GDR - The Resurrection

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