I awoke in the darkness.
It was race day. The lights were
turned on, and there stood Sean, evil grin on his face, looking for all the
world like he had a devil mask superimposed on his face. He said "It's time for you to meet your
new running coach...Mitchel Pless!"
My heart sank...Mitch was going to wear my ass out...I mean, there was
no way I could beg, borrow, steal, or rent-to-own a work ethic like that! Then Angela McVay showed up, laughing and
laughing...with a bottle of Bailey's Caramel.
"Where's your coffee, Jake?" she asked, swinging the bottle
back and forth. I looked around....where
WAS my coffee? I began to feel panic
setting in...
I awoke in the darkness.
It was race day. I sat bolt
upright, shaking away the cobwebs. I
guess those are the nightmares you have when you polish off a Taco Bell Cantina
Bowl with Dinty Moore Beef Stew, two beers, and a bag of jalapeno Cheetos the night
before a race. I would have to remember to replace the Cheetos with Ruffles. I turned the light on,
glancing around suspiciously. Where WAS
my coffee? Then I remembered...I left it
in my Jeep...sitting at Amicalola Falls.
Damn it...now my pre-race ritual was shot to hell. I grabbed the bearclaw sitting on the table
and wolfed it down with some warm Gatorade.
My caffeine addiction would have to wait until the day's work was done.
Once dressed, I departed the cabin into the fairly warm
early morning. I could see activity over
by the Visitor Center, and drifted in that direction, drawn as the moth is to
the flame. A voice eerily reminiscent of
the one scene from Poltergeist shrieked in my head "Don't go into the
light!" Too late, I was already
there.
There were the familiar faces, and the unfamiliar, like
distant relatives at a family reunion...but you're all kin when you're an
ultrarunner. All were excited, and a
magnificent journey was about to unfold.
Sean hopped up on his makeshift podium...was that a devil mask I
saw? Nah, must be a trick of the
light...and I knew I was awake this time.
My mind drifted out in the darkness, out along that trail I knew I would
find myself on when the sun chased the shadows away, as Sean's voice dwindled
off into a bad imitation of Charlie Brown's teacher. Something about run times, or cutoff times...
I snapped back to reality...it was a countdown...and then we
were off. It was so amazing to see all
of you setting out, a wave of hopeful humanity, on a journey of determination
and camaraderie. And here is where my
story ends, and where yours begins.
Between Mile 1 and 3, I came across Kat Schuller, who had
driven up late the previous night from Atlanta or thereabouts. She was down with a sprained ankle, which was extremely tender to even slight palpation. And then she was cautiously back up
again...pushing forward. I saw her again
later, entering the Skeenah turnaround, motoring along with 20 miles under her
belt, as cheerful as a mountain bluebird.
She would call it a day after 40 miles, and return to Amicalola with an
ankle looking like a small grapefruit.
Do you realize how much HEART it takes to put 38 miles on THAT? I do...
The race continued, and I found myself running behind Deano
Montreuil. We had run together briefly
the week before, and at that time he looked to have a good comfortable stride,
with solid downhill capabilities, but he was concerned about IT band
issues. We exchanged places a couple
times between White Oak Stomp and Mulky Gap.
He was looking strong this morning, and I hoped that would hold.
As the hills popped up one by one, Rachel Corrigan from Virginia
came up from behind, and we chatted briefly about the terrain differences on
the course to what she had to train on back home. She thought the GDR was tougher...as she soon
passed on an uphill, gaining elevation and eventually disappearing up ahead...obviously
tougher didn't mean they were going to slow her!
As I entered the Skeenah turnaround, I say Taylor Washburn
setting a solid pace on his way out...I would later see him after I
finished. Without preparing for the time
on his feet, or the distance, or the hills, he gutted out an amazing personal
achievement. And to think that the
friends he signed up with decided to skip the race, because they hadn't
prepared adequately! Taylor obviously
wanted to test himself...and came through with flying colors.
I also saw Dane Talbert, who was looking capable. Dane had previously posted about having
Achilles problems, and was apparently planning to just run and let the cards
fall where they may. Anytime you're
dealing with hills, we know that Achilles problems can only be expected to
worsen, not improve. Yet, there he was
cranking out mile after mile, Grim Reaper at his heels...I heard he had a
strong, but painful finish, somewhere around 15 and a quarter hours...
At the Skeenah aid station, I heard that Dylan Henry
dropped. Dylan was injured in a cycling
accident before the race, and had stated on the GDR page that he would make the
call on race morning as to whether he'd run.
It was a marvel that he even toed the line...but then, I understand he's
a helluva runner, and runners are stubborn folk...and if you don't try, you'll
never know...Dylan obviously knows what it means to give it everything you've
got...
Coming out of Skeenah, I ran into Angela McVay, sunshiny and
giggly, and having the race of her life...a brief hug and best wishes, and we
continued in opposite directions. We'd
gotten together a few times to run, and I knew she would stay strong and
consistent. I waited for her at the
finish as I said I would, her hubby and kids in tow, that ever-unshakable smile
lighting up her face...she later called herself being cranky at the end, but I
think she was just peeved that Lee and the kids were slowing her pace... :)
Still coming out of Skeenah, I ran into Deano Montreuil
again. A few words passed between us,
and I knew he was going to be battling.
And he succeeded. He was kind
enough to thank others for helping him to finish, but the truth is no amount of
words can carry you a single foot...only your will and desire can do
that...words just make the ground you tread on a little softer...
Also coming out of Skeenah, I passed Steve Knox from Florida
just coming in, and he was beaming from ear to ear, he was in his element. Steve was the first GDR runner I came across
when I was exploring Vogel, back when the GDR was far enough out to only be a minor
concern...I was hauling around all sorts of photo/video equipment and saw him
running up Slaughter behind me...same smile, same enjoyment...I don't know if
he was happy with his finish, or happy just to have finished, but I have no
doubts he still had that big ol' shit-eating grin when he came across the
line.... :)
Just before leaving Skeenah, I recognized Philip Sustar,
from when I ran Merrill's Mile...he was the winner of the 24-hour race there back in September. Here he was, sweat on his brow and a grin on
his face, and appeared to be having a good time of it. We exchanged a few words of encouragement,
and he noted I was running uphill...I had been walking, but after so many
motivational exchanges, I was totally energized and unaware...
As I hit the BMT, Leah Linarelli and her PA posse were
turning in to Skeenah, looking for all the world like a professional cycling
team in single file, minus their bikes...maybe those weren't even her fellow
Pennsylvania runners, but you wouldn't know it from the smooth coordination
they were showing...I hope they all finished as smooth as they looked there,
because I know the trail got bumpier as time passed...
I ran a bit with Will Jorgenson, whom I believe is race
director for the Pistol Ultra in Maryville, TN.
He apparently had no doubts about his ability to finish the race, and
concerned himself with collecting trash to nab that $100 bounty! I thought about it, but I had no room to
spare...my vest was already full of trash...like an arctic parka, 3-ply rain
suit, propane stove, emergency avalanche shelter, homing beacon, and all the
other cold-weather items you MIGHT need if you got stuck in the Georgia
mountains in 70-degree weather... ;)
After crossing the 60 and onto the FSR, the heat started to
kick in, no more partial shade...being more of a cold weather runner, I knew
this would be potentially critical. I
gained some ground on a runner, I think it was Lee Shane, but the heat being
reflected off the hardpan was making me sweat more than I wanted to, so I was
half-blind, to boot. I remember
commenting that I wasn't so good a warm weather runner, and Lee gave an
over-the-shoulder glance and kind of an apologetic shrug, and said "I just
love to run!" And then gradually
increased the distance between us...heat was not going to derail this all-weather runner!
After crossing the Toccoa bridge, I enjoyed a quick repartee
with some spectator who asked "Are y'all really running 60-some
miles?" To which I enthusiastically
replied "We sure are!" He
shook his head and spit on the ground and said "Y'all are a bunch of
idiots!" I quickly retorted
"And you didn't even need your 9th grade education to figure that one
out...brilliant!" We both busted
out laughing...I ended up the worse for it, as I developed a stitch in my side
going uphill. I chuckled at that several times over the rest of the course.
Most of the remainder is a kaleidoscopic blur of heat, aid
stations and miles, running and walking, and a faceplant when I fell asleep on
cruise control before the BMT clearing.
On the way down Winding Stair Gap, I came up behind runner #59, and
asked how she was doing..."Horrible" was the reply...but she was
still way out front, and had good form, and a good pace...if that's horrible, I
can only imagine the kind of performance she would turn in if she were doing
"awesome"...
I had heard that the winner, Mark Lundblad, finished in
11:40...and Mitchel Pless wasn't far behind...I swear, the only thing that
would make me run THAT fast MIGHT be if I'm trying to get to McDonald's before
they stop offering breakfast and start the lunch menu! (Okay, maybe if I'm trying to make happy hour, too...) Some people are just incredible...and then there are those who are a step beyond...
And then, I was at the bottom, at Aaron's Bacon
Station...great place to drop in and set a spell, but I was racing the sun by
that point. Once refilled, I continued
down the FSR...and when I was nearly to Nimblewill Church Road, I heard running
behind me...I glanced back to see John Cremers bearing down on me with the
visor I had left behind at the aid station!
Okay, so he wasn't actually running in the race...but he went the extra
mile (or more like a quarter mile!) to catch up to me, when he could have given
it to the next runner, or sent it to the finish, or any other number of
options. You see, John is a runner,
too...
I ended up at the finish using the original
route...apparently I didn't get the word that the finish was changed, and the
markings were still up as I beat the street downhill into the finish. Jason Green was there to take down my number
and time, and the race was in the books for me...but it was far from over.
As the last weak rays of light faded from the purpling sky,
runners kept coming in...some in pain, exhaustion etched on their brows...some
in an ecstasy...or maybe it was rigor mortis that kept those smiles frozen on
their faces. The emotion was palpable,
emanating from each runner like waves pounding the shore. Wave after wave, crashing into the finish
line, an ocean of dogged determination, a sea of human perseverance pushing ever forward. I had the opportunity to sit and chat with
Graham Perkins of Vancouver as we cheered runners in, and exchanged notes about
our races.
Not everyone reached the shore, however…some were dashed to
pieces upon the rocks. As the night wore on, I saw that Montana
Crawford was pulled short of reaching his next checkpoint in the wee hours of
the morning. I learned that Anne
Blanton, who had trained rigorously and religiously, succumbed to the effects
of mild food poisoning. Trung Lively,
who had come up from Florida, was stricken by the heat. And yet, each of them fought for every single
mile, earned every single step, giving everything they had, pushing their
bodies beyond their limits until their bodies could no longer respond. Who among us would not salute
the fallen? And tomorrow, the
resurrection, and we live to die another day…
And I...I only know this small part of it all, this limited
view through a tiny window overlooking a vast panorama of the power and frailty that is our humanity.
There are so many more stories I know nothing of, so many more battles that
were being fought on so many fronts which I can tell you nothing about. But if this was all I knew...it would still
be more than enough of a testament to the strength of the human spirit. It isn't found in a protein bar, or a bottle
of sports drink, or a packet of carb gel.
It's in the heart and mind, and the very soul...and it's in every one of
us who crossed that starting line.
You'll recognize it every time you look in a mirror, because EPIC…is
YOU.
~Jake
