It's been four weeks since I finished Vol State, and I am still processing it. Just maybe, I've figured out how to add the one missing piece to my racing, moving me up to a new level. Or maybe this was a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence. All I know is, I consciously took a step back from the ego-oriented goals this time, aiming to focus more on the experience than the result, and as a consequence I unlocked what was far and away my best performance ever. Running without a crew ("screwed"), I topped the old screwed record by 10 hours, and the overall (crewed) record by 3 hours. I can still hardly believe it.
As usual, there's a lot more here than many will want to read. I try to write as much as I can remember, for my own later reference. This time I'd have preferred to emphasize the really important things about the race, but I have spent long enough now writing and editing; it is what it is. A lot is mundane, but may still be valuable to those looking to run Vol State, or who are just curious about the entire experience, and not only the highlights.
If you want to skip to the "good parts", scroll down to the evening of Day Three. Alternatively, my interview on The Adventure Jogger podcast really captured the meat of the experience in a way I'm very happy with, with little fluff. I dive into different aspects of the race in my podcasts on The Pain Cave (joint discussion with Bev Anderson-Abbs) and Chasing Tomorrow, and talk more about my other running experiences that led up to this on Inked Up Runner (video).
One more comment about my blog: I am several races behind. I've learned a lot in the past couple of years that I haven't yet found ways to clearly articulate, to my chagrin. It's a bit late now for individual reports, but I may perhaps try to summarize what I've learned in one post covering all the missed races. But mostly, what I have learned has moved me more and more towards understanding how incredibly important the mind is in ultrarunning, to a degree I would not have suspected before. This race bears out that view in spades.
Background
I ran Vol State last year in 3 days 12 hours, the 4th fastest time ever on this course — but not enough to win. I chased Francesca Muccini the whole way. She destroyed her own women's course record, running 3:10:49:40, earning her second King of the Road title. It was the most incredible multiday performance I've ever witnessed. I learned a lot from that experience. I felt prepared to come back this year and challenge the overall course record, Greg Armstrong's 3 days 7 hours. But as race day approached, things changed. Greg was in the race, but withdrew. I'd been looking forward to racing him, to us pushing each other to peak performances. I began to consider the idea of running screwed instead, focusing on the journey and the experience instead of the record and my ego.
Really this stemmed from my post-race experience last year. Something about the effort left me in a state of extreme mindfulness and genuineness. For more on this see "Takeaway" in last year's report. But suffice to say, I got a lot more out of the race than just a place or a time, something enormously valuable and completely unexpected. And the possibility of unlocking a similar state this year was more motivating to me than shooting for records.
Having decided to run screwed, habits took over, and I put a lot of effort into preparing to do it right. There are no official aid stations on the course; running screwed means you are entirely self-sufficient. There are, however, "road angels" — locals who know about the race and set out coolers, or sometimes have more elaborate setups. But often the road angels are not out yet for the race leaders.
I hemmed and hawed over which pack to use. I did lots of runs in the one I selected, the Nathan VaporAir 2.0 7L, stuffed the way I imagined I'd stuff it for the race. I ruthlessly shaved an ounce here and an ounce there. How about sunglasses? Normally I have to switch from my prescription sunglasses to my regular glasses at sunset, and back at sunrise. Carrying an extra pair of glasses was a bit of a pain, and took up valuable space and weight. So I got a new pair of glasses, with transitions lenses. One less thing to carry. That was typical of my mindset. As race day approached I had a pretty lean pack going, but was still undecided about some things. Poncho (1.5 oz) or lightweight rain jacket (3 oz)? Emergency blanket, yes or no? 2L bladder, yes or no? Nighttime lighting: is a headlamp and one blinky for the back sufficient?
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| 3.0 pounds |
Most importantly, I was undecided on shoes! At the last minute, I decided to go with the tried-and-true Beacon v1 (my last pair), though I knew there would be pain (last year it was not pretty). For a bit more cushioning, I added an extra layer of insoles from another pair. I glued in the first insoles with RunGoo, and taped in the second pair with double-sided tape, so I could remove them if I wanted to. All of these uncertain decisions, I'm happy to say, went the right way. In fact, the doubled insoles might even have helped with drainage in the rain, an unexpected bonus.
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| The Miata (NB Beacon v1) or the Mack Truck (NB More v3)? |
One aspect of prep that worked out well this year was spending time in Tennessee before the race. I had a family reunion two weeks prior in eastern Tennessee, then just stayed with my parents in Nashville, hitting the sauna every day. I'm sure that helped a lot. Last year, I'd jumped in cold, with no heat training.
Imagine my surprise when Greg re-entered the race, about a week out! I had been thinking I was the favorite, even running screwed, and that maybe I could manage both the full screwed, self-reliant experience and the King of the Road. But now I would probably have to work a lot harder for that. Greg was running screwed as well, at least. He was now the clear favorite, but we would have a race. Also at the last minute, Bev Anderson-Abbs entered, also screwed, fresh off a DNF at HOTS with a knee injury. That seemed to have been dealt with. Bev and her husband Alan would also be definite competition, but neither had run under four days here before, and I felt reasonably confident that I could, even screwed (this reasoning got me into hot water last year, though, with Francesca!).
Being a screwed runner meant that I rode the bus from the finish to the start on Wednesday, the day before the race. We see the entire course, backwards. Normally, John Price (14-time finisher, and author of the guide book many use) calls out important landmarks, with bits of race history, and comments on especially relevant convenience stores or hotels, and stretches that are likely to be dry. I made a point to sit next to him, to learn as much as I could. Yes I already knew the course well, but only from the crewed side.
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| Laz and Carl at the "last supper" (China buffet, again) |
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| My auspicious fortune |
Last year, I had a detailed plan in a spreadsheet. This year I tweaked the spreadsheet, but it represented less of a fixed plan. Initially I think it was set up for 3d 14h (Greg's screwed record); if I felt like it, I could update elapsed time at a given location during the race for an updated projection (I never did). With Greg in the race, I wasn't sure what my goal was. Also it looked like it might be cooler than I'd expected. I might have to try to take advantage of that, because Greg would. What was he shooting for? 3d 14h? 3d 7h? Sub-3? Likely on the faster end. He looked lean and fit. As you can tell, I wasn't completely succeeding in putting ego aside and focusing on the experience. As it turned out, the ego component was useful (we would be inert lumps without it) — I just found a much better balance, putting the ego in the back seat, but still listening to it here and there.
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| Click to zoom in. This is the most accurate LAVS elevation profile you will find, calibrated to match the official course GPX. |
Day One
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| The appropriate watch face for LAVS |
It's 7:30 Thursday morning. We're standing on the Missouri side of the Mississippi river, in Dorena Landing. Laz lights his cigarette, and we pile onto the ferry back to Hickman, Kentucky (where we just came from). The race has officially started. But for the first mile and a half, and roughly 19 minutes, we're still milling around socializing, stretching, making one last portapotty stop, as the ferry slowly makes its way back.
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| The Burning Man 50K / LAVS club: Steve Landis, Bob Hearn, BJ Timoner, and the infamous Ray Krolewicz |
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| With King Greg (pic by Jameelah Abdul-Rahim Mujaahid) |
The ferry docks, and we are off! Greg takes off in the lead, a small pack sticking with him but unwilling to pass. I was at the trailing end of this pack, and gradually fell farther behind, as I took frequent walk breaks. Ahead of me, I think, were Greg, Becca Joyner, Daniel and Ariela Flory, Andy Pearson, Kimberly Durst, and the Abbses.
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| Early leaders. Greg is in front, shirtless. |
It seemed a little cooler than last year's start, so I was moving faster and not too worried about it. Last year, I'd planned to average 4.5 mph (13:20 / mile) for most of the stretches, but it had been all I could do to go as slow as 5 mph (12:00 / mile) to start. This year, when I was fresh, an easy run / walk was much faster. For most of the race, I had an idea of about what pace I wanted to move at; I'd run more if I was slow, walk more if I was fast. But I was just running comfortably to start.
The 17 miles into Union City passed reasonably quickly. I stopped there at Marathon Gas and refilled my bottles with water and Coke. I looked to replace the PayDay bar I'd finished along the way — the perfect race candy bar; it doesn't melt — but I couldn't find one, and settled for a Zero. Time cost, 4.5 minutes. I'd had no idea, when planning, what the cost of an average stop would be. To be conservative, I'd estimated 15 minutes. But 3-4 minutes to buy fluids and food turned out to be typical, with another minute or two to transfer the fluids to my vest bottles and shuffle any remainder into the back. If I got ice, it was slower: ice fit into the bottles, but just barely; I had to feed the cubes in one by one. Still, I think I went with the right bottles, soft flasks. In the past, larger-diameter, hard-sided bottles had bruised my ribs.
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| At the stinky bridge (pic by Laz or Carl) |
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| Approaching Dresden. This pic was by someone from the Farmer's Market, which, alas, I missed! |
It was a hot trip to Gleason, but the water got me there, shortly behind Andy. The thermometer showed 90 — cooler than last year, but hotter than forecast this year. And I think it was more humid this year, very humid the whole race. I was now more than ready for my break. The Gleason Fire Department was converted into a fully stocked road angel station. Andy was relaxed with his feet up. Really, this was THE perfect place for my break. Not for the last time, what had seemed like a setback (missing the farmer's market) worked out for the best. I chugged a Dr. Pepper, geared down, selected a thick air mattress, and positioned my head in front of a fan. As I was about to put on my eye mask, Angie James, who was tending the station, asked if I needed to recharge anything. "Well, the problem is I need my phone for an alarm." "No problem — here's an extension cord!" I mean really. They had showers and bathrooms too. It doesn't get any better. As I napped, and especially as I tried to rotate to get my head out of the breeze once I'd cooled off, everything began to cramp. Legs, gut. Turning around was quite slow and challenging.
After an hour nap, I was up and getting ready to go, feeling much better. The taping job I'd done on my feet before the race had already come off when I'd removed my shoes and socks. I guess I need more practice! I didn't try to reapply it. It was awkward enough when I could contort my legs without cramping. Later that evening I'd regret doing nothing here, though. I wolfed a slice of pizza, and grabbed another one for the road, and a few mini PayDays, tossing the unopened and now-melted Zero bar. As I got ready to depart, I saw that the sign-in list now had several more names on it. A lot of people had come and gone while I'd napped. Alan Abbs was still here, not looking too thrilled with life, but Bev had left him behind and moved on.
Back on the road, I was feeling good. I think my stop here was good strategy. Yes, I'd gotten a little overcooked, but I'd planned an afternoon break in the heat anyway. Now my body was back in the green, plus I'd gotten in a nice nap heading into the evening. Most people had taken a shorter break and pushed through. Everyone was feeling it by now to some extent, so I think I had an advantage. (Later, at the finish, Bev would tell me that when she saw me in Gleason, she thought I might be done!)
As the sun lowered, I geared down for the evening. I put away the hat, pulled out the headlamp, and took off the white long-sleeve wicking compression shirt. It hadn't worked too well during the day. Ideally it would be stuffed with ice, or at least kept wet. But without a crew, ice was a rare luxury, and keeping it wet took lots of water that I could have been drinking. And that didn't help that much anyway, with the high humidity. I replaced it with a very light shirt cut down to the profile of my pack, to prevent chafing. Last year I'd discovered that running with as much exposed skin as possible was best for nighttime.
At the 7:30 evening check-in, I was at 55 miles. Greg and Andy were at 58, with Bev and Becca at 56-57, and the Florys also at 55. A pretty tight lead pack. In McKenzie, mile 56, I passed the Florys at their crew van, then caught up to Bev as we stopped at the same Shell station to resupply on the way out of town. (The road angel we'd both looked for by City Hall wasn't set up yet.) She left first as I shuffled fluids. When I caught up to her again, we were just turning south onto Highway 22, where we'd be most of the night. It was just open, 4-lane highway now for quite a while. Gradually it darkened, and I turned on the headlamp, to join the fireflies winking on and off. A loud chorus of frogs and cicadas completed the scene. The frogs were startling at first, them I remembered them from last year. A strange "...oh..." like someone was right behind you.
On the way to Huntingdon, for maybe the first time it occurred to me how really important it is, as a screwed runner, to mind your Ps and Qs. Most vitally, as regards water! As I looked ahead to what might be open in the next couple of towns, I realized that the answer was: nothing. I did have a list, however, of all the road angel stations people had mentioned setting up in the Facebook group. The next was 6 miles out of McKenzie, at mile 62. Supposed to be marked with glow sticks. But I saw nothing there. Maybe it was on the other side of the highway? Becca was running over there, just ahead of me (but would not need it, as she was crewed). More likely, as would become the pattern for the rest of the race, I was too early. Anyway, I was running low by the time I pulled into Huntingdon, mile 67... to see Greg lying on his back on a sidewalk. I stopped to ask how he was doing. The day had not gone to expectations for him. I lamented that there was no water... he pointed out a cooler right behind us! Saved again. He had also looked for the mile 62 cooler and not found it.
Somewhere between Huntingdon and Clarksburg, it began to rain. And rain. I pulled out my poncho. Oops — I had done nothing for my feet after the tape came off. I made a careful effort to avoid puddles. The skies lit up, and before long there was continuous lightning in every direction, sheet lightning and forks. It was a fabulous light show. Sometimes the forks would follow a crazy path halfway around the sky! I was a little uneasy, but none of the strikes seemed to be close by; the thunder always lagged by several seconds. Still, if it did reach the point where I felt I needed to take shelter, the opportunities would be few and far between. Probably most people took preemptive shelter. I saw one runner, or at least someone with a headlamp, huddled under a church as I passed. I guessed it was Andy, as I think only he and Becca were ahead at that point, and she presumably would have been sheltering in her crew van. I took this opportunity to call my wife, Liz, and describe the amazing scene. The storm went on for a couple of hours, for a while with quite strong wind, then gradually faded away.
I had a note that there would be a cooler with water and snacks halfway between Huntingdon and Clarksburg, under a shade tree. That wasn't too specific, especially in the dark, so I wasn't too hopeful. But there it was, well lit. I kept the stop short, under a minute, not bothering to refill everything. I just quickly drank a bottle of water and grabbed a couple of granola bars. That was foolish, as I was low again coming into Clarksburg, mile 76. Again, everything was closed, so I decided to try my luck with vending machines. I wasted several minutes at three successive vending machines, none of which worked. Argh! I had declined to carry any change, because of the weight, but these machines took cards and bills. One perhaps was empty, and I think the bill readers didn't work on the others because my bills were damp from the rain. They were dry in the Ziploc, but I got them wet just handling them. Oh well... on to Parker's Crossroads. Somewhere in here, I took a NoDoz.
I pulled into the Shell station at the crossroads, mile 82, at about 1 am, and reloaded with plenty of water and Gatorade. Then back on the road, moving well. It was another 10 miles to Lexington, and as the night wore on I began to get tired. Last year, I'd needed several breaks the first and second nights. I found a bench in front of a convenience store, wiped off the rain, pulled out my eye mask and earplugs, and set a timer for half an hour. It was maybe not exactly sleep, but something in that direction. I felt somewhat refreshed at the end, anyway. On to Lexington, refilling at the Little General right at the turn east onto Highway 412. This is about where my 24-hour check-in was last year, at 7:30 am. This year, I was 3 1/2 hours ahead of that pace, feeling good! This was very promising.
But the night was not over. In spite of my nap, I was very tired, and wanted to sleep. I knew that I just had to last until the first hint of dawn, and then I'd be magically invigorated. So I started shouting, yelling, singing, anything I could think of to get me through the next hour or so. I yelled some loving-kindness meditations. It was a strange mixture of energy and exhaustion. But about 5 am I could see a little light on the horizon, and boom, my brain was back in daytime mode.
My Garmin record says I only stopped in Parsons, mile 107, for 2 minutes. I must have refilled my water somehow, but I don't have a clear memory; that seems really quick. Half an hour later, it was time for check-in: I was at 109 miles. Wow, 17 miles farther than last year! And I felt great. How many people had passed me while I'd napped? The highway had clear views far ahead and behind, and I'd seen no one. Hmm. Well, now it was time to find out. The tracking sheet updated, and... the Florys were well back in second place, mile 97. Bev and Becca were at 92, Greg at 87, and Andy at 84. It wasn't over by a long shot, but this was not how I'd expected the race with Greg to go. I was now in the driver's seat. If I had no disasters, I now felt pretty confident at least of the win; I could begin to look at that screwed record.
Day Two
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| Pic by Carl Laniak |
Next up, Linden, mile 125, but there was a big hill to climb on the way. As I was hiking up it, Laz and Carl drove by, took some pics, and cheered me on. "You are blowing it out of the water, man!" Thanks guys; a positive mindset is always a plus. Finally I made it to Linden, about 11 am, tired and hungry, and checked in to the Commodore. It's a cool little boutique hotel. It would be nice to go back and spend a little longer there sometime. I ordered the special from the adjoining café, mac & cheese with hot dogs, and asked them to deliver it to my room. It arrived just as I'd geared down, showered, and was getting into bed, perfect. I'd first plugged in electronics and washed my clothes in the sink, and hung them to "dry" (not likely). Alarm set, earplugs in, eye mask on, zonk. Two hours of pretty decent "sleep". I woke a couple minutes before my alarm, and started gearing up. Toe blisters drained, check. Otherwise my feet looked pretty good! But now I was careful to slather them all over, not just the toes, with Squirrel's Nut Butter. I put on my second pair of shorts and socks, and safety-pinned the first pair, still damp, to my pack. I tossed the long-sleeve in the trash. It was a nice shirt, but it wasn't working, and I'd rather not carry it another 189 miles. Check-in to check-out, just under 3 hours, as planned. Great! On the way out of town I hit the Shell station and reloaded with fluids. It was another 3 miles to Sanders Market (I didn't stop) and the beginning of the long, gradual climb to Hohenwald. Laz calls this "16-mile hill", but I've carefully plotted the elevation data, and I call it 11 (actually, it's very similar to the big climb before Linden, but nobody talks about that). 500 feet over 11 miles is no big deal, but it does get a bit old. It's a pretty constant low grade until it gets steeper in the last couple of miles. As I started the slow climb, the skies opened up again. So much for drying my clothes! I put them back in the pack in a Ziploc, and pulled out the poncho again. This was great! Not as intense as last night, but enough cooling for very comfortable running. But gradually the rain died down, and then gradually the sun came out. And gradually I began to feel something in my right lateral hamstrings. And gradually it worked its way into my knee and glutes. Walking more didn't seem to help much. This was frustrating, but as Hohenwald approached, I began to look at the math for where I might be at the next check-in. If I could keep a decent pace, It looked like I might manage 41 miles, for 150 total, even with a stop for food. Now, I began to look ahead and get really excited. First, I thought 150 would be a bit of an exclamation point for those watching. But I also figured I could probably manage another 50+ during the second night; there was a lot of fast road past Hohenwald, and hopefully I could keep the breaks to another half hour or so. That would put me in Lewisburg, mile 201, by morning. Last year I had left Lewisburg just before the 2.5-day check-in! Theoretically, then, I could finish up to 12 hours faster than last year. Except that (1) I'd plan to then stop for 3 hours in Lewisburg, and (2) the last 24 hours last year were VERY fast, due to powering through thunderstorms, and giving all I had to try to catch Francesca. I didn't expect I could match that this year. Still, that suggested to me for the first time that there was a serious chance at the overall course record, 3 days 7 hours, running screwed. So... I got a bit greedy. I pushed maybe just a bit harder than I should have through Hohenwald, mile 144 (stopping at Subway to grab a sandwich for the road). I called Liz, told her how I was doing. She said, "Bob, don't be greedy! You're there to win! Forget about these records". Yeah. Well, I hit my 150 at 36 hours. Even with the three-hour break, I'd gained another mile on the Florys, and Greg had now sadly dropped. One of the great things about following a Lazarus Lake race online is Laz's periodic updates. They are sheer poetry. For Vol State, they came every 12 hours, some time after check-in. I wasn't taking the time to read them during the race, but Liz would read some to me. This bit made me laugh out loud:
sometimes the strategy is different than you expect.here is a strategy that works really well if you can execute it:just blow everyone’s doors off!
From Hohenwald to Hampshire there's a big descent, a big climb, and another big descent. The descents are steep enough to where I really felt like I ought to run the whole way with no walk breaks, otherwise I'd just be wasting fast road. So I did... and my quads got pretty tired. Approaching Hampshire, things no longer felt so rosy. For one, I had neglected to stop at the Natchez Trace campground for water. It looked to be too far off the course, and not obvious where to get water anyway. I'd loaded up in Hohenwald, but not enough to get me the 29 miles to my next opportunity in Columbia. I was counting on the normal road angel spot being available in Hampshire. It wasn't guaranteed they would be there at all, let alone for the leaders. But more importantly, my quads now felt shot. I don't remember feeling that way here last year. I realized that as the race approached, I'd somewhat neglected my eccentric quad exercises. Oops. Now, my hubris had caught up with me. Why had I gotten greedy? My whole plan had been to put ego aside and just experience running the race screwed, stay in control, and see what happened.
Fortunately, there was a cooler in front of Mack's Market in Hampshire (mile 162). And neighbors with snacks. It's not wise to rely on road angels, so I got away with something here. However, I'd also been told I could probably get water from a hose at the church (which I'd have to find), so I did have a bit of a backup plan.
But coming out of Hampshire, my quads felt well and truly done. I couldn't run at all. So I walked, and walked, and tried to figure out what I could do. Nap somewhere by the side of the road? I was tempted, but didn't see any likely spots. Walk to Columbia and get a hotel there for a couple hours? Take some Advil and mask the pain? That didn't seem like a promising idea, with nearly half the race still to go. But in the end, that's what I did. Slowly, I was able to run again. I'd long since given up any hope of hitting 200 miles by 48 hours. I'd just do what I could do.
Finally, around 2 am, I pulled into Columbia, mile 178, and restocked at a very sketchy convenience store. I figured there was no guarantee of any resupply until Lewisburg, another 22 miles, so I stocked up. And realized a mile down the road that I'd left a liter bottle of water sitting on the ground, after shuffling fluids. Ugh.
Leaving Columbia, it was late, and away from the city lights, very dark. There was a new moon, so zero moonlight this year. The next 10 miles or so were the roughest part of the night. Again, it was time for singing, yelling, slapping myself, anything to stay awake until dawn. The silliest was perhaps singing "Cuuuuullleoka, Cullee-culleoka, Cuuuuullleoka, Cullee-cullee Coo", to the tune of "Alouette" (or, as Liz knows it better, "Little Bunny Foo Foo"). For some reason it didn't occur to me to take a nap for this second night, or maybe I was just intent on pushing through after losing so much time walking. But I passed on opportunities to nap at the Bench of Despair, mile 184, or the Nutt house, mile 187. The Nutt house is the most elaborate and anticipated road angel station on the course. I wasn't sure they would be set up yet this year — the Nutts were out of town for a few days, and had left it in neighbors' hands. So I was pleasantly surprised to see the tents, chairs, etc., as I arrived. I signed the logbook, opened a bin full of supplies, and replaced my headlamp batteries. Then I opened the cooler — empty! Ah well. I was a little low but not desperate.
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| The infamous Bench of Despair |
Day Three
Finally I get to Wheel — no market. It's another 2.4 miles before I get to the Pit Stop Market. I stocked up, sat down outside to shuffle fluids. The proprietor sat down next to me to smoke a cigarette (ugh) and chat. I was hoping we would get some rain back. She told me bad weather was coming this evening. Great! No, not great — 80 mph winds, and hail. Well, hmm. Yeah, that would not be great. I was now on a mission; I had that overall course record in my sights. Having to take shelter would suck. Well, we'd see what happened. I wasn't seeing anything about weather like that in the WhatsApp group chat the runners were using, but then they were all well behind, and the weather this year seemed to be very localized. Wheel to Shelbyville was a real low point for me, when I most missed having a crew to restock me with ice every mile or two. The sun was directly overhead, and very hot. It felt like I was moving at a snail's pace. I'd be shocked to look at my Garmin and see I'd moved less than a mile in the eternity since the last time I'd looked. Looking back at the split data, I'm very surprised to see that I averaged a pretty typical 12:21 / mile pace over this stretch. But those were not pleasant miles. Like pushing through the night with no breaks and sleep tugging at you. Sometimes the experience is just not fun. But by staying in the moment, just handling the not-fun part now, the task eventually takes care of itself. But when I finally pulled into Shelbyville (mile 223), a little after noon, I was more than ready for that hotel. There was no conceivable way I was going to try to push through this heat all afternoon. I checked into the Magnolia Inn with some relief, in spite of the unsavory reputation it has in LAVS lore. Fortunately, they gave me a non-smoking room immediately. It had a shower and a bed, and was maybe not the greatest, but was reasonably clean. OK then! After gearing down, it was time for my 2-hour nap. As had happened on my third-day nap last year, the state I entered into was not exactly normal sleep. It was some sort-of restful non-ordinary state of consciousness, filled mostly with elaborations on the rumors I'd heard about the Magnolia. I'll omit the details. But when I "woke", I felt ready to go. I was a bit unhappy to see that it was still clear and sunny out. But at least the sun was lower in the sky, now at my back, and evening would arrive in a few hours. I restocked at the Exxon leaving town, being sure to get extra water, and headed off towards Wartrace. I was excited again, and felt I'd made it through a rough patch relatively unscathed. Once more, what had seemed like a disaster, the hotel in Lewisburg being full, had worked out for the best. Had I stopped there, I'd have had a much longer continuous stretch through the heat of the day. So probably, in my enthusiastic state, I worked a bit too hard over this next 10 miles. It was still hot, yet I averaged faster than 12-minute pace. In Wartrace ("the cradle of the Tennessee Walking Horse"), I stopped at Marathon Gas. I hadn't touched my extra bottle; as it turned out, I'd carry it without touching it for many more miles. Well, better too much than too little. On the way out I grabbed a corn dog and some roasted potatoes. I wolfed the corn dog quickly as I walked away, but the potatoes lasted forever. One little piece would go down very slowly, I think because I had no saliva for it. Leaving Wartrace, there's a message painted on the road: "Bad dogs next 40 miles". OK then. Actually this stretch of road is quite pleasant this time of day. Last year, it had been the middle of the night, and I was hallucinating. But neither year did I have any dog trouble. Oh, and no 80-mph winds or hail. In fact, sadly, there was no more rain for the rest of the race for me, apart from a light drizzle a couple of times. There is a 400-foot climb here over 4 miles, but it's not too steep until the end. After that it's a long, gradual downhill for about 12 miles into Manchester. I was loving life through here, enjoying the evening and the beautiful countryside, feeling good. When 7:30 pm rolled around, I'd run 42 miles, and was at 243. 40 miles ahead of where I was last year at 60 hours! I couldn't quite believe things were going this well. But then I still had the third night to get through, and the two big climbs. Soon, I saw some people by the side of the road calling my name — did I know them?? No, but they knew I was coming. It was the Whispering Oaks Campground, a favorite road angel station. I'd arrived before realizing it was close. I gladly accepted a bottle of water, chugged it, tossed it back, and kept moving. Approaching Manchester, I gave Liz a call. We were deep in discussion when I realized I'd missed a turn in the middle of Manchester. OK, back on course, no problem. Then I turned too soon... it was too hard to navigate while talking, so I told Liz I'd call her back once I was out of Manchester. The problem was, I was going by the map on my Fenix, and I was now a bit off course. I had been paying so little attention that when I got back on course, I wasn't sure which direction was forward and which was backward. Now I realize that this was because both ways connected back to Highway 41; I was just on the short detour to hit the county courthouse. Embarrassingly, I lost about 6 minutes here before I was convinced I was in fact going the right way. Leaving Manchester, at mile 251, I restocked at a Gulf station. Back onto the Hillsboro Highway, with nothing to distract me, I called Liz back. Had I adequately restocked? Yes, plenty of fluid. I think. I'm not sure how long it will have to last me, but hopefully there will be something in Monteagle or Tracy City (nope). How about food? Oh, I still have some potatoes left, and I think one more mini PayDay. What? That's all??? What about FOOD? Well, I'd already had "dinner" in Wartrace. I felt fine. Liz was not pleased. As I headed into the third night, in a way this is where the race really began for me. My body and mind were now quite softened up from the sustained effort. I'd pushed through two nights with little to no rest. Could I do it one last time? The highway was long, straight, empty, and monotonous — it was not long before the rumble strip began to take on interesting colors and patterns. It took a real effort not to get lost in that. To avoid spacing out and weaving into traffic, I talked to Liz some more. An eternity later, the big climb up to Monteagle approached. I pulled out the big guns, a 5-Hour Energy. Boom, I was fully alert within a minute. I thought that was necessary for this steep, narrow, twisty road with lots of switchbacks and little shoulder. Alert I may have been... but this is also where the most intense non-ordinary states of consciousness began. The Monteagle climb was the emotional and spiritual crux of my journey this year. The sheer effort, feeling 100% present and alive, opened me up, as wave after wave of insights washed over me, and I felt an enormous connection to the environment, the landscape and countryside around me, and all the people in or associated with the race. I won't try to express all of the feelings here. But the strongest was the raw, visceral sense that being here now, DOING, was what it was all about. The goals, the records, the ego, were totally beside the point. They served a purpose, but that purpose was to get me here now so that I could DO. The climb was hard, after 270 miles, but step by step I made it. At the top, I could relax and start running again. But I was quickly disconcerted that I got nowhere near 5 hours of energy. I was fading again, and had to call Liz one more time, though it was now very late even in California. I really, really wanted a nap. But I realized that all I had to do was just push through until dawn, and I would have a very special race under my belt, the biggest accomplishment of my running career. A half-hour nap would have no guarantee of rejuvenating me, and would mean I'd then have to work harder. Eventually I decided on a 5-minute nap. That would not cost me much, and might help a bit. I remembered how much a 1-minute nap had helped Courtney at Moab 240! So I sat on a bench and set my phone for 5 minutes. It helped some, I think. In Monteagle, everything was closed. I found a vending machine — of course, it didn't work. So I pushed on to Tracy City, another 6 miles. Another non-functional vending machine. This was beginning to annoy me. It was a long way to Jasper, and my next opportunity for water or food. I was anticipating returning to full alertness with the dawn, and then pushing on to the finish. Dawn came, but it was not quite so straightforward this time. I was still connected to the space I'd been in on the climb to Monteagle — in fact, I was consciously trying to hold onto those insights. I was in a different kind of reality, with its own cohesion, not so simply put aside. My sense of self was expanded; I was ceasing to fully identify with my physical body. I now understood better the mental state I'd been in last year, on waking from my nap in Lewisburg. As my crew worked on my feet, I'd said "This 'race' thing... I have a body, and I have to move that body along a particular trajectory? And bodies need food and water... OK..." It sounds like simple confusion, just not being fully awake, but even after the race last year I'd realized it was more than that. Now, it was clearer. My sense of self had been expanded. I was connected to a bigger picture of reality, of the race. On a certain level, I knew that the one thing that mattered was where my body was along the course at a particular time. On another level, that seemed like a very strange, arbitrary variable to pick out as relevant; Vol State was so much more than that. I wanted to tell Laz that I didn't get the connection between "self" and "race". But OK. I slowly worked out from first principles the relationship between where I was on the course at a certain time, odd as that seemed, and the fields I had displayed on my Garmin. I knew what I had to do, not by common sense, or intuition, but only by a careful string of logic and reason. I hoped I hadn't made a mistake. This, I believe, really captures the entirety of what this race was about for me. Walking the fine line. In the obvious sense of maintaining awareness of what was sustainable for my body and mind, not pushing too hard, not failing to give enough. But more than that: my insights and expanded sense of self were not only part of what I was seeking with this journey; they also gave me strength, and kept me from feeling the immense burden of 314 miles on a tiny, insignificant, solitary self, lost in the vast wilderness. Because I was now so much more than that. But I also had to retain enough hold on that self to function, to continue to run and stay on course and on pace. It was a delicate balance. At one point, as I was lamenting how far I still had to go for more food and water, my brain slowly parsed the object that I was looking at by the side of the road: a sign that read "Vol State runners". With a tarp and a cooler behind it. It was exactly what I needed! As it turns out, this road angel setup would later save Bev as well, and more runners, I believe. I restocked on fluid, and eagerly chowed down on some jerky and chips. It was another 5 miles before the big descent into Jasper began. I hung on, walking the fine line, to get there. Again I slowly parsed the object hanging in my visual field: it resolved into the Mountain Mart sign. That means I'm at the top of the descent. Click! I'm connected to the world again, engaged with pretty ordinary reality, modulo fatigue and excitement. And I realized I still had half an hour before morning check-in. That meant I would get more than the 50 miles I'd been shooting for. The record now seemed like a done deal.
I cranked down the hill (not quite as fast as last year: looks like 8:52 pace over the initial, steepest 3.7 miles). At 7:30 I was at 295 miles, so 52 through the night. 19 to go. The math was now clear: I could come in under 3 days 5 hours even walking; 3 days 4 hours would be unlikely mostly running, with the climb up Sand Mountain still to come. At least a two-hour overall course record, without crew. I could hardly believe it.
Day Four
Coming into Jasper early Sunday morning, I looked for road angel Steve Smalling's house on the left, but was unsurprised to see nothing set up yet: I was now 7 miles ahead of the crewed record split, and many hours ahead of the screwed record split. And after all, only screwed runners need road angels. I pulled into the Exxon at mile 297 and restocked. Donuts for breakfast! Somehow I was in and out in 2 minutes.As I ran past the Super 8 in Kimball, mile 300.5, Laz and Carl were out front watching, recording and cheering me on. I was grinning ear-to-ear. This was now my victory lap. Mile 303: Blue Bridge! Time for my only selfie, and the call to Carl to tell them where I am (unnecessary in this case). Crossing the bridge, I drink the last of my water, but I don't care. I'm almost done! Uh... yeah. I push on through New Hope (or as Laz calls it, No Hope). This seems a lot longer than it was last year. I'm almost done, right? I just need to get to the finish, secure my time, and claim my thrown and my glory. (It's called the "thrown" because after 80-odd filthy and stinking runners have sat in it, it's thrown away. But I would be the first filthy and stinking runner this year, so my thrown would be clean!) I pass the last opportunity for restocking, a Dollar General, at mile 305, without really registering it. I knew there was one towards the end, but wasn't clicking that this was it or that I needed it. I was still amped-up and pushing. At mile 308, Laz is waiting at the turn up the final, big climb. Another 1,000 feet in 3 miles. He says he'll see me at the finish. OK, let's do this! Last year I walked the hill at 15-minute pace; I try to do the same. It seems a bit harder. Gradually, I realize that I'm thirsty. Also the sun is coming out, and it's warming up. I'd better get this done before it's too hot. Then, I'm very thirsty. Why had I not restocked?? I begin eyeing all the bottles lying by the side of the road. Is there anything drinkable left in any of them? Or are they all, as Ryan Ploeckelman would presume on my podcast on The Adventure Jogger, trucker urine? Yeah, that doesn't look like the right color for Dr. Pepper. The climb is interminable this year. I am getting more and more tired, hot, and desperate for anything to drink. I pass into Alabama, yay! But the climb goes on. Much later, the climb is done, and I make the turn onto Castle Rock road. Last year I ran hard from here to the finish, in 27 minutes. That was not going to happen this year. I was now looking contemplatively at the tiny bits of water left from the rain in the rumble-strip depressions. The road from here is rough and rolling. This section is called the "meat grinder": your feet are toast long before you get here, and it's adding insult to injury. At this point, I was getting quite angry with Laz. Why would he do this to me? Didn't he know I was out of water? What was he going to do if I just collapsed by the side of the road? How long until someone found me? But I pushed on. I'd been tracking my Garmin's idea of when I would finish. It had gone from 12:10, in Kimball, to as early as 11:38. It never quite got to where it looked like I could push it below 11:30, the 3-days-4-hours mark. Now it was creeping back up. On and on. Into Georgia, and Castle Rock Ranch. A sign by the side of the road declared ONE MILE TO GO!! NO KIDDING. I checked my Garmin. It's 1.4 to go. Very funny, Laz. At the field where everyone parked their cars before the race, Wednesday morning, an eon ago, I turned left. Now, I knew, it was actually one mile to go. As another sign declared. A bit farther, another left turn, another sign saying one mile to go. Nice. Now I was really angry, but able to push harder, with the end so near. One final "one mile to go sign". And then I was in the clearing, with a tree catching my hat and pulling it off as I flew past (it took a while to find the next morning). I made it to the rock, and touched it. DONE! I sat down in my thrown, as Laz told me my time: 3 days, 4 hours, 9 minutes, 10 seconds. Just over a 3-hour overall record, 10-hour screwed record. But all I cared about was water. I knew that the first thing you said when you finished was your "finisher quote", that would be recorded and go on Facebook. I'd thought about what mine should be. But before that, all I could say was "I need water". Somehow, I had envisioned a big scene at the finish. News crews for my incredible feat? Why not? But at the least, food and drink. There was nothing. There was Laz, and one chair (my thrown). "Water... ummm, I don't think I have any." I could not believe it. I was going to die without water. That was all that had pulled me towards the end. But he did manage to dig up a half-full half-liter bottle. That would do for now. And, that became my finisher quote.
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| King Bob (pic by Lazarus Lake) |
Aftermath
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| The power of napping |
I tried to sleep, but only managed about a half-hour actual nap, per Oura ring. Reflexively, I was looking at all the accolades flow in over Facebook, email, messaging, while also being annoyed I was distracting myself from non-ego enlightened space. But it was way too much to take in anyway. I wound up not responding to anything at all for a few days, just for sanity. I could not even make a quick "thank you" or summary or "more to come" post. I just couldn't process what had just happened.
I began to doubt whether any of this was real. Too many pieces of reality didn't seem to fit. I was sure the A/C was blasting heat, instead of cool. And still that country music. My fingers were doing weird twitchy things on their own. My phone was behaving oddly, bad cell connection maybe, but when I tried to turn on wifi its behavior just didn't seem quite consistent. Maybe I needed to charge it? I plugged it in... no charging. OK that's not right. And this thing about crushing the crewed record, screwed... that had to be a delusion, right? I began to seriously entertain the idea that I was really lying in a ditch by the side of the road somewhere, fantasizing that the race was over. Or maybe I was someone else entirely, there was no race, I was just dreaming, or psychotic. But clearly, what had seemed to be reality wasn't really cohesive enough to be real.
There was one last chance. Maybe the phone was just wet. I had a laptop in my suitcase. I plugged it in... no power to it either. OK that's very bad. Reality is broken. But then I jiggled the plug, and it started charging. I turned on wifi, and the Internet was out there and behaving consistently. Whew!
Existential crisis averted, I connected with Laz and Carl for dinner at a Mexican restaurant. Paul Heckert joined us. As Paul puts it, he finished at the same time I did. Unfortunately his finish was at mile 86, where Oprah caught him. He'd just arrived back in Kimball. I lamented that there were no rental cars available in Jasper, leaving me unable to go back along the course the next day and cheer on the other runners, as is traditional for the King. But Paul had his car and was happy to drive, cool!
Off to bed and some well-deserved sleep. But I slept a total of less than two hours, with zero REM sleep (per Oura), then was comfortably awake by 2 am, trying to mindfully surf my special mental state. This was also consistent with last year's post-race experience. I have a half-baked hypothesis here, also about the experience multi-day runners seem to share of waking up in the middle of the night for weeks after their race, being convinced that the race is still going and they have to get up and move. Aerobic exercise promotes brain plasticity. A multi-day is a LOT of aerobic exercise. What patterns do our brains wire into this newly plastic state? Well, the need to not sleep, and the reality that the world consists of an endless journey that must be continued. But I know of no research here that would confirm this idea.
It occurred to me to check with Carl about where Bev and the Florys were; they should be coming by soon. I stepped out of my room to watch the street; Laz came out and joined me. But we had just missed them. I got a ride with Carl up to the Rock to see them finish, early Monday morning. The Florys came in together, just under 4 days — wow! Both sets of parents had been crewing, and were also at the finish. Laz told Daniel and Ariela that honestly, nobody had expected that from them. That potential wasn't obvious in their UltraSignup history. I was somewhat gratified when they explained that they'd used my race report from last year as a guide! However they did it, I was impressed. Ariela was only the second woman ever to finish under 4 days, after Francesca, last year. They were all looking forward to my report from this year... yeah, I'll write one, but I'll have to think about how to make it different. Laz remarked that of course it would be completely different, because I was running alone this year. But the thing is, I never felt alone. Especially by the third night, my perception of the race was much broader. Everyone was with me.
Bev arrived an hour later, missing the sub-4 mark by a scant 49 minutes. But she had crushed her own women's screwed record by 7 hours. (Her finisher quote: "I hate crewed people even more now".) An incredible performance, especially after running 170 miles at HOTS just two weeks earlier, and getting injured. Laz was incredulous. He'd seen photos of the bruising behind her knee. Did she have a new bionic leg?
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| Ariela, Daniel, and Bev in their throwns |
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| Henry Lupton |
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| The last people we saw: Jeff Manwaring, Hunt Brumby, and Tasha Adkins-Holland. They all finished! We missed Terrie Wurzbacher, fighting off Oprah, but she finished too, with Paul's help. |
Connecting with all the runners was a valuable part of the experience for me, and I'm grateful to Paul for enabling it. It was indeed a long day, and my feet indeed were unhappy. But by 11 pm we were in Nashville, at my parents' house, and then I could truly begin to rest and recuperate.
Takeaway
Numbers
Thank You
