2002 Vermont Trail 100 Mile Endurance Run Brian Natell (bib #190) Strangely enough, the well dressed man sitting at the full sized grand piano did not look out of place even though it was 3:45 in the morning and the piano was located on the front porch of the Smoke Rise Farmhouse nestled deep in the woods of the Green Mountains of Vermont. The runners calmly (except for me) milled around listening to the classical chords of "Chariots of Fire" while fireworks exploded in the deep black, crystal clear night. Hal and Laurie, my faithful crew, were giving me their final words of encouragement before the race began. The race, which would cover 100 miles including 14,000 feet of ascent and 14,000 feet of decline through the picturesque Vermont mountains, was about to begin. I turned to Hal and Laurie and said "I guess it's time to see what I've got", as someone unceremoniously said "Go". And so we went. I was surprised to find all the runners were actually walking when we hit the first hill, although I did the same. The night was cool. The sky was clear and every star since the beginning of time was out twinkling above us. Three hundred runners quietly scurrying through the woods, the tiny beams of our flashlights paled in comparison to the bright three quarter moon. I was smiling from ear to ear. The journey I had dreamed about for a year was under way. Ninety-nine point five miles to go (this may turn out to be a long story). We soon came to the first of many aid stations. This one was "unmanned". It was actually just a table in the woods along side the trail. There was a cooler and some bags of stuff that I couldn't make out as I jogged by. This race is known for its frequent and plentiful aid so I felt that I did not need to stop here. Around five a.m. the sky began to brighten. I put my flashlight away. Suddenly I heard a rumbling behind me. I turned to see five or six riders on horseback bearing down on us. They too were entered in this 100 mile race. Those horses were on the same adventure as I. The riders shouted encouragement down to me as they trotted by. I shouted "Number 110, my money's on you!" and the rider responded "Thanks, by the way her name is Wyoming". I would see Wyoming again and I would think about her often throughout the day. Running with the horses was just one more surreal aspect of this unforgettable day. Soon we came out of the woods and began following a road. By now the runners were spread out. I was mostly alone but I could see others ahead and behind me. We came by a scenic waterfall and then crossed a covered bridge. I could not stop smiling. Everything was so cool, so dreamlike. How did I get here? I am just an average guy, 42, slightly (ok, slightly more than slightly) overweight. I am no real athlete. My best marathon time is an embarrassing 4:40, yet here I am, running with guys I've been reading about. Running through covered bridges. Running with horses for God's sake! I've never even been to Vermont before. Feeling good, feeling great, I continued on. Mile 18 was Pomfret aid station, the first of several where I met my crew. As I came down the hill Laurie and Hal spotted me. Laurie was cheering loud. She always makes me feel good about myself and today was no exception. I stopped at the car and they immediately went to work on me; refilling my water bottle, checking my supplies, getting me food and generally fussing over me. Hal had already made friends with other crews and he was compiling facts to help me out later. I felt good. It is nice to know that you have people around who care for you. After a quick pep talk and some high fives I headed back out on the road. The day started to heat up (it would reach 89 by midday). I met up with Willie and Larry, two Ironmen from Brooklyn. These guys were entered in the Lake Placid Triathlon scheduled for NEXT WEEKEND! Someone mentioned earlier that you really gotta be sick if you can do something that would make a 100 mile guy call you sick. To do these two events on back-to-back weekends, well these guys were sick! But very funny. We ran together for several miles up some ridiculously steep mountains. They let me lead the way. They were cracking me up the whole time. Everything we said seemed funny, funnier than it actually was, as we commiserated together. Larry said he planned on coming in last place. I said "I hope I don't ruin your plan". This cracked everyone up. I'm a funny guy at high altitudes. It turned out that these two friends stuck together the whole way to the finish. I lost touch with them at the next aid station however. That's the funny thing about a race like this; you meet people, make friends with them, suffer with them for miles, and then never see them again. I passed through many more aid stations each manned by unbelievable volunteers, all so helpful and full of encouragement. By then I was way in the back of the pack but they cheered me on like I was winning the race. And there was always Hal and Laurie. All day, every time I saw them, they were up beat, urging me on, telling me how great I was. God, I love those two! In the heat of the day, alone, cresting a huge mountain, with no wind or sounds or anything at all, suddenly a tree fell down for no apparent reason. Right by my side, CRASH. I learned the answer to the age old question; a tree does make noise if it falls in the woods with no one around. And it scared the shit out of me. On I went. Around 9pm it started to get dark. I was totally alone, no one in front or behind me as far as I could see. I whipped out my little flashlight and struggled to keep on track. It was getting a little scary. What kinds of beasts live in the woods of Vermont? Do they have bears around here? Wolves? Ogres? Whaaaa, what was that noise???? I was beginning to freak myself out. I picked up the pace. I had to keep moving. I did a lot of deep thinking out there. I thought about my wife and daughter, about what they were doing at this moment, about how nice a dip in the pool would feel, about my bed. I thought about how great it would feel to cross that finish line. And how proud everyone would be of me. Me! Yes! I wondered how my finish line photo would come out. Where would I hang it? Mile 63 at 9:30 p.m. I wanted to reach 68.5 miles (Camp Ten Bear) by 11pm. That is where I would see Hal and Laurie and that would leave me 11 hours to do the last 32 miles. I could walk it the rest of the way and still make the 30 hour cutoff. I had to make Camp Ten bear by 11. I picked up the pace. I had now been on my feet for about 19 hours and I was still running! I came down the hill and saw my faithful crew. Ten minutes to eleven. I did the 5.5 miles into Camp Ten Bear in 80 minutes. I was psyched! Laurie was cheering. Hal was suiting up, preparing to run with me the rest of the way. I confidently shouted out "Haa! You call those hills?" But when I stopped to change my socks I saw a scary sight. My feet were a mess. Blisters, mangled toes, blood, and lots of other mean nasties down there. I put on fresh socks, weighed in at the medical station (more very nice volunteers) and headed out. Now it was me and Hal. Thirty-two miles and eleven hours to do it. Twenty-one minutes per mile. I had it made. I was still smiling. This was great! From mile 70 to about 73 was straight up. Straight up, I mean straight...and up. It killed me. It wiped the smile off my face. This was no longer great. I was in trouble for the first time all day. My pace slowed. Hal suggested we run. I suggested that Hal, well I better not tell you what I suggested that Hal do. We slowed to a slow walk. It was hard to see the trail markings. I was tired. It was very dark. I missed Mary and Maggie. My feet hurt. My quads were exploding, burning with white hot spikes of steel shoved between muscle and bone. I've run many miles in my life but I have never felt pain like this. At around mile 75 Hal stopped to remove some stones from his shoes. I continued on ahead in a dazed Death March. Like a lost man staggering across the desert I walked right past a turn in the trail and didn't notice it. When Hal put his shoes on he ran to catch up to me. Since he was focusing on my light he too ran right by the turn off. Twenty minutes later we realized we were lost. Dazed and confused we argued over what we should do. Were we in fact off the course? Should we continue on ahead looking for a marker or should we turn back? Finally Hal volunteered to run back while I waited. I was dead. My spirit was broken (my feet too). I lost hope. I heard Hal call out that he found where we went wrong. Eventually we were back to where we left the course. Things were looking bleak. About this same time, unbeknownst to us, Laurie had a car crash. Swerving to avoid a deer she slid across a guardrail and dented up the entire passenger side of her car. Luckily she was unhurt. Our aura had gone south. The magic of the day evaporated. Reality sunk in. Out of the darkness a light came upon us. Unbelievably, it was I guy I had met a year before in another race. He casually told us that he had lost his socks, all very matter of factly, like we had been talking about this all along. He said no more and off into the darkness he went. Strange happenings 20 plus hours into the race. We continued on. I was now doing 35 minute miles. At this pace it would take me eleven hours to finish. The cutoff time was 30 hours (meaning about six hours left). I knew that there was no hope but I did not want to quit. I was embarrassed to have Hal see me like this. I had tears in my eyes. I sat down. Soon a race official came by on a bike. She had the voice of an angel. She softly asked me if I had had enough. I could not answer. I could not look at her or Hal. I just stared off. She asked me again. After a long pause I finally stood up and said "No, I want to keep going". I was hoping someone, anyone, would over-rule me but she just said "OK, good luck" and she was gone. The next mile took about 45 minutes. I took a step and stopped. Took another step and stopped. I was seriously hurting. I was looking for a way out without quitting. Soon, another race official came by in a pickup truck, heading in the wrong direction. He asked me if I had had enough and again I foolishly said "No". Off he went. I realized that I was being crazy. There was no way I was going to go another 22 miles like this. I was done. When he came by again I flagged him down. I had to say the words "Runner number 190 drops". My race ended in a pickup truck at mile 78, twenty-four hours and ten minutes after it started. I felt ashamed. Beaten. We hooked up with Laurie at the next aid station. She was bummed about her car. I was exhausted. No one spoke on the ride back. The day had taken a terrible turn. Looking back I must say that I do not feel like I failed. I had a great run. I had a great team behind me. For 68 miles I was on top of the world. I can't let the last ten miles of misery ruin the greatness of the day. I did a lot of thinking out there. I learned a lot about myself and what matters to me. I thought a lot about my family, my friends, my job and my life. I learned about how much my wife and daughter must love me to put up with this crazed mid-life crisis I am dragging them through. I learned that I'll never have better friends than Hal and Laurie. I feel better about myself today than I did before the race began (except for my feet). I know in my heart that I tried my best. I do not know if I will ever finish a 100 mile race. I do know that I will try again! Vermont 2003 - watch out - Natell and Wyoming shall meet again! Subject: 2002 Vermont From: "Natell, Brian" Date: Thu, 28 Aug 2003 16:55:51 -0400