A Balancing Act - by John Prohira
"Running provides happiness which is different from pleasure.
Happiness has to do with struggling and enduring and accomplishing."
- George Sheehan
In herd-like fashion the runners moved forward, out and away from the Mohican
Wilderness Campgrounds, nine miles south of Loudonville, Ohio. It was 5 a.m.
on the Saturday before Father's Day and we ran through dark predawn past tents
containing campers who had been sound asleep. Those startled souls were pulled
from their slumber by the noise we made, mostly the nervous chit-chat of 96
men and woman beginning a journey that would end 100 miles later. Those who
only moments ago were sleeping didn't greet us warmly; their disapproval could
be heard coming from their tents. Clouds hid the stars; many of those on the
journey carried small lights with them gently illuminating the ground ahead of
them. Day's first light began to reveal the rural landscape surrounding us as
we ambled along the gravel roads heading north then west away from the start.
At 5 miles the aid station manned by Dr. and Mrs. Moore came into view. Art
Moore is a running legend, having completed many, many hundreds of marathons
and ultras. Art wore one of the biggest buckles I've ever seen on the belt
around his small waist. He was awarded it last year after finishing his 10th
Mohican 100 Mile Trail Run, the number 1000 was embossed across its face. This
morning he and his spouse were giving something back to the race by
volunteering as race support. They are the type of people I come to these
events to be with.
The Mohican course is a combination of road and trail through mid-Ohio's
rolling hills, farmlands and wooded countryside, along rivers and across
streams. Besides being picturesque the course has a logical configuration to
it. Runners are kept close to the state parklands, Clearfork Gorge and the two
rivers close by. 34 miles are run on mostly dirt and gravel road with a couple
of miles of paved highway thrown in just to make it a little more exciting.
That highway is last visited about time the local drinking establishments are
closing for the night. 1/3 of the roads are run at the beginning of the race,
the rest at the end. In between there it's mostly trail and dirt laid out in
three-leaf clover fashion, a lot of it is run twice. And many of the aid
stations are visited more than once, making the planning and placement of
runner's drop bags containing individual supplies easy. I wore shorts, a
short-sleeved polypro shirt, a hat, well-broken-in shoes and socks and my
two-bottle belt. In drop bags at the aid stations I placed changes of shirts,
CLIP powder, salt, GU and headlamp and flashlights where appropriate. In
one-drop bag I had a pair of shoes and socks. One big boost to my
ultrarunning performance recently I credit to the benefits of using Ensure
Plus drink as nourishment during the run. A single 8 oz. can contains 350
calories. I prefer the vanilla flavor, mix it 1:3 with water and carry it in
one of my bottles. It's dilute enough to quench my thirst and it tastes good.
Cans of this calorie-laden potion were kept in each of my drop bags and taken
on the hour when possible.
I should further set the scene by mentioning that it rained for 7 of the first
8 hours of the race. I left my rain gear and warm night clothing home in
Rochester, everything was packed but stayed on my kitchen table. OOPS! The
morning was cool and breezy, more so at the crests of hills but not too
uncomfortable for it was early in the race and I was moving along at about 5
mph and generating heat. But I was allowing myself to fret over what I now had
no control over - the weather and lack of protection from it. I knew better
than waste time and energy worrying about what the day and night might bring
should water continue to fall from the sky. I recalled advice I'd received
about situations like this and tried to remain positive. I thought about
something a minister friend had said during one of her recent sermons that
dealt with differing points of view and children. The good pastor had shared
this observation, "When I see a mud puddle I step around it. I see muddy
shoes and dirty carpets. My kids sit in it. They see dams to build, rivers to
cross, and worms to play with." So instead of fixating on how
challenging it was to avoid or run through the muddy mess parts of the course
were becoming I kept trying to appreciate the world around me. I tried to
revel in the opportunity to run and play in the rain and stomp through the
muck like a kid, but this proved easier said than done. I had a plan for the
way I wanted this race to end and was beginning to resent Mother Nature's
disregard for my goal. At last year's race I'd "blown-up" and
finished by walking in the last 20 miles. This year would be different; I
would run smart and controlled while chasing a 24-hour finish, a goal never
achieved by me on a course like this. And everything in life has its price
doesn't it? I remembered an appropriate quote but not the author responsible
for it, "God says to take what you will - but pay for it." The
mission I was on put an unaccustomed spin on running 100 miles.
I enjoyed running on the trails and in the woods, plus we were shielded from
the rain while there. The aroma from the pine woods was fresh and clean and
had a positive effect on me. The needle-laden paths under the trees felt soft
and soothing on my feet. Care had to be taken to lift my feet over exposed
roots but none of this course is overly technical. One of my favorite aid
stations was the Covered Bridge. The Bridge spanned the Clearfork River and
we were offered views of it from many different angles. We visited the bridge
five times during the looped portions of the course. Here the race's medicine
man milled about and observed runners in an unobtrusive way. He was heard
making suggestions to runners that they take more salt or water or plan for
the chilly night. I like this "hands-off" policy; as in real life
runners should be responsible for their decisions and actions. But help was
available should mistakes be made and emergencies arise.
Away from the Bridge we entered the Mohican State Park campgrounds on what was
called our orange loop, along the river on trails at times close enough to the
water that a misstep earned wet feet. I liked watching fisherman here and
there knee-deep and casting lines into the muddy waters. It was fun seeing
kids playing along the riverbanks. I'd start to daydre a.m. about carefree
youth-filled days then have to pull away from those idle thoughts and refocus
on the task at hand - the 24 hour finish. There were lots of ups and downs,
literally and emotionally along the way. I'd come to this race last year
looking for a relatively easy 100 miler after participating in the insanity
the previous month that is called the Massanutten Mountain Trail Run.
Surprise, surprise when I discovered that all of Ohio does not look like the
area around Columbus. This region was formed during our last ice age. Slow
moving mountains of ice stopped here 12,000 years ago forming a glacial
boundary and the forces of erosion carved Clearfork Gorge. My race literature
told me that the runners would climb 11,230 feet up then down over the length
of the race. Every long race offers it's own unique gifts and challenges. And
even the same course can feel so different from one year to the next, it's
like life, never tasting the same twice. IMHO this is an honest to goodness
100 miler worthy of respect and attention. In the orange loop the single-track
trail seemed to be losing a battle with the woods. I had to push brush and
small tree limbs away from my face as I moved along. Leaving a stand of red
pines road section led us towards Pleasant Hill Dam where runners jumped a
guardrail and descended the steep, down-stream and grass-covered face of
the dam. After a bit of dirt trail along the Clearfork River the bottom of the
Covered Bridge came into view. In order to reach aid on the other side of the
river we went into the water knee to mid-thigh deep walking under the bridge.
A waste of a perfectly good bridge but there was cool reprieve in the water. I
rewarded my crossing and reaching mile 32 by sitting down and doing something
I usually don't, I changed into dry shoes, socks, hat and shirt. That felt
very nice.
Now into the magical blue loop. This was run in an out and back fashion. The
most ruggedly beautiful part of this loop was denied us this year. The park
service had closed down the trail that led to Little Falls. I guess the signs
posted last year with DANGER! were not enough to soothe the conscious of those
making safety decisions. What I missed most was the climb up and out of from
the Little Falls. This was accomplished last year by a 15 foot hand over hand
climb up the exposed root system of an enormous and ancient hemlock tree. What
was offered in place were views of my fellow runners as they bounded down the
trail back towards the bridge while I moved in the other direction. While in
this little valley the rain stopped and the clouds moved away unveiling the
sun and blue sky. The rest of the day was spent under clear, cobalt blue
skies. My concern that weather would interfere with my goal proved unwarranted,
as worry over things out of my control often is.
Back at the Covered Bridge I refueled, as I had done at every station before.
With a somewhat changed disposition, a function of the drying and brightening
world around me, I entered the infamous red loop. The first 2-3 miles are on
single track uphill to the bridle staging area. The bridle path was shared
with horses, hence its name. Evidence of equine was seen and smelled for the
next 7+ miles. The first time through the red loop I got what was expected, a
lot of downhill dirt trail that should have been very runable. But the dirt
was in an altered state, no longer completely solid; instead it was more of a
thick pasty combination of mud and horseshit with large puddles containing
horse urine and rain water. This concoction was emulsified by the churning
actions of horse and runner's feet. I had two concerns here. The first
involved keeping my shoes on my feet, I did not want to retrieve a shoe
sucked off my body by that horsy mess. The other entailed remaining vertical:
Something told me it would be harder to extract an entire body from the
bridle mud than a single shoe. I was successful in keeping shoes and body
where they belonged.
The end of the bridle path brought us for a second time to the Rock aid
station at 46 miles and the beginning of the second running of the trail
loops. I reached the 50-mile mark at 4 p.m., 11 hours after the start. Those
working the aid stations now were like old friends and it was definitely nice
to see them again. Leaving the Covered Bridge at 57 miles I returned to the
Mohican State Campgrounds where campers I had watched cook and eat breakfast
8-9 hours earlier were now sitting down to dinner. Their behavior appeared so
normal and civilized. Running was quite comfortable now for I'd taken care of
myself for most of the day. Now with the sun nearing the western horizon it
grew cooler and that seemed to put a bit of a spring into my step. One thing
about ultrarunning that never eases to amaze me is how quickly things change.
There were sections of trail where the runners in front and back of me could
be seen even if they were a mile or more ahead or behind. It was like that
just before entering the bridle staging area again when I saw two runners in
front of me, a woman in the lead on the single-track followed by a man. The
woman looked fresh and strong in contrast to her companion. As I got closer
I saw that she wore no race number and was pacing him. This offended me big
time. Why? I'm not sure. I've come to believe that a pacer is supposed to be
no more than a companion, someone running along or behind the racer, they are
not to act as a pack animal carrying supplies or be the one determining the
runner's speed. This woman was only running out front. As I caught up with
them the women returned to a position behind her runner. For some inane reason
I just had to throw a barb their way about the proper use of pacers. Why? I
don't know. No one had designated me the enforcer of pacing rules. Maybe it
was because I was getting tired as the 69-mile mark approached. Truth be known
the only time I ever used a pacer I did so exactly as this man was using his.
Maybe I'd been out in the sun too long. Whatever, there might be many reasons
but no excuses for that unkind behavior on my part. Maybe it was because I
feared returning to the horse-mud on the red loop and knew that it would get
dark while I was in the middle of it. I know for a fact that I was jealous of
the man and wished I had a pretty lady running in front of me. It was out of
character for me, especially in the midst of an ultra. Long distance trail
running usually brings out the best in me. As I continued past them I felt
ashamed of myself and full of regret for what was said. I left the aid station
before them and was soon shown that my Higher Power is generous and has a
sense of humor. A mile down the bridle path I noticed the man minus his lovely
companion approaching just as night was settling in. I grabbed onto the
opportunity to make amends with all the gusto a drowning man might clutch a
lifeline. I apologized for my unkind remark. This guy was a true gentleman.
His response to me was that no offense had been taken and not to worry about
it. His gift of accepting my apology seemed to lift pounds off my shoulders
and mind and I found the second trip through the mud much easier than the
first. I had been shown the power of second chances.
11 p.m. came and I stopped for the last time at The Rock. There were 23 miles
to go. Sunday morning came and the only sounds I heard were the flop-flop and
shuffle of feet on dirt and gravel and the sparse conversation Dan from
Columbus and I had. This 100 mile virgin ran with me for 12-15 miles and kept
me moving at a decent clip when I'd prefer a more pedestrian pace. Not getting
lapped by the sun was on both of our minds.
But at the 88 mile aid station atop Turkey Ridge I realized that a 24-hour
finishing time was not mine to have. Almost 2 a.m. and I was beginning to get
cold enough to I pull my emergency black plastic garbage bag from my belt
pouch and cover my upper body with it. My thighs were being rubbed raw from
the friction of wet and salt-soaked shorts against skin. I was discouraged. It
was time to accept reality. Acceptance is not necessarily a bad thing. I just
let go and relaxed and it was more than just OK. It was sweet having the
"time monkey" off my back. Now I had 12 miles and however long that
would take to reach the Mohican Wilderness, plenty of time to reflect and
examine lessons presented over the last day. Instead of the smell and sounds
of defeat it was the aroma of honeysuckle that tickled my nose, no lamenting
or whining just the calls of whippoorwills and other night birds. I knew that
these sensations had been present all night, I just wasn't paying attention. I
had had other things on my mind. I let go and the entirety of the night came
to me.
Lessons had been presented as were opportunities for growth. Early in the race
I realized that I might have to forgo some aspects of the long run I've grown
to love in order to finish when I wanted to. Maybe I'd only miss little things
racing towards the destination. Later in the day I feared that the price
demanded for this prize had become too costly. I have felt physically worse
off in other races than I did during this one. It was the emotional and
psychological trauma I was unprepared for. I didn't like worrying about
weather and mistakes made while packing for the run. I certainly didn't like
seeing my baser side surface before nightfall. In the early morning hours of
Sunday before I let go I feared that I'd have neither a good finish nor any
form of spiritual rewards for my efforts. I did learn a few things about
myself and about associated costs of ambition. Philosophy comes hard to me.
I have a tough time absorbing sophisticated ideas. I need to feel things in
my muscles, bones and heart. The 24 hour mark came and went while I was on the
downside of the last hill 2 miles away from the finish. I stopped for a moment
standing in a rich thicket of reality and greeted the dawn and new day. I
didn't think all was well . . . I knew it was.
My race was over 24 hours and 35 minutes after it started. A warm shower and
change of clothes and an hour's nap put a refreshed spin on my world. I went
to barn near the finish line wanting to be near those I so admire, long
distance runners practicing a religion of healthy-mindedness. Later in the
morning our efforts over the last day and night were acknowledged during an
awards ceremony. Pewter belt buckles were given to all finishers commemorating
their run. There was special recognition given to the last finisher. The
"Last of the Mohicans" award was hotly contested prize. The next to
last finisher crossing the line a mere 3 seconds before the last Mohican.
During our ceremony he good heartedly claimed that he was pushed across ahead
of his competition, unfairly losing last place and the prize. Ah, the strategy
that is involved in some of these races makes me smile! The overall male and
female winners were awarded wooden statues of running Native Americans. The
women's winner Karen Shiley's trophy stood half as tall as she, a very cool
image I'll keep in my mind's eye. Those responsible for planning and staging
this event do an excellent job. Every aspect of the race flowed seamlessly,
transparent to those of us participating. A class act all around!
The American physiologist William James wrote in his "Varieties of
Religious Experience" that "the strenuous life and striving for more
is better." That about says it all as far as I am concerned. It's
healthy-mindedness I seek and I recognize it most during and after and in
anticipation strenuous physical effort.
Balance is a good thing and grasping that concept could really benefit me in
real life. Balance is something I will endeavor to understand and practice if
I am to move over long distances at a relatively faster pace. Striving to
improve in this running arena is only natural but I refuse to sacrifice the
spiritual food I find on the trails and have come to depend on. I must learn
not to become so intoxicated by the journey that I lose sight of the finish
and vice-versa, not forgo the beneficial aspects of the trail on the way to
the destination. I'm sure that there is room for the combination of the two.
I hope I can continue to be taught.
As is my habit I'll close with a couple of appropriate quotations.
Happy Trails,
John
"A man must love a thing very much if he not only practices it without
any hope of fame and money, but even practices it without any hope of doing
it well."
- G. K. Chesterton
"Speed is sex ... distance is love."
- David Blaikie
"Stick a fork in me, I'm done."
- Unknown
Copyright © 2002 John Prohira
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Relentless forward motion...just relentless forward motion...
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