“I believe that God made me for a purpose… and when I run I feel His pleasure”

 

It’s the predawn hours of February 2^nd, and I find myself standing on the edge of the woods in Huntsville Texas shivering uncontrollably.  The shivering is both from the cold and the fear and trepidation that grips my body as I prepare to (as they used to say on Star Trek), “boldly go where no coonass has ever gone before”.

 

The task in front of me is to run five 20 mile loops through the woods – or in layman’s terms run 100 miles nonstop.  This trek will include some 8000 plus feet of elevation gain in the form of a zillion little hills covered in roots that could trip Edwin Moses.  I am in search of the elusive “three digits” or “century” mark.  Except this time it isn’t a blue marlin, a bike ride, or a “Benjamin”.  This search is to find my breaking point or the tape at the end of a 100 mile run.

 

Many have asked me, “why?”  Why the hell would anyone want to run 100 miles?  To those who know – no explanation is necessary, to those who do not, no explanation will ever suffice.  You do get a belt buckle for finishing, and if you can do it in one day “Sub 24”, you get a special belt buckle.

 

How does one prepare for such an idiot odyssey?  Very carefully and merely wanting to do something like this probably qualifies you for some type of disability check from the state or a bed next to Brittany Spears.

 

After completing a couple of Ironmans, I was very intrigued by the aspects of the Ultramarathon, which is considered anything more than the standard 26.2 mile marathon.  In my perusing, I realized that many of these “Ultras” as they are known are held off-road on trails.  So, lo and behold, I found myself signed up for last years’ Rocky Raccoon and I was going to attempt to run 50 miles through the woods of Texas.  Run I did, and suffer I did. 

 

Trail running is a world different than road running.  An 8 minute road effort will garner a 10 minute mile on the trail.  When I first started trail running, I figured the guys who marked the courses surely were drunk or smoking pot or both.

 

While running Rocky last year, I watched in awe as some of the other maniacs on the course were attempting to run twice the distance I was suffering through.  They were running 100 miles.  At the end of my 50, I was toasted but wanted more.  I decided then that I was going to try the 100 one year later.  So there, the bar was set, and I had lost my mind.

 

My training included many 20 plus mile runs, back to back on the weekends on the trails of Chicot State Park.  I would backpack in, set up tent and run the 21 or so miles around the lake and back to my tent.  I would reward myself with a steak cooked on the open fire and an iced cold Heineken Light or a Grey Goose and redbull.  The perfect recovery meal – protein and carbs.  Teddi Schneider, whom I had asked early on to be one of my pacers at the 100 miler accompanied me on most of my training runs and all of my training races.  She had to prepare to run one or possibly two of the twenty mile loops with me during the night of my 100 mile odyssey.

 

We signed up and raced Rock Creek, a brutal 25K race through the rocks/hills of Kansas.  Teddi held onto my heels and cursed me the whole time.  She ended up second female overall, but was still not happy with me because I laughed at her as she rolled around on the ground after tripping over every small twig on the course.  This was her first trail race and the ground is where you spend most of your first trail race. 

 

Our next adventure, found us racing the hill country of Texas.  Guess what, there are hills in the hill country of Texas.  The race was a 50K called Bandera and put on by the same crew that puts on Rocky Raccoon.  The first 10 miles of this race are spent scurrying up hills like a Sherpa in the Himalayas.  The cactus and all other plants along the course “bite” back.  My legs looked like I had shaved with a chainsaw.  At about mile 27 there is a hill that you probably should use a ski lift to get up, it is sheer vertical.  Teddi stood there almost in tears as I at the top proclaimed down to her that, “You need to get moving, hell you are the only junior leaguer out here in a Nike sports bra holding up traffic, so mover your a$$”.  She made a feeble attempt to throw a rock at me and then hobbled up the hill.  I coddle my running mates and I was merely toughening her up for the onslaught to come at Rocky.

 

My final training race was the Houston Marathon, where I found myself running with a group of runners from my village.  The village of “New Iberia”.  Mike, Ben, Carroll, and Renee all were there to run and were a joy to hang out with on the course.  That was my biggest week and only three weeks out from Rocky Raccoon and my quest for a belt buckle.  I had run Bandera the weekend before, threw in a few 10k’s and a half marathon during the week and then topped all that off with this, the Houston Marathon.  I sputtered around for the first half and then decided to take off and ran a speedy little second split, which included stops for three beers.  I think I read somewhere about carb depletion during a marathon….I digress.

 

It was taper time after that and preparation for what was to come.  This included getting my crew together.  Mark Miller, my coach/trainer, was supposed to pace me from mile 60-80, and Teddi was going to pace me from 80-100 miles.  These would be the “night” miles, where I would probably be lonely, delirious, and lost on the trail.  Well, as fate would have it, Mark double booked me and had scheduled to fly to New York for his wife’s birthday.  So, there I was two weeks out and only 1 pacer.  I figured what the hell Teddi had run 31 miles in Bandera and I was going to be a whipped chicken after 60 miles anyway.  She should have no problem keeping pace and keeping me awake and moving.  In fact, all my junior league comments would probably motivate her and I was sure to reap what I had sowed.

 

I also had things set up to have my best friend, Jim Becquet and his girlfriend April, cook for me during the event.  I also wanted him there for my finish.  This was going to be the biggest thing I had ever done and I wanted him to be part of it.  Also coming along would be my parents.  They were there for my first Ironman and I wanted them there for this.

 

All righty then, everybody take a deep breath, 2 pages and 1,250 words and we are finally at the starting line….this story is about an ultra damn it!  Not some 5K, so hold on, pour yourself a red bull, kick up your feet and enjoy.

 

So, there I was, chilly and scared counting down with a crowd of some 200 runners as we were about to embark on the run of our lives.  5, 4, 3, 2, 1….and the race director sputtered out in a low voice “GO!”    Everything about an Ultra is so understated.  We scurried off into the woods, everyone turning on their headlamps and flashlights.  It was 6 am and the sun wouldn’t be showing its head for another 40 minutes.  It was eerie at best and looked like a long lighted centipede as we all wound our way down the trail single file, one light after the other.  I thought that this is what the Ho Chi Minh trail probably looked like on those nights when the enemy was on the move with their candles and AK-47’s.  (Yes, I have read way too many Vietnam War books).  Ho Chi Minhs quote rang out loud in my head, “1000 of my men will die, to 1 of yours, yet it is you who will tire first.”  IT IS YOU WHO WILL TIRE FIRST!!!!  All I could think, was no way mate, I will never tire….bring it on!!

 

As dawn broke, we found ourselves heading up the jeep trail to the “highway” aid station.  I was running alongside a young man who said he was Navy special warfare (SEALS etc.).  He was running this race on the anniversary of his mother’s death due to a blood clot.  All I could think was what motivation.  I never saw him again and I am not sure that he finished.  The DNF (did not finish) rate for this race was 44%.  I sure hope he wasn’t in that 44%.

 

My first twenty mile lap was uneventful and I felt fine.  I met up with Keith Manuel (Lafayette/Basile), and Brad Delcambre (village of New Iberia) who were attempting the 50 miler.  Yes my ultravirus is spreading – you may be next.  They had started an hour after me and were running a “shorter” course than ours.  We added on a 3.3 mile out and back that they didn’t have to run.  Thus making their trek three 16.7 miles loops of the park trail.  They both looked as fresh as mid air cowshit – smelly, dirty, and happy as hell to be outside!

 

I made my first lap in 3:30 and felt good.  Teddi was there to greet me under a little tent we had put up and I plopped myself in a folding chair and reloaded for lap #2.  At each lap Teddi would reload my salt tablets, help me change my socks and or shoes, and I would refill my water bottle.  I ran with an amphipod “fanny” style pack with a single bottle for the first 60 miles.  I had asked my daughter, Emma, who is five years old and the single most important thing in my life, to make me a series of notes to read during my race.  She had made four for me, so I decided to read 1 at each of my laps.  Her first note was perfect, it read, “hop like a bunny” and had a picture of a rabbit.  I laughed my butt off and thought about that little comment for many of the ensuing miles.

 

Lap 2 (20-40 miles) was by far my hardest of the five laps.  I don’t know why, but assume it was because of the fatigue that I started to feel.   It scared me at best.  The “central governor”, my brain, was probably figuring things will only worsen and the final miles will be a world of pain and hurt I had never felt.  That remained to be seen and my mind wouldn’t let go of that dread.  I saw Brad and Keith again.  Keith was going really well and Brad was tearing the course a new a-hole.  The insolence of youth – ahh to be young again – naah!  I like being old, crusty, and cynical.  I made this loop in just under 4 hours.  Again, I returned to my tent after checking in at the start/finish line.  My mom called while I was in and I got to talk to her.  She said she and my dad were saying the Rosary for me as they drove to Huntsville.  I thanked her and told her it was helping.  The temperature had risen and was in the high 60’s.  I had ditched all but my short sleeve capilene Brooks shirt and my running shorts/tights and a visor since early on in lap 1.

 

I started Lap 3 scared of what was to come.  Worrying that the heat would bring on cramps, that my knees would start to ache, or worse my legs would just say “no more”.  I had never run past 50 miles before and I would hit that at the third aid station on this loop.  Nothing changed however, and my legs felt fine and so did I.  I was tired, but not terribly.  I smiled and realized how much I liked to run and how much I enjoyed the trail and nature.  (Yep, I ate some mushrooms I found on the trail – just joking).  Really, this lap was going well.  I never saw Brad again, but I saw Keith as I was approaching 50 miles.  He looked good and was going smooth.  I hit the 50 mile mark at about 9 hours and 30 minutes in.  I had knocked almost an hour off of my last years 50 mile time.  Problem was, I still had 50 more to go.

 

What’s that old adage?  Pacing and nutrition!  Well, there are 4 aid stations spread out through the course, five if you count the start/finish line aid station.  They are well stocked and staffed with seasoned ultra runners.  I ate my weight twice during this race in peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, grilled cheese sandwiches, cheese wraps, M&M’s, peanuts, and meatloaf…yes meatloaf!  My calculations are that I burn approximately 20,000 plus calories during one of these runs.  That’s about 9-10 days of calories for a normal person. (Dodd Foreman and Ben Hawn would be proud of my fancy book learning calcumalations).  Enough math and back to the pain at hand.

 

I finished Lap 3 in 4 hours as well.  I was happy as hell to see my parents, Jim, and April waiting for me at my tent.  Brad and Keith were there as well, their day was done.  They had both successfully completed the 50 miles.  Brad in an awesome 9:17 and Keith in 10:12, whom at 50 years old, is like the Viagra of the endurance world (giving all the old farts hope and scaring the hell out of women everywhere!).  I was proud and happy for them both.

 

Teddi was geared up and ready to run the next 40 miles with me as my pacer.  This third stop would be my biggest pit stop of the day.  Night was falling and it was time to prepare for the onslaught.  I traded my fanny pack for a Camelbak Octane 8.  It was filled with 70 oz. of water, salt pills, ibuprofen, caffeine, 3 lights, enough batteries to start a diesel, warm clothing/hats/gloves, and the damn kitchen sink.  It weighed about as much as me.

 

Jim was bar-b-q-ing and had a cheeseburger, and French fries waiting for me.  I enjoyed that burger and fries like I have enjoyed no other meal – ever!  Ruth’s Chris ain’t got shit on Jim Becquet.  Time was a wasting, so I grabbed my trusty pacer and off into the night we went.  I was still running well.  It was completely dark on the trail and only my headlamp and Teddi’s lit up what was to be our world for the next 11 or so hours.  A 3 foot wide by 10 foot long swath of dimly lit trail full of roots and other things that go “TRIP” in the night.  We walked all the inclines and hills, running the downhills and flats.  We were on a steady pace.  It was really nice to have some company after 11 hours on the trail alone.  Teddi did most of the talking as I was slightly “tarded” from carbohydrate depletion and the fact I had been running for over half a day. 

 

At the second aid station on this loop, I decided to unload some of the million pounds of gear I was lugging in my camelback into my drop bag at that station.  I was sweating like a piece of cake at Maria Placers birthday party.  So I figured all the winter gear Teddi and I were lugging could be dropped.  My pack was now bearable.

 

We made our way around and had almost 75 miles in when the fatigue really started to grab at me.  It was 10:30 pm or so, and I had been running and on the move since 6 am.  On one big hill, I told Teddi I had to stop for a second.  She massaged my tired legs as I hung from a tree (sounds like a scene out of a Tarzan movie).  I didn’t want to sit; I just wanted to take some pressure off my poor legs, if only for a second or two.  I knew better than to stop for long, so it was off we  went.  At the last aid station on that loop “174”, we met up with a woman I had been seeing all day.  She ran like a track star, fluid and perfect.  She had been “rolling” all day just ahead of me. I told her how well I thought she had run early on.  She said the tide had turned and she was sick.  She had horrible diarrhea and it wouldn’t stop.  It wasn’t a half mile up the trail that I noticed her off to the side – unleashing hell on the flora and fauna.  Ahh, the joys of ultra running.

 

We finally made it back to the start/finish.  We had done this loop in about 5 hours and 30 minutes.  It was about 11:30 pm and my mom, dad, Jim, and April were all awake and happy to see us.   Jim had been cooking shrimp and okra gumbo.  They weren’t really happy to see me as they were that they could now eat.  Jim waited until I got there to finish the Gumbo.  He said he didn’t want the shrimp to be too mushy for me.  What a friend!!   Little did he know, I would have eaten that gumbo out of one the port-a-lets at the race site I was so hungry. 

 

So, there I sat, I had run 80 miles, been on my feet for almost 18 hours, covered in salt, sweat, and every type of human excrement (that doesn’t just cover feces you sick bastards) you could imagine, eating the best damn bowl of gumbo and potato salad I have ever put my spoon into.  The world was right!  Upon later watching the video of myself at his pit stop, I was slurring my speech a bit and moving pretty slow.  I knew I was tired as hell, but the reality was, I was in some type of zombie state or stupor.  I always say, “Let the run come to you mon!” (Kenyan thing).   Well, the run had come to me and kicked my butt!

 

This was where I made a couple of critical errors that cost me some comfort after the race. I had somehow forgotten to pack a fifth pair of socks.  So, I didn’t change socks this loop.  Instead, I chose to pull out the Vaseline and rub it on my feet and reapply my socks.  All that did was rub the sand, dirt, and various sharp razor blade like objects into my feet.  I then proceeded to spread this mess into my crotch area in an attempt to stave off any blistering.  I could have gotten a Darwin award at that point.

 

Well, we explained that we would probably be back between 5 am and 6 am.  I picked up my cell phone and told them I would call when we were an hour or so out.  I figured I could get reception on the levee section by the dam out on the race course.  Jim and April went to sleep on the ground under the tent and my parents went back to the hotel some 9 miles up the road.  Teddi and I weren’t so lucky; we still had a 20 miler left.

 

All I could think was one more lap.  So, down the trail we went.  We were just about to pull off into the brush to use the “little wranglers room” (it was Texas), when I noticed a few sets of eyes glowing back at us.  Must have been the Rocky Raccoons there to greet us – or the first of my hallucinations for the night (knew I should have laid off those mushrooms).  Not long after, the sand and grit I had rubbed into my crotch along with copious amounts of Vaseline to hold it in place, began to eat away at me.  I stopped and got out some baby wipes and began to try to repair the damage.  Note to self:  DO NOT stare down at your naked crotch as other runners approach you, especially when you have a headlamp on your head!!  Needless to say, I got rid of the mess and my crotch felt like someone had put a torch out on it.  I sucked up the pain and continued on, I still had 17 miles to go.

 

My goal was to reach the “far side” aid station and the 90 mile mark somewhat intact.  From there it would be a cake walk in.  By the time we made our way to the jeep road and about 1.5 miles from the first aid station on loop 5, I was completely tired.  All I wanted to do was fall off to the side of the road and curl up in the roots and mud and go to sleep.  Teddi kept me moving.  Nurse “Ratchet” (aka Teddi) suggested I take some caffeine pills.  I refused at first, worried what it would do to my poor stomach.  It was only after I found myself running up the jeep road holding Teddis hand and sleeping that I gave in and took some caffeine.

 

About a half mile later, I felt a presence behind us.  It was “diarrhea” girl and she was right up behind us, pacing off us.  Teddi had to pee, so we pulled off the trail.  “Diarrhea” girl continued on and I realized she was running in the total darkness.  I figured out that she wasn’t pacing off us but using our light to continue down the trail.  I yelled at her and asked if she had a light.  She said her light was dead.  I told her I had an extra.  Hell, I had Jimmie Hoffa in my backpack.  She at first said no (her brain had fallen out of her butt earlier with the rest of her nutrition), then she came to her senses and agreed.  She asked my bib number and said she would return the light after the race.  I told her not to worry and good luck.

 

About twenty minutes after taking the caffeine, I began to run like a man possessed.  Nurse “Ratchet” (aka Teddi) was probably kicking herself for blowing those pills down my throat.  I ran well for the next 11 or so miles.  It was good to get to each aid station and tell them good-bye and thanks for all the help.  When we reached the levee, I called my parents and Jim to tell them we were going to be in around 5 am. 

 

Those last miles were surreal.  It was finally hitting me that I was going to finish this beast and to ice this huge cake, I was going to go “SUB 24”.  I was going to finish 100 miles in one day.  I had figured at least 25 plus hours for my first 100 if I even would finish at all.  Not once did my legs cramp nor did I have any knee pain.  In my 50 miler last year, my knees hurt badly towards the end.  I figured I would be reduced to a crawl by this point, but I wasn’t.  I was elated, all of my long weeks and long runs had paid off in dividends.  Neither of us ever tripped either.  We spoke to one guy that DNF’ed and he fell several times cutting himself to bits.  In my 50 last year I fell several times.

 

After the last aid station, there was only about 3 miles to go to the finish.  97 miles down, 22 hours of being on the move, and I was tired as could be.  With about two miles left, I made a deal with my body; I would walk to the Interpretive Center at the park road, that would give me 1 mile left to the finish.  At that point I was going to run in strong as ever.  My body accepted the deal and at the interpretive center I began to run like a man on fire.  As I entered the finish area, elation rolled over my body and a smile covered my face that couldn’t be taken off with a baseball bat.  100 miles of trail had attempted and failed.  I waved and hollered at Jim and April and there was a smattering of applause from the darkness as those people still awake waiting for their friends/family to finish gave me some affirmation.   I crossed the line and they handed me my belt buckle and it read “Rocky Raccoon 100 Mile Endurance Run Sub 24 Finisher”.

 

I went to my tent and plopped in my chair for the last time and thanked God and his angels for holding this little coonass up for the past 24 hours.  My parents had gotten lost on their way back to the park and missed my finish.  They soon arrived and we all had a laugh – figuring their goofy tired son hadn’t gotten lost in the dark woods, but they couldn’t even find their way back down the lit highways.

 

Jim fired up the grill and cooked some bacon and made me some coffee.  I pulled off my shoes to reveal the carnage.  I had blisters on top of blisters, many still filled to capacity with that lovely yellowish body fluid, screaming out at me, “YOU ASSHOLE – look what you did us!”  I have never blistered in a race.

 

Not long after, we headed back to the hotel in an attempt to get some much needed sleep.  We stopped to pick up three bags of ice.  I hadn’t suffered enough yet.  After long races I usually climb into a tub of cold water and add ice to stop inflammation and speed recovery – HA!

 

Well as I hobbled into the bathroom, to my horror, Nurse “Ratchet” had already put the ice into the tub.  I usually add the ice a few cubes at a time once I have gotten in.  This delays the instant trauma of climbing into 32 degree water.

 

I removed my shorts for the first time in over 24 hours and realized that my crotch belonged in a burn unit.  I honestly had blisters, watery blisters from my butt to my…..(we’ll keep this PG-13).  All I could do was laugh at myself as I looked over at my belt buckle.  I actually bit into a towel so as not to scream out as I lowered myself into the arctic bath Nurse “Ratchet” had prepared for me.  Had I not suffered enough?

 

It had taken me exactly 23 hours 1 minute and 57 seconds to complete my quest for three digits on the run.  It was finally over and I had done it.  All I could think of was Sir Edmund Hillary and his first telegraph message from Everest, “WE KNOCKED HER OFF”.  I know, it wasn’t Everest, but for a man from the village of New Iberia, who had never even raced a 5k until a few years ago, this was my Everest and I was as proud as could be.  I hugged Teddi and wanted to cry – I was so happy!

 

 

 

 

THANKS TO:  Emma for letting her dad run, Teddi for being the ultimate pacer, Mark Miller of Precision Bikes for coaching me, Don and Elizabeth from Run Wild for keeping me in shoes (I’m now the Imelda Marcos of the running world), Ben Hawn for always being my friend, Jim and April my cooks, the “Reds” running crew and the New Iberia running crew for letting me tag along,  Kyle L, Trevor C, and Jimmy B for immoral support, mom and dad for coming out and getting lost so I didn’t have to, “cousin” for looking down on me from above, Pack and Paddle and their staff for keeping me in outdoor gear, and to anyone who reads this and goes out and climbs their Everest!