One of the things I did to prepare for the Rocky Raccoon 100 mile endurance run was to locate and read race reports from 100 mile event finishers, so it seems sort of appropriate that I write my own race report on my first 100 mile "run" For those who are uninterested in the details of such an undertaking, feel free to stop reading at the end of this paragraph. In summary, it was hard. The course is a loop of 20 miles repeated 5 times. I would guess that 50-65% of the trails are strewn with roots requiring constant concentration for foot placement. I fell at least 5 times and tripped without going all the way down countless more times.
Miles 01-20 6AM-9AM - relaxed and easy
Miles 20-40 9AM-12:30PM - not so relaxed and easy
Miles 40-60 12:30PM-4:30PM - starting to wonder how I'm going to finish
Miles 60-80 4:30PM-12:30AM - complete demoralization, decide to quit
Miles 80-100 12:30AM-5:45AM - decision to quit is renegotiated by a young man we had picked up from the airport for the race, the race director's wife, my wife, the race director himself, and a stranger who agreed to run the last 20 miles with me. This loop felt like a triumph of sorts accompanied by a large dose of humility.

The next section of this note contains details about my race experience that I'd like to remember for future reference. The last section of this note is itself a struggle to justify participation in such an event: written at the request of Mark Godfrey. Warning: reading the last section may result in running 100 miles. So, reader beware.

PRERACE STUFF
How did I ever get to the point where I wanted to try to run 100 miles in one shot? After a few years of regular running that I thought had culminated in marathons I read an article in Runner's World about the Comrades Marathon in South Africa. Amby Burfoot waxed eloquent:"...I didn't realize how much a race could reveal to me. Of me. Some races are humbling; this one stripped me bare." The story lured me with a promise of self-discovery and I promptly told my wife what I wanted for my 45th birthday: a Comrades vacation. I needed to start training. I went online and found several runs in the central IL area that were "ultras" and started making regular trips down that way to run with the "Buffalo" (many of the Champaign area runners form a loosely knit group of runners who yell out the word "BUFFALOOO" when they see one another) The running group I hang out with in the Chicago area is the Lake Forest/Lake Bluff running club, a pretty social group of people, but I gravitated to the more focused sub-set of this group. This group, as friendly as they are, is quite focused on mileage and splits. The longest race they train for is the marathon and trying to race longer than that distance is physiologically speaking, insane. The Buffalo, on the other hand embrace this insanity and the majority of them either have or are planning to race distances up to 100 miles. A few of them seem to have no upper limit (Brian has done Badwater, Mike has done McNaughton 150, and Chris created his own race and ran 350 miles in a week). Well, after being around these people enough, it just seemed like something I wanted to try. How did I train to run 100 miles? The last couple of years I've run 5-6 days per week from 5-12 miles per day (one long run of 15-20) averaging 45-60 miles per week. My limited research on the internet revealed that several ultra-enthusiasts train basically like they would for a marathon and then run the race slower than their training paces. Another group seems to emphasize the specificity principal arguing that if you're going to run a race at a slow pace for a long time then you need to do some training runs at a slow pace for a long time. This second group made more sense to me, but the first group required less commitment so I went with them. For the months of December and January leading up to the race I did increase my mileage to about 75 miles per week, eliminated almost all speed work, and raised my training pace to between 8:30 and 9:30 per mile. Nutritional planning also occupied a fair amount of my time. I planned to try to take in about 300 calories per hour, getting half from clip II sports drink and half from aid station fare (PB+J and chicken noodle soup). Karl King had me convinced that I needed some fat and protein as well as carbs, but also needed to avoid taking in more calories than the stomach could process. As it turned out, I got sick of the clip 2 taste and didn't eat as much when I didn't feel like eating. I never felt nauseated but I sure did bonk in loop 4. I realize now that sticking to a nutritional plan is not a given, just because you made it. Barbie and I decided to fly down when we realized the drive would be a solid 22 hours. Our good friend, exceptionally gifted musician and great all around guy, Stephen Hinkle, gave us a ride to the airport. In Houston we planned to meet Collin and David at the airport and drive them to the race. Collin had posted a message on the RR100 Facebook page asking if anyone could give him a ride because his young age made renting a car ridiculously expensive. After we arrived at the airport and exchanged several phone calls we realized we had flown into different airports, so we drove from airport to airport before heading out to the race. I wanted to stay in a nice hotel, but my wife thought it would be a waste and insisted on camping. She loves to camp. Sometimes she sleeps out in the backyard if it's been awhile since our last camping trip. She especially loves the chatter of the other campers and the incessant barking of their dogs. Often while camping she refuses to sleep in order to enjoy the sounds of scavenging raccoons and armadillos. She is one great woman. We arrived at Huntsville State Park just as the Friday night pre-race informational meeting was getting started. We learned that the course had been changed from prior years for logistical reasons so it now would contain virtually no asphalt and less "jeep road" and more "single track". We learned that the loop measured exactly 20 miles and if our GPS units said otherwise then they were faulty. We learned that if we ran through an aid station without being checked in, we might get tackled but we would certainly be yelled at. After the meeting we picked up our packets, had a great dinner, organized and dropped off my drop bag, set up the tent, and got several hours of sleep before the alarm went off at 5AM. The starting area was all hustle and bustle with a mandatory prerace check in. The race had chip timing (!). The starting area and the aid stations were well lit and extremely well stocked and organized. It seemed like all the volunteers knew what needed to be done and did it expertly. Barbie volunteered at the start/finish aid station and was a great help to me each time I came through that point. The race director, Joe Prusaitis announced that he had no prerace speech and off we went in the dark. From the reports that I had read, the terrain is quite runnable, the hills are rolling (not too long, not too steep), and the only small concern otherwise is the roots. The roots were NOT a small concern to me. The consumed my entire focus. The trail conditions were very dry and pretty soft. Apart from the roots, it made for an excellent running surface. The dirt was really gritty, almost like sand, but I never felt like I was losing traction or running through sand. Originally I had planned to start out in a very lightweight trail shoe (NB 721) with an orthotic insert, but the night before I had tried them on and I felt just enough twinge in my feet to think that my regular road trainers would be a better choice. I think that was a good decision.

Loop 1 miles 1-20 6AM-9AM Easy
Running in the dark is hard enough on surfaces with good footing but these trails have roots everywhere. The roots are not usually so dense that you have to run on top of them, but you do have to constantly be mindful of them, In the first 25 minutes of running I saw 2 runners trip and fall (it might have been the same guy, poor guy, but it was hard to tell in the dark). Throughout the race I fell down, all the way down: legs, torso, and face in the dirt down, at least 5 times (out of the 11 long distance trail runs I did in '08 I fell down once and that was on a steep, snowy downhill) and tripped, without falling, countless times. I'm not sure which was worse, the tripping without falling, or the falling. Trying to maintain balance on fatigued legs is quite painful. I recognized Kansas City Trail Nerd, Gabe Bevan, at the start and knew that the previous year he had run 19:30 with a 3:15 first loop. I kept him in sight for the first 8 miles but I felt like I was running too hard and I slowed a tad. We had run the first five miles in the dark. When we got to the 6 mile aid station, as was customary a volunteer looked right at me and asked if there was anything he could get me. I handed him my shirt and headlamp and asked if he could put them in bag #110. He took them and said "no problem." Now that's service. Aid stations at an ultra are much more involved than aid stations at a marathon. Almost every runner stops at the aid station and eats food. On average they're located about 4 miles apart and they are stocked with an assortment of chips, candy, fruit, gels, soups, pasta, potatoes, and three or four kinds of sports drink as well as soda and water. During the night they were well lit and they were manned by people who were caring, helpful, and well acquainted with ultra-running. At mile 10, I needed to make a pit stop and when I came back onto the trail, I met Jesse Leitner. Jesse was upbeat, light-hearted, and talkative. A 3:08 marathoner and NASA engineer, Jesse had managed to bring his marathon times down by more than an hour using Maffetone training. Maffatone training stresses the importance of having a strong aerobic base and that this base can only be built through consistently running at low heart rates. Doing any type of speed (anaerobic) work prior to establishing the aerobic base actually hinders the process. Jesse didn't try to maintain any certain pace. He simply ran with his heart rate at 140. At mile 12 I was surprised to see Joe Timmsen from Iowa. Joe and I had battled it out for first place at Farmdale. Joe's a really strong downhill runner and quite friendly. He was entering the six mile loop as I was exiting. He was doing the 50-mile race that had started an hour after our race. He told me he was planning to do ITUGS this year and I told him it was going to be good having him at each of the four races. After making another pit stop at mile 16, I finished up the loop in 3:03. Barbie gave me a stern look and told me that I was running too fast. I took off my right shoe and was annoyed to already be developing blisters on the outside of my big toe. I reapplied body glide to the foot and changed one sock.

Loop 2 9:00AM-12:30AM starting to feel it
When training for a marathon, running 20 miles at 7 min pace is doable for me. It makes for a good workout and I'm a little sore the next day. But running 20 miles at over 9 min pace comes with the feeling of "I could do this all day." And even better, "I should be able to run 100 miles in 15 hours...no problem." I spent most of miles 20-40 running with Jesse. It was starting to get warm (temps would reach 83F in the park) and I was glad I was carrying a water bottle. In the past I've relied on the aid stations without carrying anything with me, but with the temps rising it would be too hard to stay hydrated by drinking every 4 miles. At each of the aid stations I was trying to eat 2 or 3 PB&J squares and drink a cup or two of sports drink as well as refilling my water bottle. Jesse and I caught up to Gabe at mile 35. Gabe maintains a blog which I read, so I feel like I know him but he's never met me. I briefly introduced myself , and told Jesse about Gabe's blog where he keeps a photo of himself weighing about 80lbs (?) more than he does now. I told Gabe his first loop was awfully fast and it was (2:57). He had been having a little trouble with cramping over the last few miles and was struggling a bit. When we pulled into the 36 mile aid station, I saw Rick Mayo who was crewing for Gabe and going to be pacing him for the last 40 miles. As we came to the end of this second loop I was feeling pretty good and maintained an even effort. My time for this loop was about 3:30 and Barbie congratulated me on slowing down. Jesse was probably a quarter mile behind me at the end of the loop but ended up a quarter mile ahead of me by the time I left the start/finish aid station. Two reasons for this longish aid station stop were 1) the port o potties were located about 50 yards away (that's a long way after running 40 miles) and I heard nature calling. It ended up being a prank call and a waste of my effort. 2) Blisters were now forming on the outsides of both big toes. This time I reapplied body glide and changed both socks. I might mention that this was the first event during which I've changed socks/shoes. Even at the McNaughton 50-miler last April, which was quite muddy, I didn't develop any hotspots or blisters. But I had brought along the extra socks and shoes just in case.

Loop 3 12:30PM-4:30PM Foreboding; general feeling: "How am I going to run 40 more miles after I finish this loop?"
Loop 3 was pretty uneventful and some parts I simply don't remember. I remember catching Jesse a couple miles in but at some point I got ahead of him and when he came up behind me at mile 49 or so he announced "So, I see you've been waiting for me." To which I responded "No. I think I'm just getting slower." I was getting slower. I started out slow and now I was getting slower. Jesse went past and I didn't see him again. I think he finished about four hours ahead of me. When I got to the mile 52 aid station, Gabe came in behind me. I told him I was slowing and asked if he minded me running with him. We ran and chatted for the next five miles but at some point I got ahead. When I got to mile 58 I felt like I needed to walk for awhile. After several minutes of walking I got a bit startled by someone yelling behind me "COME ON!! START RUNNING MATT...YOU MISERABLE PIECE OF SH*T!!" It's my new friend, Gabe. But I just couldn't go with him. Gabe finished a little more than 3 hours ahead of me. After a little bit, Joe Timmsen ran by on his way to finish his 50 mile race. I said hello to him and he stopped and walked with me for awhile. He was not having a good race; the heat had gotten to him. After a little walking, he ran off, and I jogged it in to finish 60 miles. My third loop took a little longer than 4 hours. I was slowing and getting slower and about to find out just how slow I could go.

Loop 4 4:30PM-12:30PM general feeling: DEMORALIZATION
As I came into the start/finish aid station, Barbie asked me how I was doing and I told her I was very tired and running was becoming a struggle. I took off my shoes and socks and while I didn't seem to be developing any more blisters, the one on my right toe was sticking out so far that I wondered how my shoe was accommodating it. Barbie brought me a cup of potatoes and I asked her if she could find some duct tape and a safety pin. She returned with them before I finished the food....these aid stations were great. I drained that particular blister, taped it up (smooth side around the blistered spot, then sticky side on the surrounding skin....it helped, really) reapplied the body glide; put on different socks and off I went....walking. I had about an hour and a half before darkness set in, to get to the aid station where my headlamp was. After 15 minutes, I decided to try running really slowly. From my experience on a treadmill, I know that running at 5mph feels like I'm moving slower than walking at 4mph and it actually felt easier to run slowly than to walk. I ran for 8 miles (picking up my headlamp with about 15 minutes to spare) and then I was done. The feeling of being done came on rather suddenly. It was absolute. The mantras of ultra runners include "CONSTANT or RELENTLESS FORWARD PROGRESS" or "JUST KEEP MOVING FORWARD" and so I walked. After a while I remembered that running really slowly was easier than walking so I lifted my knees to run. What a pathetic sight that must have been. When I lifted my knees to run slowly, I didn't move forward. I was doing something like marching in place. I went back to walking. I began walking at a pace that required 30 minutes to go 1 mile. I was convinced that I was not even going 1 mph (this was wrong, but I still thought it true). People, who were walking, passed me as if I was standing still. As I approached the aid station at mile 76, I calculated that I would need 24 hours to finish the race if I continued at the same pace. When I explained my predicament to an aid station volunteer (there was only 14 hours remaining) and how I was going to need to quit, she looked at me with a smile (not pity) and said, "Well, you're going to need to go faster." There was another man at that aid station who was dropping and getting a ride back to the start finish area. I sat down in a chair with some chicken noodle soup and did some planning. I knew Barbie would be furious if I simply dropped out without consulting her, so I decided I would go the extra mile and walk the remainder of the loop and DNF there. I had forgotten my water bottle at the previous aid station and was 300 yards out before I realized it, but I didn't really care. There was no way I was going to travel an extra 600 yards for a water bottle. A nice man at mile 76 aid station wrapped some masking tape around an empty 2-liter bottle and filled it 1/3 full with sports drink for me. These volunteers are AWESOME. As I continued my "death march" (a term used occasionally in race reports that I only came to understand through this experience), I began feeling really, really tired. I started scanning the trailside thinking I might see a large pile of leaves that I could lie down in and go to sleep. The steady stream of people walking or jogging past began verbalizing concern rather than encouragement: "Are you OK?" "You don't look so good" were heard several times. I don't think I was walking in a straight line. About 1/4 of a mile from the start/finish area (this is an out and back section), a runner came toward me and passed.... "Matt?" he asked. "Huh?" I think I managed. It was one of the young men we had picked up from the airport. "Dude, your wife is frantic about you. Do you know how long you've been out on this loop?" "Three days?....Collin, I'm throwing in the towel when I get in." I explained how slow I was going to Collin, but he wouldn't have any of it. He did some simple calculations there on the spot and told me I was going 2mph and had enough time to finish. He pointed out that the finishers' belt buckle was sweet and I would totally regret not having it. I thanked him and trudged on. It didn't matter. I was done and couldn't imagine subjecting myself to this misery any longer. I've finished every race I've started. I believe it's important to finish for finishing's sake. This is especially true when a sub-par performance is involved. I would much rather be a poor performer than a quitter. It didn't matter, I was going to quit. I was going to be content with it. I could accept this limitation and I would never attempt this distance again. I learned who I was...I could go 80 miles, but I could not go 100. I would promise Barbie not to attempt this distance again until our youngest was out of college. I would apologize for dragging her down here and wasting our money on a failed attempt, but I couldn't go back out. "Please, don't ask me to go back out there, please." This would work. I was sure of it. I walked across the chip timing mat about 12:30AM. I walked right past Barbie and the food tables and plopped down in a chair near the heater in the large tent area (when I wasn't moving I was cold). Barbie asked me how I was doing and I said "Not good." As I thought about how to most effectively make my case, Joyce Prusaitis, the RD's wife sat down directly across from me and looked directly at me and asked me direct questions which I didn't feel like answering. She told me that continuing with an injury was foolish and completing 80 miles was something I could be proud of. Joe, the RD, came over and asked about the difficulties I was having. He explained that the pain would be greatly lessened by a belt buckle. Joyce came back....these people wouldn't leave me alone. "Maybe you could just try to make it to the next aid station." I just wanted to slink away without disappointing a bunch of strangers. Clint showed up (who's Clint? Good question...I have no idea) and after about 15 seconds announced that I was good to go and he was going to pace me. It's 1:00AM and this guy has nothing better to do than help very tired strangers run through the woods in the dark. "Let's Go! Let's Go!" Joyce calls out, "We'll start walking." We started walking as Clint got his gear ready. Joyce gave me a smaller than 2-liter water bottle to carry, and off we walked. I wish I could say that I left the start/finish area with resolve or even hope. Sadly, it was cowardice. I didn't want to stand up to these well-intentioned people and say "I can't" or "Even if I can, I don't want to." Clint was simply amazing. He asked about my hydration, he asked about my run/walk method, he asked about my running ability. He praised my openness and attitude and my attitude improved. He told me we were going to try shuffling for awhile....and we did. I couldn't believe how mobile I had become. I'm still at a loss about this. We talked about his involvement with the race, his own completion of this race in a previous year, his family, his job (NASA...surprisingly he didn't know Jesse...How many ultra runners are there at NASA?). We walked briskly up all the inclines and ran slowly on the flats and downhills. Clint ran/walked ahead and I followed his lead. We started passing people and whenever we passed someone that Clint knew (he knew many), he managed to blurt out how awesome I was. One man we caught up to was Bobby Keough, sixty-year-old Ironman and 10 year finisher of RR100. Bobby had the world's fastest 100 mile finish for his age group in 2001, that's impressive. When we reached the 86 mile aid station Clint and a volunteer figured we were moving at a pace that might net a sub-24 hour finish. Bobby ran on while Clint and I ate some chicken noodle soup. I found my water bottle right where I had left it 8 hours earlier. We caught up to Bobby about 1 mile later and chatted about running. Bobby looks and seems like the kind of guy who lives on the side of a mountain. I could be wrong but I think the only reason he liked me was because we were both 88 miles into a 100 run together. When we mentioned the possibility of going sub-24, Bobby was skeptical. He thought we were 30 minutes behind that pace. We continued to walk the inclines and "run" the flats and downhills. Bobby said he was going to stay with us on this 6 mile loop and then he would let us go. He was behind me, and when we were on the flats I could sense he was fading. Then, we would get to a downhill and I could hear him charging up. About 4 miles into this 6 mile section, Bobby said he needed to back off a bit and Clint and I forged ahead. Shortly thereafter, we caught up to Stu and his pacer. These two and Clint all live in the same neighborhood and Clint had paced Stu on his fourth loop. Stu was having serious knee problems and was doing quite a bit of walking and now it seemed, so were we. We walked until Bobby charged through yelling that a 24 hour run was, in fact, possible. It was 4AM. We had 8 miles to go. Bobby didn't want to burn out or fade away so we settled into a pace that was just under 15 minutes per mile with a run/walk combo. As we approached the last aid station, Bobby figured we had 3.9 miles to go and about an 8 minute cushion. As it turns out, the volunteers informed us, we were 4.4 miles from the finish line. Our cushion was gone. We set out and with about 2 miles remaining Clint took over, running ahead calling out "Come on Matt, Come on Stu, Come on Bobby" Stu and his pacer were right behind Clint until Stu stopped abruptly and doubled over. Apparently throwing up is pretty typical during these things and is viewed as something to get over and just move on. Clint ran on yelling and yelling and my headlamp started getting dimmer and dimmer. By my estimation we ran the last 2 miles in 15 minutes, the fastest I had run all day. And now we were passing people as if they were standing still. As we ran down the final stretch with Clint about 50 yards ahead, he screamed out "Hurry Matt!! You've only got 15 seconds!" I ran hard to the finish only to realize that I had 15 minutes until the 24 hours had elapsed. Stu came in shortly after and Bobby shortly after that; all well under the 24 hour mark. Joe Prusaitis was standing right there holding my buckle. He looked right at me and said "Turn your headlamp off." "Congratulations." I looked around for Barbie, but she wasn't there. She had driven Collin over to the showers. She showed up a few minutes later (after I tried to walk to the campsite, but got turned around and ended up back at the finish area) and was sorry she didn't see me finish. I have several funny stories about trying to navigate from the finish line to my house after "running " 100 miles, but you'll have to ask me when you see me. The post race breakfast was delicious and hit the spot. The awards ceremony was entertaining and well conducted. My overall experience was unforgettable.

What are the benefits of 100 miles and how much do they weigh???
In an Email I sent out to some local running friends I wrote," As far as the spiritual epiphanies are concerned it's interesting. There is a fair amount of discussion about being psychologically stripped bare or receiving some gem of insight about the nature of reality, or humanity, or at least the self, in the midst of all this fatigue and suffering. Part of me suspects that this discussion itself functions as some sort of psychological justification for participating in this madness. Understanding what happens in the mind, in fact, the whole undertaking of introspection is a tricky business. What I do know is that I quit this race at about mile 76 and it was only because several strangers cared about whether I finished, that I did." For me the benefit was in accomplishing something difficult, something that seemed impossible a year ago. But for me, it is running specific. I think the ironman sounds extremely difficult, but I don't want to swim. I don't enjoy swimming and have no desire to push my limits in an endeavor that holds no attraction. There is something about running that I love. I love to run fast and I love to run far. Pushing the boundaries of these two aspects holds great appeal.....but I'm not sure why. I'm not sure knowing "why" is even helpful, because once you settle on an answer you end up with less than what you started. I love to run...who cares why? The benefit I received from running this particular hundred miles was in finding that I am stronger when I'm with other like-minded individuals than when I'm alone. When I was running alone on that 4th loop, the words of a friend (Paul Hagberg) came to mind. In an encouraging note he sent me before my adventure he admonished me to remember three "P's": pacing, perseverance, and prayer. I pleaded with the Lord to give me some strength and then decided to quit. I've said many times that I believe the Lord shows his care for us through others and the Lord demonstrated his care for me (In a relatively small way, to be sure) and gave me strength through the words and actions of Collin, Barbie, Joyce, Joe, Clint, Jesse, Gabe, Joe T., Bobby and a host of volunteers. Love Matt!

DISCLAIMER: MY WIFE HATES CAMPING and it was I who made her do it