This was it. The race I had been looking forward to since August. The race I had looking forward to since Pike’s Peak. It was the second on my triple play of 50Ks – Sunmart, Bandera, Big Bend. It was the race that I knew everything about… and the race that I knew nothing about.

The Hill Country State Natural Area (HCSNA), some 11-12 miles outside of Bandera, Texas had served as our symbolic work-up area for Rogue Pike’s Peak training. It was during those workout weekends that we were introduced to such favorites as Lucky, Ice Cream Hill, the Three Sisters, and the Big Nasty. It is an interesting place. You either love it or hate it – there is no grey zone for a Bandera discussion. If the technical work of some interesting ascents and decents doesn’t get ya… then there is always the sotol – cactus whips that look like yucca and treat your skin to a saw-toothed “gotcha” as you push through – leaving tiny cuts that remain unnoticed – until you shower. They are a friendly reminder, yes, a friendly one – you are the visitor – please be a polite guest.

I had just come off of two tiring days of reserve duty in San Antonio with the Navy… and drove up Highway 16 on that Friday afternoon. I made a few phone calls – the Verizon man, it seems, has yet to visit Bandera (I can’t hear ya now). As my phone signal faded, my spirit rejuvenated. Seeing the hills pop up felt like coming home. I laughed upon reflection. I had spent the night before, literally, sitting on the floor of my room at the Visitor Officer Quarters at Lackland AFB with all of my running gear surrounding me in a semi-circle. Yep. Ok, almost all of it. Four pairs of trail shoes, one pair for the road (a token), my Camelback, a half-dozen shirts, as many shorts, hats, etc. I was planning out drop bags… and got kinda bogged down. The hills must have found out and enjoyed the laugh. They reminded me that I really didn’t have that much to worry about. I was breathing… had a pulse… good to go.

I pulled into the Running R for room check in. The proprietor walked me down to lucky cabin 13… and out of the corner of my eye… I caught a glimpse of the tribe. Leah, Carrie, Abe, Cathy, Maria… and my favorite language coach, Lauren! Hugs for all (did I really roll on the ground in my DCUs saying, “you can’t see me, you can’t see me”?) They quickly caught me up on the weekend’s schedule. I dumped bags in my room, changed out of my desert uniform, then hopped into the car for the short drive to the park.

It was a beautiful afternoon, the “oh so familiar hills” looked inviting and seemed electric in the orange of the setting sun. They were alive – excited with the prospects of the lessons Mother Earth once again had in store for her forgetful children. Nothing harsh or vindictive, just the usual ones of us being the child, the student – and her being the loving, but mindful parent.

I entered the park, drove past the ranch house, through the ranger check in, and down the main road. I had made this part of the journey many times… but this time… it was different. Immediately I saw the familiar orange striped ribbons used by Pru (and adopted by Sisson) to mark the trails. Along the road there were traffic cones and tiny orange flags highlighting specific paths. Yellow signs marked turns. I drove past the equestrian center, past the “no vehicular traffic” signs. On into the heart of this delightful darkness.

The Lodge. This was it – race headquarters in the middle of HCSNA. I immediately went to the tables and picked up my race-packet. Bib 501. A large shirt… some safety pins. Welcome to Bandera. It was carnival, a state fair, a trail runners’ mecca. Large tents housed tables and chairs for the pre-race meeting, the meals, and the award ceremonies. Outside were the porta-lets (and lots of nearby trees). Campers and RVs were in the back. A smorgasbord from the REI online catalog dotted the parking lot. Lots of friendly faces – new friends, old friends and friends to be.

The night flew by. Joe’s welcoming remarks. “Well, Rogue is kinda like a club.” Henry gave the in-brief for the course. Dinner was spaghetti, salad, toast, desert, and big jugs of water on every table. What a kick. Smack talk everywhere. Everyone wore their battle scars – jackets or hats with races that they had conquered. Lots of Sunmart. More Bandera veterans. And you can bet we were all flying the fleece of Pike’s Peak. Soon I was in the car – and back at the Running R. Wish I would have turned the heater on before dinner. The little cabin was downright cold. I pinned up with two layers still on! Decisions, decisions. It would be cold in the morning, but warm in the afternoon. I had clothes dropped with Lauren for Nachos and used the official drop service for Cross Roads – In. Of course, I fretted, trying to remember what I put in which bag – and what would be available where. I finally settled - UnderArmor as a core layer with the gold Rogue lion on top. Camaflogue shorts with pockets, the Rogue hat, my trail socks and – great – the right shoe of Montrail Hardrock pair #3 and the left shoe of pair #4. I had a mixed set – their opposites had to be in a bag left over at HCSNA. I panicked. Make the drive over? The wear was different – and I had not switched out the inner soul liners. Great. I ripped the liners out of my street Reeboks and slammed them into the mismatched Hardrocks. Sigh – that might even things out. Half Gatorade and half water in the Camelback – popped it in the fridge. Two Hammer gels and baggies of ibupropyn and electro stamina pills set out so nice and neat. Lights out. It was cold.

Alarms suck, but they do get you up. I showered – last chance to be clean for a long time. Two pop-tarts (brown sugar cinnamon), two apples, a bottle of water. Breakfast was done. Anything else would have made me sick. In the car, out the gate, into the park. It was already crowded. The vacant spaces from the previous evening were filled. Flashlights were guiding me in. “Go all the way down, there are three spaces on the right.” Sweet! I was fifty feet from the Lodge building itself! Closer to the tents. I smelled coffee. I checked in… and grabbed a cup. Thirty minutes to start. I saw Dottie and Judy… and there’s David… all running the 25K. We called it the “Kid’s Race” of the three… but this was Bandera – there really isn’t a kid’s race…

I got in line to pee. Stupid. Plenty of trees, but I enjoyed the social time. Some guy talking about pace. I just looked at him. “You’re comparing road time to Bandera? Yeah… good plan.” At fifteen to start I left the line and headed for the trees. Relief. I hung by the 50K start line. Where were the Rogue bubbas? At 10 till the gun, here comes the Lexus. They all piled out – hooping it up. Very funny. They ran down the road to check in… and ran back. A minute later somebody yells, “hey, the 25K and 100K guys have started… think we ought to go?” Sure enough – I looked down the road – lots of bodies heading out. And that was that. We were underway.

A few yards down the main road and they turned us – onto the Lodge Loop. I had made a strong show of it the night before. “Oh, this is great! We get all the major climbs out of the way at first. That rocks!” Now I had to do them. As the adrenaline started to pump – I almost smashed into the guy in front of me. We were lemmings when we hit the single track. My mind flashed… and I said it out loud to Maria (which was to be the last time I would see her fast feet until after the race!), “What is this, the Ws?” Flashbacks of standing room only lines at PP. A few twists, some turns. Some “on your lefts”. And we were climbing. It was a good thing. Folks started spreading out. Nothing like a bunch of rock to slow ya up and get your attention. It did me. But it was cool… and fast. Before I knew it, I was at Last Chance. I was fine on liquids and took a couple of tabs. Food is always welcome, so I grabbed a handful of potato chips. Carrie and I headed for Cairn’s Climb.

 It was perfect. The sun was breaking past another hill and shed the last of its early morning gold upon us as we climbed. The view was spectacular… of course… it also meant that the end of the cool morning was upon us. A definite impact factor on my day’s performance! But that was all in the future… we made it to the top and celebrated with a yell to our Rogue colleagues somewhere below. They heard us and echoed back a yelp! We followed that with some performance gel – just the thing to get the GI going. Carrie gave me permission to look at her ass (you just had to be there… or maybe she said something else) to let her know if she was grabbing vanilla or coffee. She wanted coffee. In any other situation, I might have thought that weird… but this was trail running… coffee was the right cheek BTW… right as in left and right… not wrong and right. How can there be wrong when you are talking about ass? But I digress… we started down the switchbacks from Cairn’s Climb. …and then… the inevitable. Carrie got bored and left me in the smoke of her too small Asics with four-n-a-half miles on them… I was left to fend for myself. Alone again, naturally.

Things were uneventful for the rest of the Lodge Loop and I meandered back to the Lodge aid station. By this time the temperature was warming up considerably. I threw my gloves, my UltraArmor and my Camelback into the car – trading it for a water bottle. I restocked on Hammer Gel and tabs… and headed back out. Let’s replay that last part. “I threw my… Camelback into the car – trading it for…”. Can you hear the bells and whistles? If this had been a movie, the audience would be yelling at the screen, “Dumb Ass!” Here’s the scoop. I have never, NEVER run in Bandera w/out my Camelback. Read between the lines – I was used to drinking lots and lots – whenever I wanted. I abandoned the thing because I was lazy… I did not want to carry the weight. Hmmm. Stay tuned for the ramifications of that decision. I saw Cathy on the way out. She was cruising in toward the Lodge. She was all smiles. Part I finished.

Part II. 7.5 miles into the show. The Outside Loop. I started up the Big Nasty. It was steep – just like last time. It took my breath away – just like last time. It sucked – just like last time. But it was done in a heart beat and I was into the Saddle and on top of the Island. Last time I had run this part, it had been on a Rogue night run. I knew there were some interesting descents. Sure enough. Chivalry took over and I let the gal behind me have the trail – just in time to hear her scream as the trail kinda bushwhacked down with some loose rock. It was pretty funny – the timing and all. But all good things come full circle… and I had a couple of terrifying moments surfing the rock – my legs were still but the momentum on the loose crap kept me going. Interesting feeling – I think they call it panic. Things settled down and I did ok through the ascents to Ice Cream Hill – and not bad on the hill itself. …and then something weird happened. I was on the descent and nailed a toe on the left foot. This caused me to stagger step with the right… and my right calve seized up tight. Ouch! That had not happened to me in over a year! I was tabbing and I was hydrating (or so I thought)… so wtf? I blew off the feeling… after Ice Cream I knew I was coming into the Nachos aide station.

I couldn’t believe it. From a couple of hundred yards out, I heard people screaming “Rouge” and “Dano”. They must have recognized the orange lion pouncing upon their once secure location. Talk about the royal treatment. Lauren had been gracious enough to cart our “unofficial” drop bags out to the post (and thanks to Marty for dropping them back at the ranch!). My bottle was instantly refilled (I hadn’t noticed that it was dry) and everyone was scrambling to help… even the boss put sun screen on my shoulders and ears as I chowed on some Shot Bloks. Marty got mad at me for spitting them out… but they were making me laugh. Sisson reminded me that it was getting a lot warmer and that I had to monitor my intake really close. His words really came back to me, “keep your head in the game… you’ll get loopy… keep your head in the game.” And with that, I left my friends behind.

I headed out onto new real estate. It was pretty… but I did not enjoy it long. Again, Sisson’s words, “All you got left is the unknown part of the trail. Your major climbs are done. There is some rolling stuff out there, but nothing like you have faced. You know you can do the distance. Keep your head in the game.” I ran along the creek bed… and began to feel the heat. It was at that moment that I did the math. Mistake. I had emptied a bottle (and felt thirsty…. hello… HELLO!) in the 5.5 miles from the Lodge into Nachos. I was now 5.2 miles away from the next stop… and the section after that was 6.2 miles. Shit. I was draining a bottle in under 5 miles… and it would only get hotter. I made a mental note to tab more. …and then could not remember when the last tab was. I looked at my watch. It had been right before Nachos. I pulled out my pills and took two more… washing them down with the water I was now rationing. Great. I was at the halfway point and things were starting to get a bit challenging.

There is a wonderful little climb before dropping down and making it into the Chapas station. It was on the climb when both the left and right calves sent out love messages. Nothing too bad… but they both hinted at seizing up. My spirit was wavering – but the sounds of laughter and music coming from Chapas pulled me.

Chapas was a longer stop. I drank a cup of water and one of Gatorade. My bottle was refilled. I took a cup of Cola. The potatos tasted so good. The salt was heaven sent. I quickly swallowed more tabs and gutted up for the longest part of the race between aide. And it proved to be the loneliest. It still fascinates me how you can have hundreds of runners on the trail… and experience long lengths of time where you see, hear, have knowledge of, absolutely no one else but yourself. And when you do… you start seeing the wear and tear on them – and start wondering how you look. You know how you feel – but do they know? Can they tell?

It was indeed a lonely stretch along the southern and eastern edges of the park. I started doubting. I knew I would make it -  but I had a mental image of my friends pulling further and further ahead of me. I tried to think, but couldn’t – a blessing. My right cheek began to throb. I had busted my tailbone on a night run about 6 weeks back… and it seems that things just haven’t been the same on the right ever since. Nothing special. Just a dull ache. But now it was not so dull. I checked my bag and took about 600mg of pain relief. It calmed the beast, but cost precious liquid.

Of course, what really sucked… and I mean REALLY SUCKED… was seeing and hearing CrossRoads In… when I was still a good two miles away. The problem with a flat that is slightly elevated is that you can look around and see where you wanna be. I kept willing the trail to turn toward the west but it wouldn’t – and when it did – the sucker just kept turning and we had to run back south… it was very disheartening. My bottle was empty… and it wasn’t just warm… I was getting hot.

“Where’s my drop bag?” Cross Roads In – the beginning of Part III. I was 24.5 miles into the game. Only seven miles left. Seven miles and the Three Sisters… and the Saddle… and all of that rock… and sotol. The fun words were rapidly leaving my vocabulary. My bag was on the other side of the aide station tent. Took me some time to find. I unzipped it. Grabbed the baggie of tabs and pain killers. I looked at the other stuff – a shirt, a hat, a bandanna. They would have felt good – fresh clothing. “Fuck it.” That was my new motto. I went back to graze – more potatos, more salt. Water, water, Gatorade. Cathy came running into the station. I found her bag. We exchanged short one word conversation. We left together. She lead and slowly pulled away. I would catch her on some of the little climbs, but the flats she had me. It didn’t matter. Seven more miles. It didn’t matter.

It seemed like forever to get to the Sisters. It seemed like forever to leave the sisters. They happen quick, those bitches. One right after the other. And the second one certainly had her way with me. I was on the descent when both calves and my right ham went tight. Hmm. Just when you thought you needed leg muscles to stand. I think it was sheer will that got me through the excruciating moments. But I didn’t fall. Maybe it would have been better. I must have been a bit vocal… about a hundred yards down Cathy turned around. I waved her on – I would find out later that it was about that same time when she was running into some issues. I can remember shouting, “why is this happening?” And just as soon as those words left me – images of me trading the Camelback in danced through my head. “Oh… I dunno… maybe you’re cramping because you’re way short on minerals… and you are on your way… to… to… dehydration!!!”

“Keep your head in the game.” It echoed. I had always relied on heart. Heart is great. It is what kept me standing. But I was in a hurt locker and was still about three miles out. From that point on – no step was a gimme. I was doubting everything. I don’t remember the Saddle, but I know I had to have run back through it. I remember turning for the hill down into the Equestrian camp. And it happened again. By the fortunes of war, this was literally my last descent. Both calves, both hams… out to lunch. And there was James of Leah and James… camera in hand… and son at his side. I kept thinking, “now that would have made a great picture.”

I stumbled into Cross Roads Out. Only two miles to go. Part IV was beginning. Part IV was the end. I sucked down the fluids. Grabbed a handful of Fritos. I was filling my bottle with Gatorade and a damn bee stung me. I just stood there looking at the stinger stuck in my thumb. It is amazing how you can zero in on something. I can still see it in my mind’s eye… its jaggedness. And it hurt… like everything else… I just stood there… and pulled it out. I must have been a bit loopy. Meredith knew I was dehydrated… she made sure I got some nutrition and kicked me out of the tent. “Only two miles… get out of here.” I obeyed. Silently. I shuffled off.

I don’t remember any of that last little bit… except for the kind gentlemen… sitting at a table in the middle of nowhere. One sign pointing toward the left and the finish… and the other one pointing to the right for the 100kers. He was boisterous. He was cheerful. He said I looked good (the liar) and turned me left – toward the finish. “You’ll see the finish line in just a few seconds…” … and I did… out of the woods… onto the dirt road… right by the cattle guard. The finish was just a few hundred yards away. …and then I heard it… the chant. My name to the tune of “Eye of the Tiger”… my feet turned over. I crossed. It was done. Eight hours and eight minutes later. It was done.

What an experience. It was the race I knew everything about. It was the race I knew nothing about. I learned more about the subtleties. I learned more about myself. I learned that everything… everything happens for reason. We may not know or see the reason for the longest time… but it is there. It can be as simple as changing gear… or as complex as the cells of a muscle mass becoming incapable of delivering what they need to deliver – all because of an electron charge. It’s perspective – as simple or as complex as we want to make it. Steve’s words sum it up, “Keep your head in the game.” I understand about heart. It is now time for me to learn more about head.

I started to feel more human after some food, some rest. About two and one half hours after finish, I went out to the Rogue station at Nachos to work a shift. We still had 100K runners on the course… and it was time to give a little bit back. I had certainly taken enough over the weekend. And what a blast it was. A perfect way to end the day. The five Rogue 50Kers and Sisson literally rocking the night away and giving each other shit the whole time. All of us bone tired – but all of us getting such a kick outta seeing a runner leave the station in better shape and spirits then when they got there. I couldn’t help but draw the parallel… there was our station… a little light in the middle of dark… in the middle of some of the roughest ground in Texas… but that light made all the difference in the world. Strangers come into our lives through the most bizarre circumstances… all beat up from the trail… and we ourselves are beat up from our own adventures of the day… but somehow… through the sharing of the moment – through the sharing of an experience or maybe just a cup of warm soup – we make the choice of building up or tearing down. It was a lot of fun to be built up… and to help build up.

Again… each of you has touched me in ways that are beyond such simple words… but it is all I have to offer – Thank you.