Tuesday, 1/31/06
6am. First time in recent memory that I am actually leaving on time as planned, not an hour or more late. Retracing my route of a month ago: east over Monarch Pass; southeast past the Sangre de Cristo Mountains; south to Raton, NM; east to Amarillo, TX. One day's drive, and I sleep in the W*M parking lot (not many RVs doing same at this time of year - it's the dead of winter).

Wednesday, 2/1/06
Good, long sleep. Cold outside the bag when I wake up. One of the most valued components of this camper, compared to the bare shell I have been using these last three years, is the propane furnace. I simply lean over while still in my sleeping bag and flick the switch. Soon the interior is toasty warm and I un-cocoon myself to dress in comfort. This scenario is repeated almost every morning. To me it is an appreciated luxury.

On US 287 southeast through Fort Worth and south to Huntsville. This is the rolling flat country where cotton and beef are grown. To a mountain fan, it is boring and tedious in its monotony. As the sun goes down near Fort Worth the rain starts. It is tropical in its intensity of downpour with multiple lightning flashes lighting the whole horizon. I occasionally have to pull off the road due to the poor visibility conditions and extreme buffeting by the wind and wait for the squalls to pass. The intensity lightens up slowly as I proceed south and, finally, the storm is over by the time I get to Huntsville. Glad to be off the road I curl up in a bag dampened by rain forced sideways pass the seals of the camper. My last thoughts before deep sleep are musings on a flooded course and visions of endless slogging through mud.

Thursday, 2/2/06
I emerge from warm comfort into fog and a dripping universe. The radio says 2

Within walking distance of where I'll be parked all weekend next to the course, there is a rest-room with a shower and hot water. Another very appreciated luxury that most of us take for granted in our daily lives: running hot water! While the other volunteers go into town for dinner, I fix a simple meal in the camper and am sound asleep before they return.

Friday, 2/3/06
I sleep late, and the sun is shining bright by the time I emerge, ready for work. Joe understands that as a runner, I need to husband my energy. He tells me to take it easy and wait for the gear truck to arrive for unloading. I relocate my camper to a slightly more advantageous position beside the course, stake out my awning and set up my outdoor table and seats. I will be using my camper as my other supply station at the end-of-loop point.

The truck rolls in, lines form, and ant-like volunteers soon empty it. Tents start going up; aid-station crews gather their supplies and leave to set up their camps, and Sammy V starts creating enticing aromas that waft through the trees.

My friend John, the only other runner from Montrose, takes me to the nearby outlet mall where we tempt ourselves at the Nike store. Reason prevails, and having no real need, we don't spend on the overpriced merchandise. We browse through a very discounted bookstore, but with nothing specific in mind, again spend nothing but time. The jewelry store that was in the mall last year, and the real reason John wanted to come here - Valentine day being imminent - has disappeared and no relocation notice is to be found. Disappointed, we return to the park, pick up our race packets, and get off our feet, he to his motel, I to my camper where I take a nap.

At 5:15pm the runners' briefing takes place as people shmooze with old friends, and I drop off my one and only aid-station bag (the race consists of five 20-mile laps and the drop-bag will be at the approximately half-way point). Joe warns us that Saturdays night will, in all probability, be quite cold and to plan accordingly. For the benefit of the many first-time participants, and as a reminder to veterans, the course and its quirks are explained, questions are asked for and answered, and we all line up for dinner.

The food is sooo good I eat substantially more than usual (four different deserts) and waddle off to bed. I would pay for it later during the race, answering unusually frequent calls of nature.

Saturday, 2/4/06
Groggily, heavy with last evening's over eating, I heed the alarm clock at 4am and slowly get dressed. I scrub my feet with alcohol and spray them with "Tuf Skin" to help the protective tape stick better. Then talcum is applied; bare skin and calluses are lubricated with a softening balm; silicone toe-caps cover specific toe-nails in need of protection (I still lose at least one toe-nail each race due to prolonged friction, sometimes more) and cover it all with neoprene booties, padded running socks and shoes specific for rough terrain running. Ankle high gaiters cover the shoe tops to minimize dirt and pebble entry.

It is a cold, foggy damp 31*F as I go check in as "present for the start", and go pay tribute to nature's call. Back to the camper for a last minute gear check and 10-minute meditation, lying down in the warmth of the furnace. Five minutes before the start I strap by water bladder to my back; fill my cycling shirt pockets with toilet paper, electrolyte capsules, chaffing balm, carbohydrate gel; hang my sunglasses over the bandana around my neck; don hat and gloves; strap a 4 LED light on my forehead; grab my liquid-food hand-held bottle and head for the starting line. A few moments later, at 6pm, we are on our way the elite already running hard, the back-of-the-pack penguins like me waddling off slowly.

It takes a couple of miles for my legs to warm up enough to go from a stiff shuffle to a striding run. The single-file of runners starts to spread out and passing becomes less reckless as joints limber. The danger, as always at this time, is to give in to the "pass the one ahead" mania that consumes so much energy unnecessarily. With the dawn, visibility improves and with lights no longer needed, the pace quickens. The rising sun starts burning off the fog and I find a comfortable rhythm. In and out of the first aid station and we are returning along the same track. This first of two "out-and-back" sections gives everyone the opportunity to gauge positions and greet friends as we cross paths. Jorge Pacheco from California is in fine form and floats effortlessly by in the lead. He makes it all look so easy... At the Dam Road aid-station (which we will see again after the second "out-and-back") I drop my light and jacket and head down the trail I had traveled so many times before on Thursday. Up and down rolling terrain with gentle pine-needle-covered packed sand and occasional ankle-twisting rocks, it is easy footing. Then why are my feet and ankles hurting so? Probably because of not enough constant running over long periods of time in training. Where I live, I train on much steeper terrain, with much more treacherous footing. As a result my running is frequently broken up by negotiating rocks and climbing and descending cliff sides. I need to schedule longer, continuous runs on gentler terrain, just as I have to do more track-based speed repeats.

Once more the line of runners folds back upon itself and faces begin to become familiar and changes in position can be noted. In and out of Far Side (and the approximate half-way point of the loop) without stopping, only making sure my number (pinned to the left leg of my running shorts) is duly recorded. Back to Dam Road: fill the water bladder, mix a new bottle of food, grab several pieces of boiled potato and banana, change long-sleeved shirt for sleeveless one, swallow electrolytes, and am off to the inner loop of the course.

We now wind around a large lake and go through slimy swamps and cluttered creeks where the trail often leads across wooden-slatted bridges. Without these bridges, this course would be a monstrous slog, defeating of spirit, and I dare say few would want to repeat the experience. As it is, this is an enjoyable run through a southeastern forest filled with vegetation very different from my Colorado mountains. Together with Joe Prusaitis' fine direction and efficient, cheery volunteers, the Rocky Raccoon 100M, can be recommended as an excellent first exposure to beginners at this distance, as well as a challenging course for experienced runners.
There are several hills on this part of the course with many exposed, large, treacherous root clusters that will flatten any runner losing concentration. In and out of Site 174 and the encouraging knowledge that there are only 3 miles left to the end of the loop at the Lodge where I am timed at 3hrs and 50 minutes - 10 minutes slower than my planned split. I replenish and am off on lap 2.

Physically, each lap is now what Yogi Berra quipped: "Deja vu all over again". Mentally they are very different indeed. As climactic conditions and shadow/light patterns change, and fatigue sets in, the miles get longer, time expands and contracts like an accordion in motion, and will power needs to be increasingly applied to keep pushing and focus on relentless forward motion. Lap 2 is timed at 4:13 for a 40-mile elapsed time of 8:03 - 17 minutes faster than planned, which is good. During lap 3, at the return through Dam Road, I change shirts back to long-sleeved and pick up my belly pouch containing the three lights I will use all night long. I had debated on picking up the lights at the very end of lap 3 at the camper. I am now glad to have decided as I did, for it is fully dark as I finish lap 3 and having all my lights has prevented a greater drop in pace.

Sunday, 2/5/06
I don't remember my exact splits for the rest of the loops, but they had to be approximately 5hrs for lap 3 and an elapsed 12hrs; 7hrs for lap 4 and 19hrs elapsed; 6
This year the United States of America Track and Field Association (USATF) 100 Mile Trail Championship was determined at this race. To be eligible for ranking and awards one had to be a dues paying member of that group. Most ultrarunners are not members, by personal choice. I'm not, feeling that the association is mostly irrelevant to my life. Neither is Jorge Pacheco, who finished first, a couple of hours ahead of the second place runner and 52 seconds short of the world's record at this distance. His effort sort of puts things in perspective.

A hot shower, a nap, breakfast, and it is time for the awards ceremony at noon. The frenzied takedown of tents, collapsing of chairs and tables, packing of gear and supplies and loading of it all into the truck starts immediately after. By 4pm, everything is loaded, the area cleaned up and all sign of the previous 2

I had planned to sleep early in Huntsville, but distracted, missed the proper exit off the freeway and was out of town before being able to turn around. Not being sleepy, although tired, I decided to continue on, eventually stopping just south of Fort Worth in a town called Mansfield that has a brand new Wal*Mart Supercenter. Those who might wonder why the repeated use of W*M as sleeping areas, be aware that W*Ms welcome (usually) overnight stays of Recreational Vehicles (RVs) as an inducement for shopping in their stores. The Supercenters are open 24hrs a day, 7 days a week and have clean restrooms. The parking lots are very well lighted and have security cameras and patrols. So they are convenient and comparatively safe.

Monday, 2/6/06
Back on the road by dawn, the long day's drive takes me past Amarillo to Dumas, where I stop in sub 20*F weather. Thank the gods for "recorded books"; thanks to them time and miles pass almost effortlessly.

Tuesday, 2/7/06
A very good night's sleep; sore, but with no real pain, I start to "smell the barn". Breakfast in Raton, NM; back in mountain country; I gas up for the last time in Walsenburg before turning west over the Continental Divide; through the freezer they call Gunnison and I am home safe and sound before dark. The book of the day was "High Country" by Nevada Barr. Those of you who like a suspenseful detective story with extremely insightful psychology should give her a try.

It has been another satisfying trip.