Haliburton Race Story
Monday, 18 Sep 2000
By Wesley Finnemore

Following is my race story from the Haliburton Forest 100. I hope that you
enjoy it and I hope that I convey to the reader what a wonderful unique
running weekend Helen Malmberg puts on the first weekend of September each
year. My sincerest thanks to Helen and all the volunteers who were a part of
my weekend.

	I awoke with a start. My head still foggy with sleep, I looked around to
find the source of my disturbance. I heard a low grumbling in the distance
and seconds later the ceiling of my tent illuminated from a flash of
lightning. Within moments the sound of raindrops pelting my rainfly replaced
the sounds from the night. I checked my watch, 1:56. I rolled over to fall
back asleep knowing that I had another 3 hours to sleep before my day would
begin.
	My flirtation with the Haliburton woods began early in August. I had made
the decision to switch places of employment and had a two week interlude
between ending one job and beginning the next. I toyed with the idea of an
end-to-end on Vermont's Long Trail to fill my time, however, this just didn't
seem to be a very prudent solo endeavor. As an alternative I began looking
around for a 100 miler to run.
	There were two 100 mile runs being advertised the first two weekends of
September. Superior Trail 100 in Minnesota and the Haliburton Forest 100 in
Ontario were my choices. My first instincts were to stay south of the border
and run in Minnesota, then I found out just how far Minnesota is from Boston.
So I set my sights on Canada.
	The Haliburton Forest, a privately owned wild life reserve located some
three hours north of the 1000 Islands Bridge, would be only a ten hour drive
from Boston. This was definitely doable as a solo trip. After doing a little
more digging I found the race website as well as a website for the Forest.
	The race, just in it's fifth year, promised to be a low-key, well
organized event with a home-town feel. Run as a 50 mile double out and back
over a mix of forest service roads and single track trail, there was only a
moderate 6,800 feet of climb for the entire race. It promised to be a greater
challenge than the numbers made it appear. A 50k as well as a 50 miler were
being run in conjunction with the 100 mile event, providing plenty of company
on the trails...at least for the early stages of the race.
	The Haliburton Forest offered a very unique backdrop to a hundred miler.
It is a four season multi-use recreation area with trails, miles and miles of
them, for hiking and mountain biking in the warmer months and for
snowmobiling in the winter. And lakes, nearly 50 lakes and ponds provide
excellent fishing and boating and beautiful views from the trails. And
WOLVES, yes both captive wolves and wild wolves, providing a means of
scientific study, and a reason to get moving a little quicker to the next aid
station in the middle of the night.
	This was what I wanted! An escape from the everyday city life, a chance
to spend some time in the wilderness, a chance to hear wolves howling at
night, a chance to run 100 miles.
	Since the race applications were due in less than a week, I called race
director Helen Malmberg, to let her know my application would be arriving in
the mail but might be a day or two late. She was more than happy to hear that
I would be coming up from Boston and was very helpful in providing any and
all information I might need regarding travel, lodging and anything I might
want to know logistically about the race or the forest. Her warm and
welcoming demeanor on the phone added to my desire to be a part of the event
she was hosting.
	I departed from Boston at 9am the Thursday morning before the race:
Destination Haliburton Forest, Base Camp. It was a very warm and sunny day
but, as usual, forecasters promised that it would not stay that way. I made
good time through Massachusetts and New York heading for the 1000 Islands
Bridge. Time was definitely a factor, I had started later than expected and I
knew that the Forest "closed" at 5 PM. Since I was planning on camping on the
Forest site provided to the racers, I had some time to make up. I really
didn't know what I would do if I showed up and couldn't get access to the
Forest, but figured that I could find another campground in the area or a
motel nearby. I just didn't want to.
	Canadian Customs dashed all hopes of an early arrival. There was a
backlog of traffic crossing the border and it took nearly 40 minutes before I
pulled away leaving the U.S. behind. With no chance of making it to my
destination I settled back more relaxed and took the opportunity to enjoy the
scenery as I drove. There wasn't much to see along busy Provincial Highway
401, but as I turned north on 62 there were some quaint small towns, a lot of
farmland and forest and, the further north I went, it seemed a new lake was
around every turn.
	I pulled into Base Camp at 7:15. As luck would have it for me, someone
had stopped by the office after hours to help out some of the other forest
guests. They were having an organized "wolf howl" later that evening and she
was just getting ready to leave, however she was very accommodating and took
care of getting me checked in. She didn't know if any other racers had yet
arrived but told me there was an open field a ways down the road where race
participants would be tenting. She was very inquisitive as to what would
motivate anyone to run 100 miles.
	I drove through Base Camp, a collection of rustic wood framed structures
housing a Logging Museum, an educational facility, a restaurant and small
little store, rooms for forest guests, and several other buildings with
various utilities. "Turn left past the dumpsters, pass the animal enclosures
and take a right down the trail, it will end up in an open field where you
can camp." I followed her directions perfectly and drove to a small clearing
in the woods.
	"Hey I just saw a bear!" the clearing's lone inhabitant Peter Moore
greeted me as he motioned to a small opening in the woods across the
clearing. I had never met Peter, but knew he was from Vermont and had run
some of the same races I had run so was very interested to meet him. Since I
was only the second person to arrive I think Peter was just glad to have some
company.
	It was getting dusky so I quickly began to set camp as Peter told me of
his bear sighting. Seems that there are more and more bears in these woods
and they are becoming less and less shy. The bear was poking around doing
what bears do and only turned to leave as he heard my vehicle approaching.
	Peter offered me a beer and with camp set we sat in the dark getting
acquainted. We talked of the different races we had run, bears, Vermont and
Boston, bears, the weather and bears. I found Peter to be an excellent
resource since he had run Haliburton a couple of times, however, this was in
fact his first time seeing a bear here.
	Our conversation was interrupted quite suddenly by the haunting howl of
wolves piercing through the darkness. I had never heard the howl of a wild
wolf and it truly sent waves of chills through my body. Excitement! This was
a part of the organized "wolf howl" but at the time I didn't know that. I
thought back to a time when the early settlers would hear the howling of
wolves in the distance as they sat around their campfires and the chills they
must have also experienced from the same sounds.
	 The night air was clear, the stars were bright as only they could be in
the north woods, the wolves were singing and I was drinking good Canadian
beer. I looked to the sky and saw a shooting star-really-just past the handle
of the Big Dipper! I knew this would be a special weekend.
	Friday morning began at precisely 6:52am. That's when I was startled
awake by the wolves starting up their chorus to welcome the day. I lay in my
tent listening to the wolves and thinking about the busy day ahead of me.
Within minutes the wolves became silent and I headed off for the showers.
	As I made my way back to base camp, I passed by the animal enclosures
which bordered the trail. There were some white reindeer, I believe, in the
pen closest to the meadow. As I passed by the next pen, which the night
before I thought to be empty, I heard a low grunt and saw the biggest boar
hog I've ever seen in my life-and I grew up around farms so I'm no stranger
to pigs! This guy must have weighed in between 500-600 lbs., and stood close
to 4' at the shoulders. He looked rather sedate and gentle, but I wouldn't
want to be anywhere near this guy if he was unhappy! Next door, in the last
pen, I was greeted by a lot of squealing as four young piggies trotted from
their beds to greet me. Momma pig was close behind. I stood a moment
delighted with the spectacle before me.
	One of Haliburton Forest's main attractions is the "Walk in the Clouds",
a walking tour of the Forest on a boardwalk suspended in the trees over 60
feet from the ground. By all accounts, this is a very spectacular and
worthwhile tour. It's also very popular and hard to get reservations for. I
had decided since they were fully booked the entire weekend to arrive early
and hope for a no-show. So after showering, I grabbed a cup of coffee and
headed to the main office where the tour begins. I waited close to an hour
and it became apparent that the entire group was a no-show so there would be
no walking tour for me (the group had mixed up their reservation times and
showed up for the later tour in the afternoon). Next year I will make sure to
reserve a slot in advance because this is something I would not want to miss
again.
	As I walked back through Base Camp, I met Helen as she was unloading
supplies from her car into the education center which would serve as the
registration area later in the day. I walked over to introduce myself and
offer assistance if it was needed. She was very friendly, but assured me she
was quite able to take care of the task at hand and asked me to save myself
for the next days race.
	Further on I passed by a tent which I was told belonged to Hans-Dieter.
Peter said that he had arrived the night before looking very tired from his
travels. I saw no movement but noticed that the tent flap was opened. I made
my way to the tent opening and called to Hans. He was laying there resting
but quickly got up and invited me to sit and talk. He wasn't expecting me at
the race and it was my intent to surprise him. Hans is someone whom I look up
to and have a great deal of interest in hearing about his adventures. We sat
and talked about his races, our lives and Hans told me about his travels to
the mountains of Ecuador and Nepal, adventures he shared with his wife Suzi.
I sat fascinated with a man that has lived such an interesting and full life.
This was to be his 14th hundred mile race this year, but the miles were
beginning to take their toll and this race he would start with an ankle which
was still slightly swollen from the previous week.
	I returned to my tent and decided to head to Macdonald Lake with my
kayak. It was a beautiful warm and humid morning, the lake was still and I
was it's sole occupant. I paddled across the lake and found a small secluded
inlet. I secured my boat to a log and slipped into the water for a swim. The
water was crystal clear and inviting, cool and refreshing. I swam for a short
while but, noticing the wind picking up and a mass of clouds gathering
overhead, decided to cut it short. I hurriedly made my way back to camp in
order to secure my belongings in case the skies opened up.
	Back in camp, people were now starting to arrive. Hans had moved his tent
and was setting up beside me. It seemed everyone who arrived knew Hans and
stopped to greet him and swap stories. I met many people in the next hour
including Dieter and Rob Scholz, father and brother of Monica, who would be
manning the 25 mile aid station.
	With so much activity going on I decided to head out on my mountain bike
to scout the early miles of the race course. I took the road back to
Macdonald Lake and on to Clear Lake, but every car that passed by left a
cloud of dust in it's wake, and me shouting epitaphs and spitting dirt. This
did not bode well for running these sections the next day. I decided to turn
back.
	It was getting to be mid-afternoon and soon I would have to go and
register and pick up my race packet. I busied myself packing my drop bags for
the next day. I spread all my "supplies" out on the picnic table catching
the attention of Hans nearby. He was fascinated by all the items I deemed
necessary to run 100 miles. He asked me about everything. Creatine,
glutamine, glycerol, E-Caps, Neurogain and Cytomax all these things I use at
one point or another in the race to keep me strong and alert. Hans, having a
medical background, listened to me with skepticism but at the same time was
humored. In stark contrast, Hans has just one drop bag with warmer clothes
for the night and a flashlight and takes nothing more than electrolyte caps
(those only recently) during his race. He grabbed his camera and snapped a
picture with all my gear surrounding me.
	I finished up packing my two drop bags, determined that the 10 and 21
mile aid stations would be the most strategic places to place them, labeled
them and set off to register. I consciously determined not to have a drop at
the 25 or 50 mile turnarounds to limit my stays at either location. 50 miles
in particular because it just happens to be back at the starting point of the
race and tends to make the decision to drop a little too convenient.
	I picked up my race packet and got my number #28. I guess that the
numbers were given out in the order that the applications were received.
There were just a few odds and ends in the registration bag as well as one of
the nicest long sleeve race shirts that I had yet received.
	I wasted the next hour poking around Base Camp and then made my way over
to the restaurant for our pre-race meal and briefing. The building housing
the restaurant and store looked to be fairly new. The restaurant was clean
and neat, with high beam ceilings and windows looking down to a lake in the
distance. The store carried most of what might be called "necessities" if you
were having an extended stay in the Forest. They also offered hard-packed
ice-cream, a necessity for an extended stay anywhere.
	The restaurant was pretty crowded and the line for the food was pretty
long. I eventually ended up at a table in the far corner of the dining room
looking out the window to the lake below. Hans soon joined me along with a
couple strange characters that I hadn't seen before. Both gentlemen referred
to Hans as a "kid" which amused me.
	The smaller of the two introduced himself as Leo Lightner from Ohio. 71
years old and running the 50k. He exuded enthusiasm for life and seemed to
have the energy of a 17 year old. The other gentleman looked more like a man
from the North Woods. He had a low grumbling voice and a mischievous twinkle
in his eye. "I just started running 14 years ago" he explained to me. "At the
age of 58 so you know how old that makes me." he said with a wink and a
smile. "I'm the Old Man With The Cane"
	I knew them both, from reading several of their postings on the
internet, and now I had met them. I sat back a little quiet listening to the
banter they shared with Hans. I imagine that I could sit for hours and listen
to the stories these gentleman could tell. Fascinating as well as
inspirational.
	Dessert was served and Helen stood up to address the room. As is the
tradition at the pre-race meal everyone in the room had to stand up and
introduce themselves. It seemed like many of the hundred mile participants
fell into two categories: first timers or return runners who spoke of a love
of Haliburton Forest and running this race. Two notable exceptions were Suzi
Cope, running her 26th 100 but first Haliburton and Rolly Portelance a return
veteran running his 52nd 100 miler. When everyone was done, Helen quickly
went through her spiel. Well marked, pink ribbons everywhere, great aid
stations, wear your bear bells provided in your registration package, go out
and have fun!
	We broke quickly people heading for the exits ready for a good nights
sleep. The heat of the day had melted away and the night air had a brisk
chill. The bright stars from the night before had all but disappeared masked
by the thick cloud cover overhead. Rain this evening was almost a certainty.
The night was still and the wolves were silent. The day had left me fatigued
and I fell asleep within minutes.
	Morning came quickly. Apart from the thunderstorm which had disturbed my
sleep only momentarily, I slept soundly. I had laid my race attire out the
night before allowing me to dress without having to make any last minute
decisions. It was still dark as I left the tent, the morning cold and wet
from the rain in the night. I stopped briefly to make sure to rouse Hans.
After several hushed shouts and a couple kicks of the tent Hans responded. I
hopped in the car to drive the 1/4 mile to the race start. I wanted to leave
my vehicle at the start as an "emergency only" aid station at the 50 mile
turnaround.
	People were milling about inside the education center. I found an empty
space of floor and sat down for my stretching routine. I was disappointed
there was no coffee at the start, I have a heck of a time starting my day
without coffee. I substituted a shot of espresso flavored Hammer Gel, not the
same, but it would have to do. Time was getting short so we made our way out
of the building and over to the Main Office for the race start.
	Hans ran up thanking me for the wake-up. He sheepishly admitted he was
dreaming about his wife Suzi and that she was scolding him for doing
something wrong. I had a good laugh at that and wished him luck.
	There was a roll call for all the 100 mile runners and a couple of "group
prayers with a sense of humor" wishing our safe passage and safe return. Ed
Alexander "President for Life" of the Ontario Ultra Series captured my
thoughts and feelings about this race with his lines "we thank you for the
profound silence and great beauty of this forest.
And we thank you for giving us this opportunity to come out from our noisy
and busy and purposed lives to be and do and live if only for a moment in
such a radically different way in such a radically different place."
	We made our way down the dirt road about 100 yards to the official
starting line. 50k and 50 milers making their way toward the front 100 milers
bringing up the rear, for the most part. Nearly a hundred runners in all
nervously anticipating the day ahead of them.
	Within moments we were off, just after 6 am, a large herd of runners
flashlights lighting their way down a wide dirt road towards Macdonald Lake.
The group spread out very quickly, the shorter distance participants
disappearing over the knoll in the distance.
	I was running back in the pack, a notoriously slow starter. Monica Scholz
ran along side. We had met earlier in the year at Massanutten in Virginia, my
first 100 mile race. She had been busy in the months since and was running
her 11th 100 of the year, in stark contrast this was only my 3rd. I had
intimated to her the day before that my goal was to run a sub 19 hour race.
She was curious as to my race strategy and probably a little skeptical since
I was starting at such a relaxed pace.
	My plan was to run the first 25 miles in 4:00 to 4:15 making the return
trip in 8:30. Since there wasn't a tremendous amount of elevation change, I
felt my legs would remain pretty fresh and I wouldn't experience a
significant slow-down in the second part of the race. My long range goal was
to be at mile 58 10 hours into the race and let the remaining miles unfold
from there. I felt this would give me the best opportunity to run my race
without pushing myself to the limits of a bonk or a DNF. Any finish time with
a 1 and an 8 as it's first two numbers would make me very happy.
	We ran together and talked for the first few miles, not always side by
side as I tend to run the ups and the downs at a different pace from others,
but eventually we would find ourselves back in step and picked up the
conversation where we had left off. The first five miles is run over gently
rolling dirt roads the surface cushioned with a soft layer of dirt and small
rocks. The lakes to our left were shrouded in the early morning mist as the
sun tried it's best to penetrate the thick cloud cover. It was a gloomy day
by most standards, but a glorious one for runners.
	The dirt road wound itself along the shores of Macdonald Lake and then on
to Clear Lake. We passed several camps and tenting areas, but all were quiet,
too early for any of the other residents of the Forest to be starting their
day. Our progress was marked by signs at the entrance to each camp each one
noting the distance in 10ths of a mile from Base Camp. I found this rather
curious since all other road signs I had seen in Canada measured distances in
kilometers. Approaching the five mile mark we climbed a gentle rise to the
aid station marking the entrance to the Krista Trail. I passed through the
aid station without stopping noting my time in and out at 48 minutes. This
certainly was not a blistering pace but still slightly quicker than I would
have liked.
	The trail wound gently upwards through the woods. The surface was soft
and the footing good but I noted that in less favorable lighting this could
be relatively challenging. The trail soon took a sharp left turn onto a wider
rocky rutted path and began a long steep climb followed by an immediate long
steep descent. This seemed to be a pattern all throughout the Krista Trail
segment. Short stretches of gentle trail separating the climbs. I played tag
with several runners during this stretch. I would move ahead only to see them
coming up from behind during one of my all too frequent pit stops. I guess
that it was a sign of being very well hydrated.
	The Krista Trail gave way to dirt road and just over a mile later I
cruised in to the 10 mile aid station just 1:42 into the race. I took this
opportunity to use my first drop bag losing my belt pack and long sleeve
capilene shirt in favor of a hand held bottle and my sleeveless cool-max
tee. As I sat changing socks, Monica and 3 or 4 others checked in and out
leaving me sitting there fumbling with my water bottle. I wasn't pleased with
my inefficient use of time in the aid station and decided to work on
improving that aspect of my race. I grabbed some beef jerky and a Cliff Bar
and headed out the trail.
	 The next section of the course took us over the King and James trail to
the 50k turnaround. I knew that I would be able to gauge my progress by
noting my position when the 50k runners passed by on their return trip. This
stretch offered some challenging climbs but all were relatively short and
further apart than the Krista Trail section. I enjoyed this stretch and
started to gain ground on quite a few runners. Most everyone was friendly and
conversational. Soon a streaking John Culhane approached from ahead. He
cruised by shouting words of encouragement enroute to his 50k victory. I
figured I was just over 12 miles into my race and felt very good about my
pace. Soon runners were passing by with increased frequency. All were
friendly and encouraging as they passed, probably pretty easy knowing they
were heading for home.
	 I checked in and out of the aid station at mile 15.5 after grabbing a
cup of XLR8 and a half of a banana. I was back on road for the next 2 miles
and running right on pace for my 4:15 turnaround goal. This stretch was
relatively flat winding around the shores of Upper Wolf Lake. I took in the
views of the lake and it seemed like I reached the 17.5 mile aid station in
no time. It had actually taken me just over 20 minutes and I passed through
the aid station with 3:00 showing on my race clock. 3.5 miles to the next aid
station and 7.5 miles to the turnaround.
	I was feeling pretty fresh and confident as I set off up the Osprey
Trail. I enjoyed this stretch of the course more than any other. All single
track, and all runnable. The forest was pretty dense and a canopy of trees
covered much of the trail. The footing was good and there were a few mucky
sections to keep you on your toes. I had moved by a few runners and was
playing leapfrog with them in the last section, but the Osprey Trail found me
pretty much running alone. I started to wonder what position I was running in
and estimated I was probably in the top five or so. Occasionally I came up on
a lone runner, but everyone I saw in this stretch was a 50 mile runner.
	At the 21 mile aid station I stopped just long enough to inquire how many
100 mile runners had come through. I was stunned to find out that 12 runners
had already come through. I was momentarily concerned as I rushed out of the
aid station. I was on a 16 - 17 hour pace yet I was over a third of the way
back in the field. I decided to stay the course and stick with my game plan:
after all I was running for a time goal not a place goal.
	The four miles to the turnaround proved to be more challenging than any
other stretch of this course. Because it's mostly on roads and without any
great climbs others probably wouldn't agree with my assessment, however, I
found this stretch to be tediously painful, the small little hills went on
endlessly making the 4 miles feel more like 6. The only thing positive about
this stretch was that I got to see the 50 mile and 100 mile runners pass by
as they made their turn for home.
	Dave McConkey was the first to approach and was he flying! He looked
fresh, almost like he was running a 10K. 'If I were a betting man my money
would be on this guy' I thought. It was quite a while before the next runner
came by. It seemed like they were all flying downhill as I struggled to climb
up. Everyone of them shouted encouragement as they passed. The third or
fourth runner to approach had a number for the 100 mile runners, I was still
2 miles out from the aid station. My spirits sagged with the knowledge that I
was roughly 45 minutes behind the leader and not feeling particularly good
about this stretch.
	Just as I thought that the hills would never end, a runner passed by
telling me there was just two minutes to the turnaround. 'Yeah Right!' I
thought, 'Maybe 2 minutes for you as you run down this hill, I'm WALKING.' I
wasn't very positive but minutes later my spirits buoyed as I entered the aid
station just as 3 other hundred mile runners were heading out.
	Dieter and Rob were very encouraging telling me that I was looking very
strong, moving well and that I had quite a few runners just minutes ahead. I
had moved up in the field but still had 8 hundred milers in front of me. They
grabbed my bottle for a quick refill, I grabbed a couple of cookies and set
off with renewed determination.
	4:22 into the 25 mile mark. 7 minutes behind pace and I was working
harder than I wanted to maintain my pace. Perhaps it was time to
reformulate the "strategy". I backed it off to a more comfortable pace and
set my sights on the 29 mile aid station.
	What a wonderful change of perspective it is when you are the one who has
made the turn and are passing by the runners still to make it to the
turnaround. You get to see that you are not the only one who struggles with
the course. I did as the others had done for me and shouted encouragement to
everyone I passed. I guess positive actions towards others can translate to a
positive attitude towards yourself, at least this is my theory as to what
happened to me. I saw Monica, Hans, Peter, Aimee and others I had shared the
trail with. My legs felt a renewed vigor, my spirits were high and I cruised
back to the 29 mile mark.
	Just over 5 hours into the race I was feeling good again and right on
pace for my original time goals. I had moved up several places in the last
stretch and was now running in about 6th place. I mused at how 30 miles into
the race I was concerned about what place I was running in. It never changed
my race strategy, but did serve as motivation and gave me something to focus
on while I was running alone.
	I climbed the hill initiating the trek back over the Osprey Trail. I was
walking all the hills now making up time on the other side. I had learned
over the summer, to become a better downhill runner. This technique amounts
to a controlled free fall allowing gravity to dictate the descent just moving
your feet quickly enough to keep you upright. This allows a speedy descent at
the same time saving the quads which normally tire from continuous breaking on
the downs. The trails over this course were perfect for this running style.
Footing good enough and hills short enough where I never felt out of control.
I had a lot of fun passing by the guys while I was blasting the downs.
Normally I am the one frustrated as the person I worked so hard to pass on
the climb up blasts by me with ease on the run down.
	As I made my way toward the 32.5 mile aid station I passed by the last of
the racers still making their way out to the turnaround. Everyone seemed like
they were having fun even though we all still had a very long day ahead. Fred
Davis was one of the last guys I passed. He wore the biggest smile of all, he
seemed totally unconcerned about pace, but was enjoying beauty of the race
course and the mild conditions of the day.
	 My trips though the aid stations on the way back through amounted to
grabbing a cookie or banana, filling my bottle with 1/2 XLR8 1/2 water and
heading out. I never spent more than a minute or so in any aid station my
drop bags left undisturbed. I was making good time, but was working hard to
make my time goals.
	Running into the 40 mile mark I noted how good my body felt, how good my
legs were holding up. I had just come upon a guy moving very slowly. Kurt
Kelley had been in second place at the turnaround but just shy of 40 miles
his body was telling him his race was done. He seemed in a positive frame of
mind, all things considered. He said that he could still walk pretty well and
would just walk it in. He bid me luck telling me I was now in second place
about 40 minutes behind the race leader. I felt bad for Kurt but knew that he
was OK and had just over 10 miles to walk it in.
	I pushed ahead and met up with a fifty mile runner. His name was Jim and
welcomed having company this far into the run. We ran together over the next
few miles. He knew that I had just passed Kurt, and he asked me how he was
doing. He told me about some of the other runners since he was familiar with
most from the Ultra Series races. I enjoyed my time with Jim and the time
passed quickly.
	Some time during the Krista Trail stretch I surged ahead on my own,
mindful of keeping up with my goal pace. I ran through the 45 mile aid
station just calling out my number. The road section leading back to Base
Camp started taking a toll on my legs. My feet were feeling some discomfort
with each downhill. I was doubting whether I wanted to continue beyond the 50
mile mark, quite a change in attitude from just five miles back.
	 A car approached from ahead. John Culhane, stuck his head out the window
greeting me enthusiastically. He shouted that I was running in second and the
leader was only about 14 minutes up on me. He drove on ... I assumed he was on
his way to track down Aimee Runge.
	Wow, great news! I had made up significant time on the guy in first
place! In an instant all the pain disappeared and I set my sights on the 50
mile turn around. Crash! All the pain returned less than half a mile later
when Luke Hohendel passed by smiling, leading the race - me still 1.7 miles to
go to the turnaround. I must have misunderstood. John must have said "40" not
"14". The highs and lows of a 100 ...

	8:40 the timer announced as I passed under the finish line. I had run
this 25 mile section in a slightly faster time than the first 25. I had noted
a slight irritation on the inside balls of both feet so I decided to make use
of my vehicle for some quick preventive maintenance. I was dismayed at the
sight of my feet when I pulled my socks off. Dark purple blood blisters the
size of nickels had risen up on both feet. I don't know if it was the right
thing to do, but I used a safety pin from my race number to lance the
blisters and cover them with Compeed. Stepping down from my car seat the feet
rebelled and caused me pain with each step. To make matters worse, as I
walked back to start the second half of my race 4 of the runners I had worked
so hard to pass were coming in to the turnaround. I really wanted to call it
a day.
	"You F***ing Wimp" I scoffed at myself. I thought of Tim Stroh who had
run with me through much of the Massanutten course, the last 40+ miles with
both feet a mass of blisters. I thought of facing Hans and my friends back
home telling them I had QUIT because of two small blisters. Dropping was not
an option so I determined to make the best of it and walked out of the 50
mile mark just shy of 9 hours into my race.
	I alternated between walking and running and slowly the pain dissipated
as the skin on my feet adapted. Funny, I found that though I wasn't moving
very quickly over this first half mile no one had come up from behind and
looking back no one was in sight. I guess everyone had their own demons to
fight. The short rest did wonders for me and soon I was able to quicken my
pace moving faster than I had in quite some time.
	Again it was fun to see all the runners coming back in. Most now were the
50 milers but every so often the 100 milers would come by. I was always
encouraged to see the runners I knew coming in feeling strong.
	I made it back through the 55 mile aid station in 49 minutes. I ran this
stretch within a minute of the time it took me 9 hours earlier. Back up and
over the Krista Trail. After 10 miles of running roads this stretch was a
welcome change. There was a light mist in the air and the forest was damp. I
checked my watch and 10 hours into the race the 55 mile mark was nearly 15
minutes behind me. I hadn't quite made it to mile 58, but all things
considered I was happy with my progress.
	It was now time to reformulate some goals to get me to the finish.
Judging by how fresh I felt and the progress I had been making I felt it
realistic to set my sights on reaching the 75 mile turnaround by 7:30, or
13:30 race time. I had a little over 18 miles to go, so I knew it would be
tight. The gloominess of the day also played it's part in helping me arrive
at this game plan. My lights were in my drop bag at the 71/79 mile aid
station. By hitting the turnaround by 7:30 I  would have roughly 45 minute of
light to see me back to the 79 mile mark eliminating the need to stop at the
71 mile mark to pick up my light ... or so I thought.
	I pressed ahead through the Krista Trail section. I passed my many of the
hundred mile runners still making progress toward the halfway point. Most
seemed in high spirits and we wished each other well, but some were showing
the toll of 40 miles of running and I knew the 50 mile mark would also mark
the end of their day.
	60 miles came and went in 10:42. My legs were feeling a little weak so I
stopped long enough to make use of my drop bag. I added a dose of liquid
creatine to my water bottle and grabbed some more beef jerky and checked the
blisters. As I fumbled with my drop bag someone in the aid station mentioned
the race leader had left just 16 minutes prior. I was shocked and quickly
began stuffing my belongings back in the bag. John Culhane had stopped by the
aid station and jumped in to help out. "I'll take care of putting everything
back. Just get moving!"
	"Wow, thanks a lot!" I shouted and took off up the trail. The strength
returned to my legs and I felt as strong as I had all day. Getting help from
someone, even a gesture as small as the one I had just experienced, was a
great mental boost and I felt as though I had someone in my corner. I pressed
ahead knowing that 16 minutes still was a long time and I would have to
remain patient if I wanted to catch this guy. I was all too familiar with the
highs and lows of running 100 miles and knew that this next stretch posed the
biggest danger of me facing a bonk of my own.
	The trail was good for my spirits and easy on my legs. The short walking
breaks to climb the hills made me feel stronger and I was still able to blast
the downs. My pace quickened as I was unable to hold back thinking this guy
would be just around the next bend. Just a mile shy of the 65.5 mile aid
station I saw him ahead moving very slowly. I came upon him quickly. He
glanced back at me coming toward him a look of resignation on his face. I
knew in a moment his day was done. He was running so smooth and so strong
until his bladder shut down, he was in pain and obviously concerned for his
health. Luke assured me he could walk to the next aid station where he would
seek medical assistance. He wished me luck.
	11 hours and 32 minutes into my third hundred mile race I was running in
first place for the first time in my life. So this was how it felt for the
Courtneys, Ians, Jims, and Joes of the world. Well, maybe not quite the same,
but I was going to enjoy it anyway. I pushed off up the trail and promptly
did a face plant in the middle of a nice gentle stretch of trail. It hurt. I
was brought back to the reality that I was still a long way from home and
that such a lack of concentration could cost me not only my standing in the
race, but might even jeopardize my finish. I brushed myself off and kicked at
the small root that had jumped up to grab my foot. I looked back just hoping
that Luke had not been a witness. He had not.
	I ran in to the 65.5 mile aid station. They were clearly surprised to see
me coming in as the first 100 mile racer inquiring how far back the next
runner was. I told them of Luke's predicament and I believe one of them
headed out the trail to check on him. I filled my bottle and checked out
refocused on the clock.
	 My turnaround goal was still looking realistic but this next 5.5 mile
stretch would be critical. I had two miles of road followed by 3.5 miles over
the Osprey Trail. I made quick work of the road section passing through the
67.5 mile aid station with 12:07 showing on my race watch. Again the aid
station personnel were surprised to see me in the lead. I grabbed some sliced
chicken and headed out the Osprey Trail.
	The light of the day was waning surprisingly fast. It was just past 6
o'clock but the clouds were thick, blocking out much of the light from the
sun. Where this had little effect on visibility on the wide dirt roads, here
on the trail under the heavy canopy of trees it was becoming harder and
harder to see. Coming down a steep slope I saw two sets of planks skirting a
mucky area. I had taken the right hand set earlier in the day, but this time
I was moving too quickly to alter my course and took the planks directly up
the center. I stepped off onto what looked like a flat hard surface. My right
foot sunk mid-calf deep in sucking mud. My foot came out but my shoe stayed
behind. I hopped back to retrieve my shoe and found it filling with the thick
goo. I fished it out, sat down to clean it up and set out on my way. My right
foot felt two pounds heavier than my left.
	It was getting more and more difficult to see and I was reminded it's
this time of day that you are most likely to encounter the larger inhabitants
of the forest as they are getting up to start their day. I hadn't received
any bear bells in my bag as Helen had said so I decided that I would give a
yell every two-three minutes to alert anything ahead that I was coming
through. My very first "HEY" alarmed something about 50 yards off to my
right. I stopped to look and saw a black hump bouncing away from me. It
paused for just a moment and up from the underbrush rose the figure of a
small little black bear. It looked back to see what it was that had disturbed
it, and seeing me, turned tail and disappeared into the woods.
	WOW! This was exciting for me to see a bear in the wild. I had seen very
little wildlife during the day and was quite frankly, shocked that I was
fortunate enough to have such a rare and wonderful encounter. I ran on,
shouting my "HEY"s every two to three minutes, and soon I was approaching the
71 mile aid station.
	Back out in the open it was drastically brighter, but I opted to stop and
grab my Mini-Mag as a precautionary measure. I also took the opportunity to
change my socks but decided to continue to wear the same shoes that had
carried me this far.
	 It was beginning to look like my goal time was in trouble but I was
determined to make the best of it. This road stretch to the turnaround was
nothing like my first time through. I hated it then, I hated it three times as
much now. Though I made decent time the minutes seemed like hours, no one to
share the journey, it was just me, the hills, the dirt and gravel and the
silence of the evening. The sun even decided that it had had enough and
called it a day. It was in the murky light just before full darkness that I
reached the 75 mile aid-station: 13:36 into my race - this stretch had taken
just 4:40 to complete.
	Dieter and Rob seemed genuinely pleased that I was leading the race. They
grabbed my bottle and offered lasagna or chicken rice soup - what a spread
they had put out. I was thinking of taking a few minutes to rest and refuel
thinking that I had a lead of at least 20-25 minutes. But Dieter looked grave
as he told me that word on the course was that another runner was approaching
and was less than ten minutes out. His pacer was waiting there for him so he
would have company the last 25 miles.
	 I knew that I had to move out. Dieter cautioned me not to panic and make
a hasty decision and I assured him I would be fine. Inside I knew that if I
had a 10 minute lead going into the darkness it would be very difficult for
anyone to make up that much time on the dark trails. I had spent bit of time
practicing running single track at night and was fairly comfortable on the
trails in the dark. They wished me luck and I was off.
	Not more than 2 minutes out of the aid station I saw my stalker making
his way up the hill. He seemed to be moving very well and I knew from seeing
him as I was leaving the halfway point that he had made up a substantial
amount of time in this last stretch. Now I panicked.
	This guy looked so strong and he was picking up his pacer. I was resigned
to the fact that I would see their two lights coming up from behind before
too long. I wasn't ready to give it up and I began to run as hard as my legs
would allow. Five minutes and a light approached from ahead. A second runner.
Moving well, closing in.
	I pushed harder. All the way into the 79 mile aid station and I was still
alone. I stopped long enough to strap on my waist-mounted Petzl Mega and my
special bottle premix of Neurogain and Cytomax. This would keep me alert
through the night without the shakiness of caffeine. I had pushed hard over
the last 4 miles and needed to rest. I stood watching down the road behind
for the lights that I knew would inevitably come. I saw only darkness.
	I left the aid station climbing back up the hill to the Osprey Trail. A
light mist was falling and my light failed to penetrate the darkness as it
normally would. Visibility was cut in half, beyond the circular glow of the
beam I could see only blackness. Climbing was fairly easy once I visually
adjusted to my surroundings, but on the other side descending was much slower
than before. I was still able to run the downs, but I had to be a bit more
cautious, rocks would appear as if from nowhere and the footing was getting a
bit slick. I still had to worry about the muddy patches since they seemed to
be the most easily disguised in the dim light.
	But I was running scared. Not of the night, nor of the creatures of the
woods, nor of the pain that would come from a fall on the rocks but scared of
the lights that I knew to be coming from behind.
	Every so often I would now see the lights ahead as yet another runner
came up from in front. I would shout a greeting and pause long enough to
identify myself and the runner and offer encouragement. Hans, Monica, Aimee
all still running strong all would finish well. I may have even employed one
or two in a mind game. "When you see the guy behind me - tell him I'm 30
minutes ahead and running strong!" I was frustrated knowing he had the
advantage of knowing how far ahead I was, but I had no way of knowing how
close he was behind me.
	Regardless of who the runner was, seeing the lights ahead was always a
comforting sight. The lights ahead letting me know that I indeed still was on
course and, if I wasn't, at least I had company. The pink ribbons which lined
the course every fifty yards were more difficult to see at night. I had often
mused that I could never win a race because I would need someone to follow to
keep me on course. Helen had this course so well marked that anytime I was in
doubt about my surroundings within seconds I could pick out one of the pink
suckers in my flashlight beam.
	I continued through the woods to the 82.5 mile station. I stopped for
some hot soup but stayed for just a moment eyes glued to the trail behind.
Only darkness.
The road section was easily navigable but the soles of my feet were again
complaining about the unforgiving surface. My progress slowed as I again had
to alternate between walking and running even on the flat sections. My neck
began to hurt from the repetitive motion of looking back over my shoulder. I
took my first and only ibuprofen's of the day. I passed back through the
84.5 mile aid station without stopping. This marked the beginning of another
long stretch of trail. I welcomed the woods knowing that though my progress
slowed, so would that of anyone behind me. I had stopped to check my watch
back along the road and still had well over 3 hours to make it in under 19
hours but I felt I was flirting with my self imposed cutoff. 5.5 miles to the
next aid station; I could only do the best I could and no more.
	In the blackness of the forest more lights appeared. More runners making
their way out. I apologized that I couldn't stop but had to keep moving
because I had someone right on my tail. I did pass one "runner" in this
section that brought me to a halt. Moving slowly, but no slower than he had
been the last time I had seen him, Kurt Kelley had made the turn at 50 and
was walking his way to a finish. He hadn't run a step since mile before mile
40 but he came to finish a hundred miler and damned if he wasn't going to do
it. I marveled at his strength of character and determination.
	My confidence grew as the miles of trail fell behind. I was still moving
quickly on the downs, climbing was no problem, and I was making decent pace
on the flats. Another light from ahead. John Prohira. I asked John how long
he had been out of the aid station. "About 45 minutes but I'm moving pretty
slow" he said. I looked at my watch 15:59 race time. I felt very comfortable
with my pace and progress.
	 Minutes later another light from ahead. Fred Davis still smiling. I
asked Fred how long he'd been out of the aid station. He was unsure and asked
me to look at my watch. 15:59 race time. I freaked. My damn watch had stopped
and I had no idea how long ago. I looked at the real world time 11:04. Just
over 17 hours into the race and still more than 10 miles to go. I had lost
all hope of my 18 something finish.
	I pushed as hard as I could and soon I raced down the hill into the 90
mile aid station. Still no lights from behind. I grabbed my premixed Cytomax
drink from my drop bag, slurped down a cup of soup and off I went.
	 Just under two hours to go if I were to break my 19 hour mark. The
Krista Trail and 5 miles of easy dirt road stood between me and my goal. The
first couple of miles were easy, relatively speaking, and I had renewed faith
that If I pushed I could still have a chance. But then Krista brought me to
me knees. I never remembered so many long steep hills traveling over this
section three times earlier in the day. The hills must have grown in the
dark. I passed a small beaver pond to my left thinking the aid station was up
and over the next hill. Three hills later I was wondering if I was still on
the Krista Trail or if the aid station had somehow disappeared. Pink ribbons
and a final steep descent brought me in to the last of the aid stations.
	"Runner 28 in and out!" I shouted. A woman jumped from a chair. They had
been sleeping and I startled them awake.
	"We weren't expecting anyone so soon" she replied.
	"There's another guy right on my tail. He'll be coming in any minute" I
shouted over my shoulder as I ran down the road.
	My watch read 12:24 am as I passed the 4.3 mile marker. 36 minutes to go
4.3 miles even in my exhausted state I knew this to be a pipe dream all hopes
gone. I was positive, as slow as I was over the Krista Trail, that the guy
behind was within a minute or two and closing. Though it hurt with every
footfall I was determined to run as much as my body would allow.
	4.1, 3.9, 3.8, 3.6, 3.55 the signs counted down my miles to the finish.
My heart would race as I turned to look back and would see that light coming
up from behind only to realize that it was just another glowstick hanging
from a tree.
	2.5 miles a car approached from behind. The ladies stuck their heads out
the windows whooping congratulations at me. They were 50 mile finishers who
had come back out to catch the 100 mile finishers.
	"Not so fast" I shouted back "There's another guy coming up from behind!"
	"There's not another runner for miles" they said "we've just driven from
the 10 mile aid station and there's no one else on the road"
	"Really?" I was dumbfounded and maybe a little distrustful. Were these
ladies crewing for the runner behind me and playing head games to get me to
let down? My momentary paranoia was quelled as I realized these ladies were
truly happy for me. They drove off promising to see me at the finish.
	It hurt to run, my watch said the best I could do was about a 19:10
finish, there was no one "for miles" behind me so I decided to walk it in and
enjoy the feeling of leading and winning a race. I had done it.
	I walked until I made the turn for the finish. A quarter mile to go, I
had to make them think I was still running. It hurt. I walked. I waited till
I was about 100 yards from the finish and "ran it in for the win" to these
deafening applause from the cheering crowd of spectators ... all five of
them.
	"19:10" the official timer told me as I slumped into a lawnchair.
	What the heck? I thought I had finished in 19:23. It was 23 minutes past
1 am but in my tired state I had forgotten that the race had started almost
15 minutes past 6. I had let my goal slip away out of sheer stupidity. Oh
well, a wins a win! I'll have to come back and try again.
	After a good leg massage from Flo (Fred's wife I think) and waiting for
the next two runners to come in, I escaped to the showers and back to my tent
for a couple hours of fitful sleep. I returned to the finish line to cheer in
the runner still coming in.
	Monica had finished strong and passed two women late in the race to win
on the women's side. Tears welled in my eyes as I was there to welcome Hans
across the finish line of yet another 100. Others I was so happy for as they
finished their 100 mile journeys.
	I left the finish line wanting to see some of the last runners coming in
from the 5 mile aid station. I am so glad that I chose to do this because
these are some of the most powerful images I will keep from my weekend in the
Haliburton Forest:
	3 miles from the finish a hobbling Kurt Kelley making his way down a
short hill. After running so strong early in the race 2nd place he had been
walking for nearly 57 miles just to claim a finish. He flashed a sheepish
grin as I stopped to take his picture.
	Art Moore coming out from the trail listing heavily to his right
struggling with his equilibrium. Dirt stained his white button-down shirt
from his falls on the trail in the night time. His wife waiting for his
arrival and the look of concern, love, fear and devotion all melded into one
as she refused to let him continue on alone choosing instead to walk along
side the last 5 miles to keep him safe. I still get teary thinking about it.
	Suzi Cope with her husband Mike emerging from the woods, Suzi's legs
stiff as boards. She wore a look of shear determination on her face and it
served her well as she ran a strong last segment passing a couple of runners
in the home stretch.
	And maybe more than anything, the smiling face of John Prohira walking
down a hill 2 miles from the finish. If it wasn't for his race report and his
tale of the wolves of Haliburton I would not have had such a magical weekend.