To start a story of a race like this I think it's important to frame my point of view. I did this to myself. It was hard. It was very, very hard. At the same time, on the cosmic scale of "hard" it doesn't even break the surface. People have survived much harder for much longer periods of time, years even, and lived to tell the tale. So as you read this, don't believe for a minute that I feel I have done some powerful and meaningful event that will make a difference in the world. I ran for a long time. It was hard.
That said, I won't tell you that it didn't mean something to me. To me, it was a huge deal on many levels, and if you're going to take the time to read this, then you should know the whole story, and not just the highlights. So, if you came for some short blurb about me running 100 miles, then it's time to cut your losses and go back to facebook.
Well over a year ago, I was the driving force into persuading my daughter, Erin, to join the Air Force. I won't say it was an easy sell, but after making my case, we all agreed this was a perfect decision. And then we waited. It would end up being just a week or so over a year from the time she took the Oath until she actually went into the Air Force. For an entire year we waited month to month for the date she would actually go to Basic Training. Life went on.
I had entered the lottery for the Leadville Ultra Marathon last year, and during the winter I received my rejection email. I immediately called my wife, Mary to tell her the disappointing news, and she suggested finding a different one, while mentioning "that one in the Florida Keys" that I had talked about before. Within 20 minutes I was signed up. The weekend of May 16th would be the event. The bad news was I was already 8 weeks behind a training plan for that distance. I would find a way.
Like any good person who is plugged into modern social media, I immediately announced my decision on Facebook. Within a short period of time, I not only had people volunteering to make this trip and crew for me, but a few other brave friends who wanted to do the race as well. Perfect. Not really.
Training was a mixed bag. The winter months were fairly brutal. Weeks of ice and snow made outdoor running nearly impossible in order to get in the kind of substantial miles that was needed. Doing full marathons on a treadmill became the norm. But with a sense of humor and help from friends, the training progressed. All was well.
Eventually Erin got the call from her recruiter and she was given her day to leave for Basic. March 24th. We all rejoiced that this long wait was finally over! And then we also quickly realized that her graduation date, which we had planned to attend, was going to be close to my race. We quickly counted out the 8 1/2 weeks on the calendar and determined that she would graduate a week after my race. Fine. That would be a load of traveling for me that week, but ya gotta roll with it sometimes, so we made plans. We made lots of plans. Weeks went by. And then the Air Force did something they had never done. They changed when you graduate. You would now graduate a full week early and stay an extra week for additional training before leaving for your technical school. We all instantaneously and immediately knew what that meant. Huge conflict. I was about to throw in the towel, but we looked at the calendar and times and started to contemplate a possible solution. She had a "Airmans Run" , and a "Coin Ceremony " on the Thursday before graduation. Then Friday at 9 am she had a 45 minute long graduation ceremony. Maybe there was a way to do both. Maybe.
I checked flights. Mary and I went back and forth with strategies. Possibilities. Check. Check. Recheck. A plan took shape. We would fly to Dallas on Wednesday, then drive to Lackland Air Force Base, a few hours away. We would attend the Run, the Coin Ceremony, and on Friday morning, watch the graduation. That would end at 9:45. There was a 12:06 flight from San Antonio to Miami which would give me plenty of time to get to the starting line in Key Largo the next morning. While mentioning this plan to my running mate Mel, she even offered up her flying points to get me from San Antonio to Miami! I have awesome friends. With everything looking so perfect, what could possibly go wrong? We would pull this off with perfect military precision.
March 24th eventually came. It was the day we were both looking forward to and agonizing over. Erin was about to start her great adventure. We were losing our little girl. At least for a little while. Mary was sure we were throwing her into the jaws of the shark from Jaws, and while I tried to keep her confident we had all made the right decision, to some degree, I knew she wasn't to far off. Mary and I were both prior Air Force, and we both knew what was coming. But in the end, I think we all knew deep down, this was the right decision. That doesn't make it hurt any less.
Soon after Erin left it happened. I became injured. During my previous ultra, I had developed a bad case of tendinitis on the bottom of my right foot. Doctors were consulted. X-rays were taken. MRIs were read. So, during most of the fall and some of the winter, I stopped running. I biked. I swam. I worked out. I didn't run. In fact, on the few times I tried to trot across a small distance for this reason or that, it became apparent I was still injured. So during this time of reflection, I had time to think on how to keep this from happening again once I was able to begin again.
Shoes. All I needed were these shoes called Hokas. Some of my running friends were already wearing them, and they seemed to love them. They had an enormous midsole. Gottem. The day finally came and running commenced. The large midsole did the trick. I could barely feel any discomfort from the injury. I wasn't 100% but it was close enough, and I couldn't put off training any longer. But immediately, the positives from the shoes were almost overshadowed by negatives. A weird tongue was causing me to be rubbed raw on the tops of my feet. I started wearing bandaids for every run. Then after a few boxed of those I remembered I had an old ankle brace. My ankles were fine, but if I wore these little sleeves on my feet, the tongues of shoes wouldn’t rub me raw. That worked for a while, and then during a treadmill run, my left achilles began to hurt. After my run I took my shoes and socks off, and that area was very swollen, and when I flexed my foot up and down, I could actually feel the tendon trying to slide through the sheath it is held in. It was like pulling a rubber band through two pinched fingers. This was not a good sign. I went home and iced it and began slamming down loads of Ibuprofen to take the swelling down. Nothing was really working. I was desperate. I took off running for almost 2 weeks and began “aqua jogging” at the pool. Maybe this would let me heal enough to continue the training. Spending 4 hours aqua jogging is some good mental training for sure. If you need some idea of how exciting it is, drop a penny on the floor, and then pull up a chair and watch the penny for 4 hours. Don’t look away. Just you and the penny. Yep. It’s that fun.
So, I aqua jogged. I iced. I took drugs. And nothing really happened. I was losing some of the long training run. This wasn’t looking so good. So I did the last thing I could think of, and the thing several people has suggested. I called THE MAN. THE GURU. The healer of THE ELITE. Andy Shetterly. He fit me in within days, and so began the healing. Twice a week, for the next 3 weeks, I would go to Andy, and he would hurt me. This wasn’t “massage”. This was something else. Trigger point release. Pressure. Pain. But slowly, the differences were being made. I became slightly optimistic.
Also, I discovered something else by accident. I probably caused this problem myself. Remember back when I started wearing those “ankle braces” to keep the tongue of the Hokas from rubbing me raw? Good. You’re paying attention. Well, one day I was helping Conor in the back yard. He was cutting the grass, and I was pulling weeds, and the back of my old running shoe was rubbing my achilles and driving me nuts. So I went into the garage, grabbed a knife, and literally cut out the entire rear of the shoe, from top to bottom, except for the midsole. There. Nothing could rub that area now! I put the shoe back on and PRESTO! Zero pain! OK….maybe I was on to something here. So the next day, I grabbed another pair of old running shoes, and over the course of the day, began modifying them as well. I cut a large “U” shape out of the back, just where my tendon touched the shoe. Not as dramatic as the previous day’s shoe. Little by little I kept removing more until it was perfect. No pain. I would run up and down the hall, testing them out, and it seemed to work. Ok….my guru was making me better and I was trying to make sure it didn’t happen again when and if I was healed.
I had ordered a brand new pair of shoes for the race a few weeks prior. They were called ALTRAs. They had a bigger midsole than the Hokas, but the toe box area was huge, and the tongue didn’t seem like it would be an issue. I picked them up and immediately tried them on. They hurt. They hurt right where they were rubbing my achilles tendon. BUT NOW I knew what to do about that. I took them to work later that evening and began my modifications. This wasn’t going to be the hack job I did on the previous 2 attempts. This was going to be done with slow, deliberate precision. I began removing all of the padding in the rear of the shoe. Foam, plastic, mesh. All gone. I’d remove some, try them on, take them off, and modify more. On “DAY ONE”, I had them to the point where I felt no rubbing, and no pain. The next day, I tried them out running with my son’s school. They were training to run 1 mile for the FLYING PIG run, and I was helping my friend Karen with the training. That day, I put my shoes and running socks on, and did the run. IT HURT! WHAT THE HELL??!!??! The previous day they felt great. What changed? And then it hit me. THE SOCKS! My running socks had elastic around my ankle. This was enough pressure to compress my achilles. I put my “work socks” on with my running shoes and NO PAIN! The elastic for these socks were on my calf. Then it REALLY hit me. The ankle sleeves that I had worn to protect myself from the tongue of the HOKAs were probably to blame for this entire thing, since the squeezed my entire ankle during running and aggravated my achilles to the point of becoming inflamed. Great. Just great. This was a little to much of the “live and learn” for me. Yea, it was the Hokas that started this entire cluster, but I made it worse. Geez. But now I was on the mend and had shoes. But I only had 2 more weeks of long runs until a 3 week taper, and I was well behind on my “long runs”. Swell. Better late than never?
Things got much better from this point. Things healed. Pain slowly went away. Finishing plans were put together for visiting Erin. Crew meetings were held and details were smoothed out. All was well. I would fly with my family to Dallas, pick up car, drive to Lackland AFB, spend time with Erin as we attended her run, coin ceremony and graduation. I would catch a taxi from base after graduation, get my flight to Miami, have crew Em and Kyle pick me up and drive to Key Largo to catch a few hours of sleep before race. What could possibly go wrong?
The early part of this went perfectly. Yes, our flight on Frontier from Cincinnati to Dallas was delayed about an hour. Any yes, my son has a spontaneous nose bleed at the terminal waiting for the plane, but that was manageable. We made it to Dallas, drove for several hours, checked in to our “on base” hotel, and prepared to see Erin the next day. Yes, yes, I realize this is supposed to be a “race report”, but it’s my race report, so you’re gonna have to get through this part, because it’s actually way more important to me than the race. The next morning, we went to the “Airman’s Run”, and got to see Erin for the first time in over 2 months. She was our Rock Star! We were at the parade grounds, and all of the graduates ran into the parade grounds in formation. Erin’s “flight” was the first one’s, because they were awarded HONOR FLIGHT! We were standing on the inside of the loop she ran, and she went so close to us, we could have almost reached out and touched her. And she didn’t even see us! HA! She was focused on running in step with her group. SHE LOOKED AWESOME! They made 2 passes by the us, and then they were gone. We wouldn’t see her again for a couple of more hours until her COIN CEREMONY.
We made it back to the parade grounds and got our seats up in the stands. This time, all of the “flights” marched in as individual groups. They were in their “BDUs”, or whatever they are calling them this year. The National Anthem was sung. Other songs were played. Dignitaries were announced. Speeches were given. Then each of the airmen were individually given their coin. This was such a big deal. Unless you’ve seen this in person, it’s pretty hard to convey how solemn of an event this is. After all of the airmen received their coin, they were released. BUT, in order to move out of the formation, someone has to “tap you out”. Preferably, a family member is supposed to tap you out if one is present. This. Is. A. BIG DEAL! We had planned for Mary to tap her out all along. So…..we began to make our way out of the stands and find Erin. As we got close to her, we could see her standing at attention, and SOME WOMAN was trying to tap her out! Erin refused to move, and Mary nearly elbowed her out of the way to get to Erin. It was fine. Hugs were given and tears flowed. I nearly lost it myself, but somehow held it together.
So, we were able to spend the rest of the day with Erin, and she wanted nothing more than to sit in our hotel room and eat and talk and chill out. We had a hundred questions, and she gladly answered every single one. She had changed. She had grown up by leaps and measures in a very short period of time. I felt much better about our decision. Whew. Tomorrow we would go to her official graduation, and then I would grab my shuttle to the airport. We dropped Erin off at her dorm and said goodbye.
The next morning we woke up to a full on thunderstorm. We drove over to an auditorium to get information on what would happen, because an outdoor graduation was off the table. We were informed that graduations would take place at their squadron buildings. Ours would start at 10am. We hustled to her squadron and eventually ended up in a classroom, waiting to be called to watch her much shorter graduation ceremony. 10am came and went. I called my shuttle service and told them to put my pickup off until 1030am. I was pushing it now, and was now going to hope that traffic to the airport wasn’t bad. 1015am came and went. Oh crap. I was going to have to make a decision. 1020am came and they called us out to go to the dining hall to watch her graduation. Hundreds of us began walking around the building to the door. I had to decide, and I’ll tell you this now, I made the wrong decision. I left. I told Mary that if I went inside, I’d never make my shuttle or my flight. I felt like I just pushed my family off a cliff. With every step I took, I knew I made the wrong choice. I kept trying to justify it in my head, but I was just plain ole wrong. I made it to the airport and made it to my flight with 10 minutes to spare, but it didn’t matter. Now I was on the path to this thing, and if I missed this race, it was all for nothing.
I made it to Miami, where Em and Kyle picked me up and drove me to Key Largo. It was fairly late in the evening, but we shoved my bag in my room, had a quick meeting to get everyone on the same page for tomorrow, and then we all went to bed, trying to get some few hours of rest before getting up at 4:45am. Sleep doesn’t come fast when you feel like a ass.
The alarm went off on time and we 3 runners (Mel, Ray and I) got up and put ourselves together. We went to the other room and woke up the crew to give them our bags so we could walk the 200 yards to the start of the race. The weather was nice. Not hot, certainly not cold, but maybe just a hint of cool. That was promising. We could see and hear the start of the race from the short walk we had to get there. We walked up to the gathering area in a parking lot and just looked around to soak in the enormity of what was happening around us. A few hundred people were gathered. Every 5 minutes, 25 more runners were told to start running. Pictures were being snapped and music was played. The 3 of us went into the Subway to find the bathroom. I had my “pre-race” bathroom jitters, which makes me have to pee no matter how little liquid is actually in my bladder. Soon, it was 6:30am and the group before our group took off, which allowed us to line up for our 6:35 start. It was still dark out, but the sky was slowly changing color, and the sun would soon make an appearance. Our plan was this. We would run together for a time, not pushing at all, and just settle into the race. At some point, Ray would probably take off, since he was a faster runner, and then Mel and I would hang together for the remainder of the race. It’s good to have a plan to start with, even if you change it along the way.
6:35am. 3….2…..1….GO! And we did. We made it about 200 yards before most everyone in our group missed the very first turn. Fortunately, we only had to cut across an kind of median to get back on the correct path. We all thought it was funny. Nice to break the tension. These are not “action packed” miles to tell you about. But plenty of things happened to tell. Right off the bat, as the first few miles ticked by, we could tell we were running much faster than we ever envisioned. We were doing a 9:45 minute mile, and we had discussed doing about 11 minute miles. But, we weren’t pushing in the slightest, so we decided to just keep any pace we felt super comfortable with. As the sun came up the next few miles, we found ourselves in the shade from the trees and bushes. That was way more awesome than we could possibly know, but it would become violently apparent very soon. We met some fun and interesting people along the way, and it was fun to find out where different people were from. Soon, as anticipated, Ray said his goodbye’s and began to pull away. I wished him well, and hoped to see him smiling at the finish line sometime tomorrow. Tomorrow. Man that was a long time away. My original plan was to attempt to do this race in under 24 hours. I’ve run 100 miles twice before, and each time made it under 24 hours, so why not again?
At every 5 mile mark (5, 15, 25, 35….), there was supposed to be a cooler full of ice and water for the runners to resupply themselves with . Then at the 10 mile marks (10, 20, 30…), there would be a “major” stop where we would check in to be accounted for. These stops would also have a big selection of food and beverages, as well as volunteers to help you. For the first few stops, we found this very nice and convenient, but as the miles ticked off, these became the “OASIS IN THE DESERT”. As the temperatures began to rise, we found that we needed support much more often than anticipated. Water bottles emptied fast, and ice melted even quicker. Even with our crew support between these 5 mile stops, it was becoming apparent that this was going to be a fight against the heat. I began to get into a rhythm of how to handle the heat. I would take my buff and fill it with ice and put it on top of my head. I had a Oakley Sunglass holder that I would fill with ice and hang on the back of my hat to melt cool water on my neck. I initially had a cloth attached to the back of my hat to keep the sun off my neck. This stayed there for about 30 miles and eventually fell off, so I used a bandana. There were a few different setups tried with these accessories, but eventually this was the “setup” that seemed to work best. Also, I had started with a NATHAN backpack that is used for water, except I was using mine to store a few items to hold my phone and extra battery, as well as some gu. For water, I had my waist belt with a bottle behind me, which I use during training, except for super long runs. I didn’t need the hydration back pack on this race since we had so many stops for fluids. However, eventually, just wearing this pack became unbearable. It wasn’t allowing airflow and my back was getting hot. It had to go. It was around this same time that Mel and I became separated, and I’d never see her again.
I had been telling Mel to “slow down” for a few miles, and even I thought I might be getting annoying. But I didn’t want her to go out to fast and blow up. I think it was at the 20 mile checkin, and I was taking a while to get my “situation” together with all of the ice and fluids. Mel told me she was going to start walking and I’d catch up to her. Mel’s walk is almost as fast as my run, but I wasn’t going to tell her “no”, so off she went. I finished up a couple of minutes later, and took off. A couple of miles later, my crew met me for supplies. I asked about Mel, and they said she was well up ahead and doing fine. There was no way I was going to catch her unless she just stopped and waited for me. I knew right then I was going to have to finish this alone, and that bummed me out a bit. I had pictured Mel and I being able to help each other along for this race. I only hoped that I might hook up with people now and then to help pull me through this thing. I had never done an Ultra without a pacer or running buddy, so I was kinda in uncharted territory now, but since I had so many water stops and a awesome crew, I hoped for the best, because I had no other choice. Also, I must admit that missing Erin’s graduation was still weighing heavy on me, and to not finish this race on top of missing that as well just didn’t seem to even be an option. I HAD to finish this thing, no matter what.
If explaining how awful the heat was begins to sound like a broken record, that’s to bad. Because between the pain that was my legs and feet, and the heat, there was not much else to focus on. Well, except the occasional glimpses of the ocean through the trees and brush. Every time I’d see that beautiful emerald green water, I could practically feel it pulling me to it. I began fantasizing about being in the water, feeling how cool it would be and how much better I would feel afterwards. During one of my stops with my crew (Jeff and Dianna), I told them how bad I wanted to be in the water, but there wasn’t really a good place to get in. After that, my crew went on a quest to find my “ocean entry spot”. I was in the mid 30 mile range now, and I could see my crew up ahead waiting for me. During every stop, they would unload coolers and food and my bag. But during this stop, Dianna said she had found a place for me to get in the water! I didn’t care about TIME anymore, just my sanity. I NEEDED to be in that water, and the water wanted me to be in it! Between running solo for so long and giving up my phone with it’s music in the Nathan Pack, I needed this little reward. We found some little spot next to the water, and I took off everything but my shorts and socks. There was no sand here, just sharp rocks, so Dianna suggested leaving my socks on so my feet didn’t get cut. GREAT IDEA! I found my way into the emerald waters and just laid back. It wasn’t as cool as I would have hoped for, but it was cool enough, and it felt perfect. My brain needed this as much as my body. I never wanted to get out of this water. I contemplated just swimming the rest of the way south. How could I ever return to that road and begin hurting myself like that again? Why? Why? Why? But I knew. I was on a mission, and it had to be finished. There was a beach waiting for me in 60+ miles, and I could finally rest when I got there. So, I got my ass out of paradise, put dry clothes on, loaded up on ice and water and salty food, and pointed my shoes South once again.
Why wasn’t the sun going down?!? I kept looking at the shadows, waiting for them to get longer in one direction, but they seemed to just stay where they were. It was like time was standing still. The miles were ticking of dreadfully slow and I came to the easy realization that my pie in the sky sub 24 hour goal was well off the table. Now the goal was to simply finish before the cutoff time of 32 hours. That didn’t make me unhappy even a little bit. There was just no accounting for how crazy hot it was, or how destructive it would be during this event. To add insult to injury, I came to a stop with my crew just before this long sidewalk with high shrubs on either side. With the sun still bearing down overhead, the sign next to the walkway said “Welcome to Hell’s Tunnel”. Oh crap. But I had an ace in the hole. Dianna had suited up and was going to do this part with me. Really?!? Because, Dianna has had her own running issues in the past and for her to run the next 7+ miles with me in this heat was going to be a heroic effort on her part. But she looked determined. I was doing plenty of “run/walking” at this point, so I was confident she could do this with me, and more grateful than words can describe. So, loaded up on food and ice and water, off we went, hand and hand, skipping down the yellow brick road! Because the Wizzard was down there somewhere, along with flying monkeys and some evil bitch with a pointy hat.
It’s so hard to wrap your head around this thought……” I feel like shit, everything hurts, the sun is trying to kill me, and I STILL HAVE 60 MILES TO RUN”. I know….you’re NOT supposed to think that way. You’re SUPPOSED to do this in little, manageable chunks. 5 miles here. Water stop there. Crew support soon. Don’t think about the big picture. Think about snapshots. But you’re out there A….LONG….TIME, so you brain has the opportunity to think about everything, and dwell on stuff. God it’s hot. Man I’m an ass. My ice is gone. Where is the next fucking mile marker…..did someone steal it? Where can I pee? Am I going to make the cut off? Look, a crab. Man, I’m a ass.
At one of my crew stops, I called Mary. I needed to hear her voice. She didn’t call me an ass, or tell me I was the idiot that I was. She listened. She said the right things I needed to here, and whether she felt them or not, she made me believe she did. I’m sure my voice gave away my pain, and maybe it’s just hard to kick someone who is already struggling that hard, but whatever the case, my spirits lifted 10 fold, and I was given a new sense determination. For better or worse, I would finish this….this…..whatever this was. It wasn’t a race. It was never a “race”. But now it was more like a “quest”. I wouldn’t set things right by finishing, but I wouldn’t make things worse by not. Not finishing was not an option. And so, forward I went.
Hell’s Tunnel eventually gave way, and Dianna took her leave of me. For a person who had recently struggled to make a 6 mile run up until this point, she had covered more than 7 miles with me. It’s hard to keep things in perspective during times like these. We were doing a event that meant absolutely nothing to no one but us. We weren’t curing cancer or saving villages of starving people in war ravaged lands; we were simply running…...and walking…..forward. But at the same time, no matter what “thing” it is you are doing, you can take away profound experiences. Ones that you can draw on later to give you perspective. This was one of those things. The dedication one person, or a group can have towards helping another person achieve some goal. We all take something away from that. We had to. Why else would you put yourself through something like that. Selflessly spending your vacation time, you money, your sleep, your sanity, to help someone else achieve some goal. As “the runner”, you roll this around in your head for miles and miles…..hours and hours. Every time you see your crew you feel the need to hug them and explain these feelings. Sometimes I did.
During our last stop, I told the crew to get some rest or check on Mel, but I was fine for a while, since I had my 5 mile coolers to restock with. So, I pushed along, drinking my water bottle and timing it to run dry in time to refill at the approaching cooler. But the cooler was missing. Gone. Not there. And there were no stores or gas stations to anything to stop at to get water. I had $20 with me for “just in case”, but it’s hard to buy water from a palm tree. I kept running, but about a mile later, I knew I had to slow down, because this was going to end in disaster if I kept at this pace without fluids. Some guy passed me holding his water bottle and told me he had run dry too. This was bad. Real bad. Sure, I could survive for hours out here without water, but that could destroy me to a point where I’d end up in a hospital with IVs attached to me and my race would be over. I started holding up my water bottle upside down every time a car passed, hoping they would stop and give me some water, but no dice. Where the hell was a store or something?!? I was starting to stagger a bit now and as much as this concerned me, it pissed me off as well. This was fucking stupid. No cooler? No stores? No one is stopping? Do I have to lie on the ground, because soon that won’t even be a decision, it’s just gonna happen. To get to the next aid station was another 2 miles at least. Ugh. I didn’t really have any options but to go forward and hope that I wasn’t to destroyed to go on. But then I was thrown a bone. There was a van parked on the opposite side of the road about 100 yards ahead. HOLY SHIT! They HAD to have water. Please don’t leave. Please don’t leave. Please don’t leave. With all I had I started jogging again, and crossed the road. I came up to the drivers window and knocked as two women looked back at me. The driver rolled down the window and I asked if they had some water to spare. I think they realized how desperate I was, because they both leaped into action and helped me around the van and swung open to doors. Water, Ice, food...whatever I wanted or needed, they were only to happy to give me. They wanted me to sit inside the van for a while in the air conditioning to cool off, but I couldn’t do that. Air conditioning was like heaven, and I’m not sure I could leave Heaven once I got there. I had to go. They topped me off with water and ice, and I let them know they most probably saved my life. Dramatic? Probably. Or maybe not. But if they weren’t there, I’m not sure I could have recovered enough to continue, even if I made it to the next aid station. Whew, that was a close one!
As the sun eventually dipped down, and as I approached the 7 Mile Bridge, I got some sad news. Mel was thinking about dropping. WHAT? NO! They told her to hold off and to wait at the beginning of the bridge for me to get to her, and together, we might get this thing done. But I was about an hour away from that bridge still. I hoped Mel took the time to relax, refuel, and let me help her go forward. At the next crew stop, the news only got worse. Mel had dropped. Apparently “heel spurs” had been the deciding factor. Adding something like that on to the heat and general pain of running so long, I couldn’t imagine how that couldn’t make you throw in the towel. At the same time, I had wished I could have talked to her. Now it was me and Ray. Ray was about 4 hours ahead of me, according to the last “check in”. Ray was a super star! I had no idea what his situation was, but could only hope he was injury free and moving forward. Em and Kyle would crew him across the finish line I was sure. But 100 miles is a long way by any measure, and anything can happen.
The sun had gone down as I approached the 50 mile half way mark. Basic math skills easily confirmed that I was going to be out here long after the 24 hour mark. I was at peace with that. The idea I didn’t relish was that I would still be out here when the sun came back up, and I would have to start this entire process with the ice and water and extreme heat again. Maybe it would rain! Maybe it would be cloudy! Maybe a bag of $100 dollar bills would fall off a coconut truck. My crew said they would meet me at the base of the bridge, so I was looking forward to that. The mile markers ticked away in reverse; 49, 48, and finally 47, which was the base of the bridge, and the last cooler stop before crossing the bridge. No one was allowed to stop and help you on the bridge, it was just to dangerous, so you had to be well stocked up before you began. I used the cooler to refill my water and load up on ice, since I didn’t see my crew yet. I went through the parking lot before the bridge, but still no crew. That was fine. I was more looking forward to just seeing their faces than needing any supplies. So, off I went. Because of the dark and my less than razor sharp mind, I completely missed any sign telling me which side of the road I was supposed to be running on. So for the first mile, I ran on the right side of the roadway, until someone in a car slowed down and started yelling for me to cross the road where the cones were. DUH! I should have figured that out for myself, but I wasn’t thinking straight. I had no one I could see in front or behind me. NO ONE! Zero. And I could see for what seemed miles. It was a moonless, mostly cloudless night. Cars would only occasionally pass, so as I crossed this span of ocean on this high little piece of concrete, I would turn off my head lamp and just look up. It’s a rare time and place where you can see stars from horizon to horizon. Even with my nearsighted eyes, I could see more than I’ve ever experienced before. For those brief few moments, I didn’t feel the pain, or being tired, or stupid. I just looked up and let the universe kinda soak me in. The LITTLE DIPPER was on my right, and was every so slowly falling into the Gulf. It was nice to glance to my right now and then and see this familiar friend. But the mission lay ahead, so on I went. When the sun when down, I was hoping for a cool night to run through. That didn’t happen. The blaze of the orb had gone away, but a stifling heat remained. No cool breezes, just breezes. But some days, you gotta enjoy even the smallest of gifts, and the longer that crazy ass, life giving sun stayed away, the better off I would be. The bridge went on, and so did I. Eventually I ran into a little problem. I could feel some chafing between my cheeks, and I’m not talking about the cheeks by my ears! I had nothing with me to fix this problem. I actually tried to scrape sun screen off my arms to put there, but that didn’t work. I had no extra clothing to shove there. It got worse, so I walked. Eventually, a girl and a guy came up behind me and I asked if they had anything for chafing. The guy had a small tube of vaseline! I WAS SAVED!!!! I took as big of a glob of it as I could and told them it was probably a good idea to look away, because this was going down my shorts. AHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Relief! Slippery awesome relief! I might actually get off this bridge without bleeding now. I told the guy he literally saved my ass, which got a laugh. They continued south, and so did I. Stopping now and then I looked at the stars while I stretched my quads and released my ever shrinking bladder. Eventually the bridge came to an end, and the mile marker confirmed we had 40 miles to go as I pulled into the Check Point to refill my supplies.
I’d like to give you some mile by mile, blow by blow account, but tiny details on something this large is beyond my capacity. I can tell you this. From very early in the race, until nearly the end, it was a roller coaster of highs and lows, and I stayed in the lows much longer than the highs. But I always knew that when I was hurting and miserable, it would turn around eventually again, just like it had countless times before. I just had to deal with it until that time came. Long gone was also running for any long periods of time. I could pull out a mile or mile and a half now and then, but more often it was “walk to the next light pole, then run to the next, then walk to the next”. It was all I could bare. Walking was nice. Running was painful. Walking wasn’t going to get me to the finish line on time. Running was painful. To purposely start causing yourself pain every few minutes, and to know that you were not going to stop for 10 more hours of doing this to yourself, is almost some late definition of insane.
There was interesting parts too. On one of the “key” islands in the night, there were miniature deer that were so tame you could practically pet them. I was stumbling along the path next to the road and heard some scuffing sounds ahead of me. I looked up to see some animal a few feet in front of me. My brain had a hard time deciding what it was. It was about the size of my great dane, but was brown….and it’s tail was straight up…..so my brain decided that this animal was a baby deer. For anyone else seeing it, they would have immediately known what it was, but neurons were not behaving and putting words properly together, and making easy associations was becoming slightly more difficult. But eventually I got it right. A deer. So I watched as he/she/it slowly strolled off the path in front of me and down a driveway. More wildlife later.
Miles ticked away. Small cooler stops were laced with more crew stops and every 10 miles a “check-in”. This went on through the night. I wanted more miles to go by faster because the sun was still haunting some other poor bastards on another part of the planet, but I knew this would eventually end and my suffering would intensify again. I kept wondering what time the sun came up. 7? 7:30? And then when would it become a actual problem. Surely it wouldn’t hurt immediately would it? Time would tell. Time.
6:35am came, and that marked my 24 hours of running. I still had around a marathon to distance to go. Good lord. Yes, I was 75ish percent done, but I still had 25ish percent to go. What a mixture of happiness and less than happiness all at once. The sky was changing, but it was happening at my back. Why was the sun rising behind me if I am running South? Do I like this? I decided I did. There was no real logical reason, but somehow, in my mind, this seemed better than to my left or right. Plus, to my relief, there had been a tailwind for the last several hours. Whether this was physically helping or not, I can’t tell you, but my brain decided it was, so it did.
And then it happened. The SUN. As soon as it showed it’s angry rays above the horizon, I felt it on my sun burned legs. It was as if some new military laser beam had been fired at my legs. I needed sunscreen, immediately and copiously. Thank goodness that happened within minutes. My crew met me, and I started the same rituals as yesterday. Slather on the sun screen. Fill up BUFF and sun glass bag with ice. Yadda, yadda, yadda. My crew was a well oiled machine now and we worked like an Indy race car team. While speed wasn’t an issue, efficiency was seamless. It warmed my heart as much as the sun warmed my skin.
With 14 miles left to go, my brave pacer stepped back into the ring of fire with me. Dianna was all suited up and ready to take me to the end. Jeff had the crew stop rocking, and after we were fed and filled, off we went. Over the bridges. Watching the fishermen. Feeling the breeze near the railing. Talking about anything and everything to keep me moving. We watched large crabs next to the path gather stones and scurry into their holes. We had even seen some giant iguanas lumbering across our path. The ocean looked like a postcard with it’s multiple versions of green. We were on a strict “walk 1 minute, jog 1 minute” routine, and while we tried to increase the run time, that didn’t work out. I could live with this, and while we weren’t setting any land speed records, this would get us to the church on time, with room to spare.
With 10 miles left to go, we met up with Emily. She was bouncing with energy, and had decided to help run me to the end. THE MORE THE MERRIER! Em had stories and jokes and lots of info to tell about Ray and how her side of the race went. Listening to her perspective helped inject us with new energy, so we absorbed her enthusiasm and plowed forward. Eventually, we came to a girl who was obviously struggling. She stopped at our crew stop, and we told her to help herself. We told her of our 1 minute of running and 1 minute of walking routine, and told her to join us. She did, and now we were 4.
A weird and wonderful thing began to happen. I began to feel good. Physically and mentally .....good. Everything that had been hurting either stopped hurting, or hurt a good deal less. I decided not to question it, but just go with it. As we came into town, I even felt good enough to pull out my favorite ULTRA song....Gilligan's Island. When we passed the 4 mile mark, I actually began to feel like this could possibly come to an end. You're working with such large numbers in this event that you come to believe there really is no finish line. You've heard stories about such a place, but it's simply a child's fairy tail, and the reality is that you will be out here running forever. But as we ran along the water, on the sidewalk next to the road, people were honking their horns and yelling for us and giving us the thumbs up. Lots of people! Not like a marathon where people were lining the streets to cheer. These were residents and tourists who knew of the event and were simply cheering us on as they went about their daily routine. This was somehow better. They were sending out this crazy vibe that somehow propelled you forward. This was weird. This was awesome.
We made our way into town, which meant we were very close to the finish line. We were told that we would make a few turns, and then the finish line would be just a block ahead. That seemed absurd. A lie or a trick. My brain and my heart and my soul just couldn’t come to terms on a “FINISH” line. Yes, I knew it was there, but the prospect of “stopping” now felt so foreign that I had to just stop thinking about it and just “let it happen”. I had been doing this single “thing” for almost 30 hours, and to just turn off that switch and stop doing that “thing” seemed alien. We turned our last corner and we could see a sign at the end of the road telling us to turn left. That was it. The sign pointing us to the FINISH LINE. Emily and Dianna said they would peel off while Jillian and I took it home. I let Jillian get a bit ahead of me, so she could enjoy this finish by herself. At the same time, I was in no rush now. I was trying to soak this in. I could hear music, and cheering, and there it was in front of me, the big blue arch that said KEYS 100 Finish Line. By 40 feet away, the cheering was just off the chart. Who the hell did they think I was? They were giving me the Rock Star treatment, and I just let it wash over me. I put up my hands in victory and crossed under the arch to finish. And I was done. I didn’t have to run anymore. No more ice. No more water bottles and salty food. No more. And they just kept cheering. They handed me my medal and belt buckle, and Jeff came up to me to record my finish. I did this for Erin. She was my driving force to get me to this line, literally in the sand. To miss her graduation was wrong, but to not finish AND miss the graduation was unthinkable. She had endured so much at my request, and now I wanted her to know that every step, and every mile was for her. It didn’t fix anything, or make it right. This was the second hardest thing I had ever done in my life, and turning away from Mary before going into that door to watch Erin graduate was the first. I’ll send Erin that Keys100 belt buckle, as a symbol to let her know that I will always have her back in the future. People can make bad decisions, but hopefully they can realize their mistakes and learn from them.
I ran a race. It was hard. Very hard. But my daughter is way more important than that.

I'm not sure what greater measures could have been taken to deal with the heat. Sure, if you have your crew hose you down with cold water every single mile, that would help, but logistically, it's just not feasible.

Hot dog, beer, sit in ocean.


The Sun.


Yowza!