From owner-ultra@caligari.Dartmouth.EDU Tue Jul 22 09:00:50 1997 Date: Tue, 22 Jul 1997 11:58:35 -0500 To: ultra@caligari.dartmouth.edu From: Barbara Bellows Subject: Vermont 100 Vermont 100 Endurance Run July 19-20, 1997 Barbara Bellows, Ithaca, NY The Vermont 100 mile endurance run traverses the mountains and woods surrounding Woodstock. For me, this race was special. It was my first 100 miler. It was held just 3 days before my birthday. My sister came out from Seattle to pace me. And, it was in Vermont. Coming to Vermont always feels like a homecoming for me. My father's family lived in Springfield and we would visit there from Wisconsin every other year while I was growing up. I learned to hike on the Green Mountains and had my best skiing on Killington and Bromley. Smoke Rise Farm, a show horse farm secluded on a back road, nestled within the Green Mountains serves as race headquarters. At the pre-race meeting, Laura Farrell, the omnipresent, untiring race director, laid down the rules for the run. The first, and most reiterated rule was: Have fun! Having fun and running 100 miles, would appear to most people as an oxymoron. Running for up to 30 hours and clambering over 14,000 feet of elevation gain is indeed a strange way of having fun. But, the excitement of the runners, the energy of the volunteers, and the enthusiasm of the handlers left me enveloped in a blanket of sheer joy, vowing to make this race an annual event. As my sister and I were driving home, we made a compact to continue running ultras into our 70's. At 3:30 on Saturday morning, July 20, groggy runners filtered into the heated horse barn to check in for the start of the race. As they checked-in, the runners checked out each others' gear. One elegant man wore satin black running shorts, a white dress shirt and bow tie. To be more comfortable for running, the shirt had cool-max inserts sewn into pleats in the front and the central pleat in the back. Another man wore tevi sandals. At 3:45, the runners walked, en mass, down the switch-back driveway to the start of the run. In front of the house, a tuxedoed man played music from Chariots of Fire on an electric piano. The nearly full moon ducked in and out of the clouds, casting shadows over the mountains. Fireworks made up for the lack of stars. At 4:00, we took off, down a dirt road for less than a mile, then ducked onto the trails, flashlights twinkling like fireflies among the trees. In the cool of the morning and in the excitement of the quest, it was difficult to restrain my energy. I flew on the downhills, but forced myself to walk the uphills. I came into the first handlers' aid station on an 18 hour rather than my predicted 20 hour pace. Throughout the race, I alternately ran and played leap frog with a Latino carpenter from Galveston, Texas named Mario. We talked about building houses, herbal medicines (his Mexican grandmother treats her arthritis with rubbing alcohol in which marijuana has been soaked for about a month), and, of course, running. He went ahead of me just before the first weigh in station at Camp 10 Bear (44.2 miles). As I came in, Mario was cursing a blue streak because he had lost 6 pounds and the officials would not let him continue until he gained back 2 pounds. I lost 3 pounds, although most of that may have been due to having striped off some clothing. Nervous about loosing too much weight, I scraffed down turkey sandwiches, cookies, and potato chips at each aid station (almost every 3 miles). By the time I reached the second weigh in station, I had gained 5 pounds. The day was cool, in the mid - 70's, slightly overcast, with only a slight breeze. Perfect for running. We made a tour of back country roads, passing by cabins and abandoned farms converted to mansions. We wandered over rocky trails and across grassy meadows. Every so often, we would be passed by the endurance horse riders; 24 horses and riders also challenging themselves to 100 miles, mostly on the same roads and trails as the runners. I ran for awhile with a man who had run the Vermont 100 every year since it started 9 years ago. He philosophized about 100's. "Hundred mile runs are not that different from fifty milers. You just have to be more patient." At 68.2 miles, my sister joined me as my pacer. She was determined to go the entire remainder of the distance with me although she had never run over 21 miles before. She wondered aloud whether she might be able to do a 100 mile run someday. I responded, "you have to want it very badly" to which she replied, "I think I will take up knitting." Once I knew I was in no danger of loosing too much weight, I switched to a diet of Tums, ibuprophen, and chicken soup at the aid stations. By 70 miles, I had slowed my pace and was on about a 19 hour pace. At 83 miles, I raided my drop bag to put an ace bandage on my right ankle which had been on a slow progression from quietly complaining (at about 50 miles) to practically yelling at me. By 86 miles, I realized I had forgotten one thing in my training regime. Although I had trained my legs to go the distance, I had not trained my eyes to stay open for over 18 hours straight. I found myself walking up hills with my hand on the sister's shoulder so that I could close my eyes and sleep as we made some semblance of forward progress. I finally stopped and napped for 4 minutes. Mario passed me (he was pulled again at the second weigh in station) and I tried to recover, hoping to get to an aid station soon so that I could down anything with caffeine in it. We crawled into the unmanned aid station at the top of the hill, I quaffed a large cup of Coke. By now, I knew I would not be finishing in under 20 hours. My motivation for moving forward was simply to be able to see a bed sometime sooner rather than later. We glided down the hill to a manned aid station where I had a nice warm cup of coffee. The drugs kicked in as we left the road for the trails. Our headlamps picked out the trail as we meandered from one glow stick to the next. My feet, now feeling quite tender on the bottom, were happy to be on the trails. We scrambled along, trudging and jogging, looking for land that was runable; meaning level or downhill. We found some runable sections and I picked up the pace, wondering whether my sister would be able to keep up with me. The trail spewed us out at the last aid station. We cruised on by to the cheers of the volunteers. We passed one runner, reduced to limping in the last 4 miles. Of the last 4 miles, probably only 1.5 were runable. I kept looking at my watch, hoping that I would be able to finish in under 21 hours. We came into a clearing, I rejoiced, thinking this was the finish. Instead, the meadow dumped us back onto a trail. Finally, the trail careened down a hill. I could hear cheers in the distance and I knew that I was almost home. I let loose the breaks. My sister let me fly alone and I came into the homestretch with a yip and a holler. Finish time: 21 hours, 10 minutes. The medical team weighed me in, only 1 pound down from my original weight. Then, they laid me down on a cot. My ankle lectured me, the caffeine in my system would not give me peace, and I shook with hypothermia. In the morning, waiting for the post-race brunch and the awards ceremony, I stretched myself out in the sun, like a cat, savoring my finish and knew that this race was to become a tradition in my book. ;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;; ; Barbara Bellows ; Extension Associate ; Agricultural Environmental Management Outreach Coordinator ; ; 332 Riley Robb Hall Telephone: 607-255-4537 ; Cornell University Fax: 607-255-4080 ; Ithaca, NY 14853 email: bcb5@cornell.edu ; ; "They who did not take risks do not cross the river" ;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;