Rocky Racoon 100 Mile Trail Run, Feb 2010

When I was small, OK I’m still small, so when I was a young boy riding with my mother in the car, every time we would see a butterfly she would tell me that it was a sign that God was with us. She explained that the butterfly was a representation of Jesus and his resurrection and gift of everlasting life. I never forgot that.

Well, when training/running the trails, I am constantly surrounded by butterflies. I always smile when I see them on the trail and know that I am never alone, even out in the middle of “no mans land” all by myself. I know that God is with me. My good friend, Dr. Gary Ross, a world renowned Lepidopterist (fancy booklearnin word for butterfly expert), told me that the reason I see them in droves from time to time on the trail is that they emerge at certain temperatures from their cocoons.

All I know, is the sense of comfort and well being I get whenever I see one on the trail. Because deep down I envy them. They effortlessly roam the trails, floating over the hills, roots, and other obstacles. If only I could be like them.

The life journey of a butterfly is very similar to the journey of an ultrarunner from couch to belt buckle (yes, that is what you get for running 100 miles…a belt buckle). You see, the butterfly starts its lifes journey on its belly, crawling, barely making headway as an ugly caterpillar (like I was 6 months ago before beginning my training). With patience and time (training) the caterpillar dreams of the day he will get his wings. Finally, he goes into his cocoon or chrysalis (taper) and prays that he will emerge with beautiful and powerful wings. Finally, that day arrives, the temperature just right and he emerges and takes to the air (race day).

I digress, this is supposed to be a race report, so hold on, go ahead and print this thing out, because the screen in front of you will burn your eyes out of their sockets by the time you are finished. This tale cannot to be rushed…..patience my friends….patience.

Two years ago, Brad Delcambre and Keith Manuel both wanted to join the ranks of those morons that have run a 100 miles through the woods. (BTW – I am one of those morons) They were both sidetracked last year. This year we decided was going to be their year. We began training in the fall. We ran the 20 mile trail at Chicot State Park numerous times, preparing our bodies to run over hills/roots for five times that distance. Mark Miller, Trevor Casper, Eric Bernard, and others got in on some of that fun. Donald Cleveland was also part of that melee and was set to tear some butt up on the trail scene, much like he does on the road. However, injury sidelined Donald in December and this wasn’t going to be his year to come over to the darkside (trail running).

However, I will credit Donald with motivating me. Back in November, Mark Miller called me and informed me that Donald had circled Chicot in sub 3 hours on his first try. I was impressed, in the three years that I have been running it, I have always cruised it around 4 hours, stopping to eat, enjoy the scenery, etc. After being impressed, I was mortified. I thought hell, that’s my stomping grounds and he just layed the smackdown on it. Needless to say, the next chance I had, I laced ‘em up, hit the trail and damn near killed myself doing it in under 3 hours. Donald, had lit my fire. Over the next few months I circled Chicot with a vengeance, running all the hills and pushing my threshold higher and higher. Thanks Donald, you lit a spark in me and showed me the way.

After a few months of base, I broke out with a 50K race, the Big Dog Ultra in Ruston state park. A very hilly affair. I placed 4^th overall male. It was a breakout race for me and gave me some confidence to start building. Two weeks later, I headed to Mount Magazine, the tallest hill/mountain in Arkansas and punished myself on that little piece of real estate for 3 days in the sleet/snow/ice. Coonass Mongoose do not tread well on ice and I left plenty of mongoose fur and teeth all over that trail. That weekend put the tiger in the cat. I returned to Chicot and continued my training with Brad, Keith, and Mark. We were all set to race a beast of a 50K in Bandera Texas in early January.

In that time, Edie Reidel, a “runnergirl” from Lafayette contacted me. She was going to attempt to run her first 50 miler at Rocky Raccoon and wanted some pointers. I told her she had to get on the trails and I gave her all the info I could on Chicot. She even came with Keith, Brad, and myself for her first 20 mile loop of Chicot. I watched her close that day. She suffered plenty and never complained. The trail will tear you up when it first meets you. But Edie, like all trail monkeys that make it, are like caterpillars. They have patience and realize that if they crawl on their bellies and suck it up, one day they will get their wings and float above the trail. That day, maybe she didn’t know it, but I knew that she would fulfill her wish to run 50 miles at Rocky Raccoon some 2 months later. She knew how to become a butterfly – and if she didn’t she was going to find out!

My training crescendoed the week after Christmas when I circled Chicot four times in one week. I was going to go for a fifth circle to round it out at 100 miles, but decided to save that for later. Patience is important in this game. I had come too far to end my season with an injury just to prove I could lap Chicot one more time.

Two weeks later, Bandera arrived (the mother of all 50k’s). Mark Miller who had trained for months to attempt this race was unable to attend because his father-in-law fell ill the week of the race. I felt bad for Miller. However, it may have been a blessing in disguise. When Brad, Keith, and myself arrived at the race site that morning it was 9 degrees. My handheld water bottle was frozen for the first 15 miles and the ambient temperature was still well below freezing when I finished.

The 50K at Bandera is run over one of the hilliest and most unforgiving terrains you could ever imagine. If you don’t believe me, hop in the car with us next year. There are hills that mountain goats would throw up on. Every footfall must be placed perfectly or you will step on a rock, boulder, cactus, or hole. I am not exaggerating. Well, I had a great day and PR’ed the distance, finished in the top 10 (10^th HA!), and 1^st place old fart (40-49 age group). The “lost boys” Keith and Brad both had good days and were both astounded at the course. Brad persevered despite being lost for some time and running extra mileage (yes 31 miles of hell was not enough for Brad). Keith did well and won the even older fart category (50-59 age group). Brad won the “extra mileage/buy a GPS” award and had to pay the race director for his excess mileage (joking!)

However, with four weeks out to Rocky and our quest for 100 miles, we still had training to do, and train we did. Keith and I laced em up the following weekend at the Houston Marathon. We drank beer, watched the Saints win another one on TV while we ate our weight in Sushi and topped it off with Mexican food that night.

Houston was just going to be a long training day for He and I. Or so we thought! The next morning we both started off in the back of the first corral. He was looking for about a 3:35 and I was just looking to cruise about 4 hours. Well, I clipped off the first few miles at a 9 minute, then 8 minute pace. Before I knew it my splits were 7:30 and 7:15’s. I was feeling good….no great. I kept telling myself the wheels were gonna fall off the wagon at any moment. Truth was, I was cruising. I crossed the halfway point at 1:40 and realized if I matched that I would qualify for Boston. Something I never thought I could ever do.

I told myself, no way, you are going to feel like doodoo later and slow down….don’t get your hopes up. Well mile after mile I kept clipping along. With 3 miles left I realized I could probably make it. I unleashed hell and ran the last three miles like I was being chased. I crossed the line at 3:18 and qualified for the Boston Marathon. I cried. They must have thought – oh how cute, he finished his first marathon and he’s crying. I didn’t care. I was overwhelmed by it. Later I found Keith and he had run a 3:27 and qualified as well. Unreal! John Fell our travelling buddy, had run his first stand alone marathon (he usually swims 2.4 miles and bikes 112 miles to warm up) and he blistered it in 3:06 and ditto…qualified. Needless to say, there were three happy fools in Keiths truck on the way back home.

So, there we were on our little journey, three weeks out. Time to taper. Time to go into the cocoon and hope we emerge ready to fly….no broken wings!!! How we all made it to the line with our sanity intact, I will never know. We emailed, text, and called each other incessantly. We even had a “last supper” of sorts. Brad, Keith, Edie, her husband Rob, and myself had pizza and beer and discussed strategy. That strategy was simple and would be ….RFM…..relentless forward motion.

I have said it before and I will say it again. You cannot pull idiocy like this off without the support of family and friends and mine didn’t let me down (my idiocy or my family/friends). Mark Miller lent us his new tent for race day and kept me in food and Vespa (more on that later) for my training and races. Two days before Rocky, I even had my first deep tissue massage. My good friend and PT, Ruud “buy a vowel” Vuijsters made me go in and he worked me over. Wow, I should have never found out what I was missing out on! (Those asian girls aren’t quite the same – HA!)

My parents called at the last minute and said they were coming. At first, I knew this meant added stress and I was a little nervous about it. Then I realized that this may be the last time they see me cross a finish line at something like this. My wife Shawn and little girl Emma were also coming. Emma was signed up for the 1 mile kids fun run the day before and was stoked as ever. My nephew Phillip Smith and his parents were also coming. Phillip was going to pace me from mile 80 to 100. Some tough dark miles that I was going to need company on. So, with all the Von Trapps in tow – I was ready!

Keith and Brad rode to the race with Shawn, Emma, and myself. Emma kept them entertained in the back seat. All I can say is, imagine a 7 year old mini version of me and female – NUFF said! God’s cruel joke on me.

Emma ran a great race in the kids 1 miler and won a metal gila monster for her efforts. I don’t know who was more proud, Emma or myself. What an awesome way to start the weekend. The next morning came like a bullet out of a rifle, hard and fast.

We picked up the “lost boys” at their room. You could have sliced the nervousness with a chainsaw, and you would have thrown the chain. Brad was probably the calmest on the surface. I have always liked Brad and his attitude. He is one of those guys that isn’t afraid to fail. As such, he is capable of anything. Keith, is a man of faith. His faith in God is strong and as such his faith in himself matches that. He will quietly do his business and do it well. Probably one of the better road marathoners I have ever run with (not the fastest, but the smartest). He has all my respect.

It was cold/dark at the race start. My time in the chrysalis was over. It was time to see what my wings were like. We donned our headlamps and Joe the race director as he so eloquently does everytime, started us off with a monotone and understated “go”.

We were to run five 20 mile loops. There are 4 aid stations scattered throughout the course. The start/finish, nature center, dam road, and park road. They are stocked with every snack that your mom told you would rot your teeth or make you climb the walls. Most of the staff are seasoned ultrarunners and are the nicest people you will ever meet.

My first loop was uneventful. The sun came up and I dropped my headlight and overshirt at the Dam road aid station. We have a drop bag there and at the start finish. Planning one of these races is probably similar to planning the invasion of a country. The logistics are a nightmare and if you screw it up, you will pay. I ate minimally and drank a Vespa every two hours. I ran with a handheld water bottle and carried salt tabs, aleve, and poopoo paper (just in case). The joy of trail races is the entire course is a porta pooper. I don’t think anyone would flinch if you squatted dead center trail and did your business. In fact, I ran up on plenty a pisser in action right on the trail.

I finished the first lap in 3:24 (any a-hole that holds me to my splits can kiss it – this is what I remember). My legs “wings” weren’t firing like I wanted or hoped. The outside of my quads weren’t firing just right. While I was running just fine and the time/pace were awesome, my effort was too high for the pace. That morning my reading in my “Daily Bread” (a daily religious guide my parents gave me in 1984) was about patience – ha! Anyone that knows me, knows just how patient I am. Yes, you monkeys I have religion. I need God and his grace/forgiveness more than any one of you reading this!

I visited shortly with my family under our Precision Bikes tent and then took off for lap #2. I usually hate this lap. The fatigue usually creeps in and climbs on your back. Kind of like a 100 mile piggy back race and your partner is Oprah Winfrey! Anyway, I made it through this lap unscathed and was actually running faster. I kept telling myself to be patient. I saw Keith and Brad on this lap and they explained how they had gotten lost that morning – hence “LOST BOYS”! I was laughing my ass off. I thought that impossible, but as usual they showed me better. To their credit, it was dark and they followed the fools in front of them down the wrong trail. They were doing OK and I pressed on. Brad will be getting a GPS embedded in his body later this spring.

I saw Edie and she was doing well also. She gave me a sweaty nasty hug and we both trudged on. On my way up the “jeep road” a long mind bender of a slow gradual hill that works you up to the final aid station before the turn around, I ran past Lane Gremilion. Lane is from Pineville and contacted me a few weeks before the race. This was going to be his first 50 miler and he just wanted a few pointers about the course and what to expect. He and I exchanged phone calls, emails, and I was able to meet him and his wife the day before at Emmas race. He was doing well and was going to finish strong in this his first 50. Lane ended up with a 9:12. Congrats Lane – great pace for your first 50 miler!

I finished this lap in 3:21. When I arrived at the tent, no one was there. I was disappointed to say the least. I waited around for almost 15 minutes. My watch read 7 hours flat when I took off. I told a man sitting near our tent to tell my family I was OK and I would be back in 3-1/2 to 4 hours. As I took off I saw my mom coming through the crowd and I went over and kissed her and told her I had to take off, I didn’t want to get stiff.

At the first aid station on lap # 3, I emerged from the woods and called out my bib number to the man checking runners (they do this to make sure you don’t cut the course and so thy know where to find the dead or passed out bodies on the course). I looked beyond him and saw my wife Shawn. She had driven around to the aid station to meet me since they had missed me at the turnaround. I was elated to see her. Truth be told I was tired/depressed and needed a hug from her. Little things kill and little things bring you to life. We walked/talked until I had to go back into the woods.

I had my Ipod on this round and was listening to music. There is a 6 mile loop that you take after you leave the Dam road aid station. You loop back to the aid station, I would say “right back”, but that 6 miles is longer than this race report. I call this Dantes ninth concentric circle of hell and I hate that section. I cranked up my tunes and hammered. It was there that I got my wings. I felt it, like I have so many times before…His presence on a run. I gave into the pain and monotony and I floated along. My pace dropped off and I knew going sub 20 hours was lost to a dream. I passed the halfway point and laughed, 8 hours and 40 minutes of running and I was only halfway there – HOLY $HIT!! However, nothing mattered now, except running, and run I did.

I saw Keith and Brad just short of the start/finish on this lap and the course was taking its toll on them. Keith had fallen a few times and Brad was having gut issues. Hell he could have pooed through a screen door he had diarrhea so bad. The fact that these two boys were still moving is a testament to their determination. They are some true ultra badasses. Most people feeling like they did wouldn’t walk a 5k, much less trudge on for 60 more miles of hell.

I came in from my third lap, 60 miles in the books, this one in 3:45 or so. I sat and reloaded everything. I ate a cup of ramen soup from the aid station. I told them ramen noodle reminded me of college…all I needed was some Schaefer Lite Beer and I was back at USL. “When the budgets tight, ramen noodle and schaefer light.” Scholarship and those two crappy substances got me through college. Now again, those noodles were fueling the mongoose to 100 miles.

Phillip, my nephew and pacer had arrived with his parents (Mike my brother and Mary Jo). Phillip was as nervous as Sarah Palin at an Obama rally, and rightfully so! His only experience on a trail had come in cross country. He was going to have to run with me in pitch darkness over some of the scariest terrain you could imagine for 20 miles in the middle of the night. I grabbed my headlight, handheld light, and an overshirt. Night would fall within the next hour or so and so would the temperatures. I tied the overshirt around my waist and off I went. I told them to expect me around 9:30 or 10:00 pm later that night and for Phillip to be on his horse and be ready – ha!

Shawn and Emma met me at the next aid station. What a treat it was. We walked, talked our way through it and off I went. I was tired and my legs were about 60-70% at best. I only walked the long larger hills. I ran everything else. I met up with Keith and Brad at the Dam road aid station. They were leaving and I was entering Dantes Inferno. They were feeling the effects of having run 52 miles. This was the farthest either of them had ever been. Brads stomach was still kicking his butt and Keiths knee was hurting from falling. In a way, I envied them, they had each other to run with all that time. My journey so far, had been a long, lonely one. They are lucky to have such a good friendship and to be able to share an epic experience like this with one another.

I left the Dam road aid station and entered Dantes Inferno once again. About 2 miles in, the darkness fell on the trail like a fat kid on a piece of cake, fast and furious. I turned on my headlight and pressed on. I was coming to a severely rooty (new plural word for a shitpile of roots on a trail – bear with me here) section of trail and decided to turn on my handheld light. Heres the pic, I am running, in the dark, with a water bottle strapped to one hand, my legs are hurting, I am weak as hell, and I am reaching under my undershirt and into my singlet back pocket for a handheld flashlight. Did I mention the rooty downhill I was on? Well, one of those little bastards that go trip in the night, did just that.

I fell so hard, I knocked the taste out of my mouth and I figured my teeth looked like a pack of chiclets opening up as they scattered around the woods. A few words that would make Richard Pryor blush came flying out of my mouth and I righted myself. I am going to sneak back into that State park in the near future with a chainsaw and effect my revenge. Some 68 plus miles in and I am pissed, aching, and muddy now. I continued down Dantes little loop and returned to the Dam road aid station. One of the volunteers said you look great! I asked him where the hell was he when I dress up on Saturday nights, cause nobody tells me that then. Its always when I’m covered in Gatorade, vomit, piss, poo, and mud that someone wants to tell me how great I look or I’m almost there! HA! He asked where I was? I told him my fourth loop. He was all impressed and said hell you are almost there! I’ll be damned.

I told him, the way I saw it was, I was at mile 72. SOOOOO, I still had two miles and a marathon left to go. I had been running for 13 or 14 hours and I still had over a marathon to go, in the dark, and over all those little things that go “trip” in the night! I could tell at this point that this guy was definitely the president of the Optimist club in whatever town he hailed from. I only joke about this, those volunteers stay out all night in the cold and serve us hot food, drinks, and take care of us like we are kings. They are the unsung heroes of these epic races. I plan on volunteering at a 100 miler later this spring.

Off I sped, Ok…hobbled into the night. I just wanted to make it back to the start/finish and relax for a few minutes. It was there that I would pick up Phillip and some much needed company to finalize my journey. I made it back at almost exactly 9:30 pm. That meant if I left immediately and ran another 4:30 loop I could make it in just at 20 hours. I had made that decision earlier. There would be no punishment today. This was like a fine 30 year old single malt scotch. It wasn’t to be served on ice, but neat! It was to be savored, rolled in the mouth and every bit of the barrel tasted. I was going to “cruise” the final lap and let the clock read what it will. Truth was, I knew I could walk the whole last lap and probably finish in Sub 24, meaning a silver belt buckle. They give a silver buckle to all those that finish 100 miles in “one” day.

I plopped down into a chair at the turnaround and visited with my family. Shawn brought me some French fries and a cheeseburger. I took only one bite of the burger and shared the fries with my daughter Emma. The temperature had dropped beyond what the forecasters had called for. It was as cold as a witches teat in a brass bra. Everyone was wrapped up and shivering. My body temp was dropping fast. I added another layer, a skull cap, and some gloves. I reloaded my flashlight batteries and dotted all my I’s and crossed my T’s.

Phillip was ready to get her done and so was I. I wiped the crust off my body and straightened my legs. I felt like the Tin Man and was looking for an oil can. I didn’t feel the fatigue that I had felt in my first 100 miler at this point. But I was beat up. I felt like I had been interrogated by the Mafia. I felt every foot strike as if it were a hammer hitting my feet. But, on came the lights and off went Phillip and I – it was time to see about it mate!

He was stoked and started rattling on about how cool night running was. It was good to have someone to talk to, or better, listen to. Believe it or not, I wasn’t much of a conversationalist at this point – HA! His talking took my mind off of my suffering. I laughed a bit to myself about how cool he was going to think it was when he became one with the earth beneath him on his first face plant. I must have seen 50 plus people bite it that day. Phillip snickered as we passed people walking like a bunch of drunks. It really is crazy, after 16 hours of being on the move many people are in a haze and stagger down the trail.

Phillip turned out to be an excellent pacer. The best ever ever. He held the handheld light so I didn’t have to. He made sure I got my Vespa when I needed it and he even gave up his only 2 ibuprofen. At that point, I was attempting to see if I could shut my kidneys down. You know that part on the bottle about no more than 6 advil in a 24 hour period. Well, hell I think I also read somewhere about not running marathons within 6 months of one another – HA! Yes, I am the reason they have the warning labels on toasters about not bathing with them. I digress.

Phillip and I hit the Dam road aid station intact, 86 miles in and moving well. I pulled the pin on a red bull grenade and chewed some antacids to keep my reflux in check. Yes, your stomach gets a little upset after running 86 miles and slamming a redbull. The redbull brought me to life. I still think it goes much better with Grey Goose – just my opine. I had warned Phillip about Dantes Inferno and how much I loathed that section. It was halfway through that section that Phillip became an ultrarunner – one of those nasty little roots reached up, grabbed my nephew by the ankle and threw him to the ground like he was in a cage fight. Lil sucker got up like nothing happened. I guess that’s the difference between being 20 years old and going down 10 miles into a run and being an old fart and kissing it at 68 miles into a run. I told him thanks for pacing and that to remember no good deed goes unpunished.

We made it back to the Dam road and realized we had only 8 miles and one more aid station to go. We reloaded batteries, pulled the pin on another red bull grenade and I drank my last Vespa for the day (I drank 11 of those throughout the run – it is the master serum – tastes like horse piss – but allows you to run like one – I will post an in depth article on the precision bikes website about this supplement – it is the “BOMB”). No offense Peter (owner of Vespa), but I don’t want to see another one of those suckers for a few weeks. That, and Ramen noodle soup!

As we neared the final aid station, the fatigue and miles were overwhelming but we kept running. We crossed the road and then a ditch and entered the station to a smattering of applause. They realized I was still running and on my last loop. I called out my racer number as I had so many times before and was announcing my “pacer” when I heard a loud thud. I looked back and Phillip was either attempting to crawfish in the ditch near the road or he had become one with the earth once again. I wanted to start singing “Pacer on the Ground!!” (you know like that guy on American Idol – pants on the ground). Anyway, I figure he would have whipped my butt and I didn’t want to aggravate my only friend in these deep dark woods.

After gathering nephew Phillip off the ground I looked up to see the “LOST BOYS”. They were beat up but said they were still moving. They were going to pick up their pacers at the start/finish and knock this beast off. Like a bunch of fags we hugged and I think I screamed back at them that I loved them as Phil and I left the aid station heading for home. Amazing what 95 miles of running will do to your bullshit masculinity.

I told Phillip that there was a few giant hills on a highline and then we would turn back onto the trail we left the start/finish line on. At that point, there would be 4 miles to the finish. I explained that when we made that turn, we were gonna leave it all on the trail! He probably said, yea – whatever!

I asked for my handheld light. He had both handhelds. He had been alternating them to save batteries. I knew we were going to be hauling butt over some pretty bad rooty sections. He told me the other light was dead and we were out of batteries. I later learned that he had dropped the light at the last aid station while crawfishing in the ditch. The boy is wise beyond his young years (takes after his uncle). Instead of making me mental by telling me the truth, he put it simple and final and that was that. I had instructed him to maintain a positive attitude at all times – no matter what. He had done his job and done it well.

We made the turn and I ran every hill in. I had promised my buckle, if I earned it to my good friend Benny, who is battling cancer in Houston. I wrote his initials on my arm that morning in indelible ink and looked at them everytime I felt sorry for myself. Phillip, knew about this and when we hit the final section and some pretty tough hills, he said to me “This ones for Benny”. I unleashed a hell Dante would have written another poem about or at least added another concentric circle to hell over (Nephew Matt that ones for you).

We popped out of the woods and there is a final long easy stretch to the finish. We opened up and Phillip laughed at the speed we were running. I crossed the finish line, and I woke up and I was a butterfly!

My entire family was there to greet me. My dad took my oxygen reading and my pulse. He is on supplemental oxygen and has to monitor himself continuously. My oxygen was 98% and my pulse was 90. Both my parents are cancer survivors and couldn’t run a step if they had to. As for me, I’m a butterfly and I’m gonna spread my wings every chance I get.

My wife Shawn and daughter Emma picked up the pieces of what was left of me and hauled me back to the hotel where I showered and ate a cheeseburger and fries. I only blistered on two toes and my right calf and quad where it inserts near the knee were trashed. I fell asleep for about two hours and woke up dazed.

I looked at the clock and realized Brad and Keith were still out there suffering in the bitter cold. I respect their effort as much as the race winners effort, if not more. They showed what they are about and no one can ever take that away from them – NO ONE! They had every reason to quit or stop, but didn’t. I am proud to call them my friends. Edie Reidel knocked off her first 50 miler as well earlier that day – she, like the “lost boys”, got her wings too.

I am signed up to do the Leadville Trail 100, the race across the sky, in August. It starts at 10,200 feet and goes up over Hope Pass at 12,600 feet and returns along that same course. Pilots in aircraft that are not pressurized are required to go on supplemental oxygen above 10,000 feet after 30 minutes. I think my village, New Iberia, is at 14 feet above sea level and we have one hill – no worries mate!

In the end, I want everyone to know, that Edie, Lane, Brad, Keith, and myself. We are all normal everyday monkeys. There is nothing special about us, except that we went and found out about ourselves and our limits. What we found, is that there are no limits. Only those in our minds. Our brains, families, and friends tried to keep us from killing ourselves the other night. Fatigue, pain, bargaining, and reasoning were all part of what we had to contend with. We ignored those, turned off our mammalian brains and explored our true selves.

Just as I stated on an earlier post, to truly know who you are, you better go find out who you are not. The usefulness of a glass is not in the glass itself, but in the emptiness within. You will never know just how useful until you overflow that glass. We poured and poured and poured at Rocky Raccoon. In the end, the only thing on the ground was some sweat, a pacer or two, a few racers, but not our spirit or our will to finish what we start!

So lace’em up or saddle up and push yourself beyond what you think you can do. You will be surprised.

Just as I began this report, I end it, but as a question to you:

Are you a man asleep dreaming you are a butterfly, or are you really a butterfly asleep dreaming you are a man?

Thanks to Dad, Mom, Emma, Shawn, Mike, Mary Jo, and my new pacer Phillip (better start running with a sock in your mouth boy - Leadvilles around the corner). Mark Miller for friendship, guidance, and all my gear/supplements, Ruud “Jesus” Vuijsters for making this crippled mongoose walk again, Peter for Vespa, Ben Hawn and all my other running mates who trudged mileage with me, Lane/Edie for inspiration and getting it done, Brad/Keith for being the ultimate training/travelling/racing partners – you guys are the best. Finally, to God for allowing me to never ever know whether I’m gonna wake up as a mongoose, a butterfly, or a man – but to know one thing – no matter what He is always there for me….just like the people I mentioned above!!