Subject: 2003 Vermont 100 Mile Endurance Run Report From: "Natell, Brian" Date: Mon, 28 Jul 2003 10:44:46 -0400 2003 Vermont 100 Mile Endurance Run Brian Natell "Tonight I'll be on that hill cause I can't stop. I'll be on that hill with everything that I've got." (Bruce Springsteen - Darkness On The Edge Of Town) Flashback - Vermont 2002: "We slowed to a slow walk. I was tired. My feet hurt. My quads were exploding with pain. I've run many miles in my life but I have never felt this bad. I continued on in a dazed Death March. My spirit was broken and I lost all hope. The next mile took me 45 minutes and I still had 22 miles to go. Eventually a volunteer came by. I flagged him down. I had tears in my eyes. My race ended in a pickup truck at mile 78, twenty-four hours and ten minutes after it started. I felt ashamed, beaten. I gave up." Vermont 2003: I thought about that night every day for the last year. Every night before I fell asleep I relived those last moments. Where did I go wrong? What could I have done differently? Was 100 miles beyond my reach? To this day I have never put on the 2002 T-shirt. The unwritten rule is: You can't wear the shirt if you don't finish the race. This year would be different. I would not quit. I could not quit. I had to make it. I trained differently, ran more hills, practiced walking faster, and did an all nighter. I felt strong but still had major doubts. The Tuesday before the race I saw Springsteen in N.J. I got psyched. I was ready to take my shot. On Wednesday morning my pacer and good friend Hal called me up. He had just broken two toes and would not be able to make it. So I headed up to Vermont with no pacer. I did have my crew though, and what a crew they turned out to be. I met Larry on the commuter train one day last year. I managed to work my Vermont story into the conversation (somehow I always manage to work that in). He thought it would be fun to crew and said he would do it. Well, many people offer to help 11 months in advance and I didn't take him seriously. But as time went by he continually promised to do it. I hardly knew him but I had to count on him. Somehow he talked his beautiful wife Tonya into joining us. And so off to Vermont we went. Seeing friends and faces from the year before was fun at the pre-race dinner on Friday. My good friend and tough-as-nails runner Misty found a pacer for me. A guy named Steve Assante, who had never seen or heard of me before offered to run the last 32 miles with me. I was a little embarrassed because I knew I might not even get to mile 68 and if I did I wouldn't be running much. He assured me that it didn't matter and so the deal was made. He was my man. Early Saturday morning the surreal feelings of this race really started to sink in. Fireworks lighting the night sky above the heads of 307 runners quietly milling around. My heart was pounding as Larry gave me some last words of encouragement and Tonya gave me a hug. I told them whatever happens today will be remembered for a long time. I hope I don't disappoint. I was very nervous. I had to make it this time. The man said GO and we took off accompanied by the tunes of Chariots of Fire played by the classy gentleman on the grand piano on the porch of the farmhouse in the middle of the woods in the middle of the mountains in the middle of Vermont in the middle of the night. The journey had begun. I wondered how it would end. The early stages of the race went well. The Vermont scenery was breathtaking, the volunteers cheerful and helpful, and the weather perfect. I felt pretty good and comfortably settled into the back of the back chatting with the runners and horseback riders as they passed me by. When I pulled into a handler station Larry and Tonya were there totally prepared and ready to take care of me like an Indy car in pit row. After the second time I saw them I decided to "not think" anymore. I put myself totally in their capable hands. I did what Larry said. I ate what Tonya told me to eat. I became a machine and they became technicians. As I left each station Larry jogged out with me giving me Vince Lombardi quotes and pats on the back. Each time I left them I felt refreshed, ready to run. Now I really had to make it, not just for me but I couldn't let these two down. On I ran. In the early afternoon I was running alongside Dan Bratches whom I'd met last year. He told me how he finished with just minutes to go to beat the 30-hour cutoff. He, very passionately, explained to me that one must do whatever it takes to make it. There is nothing else. Failure is not an option. He told me to ignore what others say about what can or can't be done and to just do it. Make it. Run up Blood Hill if that's what it takes. I thought long and hard about what he said. As he pulled away he turned back and said "I'll see you at the finish". The day wore on and the miles rolled by. I felt surprisingly good. Every time I saw Larry and Tonya (and now Steve my pacer had joined the team) they were all over me. They did everything for me, changed my socks, re-stocked my pack, fed me, and most of all, encouraged me. "The Best Care Anywhere". These are special people. They felt like family. They were transformed from spectators to participants. THEY were in this race with me, no doubt about it. We had to make it. The miles rolled on, through Camp Ten Bear, past the halfway point, a quick burger at Margaritaville, and back to Ten Bear for a major pit stop. It was 11:30 pm. My crew got me ready and I hooked up with my pacer Steve. We crossed the road and headed back into the woods. The next section was tough and, like last year, that first hill after Ten Bear killed me. I really slowed down and by mile 79 I was in serious trouble. I couldn't believe it, dying in the same spot two years in a row. I was pissed. I walked ahead of Steve who was loading up at the aid station. I was feeling so down. I just walked alone for a while. I wondered what my wife was doing right now. It's the middle of the night. Maybe she just got woken up by the cat at the door and was now staring into the darkness thinking of me. I felt so bad that she was going to feel so bad about me feeling so bad. It was bad. I pulled out the letter my 11-year-old daughter Maggie wrote for me the day before. It was a bunch of inside family jokes, inspirational quotes and it ended with the Springsteen line; Tramps like us, baby we were born to run. I love her so much, her and her mom, my girls. I began to feel a little better. Steve came by and off we jogged. In and out of Bill's and up some tough hills, I was still moving pretty well but I didn't think I would have enough time. Steve somehow got me to mile 90 around 7 AM. There I met Stan Grossfeld an associate editor for The Boston Globe. He said that he was doing a story on the last man standing. He told me he thought it would be me. He began to take tons of pictures as I slowly ran by. It felt cool. He would drive ahead of me and take photos as I ran towards him. I felt like a celebrity. I hoped I hadn't any spinach in my teeth. At one point Stan drove slowly by with Jungleland blastin' at full volume. I couldn't believe it, after running ninety-two miles I was now motoring down the road with a rock and roll soundtrack. I felt I could make it if I didn't run out of time first. At the aid station with 3.9 miles to go I had a little over an hour left. Larry was there shouting inspiration, pleading, and urging me to move a little faster for just a little longer. The camera was clickin', the people were cheerin', my heart was pounding, and time was slippin'. I looked up the trail and saw Steve, at the top of the hill, looking back at me. I started to run. He said "You're an Ultra man now". It felt good. He led on and I followed. The last four miles were tough. We were deep in woods with only a few minutes left. We were running everything now, ups, downs and flats. I was freaking out. Ten minutes left! Where is everyone? At eight minutes to ten Larry appeared in the woods. He was shouting about the time. This was no joke. It was going to be real close. I was totally freaking. To finish just beyond the 30 hours would be devastating. I had to make it. Larry, then Steve then me, we were bookin' now. The fastest I ran all day was mile 99. With seven minutes to go I burst out of the woods and sprinted, screaming with every emotion humanly possible. I can't describe the way I felt when I crossed that finish line in 29:54:45. I made it! Everyone was cheering and Stan was working the camera. I came in dead last but felt like I had won! When Larry looked at me and put his arms around me I knew that I had made a friend for life. We had done it, as a team, Larry, Tonya, Steve and me. I could have never done it without them. It felt AWESOME! It was great to see Misty and Lee and the others who stayed to be there at the finish. Stan interviewed me. And later, at the awards ceremony, they gave a special award to "The individual who enjoyed the Vermont scenery the longest". I told the crowd "I paid for 30 hours and I used them all". Everyone was smiling and congratulating me. Joe Kulak, the winner came by and we took a picture together. Everyone made me feel so great, all the runners and their crews, the volunteers and the race staff, everyone seemed genuinely happy for me. I'm a regular guy, 43 years old. This was the first time in a long time, maybe in my life, that I felt as though I had done something special. This was one of the greatest days of my life. I did it! This time I wear the shirt home!