Here's my rambling account of Bandera.

I knew Bandera would be difficult, but I wasn't expecting what I encountered. I was attempting my first 100k and figured, given my current conditioning, a consistent walk with minor running along only the flattest terrain was my only option to complete the race.

I drove down from Austin the morning of the race, getting up at 3:00 with my darling three month old little girl to coax her back to sleep, awaking again at 3:30 to hear my wife tell me "I'll go ahead and feed her.", and finally deciding to officially get out of bed at 3:45 because the sleep thing wasn't happening and I was planning on getting up at 4:00 anyway.

The drive down was interesting. I've never encountered so much fog in my entire life, and I was pretty much in the thick of it the entire two-plus hour drive. I finally arrive at the start about 7:15, glad that the deer and other wildlife decided to stay off the road, at least while I was driving by, given the visibility conditions were such that I would not have enough time to stop before taking out one of these Hill Country residents.

Now I had fifteen minutes to get to the packet pick-up, back to my Jeep, decide whether to use my hydration back-pack (for the first time) or my two water bottle waist pack, fill up either the back-pack or the bottles, and get to the start line. Let's just say, I'm glad it was cool, because I didn't' fill up the back-pack reservoir until Nachos - this lack of planning never became an issue.

I had been running/walking with Jeff, Liam, and a few other people I've met over the past year or two and I was feeling fine. Given that I had arrived late, I didn't have time to put on my gaiters and I had a few rocks in my shoes early on in the race. I finally put on the gaiters after a couple of miles. A little while later, after cresting a large hill, I stopped to clean out my shoes, but I think the damage had already been done to the back part of my right heel and the blisters only got worse from this point.

I proceeded to run with Liam and Jeff into Nachos, filled up my hydration reservoir, ate a little food, and told Liam and Jeff to head on while I used the facilities. I eventually caught up to Liam and Jeff not too long after Nachos. I started to question the probability of my success in the 100K at this point and kept looking at the ETA's for the various aid stations and finish line that I had printed on a sheet of paper. We were running about 18 minutes per mile and I wanted to pick up the pace a little so as not to arrive at the half way point after dark, figuring if that were the case a second loop would not even be an option. So, I rudely went on, not telling either Liam or Jeff I was heading on (sorry guys!).

I slowly pushed on to Chapas, my arrival there giving me a little motivational boost. I actually didn't feel too bad from here to just before Cross Roads, but as I approached Cross Roads for the first time I could feel that pain settling in. I started to set each aid station as my goal and tried to not think beyond that. Arriving at Cross Roads for the first time, Joyce was there and provided much needed motivation. I put on my best face so Dianna could take my picture and asked Jim "Which way to I go?" Jim kindly pointed me in the right direction for the internal loop that would return me to Cross Roads a couple of hours later.

Arriving at Cross Roads for the second time, my body was screaming for something to ease the pain. I asked for some Advil, but there was none to be found. Another runner who was waiting for some of his buddies to arrive offered me 800 mg of Motrin. I reluctantly accepted, uncertain how that much Motrin would affect my body; I'm used to only taking Advil. About 100 yards out of the aid station I decided to break the pill in half so as to only take approximately 400 mg. I tried to break this huge "horse pill" with my hands, it wasn't going to happen. I pulled out my serrated knife to cut the pill in half, got about a third of the way through and decided I had weakened it enough to break it with my hands. I did proceed to break pill, but both pieces went flying off into the grass along the trail; I attempted to find either broken piece for about two seconds, gave up, and proceeded on hoping that I could get some Advil at Last Chance.

I trudged on to Last Chance, trying to keep up a consistent pace. I think I recall this being relatively flat, but, oddly enough, that really wasn't a good thing. The flats seemed to be more painful than the uphill sections and not as painful as the downhill sections, so I was a little relieved when I encountered any sort of hill (more insanity!). Arriving at Last Chance I decided to rest for a few minutes. As I sat there a few runners came in and a few enjoyed the beer that was being offered. I asked for some Advil, but once again there was none to be found, or so I thought. As I was walking out, one of the volunteers yelled "We have some Advil." Relieved to hear those words, I headed back. But it turned out only to be a sadistic joke the volunteer unknowingly played, as there was no Advil in the first-aid kit contrary to what she had been told. Out of Last Chance I walked, hoping the next two hours would be as painless as possible but realizing that they probably wouldn't.

At this point it was crystal clear that a second loop would not be an option. My feet felt like they had blisters on each little toe, on the balls of both feet, on the inside of both heels, and on the back of the right heel. I remembered running Hogs Hunt and having a similar pain on the balls of my feet and after the race being pleasantly surprised I had no blisters. I was holding out hope that the pain I was feeling was to result in a similar pleasant surprise, but fearing the worse. From Last Chance to the last down hill I just remembered thinking "Just keep walking and finish this damned race!!". As I approached the bottom of the last hill I encountered what I thought was a truly cruel joke on Joe's part. The trail in both directions was marked with flagging and chem. lights. There was another runner trying to figure out which way to go (clearly both of us had never run this race before). I finally decided that flagging at the bottom of the hill was arranged as it was to direct us to the left, therefore that's the way I headed while the other runner stayed, trying to be sure about which way to go. As I proceeded down my chose path, cursing Joe for this little prank, I heard the sound of an approaching four-wheeler. I stopped and waited until the four-wheeler came to me so I could ask if I was headed the right direction. As it turned out it was the "cruel race director" himself. I asked Joe in the nicest possible way if I was headed in the right direction, Joe confirmed I was and remarked I was almost there. I then told him about the confusion and he said he was going to fix the problem.

I slowly walked into the finish line, told the timer I was done, gave up my number, and went to find the source of that fantastic odor. I consumed as much brisket, potato salad, bread, and beans I felt I could and headed off to my Jeep to change. Taking of my battered shoes I found that the blisters on my left foot were none existent and only a huge blister on my inside right heel and one of the back of my right heel existed. Not too bad, but definitely not good enough to rest and head back out. I was done.

This race was a true adventure and I'd like to thank Joe, Joyce and all of the other volunteers for the fantastic job they did!!

Now for the real insanity, here it is only three days after the most difficult race I've ever attempted and I want more of it; next year of course ;)