Dawn is slow to come deep in the pine woods of Huntsville State Park. My watch says it's 5:00am and already Mike Riggs' headlamp is dancing up the trail from where he pitched his tent the night before. As I layer up to ward off the morning cold, I envision what is happening 10 miles back down the trail. Most of the runners have already arrived at the lodge with their drop bags in tow. Many are already going through their pre-race rituals because a long 100 miles awaits them. Mike and I are manning the Farside aid station. It is located at the halfway point around the 20 mile loop that the 100 milers will do 5 times. Our job is to feed, clothe, and support the runners as they come to us. Farside is at the end of a 2.9 mile out-and-back single track and to most runners, we will be a welcome sight. We try to live up to the expectation that we are an oasis of succor deep in the woods. It won't be easy. Although every runner is gracious and thankful, they will all have different needs and wants that change over the 24 hours or more they are running. We can anticipate some of these trends. Water and Gatorade are consumed in large quantities during the daylight hours. As temperatures drop and body energy wanes, hot soup and broth are in demand. In the wee hours before dawn the next day, coffee and potato soup are craved. So with the boxes of supplies packed by Joyce and stacked high in the tent, Mike begins his labor of love. Laying out his smorgasbord of ultra fare that we think the runners will need. "Remember we got slammed on PB&J, so let's make a lot of that", says Mike. I find the PB & J, wheat bread and a broad knife and start slathering the slices. Soon I have two plates piled high with PB&J quarters. In the meantime, Mike has covered the rest of the two tables with every kind of candy, chips, crackers, and snacks he can find. We are almost ready for the first arrivals. "Let's have breakfast then we'll cut the fruit", says Mike. It's 6:30 and we don't expect the first leaders for another hour. I pull eggs, bacon, cheese and tortillas out of my private cooler stash and fire up one of our three gas stoves. Soon the smell of bacon wafts from our tent, and in a few minutes Mike and I are enjoying hot breakfast tacos. We savor this respite because we know we won't get fresh hot food for a long time, even though I have dinner and fireside treats ready to cook when the crew gets hungry for dinner 12 hours away.

The sky slowly brightens but we keep our three gas lanterns going to dispel the darkness in the tent and we watch the trail for the 1st runners to arrive. Terry Champion appears out of the morning gloom to help. Yea! A couple other volunteers arrive and we are staffed and ready for the onslaught. Right on schedule, here they come. In a tightly packed line, 5 of the fastest runners run up to our table. One runner doesn't even stop. He calls out his number, turns and runs back up the trail from where he came. The rest grab and go. Then the parade begins. Runners begin to arrive in a steady stream. They have all done 10 miles and they all look fresh. We fill hand bottles with whatever the runner wants. "3/4 full of water please". "Half water, half Gatorade please". "Top it off with Gatorade please". Gallon jugs full of water and Gatorade for rapid bottle filling get emptied fast. The cups lined up with Sprite, Coke, Water and Gatorade go fast too. Shouts of, "need more water cups filled", "Mix more Gatorade!", "Running low on PB&J", and "do we have any _____?" keep everyone busy. The most hectic job is the timekeeper. This person has to record the runners bib number and the time they arrived and departed the aid station. When a large group of runners comes into the aid station, shouts of bib numbers mingle with "what's your number?" and "Number 64 Out"!, adding to the intense yet festive air. Adding to the din is Mike's boom box playing beside the trail. He loves to offer music to the runners and was successful in finding a great oldies station KHSU out of Sam Houston State University, that played continuous oldies. Janice Joplin and The Boss mingled with the shouts of encouragement and requests from runners, forming a cacophony of continuous sounds throughout the day. Shouts go up as we see our friends come down the trail. Way to go Cary!, hey Diana, you are looking good!, Awesome Robert!, Soon everyone has filed past us and a lull ensues. Lead runners are due back in 45 minutes, so we all work to replenish the table fare and fluids. We sit and enjoy the respite, but Mike is in constant motion. Sifting through the supply boxes, he finds more goodies and adds it to the table choices. Amanda McIntosh and friend Jill pile the PB& J higher and higher. Two women from Houston, Julie and Alisa join us, and Mark Lindsey arrives on his bike with supplies from base. We are ready for the next wave.

They come more slowly this time. The lead runner has stretched his lead over the 20 miles we saw him last. He waves, turns, and is gone. Shortly more runners appear. They come in a steady stream now. No time to relax. Only time to replenish the tables of supplies and fluids as a continuum of runners file through. After 30 miles all the runners seem to be in good shape. Some linger longer pondering what they want or need, but since we're at the end of an out-and-back, they don't stay long. Before the last of the 2nd loop runners come past, the leaders come through again. Jorge is flying! Now there is a mix on 3rd loopers and 2nd loopers mingled with the red bibed 50 milers. The 50 milers seem to be struggling the most. The 100 milers know they have a long way to go. It seems some of the 50 milers are even on their last legs.

Lunch is ham and cheese with chips from the bag. Our aid station crew don't touch the ultra fare on the tables. After hours of watching grungy, wet gloves dip into every bowl, you don't want to eat from where the runners are eating. I know if I was running, I would not hesitate to grab from those bowls, but somehow watching 100's of sweaty hands and sopping gloves paw thru the food dampens ones appetite for the same. The crew sticks to the fresh stuff still in the bags.

The afternoon moved quickly as runners come and go. Joe Kroesche arrives on his courier bike as he and Mark Lindsey have been shuttling food and supplies up to us all day. I convince Joe to hang with us all night if I cook bacon, egg and cheese breakfast tacos in the morning. He agrees! Yea Joe! Julie and Alisa from Houston who both ran the Sunmart 50K are a blast. They take over the kitchen and Mike and I are relegated to filling bottles and logging runners in. They wanted to look inside this 100 mile beast and I applaud their attitude. They enjoyed the day to the max. After I told them I had smores later for the night's fire, they called their hubbies and got an extension to their trail pass! You should have heard the conversation..."Honey, can I stay out here in the woods with a bunch of guys I've never met before?, I'll be home sometime before dawn".

Darkness settles in as the lamps come on and the fire grows. Mike and I both had brought firewood, so we had a nice fire going all night. Runners come and go. Sometimes a string of lights come snaking down the trail. Sometimes a solitary beacon grows larger as it comes towards us. It was impossible to tell who is behind the lights until they get right up to us. You can imagine our joy when we recognize one of our HCTR friends. A hug and quick chat and we send them on their way. But as the night wore on, the runners wore down. As midnight approached, our aid station sometimes resembled a triage area. Blisters were the most common malady. Mike was a master blister fixer. He was equipped with a large chest of medical gear that could fix anything. Over and over, a runner would come into the station and drop into a chair. Mike would be all over them asking what they needed, what hurt, what could we do? Shoes came off, socks came off, alcohol and pinpricks followed by blister pack or tape. Sox and shoes back on, and runners go on their way feeling better. During a lull in the triage and traffic, we decided to pull out the smore fixins. I had smuggled marshmallows and Hershey bars in my cooler, but alas, no graham crackers. A howl arose from the aid station crew! But never fear, vanilla wafers will work! Sure enough, sandwiching toasty brown marshmallows between a couple vanilla wafers worked like a charm. We feasted in the warm glow of the fire.

The ladies from Houston decided to take off after smores, so only Joe, Mike and I remain. We agree on each taking a 3 hour nap, and Joe is the first to dreamland. We wake Joe up at 1:30 and then it's Mike's turn. We plan to wake him at 3:15 so I can take my snooze.

Pacers are wonderful for a tired aid station crew. They come in with their charge and take charge. Their energy glows like a halo around them compared to the wasted runner and the fatigued aid station crew. Our bodies are tired and our minds are numb but they have the fire and energy we had a long 22 hours ago. They take their job seriously and with passion. All I can do is keep the coffee fresh, potato soup and Raman noodles ready, and water hot for oatmeal or hot chocolate. The pacers take over the rest. Coaching their runners to drink, eat, and what to do, they take a big load off three tired guys and are a welcome but fleeting supplement to our aid station crew.

Mike is sleeping when Ava comes into the aid station. "Where Mike? I need him to fix a blister!" "Uh-Oh Ava, Mike is sleeping. I'll take care of it". So using the same technique I'd seen Mike do numerous times, we get Ava patched up and on her way. More hurting tired runners stumble in. One is so tired he says he can't move. He plops down into a chair and slumps into a coma. We wrap him in a sleeping bag and start timing his break. After 10 minutes we check on him. "I can't move my legs anymore", he says. We tell him he can't stay here. His best bet is to head back to Dam Road. He balked at that, afraid he would not make it. I told him we'd wait for a group to come in and he could leave with them. A group arrives and I roust the comatose runner. I walked with him to make sure he'd get going. Slowly we work our way up the trail as the group leaves us behind. But my runner is coming around. His stumble evolves to a walk, and within 5 minutes he is striding well. I wish him luck and head back to FarSide. Another runner stumbles in and wants the fire and sleep. We convince her to lay down on a tarp wrapped in a sleeping bag. We time her, but she gets up on her own. She too is afraid of not making it back to the next aid station. I realize the value of a pacer at this point. Her defenses are gone and her confidence needs bolstering, so I play pacer as I did with the last guy. "Let's walk down the trail a ways and see how you feel". She timidly steps out of the lit Farside cocoon and we start down the dark trail. Like the last runner I walked out, she begins to get renewed vigor. In less than 100 yards, so too is striding more confidently. I give her a pep talk and send her along.

Finally 3:30am rolls around and I roust Mike from his slumber and crawl into my sleeping bag. In no time I see it is 6:15am and time to get moving again. As I stumble back into the aid station tent, I find all quiet. Occasionally few solitary lights bob down the trail as we wait for daylight to emerge for the 2nd time.

It's still dark when Mike fires up the ATV. It'll take numerous trips to haul the trash, supplies, and equipment back to where we can load up a truck and Mike wants to get an early start. We strap on a load and he takes off with headlights blazing.

Dawn emerges reluctantly as Mike returns from his trash run. As promised, I fry up bacon and eggs and the three of us enjoy breakfast tacos for the last time. Hot food tastes good and boosts our energy for the final push. We get updates from Henry as to who is on the course and try to anticipate what these hardy survivors will want or need. We rally our joy, encouragement and energy for each one as they work their way down the trail. "Only 10 more miles!" seems either to be encouragement or a death sentence depending on the runners state of mind, but they all still appreciate us being there. As the last of the runners depart Farside for the last time, we accelerate the tear-down. Used food gets dumped, bins packed, trash collected. A bustling oasis in the woods becomes a single track trail again. Where 28 hours ago we were a beacon of sustenance and comfort to weary runners, we now disappear without a trace. With the last ATV load, we grab fading glow sticks and trail ribbons and leave, carrying warm memories of a job well done.

Jim Balthazar