Needless to say, I'm somewhat stiff. More detailed race report to come when I become a little less disoriented... The short version: I ran far enough that my arms are tired. The long version: Recounting this race will be somewhat difficult for me, because so much can (and does) happen in a race in which one is lapped by the sun. It is somewhat intimidating putting on running clothes at 3 AM and knowing that those clothes won't come off for a day and a half, but on it all went just before my crew and I headed to Huddle House for a good prerace breakfast, which was in turn followed by a 1.5 hour car ride to the starting area (this car ride did not bode well, considering that I knew that I had to run back). Once everyone got to the start, the race got underway shortly after 6 AM. The first few miles were relatively uneventful, other than my one and only fall of the race coming off of a slippery bridge while making a hard right turn. After the pack had had time to disperse, we all set about the task of plugging away at the miles. Keeping in mind last year's debacle at the Arkansas Traveler 100, I made a very pointed effort to not let my nutrition/hydration plan get away from me, making a point to drain at least one (and more often two) water bottle(s) and eat at least one serving of either Gu, Shot Blocks, or the occasional bite-sized candy bar between every aid station in addition to taking in a significant number of solid and fluid calories at each of the aid stations, which were spaced, on average, about 6 miles apart. The first day portion of the race went as perfectly as anyone could ask, knocking out mileage comfortably and (relatively) quickly, which fit into my strategy of getting as far as I possibly could during daylight hours in preparation for the inevitable slow-down at night. Race rules stated that runners could pick up a pacer starting at mile 41, and Fred, a friend from the Auburn running club, who had come up to watch the race, and was actually kind enough to agree to pace for me from mile 41 to 55, which started right after we had climbed Mt. Cheaha, took us back down the mountain, and worked toward another mountain. I'm not sure how long he was planning to stay around the race, but when I saw him at the starting area and asked him if he would do it, he graciously agreed without hesitation, and instantly I had another fantastic crew member. Somewhere between miles 50 and 55, the sun went down, and the peculiar scene of bobbing headlamps began. If you've never been running on a rocky, rooty, technical singletrack trail at night, you just don't know what you're missing. Fred and I rolled into the aid station at mile 55 sometime around 6, and my second pacer, my brother Peter, took over pacing duties; little did he (or I) know what he was in for just a couple short hours away. During the first few miles with Peter, I noticed that food wasn't quite sitting right, I was becoming a little woozy, and I was urinating way too often, which, after thinking about it, indicated to me that I was running dangerously low on salt. When we got to the aid station around mile 65, I sat down and told my crew to find me the saltiest stuff they could, and then I proceeded to crash physically, mentally, and emotionally. I sat at that aid station for what felt like an eternity but was probably more like 45 minutes or so trying to regain both a sound mind and a sound body. I must say that it is a terrible feeling to look up and see that your entire crew is staring at your uncontrollably shaking hand. Eventually I managed to get back up to try to go a little farther, and with Peter keeping a close eye on me, I hobbled to the next aid station 3 miles down the trail and repeated a smaller version of the same process. The aid station at mile 68 was somewhat significant, because it marked the beginning of an 18-mile gap between crew spots. At that point in the night, this amounts to 4-6 hours of no communication with the outside world. Knowledge of this made it particularly difficult to leave this aid station with a new pacer (Chris Clark) and a long night ahead. The next aid station was only 6.7 miles down the trail, but this included a climb that, though not the absolute highest, proved to be the most difficult due to a failing metabolism, sircadian rhythms, and what felt like an endless series of switchbacks. Fortunately, Chris Clark turned out to be an excellent pacer, intuitively knowing how hard to push and how firm to be with me while keeping things as lighthearted as possible. The good part about this hill was that the aid station at the top was fantastic. With everything from bananas and water to fried egg sandwiches and beer, this aid station was stocked, and I felt better leaving it than I had for hours. With only a marathon left, Chris Clark and I departed for a few more miles. The next 10 or so miles oscillated between good and bad, neither to the utter extreme, but we kept chugging, and eventually the sun decided to come back up, which definitely provided a little boost of energy. When Chris Clark and I pulled into the aid station at 86 miles, he called it a day and took a much deserved nap, and Peter came back in to finish me out. By this time, believe it or not, I was not the most polite individual, and Peter did a good job of letting my somewhat coarse personality at that point roll off his back while still doing everything I asked him to do, including running up ahead to look for course markers to simply reassure me that we were still on the correct course, which consisted of mostly gravel forest service roads at that point, the very nature of which makes the miles seem longer and led to me being a fairly cranky individual. We kept putting one foot in front of the other to the next aid station, and then to the final aid station. With only five miles to go, Peter and I headed out, and by shear virtue of still being running, we passed something like 8-10 runners in the last five miles who had decided to walk it in (a tempting proposition by then). The last 3 miles were on a paved road, which is a pretty painful thing for your feet after having run 97 miles, but we finally got to the high school track, and after a half lap, I had finished. 100.59 miles. 28:00:59. 45th and youngest of 90 starters. A race like this makes you truly appreciate those that help you out along the way. My crew, aptly led by my dad, who truly studied this event beforehand and was willing to do anything for me at the aid stations,thereby proving to be a great crew chief, really stepped up to the plate when I began to falter around mile 65 and somehow managed to keep me going. After finishing this event, I can truly appreciate the quote: "The brain you have 99 miles into a 100-mile race is not the same brain you started with."  Finishing it out
 My pacers (Chris Clark on the left, Peter on the right), and me (center) I wish I had pictures of Fred, my other pacer, and my dad, the crew chief, but, alas, as of yet, I have no such pictures. 
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