Pacing the Beast

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.