Date: Thu, 16 Mar 2000 08:40:22 -0600 From: "Joe Prusaitis" Rocky Racoon 100 mile Trail Run 5-6 Feb 2000 So, did you boys dress yourselves, or did your mama help? Hey, I didn't pay much attention to my ensemble while I was putting it on in the dark. My friends probably didn't with theirs either. But, we are all, in fact, wearing black, and nothing but black. Funny! I hadn't noticed it 'in the dark'. I wonder why? Now that we're in the daylight, we do look rather silly. Los Tres Gringos Loco? Three Blind Mice? Where is that butcher's wife? Wes, Max, and I are strolling along, swapping jokes, lies, and ex-wife nightmares. The truths are better than the lies! You would have thought we were a band of bar hopping drunks the way we're carrying on. Man, we're laughing so hard at ourselves that it's affecting our pace. It's actually making us go faster as we forget where we are. The 6am start is cold. I wear long tights, a winter coolmax top, and gloves. Flashlight in one hand and a water bottle in the other. Running with a hundred of my closest friends, a smile on my face, and Montrails on my feet. Oh yea! I am enjoying the moment. Why wait for retirement when I can travel the continent right now. Visit beautiful places, experience different cultures, enjoy regional cuisine, experience slangs and expressions, and shock a few folks with my own. Oh yea! I know what I'm doing, and I wouldn't change a thing. Just wish I had more money so I could do this more often. But, the old 9 to 5 only makes me appreciate it more, so I would like to think I'm getting the best of all sides of my life. I wouldn't change a thing. The first loop goes by in a slow motion blur. We go from darkness to daylight, winter woollies to summer threads, peaceful silence to bawdy laughter. In a rolling romp of bad jokes and good humor, we pass 3 hours and 30 minutes in the best way possible... running through the woods. The dirt trail is dry this year, and the sand is less of problem than I remember in the past. Pine needles and leaves soften our footfalls to such a degree that moccasins would have been as loud. It's still winter, even here in Texas, so the trees are bare and solemn, and it's easier to pick out the armadillos rooting along the trailside. We spot one large old grandfather digging for breakfast. Slipping out of stealth mode, I remove the black gear and replace it with fun colored shorts and singlet. The 2nd loop passes much the same way as the first. The cold morning turning into a beautiful day as we dodge the roots and visit with passing friends from all over the country. We're joined by a friend from New York as we continue to enjoy the day, the run, and each other's company. The initial trail section leading out, that we also come back on at the end of each loop, the single track around the camp sites to the jeep road, the short out and back jeep road, the single track detour off the jeep road and over to the next jeep road, the endlessly long out and back, the long single track from the levee and across the swamps and bridges to the 174 aid station, and then the short section to the turn around for a total of 20.15 miles. There's three aid stations from turn around to turn around, such that they're spaced about 5 miles apart, except the first and last are both approx. 3 miles from the turn around. Perfect spacing for me to carry a single water bottle and one pack of Succeed Caps. Like usual, I have my cooler loaded with ice tea, coke, water, and beer. And another cooler loaded with dry goods and necessities: a stock of GU, Succeed, Advil, duct tape, and so on. I drink a tea, suck a GU, grab another bag of pills, and go. Our party begins to fall apart near the end of the 2nd loop. Wes falls back, joins us again, and then fades once more. Our New York friend drifts in and out and eventually is gone, but Max and I are hanging tight, until another of my downhill bombing runs has pushed me a few minutes in front of him as well. Another 3 hours and 30 minutes loop ends with me stopping to dump the sand out of my shoes. I leave with Max saying he'll be along quickly. Like most runs of this length, I eventually find myself running solo and enjoying the privacy as much as I enjoy the company. Coming back from the short out and back jeep road, I find Max 5 minutes back and running smoothly, intent on catching and running with me. I keep moving though, thinking he will eventually get to me and we will continue as before. I'm running well and still enjoying myself, passing the 50 mile point feeling surprisingly chipper with lots of spring left in my step. I've been here before and wonder how long this will last, so I take inventory and mentally visit all my body parts and check off one after another with a tentative, all's well - so far! I've had problems recently with my stomach taking a dive about this time, and I'm hoping I have finally solved this problem. Only one way to find out! Keep moving and see what happens. Returning from the long out and back, Max is now 14 minutes back. I'm surprised and I think he is also. I've been timing each of the out and backs so I can keep track of my progress and to have some idea of how far I have to go in each direction. I check my time after the aid station and learn that I have run faster this time than the first two loops, so I must be running as good as I feel. I never can tell. Sometimes I run faster when I feel bad. The final eight miles is a fun section that I always enjoy. It's mostly windy single track that twists and turns, so I can get some momentum as I descend and make the turns, whipping 'round the corners. I'm not surprised when I finish the third loop in 3 hours and 25 minutes. My fastest loop today. Sixty miles done and I'm still feeling great. My wife, Joyce is ready to pace me for the final forty. She has my gear laid out, and tells me to change into cold weather running clothes. I feel great and argue the point. I don't wish to change a thing, but she persists, and I change just to accommodate her. She has paced me before and takes no guff from me. It won't take me long to realize how right she is and how wrong I am. It's 5:30 and the sun is about to go down on us. Max comes in as I'm going out, and soon after, it's dark. We save our batteries in the twilight, using the half-light to the end of the short out and back jeep road. We eventually give in and turn on our flashlights as navigation gets too difficult on the return trip. As the sun goes down, it drags the temperature right along with it. I would be dying now if not for the winter gear Joyce made we wear. I slip on my gloves and roll down my sleeves while Joyce puts heater packs inside her gloves. The cold is deeper in the tiny little valleys, and we rush through the cold spots, avoiding the chill. For the first time today, I begin to trip over roots that I have been successful so far in avoiding. The artificial light eluminates the trail but can't reveal all the traps that were more than obvious only a little while ago in the daylight. I trip, I stumble, I slide off the sides of sloped ruts. My wonderfully fluid forward momentum slows and dissipates. Not all at once, but in piece and parcel until I suddenly realize that I'm bone tired. The cold, the miles, the stress, the sudden onslaught of my toes... but the expected has arrived, slowly. I don't realize what's happening until right now! Man, am I beat. Somewhere, around 70 miles, on the long out and back, in mid 4th loop, I finally slow. Max is on his way out as we're coming back in. He has the shakes bad, so Joyce gives him a shirt she has tied around her waist. Hypothermia might be visiting a few folks out here tonight if they're not careful. We stop to visit with Max for just a moment, and then I stumble into the aid station and sit by the fire. I try to sip some hot broth, but a sudden hiccup attack makes it comically difficult. Each time I try to put my lips on the cup, I hiccup and spill the broth. I can't drink thith broth with out burnin' myself. Sounds perfectly normal to me, but this draws a good chuckle from my fireside friends. I get some of it down and finally give up. I need to go. It was a mistake to sit by the fire. I'm even colder now. We push on haphazardly, but I still manage a strong surge on the downhills, so I use 'em up and work the rest. The 4th loop is my slowest by far, in approx. 5 hours and change. Such is the beast that jumps up on my back and steals my strength. I add more clothes, lots more: two shirts, a jacket, long tights, two sets of gloves, a pullover hat, and heaters in each glove. I'm comfortable now. Warm everywhere, except my face. I have a sunburn from today and my face feels colder because of it. Off we go for the final tour, to say our good-byes and thank-yous. It seems so quiet and lonely now. Everyone has spread out and even the long out and backs are barren. The short out and back jeep road is empty in front of and behind me. Now that I'm better dressed for this chilly cold front, I'm more comfortable and my pace picks up. Joyce and I silently attack the rolling hills, slowing to a walk on each uptilt and running across the tops and down the backside to the next one. My stomach, for the first time in 2 years doesn't rise up and desert me late in a long run. I feel good. A bit tired, leg weary and sleepy. Matter of fact, my biggest problem now is, I can't pay attention. I'm dozing off, on my feet. I keep forgetting to watch wear my feet are going and I keep tripping over roots. Joyce asks me, 'want to walk?' I say, No! As I kick another root, she tells me 'pick up your feet!' I say, No! With more tone and attitude, she says again, 'pick up your feet!' I say, No! I know it's not my dragging feet that are causing me to trip. It's my head. I'm not watching where I'm going, but I don't have the energy or wherewithal to say any more than 'No!' She cuts me with a look! One of those that say a lot more than a long novel. And we keep on moving. After all, that is the name of this game, now! Get it done! Put it in the barn. Get my buns out of this cold! Max has disappeared. Actually, everyone has disappeared. I don't recognize anyone anymore. My group has spread out and I'm now coming into the backside of the group one lap back of me. I think! Maybe I really am asleep now. The backside station has a great fire going and it's so tempting to sit next to it. Gina informs me that Wes is in his tent asleep. He's done for the day. I take Wes' last ice tea. Funny how they taste so good in the heat or the cold. Must be the ginseng and honey. I just love it. We push the last long out and back and get it done, faster than the last time. I may be asleep but I'm moving faster than I was on the last loop. We hug Gina good-bye and send our regrets and congrats to Wes, make plans to meet again, and move out. With eight miles to done, we're trying to keep moving. We build up some steam from here and I get a charge going. We pass a few moving bundles of blankets and clothing with legs sticking out the bottom. I say Hi to each person I pass, and receive mostly grunts or snorts, but also an occasional cherry response. Just can't tell what's inside from looking at what's outside. Attitude and personality comes jumping out of some of the most surprising places. Who would have guessed? I start to grade the responses with a thumbs up, down, or neutral. Still chargin' the downhills, we pass a woman and her pacer. As we pass, Joyce's light blinks out and stops us cold. We change the batteries quickly and get right back at it, immediately crossing the long bridge across the swamp. Worse timing and we could have been blind on one of these swamp bridges and swimming with the gators. I imagine it and immediately chase the thought. Don't want to go there. We catch the same women again, and push past them as they walk. I can smell the barn now. Just three or four miles to go. I'm blowin' and goin'. We barely slow at the last station and then on up and out. Lots of rollers on into the finish and I sprint the final yards on into the finish. There's a crowd on the road and I weave through them the last few yards and stop. 'Tis done. 21:39:03 and happy to have it. I enjoyed it but I'm equally happy I'm done. I just want to lay down and sleep. Then I see Mike Riggs gathering up to go out on his last loop and I wish him well. He's in good spirits and wears a determined look. While I'm heading for bed, he heads back out for another loop in the cold. He also will get it done.