Beware what you wish for, for it may just come true. I believe that to be
how the Chinese expression or curse goes. I take it to mean that one should
not tempt fate. Superstitious? I don't really think that I am but know that
the woman I was running with at mile 35 of the 11th annual Vermont 100 Mile
Trail Run was. How did I recognize the depth of her belief in the
supernatural? Because she began to mummer, "nice kitty, nice kitty" to
herself a full five minutes and almost 1/2 of a mile away from where a black
farm cat that sat watching us navigate the back country road. And as we
crested the top of the hill the where pussycat seemed to wait it stood,
stretched, then nonchalantly crossed the road in front of us. "Oh no, oh
no" my companion whispered, "that black cat just crossed our path. Bad
luck, bad luck!" This was the point at which I decided to follow advice
from Scott Tinley who had written that one should, "above all, train hard,
eat light, and avoid TV and people with negative attitudes." I try to do
that and was not about to be sucked into any pessimism so I moved on. I
thought the cat pretty cool.
The rain that had greeted us at race's beginning had stopped. It was cool
and rather pleasant and I was feeling strong, capable and experienced
enough to completely embrace the task at hand. Moving through the first 1/3
of this race all appeared well. 4 miles per hour was fast enough.
Remembering to eat and drink and walk the many uphills, I piled one mile upon
another, as easy as placing one foot in front of another; one bite taken
after another. Last year's race here in Vermont's Green Mountains had been
most challenging, a torturous ordeal in heat and humidity. This year I had
wished for, and received it seemed, cooler weather. Peace. I was expectant. I
knew that good things would come from this effort, that all would be well
if I only had faith. And I was correct.
For a third year now I returned to Smoke Rise Farm which sits on top of the
mountain outside of South Woodstock, Vermont. 261 other men and woman had
registered for this run in the hills, we had all signed on to traverse 100
miles of trail and country road that comprises the Vermont 100 Mile Trail
Run. These men and women ranging in ages 25 to 71 (there were three 70 year
olds entered) came to run and/or walk the distance with more than 14,160
feet of climb and equal amount of descent. Something for everyone, those
preferring the ups and those with iron quads who were partial to the downs.
The Vermont 100 Mile runner could spend to 30 hours on the course, enjoying
the vistas, the aid stations and great company and still be considered an
official finisher.
This year the moon would be near full and high in the sky as night fell. I
watched it on the nights leading up to the race, watched in anticipation,
looking forward to running through the night illuminated by its light. This
would be my 6th 100 mile race, the 6th time running through the night and
only the first time under a fat moon. Saturday morning instead of being
greeted by the moon's yellow glow it was dark outside my motel, with a
close and humid feel to the air. It was cooler on the mountain but hard
rain began to fall 10 minutes before race start. I'd never begun a race
like this in the rain but was reassured and told, "don't worry, it only
seems kinky the first time." We began. We took our first small bites out of
the elephant, our first steps towards the finish line 100 miles away. The
first mile drops 150 ft on road, the next almost 200 ft up on trail, then
down 200 ft the next mile then up about 300 ft the next ½ mile and on and
on. Some of the climbs and drops seemed to go on forever, the downhills
were glorious! It was a good test to see whether my plantar fascitits was
gone and I'm happy to report it is. Between mile 9 and 13 we ran down over
900 ft, so fast! I felt almost like a runner again. Miles 13-17 had us
going up again this time close to 1000 ft. You get the picture, it was
either up or down but seldom flat and never, ever boring. Step by step and
nibble by nibble until it was finished, until is was gone.
As always the people I meet are the best part of the experience. I enjoy
running and talking with everyone. My habit is not to stay with any one
person too long, I don't want to wear out my welcome. Really I prefer to
run my own race and not get caught up in someone else's plans. I spent time
with a retired nuclear weapons expert who still lived near and had worked
at Los Alamos, N.M. He spoke to me of the wildfires there this summer.
There were those I'd met at other events, from out west and up north. My
friends Monica Scholtz from Ontario and Hans-Dieter Weisshar from Germany
were there. They had entered and planned to run every North American 100
mile race offered in year 2000, 14 or 15 in all I believe. Interesting
people, gentle people, strong people, all consuming the same pachyderm piece
by piece, bite by bite.
Dairy farms and their pastures lined our route, one smelled the same as
another but I did notice that not all the cows were of the same breed nor
looked the same. There were the standard black and white Guernseys, most of
the bovine were of that stock but there were also brown, black and white
cattle that I assumed to be beef on the hoof. I found their docile and low
mooing, especially after nightfall very reassuring. This is also horse
country and evidence of equine could be seen on trail and road. Many of the
horse farms were complete with rolling green pastures, neat and well kept
stables, barns and houses, most with metal or slate roofs. There usually is
a horse race on the same course and day as the footrace, but this year's
schedule had the horses and riders resting in anticipation of a more
prestigious event elsewhere and a couple of weeks away. I missed seeing the
riders and their steeds before, after and during the event.
As mentioned earlier the rain stopped soon after dawn and the day went
well. The sun never really came out but it was pleasant. I took a packet of
Gu every hour on the hour and made sure I drank at least a liter of liquid
during that time plus salt. The food was not exotic but ample and
nourishing. Sandwiches, potatoes and fruit were my stables. Some coke was
appreciated later as was the warm soup and broth after dark. After time my
senses seem to become more attuned to my surroundings, to the myriad of
small sounds and subtle changes taking place. The greens of the forest and
meadows appeared deeper and more lush as morning turned to afternoon turned
to evening, the horses in the fields more majestic, more regal. The people
in aid stations and along the course in driveways and on lawns seem kinder
and more wishing well of us. I loved seeing the children here and there
along the route, hoping for high-fives or that we would stop and take a
cold drink from them. I enjoyed them all. And there are times when this
seemingly asinine endeavor makes sense. The reasons for starting this type
of running a few years ago included showing other people that I could, but
now I understand that it is during an event such as this I find a place
where I go and where I can look into myself, into my soul, and see some of
who I am and what I'm about.
I managed to maintain my blinding 4 mph pace until about 11:30 Saturday
night. At mile 68 I'd reached Camp Ten Bear and my dropbag containing my
headlamp before dark. This was another first, in years past it had been
well after dark that I entered camp and submitted to my second weighing and
medical evaluation. The runner agrees to be weighed three times during the
race and to stop if the medical help believe his body to be under too much
stress, a good indicator of such stress being weigh loss. Since it was cool I
opted for a long sleeved polypro shirt but kept my shorts on. I didn't
change shoes or socks for I seldom do during these long events. I'd lost
only 4 lbs. and was on my way out of camp and up the hill nicknamed
Solzhenitsyn Hill as day's light ended. Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, the Russian
Nobel Prize winning author, chose this vast and sparsely
populated expanse of Vermont's Green Mountains as home in 1976 during his
exile from his homeland. This wooded, snowy region with rough weather had
the advantage of reminding him of his beloved Russia. Solzhenitsyn returned
to Russia in 1994 triumphant after the fall of the USSR. I've read a couple
of his novels and their plots played through my head as I climbed. It was
soon after this climb that the real rain began. I had gotten my wish, the
day had remained cool but wet and the night was soon to become much cooler
and wetter. Be careful what you wish for was the thought that came back at
me. Was I being any less superstitious than the runner who was afraid of
black cats? It was here that the real race began.
The summer rains I am accustomed to are fleeting phenomenon, like those
experienced during the first 20 hours of this race. It pours and then stops
and sometimes clears. It wasn't until later this week that it was explained
to me why the rain on Sunday morning didn't abate. The part of Vermont we
were running through was underneath a stalled low pressure system, sometimes
called a cutoff low, that just circled around and around slightly north of
the jet stream dumping water down on what lay below. Down it came onto the
trails making muddy messes of them, down came the pouring rain onto the rocks
making them slippery impediments, down on the unsuspecting heads and
shoulders of the unprepared runners. I had packed no rain gear, a
miscalculation on my part. And I wondered and prayed to my higher power for
strength and enough courage to continue. It was here that I began to ask
myself whether I should continue on in spite of the deluge. In each race, I
have learned, the desire to quit comes but once. It is a coward who once
beaten does not return. It is then at this point that I believe each runner
must pass in order to arrive at the finish. It is here, stripped of any of
society's false privileges, that we find no hiding place, no shelter of
convenience. Face to face with ourselves we must look deep inside. It was
here approaching Bill's Barn and the aid station at mile 83 that I looked
inside myself. Then while leaving there after the last medical check the
desire to quit left. It was gone as I returned to the trail, it left and
didn't come back. We left the warmth, dryness and relative comfort of
Bill's and returned to the task at hand, still 17 miles worth of elephant
to be eaten. "Those hills and the miles beyond," wrote George Sheehan of
the long distance runner, "will challenge everything he holds dear, his
value system, his life style. They will ask nothing less than his view of
the universe." And luckily my view of the universe was compatible with what
was required to finish what had been started 22-1/2 hours ago. It was still
hungry enough to take another bite.
Leaving Bill's I found that I had acquired new companions: two Frenchmen
who's lamps had failed asked to follow me and the light of my headlamp. One
of these gentleman I had run with last year. That man, the older of the two,
spoke no English yet in the summer of 1999 and now again we understood the
value of and the payment required for finishing the task at hand. Soon
after leaving Bill's I began to get very cold. The polypro shirt was trying
to do its job, wicking moisture from my body but there was no place for
that wetness to go. I was cold, OK, but I had to be honest and acknowledge
that this was not a life threatening situation. I was not headed towards
hypothermia, I was just uncomfortable. At one point before dawn we were
dumped onto a patch of road with some traffic. The cars there were moving
slowly and for the most part looking for loved ones, for their runners and
offering them assistance if needed. I began to flag cars down and beg a
plastic garbage bag for use as I raincoat. The third vehicle that stopped
offered a bag but first had to dump empty pop cans from it onto the bed of
their truck. I wasn't choosy, just thanked him and turned the bag inside
out and punched holes in the appropriate spots, pulled in over my head and
soon grew somewhat cozy now protected from the brunt of the storm.
Dawn would arrive soon and with it I knew resurrection of sorts. Why do
this? I have to ask myself this question at least once each race. What came
to mind last weekend was something that I heard in the movie "Seven Years
In Tibet", when the boy Dali Lama asks of his new friend, Henri, "Tell me a
story about mountain climbing, Henri?"
Henri says, "No!"
"Ok, then tell me what you love about it."
"The absolute simplicity - that's what I love. When you are climbing, your
mind is clearer, freed of all confusions, you have focus, then, suddenly,
life becomes sharper, sounds are richer, then you are filled with deep,
powerful presence of life."
And I do like my mind on ultrarunning, simple and focused and filled with
this presence of life. My biggest challenge isn't someone else. Its the
ache in my lungs and the burning in my legs, and the voice inside me that
yells "CAN'T", but I don't listen. Just push harder, continue.
And then Ihear what I've been waiting for, for the voice that whispers "can".
And I am so enamored with the sound of that whisper, "can".
Then I remember that the person I most times think I am is no match for the one I really am.
I like to read and sometimes remember to jot down meaningful quotes. I
never could get comfortable with Nietzche, I always found his philosophy
too harsh. I recall his writing, "that which does not destroy me makes me
stronger". I prefer this paraphrasing of those famous words, "what doesn't
kill me sure does make me hungry." And hungry I was in those hours after
dawn, hungry even though I'd spend the last 27 hours eating an elephant,
bite by bite. I wanted the race over, I had had enough elephant and wanted
real food and drink. I knew that there used to be a trail somewhere on that
last hill between where I was and race's end. I could almost smell the open
barndoor. And that is where this race ends, the runner must step into the
barn at Smoke Rise Farms, 100 miles from where he started.
I saw the barn door and stepped inside just before 8 a.m. on Sunday. It was
soon after that I heard that race had been won in under 14-12 hours. That
there was a record number of fast times this year. I realized that anyone
finishing before midnight hadn't had to deal with Mother Nature's downpour
and resulting muck. I remembered that I had been on record pace myself
until then. Not fair! Not fair was my first reaction. Last year in the heat
and humidity everyone shared in the ordeal, some longer than others but
everyone had a taste of the same, not this year. Not fair! I then realized
that I sounded like a spoiled child. Not Fair? Well of course not. Is life
fair? Is anything fair? Shouldn't I be grateful for what was given me? I
had been given the opportunity to once again play in the woods all night.
Yes, I should be grateful and was. I am. Another lesson presented me while
out there on trail and one that I'd like to keep close to me always, to be
grateful.
Another lesson presented was the realization that it's easy to imagine how
I'll act when things go according to plan, that's why I should have
prepared myself for what I'd do when they didn't proceed that way. Well I
didn't pack a raincoat but I did bring with me the faith that all would be
well if I remained true and honest with myself and asked my higher power
for strength. I asked and wasn't disappointed.
Third time's a charm they say. I believe that. I received what I had hoped
for, cool weather. I was also given other intangibles making the task
possible. The elephant was eaten, I was finished, it took more than a day,
but it was consumed faster this year than last. Vermont just outside of
South Woodstock was the perfect place to do it.
So in closing,
"Vincit qui patitur: he conquers, who endures" get="_top">Copyright © 1999-2000 John Prohira
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Relentless forward motion...just relentless forward motion...© 1997 kayaksalmon@oocities.com
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