Texas hospitality is alive and well. You especially notice it if your name is Davy Crockett. Texas always treats me well and I looked forward to running in the Rocky Raccoon 100 Mile Trail Run. The comments about my name started at the rental counter at the airport.

Here I was, Davy Crockett in Texas, running in a race named after a raccoon. I had to do it. I donned my coonskin hat at the beginning of the race, evoking a few strange looks. Every time I explained the reason during the long race, I got laughs of approval.

I went into this race with great respect for the 100-mile distance. I was still smarting from my first attempt, four months earlier, when I DNFed after 88 miles at The Bear 100. I more carefully trained, lost ten more pounds, and arrived at the start line determined. My goal was to finish. My dream goal was to finish with a sub-24 hour time. My strategy was simple. Stay ahead of, or close to, Hans-Dieter Weisshaar, who runs a steady race and was bound to post a sub-24 time.

143 runners started the 100-mile race, and 65 others joined in an hour later on mostly the same course for a 50-mile race. I asked someone to take a picture for me near the start line, and as I struggled to put my camera back in my fanny pack, I looked up and discovered that everyone was gone! A great start. I was dead last.

For the next couple hours I had fun moving up through the pack, passing over 100 runners until I found those moving at a pace that felt good. I loved the course format in Huntsville State Park. The 20-mile loops with three out-and-backs made it fun to see so many runners and to gage your continual progress. The single tracks were wonderfully soft. The famous roots were fun obstacles, never posing any real problems for me. The volunteers at each aid station were incredible.

I felt great during the first 20-mile loop, running almost the entire length. The mild rolling hills were a nice change from the grueling mountain ultras I ran last summer.

After awhile, these smart ultrarunners caught on to my coonskin hat. I was continually greeted with, "Good job Davy", "Looking good Davy", "Keep it up Davy." "Davy Crockett, who are you running from?" I replied Santa Ana. A few erred and tried calling me Daniel Boone. Hans-Dieter later called me Beaver Boy. I guess they don't have too many coons in Germany. On the third out-and-back on the first loop, I discovered that I was 20 minutes ahead of Hans. Toward the end of the loop I found my self running near the leading woman in the race. I was going out too fast, but I felt good and kept it going. I believe I finished the first loop around 3:20, much faster than planned.

My second loop also went well. I now knew what to expect. For awhile I settled in with Dale Perry of Loveland, Colorado, and enjoyed some good running conversation. I consistently stayed 20 minutes ahead of Hans and clocked a loop closer to 4 hours.

With the afternoon hours arriving, I exchanged my coonskin hat for a baseball cap during loop 3. I thought it was funny that no one recognized me on that loop. All the "Good job Davy" comments stopped. I was just another face in the crowd. I began to struggle on this loop. My right knee started to scream and my pace slowed. Soon I was only 10 minutes ahead of Hans, then 5 minutes and finally he passed me before mile 50. Despite my struggles, I was very surprised that I caught up with Hans on the long stretch between Dam Road and station 174. He must have had to stop to take care of business. I stuck with him for a couple of miles. I removed a strap on my leg which helped keep my knee cap stabilized and after a half hour my knee felt much better.

Something strange happened around mile 57. I felt amazingly strong, no pain, and the quads loved running all the uphills. I kicked it into gear, passed Hans and others, and cruised during the final hour of daylight. Another runner, who I think was running in the 50-mile race, stayed right with me. It felt great. I know there were many uphill sections, but I never noticed them. As we were running the final stretch of the loop, back to the lodge, I commented to the guy drafting behind me that we were really cruising. After the loop he thanked me, that he had really wanted to finish strong, and that I helped him accomplish that.

I believe I ended that loop around 6:30 p.m. 60 miles in 12.5 hours. I wasted 20 minutes getting my night stuff together and trying to repair a blister. But I felt great. All I needed to do was a five hour loop and then a six hour loop and I would reach my dream goal of a sub-24 hour race.

As I started my fourth loop in the dark, I was thrilled to discover that I still felt great, my running gear was still there. I was also pleased to discover that my new 14-LED green flashlight was perfect for this course. The blazing light illuminated the roots perfectly. I would have no problem with those obstacles. I love night running and trained many hours in the dark. I fired up my MP3, sang out loud to the tunes, which took my mind off any pain. I cruised through the first seven miles picking off runners one-by-one who had passed me on loop 3. I also donned my coonskin hat again and the "Good job Davy" comments again started to greet me.

I had another fun idea at this point. I turned on the red LED light on my headlamp which would contrast with my green hand-held light. I soon realized that on the long straight out-and-back sections that I looked like some sort of crazy traffic light coming at the runners from the distance. People would comment that I should get a yellow light for the middle. Now that would be a fun idea for my next night ultra!

My pace continued to be strong. While preparing for this race, during my taper period, I decided to replace running with long power walks. I could really feel the payback. My walking stretches remained strong and fast. I enjoyed the occasional run-ins with raccoons and armadillos along the way. As I cruised by swamp areas, the noise was deafening from frogs and other critters.

But around mile 72, I began to crash. A bad blister developed under my foot, my knee started to hurt again and my quads told me they were through with running. I really struggled. At mile 75 Hans passed me for the last time, going on to his 23:39 finish. I believe he was the only runner to pass me on loop 4 except for about six front-runners on their final 5th loop. My pace slowed and I became discouraged. I perked up when I considered that I was about EIGHT hours ahead of the pace I ran at The Bear 100!

I hobbled into the lodge station, completing my 4th loop (80 miles) at around 12:30 a.m.(18.5 hours). The station volunteers were amazing! Three of them huddled around me, helped repair my foot, carried food to me, and spoke kind words of encouragement to me. One even took my sweaty sock to dry out by the fire. I thanked them for bringing me back to life and said with sadness that a sub-24 finish was now out of the question. There was no way that I could complete that last loop in less than 5.5 hours with the shape I was in. As I began the loop, I put that out of my mind and decided to just try to enjoy the rest of the race. I knew that I would have to walk nearly the entire loop. I quickly "lost my lunch" and knew it would be a long hungry walk to the next station.

I was now in a strange lonely position. All of the sub-24 hour runners were now ahead of me, and the over-24 hour runners were behind me. It seemed like there was now a great distance between those packs, with me stuck alone in between. The pain increased, and my pace slowed even more. I kept my eye on the sky. The forecast was for rain. I knew if it started to rain that I would be toast. I was chilled and it felt like I was running a fever. Thoughts of a DNF started to haunt me. I dashed those thoughts away and continued to plod along, trying to at least walk at 2.5 mph. How could I stop now after going to far? Soon I became even more discouraged as about 20 runners passed me on that loop. There was nothing I could do. I was moving so slowly that someone even asked me if I was on my 4th loop instead of my 5th. The "Good job Davy" comments changed to, "Are you doing OK Davy?"

The miles seemed to crawl by slowly. 83, 87... only 13 more, an "easy" training run. Dawn arrived during the lonely stretch between Dam Road and station 174. I felt a few rain drops and the wind started to blow, but thankfully the storm stayed away. I was greeted by friendly volunteers at station 174 with some warm oatmeal that hit the spot. They told me that I had it made, less then three miles to go. These were the longest three miles of my life. When I finally arrived at the trail along the main park road, volunteers and kind spectators clapped, cheered and congratulated me. Somewhere inside me, I found a jogging pace, and finished the race with pride, with a time of 26 hours, 53 minutes. Despite a final 5th 20-mile loop of about 8 hours, I had reached my goal. My first 100-mile finish. A respectable time for someone who started serious running only seven months ago. During this race I set PRs for 50k, 50 miles, and 100K. I came in 72ed place. 143 started, 104 finished, and 39 dropped out along the way.

My recovery was difficult. I showered, retrieve my belt buckle before the awards meeting and started to travel home. My drive to the airport was painful. I had to stop several times to rest. At the airport, I'm sure I looked like death on hobbling legs. The security guard told me to take my sandles off. I gave her a painful look and told her my feet were too sore. Another guard wanded me and asked me if I was OK. "Well, I just ran 100 miles." He spent more time asking me questions about the race than checking me for weapons.

I felt terrible at the airport. I knew I was having serious trouble with electrolyte imbalance. People gave me very strange looks, I'm sure wondering what disease I had, and hoping that I would NOT be on their plane. My stomach was having serious trouble. I had 2.5 hours to try to recover before contemplating boarding a plane. I "firmly" decided that I had run my last 100-mile race. I purchased some french fries, put extra salt on them, and very slowly ate one french fry at a time, sipping water very slowly. People gave me curious looks. Very slowly I started to recover. I finally could stomach a banana. That perked me up. I boarded the plane, made sure I had a barf bag handy and did my best to relax. The three-hour flight went by slowly, and the hour drive home felt as painful as the last 20 miles of the race. I arrived at my home in Utah, stumbled into my house, and collapsed on my couch. My wife quickly made me some soup and within an hour I felt much better. I proclaimed that I had finished my first and last 100-mile race.

...within 24 hours, that silly proclamation was forgotten. A stream of nonsense from the lips of an incoherent man.

Dave Crockett