2006 McNaughton Park 100 by Jerry Brandt Easter weekend was truly a blessing for me, as I completed my first 100 miler! McNaughton state park in Pekin, Illinois was the place. Initially, I had planned on doing the McNaughton as a training run for Mohican, but after the first 10 mile lap, I knew it should have been the other way around! Somehow I chose to ignore the fact that this race had 45% more climb than Mohican. Ah well, live and learn ... The hundred mile race is only three years old as of now, and the lack of information on the event in the ultra running world left me assuming it was no big deal. The intelligent ultra runner knows that ANY 100 miler is a very big deal. Just finishing can be a challenge in the best of conditions. Completing the distance may be even more difficult should something go wrong, and through 100 grueling miles, things WILL go wrong. The beginning day I was rushed as usual; first having to choose a nice place in the dark forest to fertilize the trees privately, then rushing to the start without half enough stretching. Roy Heger and I drove down together, and that made the whole experience much better, as he is a veteran ultra runner, holding several masters records. Roy has completed over twenty-five 100 milers, and picking his overstuffed brain is more valuable than any education you can get in school. Thanks Roy! So off we go embarking on yet another crazy adventure, as Roy would say, "running through the woods searching for sustenance". Quite simple really; the cavemen must have done it. The morning was dark, but not for long. As the sun rose in the cloudless sky, runners were lazily bantering for their pecking order as the first ascent approached. I was safely tucked away behind Roy for as long as I could keep up, hoping to feed off of his "slow" pace. Within the first two miles however, he took off! As the lengthening pack emerged from the woods into a grassy knoll, the calming, curious sound of music filled the morning air. Standing atop the meadow, on a crest of a hill stood an honest to goodness bagpiper, in full Scottish garb! What a nice touch that was. Kudos to race director Andy Weinberg for an outstanding added touch, as well as a finely planned event overall. Heading back into the woods I chose to remain in the back of the pack. Being my very first 100 miler and my first race over 50 miles in 8 years, I thought it best if I conserved what little endurance I hoped to have stashed away. There must have been well over 220 starters, and most were 30 mile competitors. The rest were divided equally between the 50 and 100 milers. The first ten mile loop went on without too many problems, other than the two river crossings that were a foot deep at their shallowest point. This may sound as though I am a bit of a wuss, but multiply two crossings times ten laps, and the picture comes a bit clearer. Feet were going to be wet for the entire race no matter what. Not the best of situations for those with sensitive skin. Even so, it was time to suck it up and continue along. After the first lap I stopped at my bag and Styrofoam cooler to guzzle a can of Ensure and partake of some Pedialyte, as well as text message my sweetheart, Laura and my mother that I had just completed 10 miles. I found it necessary to send text messages during the race to them because they both thought for sure I wasn't coming home alive (nor was I certain of a return trip…). I finished the first ten miles in roughly 2:11. Way too fast I thought, but I was moving as slow as I felt comfortable doing, so I kept forging ahead. Miles 1-15 were fine. Following mile 15 I started to feel uncomfortable. Knees, ankles, hips, feet, lower back ... It was that point where my weary body wasn't quite ready to accept the fact that there were still 85 miles to go. By the end of the second lap, it was hot. How hot? Coming from a chilly lakefront Cleveland atmosphere in early April, it was nasty… 85, humid, and full sun. I had started to pass a few char broiled trail runners, and was feeling like a roasted lizard myself. Miles 15-25 hurt. Somewhere in there I got lost as well. My internal GPS missed the turn with the big rope climb up the cliff to the right. Losing focus for a few precious moments, I must have run right past the turn! It wasn't until about fifteen minutes later that I realized I had done something terribly wrong. There is no worse feeling than re-passing people you overtook an hour before. At the end of the second lap I once again chugged a can of Ensure, had some more grapy Pedialyte, and ate some trail grub. I sent more brief messages and found that my women had returned some sentiments as well. Laura sent words of inspiration, and my poor mother returned the question, "miles?". My messages consisted of a simple, unexplained two number blurb each time: "10", "20" ... At the end of 30 her response was, "brain cells?" I used the humor as fuel - it worked quite well! On to lap four. I really wanted to change shoes and socks, but I did not want to take the time. My feet were taking a beating on this course, and were suffering from being saturated all day. The aid stations and the wonderful volunteers who manned the remote wooded havens were great! One could find sustenance, good humor, friendly smiles and you choice of water, Heed, or beer (yes, beer) as well as solid fuel. I chose my diet to consist of 90% Heed and 10% water for my liquid nourishment, as well as a can of Ensure and some Pedialyte every 10 miles. This worked out excellently well! I never suffered from a lack of energy or dehydration. I complemented my drinks with plenty of bananas, pb&j, turkey sandwiches, Clif Shot Bloks, grapes, Fritos, cookies and some hot soup which was prepared for the night runners. At the end of 40 miles I decided to take the time to change my socks. This was a good move as it provided an hour of drier feet which I was in desperate need of. I thought if I could just make it to 50 ... Even if I crashed and burned, at least I could go home and say I ran 50 miles! The pain in my knees was holding steady, but wasn't that bad. My ankles were not great, feet were tender, and I was beginning to feel a sharp pain in my shin muscles on my right leg. 50 miles… I felt rather good. I knew I had the tenacity to finish the 100 even if I had to crawl in like a scaly reptilian varmint. The pain in my knees and ankles was put on the back burner due to the growing knife in my shin . I stopped several times to massage the muscles expecting the worst. I was convinced that my muscles were ripping off of the bone, and I would be forced to DNF to avoid killing my whole season. The darkness of night came. The clouds arose. The heavens sent bolts of electricity to the ground every few minutes and the light show was followed by crackling thunder. A monsoon was inevitable. The rain came and went for several hours. It felt a bit refreshing for the most part after a hot day in the hell furnace. Falling water resulted in wet, clay, single track trails. These were fairly easy to tackle for common ultra runners, but the steepness of McNaughton's course was not to be reckoned with - even when dry. Can you say Crisco? I can. As a matter of fact, I’ll say it again… Crisco. Crouching and sliding down the slopes was a great plan I thought, until my feet hit the invisible, dreaded roots, which hurled me downhill to the grisly doom that awaited my beaten, weary carcass at the darkness below. I wouldn't be doing that again anytime soon. Uphills were no picnic either. It was difficult even to try and find a more gritty surface to run on slightly off piste. Somehow, after a few hours of nighttime slip ’n slide, I was feeling great. 70 miles down and all this energy. What's a white boy to do? Run Forrest, Ruuuun! I picked up the pace, finding myself passing people every half hour or so. I forced myself to hold back on my acceleration for the first five miles of the 8th loop, and let loose the last five. I didn't want to exhaust myself with a marathon yet to go. The majority of the trail was marked very well, even for nighttime travelers. I was mentally prepared to tackle loop nine in a similar fashion. However, the inevitable ultra runner’s nightmare took place ... There were clothespins that had been painted with a reflective paint snapped onto tree branches to help mark the trail. They were easily seen as a head torch shone their way; yellow - gold glimmers of affirmation. As I entered a field I noticed a familiar yellow glow about 100 yards ahead. I ran for several minutes, looked up to make sure I was on course, and again saw a yellow shimmer, um… 100 yards ahead… Hmmm… In the dark abyss of night, after who knows how many hours and miles behind you, distances are altogether undistinguishable. After another ten minutes I looked up to see that my yellow glimmer had multiplied and were now prancing across the field - yes, 100 yards ahead. I am an animal lover, but this was no time for me to be chasing deer thinking I was following my trail markers! The deer got an earful as I stood there motionless, panting, alone, beaten by nature in some solitary field of blackness cursing those hairy beasts. Once again I turned around, discouraged, a bit on edge, and generally disgusted at my predicament. At the end of the 90 miles, I was on fire, in a very good way. My blood was flowing, the testosterone was erupting, and my general state was that of a raging man beast. The sun had come up. I talked myself through the last 10 miles - out loud. Laura says I was hallucinating, but I believe my wild energy sickness came from somewhere deeper. I was on track, on a roll, fighting, running, conquering this course which had battled me for better than 23 hours now. I passed at least 20 people on the last lap, having lapped some of them twice. I had absolutely had no idea what place I was in, and didn't care. At the beginning of mile 90 Andy congratulated me on a fine race thus far, and as I commented that I should break 27 hours, he said if I hauled I might break 26! I needed a 2:24 for the final lap. After 90 miles I was hopeful, and gauging my pace and energy level on the previous 20 miles I thought I could do it. I had but two objectives: RUN and avoid injury on a greasy course. As I thought about my situation logically, I figured that a 2:20 might be possible for me on dry clay early on, but perhaps not on wet clay after putting 90 miles under my belt. Still, I took the challenge. At mile 96 I blasted right through the final aid station on a mission to conquer the stoic course. At mile 97 I thought for sure I would do it, as I was still growing stronger, increasing my pace to warp 9. My feet were on fire. I never thought that wet, soggy, blistering, saturated feet could be on fire, but they were. I would lose some skin for sure, but that didn't matter. I had seen Roy earlier in the race, about a mile ahead of me. He, too, had gotten lost and traveled at least an extra mile. I wondered how far ahead of me he had finished, and was surprised he had not lapped me. Just then, as I was plowing my way through the final river crossing I came upon my fellow Ohioan. "ROY!", I screamed. “Run Roy!” He had turned to see who (or what) was approaching him fiendishly from the rear, and stopped to share a few words. I had a different agenda. I know he started talking to me, but I was going way too fast to make out what he was saying. I rudely blasted past him, working my way up the hill screaming, "Come on Roy!" I emerged from the last wooded area to the final 1/8 mile field crossing, to the finish line. I was at a full sprint, growling as my pace increased exponentially, taking my soul to yet another level of insanity, heading for my own personal victory. The last lap had ended. A blazing 2:04! My fastest of the day. The total time elapsed for my race was 25:47. I was astounded to learn that I had finished in 6th place of a field of over 50 after getting lost twice and wasting time at my drop bag several times. The winner had come in at 22 hours and change; roughly four hours slower than previous years. Conditions on both days surely contributed to the elongated finish times. I couldn't walk for the rest of the day very efficiently. The next day was slightly better, and on the third I was able to move quite freely. The all encompassing emotional surge didn't hit me until about 30 hours after I had finished. When it did, everything was all right… Life was good. One could have insulted my family, cut my arm, grilled my toes off and I would have been grateful and said, "Thank you, friend. Bless you!" It really is an amazing feeling. I learned an incredible amount of valuable ‘how to's’ and ‘what not to do's’ from this race. There are so many factors that contribute to a successful finish, that it truly is an art form to get I all worked out. I can't wait to embark on yet another journey! Bring on Mohican!