The Barefoot Running Book - Jason Robillard [65]
Stuart was really pushing the pace. I didn’t want to run, but had to in order to keep up with him. My quads finally started to get fatigued to the point where the hills felt difficult. The problem was compounded by a feeling of sleepiness that was hitting me in ever-strengthening waves.
As if he could sense my struggles, Stuart broke into show tunes. I don’t remember what songs were sung, but I do remember Stuart’s hauntingly beautiful voice. It felt as if I were dreaming. Granted, it was a dream filled with sharp dagger-like pains from blisters, a strange grinding pain in my knees, a searing pain in the back of my right knee and quads, and a myriad of other seemingly traveling pains caused by a combination of fatigue, overuse, and friction. The pain was beginning to fade as I began to relax. Stuart’s singing was fading slowly and the dream abruptly ended when I felt myself falling. Somehow I managed to catch myself before hitting the ground and it took a few seconds to realize I was running. It was dark. I could still hear Stuart singing, his bright crossing guard shirt easily visible in the beam of my light. Unbelievably, I had just fallen asleep while running on a flat boardwalk. Damn that was scary!
I continued to trudge on wishing the sun would come up. I think we passed a few runners during this stage, and some may have passed us, too. My memories are VERY fuzzy.
Somewhere between the first and second aid station, the sun came up. Experienced 100-milers say it makes a huge difference, and it does. The sun coming up was an immediate boost and the sleepy grogginess faded. I felt alert.
Unfortunately daylight brought more mountain bikers. When the first group passed us the lead biker shouted out, “Four of us!” as he whizzed past. A few seconds later another passed, followed a few minutes later by the third. The fourth bike never came by, which seemed odd. Then about 20 minutes later, the lead biker came back and asked us if we had seen his friend, the fourth rider. We hadn’t, so he continued to backtrack.
About a half hour later, we saw him again. Stuart asked if he found him yet to which the guy replied, “No, I’m checking all the other trails.” Perhaps channeling some of my new-found disdain for mountain bikers, Stuart quipped, “Don’t worry; I’m checking all the ditches!” I laughed a little, realized it hurt too much, and continued shuffling along.
Eventually we started to meet a few recreational runners running in the opposite direction. Most had been on the trail Saturday morning. It was surreal to think I’d been running for over 24 hours at that point.
When we pulled into the last aid station, I knew it was almost over. By this time I was getting very tired of running and just wanted it to end. It was a lot like getting a tattoo. The constant pain, while tolerable in the short-term, begins to play games with your mind. I now understand how people DNF at mile 95 of a 100-mile race. The previous 95 miles were inconsequential. All I could see was the four-plus mile mountain of the race that remained.
My entire crew was going to hike the rest of the course with me to the finish. I was glad they would be there to keep me company, especially Shelly. Her feet had taken a horrific beating on the lap she paced with me. She described the feeling as “if my toenails came off in my socks.” Needless to say, she couldn’t fit her swollen, painful feet into her shoes, so she put three or four pairs of socks on her feet. It looked as if she were wearing giant puffy pillows. I think the crew made a joke of it, but I wasn’t coherent enough to understand.
We started hiking this long, hellish, rock-filled leg. It started pretty well. Though I was tired and in a lot of pain, I was still pretty much “there” mentally. At some point, I stopped to relieve myself on the side of the trail. I noticed a tree immediately to my