Date: Thu, 23 Jul 1998 11:14:54 -0400 From: Scott Burgess Subject: VT Report (Verbose Mode) Hello All. Certain listers have rather insistently called for my "real" Vermont report. Don't blame *me* if it's long. Arrived at Woodstock, VT via Greyhound bus, and was deposited in the central square of that town. Walked about 1/2 mile with my duffel to the B&B. Went and bought a book on climbing accidents, spent a couple of hours reading. Decided to look around, dressed in running clothes and carrying a water bottle just in case. Ran a couple, walked a couple in the blazing sun. Arrived at Smoke Rise around 11:00 or so Friday. Strolled around a bit, admiring the farm and horses. Did the registration/weigh in thing. Realizing I had no cash to buy goodies for the supporters back home, decided to go for a mellow walk to a store about 3 miles away where I could perhaps find an ATM. Had to be back for the 3:45 briefing. Took a wrong turn (stop laughing!) at the main road and ended up with what was about a mellow 8 mile run/walk, again in some hot sun. Never did get the cash. Made the briefing fine. Have fun, watch the trail markers, don't kill yourself, yadda yadda yadda .... Back up the hill at the tent city, I managed to set up my tent. Delighted to find myself next to esteemed Messrs. Pero and Peckiconis. Sue Johnston and her husband Mike soon join us, and the scene is reminiscient of that other Woodstock, as baggies of white powder are carefully measured out under the setting sun. Four beers shouldn't hurt, should it? A little reading as the sun goes down, then try to get some sleep. A little rain on the tent roof ... that's OK, it'll cool things down. Is it 3:00 am yet, or just 2:00? 3:00. I guess I'd better get up now. Chilly. Long sleeve shirt. Head down to the barn to mingle before the start, at least I'm waking up now. Stan Jensen and Geri Keligariff are there with some encouragement and best wishes. Down the driveway to the banner marking the start and suddenly we're off. Everything quite routine through mile 20 or so. The horses are welcome and beautiful companions on the trail, and I can't help but laugh at the numbers painted on their butts as they pass by. Conclude that ultrarunners should have numbers on their butts too. Pass Chip Marz telling some stupid joke about a Cajun male lesbian. Mile 26-28. Yuck. Well this part's inevitable. If it stays like this too long, I'm not gonna finish, but I have enough experience to know that this too shall pass. Tom Midlam passes me on a hill, looking good. Thanks Tom, but you ain't helping. There. I think I'm through it at around 28 or so. Yeah, feeling good again. Just keep going ... walk up as fast as you can, run down briskly, but carefully. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. Repeat Again. Wow .... an orgasmic dip in the river at mile 33 or thereabouts. Refreshed, feel great and it's just getting better. Just keep going to First 10 Bear. Everything's smooth and steady. Realize that the ratio of women to men is probably better where I am in the back of the pack, and I make some empirical observations. Hey, this is fun!! At Ten Bear, weight's great, feelin' chipper. No time problems. Chided by Peckiconis for not wearing sunscreen .... resist the urge to say, "Hey, *you* dropped from the heat, buddy, not me!" Decided not to be snotty to someone who was actually *cleaning my feet*. I'm over 50 miles now, virgin territory, looping back to 10 Bear through the late afternoon. Don't admit to yourself that this is easier than you expected, that hubris will get you. 100K is the next milestone (kilostone), should be easy if nothing goes wrong. The fires and the beers offered at the aid stations are not tempting, and it's easy to joke with the volunteers. Everybody comments on my big smile, and I hope it lasts throught the night. Leaving an aid station somewhere around mile 60, there's a hint of hypothermia. My jacket is at least two hours away, along with my light at Camp 10 Bear. This could be bad; I hate being cold. Suddenly, a bright yellow jersey appears on the ground in front of me, obviously dropped by another runner, who is nowhere to be seen. Its warm, dry and clean. I'm clearly destined to finish this race. 10 Bear again, now it's dark. I pick up my light and jacket and note that people are dropping here. Try not to let that fact make me feel smug, as I still feel great. Set off out of the station munching on chocolate covered coffee beans, which ultimately allowed me to finish the whole thing *without ever being sleepy.* Up some tough trail in the dark. I had been afraid of night running, thought I might be a little scared, but this is fine. Who is that idiot shining a light in my face? Get passed by some, pass more myself. Still going steady and feeling good, down the dirt roads and pastures in the dark, heading to mile 83. Incredible stars in the black skies over the pastures. "Running" mostly alone, and I'm glad. This is beautiful. Make it to the big aid station at 83. In, weighed, soup, out. Feeling guiltily superior to the people asleep on the cots. No real pain, only minimal fatigue, and absolutely no reason to quit. Wow, the sun is coming up! But this "Blood Hill" is a bitch ... and the aid station is more depleted than I am at this point. More aid at mile 90 though, and that should be an easy downhill. Here's a guy staggering in front of me. "Hey, I need a place to take a nap ..." I'm through the station at 90 and people are commenting on my bright-eyed appearance. I guess some other runners have not been as alert at this point. Now it's time to just "get the job done" for the next 10 miles. Small bad patch around 92-94, but no doubts of success. Easily pass a group walking uphill around mile 96, I'm asked "What are you on?" Answer? "Chocolate covered coffee beans! Want some?" Walking smoothly, even running the trail downhills around 96 and it's not bad at all. Passing through the last aid station, it's academic now. Flirting and joking with the passing pulchritude. This last part is up and down trail that is somewhat challenging at this point in the race. Why can't I keep up with those women? One of them is limping like crazy, yet they're passing me. Sue Johnston was right. I *am* unbelievably slow. But I'm about to finsh my first shot at 100 miles. 98-100 are easy. I'm choking up a little ... maybe I'll cry at the finish. Sense of macho overcomes my marked tedency toward drama, however. I see the road, hear the people at the finish. Yelling down to them "ARE WE HAVING FUN YET?" We sure as hell are! Into the barn. That's it. 27:46:00. It wasn't as hard as I expected. That means I didn't try hard enough, right Sue? Scott Burgess NYC