Rocky won with a TKO in the fourth.
I fell heavily into a camp chair, done, at the site 174 aid station, 77.1 miles into the five-lap, 100-mile race, about 1:30 a.m., Sunday morning. But I knew I was going down shortly after leaving the Dam Road aid station about 4.5 miles before, at 11:15 Saturday night.
Stumbling through the woods by headlamp, bumping into trees like a punch-drunk palooza, I knew I was in trouble. But the only solution my battered wits could come up with was -- make it to the next aid station and throw in the towel.
Since then, I've played the "What if" game -- a pointless, though compelling exercise familiar to most of us who haven't met our running goals at one time or another. Although if those "what ifs" help us with lessons-learned to get through the next race -- maybe there is a point after all.
Anyway, my big "what if" -- What if instead of collapsing like a bunch of broccoli, I'd crawled on to the 80-mile mark at the Lodge/Start/Finish? There, Matt Holmes, Stacy Amos, Stacy King and Tiffanie Bevans were crewing. Chances are, they could've put me back together enough for one last walking lap.
There was plenty of time, with a noon cut-off. Maybe a 20-minute nap and some calories would've done the trick? Probably. Who knows? Next year, I'll have a pacer, who'll take over the thinking chores. Thinking doesn't seem to be my strong suit after 70 miles.
The trouble started at 6 a.m., Feb. 2, in the dark, in front of the Main Lodge at Huntsville State Park, Texas. The ultrarunning beast had gathered itself at the starting line, fidgeting with its more than 600 legs and arms, and knifing open the blackness in every direction with its hundreds of tiny, brilliant, light-emitting eyes.
Then "the word" was spoken. Front-runners blasted off, while mid- and back-of-the-packers shuffled forward. With an exultant roar of hope and joy, the beast elongated itself like some sort of primeval paramecium.
I'd gotten separated from my group, members of the Kansas City Trail Nerds. They included Ben Holmes, on track for his 6th consecutive Rocky Raccoon 100-mile finish. His son Matt, was crewing for us all, along with spouses of Trail Nerds Kyle Amos, Gabe Bevans and John King.
John was after his first hundred, Gabe was looking for a PR in his fourth. And Kyle -- well, I'm not sure if Kyle was chasing anything, but I predicted he'd finish top-10, and he did -- eighth. I should be so accurate predicting my own efforts!
Tony Clark, former Marine and current member of the Kansas Ultrarunning Society rounded out our group. Rocky was his second hundred.
Tony and Kyle ran together for the whole race, both finishing in about 18:14, and netting Tony ninth. Tony's got his sights set on even more challenging game now -- Big Horn and Cactus Rose.
Gabe broke 20, paced for the last 40 by fellow Trail Nerd Mark Stovall; and John turned in a sub-21 debut run, paced by Rick Mayo. Rick, a Rocky vet, helped train John specifically for this race.
Ben finished too. At about 26 hours, he said it was one of his ugliest finishes ever. Seemed pretty good to me, looking on from DNFville.
I managed to locate fellow Kansas Ultrarunning Society members Randy Albrecht and Theresa Wheeler and ran with them till right before the first aid station, "Highway" at 4.1 miles in. Randy is co-RD, with Jim Davis, of Ultrarunning's best-kept secret, the Heartland 100- and 50-mile runs, Cassoday, Kansas.
He's also a superb distance-man, even when he hasn't trained. I wouldn't have had a prayer of staying with him, but he was doing a "100-mile pacer" job with Theresa, to help her get a sub-24.
Later, a rib-injury kicked up, and Theresa dropped at 40, after completing most of it in pain. Unleashed, Randy went on to deliver a sub-20-hour finish.
But Gar struggled, though not in the beginning.
As rosy light from a cloudless dawn lit the piney woods, we all cruised easily on soft, sand trails and roads. Around us, splendid stands of loblolly pine soared 60 and 70 feet.
I struck up a conversation with fellow runner Marty Fritzhand, 64, from Cincinnati, and we talked starts, finishes and getting off-course in hundreds. Marty had a bad turn at Western States once, where getting off course in the dark, late in the race, nearly cost him a hard-earned buckle.
He finished there, and finished this one too.
I ran with Chrissy "Dirty Girl Gaiters" Weiss for a while on that first loop. She wore a fabulous fluorescent green ensemble, visor to gaiters -- the only things brighter on the course were the sunshine and her smile.
Chrissy got in under 29 hours. You go girl!
It was jolly times on that first 20-mile lap. I saw my fellow Trail Nerds on the out-and-backs -- all ahead of me. There were high-fives everywhere, and the woods echoed with shouts of greeting and encouragement.
Members of Tribe Ultrarunner, the greatest tribe the earth has ever known, hurtled down the warpath yet again. As always, I thrilled to being part of it, and to be running free and easy across the land.
I finished Lap 1 in 3:45, much faster than I planned. People cheered as other runners and I rolled into the Lodge aid station. I got my time recorded as I crossed the chip-timing mat.
We all wore stylish ankle-bracelets with timing chips attached. I heard some complaints about having to wear them, but I never noticed mine, until I had to take it off.
Taking it off stung a little, though not physically.
On the way out for loop 2, I stopped to let Matt and Stacy Amos replenish my hydration pack. They gave me more Hammer gel, Perpetuem, S-caps and water. I had a bottle of HEED, too, but hadn't drunk any, since they were serving the stuff at the aid stations.
They wanted to know how I was feeling. The truth was that my quads hurt. Just a little, but it worried me because it was way too early in a 100-miler for that to happen. So I didn't say anything about it, on the theory that it's not real until you verbally acknowledge it.
For the rest, I did feel good. Stomach troubles hadn't started, the day was warm and blue and sunny and I had nothing to do but run through the woods.
So I did.
Though a lot of runners still trod the trails, this lap was quieter. There was less guffawing and more grunting. By mile 30 and noon, the temps had climbed into the 60s. I wasn't complaining. I like heat.
Ben, Matt, Tony and I had left Kansas in a blizzard, after several days of single-digit temperatures. Hot was ok with all of us.
I ran for a while with Vinnie Swendson, from New Jersey. I met him last June at the Old Dominion Endurance 100, in Woodstock, Va., which was another Gar-DNF, that time at mile 75.
I have actually finished some hundreds, I swear! Just not since 2006.
Vinnie completed the ODE, but not under the 28-hour cutoff. He got a sub-25 at Rocky, though. And I got to call out "Yo, Vinnie!" in my best "Joisey" accent, when I saw him, something I always wanted to do.
The field thinned by afternoon. The first drops had occurred. I ran the rolling ups and downs still fairly easily. Now I was running 18 minutes, walking 2, and it worked well.
Woods were bright and warm. I snapped a few photos here and there. A series of long, winding boardwalks spans several swampy areas about 16 miles into the 20-mile loop course. I tried to get pics of runners traipsing over those.
Quad got stiffer, and I continued to not acknowledge it.
Trotting across the timing mat and into the Lodge aid station to mark 40 down, I knew the dogfight had begun.
"Less chit-chat, more running!"
I was getting a quick pampering from Stacy Amos and Matt before heading out on lap 3, when I heard that familiar voice. I turned to see Beth Simpson-Hall cruising past with a wry grin, heading out on her own third lap.
I'd have taken it as teasing from most, but from Beth it seemed like advice to follow. A Leadville finisher, she turned in a sub-24 at Rocky, good enough for first Female Master.
Her spouse, Larry, took 6th in the 50-mile at this year's Rocky Raccoon. He's a Hardrock and Rocky Mountain Slam finisher, but no wonder, with Beth to pace him!
Matt and Stacy quickly finished me up, and I set out in pursuit.
I was slow at first on my stiffening quads, going out on the rolling ups and downs on the trail paralleling the park's main road, but soon picked up to a nice trot. Beth had vanished, however.
A little less than a mile out, where the trail crosses the park's main road, I missed a turn, and would've gone off course. Fortunately, some hikers hollered to me that I was going the wrong way.
"All your friends are going that way!" they called out. It was a warning to pay attention I should have heeded better.
I quickly backtracked, dashed across the road, and was back on course. I hustled down the twisty trails through scrub oak and pine, and soon found myself behind Vinnie and Beth. They had a good pace going, so I saved my breath for keeping up -- "less chit-chat. . ." as Beth would say -- I'm not sure they even knew I was there.
Soon, nature demanded I get off the trail for a few minutes, a positive sign that I'd been drinking enough in the hot afternoon. Temps had hit 70. I let Vinnie and Beth go while I took care of biz.
Next time I'd see them, I'd be ahead of both -- by mistake.
Back on the trail, I soon arrived at Amy's Crossing. Here, the trail "T's" at a dirt road. It's clearly marked -- hundred-milers go left up the road, and 50-milers go right.
And after I'd already done it correctly twice, guess which way Gar went. Yup. The 50-mile way. I'd accidentally cut the course by about four miles, but didn't know it.
I got into the woods, continuing blithely on until I caught up with another runner named Larry. When the talk turned to how far we'd gone, it quickly became apparent I'd missed the Highway aid station.
You cut the course. I was mortified.
Larry, sensible fellow, suggested I continue on to the Dam Road aid station, which was near, and confess all. Which I did.
At Dam Road, the captain told me I'd made a common mistake. His advice was to continue the loop, check in at the Lodge at mile 60 (it would just be 56 for me), and see what Race Director Joe Prusaitis wanted me to do. Usually, he said, it was only a matter of making up the missed mileage by doing a double out-and-back from Amy's Crossing to the Highway Aid station.
It was nice to hear that I might not be driven from the race in shame and disgrace, but I still felt dirty.
From Dam Road, I headed out to the Farside aid station at the end of a 2.9 mile out-and-back. I drank a little HEED there, and then trotted back to Dam Road. On the way out from Farside, I passed Ben Holmes, who was inbound to Farside. He had been in front of me the entire race, and he was surprised to now see me in front.
"Gary, great job!" he yelled as we passed.
It felt like an arrow in the heart.
"Ben, it's not what it looks like!" I hollered. "I'll tell you later!"
Then I saw Beth, who appeared delighted to see me -- apparently -- doing so well.
"Way to go, Gary!" she called. Phhht! Another arrow.
At Dam Road, I got water, and I got my headlamp from my drop bag -- just a few more hours of light left, and I didn't want to get caught in the dark.
I got back on the road quick. All I wanted to do was finish the loop and get my mistake squared away. So I bustled, and got back to the Lodge before 6 p.m. and darkness.
There, I told RD Joe Prusaitis what happened. As I hoped, he said I could make up the missed out-and-back from lap 3 with a double out-and-back on lap 4. Filled with determination to make it good, I headed for the crew to get set up for the night.
Back with Stacy Amos and Matt, I got resupplied. I wanted heavier shoes for the night run, with good toe-protection, since I expected to be bumping my toes a lot.
Many of the trail sections are rife with roots -- gnarly bulbous things that stick out of the trail like some kind of nightmarish rebar from ruined concrete. It's not so bad during the day, when you can see and are fresh.
But at night, when vision is circumscribed by flashlight and headlamp, and when your stride after more than 60 miles is not so sprightly -- that's when the infamous Rocky Raccoon roots take their toll.
So I sat, and let Matt help me change my Mizuno Wave Ascend 2s for Montrail Hardrocks. That's when the first chills and shivers hit -- a sign I wasn't taking in enough calories. It wasn't the weather -- temps were still in the 60s, despite the sun heading in for the evening.
I put on a warmer shirt. While Matt was helping me back into my hydration pack, another spasm of shivers hit. While they were asking me if I wanted to eat, I asked Stacy for my jacket, which she helped me into.
"Don't worry," I told them. "Once I get moving I'll warm right up."
They weren't worried. They're crew vets and have seen it all before.
I got going, sucked a little Perp and Hammer Gel, and tried to trot a little on legs that felt more and more like 2 x 4s. Moving warmed me up, though, and soon I was moving at a fast walk, even doing a slow run on downhill grades.
It was dark now, and I was by myself. The path was lit by green glow sticks hanging from branches. It was pleasantly spooky. I should've been eating more though, and I wasn't. The stomach was topsy turvy.
I ignored the nausea, completely focused on getting to Amy's Crossing to begin the twin trips to the Highway aid station. When I got to the crossing, I couldn't believe how well it was marked. If I hadn't missed it myself, I would've said it was impossible to miss.
There were signs. There were arrows. There were ribbons.
Eager to get to the Highway aid station, I ran much of the slightly uphill dirt road. I saw a few people with bright headlamps coming from the station. They looked like lights with legs.
Managed to choke down a Hammer Gel.
Soon I was at the aid station, where I checked in and explained how I was going to leave, then come back again. The runner-checker took it all in stride. There was plenty of food at the station, but nothing looked like it would stay down.
I drank a cup of HEED and a cup of Coke, spazzed out with the shivers, and wobbled back down the road into the dark. Got to Amy's Crossing, turned around and headed back to the Highway aid station, where I repeated checking in, drinking HEED and Coke, spazzing out and departing into the dark.
As I walked and trotted down the dark road, the lights of other runners floated past me inbound to the aid station, like luminous spirits -- with legs.
Then I was at Amy's Crossing, finally FREE of the blunder.
Shortly after Amy's, I plunged back into the woods, following more curvy trail and green glow sticks. Eventually, I came out to the road leading to the Dam Road aid station. It was about 10 p.m., 16 hours and 67 miles into the race.
Then, three more miles to the Farside aid station, and three more miles back to Dam Road. I saw Kyle and Tony on the out-and-back. They were on their last lap. From Farside, they only had 10 miles to go. They were still running!I was not. I knew I should eat, but the stomach wasn't having any. Traitor. I gave it an S-cap anyway.
Back at the Dam Road aid station, I drank and shivered, and sat down for minute, back against a tree, outside of the station lamplight, where no one could see. I nodded off for a moment, then woke with a start as the shivers grabbed me. It was a very comfortable tree and I could've stayed there longer, if I wasn't worried about hypothermia. In 60 degrees, no less. Oy!
I got up reluctantly, and toddled down the road toward the trail across the dam, and the 4 miles or so of rooty woods between me and the next aid station. Speed couldn't have been more than two mph.
The sleepies were on me. I dozed while walking, waking as roots tripped me and trees lunged into me. Who knew trees could be so aggressive?
I guess I looked pretty bad. Some runners stopped before passing me to ask if I needed them to take me in. I think they were runners, and not hallucinations.
"No, no," I waved them off. "Do your race, I'm ok," I mumbled, trying to wake up, but not throw up. BONK! "Who put that tree there?" I joked for their benefit, wiping the bark off my jacket, but they were gone.
A few walking, waking dreams later, I was at the series of boardwalks crossing the swamps about a mile before the Site 174 aid station.
This worried me. I didn't want to stagger off the railing-less walkways into the muck a few feet below.
I bit my right hand hard, in the fleshy part between thumb and forefinger. It hurt, and woke me up a little. Weaving more than I liked, I got across the boards. At the end of the last boardwalk, there's a rough wooden bench.
I stretched out on it, shut my eyes for a few blissful seconds -- only to be jolted from the doze by shiver-spasms. I got up and wobbled on.
I tried to figure it out -- I had the shivers because I wasn't eating -- I wasn't eating because I was nauseous. Wasn't moving fast enough because I was sleepy, but couldn't rest because I had the shivers, from not eating. . .
It was connected in a way my groggy mind couldn't quite grasp. One thing was sure. I was fried. I grasped that.
I tottered into the aid station and told the volunteers I was done. I sank into the camp chair, and spazzed out with the shivers, but didn't care. One of the vols, Robert, who I later learned was an inaugural Cactus Rose finisher, kindly gave me a ride back to the crew.
Kyle, Tony and Gabe had already finished, and were drinking beer in the dark with the crew when I wandered up out of the night. They sat me down and fussed while Tony took my chip-timing ankle bracelet back to the start/finish where he gave them the news -- #64 was off the course.
Stacy Amos, Matt and Tiffanie -- I think -- that part is fuzzy -- took me back to the shelter where we were camped, and poured me into my sleeping bag. I was the very definition of "knocked out."
Seemed like I just shut my eyes for a second, and it was dawn.
Looking back, it was all good fun-- even at the last when it sucked. Great course, perfect weather, wonderful volunteers, good friends -- and no doubt, I'll seek an '09 rematch with Rocky Raccoon.
Though I must admit, there at the end, this one felt more like a match with Rocky Balboa!
--Gary Henry, Feb, 2008