Javelina Jundred report From: Lynn David Newton Date: Mon, 10 Nov 2003 15:29:37 -0700 Background ---------- Several years ago I gathered notes for an article to be entitled "Why I Will Never Run a 100-Mile Trail Race". As recently as last April I had written off the possibility of ever running one myself. I concluded that as someone who is slow to begin with, I'm too old to be a first-timer. As an ultrarunner my passion is for 24-hour and multi-day events, where I've done reasonably well, and where the stresses of dealing with hills, wilderness conditions, need for special gear, running with lights, course navigation, time limits, planning drop bags, and surviving with minimal support are non-existent. I was certain I would never be able to make the cutoffs in a trail race. Last April, Geri Kilgariff, who was aware of my thoughts on this topic, sent email to say she'd just gotten approval from Maricopa county to stage the Javelina Jundred on Pemberton Trail at McDowell Mountain park on November 8-9, and thought I want to consider it. The idea gave me much food for thought over the next few days, as I had pretty much committed myself to run the 24-hour in San Diego on the same day. Before long, knowing something about the statistics regarding aging and ability to perform, I concluded that if am ever to run a 100-mile trail race, this would be my best opportunity, and that I couldn't possibly be *more* ready next year than I could be this year. One enormous advantage I had was that I live here in Phoenix, so could train on the actual course trail, something I ultimately did nine times, including through the blazing heat of summer afternoons. It also meant that I could spend the night before the race in my own bed, and would be back home quickly, and not incur the expense of travel. Added together, these factors moved me to be among the first to sign up. Geri advertised the race as the "ideal first 100, virgin 100, slowpoke 100, goof-off 100, DNF-redemption 100 and 100 for the helluvit". I'm not qualified to compare, so I took that description at face value, even though repeated training loops led me to conclude that it seems like a not-exactly-easy course to me. For the record: the actual total course distance is closer to 101.2 miles, not 100. That's okay. Every 100-miler I know would rather run a course that's a little long than a little short. Now that I've actually run the race and had opportunity to talk to several more experienced ultrarunners, the consensus I gathered was that, while obviously no Hard Rock or Western States, the Pemberton Trail course is harder than advertised. The Day Before -------------- During my nine spring and summer training trips to Pemberton I rarely ever saw another human soul, even in the parking lot. Until two weeks ago I never encountered another person on foot on the trail, and that was a local runner training for the race. The foot traffic jam I ran in at the start made an amusing and pleasant contrast to my customary forays into solitude. Having seen the place, I was initially skeptical as to whether there was enough room for the 180 or so runners, crews, and volunteers to fit in the lot. In this my judgment proved to be short-sighted, as the reality was that there was adequate room for everyone, and plenty more besides. Javelina Jundred was largely a gathering of subscribers to the Internet Ultra email list. Accordingly, I took a list of names of many people I hoped to meet, but still missed many. As the saying goes -- on the Internet no one knows you're a dog -- a proverbial way of saying even though many of us have communicated in email, we still can't identify others by sight. It made me wish that we'd had little tags at the pre-race meeting that said: "Hi, my name is ..." Or better yet, if names could have been printed on the race numbers, as they are at Olander. Geri would be quick to point out that it would have cost considerably more to do so. More pertinently, there wasn't room on the number tag to print names in a font big enough for passers by to read. We were supplied with numbers printed on hard plastic cattle tags, which I'm sure most runners thought was a lovely idea, though some may have been challenged to figure out a way to attach it. Mine is going up on the wall next to all my marathon medals as a great souvenir of the race. Race Morning ------------ Knowing that nobody sleeps well the night before a race, I slept 8.5 hours the previous night. I was able to get home and into my bed following the pre-race meeting by 7:06 PM, since I already had everything I needed either packed or laid out and ready to use. Remarkably, I fell asleep immediately, and slept soundly until 10:58, then sporadically, but with more periods of sound sleep. My eyes popped open at 2:57 AM, two minutes before my alarm was scheduled to go off, so I turned it off and got right up, feeling amazingly well-rested and ready. I've rarely felt as good on a race morning. I'd allowed an hour to get out the door. The most tedious part of preparations is the taping of my feet, which takes some time, but is worth every second of the effort it takes. That's when I discovered mistake number one: With feet taped and greased with bag balm, overlaid with half-height nylons and brand new Ultrawool socks and the new and barely broken pair of shoes on my feet, I realized that I'd neglected to glue Velcro strips across the heels of the shoes to which to attach my Joe Dana gaiters. Grrr. There was no time to do it then, so I had to make a decision: wear gaiters with the pair of shoes that already had 340 miles on them, or wear the new shoes without gaiters. It didn't take long for me to conclude that running a race on a rocky, sandy trail without gaiters was unthinkable, so the new shoes went into the closet for another time. My preparation timing couldn't have been closer, as I walked out the door at 4:01 AM, and with no traffic, arrived at the site at 4:38. The day before I put fresh batteries in both my 3-LED headlamp and my halogen flashlight. When I got to the park I was disturbed to find that the batteries in the headlamp seemed to be down to nothing. I could barely see my hand using it. Something was wrong. So I carried my flashlight on the first lap, because we needed light for the first 15-20 minutes, and made a mental note to ask Suzy (my wife) to change the batteries for me when I came around. (She was coming later.) The Low-Key Start ----------------- Just before the start Geri conducted a brief pre-race meeting, which I didn't even realize was going on until it was nearly over. I got there in time to hear her say: "The race will start in about two minutes over by the tree." The tree? What tree? There were several trees in the parking lot, and no banner or official start/finish line had been erected. I happened to be standing near where she passed by as she headed over there, and wisely concluded that of all persons there, Geri knew where the start was, so I followed her. With less than a minute to go only a few people had come over. Geri said, "It's almost time to start. No one is coming." I said, "I don't think anyone cares." By this time there were about a dozen people there, and a few more had started to come over. The entrance to the trail was obscured by some inconveniently parked cars, which were subsequently moved, but since I knew the trail I knew within one or two car widths where we were headed, and said so to the people at the front. Seconds later Geri just looked at her watch, and without ceremony or arm signal, said in a voice discernible no more than 10 feet away, "Okay, go." Go? Not GO!!!? That was it? Oh, okay. So those of us at the front who heard it took off toward and between the cars, and the rest caught on pretty quickly. And so we were off. Lap One ------- There are always questions about what the weather will be like at races. The forecast as recently as the day before called for mostly sunny with a temperature range between 52-77. But at the pre-race meeting the sky was thick with clouds, on the verge of rain that never happened. When I got up on race morning, I was surprised and delighted to see it had completely cleared off. It was 52 in Fountain Hills when I left the house, according to weather.com. Sure enough, it turned out to be a spectacularly beautiful day for running -- never too cold, and only briefly a little too warm. My goal was simply to finish within the 30 hour limit. With the help of a friend I had worked out a lap schedule that looked reasonable, which if followed, would have gotten me to the finish with 41 minutes to spare: Lap 1 4:00 Lap 2 4:06 Lap 3 4:13 Lap 4 4:22 Lap 5 4:34 Lap 6 4:50 Lap 7* 3:14 * Calculated as 61% of a full lap, the distance of the Tonto Tank loop needed to be run at the end to put the distance over 100 miles. That schedule quickly went out the window. Fired up by preparedness and adrenalin, I ran strong with the middle of the pack the entire first 15.3-mile lap, being careful not to push hard, walking the uphills, but moving well the rest of the time. When I crossed the line 3:06 had elapsed. I was an astounding 54 minutes ahead of schedule, enough to be worried about; had I pulled the newbie's mistake of going out too hard? I didn't think so, because I felt fabulous, and knowing what was ahead of me, was glad to be able to bank the time for later. About 3 miles into the race I tripped and fell on the sharp rocks. Ouch!!! It took only a couple of minutes for the sting to go away and to start running again, but I was bleeding, and my sense of abandon had been tempered by caution. Here's a statistic for you. (And yes, I actually counted.) (a) Number of times my toe caught a rock, sending me keister-up into wild, arm-waving gyrations, while shouting entreaties to our Creator: 29. (b) Number of times my Request for Assistance was declined, resulting in palm and knee plants: 2. (c) Number of bleeding puncture wounds obtained from (b): 10. It seems our Creator has a sense of humor, and likes to keep us guessing. Both instances of (b) were in the same rocky section on the south ridge of the trail. Lap 2 ----- The second lap everything continued to go well. I filled my bottle with Ultra at every single aid station for the duration of the race. The Ultra was generously donated by Anthony Humpage (a.k.a. Woofie) when it turned out that only Gatorade would be supplied. The Ultra was my primary source of nourishment the whole race, and though I got as tired as usual of the taste, I was able to keep drinking it. The attention given to me personally each time I entered an aid station was superb, and I tried to remember to thank everyone voluminously each time I departed. There was certainly plenty to eat. By 11:00 PM it became apparent that the temperature was going to get a little higher than ideal. I don't know the official number, but it seemed to me that it reached 80 degrees, perhaps slightly more -- higher than the predictions for sure. I'm fairly well acclimated to running in heat from having trained on Pemberton Trail and elsewhere all summer long, where the temperature often goes above 110 degrees. Being acclimated does not make it a whole lot easier or more pleasant, even in the mere 80-degree range. By the time I pulled into Javelina Jeadquarters the second time, my stomach was churning. The heat saps the wanna right out of a person. Still, it wasn't bad, and I'd had another pretty good lap. At about 3:45 I was still banking time and was starting to entertain visions of finishing sub-28. Silly me. Lap 3 ----- The third lap was run during the hottest part of the day. I wore long-sleeve shirts, a sun hat, and kept my face and legs covered in sun screen. By 2:30 PM the temperature had already dropped once again into the comfortable range, leaving hours of comfortable daytime running in paradise still ahead. That third lap took me about 4:45, as by then I'd been reduced to much more walking than on the first two. >From then on, I paid little attention to the time other than to make rough estimates, and even forgot to press the split button on my watch. The heat and continuous supply of Ultra continued to gnaw at my stomach, and as I went on, little that was offered at the aid stations had much appeal. When I pulled into Jeadquarters again, it was roughly 5:15 PM. I stripped off my shirt, toweled off, put on a warm clean shirt, my most excellent Marmot coat, dumped my Oakleys, had a delicious cup of hot chicken noodle soup, and headed off feeling genuinely refreshed and more than ready to tackle the world. Oops. I got slightly more than 0.1 miles out when I realized I'd charged off without my headlamp and flashlight. Good grief! I'm glad I didn't go any further than that. When I came back, Suzy was headed out to meet me with them, new batteries in place, figuring I'd be back pretty soon. After 25 years she's gotten to know me and anticipates my every need. What a girl! The only down side at this time was that I was well ahead of the anticipated schedule I'd given to Jerry Nairn, my pacer, and with darkness approaching, he hadn't arrived yet. They were letting pacers take off with their runners by that hour, and if he'd been there he could have gone with me. So with regrets, I took off. It also meant that I was going to have to attempt extended night running in a wilderness entirely on my own, something I had never done. I really hoped to have someone with me the first time. As it turned out, this would not be a problem at all, and I'm glad that I had an opportunity to find that out. Lap 4 ----- This was the loop of the beautiful full lunar eclipse, a phenomenon I had never witnessed. When the moon rose, within minutes after I took off on the fourth lap, it was already close to fully covered by earth's shadow, somewhat earlier than I had expected. Unfortunately, the direction I was running at that time was such that I had to cast frequent glances over my shoulder to see it. But it was undeniably a stirring sight. It also made the trail considerably darker for a couple of hours. Because of the location of the hills and type of terrain on the Pemberton Trail, the even-numbered counterclockwise loops are harder to run than the odd-numbered clockwise loops. The three miles of smooth jeep trail on the north side, a steady low-grade hill, is a sheer pleasure to run down coming clockwise, but a seemingly interminable grind going up. By this point in the race my primary concerns were managing my energy, fluids, and nutrition, and getting used to running on a trail in the dark. Soup is one of my favorite foods. Almost any kind will do. At almost every single aid station during the night I consumed soup, which I took out on the road with me, leaving me toting a styrofoam cup from station to station. The greatest revelation I experienced during the race was this: when the moon is full, it's so bright you hardly need lights at all! An LED light makes everything it shines on look two-dimensional. I was using it to light the road in front of me, but would frequently flip on my halogen flashlight to get a brighter view of details, such as rocks and holes. I looked out upon the panorama of beautiful scenery around me and realized that I could still see it well, in all its glory -- all the mountains, the cactuses and other foliage, and even the contour of the road ahead. So I experimented -- I turned off my lights entirely to see if I dared to go without them. It took me just a few minutes to conclude that I was likely to run the rest of the night virtually without lights, using them only to guide me over rocks and tricky places. As I ran on, I found that perhaps a third of the runners I encountered had also turned off their lights. The extreme beauty of that cool but comfortable night, with the earth lit up for as far as my eye could see by moonlight is a sight I'm unlikely ever to forget, but hope I get to experience many more times. Another fun feature of this race is that we ran loops in alternate directions. This not only served to even out the physical challenges and give us a different look at the scenery, but also gave us a chance to view every other runner in the race. As things got spread out, runners were traveling in both directions. Each lap we got a chance to see who the leaders were (and the leaders got to see who the losers were!), and to say hi again to people we knew, and also to those we didn't. I believe I at least grunted a greeting to every single person who came my way, and must have heard the expressions "Good job!" and "Looking good!" uttered at least 500 times during the race. Those of us who remained out there also got a chance to get a sense of who had dropped by noting we hadn't seen certain ones we'd been expecting along the way. By the fourth lap things had thinned out noticeably. We got to witness what became an incredible race for the win. When I first saw the lead pack come by, the usual suspects were leading, with Karl Meltzer ahead, followed by a woman I didn't know, then local superstar Dennis Poolheco, and Stephanie Ehret. A truth that may seem to run contrary to expectations is that in the world of endurance sport gender differences tend to disappear to the extent that in the right field on the right course on the right day, the best ladies can have a good shot of running off with the win outright. Arizona star Pam Reed is recent living proof of that, not to mention the great Ann Trason. With all due respect to the others, particularly Dennis, I began rooting for Stephanie, whom I know from three editions of Across the Years, when she ran and won the 24-hour race outright twice (or was it three years?), then the next year her husband Peter Bakwin set the course record. During the first laps I was surprised to see Karl fade back, but Dennis had what looked to be in my opinion an insurmountable lead. By coincidence, I came into Coyote Camp aid station on my fourth lap at precisely the same time that Dennis came rocketing in on his sixth, and also, to my great astonishment Stephanie Ehret. She'd caught him!?? I was non-plussed. Dennis looked tired, but Stephanie looked like she was still running at her peak, and was still smiling as always. It was also unnerving to realize that at that point they had about 14.5 miles to go, whereas I still had about 45. How do they do it!?? I took a little more time at that aid station than usual, as I tried to do what needed doing while sitting down, which actually made it a bit harder, except on my legs and back. Soon I was off again into the bright night, where I found that even on the tedious rocky terrain that followed I rarely needed my night lights. When I came off the trail at the end of the loop, my pacer Jerry Nairn was waiting for me at the trail exit. Being ahead of schedule had saved him some work. Although I didn't note the time I came in, I'm sure I was still running somewhere around a half hour ahead of my proposed schedule. This turnaround I wasted little time getting what I needed and heading back out. Lap 5 ----- By this time I was aching. My quadriceps were trashed to where running downhill was a trialsome experience, but I could still do it after a few steps of acclimation. The first lap I soared on the wings of Apollo. The second I was more my usual self. By the third I looked like Howdy Doody. Now it was more like Flubadub. It was good having company on that lap. Jerry wondered just how valuable a pacer is in a run like this. By coincidence he'd stood around talking to Lazarus Lake about it while waiting for me to come in, not knowing who Laz is, nor his opinions about pacers. Companionship aside, the greatest value of having Jerry along became abundantly evident near the end of my race. When I got back to Coyote Camp I made my second big mistake -- I took two caffeine tablets, having never tried using them before. It didn't take long for them to get them into my system. Before long I was jazzed and charging down hills, and walking the ups hard. Jerry said I was making it look easy. Ha! The truth is, I was still feeling physically just fine. I never once got discouraged or thought about dropping. My goal was to finish the race, and all I could think about was getting on with it. As we traveled on, I babbled on about trivialities while Jerry patiently indulged me, all the while making frequent inquiries and suggestions as to what he could do to help. He often offered to carry my soupless styrofoam cup to the next aid station, but I told him with amusement that to do so would be considered muling, which is against the rules, so I carried it myself. I never did explain that to him. Before long, though, the amount of caffeine I had ingested, the equivalent of having chug-a-lugged four cups of coffee in a single draft, upset my stomach more than it already was. I'd taken some ibuprofen a few hours before, which I use sparingly, to ease the stabbing in my quads, but this also can have a deleterious affect on a stressed digestive system. My burst of enthusiasm waned, as for the next several hours I resisted the urge to put my finger down my throat, something I've never done, but have given serious consideration to. NOTE TO SELF: Next time try only *one* caffeine tablet at a time, and do it on a training run before poisoning myself during a race. The Collapse Begins ------------------- It was not long after this that the nagging problem that eventually killed my race began to assert itself. It became increasingly obvious that my back was getting very, very sore. The solution was seemingly easy. When I straightened up and ran with good posture, I felt fine. When I let it go, I fell into a slouch where I was leaning a good 20% forward, putting a huge strain on the muscles that hold me up, exasperating the situation. It must have looked frighteningly bad to anyone who saw me as well. There was nothing I could do about it. The reason I was slumped over was because those tired muscles were no longer able to hold me in up, and the longer I walked or ran, the worse it got. It was around halfway through the fifth lap that I stopped running altogether, and could only walk. I found that disappointing, as I had hoped to run at least partway down the long jeep trail on the north arm. NOTE TO SELF: Work more on maintaining good form when tired! Lap 6 ----- By the time I pulled into Javelina Jeadquarters at the end of lap 5 at whatever unholy hour it was, the problem with my back dominated my thoughts. There was absolutely nothing structurally wrong with me -- nothing that a chair wouldn't fix. Since the problem from the caffeine had subsided I took a couple more ibuprofen in hopes that it might prove to help my back as it had worked for my quadriceps earlier. It didn't. Things were pretty quiet at the camp by then, as I learned how many people had dropped. A fresh cup of hot cocoa proved to be refreshing. It seemed a bit colder, so I put on a sweatshirt under my coat, knowing there was no way I would get overheated from it, because I wasn't moving very fast. In fact, I had slacked off considerably on drinking and taking electrolytes, but I was feeling fine on that score, so wasn't worried about it. >From this point there was about 24.5 miles to go - less than a marathon. Could I tough it out? No place for quitting had been written into the agenda, so I set my jaw and off we went into the early pre-dawn night, with the moon still shining radiantly. Sitting for that five or ten minutes did little to give me more than momentary relief. For a while I tried walking with one arm behind my back, firmly clenching the other arm's bicep, applying pressure from behind like a brace and forcing me to remain more upright. It did help, but was extremely difficult to keep the pressure on. Later we found a long stick by the side of the road which I slid up my jacket and tried to use for support. It didn't work. QUESTION FOR MEDITATION: Was using a stick in that way a case of using a "mechanical device" in a way that is contrary to USAT&F rules? (Which, if so, makes me wonder exactly how many moving parts there are in a stick lying by the side of the road?) What if I'd used it as a walking stick? (A.k.a. "trekking pole".) We got a mile or so past Cedar Tank where there's a short road that leads off to the 158th Street Gate. By this time the ache in my back could no longer be ignored. I did *not* want to drop out of this race. I went there to finish it, knowing I may never again attempt a 100-miler. For a while I tried to reason my way out of the inevitable. I thought I should just be able to put mind over matter and tough it out. Then I thought about how there was still about 21 miles left. If I gave out on the tougher second half of the loop, what would I be able to do about getting out of there? Finally, the decision was made for me. It became obvious that I couldn't make it even to the Jackass Junction aid station another mile down the road. In fact -- I was done right there, and could do nothing more than to pull up short and bend over with my hands on my knees. I asked Jerry for a suggestion: "Okay, how do I check out of this thing? I don't think I can continue any further." He was still fresh as a daisy, and said he'd run up to the aid station to see if he could get some help. Fine. I was done. For the first eight or ten minutes I just stood there with my hands on my knees, but knew I'd be more comfortable lying down. I just wasn't quite sure how I would get there. I threw my waist pack on the ground for my head, and found that getting down wasn't as hard as I'd anticipated. Once I laid down and was able to enjoy the beautiful moonlit sky I was comfortable once again. I was glad I put on the extra sweatshirt, an extra layer of insulation against the cold ground. It was a bit chilly, but far from unbearable, and I knew I'd be okay. After 15 minutes another runner happened by who asked if I was all right. (Did I *look* all right lying on a dirt road in the wilderness in the middle of the night? Somehow I was moved to think about Jesus' parable of the good Samaritan.) Oh sure, I was super. Merely resting up a bit. Actually, I told him my pacer had run ahead to the next aid station to see if he could fetch some help, so satisfied with this, he headed on his way. NOTE TO SELF: Add more back extensions to my weight training sessions. *Lots* of them. This must never happen again. Help arrived in the form of an SUV before too long. They were bringing back another runner who had dropped at the aid station and also needed a lift. Ten minutes later I was back at Jeadquarters, turning myself in. Conclusions ----------- When I stopped my watch a couple of minutes after being defeated, it said 23:44:06. I have run 24-hour and multi-day races, with only one or two very brief sleep breaks in the two 24-hour races I've done, but this was the first time I had ever gone hard and steady for 24 hours straight (or close to it in this case) with no rest breaks or sleep whatever. Nor did I need any. As I assessed the situation, one thing became clear to me: I DID *NOT* GIVE UP -- and I never wimped out. The decision was made for me by circumstances beyond my control, when I found myself physically unable to go on. I arrived at the race having trained the best I could, I was well rested, confident, and totally ready to run. Other than my aching back I was *fine*. I wasn't suffering at all from lack of sleep, I felt strong, my head was screwed on right, and I wanted nothing more than to get up and continue. There's not a doubt in my mind that if my body had not failed me uncontrollably, I would have finished that race smiling, and with time to spare. That's how it goes in the world of ultrarunning. After reporting in and hanging around the heater for a while with some more hot cocoa and a couple of other road warriors, I tried to call my wife so she wouldn't have to get up and come get me. I could sleep a bit in the car and get myself home. But most people's cell phones couldn't work out there, which was the case with the one I tried. So I thanked Jerry Nairn for hanging with me, and he headed off home, after which I went to my car and made myself as comfortable as I could. It wasn't hard to fall asleep for an hour or so. Suzy pulled in with ARR board member Frank Cuda, who gave her a ride in, just as I was starting to circulate again. We hung out and talked to people, especially Stephanie Ehret, who looked ready to go out and run it again, thanked whomever we could find that helped out, and took off for home, where I showered, slept about two hours, then went out to eat guilt-free steak and beer with all the trimmings. The End ------- Stephanie Ehret, being the bodacious babe that she is, won the overall race, with a final time in the 17-hour plus range. I'm *so* impressed I'm beyond words. Not far behind was Dennis Poolheco. Like everyone else at this writing, I'm still waiting for Geri to post details of the final results. I offer my hearty congratulations not only to the winners of various prizes and divisions, but to everyone who finished, or even endured to the limit of their ability. Last I counted, there were 179 people signed up for the race. I heard 159 actually started, but don't know if that number is accurate. By the time I left the park I heard over 60 people people had dropped, and I suspect there were a few more who followed. Do the math. Easy race? My conclusion: Javelina is *not* an easy race for wimps. Did anyone really show up thinking it was? If so, you have my deepest sympathy. Miscellany ---------- It's Monday, and time to assess the damage: o My back is still stiff as can be. I've been getting up and walking through the house every hour or so, and it's loosening up. I'm hoping to go to the gym to walk a mile later. I could walk a mile anywhere without having to go to the gym, but there are people I see there every day who will be wondering how I did. o Quadriceps are horrible. o Arms and shoulders are sore as if I'd done a heavy weight training session, but not bad. o No blisters problems of any kind on my feet, not even any notable swelling. I'm feeling fine, and if I hadn't decided to bag work today to write this report while it's still fresh, I would be working full steam. Here are thoughts on two issues that are frequently hotly contested on the Ultra List. o I have to wonder whether, if I had used trekking poles, the transfer of weight to my shoulders and arms would have been sufficient to avoid or at least minimize the back problems I encountered. o If I hadn't been with a pacer, I might have lain on the road a lot longer than I did. The value of having company out on the road simply for safety purposes alone should not be minimized. Would I / will I do another 100-mile race? On the road last night I swore that I would not. I probably lied. But any way you look at it, going 100 miles on foot is hard. I wanted more than anything to finish Javelina, to earn the satisfaction of being able to say I'd completed a trail 100, even though I believe my heart will remain everlastingly with fixed-time track races. I still want to complete a 100. But who's to say ... if I had finished Javelina in good shape, would that not embolden me to go on and try Vermont, Rocky Racoon, or Umstead? Time will tell. One final note I wanted to add about the gate cost: If Geri sees fit to repeat this race next year, it would be great if the park could offer a better deal on the gate cost, just for convenience if nothing else. It costs $5 per carload to get in. This is a good and righteous thing, because the money goes to maintain the park. No problem there. I've been there nine times since April for training runs, and paid the $5 every time. During hot weather they have sort of an honor system, where you pull over and put your money in an envelope and take a numbered receipt. I know that rangers will go around checking, but I suppose there are people who have tried to get away without paying it. There was one time that I accidentally forgot to bring enough money, but had $3, so stuffed that and an IOU in the envelope. Yes, I paid $7 and left a note of explanation the next time, which must have caused some amusement at the office when they picked it up. Here's my point: To do this race, I paid for a $15 weekend pass, even though I entered the park only twice. Suzy came the next morning, and because she was in another car, had to pay another $5. Then when she came back the next day, she had to pay another $5. And of course, I covered my pacer's gate fee for both the pre-race meeting and the race night, for another $10 -- a total of $35 just to get myself and my assistants in the place because we arrived at different times and in different cars. Somehow something doesn't seem right about that. I don't have a concrete solution to propose, but given that race proceeds go to benefit the park, I'd like to hope that if I ever do it again, an improved arrangement can be worked out. Last but not least, I want to express publicly my thanks to RD Geri Kilgariff for the great party, and especially for thinking to invite me personally even before the race had been officially announced. As I told her, I might not have even considered it otherwise. As long as we have life and breath, there's always next year. -- Lynn David Newton Phoenix, AZ