After slogging through the Bandera 100k, I was excited about racing again. This would be my last race of a season that began in June with the Capt'n Karls series. In the space of six months, I'd finished seven ultras and suffered two DNFs. Most notably, my drop from Cactus Rose 100 loomed large. Though energized about getting a second chance at Rocky Raccoon 100, I knew I was on my last legs mentally. Physically, my right knee was a bit sore the past few runs and I prayed it'd hold out for one more race.
After Bandera, I did one more 20 miler but pretty much tapered. With no climbing to worry about in Huntsville State Park, I cut the Stairmaster sessions.
As race day approached, I started to get a cold. I work at a school and get sick more than most people, but still wondered why on this of all days of the year I couldn't be 100% healthy.
My wife Elizabeth's mom and dad, Tony and Linda, arrived at the park Wednesday before the race to camp in their RV. After leaving work in the afternoon, packing up the gear and kids, we made it to packet pickup Friday with ten minutes to spare. Soon, we all relaxed in front of the glow of the campfire. James made a kabob of four giant marshmallows to roast and the kids kept throwing handful of leaves on the fire. My favorite song, "Wish You Were Here" by Pink Floyd came on the oldies station in the background.
I climbed into the comfy little cubby hole of a bed in the RV at nine while the family enjoyed the rest of the evening. I get insomnia and had slept only three or four hours Thursday night. Managing to nod off after about an hour, I woke up again shortly after midnight. Struggling for precious moments of sleep, I only caught only brief snoozes before it was time to head to the start.
The Course
I'll abbreviate my normal course description because pretty much all you see at Rocky are pine trees, plank bridges, the lake, and roots. The only consideration on this flat course is managing the aid stations. From the lodge Dogwood to the first two aid stations, Nature Center and Dam Nation are three mile splits. Then follows a loop of six miles back to Dam Nation. Three and a half to Park Road then four to the finish. Do that five times and you've run 100 miles.
The Race
Joe counted us down and off we went. Based on the advice of the experienced, I tried to divide the loops in to sections. Loop one would be a warm up. Loops two and three would be the work, putting in the miles methodically. Loop four would be the hardest, the uncharted mileage where most people drop. Loop five would obviously be brutal but also a victory lap of sorts, knowing the finish awaits.
On the first loop, I spotted a guy I chat with at multiple ultras, Bill. Talking goals, I said I just wanted to finish. Sub 24 would be a perfect day but it wasn't that realistic for my first 100.
I tried to avoid going out too fast with keeping up a brisk pace while I could still move. When I saw I was running next to Matt Zmolek, a guy capable of going sub 24 at Cactus Rose, I knew I had erred on the side of the former. I finished the first loop in about 3:45, my legs were sore and I was tired.
Into loop two, I hit my first low. Up until that point I was having fun, thinking how wonderful it was to be running towards a great goal with great people. Then the fatigue and the miles ahead started messing with my mind. As with Bandera, the long race season left me wondering why I run these races, put myself through hours of agony.
However, there was no way I was going to drop and repeat the depression of Cactus Rose. If I had to walk all night and finish by the cutoff in thirty hours, I'd do it. I made it my goal to run as long as I could. I thought that I'd be earning the buckle if I could run through the third loop. That would be nearly 100k, the farthest I'd ever gone.
All day long I'd been tired from the cold, blowing my nose and coughing. As I finished the second loop in four hours and change, the lack of sleep hit me and I would periodically get dizzy and disoriented, shaking my head to stay awake. As night fell, my body began wanting to shut down. I wished for nothing more than to crawl into that RV and sleep.
I headed out into the fourth loop. I knew when I reached the Nature Center, I'd have run 63 miles, each step a new PR in distance.
I decided nutritionally to stick to gels the first half of the race and real food the second. Tejas Trails and the volunteers offer the best in Texas hospitality, and I tried to keep my energy up with quesadillas, burgers, soup, chips, coke, and coffee. I'd taken electrolytes every aid against the warm and humid day.
As I headed out of Dam Nation, 66 miles in, a wave of sleepiness hit me. I wished I'd sat down in a chair and slept for a few minutes to recharge. I had six miles to go before I'd be back to the aid, and if I tried to sleep on the trail kind-hearted runners would be checking if I was okay every minute. I struggled on. When I reached Dam Nation again, I lied down on the ground next to a log, using my pack as a pillow. I set my alarm for thirty minutes. I closed my eyes for about ten minutes not really sleeping. I decided this was getting me nowhere and tried to get up again, but the pull of rest made this a battle. Nevertheless, I picked myself up and headed down the trail.
Finally, I made it to the end of the fourth loop. I went to my drop bag, took out a hoodie to use as a pillow, and lied down in a clear spot on the side. I rested maybe fifteen minutes this time, possibly sleeping one or two minutes. Dragging to my feet, it was time to begin loop five.
The day had been too hot to justify taking my hoodie into the last loop, but as I left Dam Nation the final time, a cold and misty wind chilled me. I had gloves and a long sleeve in my pack. Again, sleep deprivation hit and I stretched out on a log on the side of the trail for maybe five minutes before beginning a final push.
Loops one through three had been mostly running with some hiking, loops four and five the reverse. I started pushing the pace in the final ten miles, more aggressively hiking or throwing in some running, just wanting to be done with the thing. I told myself that when the sun came up, I'd try to run it in. Not having to rely on the headlamp to spot for roots, I began to run hard the final five miles or so. The drizzle had turned into actual rain the last hour as I pushed towards the finish.
Running along the trail parallel to the park road, I knew the turn into the final yard was within reach. Elizabeth and James cheered me on from the side as I crossed the line, shook Joe's hand, the clock reading 26:01. Elizabeth had tears in her eyes as she embraced me.
Reflections
I had accomplished a goal I had dreamed of for over two years, born from Dean Karnazes' description of Western States from his book. During the race, I swore never, ever, ever to run 100 miles again. It's just too much. By the time I sat down in the RV, surrounded by smiling family, and recounted the day and night, it already didn't seem so bad. By Monday, a scheduled day off to recover, I signed up for the Bighorn 100. As a school person, I'll have the time off in the summer to drive across the country for a mountain adventure in Wyoming.
To run 100 miles the first time is literally an unimaginable challenge. Even after running 100k, I still had no idea what it would be like to go 38 more. For all the runners who pushed themselves to the limits of what is possible over those two days, the accomplishment of finishing touches the depths of the soul.
Joe, Joyce, the volunteers, and the runners' friends and families make the journey possible. To all who supported me along the way, a heartfelt thank you.
