September 20-21, 2008
by Carl Albright
The
Race director Carl Camp and
his wife Mary's garage served as the start/finish, as well as a base camp for
our stuff. From their garage, we ran about 7 miles along roads to a state park.
The runners stuck together in two groups, with the ones who'd run the race in previous
years showing us newbies the road route. Along the
way, someone figured out that 7 of the 11 starters were, like me, going for
their first 100-mile attempt.
We entered the Middle Run
Valley Natural Area through a side trail. Once there, we began our four
10.25-mile loops. We had access to our drop bag at the beginning of each loop,
and out on the course there was a plastic-crate water stash, which we passed
twice each lap. A somewhat painful 68-mile race that I did last year taught me
that I would need to try to get in lots of calories. So, instead of taking in
just 110 cals every half hour (mostly gels and shot
blocks), I made sure that I got about 250 each hour (mostly candy bars) and
about 110 (Power gels or gummy candy) each half hour in between. To help me
remember to eat, I set my watch timer to repeat every 30 minutes and thought of
the beeping as my dinner bell. And each time I reached the bag drop, I ate good. What worked best for me were 500-calorie Boost drinks;
I also once ate half a can of Chef-Boyardee ravioli, and, another time, a whole
can of Spaghetti-Os. I carried two handheld bottles with me. I sipped Gatorade
(from powder) from one bottle, and whenever I ate I chugged 6 to 8 oz. of plain
water from the other bottle.
The trail was well marked
with spray chalk and yellow caution tape, which made it easy, even for someone
as directionally challenged as I am, to follow. Early, maybe two minutes into
the first loop, the runner I was with stopped to fix something (I think to tie
a shoe). For most of the rest of the day, up until midway through my fourth
forest loop, I ran alone. However, the mountain bikers on the trails gradually
realized what all the runners in the park were doing, and as the day went on
they encouraged us more and more. One asked me how far along I was, and when I
told him about 40 miles he said, "You guys are rock stars!"
The greatest highlights were
seeing my wife Chris and our boys along the course. When they anticipated that
I was near the end of a loop, they would hike backwards on the course, and then
we'd finish the loop in together. Their smiles, high-fives, and hugs made me so
happy!
I knew I was near the back
of the pack, with two runners behind me, but I didn't care too much. I remember
occupying myself at times by trying to remember random places I'd been in
during my life—like walking by a gravel front yard near a NJ beach when I was
in my 20s, or looking up to see overhead monkey bars in a park when I was like
8 years old. I also sang sometimes, loudly when I was sure I was alone. Last
week I'd heard a song that goes, "I am the greatest man that ever lived; I
was born, to give and give and give." That line, and a few other songs,
like the entire "Wild World" song by Cat Stevens, kept me laughing
with myself and helped to get me through the day.
I was a bit undertrained, and by the end of the forest loops I was
beginning to do things to try to ease my quads, like going backwards down some
of the steep moguls. Midway through the fourth loop, as I turned around to pick
up a Lifesaver gummy wrapper I'd dropped, I got passed by Fred Davis. Saying
he's a veteran is an understatement; he's completed 49 hundreds. I kept up with
him for several minutes, and he gave me some good tips, such as how he tries to
run with his head up while using just his eyes when he needs to look downward.
After the end of my final
forest loop, as I began to make my way to the out-and-back section, I met my
friend Dave Kennedy at the water stop. Previously, someone had gone with him to
make sure that he knew well the way back to the house, and he slowed his pace
to do the same for me. As we ran, to anticipate the turns I referenced a little
folded-up turn sheet I'd made. Thinking about all the running I still had left
to do, and beginning to bonk more often, made that a tough section for me. I
thanked him for staying with me. He thanked me for helping him pace himself to
be able to endure the rest of the run. We reached the garage together, he at
about 68 miles and I at 57 miles, at fifteen hours in and just after nightfall.
As he said, we are a good team.
The rest of the night I
spent picking off the road legs one at a time. This part of the course was
mostly away from traffic, on sidewalks and paved bike paths. I kept up my
eating schedule and watched objects become more familiar each time I passed
them. I used several landmarks, such as a "Follow the Son" sign, to
know that turns were soon approaching.
About a third of the way
through my second road leg, I came upon a runner who'd gotten lost at least
twice and was having what looked to me like advanced bonking problems. We went
along together for the next 8 miles, but as the night air cooled I began to get
the shivers and needed to move faster. I gave the runner my little turn sheet,
and a few minutes after I started my next leg I was relieved to see that Carl
Camp had gone out and was leading the runner back to the garage.
A friend of Carl Camp, Dave
Bursler, who is also an accomplished ultrarunner, was
helping to encourage us at the bag drop in the forest and at the garage during
the some of the road legs. His comments gave me things to think about. He
challenged me to try to see where my confidence came from, and while I ran I
thought about all the stuff that I'd been through, like being an emotional
punching bag for my gradeschool classmates, to
enduring my infant and teenage cleft lip and palate surgeries, to trying to be
a good father and leading my boys to a good chance of decent lives of their
own, to wanting to prove to myself that I had the will to make this body do
something for which I admire others. I realized that exercising the will to
finish this run would both take confidence and build it for later.
Dave Bursler also served as
a night pacer for eventual race winner Jessi Kennedy
(who not only won the race but also completed her first 100), and at one point
in the night, when I was feeling stronger, I was able to keep up with them for
a few minutes as they passed me. I remember their quiet determination and
efficient strides, which kept them moving without apparent strain, although I
found out later that the race had its share of challenges for her as well.
After about 3:00 a.m., the
traffic really lessened, which was nice. Although it
picked up again the next morning, I knew I could count on the Sunday morning
folks to drive mostly sanely and I was less worried about potential problems
with the human wildlife. Midway through the morning, though, I came upon a
woman who was walking a large pit bull, and when the beast lunged, she strained
to hold it back. She said, "I may look small, but I got him!" and I
thought, "I hope that leash has him too." To smooth it over as I
jogged away, I smiled and told her that I'd just run 88 miles and she laughed
and said "Good job!" I figured that the dog must have sensed my
physical helplessness and found it entertaining.
I'd gradually been losing
speed the whole race and was last among the surviving runners, but on my final
lap I decided to step it up and try to reach my original sub-30 goal. I quickly
packed my fanny pack with calories, including a pack of Reese's peanut butter
cups, while the volunteers filled one of my water bottles. I ditched the other
bottle I'd been carrying, and Chris went on the course with me for a few
minutes. With her help, I resolved to power walk quickly the ups and jog faster
on the downs. I used morning runners and walkers as "competition,"
and although I mostly lost these mini contests (I did pass one older couple out
for a stroll) I reached the water-drop turnaround at 1:22 into the leg. I knew
that I could beat 30 hours now, so I backed off the pace slightly to help keep
from injuring anything. As I neared the end, I was glad to be almost done, but
I was surprised to also feel sentimental about the course, about the
experience. I realized I would miss it when it was over.
Finishing the run was great,
though! Back at the garage, I got to pick out a finisher award from among
several hanging on a wall. The award was a ribbon tied to a seashell, on which
was written in gold ink,