own race – the Delano 12 – in the morning). Soon, we were down to just a couple people at the park with me, which was great to have, as I had expected to be alone for quite a bit of the night.

As the daylight faded into night, Fred Trouse, a good friend from Auburn who served as a pacer for me during both runnings of the Pinhoti 100, began running with me. Fred is always a pleasure to have along for a run, given his rather wide range of past experiences that have left him knowledgeable in so many areas. This, coupled with the fact that he is an overly kind, intuitive, and selfless pacer, makes him a sublime pacer. In any case, Fred and I circled the 1-mile loop time and time again.

Since this event was in my hometown of Decatur, AL, my family could come to watch the madness. My Illustrious Father, Darling Little Sister, and, of course, Inimitable Mother, were all on hand for the start, and took different shifts to hang out at the park. Whereas my Illustrious Father has been to both successful 100’s and the one failed attempt to watch the carnage, Darling Little Sister and Inimitable Mother haven’t had the joy of observing such stunts. That being the case, my Inimitable Mother took the first shift and watched Fred and me plug away the first few miles.

As I settled into my natural pace, several people came by the park to say hi and see how everything was going, often stopping by after picking up their race packets and eating the prerace pasta supper. One such visitor, Spurgeon Hendrick, a fellow Pinhoti veteran and all around good guy, happens to be sponsored by the Moon Pie company, and when he stopped by to check on me, he left a few moon pies along with some new flavored versions of the moon pie. I know; I was spoiled.

At one point, Fred and I were treated with a couple of kids running with us. Mrs. Burgreen, my high school freshman history teacher, came out for an hour or so to help cheer me on and brought along her children. It’s not often that I feel old during these events, as I’m often one of the youngest participants, but seeing Mrs. Burgreen’s three kids, all of whom ran a little, and two of whom ran a couple laps as fast or faster than me, almost made me feel like an adult, because Mrs. Burgreen was pregnant with the first one when I was in her class a decade ago. Regardless, it was nice to see Mrs. Burgreen; she always seems to have a smile on her face and encouraging words on her lips, and I’m glad she and her progeny came out.

Marathon: 4:11

At some point, another local bunch of ultrarunners, the Fagerman’s, came out for a few laps. They were some of the lucky participants of the Run From the Ranger 50k last December, and it was nice to have the company while Fred took a little break.

50k: 5:09

Late in the evening, yet another Pinhoti alumnus, Philip Sustar, showed up with his family and another runner or two and set up their tent for the race the next morning. I initially assumed that they were simply going to set up the tent and then go find a hotel for the night. I was incorrect. Philip ran quite a few miles with me throughout the night, made sure I always had what I needed, offered up his tent and supplies to me, and even helped me change my shoes and socks after 62 miles. Because of helping me, I don’t think Philip even got 3 hours of sleep Friday night, and he still managed to get up and run 52 miles during the race Saturday morning (all the while checking on me whenever we crossed paths).

Around midnight, Darling Little Sister arrived to run with me for an hour or so. Unfortunately, she showed up right as I hit my one and only real crash of the run. She arrived just as I was completing 35 miles, ready to run, and the only thing I could do at the time was rest my head on the aid table, sit down, and ask for warm clothes and my first round of caffeine in a week (Mt. Dew is a lifesaver at times like these). So after around 10 minutes of recouping, I got back up and set out with Darling Little Sister for around four miles. She is always an utter joy to run alongside, and considering the somewhat unusual circumstances, it was all the more enjoyable. All too soon, though, her running shift was over, and she went home to get a well-earned good night’s sleep and roust my Inimitable Mother for her running shift. In the interim, of course, Philip and Fred filled in running with me.

Within 30 or 45 minutes, the Inimitable Mother showed up, and we plugged away a few more miles. I thoroughly enjoyed my hour with her; the best way I know to describe it is that I like running with my Mama. Before I knew it, her shift had come to an end, and she went home to roust my Illustrious Father to come out for moral support. Around the time he showed up to check in (being the experienced crew chief from my previous 100-miler excursions), Jon Elmore, one of the race directors showed up to get his mileage in for the day. Jon ran around 5 before taking up the responsibilities of co-race director as other runners began arriving for the race.

100k: 11:46

Around 15 minutes before the official start of the Delano 12, I hit the 100k mark and decided to take the opportunity to get off of my feet for a few minutes, warm up, and change socks (which proved to be a gloriously wise decision). As the race began, so did the rain. The weather throughout the night had been perfect. Upper 40’s with a slight breeze, but the Delano 12 has a reputation of bad weather to uphold, so there was an obligatory soaking rain, wind, and (later in the day) a bout of sleet/hail. Regardless, I donned a light rain shell, and managed to remain pretty comfortable for most of the day.

The first couple hours of the “official” race passed rather quickly for me, since I had the company of John Bolding, a senior runner from the Austin High School XC team. He’s picked up a bit of an interest in ultrarunning and claims that he wants to try one out after he graduates, so I gave him a little introduction to the oddity that generally accompanies this small niche of running.

Quick picture with Eliza and Elliott during a break in the rain

During the day, the miles came and went. Having all of the other racers around was nice, and since it was a loop course, we were constantly seeing each other to offer encouragement, support, and jokes. Even so, or perhaps because of this, the miles seemed to blend together throughout the day.

It was nice to see a bunch of my friends out running the race. Almost everyone I talked to had a good day of running, and I only wish I could thank everyone I saw for the unending encouragement they offered me throughout the day. I think Fred, who continued to plug away at the miles with me throughout the day, PR’d for the total distance that he covered in a day. I’m not entirely sure of his total mileage, but it had to be approaching 50 (especially considering he kept on plugging away even after I had finished, even though he wasn’t officially entered in the race; he just enjoys being out there).

In any case, after the final few miles (it seemed like the last 15 took forever), my Inimitable Mother and Darling Little Sister joined me for my last lap. With a few meters to go, we even got the privilege of pushing Elliott across the finish line.

100 Miles: 19:42:53

Chatting with Elliott at the finish

For what it’s worth, this is a 100 mile PR by 7:55:27. I suspect I’ll have a hard time PR’ing by over 7 hours again in just about any event.

Shortly after I got done, I headed into Philip and Co.’s tent to warm up, and the combination of the fact that I couldn’t move my legs and the sudden onset of sideways sleet convinced me that I was done for the day. In retrospect, maybe I should have gotten out and walked a few more miles. Oh well; call me lazy…

While I was warming (and stiffening) up, I was giving a bit of a recap to Tony Bolan. Tony is a friend from church who happens to be a local magistrate. When he heard about my little overnight adventure, he sent word to the officer in charge of patrols from the police department to concentrate patrols around Delano Park throughout the night. It was a welcome sight to see cop cars cruise by checking on things. Tony had come out during the first couple of hours to watch, he showed up around 4am to check, and then he came out again to watch me finish. I cannot reiterate enough how much all of the support I got from friends meant as I circled that loop time after time after time.

This run was perhaps the most thorough mental effort and surreal running experience I’ve ever had. The very nature of running through the night and over this many miles causes you to cover the full spectrum of physical, mental, and emotional states, and coupling that with the knowledge that I was running for a cause served to heighten the experience.

Afterwards, I got to enjoy some time with a bunch of running buddies, sitting around and cutting up, well pleased with the effort. A bunch of folks managed to go farther than they ever had before, which certainly an accomplishment.

Eric Gilbertson was 2nd in the 12-hour, racking up 74 miles

Most of Huntsville crowd, who did a great job as cheerleaders for me all day

I haven’t managed to total up all of the donations and pledges, but I think that somewhere around $1000 was raised for NTSAD through the run, and I’ll gladly repeat the effort if it can in any way help facilitate research or support for families and those afflicted with Tay Sachs.

A day later, muscularly, I’m not too sore, but the joints are screaming at me. Totally worth it.

Well, yet again, I warned you that it was long and boring, but somehow you’ve made it to the finish. I am fairly certain that I’ve left out or forgotten quite a bit of what happened, but such is the nature of the beast. My apologies if it was a bit long, winding, and incoherent, but that’s how the run was, too. (and I’ll post up pictures as I get them…)

Mount Cheaha 50k

2010-03-01T09:47:00.000-06:00

Short version: Fun race; I kind of used it as a training run for my Delano Day in a couple of weeks, so I didn't really push it too hard...

Not as short version:

So I went into this race with the mindset of keeping it a training run. Last year, I started the race running alongside a friend of mine, Dink Taylor, at a pretty aggressive pace, then proceeded to slow down for the entire second half. This year, with the Delano Day , my "goal event," two weeks away, I decided to treat Cheaha as a good final training run, and I therefore intentionally ran the whole race at a decidedly more comfortable, conservative pace.

The race starts in a small gravel parking lot for a trailhead, and runners are immediately funneled into a singletrack trail, so to avoid getting stuck in a conga line at the start of the race that can potentially take around 2 or 3 miles to thin out, an ambitious runner must sprint out to the front few, which I did last year. This year, in my effort to force myself to take it easy, I started in the middle of the pack and eased into the race.

The section before the first aid station has some considerable hills, which can quickly take "it" out of your legs, and quite a bit of passing occurs during this first, shall we say, introduction to the race...

The majority of the course is run along narrow, rocky, rooty, singletrack trails, which can be an adventure to traverse. The ankles take a beating as runners traverse numerous rock gardens, often with the entire trail on a slant due to its location on the side of a mountain. This, along with the fact that there probably aren't a cumulative 3 miles of flat running on the entire course, makes this race a relatively tough, slow 50k. I love it.

This year was considerably drier than last year's edition; not nearly as much mud and running water along the course. If someone wanted to keep his or her feet dry, he or she could do so, although in one or two spots, some substantial thinking (and rock jumping) might be required. I, on the other hand, think that the main stream crossing of the race, somewhere around mile 20, feels great, and plowed right through the frigid water. I was not disappointed, as the cool rush provided a nice bit of relief to my rock-beaten feet.

Whereas most of the course is along singletrack, a few miles are along some gravel and paved roads. When, a few miles after the creek crossing, we got spit out of the trail onto the gravel road that leads to the paved road, I licked my chops. Given my road racing, XC, and track background, whenever the technicality is taken out of a run and I can simply dial in a pace to hold, I can generally make up some time on most of the purely trail runners. This came in handy with the almost constant incline that the roads held, during which, it is incredibly tempting to take walking breaks periodically, especially when you take a turn, and up above the trees, you see Mount Cheaha, which you are well aware that you must climb very shortly. It's somewhat intimidating, realizing that you're legs are already trashed from running farther than a marathon and that you're taking more out of them now by running up a hill just to get to the trailhead to take you up the mountain, and then seeing the mountain and thinking "I've got to run up that?" Again, I love this sport.

Once I got past the last aid station, I began my ascent of Mt. Cheaha, and it went relatively uneventfully. Yes, it was steep. Yes, it was somewhat difficult. Yes, I was very glad to be at the top. But I expected all of those, so it was, in a strange way, kind of easy to get through.

Once I got to the top, just a few more minutes padding around the top of the mountain, and I was done. 5:38~ish (completed, of course, with the requisite flying heel click at the finish line...). Another 50k in the books. The funny part is that, even though I played around with this race and ran it with a much more relaxed attitude, I ran 10 minutes faster than last year. Funny how all that works...

I managed to put in 14 today (Sunday), and soreness is about how you would expect. 2- weeks until the big one; on to Delano....

Delano Day

2010-02-18T14:58:00.000-06:00

Some might have heard about the Run Across Alabama for Elliott (http://www.runacrossalabama.com/) this past summer, raising money for NTSAD, the National Tay Sachs and Allied Diseases Association (http://www.ntsad.org/), where I joined Eric Schotz, Jon Elmore, and Eric Charette for a part of their trek across the state. That effort ended up raising over $20,000 for NTSAD. I'm just trying to add a little to the total...

I have wanted to try a 24-hour event for a while, and with the Delano 12 (http://delano12.com/) being a known and relativley convenient venue, doubling seemed to be a feasible idea. Now, as much as I like running stunts for the shear sake of running stunts, I figure that I might as well do someone some good with this eccentric pastime that is ultrarunning, so I thought I'd make my run into a fundraiser benefitting NTSAD, since Eric Schotz and Jon Elmore are the RD's.

I'm trying to get people to sponsor me on a per-mile basis for the 24 hours; the farther I go, the more money we can get going toward Tay Sachs research. For example, if someone were to pledge $0.25 per mile, and I go out and run 100 miles, it would end up as a $25 donation. I anticipate running somewhere between 100 and 110 miles (but the farther the better, right...)

If anyone has any questions or would like to get involved, feel free to shoot me an email at jrn47again@gmail.com , and I'll be sure to get you in on the loop.

As a sidenote, if anyone wants to keep up with my daily training, I keep a running blog at http://nevels.fastrunningblog.com/

Snow Day

2010-02-12T18:19:00.000-06:00

Today was supposed to be my day off...

As rare as snow is in the South, a conundrum always presents itself whenever we are graced with the wintry precipitation, however light or brief. How should I most effectively go about enjoying an event of such rarity? On my trek into my office for a brief check on some research, I noticed that quite a few people were out and about making snowmen, having little snowball fights, and generally frolicking around in our all too fleeting winter wonderland. It was nice to see everyone enjoying the day, but I had already hatched something of an eccentric plan...

I had called Marcus Farris, a sophomore here at Auburn and running buddy of mine, and posed the question, "Are you up for doing something stupid?" Without hesitation, he indicated that he was ready and willing to try something out, so I posed to him the idea of going for a little run in the still-falling snow. In shorts and shoes.

Marcus wholeheartedly agreed to come along, so a couple of hours later, when the snow had actually accumulated a little and picked up in intensity, we set out in the least amount of clothing with which we could legally get away.

Our route was relatively short; it consisted of a lap around campus and back to my apartment, which amounted to approximately 3 miles. Within a couple of minutes of departing, we had been captured on both digital cameras and video, which seemed to be a recurring theme of the run. Whenever a new group of people saw us, they immediately began cheering us on and taking pictures, and with the excitement of the snow, quite a few people were out to observe the oddity of two mostly-naked guys running through the streets.

When we had made most of the campus circuit, Marcus and I turned down College Street to make a pass in front of Samford Hall, where many students, enjoying their snow day off from classes, had come to enjoy the scenery and take part in the aforementioned frolicking. That being the case, before long, we were having to dodge people, often catching them by surprise, and weave through the crowds in front of the campus landmark. After dodging a few snowballs thrown our way (and getting pegged by one or two...), we turned back home, and in short order were back in my nicely heated apartment.

I think Marcus summed it up best in the subject line of the email he sent with a couple of pictures we took, simply saying "The most epic 3 miles in a while."

It was supposed to be my day off, but sometimes you've just got to go out and play in the snow...

Me enjoying the snow...

Marcus in his Vibrams

Red Nose Marathon

2010-01-14T15:29:00.000-06:00

I must admit, I'm a bit hesitant to post this as a race report, because I went into it and ran it with the mindset of just a usual training run, my last good long run before Mountain Mist, just two weeks away. The course could have been a very fast course for those trying to set new PR's, but with two 50k's only 10 and 18 days ago, respectively, and another in two weeks, I figured that running this one hard would probably only do more harm than good. In any case, since it was an actual race that I was lucky enough to win (barely), I guess I ought to give account, so here it goes:

First off, it's cold. When I left my apartment this morning it was something like 16 degrees outside with a solid wind, and when I heard someone give the temperature after I was done, it had only risen to 21 degrees. Not the most ideal running conditions for a born and bred Southerner...

After picking up a breakfast of champions, consisting of a chicken soft taco and 5-layer burrito from Taco Bell, I met up with a couple of friends in Auburn around 4am CST, and we made the short drive over to the race site, which took us into Eastern Time. When the race got underway at 7 (Eastern), it was still dark, and we could tell by the occasional gusts through the city streets that wind would be a major factor of the day during the long miles along the riverwalk.

From the get go, a guy jumped out front and sped off into the distance, and I tucked into my natural long run pace. I struck up a conversation with a biker who was nice enough to ride beside me for the first few miles before peeling off to go help others find their way along the course. Truth be told, I'm pretty sure he was suffering from the cold worse than many of the runners, because the wind he had to deal with must have been brutal. When he began to turn around, he told us that all we had to do was follow the riverwalk we were currently on.

Once our biker friend had departed, I, along with a guy who had been closely tailing me, put things on auto-pilot for a while. We almost got off course when the riverwalk forked, but fortunately we both had the presence of mind to suspect that the fork following the river more closely was probably correct, and our suspicions were soon confirmed by another mile marker. A mile or so later, my running buddy began to fall off the pace a bit, so I nestled comfortably inside my own head, assuming that since the guy in front was pretty far out there and no one was too close behind, it would be a while before I had anyone to run with.

The miles came and went, along with feeling in my hands and face, and before I knew it, I was at the turnaround. The marathon course was simply two loops of a half marathon course (the half marathoners started an hour later than we did), and the turn around was just past the 8 mile marker. Shortly before the turnaround, I saw the leader, along with his bike escort, and judged them to be around a half mile in front of me, looking strong.

Once I made the turnaround, it wasn't long before I began seeing other marathoners on their way out, so I tried to give encouragement to everyone I saw. Soon enough, I began to see the half marathon leaders as well. A few more miles clicked on by, and just like that, I was at the start/finish line again, ready to turn back around and do the whole thing over. At this point, the leader was far enough in front of me that I never even saw him during my jaunt around town to get back to the start/finish and then back out to the riverwalk.

While rerunning the first few miles of the course, I felt like a rock star, because (since the leader was so far in front) I had two cop cars leap frogging each other to lead me through town, stopping cars at green lights (the drivers must have wondered about why a lone runner in shorts in 18 degrees was getting such treatment....) as I made my way through the city. Soon enough, though, I was back out on the riverwalk alone.

At this point, I had been out in the cold long enough that my double layer of gloves wasn't cutting it, and my hands were completely numb, along with most of my face. The wind, which was an ever-present nuisance on the first loop, proved to be a veritable gale during the second loop (or at least that's what it felt like). As before, I just tried focus on staying at a relaxed, comfortable pace and put on foot in front of the other. A difference on this loop, on the other hand, was that I was constantly seeing other marathoners finishing up their first loop as well as throngs of half marathoners, and again I tried to offer encouragement to all; some were having a tough time with the wind (and, perhaps, the distance).

Yet again, I made it to the turnaround, only 5 miles to go... I had noticed that the leader was about the same distance in front of me on this loop as the last, and he didn't appear to be as comfortable as I felt - he was not in distress by any means, but just not comfortable. I decided that I would just maintain my speed and see what happened (the ~~thought~~ temptation was there to kick the pace up a notch, but my thoughts kept returning to possible repurcussions involving Mt. Mist and possibly health, considering that I only got fluids at two water stops and took in no food or electrolytes - I was in no condition to "race").

I thought that the wind had been bad earlier, but I was mistaken. On the return trip, the wind was almost all I thought about. My thighs were a funny reddish white color, and I couldn't feel my hands or my face at all. I love distance running.

I kept an eye out for the leader, and when I got to mile 24 without seeing him, I figured that he had pulled through and was going to take it, having lead from wire to wire. However, right as I was about to cross the 25 mile mark, I noticed his bike escort pop back onto the path, and then noticed that the leader was a mere 150 yard or so in front of me, obviously hurting. I maintained my pace and overtook him relatively quickly. If he had sped up to match me, I probably would have let him take the race, since he was clearly putting forth considerable effort, but he let me slip on by with less than a mile to go.

The lead bike was somewhat surprised to have a new leader, and he almost missed me, but he noticed my race number was one designated as a full marathon number (1-100 were marathon race numbers, 101+ were half marathoners, and there were around 230 half marathoners...impressive). He led me back into town, announcing me to everyone he saw. As I came into the final stretch, an announcer called out my name over a loudspeaker as "your marathon winner," which, I must admit, felt pretty cool to hear. True to form, I airplaned around the last corner and, since I know you all were hoping for it, I jumped up and gave a heel-click across the finish line for a time of 3:16:28.

It was a fun race, and I accomplished what I set out to do: get another relatively relaxed but solid long run in before Mt. Mist, negative split the second half by a couple of minutes, and I got an added surprise bonus of winning. The 25-mile leader came in a few minutes behind me, but I found out that this was his debut marathon. Pretty darn impressive to lead the vast majority of your first marathon in frigid temperatures, with who knows what wind chill.

All in all, I felt good post-race. No real muscular soreness at all; a bit of joint stiffness and foot tenderness befell me the next day, but that's about par for the course with any long road run, and they were gone by Monday.

On to Mountain Mist...

Pinhoti 100

2009-11-10T12:45:00.000-06:00

The short version: I went until I couldn’t go any farther, and then I went a little farther.

The long version (Warning: Long, boring, tale of silly jogging/bushwacking that probably has subliminal messages if you play it backwards):

Summer training went fantastically. I probably ran more miles this past summer than I have ever run in any 3-month span before. But that was the summer. Between classes, research, and personal stuff, the last couple of months have been somewhat lacking as far as mileage is concerned that could be considered appropriate for 100-mile training. Sometimes life seems to get in the way, but we push on and hope for the best; thusly I toed the line for the Pinhoti 100.

The morning started at 2:55 when I woke up 5 minutes before my alarm and the wakeup call we had ordered from the hotel front desk. With the wakeup call, my dad and brother got up, we all got dressed, and we headed to Huddle House for a quick breakfast before driving to the starting area an hour and a half away. While riding shotgun through the wee hours of the morning, the thought that hit me last year at that point crept back into my mind. I was riding at 55-70 mph for an hour and a half, and I had to run back.

"The people that I have met are not foolish; they are aware of how tired and cold and hungry and frightened and hurting and discouraged and disoriented and how possibly injured they will become. They know they will face great physical, mental, emotional, and possibly spiritual challenges as they make their way to the finish. This is what they are racing against. This is their challenge. This is what I admire." - Carolyn Erdman

The race got started at about 6:15 with about half of the runners hollering at the top of their lungs and the other half silently contemplating the task at hand. I managed to get out in the second pack, figuring that I both wanted to let the lead guys get out ahead to run fast (including pro Karl Meltzer, previous winner John Teeples, and various stud runners such as DeWayne Satterfield, Roch Horton, John Dove, and a slew of other fast guys), while also staying in front of the inevitable conga line that would form for the first 5 or so miles on the single track trails as everyone tried to find that elusive “sustainable” pace. What a laughable concept – sustainable pace…

I managed to get positioned right where I was aiming, with a pack of guys I already knew, ahead of the bottleneck, and behind the fast guys. True to form, my one and only fall of the race came in the first few miles of the race, when I slipped on some wet leaves; the relatively small cut that was created bled like a champ, prompting aid station workers for the entirety of the race to ask if I needed one of them to clean it. I just figured that I’d rub some dirt on it and move along.

My race plan was to run the first 50 miles in around 10 hours, allowing 14 hours for the second 50 miles to stay under 24 for the full 100. This seemed like a reasonable strategy, given the impending nocturnal slowdown. I quickly learned that the rest of the pack had adopted similar plans, and that being the case, our little group set about plugging away at the miles. The first few aid stations came and went relatively uneventfully, and we managed to stay on pace while enjoying quite a bit of random conversation. I got into the rhythm of running, anticipating the next aid station, meeting my crew, and repeating. It’s good to be able to go through the motions for a while almost on autopilot.

"If you start to feel good during an ultra, don't worry - you'll get over it." – Gene Thibeault

As the day progressed each of us that began the day running together had minor ebbs and flows; we’d drop off the pace, then catch back up with the group after a few miles and fall back into step. Then we started approaching Mt. Cheaha. I’m well aware that when compared to mountains such as those in the Rockies, Mt. Cheaha is merely a foothill, but it is the highest point in the state of Alabama, and when you have to climb the bulk of it within a mile, it can sure be a pace-killer, among other things. I had started falling off the pace pretty badly somewhere around mile 35, and the next aid station was at the top of Cheaha, just shy of mile 41. I was hitting my first bonk, and it was messing with my head pretty badly. My mind began formulating those ideas and questions that you can’t afford to let it create: “It was too early to be feeling this bad. If I couldn’t hold the pace a mere 40 miles, how was I even going to keep moving for another 60? The heat is already killing my insides; I can’t keep pushing for another 16 hours if I can’t regulate something as easy as fluids in a little warm weather. What am I doing here? I’m undertrained. I’m scared. Maybe I should just qui…”

And then I got to the top. The view was fantastic, and even more than seeing the sprawling landscape laid out in front of the overlook, I was thrilled to see my crew, who had by this time figured out that I was running a little behind schedule and was ready and waiting to see what they could do to get me back on my game. I made use of the one bathroom on the course (for the tourists at the “Top of Alabama”) to take care of some pressing business, and I think the shear act of sitting down for a couple of minutes revitalized my legs. While I took care of that, my dad filled up my water bottle, my brother Peter got ready to come in as my first pacer, and before I knew it, Peter and I were back out on the trail.

We made our way back down Cheaha and resumed the continuing task of chipping away at the miles. It was getting late in the day, so around mile 50, we picked up an extra upper body layer and headlamps for both of us, and as the dark of night relentlessly approached, I remembered more and more vividly just how dark things can get.

At mile 55, Peter’s first pacing shift was over, and Fred Trouse, a friend from Auburn who had paced for me last year, began his first pacing shift. Having two veteran pacers is an asset whose virtue I cannot begin to describe, and having these two particular pacers made for, shall we say, an amusing and effective motivational system.

Fred and I made our way through the dark woods for quite a while with Kip Chasse’, one of the guys with whom I had started the day before we all began falling off the pace. He had begun flagging before I had, but he had found a seemingly abundant reserve of energy and was bouncing along, thoroughly enjoying himself, and incessantly chattering about increasingly odd and off-kilter topics. Whereas this might have been somewhat annoying at other times, it was a great way to keep our minds on things other than running for several hours, and we all chatted and laughed our way from aid station to aid station before Kip’s tide of energy swept him on ahead of me for the rest of the race.

When Fred and I got to the mile 65 aid station (the one where I utterly crashed and burned last year, spending an hour trying to convince myself that I was still alive), I grabbed some hot soup, warmed up by the fire, and encountered the first person I had seen of the day deciding to officially drop. He looked fit, but had apparently fallen apart in the last few miles, saying that the previous five miles had taken him two and a half hours to complete. From my own previous experience, I understood his predicament, and I almost let myself begin to think about how good it would feel to….

Nope. Just when I could see that my brain was heading in that direction, I got up, bid the wonderful aid station workers adieu (complete with a bow to the self-proclaimed hostess), and marched out toward the next aid station. I couldn’t afford those kinds of thoughts.

At mile 68, a decision must be made. Fred was finishing up his first pacing shift, while Peter was gearing up to come back in for the infamous Pinnacle ascent. The problem with leaving the aid station at mile 68 is that you know that you won’t see your crew for the next 18 miles, and that those 18 miles are arguably the most difficult of the course, so it amounts to a solid 5-7 hours cutoff from the outside world. And darn my bullheadedness, I made the decision to march out, head high, into the blackness, hoping that I could trick myself into pressing on for a few more hours.

The next couple of miles went by a bit slowly. Fred had aptly described my running at that point as a “good old man shuffle,” and Peter confirmed the sentiment, but it was a good laughing point. As we made our way along the trail, I found myself more and more sleepy, hardly able to even keep my eyes open. A couple of times I would even catch myself walking a couple of steps with my eyes closed, so as we began the switchback ascent of Horn Mountain toward the Pinnacle aid station, Peter and I did what any sane people would do in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night, half asleep, and 70 miles into a run. We sang.

Peter began singing, knowing it would lift me up a little, I joined in, and we sang quite an eclectic assortment of music. From Sinatra to Pink Floyd to the Beatles to Disney, we belted out the lyrics at the top of our lungs, hoping that the aid station workers at the top could hear and were wondering who had escaped the asylum below…

Finally, we made it to the top and the notorious Pinnacle aid station, manned by ultrarunners who knew just what we would want and need at that point in the race. The trademark of the aid station last year had been their fried egg sandwiches, which I had opted to avoid, given how upset my stomach was at the time, but this year was different. I had waited a year for one of those sandwiches, so when they asked, I ordered up a fried egg sandwich with cheese and bacon and a cup of coffee, both of which were promptly served up. I ate and drank while warming up by the fire and realized just how good this particular aid station was, because in addition to fun food, they were offering chocolate covered espresso beans, toothbrushes, and diaper rash cream – the kinds of things most people would not think to bring to an aid station…

"Your biggest challenge isn't someone else. It's the ache in your lungs and the burning in your legs, and the voice inside you that yells 'CAN'T", but you don't listen. You just push harder. And then you hear the voice whisper 'can'. And you discover that the person you thought you were is no match for the one you really are." - Unknown

The mark of a truly good aid station is that the volunteers show a genuine concern for your task at hand over your immediate comfort, which in an ultramarathon aid station means that if you look good enough to run/walk/crawl, they kick you out of the aid station to just keep you moving toward the finish. That being the case, Peter and I were promptly discharged from the aid station back along the ridge on top of Horn Mountain working toward the next aid station. At this point, at least in my head, I knew that the absolute worst of the race was over. The last big climb was done; now I just had to keep up the relentless forward motion to the finish and I would be done. We made our way to the next aid station five miles away (felt like 10, but I’ll pretend they measure the course correctly at 5…), didn’t spend too much time there before departing toward another much-anticipated aid station at mile 86.

We made a slow descent over the next 6 miles to the aid station at mile 86, manned by a bunch of friends of mine from Huntsville, representing the Huntsville Track Club and Fleet Feet Sports. When Peter and I came into view (after hearing the music from their speakers for a mile or so), they all started hooting and hollering to see me; it was a real motivational boost. I think those guys, and especially my dad, were a bit relieved to see me come out of the woods. A minute or so later, when I got into the aid station, they immediately got me the food I wanted, took the clothes I didn’t need any more, and got me moving again, as I was within a half hour of the cutoff time for that aid station. Peter’s pacing shift was over, and as Fred began his second pacing leg, Peter drove off to take a well-earned nap.

Peter and me coming into the mile 86 aid station

I'm happy to be here. Really. I promise...

Fred (left), anxious to get his second round of pacing under way helps expedite the stripping process along with Rob (back) and Kathy Youngren (right). I guess it takes true friends to help you rip your pants off...

From left to right: Fred (ready to get moving), Rob Youngren (realizing that me sitting down to take care of that might not be the best thing...), Kathy Youngren (keeping me balanced while offering a veritable buffet), Blake Thompson (happy it's me and not him), and someone else, Josh Kennedy, perhaps? (what can I say, I'm a popular guy...)

I mean, I don't really enjoy resting, anyway...

Newly rejuvenated, I took off down the gravel road that would constitute most of the next 10 miles, Fred in tow. About a week earlier, I had told him that for that last section, from 86 to 100, if I didn’t have a bone poking out, I wanted to be running, and that I’d like him to be as firm as he needed to in order to keep me from walking even the uphill portions. That being the case, I was probably running around 9:30 miles for the next 5 or 7 miles, only spending around 30 seconds at the next aid station before getting the heck out of there. I was trying to make up some lost time. Given that Fred had told me that the most recent runner to pass through the mile 86 aid station was 15 or 20 minute ahead of me, I was pleased when I passed him somewhere between mile 90 and 95. At the FINAL aid station at mile 95, I shed the remainder of my warm clothes and was back down to shorts and a t-shirt to finish out the race.

The next couple of miles were spent getting back out to the road that would take us into town to the finish line. I began to feel the previous few fast miles and slowed for a couple of miles until I could “smell the barn.” At that point, I began picking up the pace yet again. The finish was about 200 yards around a high school track, and as soon as we got inside the stadium, I felt light as a feather, and, true to form from my last couple of races, I spread my arms out and airplaned around the track, to the shouts of some friends waiting at the finish. At the line, as I had planned to do if my legs still had anything left, I jumped up and clicked my heels to cross.

100 miles: 27:38:57

The race director, Todd Henderson, handed me my new belt buckle, a couple of pictures were taken, and that was that. Meltzer had won in an amazing 17:12, blowing away the old course record by over 3.5 hours. Of the sixty-something starters, 38 ended up finishing.

The race was another testament to how much of a factor my crew was for me. Having Peter and Fred out there with me during those tough hours late in the race was critical, and having my dad, the crew chief, behind the scenes, working out logistics and making sure I always had whatever I needed kept me from making stupid mistakes and probably saved my race. My gratitude to these three simply is not quantifiable.

Well, that’s my story. I warned you it was long. I hope you enjoyed it.

"Is this level of athletic competition the ultimate distraction from real life? Or is it a form of prayer?" - Norah Vincent

2008-12-15T16:46:00.000-06:00

2008-12-03T23:36:00.000-06:00

2008-12-03T23:15:00.000-06:00

2008-11-14T20:07:00.000-06:00

2008-11-12T23:59:00.000-06:00