"I stand before you a pickle. Like a cucumber that has been soaked in
salt brine, I could never return, even if I wished, to my original state. I
have changed. Now and forever I am something different". I heard this
expression used as analogy describing a different type of transformation but
I'll apply it here at the beginning of a Texas running tale.
"Bill, how long have you known John?" This was a question that Linda
White asked her husband over our dinner that first Friday in February. I had
flown into Houston's George Bush Airport, escaping the ice and snow of
Rochester that morning. Bill met me there and brought me to his home. After
being introduced me to his lovely wife and showed to their guest room I was
told the rules of the house: "treat it as if it were mine". Then he
and I headed by car northwest, away from the sprawling city. It was a 60-mile
trip to Huntsville State Park and the Rocky Racoon 100 Mile Trail Run's
pre-race briefing. Having checked in with the race director, stepped on the
scale for the mandatory weighing and chatted with trail buddies we returned
for Linda and then out to eat. Bill's response to his wife's question about
the length of our acquaintance didn't seem to faze her a bit. "I've known
John for about 7 hours now," If this lady was wondering or worrying about
the stranger sitting across from her, who or what might be sleeping in her
house that night she didn't let on. I wasn't surprised but still gracious
behavior like this always warms the cockles of my heart. They being
ex-Rochesterians helped. But the bottom line was that we were runners. That
was sufficient. That was the connection. We knew so much of and about one
another from that one important piece of information.
Huntsville State Park where this adventure takes place is a 2100-acre park in
Walker County. The dam that was constructed there in the early 1900's where
the Big and Little Chiquapin Creeks meet created Raven Lake and the Huntsville
recreational area was build around it. The lake was stocked with black bass,
crappie and bream. One can fish for them from shore or from any boat less than
19 feet in length. This region of the southern US lies near the western edge
of the Southern Pine Belt and is woodland dominated by short leaf pines and
loblolly. It's a different type of forest than I'm familiar with. Although the
conscious winter wildlife in the park is quite benign, alligators live here as
well as rattlesnakes, copperheads, water moccasins and coral snakes. Nothing
more exotic than opossums and raccoon were seen that weekend. I was a little
disappointed in not stumbling upon an armadillo. We were never far from the
water and early Sunday morning I was reminded of Mother Nature's brutal side.
I heard signs of duck dinner being served. There was a combination of feline
fury and waterfowl frenzy coming from across the lake. I figured that a wild
cat of some form had just found a nesting area and was now enjoying his meal
under the waning moonlight. Noise of that struggle was disturbing but the
hooting sounds of owls had the opposite effect on me, reassuring and soothing.
So did approaching lights worn on my fellow runner's heads or held in their
hands.
At the trail briefing, Mickey Rollins our race director lectured us on the dos
and don'ts of his event. This stuff is ritual. Yellow ribbons mark the course;
there will be some glow sticks in the forest at night; no muling (pacers
acting as pack animals); wander off the course and the unfortunate runner must
return to the point of deviation on his own and continue from there. We would
be weighed every 20 miles and so on. With his ever gruff and grouchy demeanor
Mick described the nuances of Rocky Racoon (BTW, not a misspelling here, the
word using just one "c" is acceptable). This Texan with a big heart
seemed exhausted before the race even began, yet he'd remain awake and at the
helm for the next 48 hours. He is the driving force here and by Friday evening
had already been living in the park for a week, working out the details
involved in staging an event such as this. So we all respectfully listen to
him restate the obvious, it's the father instinct in him I think. We love him.
The day began at 3:30 a.m. at the White home. Both my hosts awoke at that
ungodly hour and visited with me over a breakfast of chocolate Ensure and
bananas. Friends of theirs also running the race stopped by an hour later and
took me with them to the start at 6 a.m. Before dawn our adventure began and
as always apprehension coupled with excitement filled my being. For me it's
always a bit scary at the beginning of something like this. No matter how many
times it's been done before, every race is a new experience. But there in lies
the rub, doesn't it? If the outcome were known then what would be the point?
This was not a lonely race as many long trail runs can be. The park is
relatively small; if 100 miles is your desire then you must repeat a
20.15-mile loop five times (5 X 20.15 = 100 in Texas). The course is a mixture
of sandy red dirt road and single-track trail littered with tree roots
protruding at times 4 inches from the ground. These obstacles can be stepped
over and around if attention is paid. I fell twice and that was during the
daylight hours when I was running faster. I slowed down and remained vertical
after dark, a very good thing. The loose sandy footing proved taxing on my
lower legs but the lay of the land constantly changed giving reprieve from any
hint of boredom and repetitive stress. When Mickey told us to begin on
Saturday we moved as a herd, soon thinning out and flowing effortlessly by the
time we reached the first trail section.
It was a comfortable start, temps in the high 30's and the company I found
myself in was superb. I wore tights, a polypro shirt, jacket, cap and my
ever-present waist pack and water bottles the entire race, and I regulated
heat by opening and closing my jacket. The dawn would bring with it slightly
overcast skies and temperatures near 50 degrees. There was no wind in the
forest, a perfect day to run 100 miles. I knew many of the runners personally,
some only by reputation. The looped nature of the course with out and back
sections allowed all of us to see and acknowledge one another many times. I
had the opportunity to witness how the "big dawgs" run trails, men
and women finishing their journey 8 and 9 hours before me. Words of
encouragement were exchanged as we passed one another coming, going and
passing by another. I liked that. Surrounded by like-minded souls in pursuit
of some intangible reward, running into the dawn, then day and night. Chasing
the sublime bordering on the asinine. I like looking into my trail companion's
eyes, during the difficult moments when they are immersed in their own private
struggle or I in mine. It helps and I'm again convinced it's worth the effort.
It is such a meaningful endeavor. My companions testify through perseverance
and persistence. Many were 100-mile virgins in the process of transformation,
becoming that which they weren't the day before, forever different.
One would think that these runners had never seen a pair of tights before. My
leggins' evoked numerous comments - note to Jester, the tailor, " I've
gotten my money's worth. Thank you". As the world around me brightened I
waited for my body, my legs in particular to loosen up. It's normal for me
during the first 15 miles of these runs to be a bit uncomfortable, it takes
that long for me to warm up and hit my stride. Someday I will learn the
benefits of stretching. That morning my right hamstring was very tight, it
hurt and I had a restricted range of motion. I also had faith that sooner or
later the tightness would pass. As mentioned earlier there was a lot of
company on the trail, not only runners but also those wishing them well. At
one point during my second loop I came upon an attractive young woman walking
her dog in these woods. Friendly fellow that I am I couldn't resist the
opportunity to comment on her animal and the beauty of the day. This was done
while smiling at her and not watching where my feet might land. BOOM! Down I
came for a close up and personal view of the Texas dirt. I'm past getting
embarrassed over something like this and just had to laugh and I heard a bit
of chuckle the lady's voice asking if I were OK. Yep! Just a not so subtle
reminder from my Higher Power that instead of flirting with pretty girls
perhaps I should watch the trail. Now that He had my attention I was offered
a one benefit from this lesson. The contortions I put my body through
attempting not to fall on my face had stretched the tight hamstring real good
and for the rest of the race I ran free from discomfort in that leg.
As the day went on all was well. Mile and hour piled up on one another. I was
pleased to see a friend from Germany on the course as well as those from
across our country and Canada. One acquaintance from Virginia, a member of the
Virginia Happy Trails Running Club and I would break into our club's theme
song when we'd pass one another. How many of you know the words to the Roy
Roger's and Dale Evan's song "Happy Trails?" I spent the last 25
miles with a fellow from Winnipeg who turned out to be a friend of a friend.
This quiet man's almost silent company helped me move through that last most
difficult loop.
Running loops offers the chance to gauge distance and position on the course.
Some of the sections were more rewarding and looked forward to than others.
After the 7.1-mile aid station we moved away on trail for about 2 1/2 miles
until finding yellow ribbon in a tree and a cardboard sign telling us to run
behind the marker and then retrace our steps back from whence we came. So as
I moved away from the aid station towards turn around others were coming back
and so on. No one was sitting at the secluded turn around point recording
runners' passage. The honor system was applied here. I am enamored with those
understanding the importance of honesty in endeavors such as this. It would
have been so easy, especially in the dark of night to just shortcut this
section of the course. But what would have been the point? No one would have
been cheated but the cheater. To me this is integrity, doing the right thing
when no one is watching. This out and back did become one of the toughest
sections for me later in the race. It was a gentle downhill out then up on the
return. It was uneven trail with lots of roots and a couple of holes that
proved challenging when illuminated only by my headlamp's glow. Seeing the
high-tech lights some of my trail companion's wore made me realize my archaic
lamp yield more mood than running light.
In Huntsville State Park many small streams and gulleys can be crossed using
simple bridges, 2 by 4 pieces of wood four to eight foot wide and six to
twelve foot in length. There were more than a dozen on our course. These
wooden structures were for the most part in good repair. One landmark I
learned to love and anticipate came 4 miles from the start/finish. At 16, 36,
56, 76 and 96 miles we moved over and across the shallow, mucky and murky edge
waters of Lake Raven. The water couldn't have been more than 4 foot deep,
black and still. Before reaching this swampy area we climbed up an embankment
near the dam and could see base camp across the water six miles away. The next
morning I watched runners still out on the course traverse that section,
identifying with their fatigue and knowing that they would soon be home. The
familiar sight I looked for especially after dark when I grew fatigued was the
first of two long bridges over the muck. We weren't more than 6 inches above
the water and to make it more interesting a few slats were missing or broken.
And these two overpasses were long! Maybe 40 - 60 feet in length, one bending
to the left in 45-degree fashion, no side or handrails here. I knew that I
didn't want to trip and fall into the goo that lay beneath, care was taken.
But this is the stuff that makes this type of running interesting and once off
the second bridge it was a mile to Wayne's World, the last aid station and
then back to camp.
Trail running and effort is a relative game. A very personal struggle yet one
shared by all involved. I was heading down to the 50 mile point as the race's
winner was returning from there, only 20 miles ahead of me. Scott Eppelman
hugged his edge of the trail as he approached, making ample room for my
efforts as we moved by one another. The first lady finisher, Ann Heaslett who
happened to be the third runner overall looped me at my 77-mile mark; make
that 97 miles for her. She looked as if she were floating along the trail
Saturday before midnight. Three of the first ten finishers were women. 12
runners looped me, all taking time to wish me well. Many more were finishing
their 5th loop as I was beginning mine. But that didn't matter; my race was oh
so sweet. It was odd completing the 100-mile journey in the dark, before dawn.
I greeted Sunday's dawn in the most special of ways, by witnessing my fellow
100 milers coming in, coming home. I always have trouble describing just what
that means to me. It's so big. It's hard wrapping my head around it. It's
easier to just feel and accept it. Maybe it's only because my senses are so
very near the surface after an effort like this. It's probably a function of
sleep deprivation or fatigue and hunger. Maybe. . . but instead of examining
these sensations logically I prefer to view them emotionally. I've earned that
and it's my prerogative. I enjoy and revel in it! At race's end little things
take on immense significance - shaking Mickey's hand, sitting down, holding
and drinking a hot cup of coffee, a hug from a finisher and from those whose
race ended short of 100 miles. I'll say it again - it's big. It's real, whole
and so meaningful.
After daybreak I thought that I would like to lie down a bit before breakfast
and asked a race worker if I could pull up a piece of floor in the lodge where
later the morning meal would be served. "Of course" was the reply,
" but wouldn't you rather crawl into my tent and the sleeping bag
there?" He had just awakened and his tent was empty. And because I am no
longer that which I was before becoming a runner I could say "Yes, Thank
you." Today I can accept offers of help and understand that the offer
wouldn't have been made if the giver hadn't wanted it accepted. So I lay down
for 45 minutes in that tent cluttered with his personal belongings, his
camera, clothing and other items he knew would be there when he returned
later. Such faith. Ten years ago I never would have understood behavior like
that nor sought it out. Today I know better, it was here on the trails and on
my feet that I realized that truth. Some people go to church to understand
good things like this, to have those ideals reinforced. I identify with them
and I find the same in the woods. Pick your passion, discover it where you
will.
I went to Texas a runner, like a pickle something I will forever be. I
returned from Rocky Racoon having completed the distance. Two years ago I
couldn't make that claim, I didn't reach the finish line. But even then as a
spectator I viewed the efforts of those completing their run with runner's
eyes. As I move forward in time, getting older, wiser, slower, dumber,
sillier, whatever - I will always be a runner. I know runners who no longer
run yet feel as close and connected to them as those I shared the Rocky Racoon
trails with. Whether injury, age, demands of family or career keep us, you and
I, away from the active pursuit of our passion the world will always be viewed
through the eyes of knowing the value of struggle and challenge.
All this was shown me nonstop that weekend down south, from the moment Bill
met me at the airport until he brought me back there Sunday afternoon for my
flight home. The world does indeed look big through the eyes of this runner.
I am so very lucky to have been allowed to realize that.
Peace,
John
In closing a couple of quotes:
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Relentless forward motion...just relentless forward motion...
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