So, I have been very
busy lately, and the only thing less frequent than my running work outs has
been my posting on this blog, but I wanted to write about this experience.
Months ago my brother
Jason extended the invitation to enter the Rocky Raccoon 100 mile race with
him. I had previous commitments that would not allow me to participate but
Jason, despite the threats from his loving friends and family to have him
admitted to the psych ward, still signed up for the activity that would
likely confirm our suspicions that he is in fact a danger to himself.
I woke up early on the
morning of the race, procrastinating going into work, and decided to watch the
live video feed from Jason's race. This
was an unbelievable feature that made me converted me instantly to a huge
supporter of this particular race. I cannot explain the hypnotizing power
that it had over me, but I found myself glued to the computer monitor, anxiously
watching for any signs of race activity. After 45 minutes of my
trance-like monitoring of the computer screen, the real excitement began as the
first racers came into view. My fascination with watching then transformed
to a full-blown obsession and I began opening several different Internet pages
to be able to monitor all the different aid stations that were being broadcast.
The longer I watched, vaguely aware that this type of behavior may lead
to a restraining order in some cases, my enthusiasm grew. I was able to
peel myself away just long enough to go to work and take care of my duties,
then I returned to my couch potato-like state.
In a phenomenon
that can only be understood by one who has been infected by the soul-consuming
disease of long distance running, I began to be jealous of the participants of
the race that continued to drag themselves limping, moaning and vomiting mile
after painful mile. I saw Jason come to the aid station and he looked
exactly as one might think for a man who had run almost 40 miles and was still
not halfway finished. He looked tired, discouraged and puzzled as to how
he had convinced himself that this would be fun. With the same good judgment
that had possessed Jason to subject himself to this activity, I came up with a
perfect plan, that despite my objective scrutinizing, had no flaws in it: I would make a spur of the moment 2.5 hour
drive to the race, surprise my fatigued brother, run 20 miles with him until 2
AM, then drive home just in time to get an hour and a half of sleep before dashing
out the door to church meetings (yep, still seems like a flawless plan).
Next thing I know, I’m
making the drive to Huntsville TX to work as a pacer for Jason. I arrived around 6:30 at night, just after
nightfall and right around the time Jason was coming up to about mile 55 or so.
I had had just enough time to find Jason’s wife Mindi, who gave me a quick update.
He had not slept well the night before, today had eaten very little because
everything tasted eerily similar to dog feces, and he had been wearing the same
shirt for the past 12 hours despite that fact that the humidity had caused even
the most idle of spectators to sweat through their clothing. He came jogging
into the aid station, his eyes focused on me and I like to think he confused me
for an angel from on high for a few minutes.
His eyes lit up and the only thing that prevented him from a series of
celebratory backflips was the fact that he had run more than two consecutive marathons
and he was still just over half way done.
I had just arrived and thought I
would still have 30 minutes or so to get ready so I was dressed in a T-shirt
and exercise pants. He informed me that
if I was ready I could start pacing him right then. Desperately wishing I owned some snap off
clothes that would have made the moment much more dramatic, I hurriedly pulled
off the exercise pants to reveal my old basketball shorts. My technical running shirt was safely waiting
for me on my couch at home, so the old T shirt I was in would have to do for
the first little bit. I quickly bent
down to double knot my shoes, counted that as my stretching/warm up, and off we
went. We had about 4 miles before the
next aid station and we spent this time discussing what he would need next time
we stopped. We covered the 4 miles in a
surprisingly fast 40 minutes using a strategy of running for 10 minutes then
walking for 5. As soon as we walked in
to the aid station we started functioning like a pit crew. Mindi pushed supplies into our hands, and
clean shirts, new socks and band aids to cover Jason’s newly forming blisters
were quickly applied. I surveyed the
supply tables and was astounded at the buffet of nourishment available. There was fruit, sandwiches, tortillas, soup,
candy, chips and every beverage known to mankind, including some wine for those
who wanted to partake. I contemplated briefly
telling Jason I would hang out near the food and catch him next time around but
my loyalty overcame my gluttony and we started off again.
There are always high
and low points on any run and we certainly had our fair share of both. There was the stint where we had to stop
every couple of minutes to stretch out cramping muscles. We made the best of it by turning it into a
little game where we tried to make it from one tree to another without having
to crawl. It became considerably more
difficult when the trees began to be spaced out more than 6 feet but we
managed. I think we began setting a
trend because just as we were growing tired of playing, we passed another pair
of runners limping to the nearest tree to stretch out their calves. Then there were the unbearable roots that
seemed to also have been extended the instruction of multiply and replenish the
earth. The trail was covered with roots
that made it so every step had to made with care. When we would let our guard down, or simply
not have the strength to lift our feet the 2 inches required for clearance, we
would stumble. I’m not sure if I can
accurately describe the electric shock of pain that travels from the toes
throughout every extremity of the body, or the excruciating agony that comes
from every exhausted muscle tensing in an attempt to keep from hitting the
ground, but I do think that by the end of the race, the trails were lined with disappointed wolves
searching for the source of the desperate mating calls that had filled the
night.
The miles passed by
steadily as offered encouragement and quick conversation to all those we passed.
As the time neared midnight the trails became noticeably less populated and multiple
times we were passed by pickups full of people who made the dreaded DFN
list. Our pace transitioned to walking
more than running but the fact that we were still passing other racers was a consolation. Our conversations
drifted from inspirational shouts of encouragement, to random memories, to
incoherent babbling to break the silence, to deep intimate insights that can
only be shared by brothers running 100 miles through the middle of the
night. As the hours wore on, my
admiration for my brother grew. He had
been running for 18 hours straight with very little sleep the night before. Occasionally he would reach out and grab my
shoulder for support. His eyes would
close for a few precious moments and as I navigated both of us through the
course I was filled with a pride that I was somehow helping my brother achieve
the near impossible.
Somehow, the time seemed
to fly by and before I knew it, we were finishing a 20 mile loop. It was nearly 2:30 AM and I knew I couldn’t
stay any longer if I wanted any chance of making it to my meetings that started
in 5 short hours. I hugged Jason and told him how impressed I was and watched
as he disappeared into the night. I was
awestruck for a few moments. My brother
was almost 80 miles in and still going.
He was going to finish 100 miles.
I have read that being a
pacer for an ultra is a terrible job. It
is very difficult to find someone to run through the late hours of the night,
be on the receiving end of substantial verbal abuse, and have to put their own
discomfort on the backburner while they ensure their runner has everything they
need, all the while knowing they don’t get so much as a participators T-shirt
for their efforts. What you don’t hear
as much about is the unspoken gratitude, the sense of fulfillment for selflessly
supporting a loved one accomplish an almost unattainable goal, or the bond that
will always be cherished. I would do it
all again in a heartbeat.
