The short version:I
went until I couldn’t go any farther, and then I went a little farther.
The long version (Warning:Long, boring, tale of silly
jogging/bushwacking that probably has subliminal messages if you play it
backwards):
Summer training went fantastically.I probably ran more miles this past summer
than I have ever run in any 3-month span before.But that was the summer.Between classes, research, and personal
stuff, the last couple of months have been somewhat lacking as far as mileage
is concerned that could be considered appropriate for 100-mile training.Sometimes life seems to get in the way, but
we push on and hope for the best; thusly I toed the line for the Pinhoti 100.
The morning started at 2:55 when I woke up 5 minutes before
my alarm and the wakeup call we had ordered from the hotel front desk.With the wakeup call, my dad and brother got
up, we all got dressed, and we headed to Huddle House for a quick breakfast
before driving to the starting area an hour and a half away.While riding shotgun through the wee hours of
the morning, the thought that hit me last year at that point crept back into my
mind.I was riding at 55-70 mph for an
hour and a half, and I had to run
back.
"The people that I have met are not foolish; they are
aware of how tired and cold and hungry and frightened and hurting and
discouraged and disoriented and how possibly injured they will become. They
know they will face great physical, mental, emotional, and possibly spiritual
challenges as they make their way to the finish. This is what they are racing
against. This is their challenge. This is what I admire." - Carolyn Erdman
The race got started at about 6:15 with about half of the
runners hollering at the top of their lungs and the other half silently contemplating
the task at hand.I managed to get out
in the second pack, figuring that I both wanted to let the lead guys get out
ahead to run fast (including pro Karl Meltzer, previous winner John Teeples,
and various stud runners such as DeWayne Satterfield, Roch Horton, John Dove,
and a slew of other fast guys), while also staying in front of the inevitable
conga line that would form for the first 5 or so miles on the single track
trails as everyone tried to find that elusive “sustainable” pace.What a laughable concept – sustainable pace…
I managed to get positioned right where I was aiming, with a
pack of guys I already knew, ahead of the bottleneck, and behind the fast guys.True to form, my one and only fall of the
race came in the first few miles of the race, when I slipped on some wet
leaves; the relatively small cut that was created bled like a champ, prompting
aid station workers for the entirety of the race to ask if I needed one of them
to clean it.I just figured that I’d rub
some dirt on it and move along.
My race plan was to run the first 50 miles in around 10
hours, allowing 14 hours for the second 50 miles to stay under 24 for the full
100.This seemed like a reasonable
strategy, given the impending nocturnal slowdown.I quickly learned that the rest of the pack
had adopted similar plans, and that being the case, our little group set about
plugging away at the miles.The first
few aid stations came and went relatively uneventfully, and we managed to stay
on pace while enjoying quite a bit of random conversation.I got into the rhythm of running,
anticipating the next aid station, meeting my crew, and repeating.It’s good to be able to go through the
motions for a while almost on autopilot.
"If you start to feel good during an ultra, don't worry
- you'll get over it." – Gene Thibeault
As the day progressed each of us that began the day running
together had minor ebbs and flows; we’d drop off the pace, then catch back up
with the group after a few miles and fall back into step.Then we started approaching Mt.Cheaha.I’m well aware that when compared to
mountains such as those in the Rockies, Mt.Cheaha is merely a foothill, but it is
the highest point in the state of Alabama,
and when you have to climb the bulk of it within a mile, it can sure be a
pace-killer, among other things.I had
started falling off the pace pretty badly somewhere around mile 35, and the
next aid station was at the top of Cheaha, just shy of mile 41.I was hitting my first bonk, and it was
messing with my head pretty badly.My
mind began formulating those ideas and questions that you can’t afford to let
it create:“It was too early to be
feeling this bad.If I couldn’t hold the
pace a mere 40 miles, how was I even going to keep moving for another 60?The heat is already killing my insides; I
can’t keep pushing for another 16 hours if I can’t regulate something as easy
as fluids in a little warm weather.What
am I doing here?I’m undertrained.I’m scared.Maybe I should just qui…”
And then I got to the top.The view was fantastic, and even more than seeing the sprawling
landscape laid out in front of the overlook, I was thrilled to see my crew, who
had by this time figured out that I was running a little behind schedule and
was ready and waiting to see what they could do to get me back on my game.I made use of the one bathroom on the course
(for the tourists at the “Top of Alabama”) to take care of some pressing
business, and I think the shear act of sitting down for a couple of minutes
revitalized my legs.While I took care
of that, my dad filled up my water bottle, my brother Peter got ready to come
in as my first pacer, and before I knew it, Peter and I were back out on the
trail.
We made our way back down Cheaha and resumed the continuing
task of chipping away at the miles.It
was getting late in the day, so around mile 50, we picked up an extra upper
body layer and headlamps for both of us, and as the dark of night relentlessly
approached, I remembered more and more vividly just how dark things can get.
At mile 55, Peter’s first pacing shift was over, and Fred
Trouse, a friend from Auburn
who had paced for me last year, began his first pacing shift.Having two veteran pacers is an asset whose
virtue I cannot begin to describe, and having these two particular pacers made
for, shall we say, an amusing and effective motivational system.
Fred and I made our way through the dark woods for quite a
while with Kip Chasse’, one of the guys with whom I had started the day before
we all began falling off the pace.He
had begun flagging before I had, but he had found a seemingly abundant reserve
of energy and was bouncing along, thoroughly enjoying himself, and incessantly
chattering about increasingly odd and off-kilter topics.Whereas this might have been somewhat
annoying at other times, it was a great way to keep our minds on things other
than running for several hours, and we all chatted and laughed our way from aid
station to aid station before Kip’s tide of energy swept him on ahead of me for
the rest of the race.
When Fred and I got to the mile 65 aid station (the one
where I utterly crashed and burned last year, spending an hour trying to
convince myself that I was still alive), I grabbed some hot soup, warmed up by
the fire, and encountered the first person I had seen of the day deciding to
officially drop.He looked fit, but had
apparently fallen apart in the last few miles, saying that the previous five
miles had taken him two and a half hours to complete.From my own previous experience, I understood
his predicament, and I almost let myself begin to think about how good it would
feel to….
Nope.Just when I
could see that my brain was heading in that direction, I got up, bid the
wonderful aid station workers adieu (complete with a bow to the self-proclaimed
hostess), and marched out toward the next aid station.I couldn’t afford those kinds of thoughts.
At mile 68, a decision must be made.Fred was finishing up his first pacing shift,
while Peter was gearing up to come back in for the infamous Pinnacle
ascent.The problem with leaving the aid
station at mile 68 is that you know that you won’t see your crew for the next
18 miles, and that those 18 miles are arguably the most difficult of the course,
so it amounts to a solid 5-7 hours cut off from the outside world.And darn my bullheadedness, I made the
decision to march out, head high, into the blackness, hoping that I could trick
myself into pressing on for a few more hours.
The next couple of miles went by a bit slowly.Fred had aptly described my running at that
point as a “good old man shuffle,” and Peter confirmed the sentiment, but it
was a good laughing point.As we made
our way along the trail, I found myself more and more sleepy, hardly able to
even keep my eyes open.A couple of times
I would even catch myself walking a couple of steps with my eyes closed, so as
we began the switchback ascent of Horn Mountain toward the Pinnacle aid
station, Peter and I did what any sane people would do in the middle of nowhere
in the middle of the night, half asleep, and 70 miles into a run.We sang.
Peter began singing, knowing it would lift me up a little, I
joined in, and we sang quite an eclectic assortment of music.From Sinatra to Pink Floyd to the Beatles to
Disney, we belted out the lyrics at the top of our lungs, hoping that the aid
station workers at the top could hear and were wondering who had escaped the
asylum below…
Finally, we made it to the top and the notorious Pinnacle
aid station, manned by ultrarunners who knew just what we would want and need
at that point in the race.The trademark
of the aid station last year had been their fried egg sandwiches, which I had
opted to avoid, given how upset my stomach was at the time, but this year was
different.I had waited a year for one
of those sandwiches, so when they asked, I ordered up a fried egg sandwich with
cheese and bacon and a cup of coffee, both of which were promptly served
up.I ate and drank while warming up by
the fire and realized just how good this particular aid station was, because in
addition to fun food, they were offering chocolate covered espresso beans,
toothbrushes, and diaper rash cream – the kinds of things most people would not
think to bring to an aid station…
"Your biggest challenge isn't someone else.It's the ache in your lungs and the burning
in your legs, and the voice inside you that yells 'CAN'T", but you don't
listen.You just push harder.And then you hear the voice whisper
'can'.And you discover that the person
you thought you were is no match for the one you really are." - Unknown
The mark of a truly good aid station is that the volunteers
show a genuine concern for your task at hand over your immediate comfort, which
in an ultramarathon aid station means that if you look good enough to run/walk/crawl,
they kick you out of the aid station to just keep you moving toward the
finish.That being the case, Peter and I
were promptly discharged from the aid station back along the ridge on top of HornMountain
working toward the next aid station.At
this point, at least in my head, I knew that the absolute worst of the race was
over.The last big climb was done; now I
just had to keep up the relentless forward motion to the finish and I would be
done.We made our way to the next aid
station five miles away (felt like 10, but I’ll pretend they measure the course
correctly at 5…), didn’t spend too much time there before departing toward
another much-anticipated aid station at mile 86.
We made a slow descent over the next 6 miles to the aid
station at mile 86, manned by a bunch of friends of mine from Huntsville, representing the Huntsville Track
Club and Fleet Feet Sports.When Peter
and I came into view (after hearing the music from their speakers for a mile or
so), they all started hooting and hollering to see me; it was a real
motivational boost.I think those guys,
and especially my dad, were a bit relieved to see me come out of the
woods.A minute or so later, when I got
into the aid station, they immediately got me the food I wanted, took the
clothes I didn’t need any more, and got me moving again, as I was within a half
hour of the cutoff time for that aid station.Peter’s pacing shift was over, and as Fred began his second pacing leg,
Peter drove off to take a well-earned nap.
Peter and me coming into the mile 86 aid station
I'm happy to be here. Really. I promise...
Fred (left), anxious to get his second round of pacing under way helps
expedite the stripping process along with Rob (back) and Kathy Youngren
(right). I guess it takes true friends to help you rip your pants off...
From left to right: Fred (ready to get moving), Rob Youngren (realizing
that me sitting down to take care of that might not be the best
thing...), Kathy Youngren (keeping me balanced while offering a
veritable buffet), Blake Thompson (happy it's me and not him), and
someone else, Josh Kennedy, perhaps? (what can I say, I'm a popular
guy...)
I mean, I don't really enjoy resting, anyway...
Newly rejuvenated, I took off down the gravel road that
would constitute most of the next 10 miles, Fred in tow.About a week earlier, I had told him that for
that last section, from 86 to 100, if I didn’t have a bone poking out, I wanted
to be running, and that I’d like him
to be as firm as he needed to in order to keep me from walking even the uphill
portions.That being the case, I was
probably running around 9:30 miles for the next 5 or 7 miles, only spending
around 30 seconds at the next aid station before getting the heck out of
there.I was trying to make up some lost
time.Given that Fred had told me that
the most recent runner to pass through the mile 86 aid station was 15 or 20 minute
ahead of me, I was pleased when I passed him somewhere between mile 90 and 95.At the FINAL aid station at mile 95, I shed
the remainder of my warm clothes and was back down to shorts and a t-shirt to
finish out the race.
The next couple of miles were spent getting back out to the
road that would take us into town to the finish line.I began to feel the previous few fast miles
and slowed for a couple of miles until I could “smell the barn.”At that point, I began picking up the pace
yet again.The finish was about 200
yards around a high school track, and as soon as we got inside the stadium, I
felt light as a feather, and, true to form from my last couple of races, I
spread my arms out and airplaned around the track, to the shouts of some
friends waiting at the finish.At the
line, as I had planned to do if my legs still had anything left, I jumped up
and clicked my heels to cross.
100 miles:27:38:20
The race director, Todd Henderson, handed me my new belt
buckle, a couple of pictures were taken, and that was that.Meltzer had won in an amazing 17:12, blowing
away the old course record by over 3.5 hours.Of the sixty-something starters, 38 ended up finishing.
The race was another testament to how much of a factor my
crew was for me.Having Peter and Fred
out there with me during those tough hours late in the race was critical, and
having my dad, the crew chief, behind the scenes, working out logistics and
making sure I always had whatever I needed kept me from making stupid mistakes
and probably saved my race.My gratitude
to these three simply is not quantifiable.
Well, that’s my story.I warned you it was long.I hope
you enjoyed it.
"Is this level of athletic competition the ultimate
distraction from real life? Or is it a form of prayer?" - Norah Vincent
Comments
From Jelmo on Sun, Nov 08, 2009 at 22:20:02 from 68.113.125.7
Another 100 in the books, I know you were hopeing for better, but you stuck in there and finished. Nice run.
From Burt on Mon, Nov 09, 2009 at 09:53:59 from 98.177.216.165
Can't wait for the full report. Rest assured I will be reading it with a bag of popcorn.
From Jeff L on Tue, Nov 10, 2009 at 13:44:53 from 76.164.29.58
Nice race and good report. Thoroughly enjoyed reading it.
From Will on Tue, Nov 10, 2009 at 14:14:52 from 130.18.243.67
Nice job! I'm sure beating your PR only added to your satisfaction! Doing that while researching is incredibly impressive...since I have a better idea about how hard that is now! haha
From JD on Tue, Nov 10, 2009 at 16:36:59 from 70.96.78.157
Congratulations on completing another 100 miler, and PR'n the course. Reading your reports relieves me of the necessity of actually ever running an ultra, so thank you for that.
From mike mcclellan on Tue, Nov 10, 2009 at 18:13:04 from 192.28.0.21
You are amazing John.Very enjoyable reading also.You are tough as nails!
From Metcalf Running on Wed, Nov 11, 2009 at 10:30:21 from 207.225.192.66
Inspirational race report! Thanks for posting!
From allie on Wed, Nov 11, 2009 at 14:01:27 from 67.177.43.41
i definitely enjoyed your story. great job.
From Brent on Wed, Nov 11, 2009 at 20:59:27 from 66.7.127.219
Nevels, absolutely, postively - the best report I've read for years, the emotions, the story, the toughness, the rawness - awesome race report. I felt like I were reading "Ounce an Ultra Runner" by Nevels, could not what for the next chapter. Be proud, be happy = great race.
Stay Kool, B of BS Rools out
From Burt on Wed, Nov 11, 2009 at 21:42:45 from 98.177.216.165
I finished my bag of popcorn before I was even half way through. It was a long report, but it was excellent. (Plus having 6 kids means a bag of popcorn doesn't last very long anyway.) You are one cool dude.
From Will on Wed, Nov 11, 2009 at 23:42:53 from 99.147.6.176
What a great race report, and congratulations on an amazing achievment! I'm trying to mentally prepare for my 1st 100 miler next spring, and your report is helping me along. Thanks for sharing the experience, and have a quick recovery.
Great race report, John. It's just what I needed to read after a long day of work. I think your report is a testament to the waves of emotions that come and go as you are out there all day and then all night. I hope one day I'll be like you! Forget Mike! Be like Nev!
From Eric Day on Thu, Nov 12, 2009 at 21:35:24 from 189.169.229.195
Wow John, just truly amazing. Eso son "cajones"
I humbly bow to you....
From crockett on Fri, Nov 13, 2009 at 11:51:36 from 71.36.70.141
Congrats on your great race. Good strong finish. Way to push through it. I enjoyed your report.
From JulieC on Fri, Nov 13, 2009 at 13:16:14 from 65.103.250.68
What is sick and wrong about me reading this long report is that I probably will be doing such events and writing about them in the future. If only I were Burt...cozily reclined in my lazy boy and eating popcorn.... oh no I am so on to the 100 miler,,,,if I survive the 50 first :D. Thanks for the full version of what it would be like. Geez how ever did that guy fly thru that course?!! I thought YOUR time was most astounding. I like the part about the singing and the kicking your butts out of the aid station to keep you movin' as a sign of a good aid station. I will keep that in mind. Good job!!!
From Sandy Dune-Howard on Fri, Nov 13, 2009 at 13:17:32 from 90.201.147.160
Holy Cow well done Nevels, and I love the airplane and click of the heels at the end of a 100 mile race.
Very impressive and a great read you amaze me :-)
From pumpcap335 on Fri, Nov 13, 2009 at 15:48:41 from 69.158.1.74
What can I say.Inspirational,and great to see we do the things which logic say's, what are you doing .I may try this one day because others like you have done it.
Thanks
Terry
Toronto Canada
From Scott Wesemann on Sat, Nov 14, 2009 at 01:28:01 from 75.162.88.112
What a great story, I really enjoyed it. congrats.
From Eric Schotz on Sat, Nov 14, 2009 at 10:28:24 from 68.190.4.225
Don't know if this link will work for all but some 85 mile aid station photos of John just showed up on my Facebook.
From Burt on Sat, Nov 14, 2009 at 12:19:36 from 98.177.216.165
John, you have longer hair than last year.
From Nevels on Mon, Nov 16, 2009 at 12:05:26 from 131.204.15.93
Thanks, y'all. I went ahead and posted the pictures that Eric Schotz got from the 85 mile aid station.
And yeah, Burt, I have a little longer hair than last year, but we'll see how long it lasts...
From Cookielover on Mon, Nov 16, 2009 at 20:54:41 from 97.81.82.211
WOW! It takes me two weeks to do what you did in a little over a day. I know that this is a bit late, but CONGRATULATIONS!
From Jon on Tue, Nov 17, 2009 at 23:35:52 from 75.169.155.153
Impressive. Good read. Congrats.
From Ericka on Wed, Nov 18, 2009 at 17:10:33 from 74.81.243.253
Shoot kid, you're crazy but amazing
From Kelli on Fri, Nov 20, 2009 at 12:00:28 from 71.219.71.229
Love the story, love the pictures, love the last quote. You are awesome!!!
From Kelsey on Sat, Nov 21, 2009 at 14:19:20 from 98.230.44.19
Great write up, and great run. You are such an inspiration! My brother is running his first 50 miler right now and it's killing me that I can't be there. Before he started he said he wanted to run a 100 miler in two years. If he still feels that way after his race today, I am going to make him read all of your race entries! Although I think you sounded more mentally stable in this one. Due to the experience maybe? Congrats on another job well done. I enjoyed the singing. If I was there I would play the air drums and guitar. I'll remember the singing idea if I end up pacing my brother. I can only imagine how monotonous the miles become!
P.S. I am experiencing the same grad-school running drought. It's a major bummer!
Add Your Comment.
Keep it family-safe. No vulgar or profane language.
To discourage anonymous comments of cowardly nature, your IP
address will be logged and posted next to your comment.
Do not respond to another person's comment out of context. If
he made the original comment on another page/blog entry,
go to that entry and
respond there.
If all you want to do is contact the blogger and your comment
is not connected with this entry and has no relevance to others,
send a private message instead.