Subject: Vermont 100 Story Date: Wed, 26 Jul 2000 14:20:53 EDT From: Wesley Finnemore Hi all, A little late but here we go again! I was sitting in a horse barn just past five o'clock in the morning. The rain which had been relentless for the last four hours was pounding the rooftop above. I was shivering, my legs were throbbing, my brain was fogged from exhaustion, but as I looked around before me I had to consider myself among the lucky ones. I had finished this race just before midnight; just before the rains and heavy winds made a quagmire of the final miles of this race course. Several people lay prone occupying maybe half of the dozen or so cots which had been set up as a quasi-MASH unit. To my left Deb Reno was massaging a lifeless form wrapped in one of those drab green wool blankets. "Is that Stan?" Ruth Kessler squawked from within her cocoon. Stan had been her pacer from Camp 10 Bear to the finish but was nowhere to be found. The door leading to the indoor riding ring, and the finish line opened as another finisher made his way into the barn. He didn't look good. Legs wobbling, soaked through he collapsed on the nearest cot to the door. 70 year old Richard Laine was strong enough to navigate the hundred mile course and withstand the elements, but here in the barn his body was betraying him. He was unable to remove one of his shoes as he started shaking uncontrollably. Steve Pero jumped to his side wrapping him in blankets to warm him and tending to him as a friend though the two were strangers. I sat and I watched. The events which were unfolding before my eyes are the things I find to be truly inspiring about ultra-races and their competitors. Certainly the racers who finish in the "front-of-the-pack" command respect and admiration, but I am in AWE of the people who are out on the course hours later in the darkness braving the elements, fighting sleep deprivation, rain, wind, cold, and the all the pain the course has to give. I am in AWE of the people whose races didn't materialize as they had dreamed but stay for hours helping both friends and strangers alike offering moral support and helping to ease physical discomfort, running food and drink endlessly to anyone who needs. And I am in AWE of the race directors and volunteers who work tirelessly, many who may have never run a competitive step in their lives, but are willing to give of themselves to help others' dreams come true. And I am in AWE of the generosity of a family who allows hundreds of strangers to pitch their tents, park their cars, trample their grass and use their facilities when in our society such generosity goes largely unrecognized. And I look around and see the older gentleman in a wheelchair who probably wishes, just once, he could experience what I and the others around me call "pain." My weekend started early Friday morning. I woke at 5 a.m. and took to the task of making my final preparations to leave. I somehow had misplaced (threw out) my race packet and had just some random information I had culled from the Internet to get me to Smoke Rise Farm. This was quite a contrast to my preparation for MMT100 nine weeks earlier when I felt like I knew the course having never seen it, had packed enough equipment for a wilderness expedition, had six pairs of shoes and as many drop bags. This day I walked out the door with my tent, sleeping bag, cooler and my gym bag slung over my shoulder. Packing light was an option I felt afforded me in this race due to it's many aid stations and crew access points. Leaving Boston, the weather was bright and sunny just wisps of clouds in the sky. The forecast was for increasing clouds with thunderstorms into the evening hours. Saturday was to be more of the same. I was traveling solo, but I would have a crew. Karl, who has crewed me at several of my other races, and Steven, who had never seen an ultra, would be leaving from Boston during the night with an e.t.a. around 4am. Karl and Steven had been friends for years; two more opposite personalities you will never find. Karl very quiet and conservative, and Steven...well let's just say it would be hard to find words to accurately describe "Stevie V." Steven works with us and has heard the stories about these races and wanted to see one first hand. He had offered to be my crew so I graciously accepted. I arrived at Smoke Rise in the early afternoon. It is a beautiful horse farm located in a remote section of Vermont just a few miles from Woodstock. The grounds were a hub of activity. People milling about, pitching tents, searching for parking and making their way to the barn for registration and mandatory medical check. Hans-Dieter Weisshaar was the first familiar face. We talked for about 20 minutes I listened intently as he recounted his finish at Hardrock just six days prior. He had also had a tooth extraction earlier in the week and was feeling a bit weak, but he was more than ready to go 100 miles!? I pitched my tent next to Ed Buckley a runner from Massachusetts whom I had met on a training run two weeks earlier on the Seven Sisters course. That day he had done a double and I, worried about arriving in Vermont with fresh legs, stopped after only a single. This was to be his first 100, but he seemed quite confident. The day was turning slightly hazy. Temperatures were moderate but the humidity was noticeable as I readied my accommodations for the evening. I made my way to the horse barn for registration and weigh-in. In line I introduced myself to Jay Hodde. I had wanted to meet him since I had read many of his descriptive accounts of 100 mile races. I made my way to the scale, emptied my pockets and stepped up. 151. Wow even with my shorts and shoes I hadn't topped 150 in almost three years. At Massanutten I weighed 140 and that was just 9 weeks ago. I doubted the accuracy of the scale and hoped it would not come back to haunt me during my race. I couldn't imagine how I would ever deal with being pulled from a race if I was running well. It was now 2:45 and the mandatory pre-race briefing was an hour away. I needed to get to a store for some last minute provisions for my crew. There was a general store close by and I was there in less than 15 minutes. I made some spur of the moment decisions on what my race day nutrition would consist of. Hunts Snack-Pack pudding, Pringles Sour Cream and Chive, an instant ravioli cup and, believe-it-or-not, sliced rare roastbeef and sliced turkey breast! I don't know what made me even think of this other than the fact that I had not eaten any meat yet that day, but let me tell you something, I found nothing tastes better after 68 miles than bloody slices of roastbeef! I arrived back at the farm just in time for the briefing. The barn was packed with at least 500 people runners, pacers, crew and volunteers. I found my friends from New England and joined them. There was a lot of nervous excitement in the air. At times you could barely hear the directives from the front over the chatter going on around the room. I hoped I didn't miss anything important. With the briefing over I returned to base camp to prep my single drop bag. I had chosen to use just one drop and because of the course looping back on itself at Camp 10 Bear this would be as good as having two drop bags out there. In my bag I packed a change of shoes, socks and stockings, rain gear for the night time hours and some Race Day drink mix and some first-aid supplies. Though I would have a crew, I didn't want to totally depend on them being at any particular place at any particular time. With this setup I felt if my crew didn't arrive I would still be fine. My cooler was packed for my crew and all that remained was to write up my pacing goal and times in and out of the crew access points. My goal was to maintain an even 11 minute/mile pace through 55 miles and then to let the race unfold from there. This would get me to the 54.9 mile aid station at 10 hours and allow me 10 hours for the last 45 miles of the race. I arrived at these figures based on a couple of factors. First: I had been told that the entire course was runnable and long hard technical climbs were pretty much nonexistent-this should allow fairly consistent pacing throughout. Second: my most recent 50 mile results had me holding a 10 minute pace and I felt I could reach 50 miles comfortably at an 11 minute pace-at worst I could walk it in from here if I had to. And third: from all my reading I should be able to plan my pacing with a 55/45 split, covering 55% of the course in half of the planned finish time. With instructions written I returned to the barn for the pre-race meal and dropped my bag. The line was incredibly long and took almost 30 minutes to get through. Next time arrive early-or late I thought to myself. I ate alone and returned to the tent ready to turn in by 8pm. I readied my running clothes, pinned my number to my shorts, and turned in, my mind satisfied that I was fully prepared for the following day. I had never tented before a race and within minutes I think I learned rule #1 about doing so. If you plan to go to sleep early pitch your tent as far from the others as is humanly possible. Children staying in adjacent tent were fighting with Mom. Over the next 90 minutes "Whining, Crying, and Scolding" served as my bedtime symphony. As the show reached it's eventual conclusion I finally drifted off to sleep....BANG I awoke. It was a car door slamming. Must be time to get up.....12:34......and what was going on next to me? I have two bulldogs and am pretty used to loud snoring, but the guy in the tent next to me, well he must have been a professional. I don't understand how he didn't wake himself up with all that noise.(I found out after the race that a certain runner I know who was tenting nearby had listened to this until he couldn't take it anymore and went to sleep in his car....at 12:30! I soon was back to sleep and slept through until the rustling of my neighbors woke me again just before 3. I made myself coffee had a little breakfast and as I started to make my way off the hill to the starting area I felt my first raindrop. I ran back up to the car to get a light jacket. I slipped it on and trotted off to the barn. I arrived just moments before the start and felt as though everyone was humored by the fact that I felt a jacket was necessary. I think I may have been one of three or four others who decided a jacket was appropriate. I could always toss it at an aid station if I didn't need it and by the looks of things I would be more than happy to wear it at least until the sun came up. We left the barn slowly moving in the dark down the drive to the starting line. The guy in the tux playing "Chariots of Fire" from the porch of the farmhouse humored me and, OK, maybe gave me a little inspiration. Regardless it was a nice touch. At 4:04 we were off on our 100 mile sojourn. Running easily down a gentle hill the first mile or so just melted away. Soon enough the lights of a parked car and flashlights of volunteers directed us off the road and onto a wide dirt ATV trail meandering upwards into the hills of Woodstock. I don't remember too much of the early miles except that I was never alone. 246 runners don't get much separation in the early stages of a 100 mile race. The footing was moderately challenging in the darkness and, factoring in the rain, even more so if one was to keep their feet dry. I did a bit of dancing in order to keep my feet out of the mucky messes that popped up intermittently on the trail. I settled in to a comfortable pace early on. I was probably running mid-pack for the first hour or so. As the darkness gave way to the murky early morning light I began to quicken my pace ever so slightly. I had passed the second aid station at 5.5 miles in 59 minutes and was exactly where I wanted to be. I focused on the 18 mile aid station in Pomfret, this is the station my crew would be waiting had they arrived as planned. I had told them in my goal time that I would be arriving @ 7:15am. I was making my way up through the field passing by many runners I knew. Many of them expressed surprise that I was coming up from behind instead of being out in front of them. My body just has a hard time of waking up in the morning and usually takes a good two hours to get started- I guess running a 100 is no different and I have to give myself ample time to wake up and adjust to the rigors of the day. At 7:20 I rolled into the Pomfret aid station. My crew was waiting and noted that I was 5 minutes behind schedule. I let them know the race was 4 minutes late starting so we were right on the money time-wise. I needed very little from my crew at this point, but I dumped my jacket, grabbed a handful of bloody red meat and made my way out of the aid station in 53rd place. My crew was fixated upon where I stood in relation to the rest of the field. I couldn't care less 18 miles in to a hundred who is ahead or behind me. I was fixated on my watch, probably more so than any other race I have run. My race strategy was sound, I felt, and I was not about to compromise it at anytime early in the race. My crew would meet me again at the 27.7 mile station, I had given them specific instructions as to what to have setup and ready for me upon my arrival at 9:00am. It was my job to be there on time. The day brightened and warmed slightly. Great temperature for running, mid-sixties, but the humidity never let up. It made for pleasant running, even the occasional drizzle did little to dampen my spirits. The terrain was pleasant there was always someone to share the trail and talk and the miles seemed to pass effortlessly. Somewhere along about mile 22 I realized that the Montrails were just not doing it for me on these roads. They are quite possibly the most comfortable shoes I have put on my feet, but they were lacking in the cushioning department and the shock of each footfall was becoming noticeable. I was cruising downhill closing in on the 27.7 mile aid station when a guy walking up the hill from the aid station said "Hey are you #66? Are you Wes?" I was nervous as I gave him an affirmative reply; worried something must have gone wrong. "You have quite a rooting section at the aid station. It's just another 1/4 mile down!" He was smiling and shaking his head. At 8:58 I approached Stage Road and there was "Stevie V" my crew out to run me in to my waiting chair and supplies. He had the spectators doing "the wave" for the runners coming in ahead of me. His larger-than-life personality was on the loose and affecting everyone around him for better or worse. Well, at least all my gear was out and just as I had asked. Karl was waiting diligently writing the times and names of the runners ahead of me. I was now in 37th place, but more importantly right on pace. I changed socks and shoes (into my Adidas Boosts) grabbed some more meat, resupplied with my Race Day. I grabbed some chips and a couple of figs and was out in less than 5 minutes. Over the next few miles the runners became fewer and fewer. I joined up with a young guy named Zack over the next 10 miles or so. Sometimes running together sometimes falling back when I felt he was pushing the pace. This was his second attempt at 100 miles his first ending a year earlier up ahead at Camp 10 Bear. He shared what he had remembered of the course. Somewhere, shortly after mile 30, the race changed for me. Though I was enjoying the company of a fellow runner, forward progress was coming at a price. Each footfall was becoming more and more noticeable. The bottoms of my feet felt almost bruised, my knees were beginning to ache, and I had to stop several times to adjust the lacing pattern of my shoes (the area where I knotted the laces was causing a pressure point on the top of my left foot which was aggravated by any downhill running). Each time I stopped Zack would go on, each time I would catch up again and on it went. He seemed to be cruising effortlessly and I was cursing the road with every step. I had made up my mind to drop at 10 Bear (mile 44.2). I popped a couple of ibuprofen's for the first time and decided to trot the last couple of miles in to the aid station, let my crew know the day was over and pack-up for home. I approached 10 Bear with a sense of relief. I was not having fun and it felt good to come to this resolve. There was only one problem. How could I tell my crew that I was quitting? I didn't injure myself, I had no blisters, I wasn't bonking and I was right on my goal pace. They already knew I wasn't having fun. Like it or not, I couldn't bring myself to do it. I would have no choice but to go on. I was directed to the scale by race personnel where I weighed in at 148. Well, they wouldn't pull me anyway. I changed into fresh socks had a good foot massage refueled and was on my way. All the complaining I did at the aid station made me feel better. At least someone else knew how miserable I was feeling. I had broached the topic of quitting, but the looks in the eyes of my crew affirmed my thoughts; in their minds this was not an option. Out of the aid station at 12:15 I was running just behind my goal pace and as Karl let me know I had moved into 31st. I chose only to focus on the return to 10 Bear (mile 68.2) If I could make it back by 5pm it would give me 7 hours to do the final 32 miles. Shortly after the climb out of 10 Bear an older gentleman running very smoothly came up from behind. He introduced himself as Zeke and this was his first 100 mile race. Zeke and Zack seemed to hit it off we ran as three for only a short while and then I let them slip away. After trading spots with Zack over the last dozen miles this would be the last I would see of either of them that day. Nearly 50 miles in I was running solo and dropping places as a couple more runners came up from behind, exchanged pleasantries and left me in their dust. My only motivation was 10 Bear by 5. At the Tracer Brook aid station my spirits were momentarily buoyed. I noticed that I came in to the aid station within a minute of my goal time. 54.9 miles in 10 hours maybe if I could hold on I might still make my self imposed cutoff of 20 hours. I was and out in no time looking forward to Prospect Hill the next station where I would meet my crew. I only remember the climb to Prospect Hill as being very long and feeling very hot. We had rain sometime after 10 Bear and now the sun was finally coming out and heating up the day. The humidity was oppressive and progress was difficult. These hills weren't steep but they seemed to go on forever. Cresting Prospect Hill my crew was waiting. I slumped into a waiting chair-I just needed to rest. Shortly Terri Handi came charging up the hill. She passed by looking strong and I don't believe she stopped for more than a moment at the food and drink table. Next was fellow Massachusetts runner John Carey. I was quite surprised to see him. You see John likes to start quickly and run with the race leaders at least for a short while. I decided to leave the aid station along with John but he lingered awhile longer and I trotted along alone. I approached a fork in the road. There was a little "c" plate posted on a tree in the middle of the fork, but there was no arrow indicating the proper direction. It looked fairly obvious that the left fork was the proper route, but in a trail race this can never be assured. I proceeded along but after about 400 yards became unsure that I was on track since I saw no more markers to indicate that this was indeed the proper route. I turned around to retrace my steps when a race volunteer on a mountain bike rode up. I explained my quandary and she said she also was unsure but would ride ahead. As she rode off John approached. He was pretty confident we were headed in the right direction so we continued on together. I felt pretty good to be running with John. He had experience running Vermont and had a sub-19 hour finish to his credit. He shared that he too had a goal of running sub 20 so I felt pretty good that my pacing was good to this point. Only one problem he seemed to be speeding up and I seemed to be slowing down. He asked me if I had seen Terri and I acknowledged the fact she had blown by me at the last aid station. We both mused at how strong and confident she looked. I was struggling to maintain pace with John. I was feeling more and more discouraged as the miles on the hard packed country road took more and more from my legs. I popped two more ibu's and prayed for some single track to appear. John was cruising. After we passed through the Brown School House aid station at mile 62.8 the course took a turn onto some jeep trails. This portion was a little rocky and a little mucky but definitely was the answer to my prayers. Within minutes, I'm sure it was a combination of the ibu's and the change in trail surface, my legs and body seemed to return from the dead. I went from struggling, to jogging, to all out running. Mentally this gave me a huge boost and I stormed the 5 miles back to 10 Bear. Along the way I repassed several of the runners who had left me for dead, another mental boost. At 4:45 I charged the final hill down to 10 Bear weighed in at 146 and was too excited to stop long to resupply. I did stop long enough to change into dry shoes and socks grab the last of my bloody beef and head back out. 20 hours seemed well within reach but a nearer term goal would be to reach Bill's by 8pm. 15.2 miles in three hours seemed reasonable. So "Bills by 8" was the mantra I repeated in my head for the next three hours. It was just before 5pm and I was now in 32nd place. Climbing out of 10 Bear the second time was a little discouraging and returned me quickly to reality. This was a long gradual climb. Too steep to run, not steep enough to justify walking the whole thing. I alternated between a slow jog and powerwalking to crest the hill. This was one long climb but the top was it's own reward, at least for me. As I approached the crest 5 of the most beautiful race spectators you could ever hope to see were watching my approach. Standing stock still watching my every movement were five horses, blonde manes, light tan hide, massive bodies, siblings maybe, the only thing I could see separating the five was one with curly locks hanging down his forehead and another with dappled hindquarters. I was enamored with their beauty and only wished I could stop but time didn't allow for such extravagances. I told them they made my entire race and continued on. I looked back over my shoulder and they still were watching not one had moved. At the top my crew was waiting at Gerry's aid station. I had just left them not more than 25 minutes ago, but they had some nutrition ready and waiting knowing I didn't take enough fuel at the last station. Stevie handed me my pudding cup and he and Karl ran along side me for a minute or two as I ate. It tasted great and they asked if I had any requests for food when I would see them again at Bills. I thought just a moment and asked for a cheeseburger with ketchup. I drifted away as they returned to the car. Bills was now 13 miles away. I felt better after getting some carbos into my system and I set off repeating my mantra in my head. "Bills by 8, Bills by 8" on and on. When you have to be somewhere at a given time, time just seems to go faster. I would look at my watch every few minutes just wishing I was further along than I was. My legs were still hurting my feet ached and I decided to do two more ibu's. I am well aware of the risks of NSAIDs during a race and really don't like to take them at all, but I felt that no more than two every two hours with proper hydration would not pose a serious threat. I will freely admit without them I would never have finished this race. My progress was steady and I passed through the next couple aid stations pretty much on goal pace. I was running pretty much alone and passed only a couple of runners. I was only motivated by time. It was turning dusky as I climbed the hill to Bill's farmhouse. Two people were approaching the aid station just minutes in front of me. I had caught glimpses of them over the last couple of miles. I was hurried over to the last weigh-in where I was right on at 146. It was 8:10 so I had dropped some time but felt 4 hours to cover the last 16.6 miles was still a reasonable goal. Stevie had the burger waiting for me I scarfed a couple of bites as Karl refilled my water bottle. I picked up my single water bottle pack and my Hubbell lights. I had 3 photons dangling from my waistpack as emergency back-ups. I was in and out in a matter of 5 minutes. Surprisingly there were 4 or 5 runners who had just come in ahead of me still there when I left. I trotted out alone less than 4 hours to go...I hoped. I hit Blood Hill without knowing what I was getting in to. I hadn't heard any real horror stories about any part of this course. I didn't even know the name of this section when I was "running" it. This stretch is 5.2 miles long and I think looking back was all uphill. I walked and trotted, trotted and walked for what seemed like hours. Well, I kept telling myself after an hour and a half at least I am coming up to the 90 mile aid station. The guys at the next aid station said "This is 88.6. Jenneville is the 90 mile station" I just wanted to die. I had walked and run for an hour and a half to cover just over 3 miles! I continued on dejected knowing I didn't stand a chance, until I realized my dyslexia and figured he said 88.6 not 86.8! Just 11.5 miles to go and still over 2 hours to be finished. I cruised into Jenneville station 15 minutes after leaving Blood Hill. I was moving well, granted it was all downhill, but I was running a 10 mpm pace. 9.9 miles in two hours-thats what I had to do. Hell, my grandmother could do that I kept telling myself. I would come up on lights in the distance and share the trail for a few minutes with each runner I passed. I would give words of encouragement, everyone seemed to have the same goal of finishing under 20. Everyone responded with grave doubt about that possibility now. Some people said they now were only hoping to break 21 hours. I would hear none of it! On a stretch of pavement I came upon Terri Handi and her pacer. She was limping it seemed and admitted she was having a bad patch. I said she could still break 20 if she could work her way out of this spell. She responded by informing me the last 4 mile section could take well over an hour to complete. I took note and pushed on promising myself to give myself enough time for this last section. At the Densmore Hill aid station the were six miles left to my race. I had 1 hour and 35 minutes to work with. I asked the aid station volunteers if it was reasonable to finish in this time and both responded quite positively that it was definitely doable as long as I was moving well. The offered me a hit of Jack Daniels before leaving which I graciously declined. Who could drink that at this stage of a race?? Pacers maybe. ( I later found out that Ruth's pacer Stan took three hits from the bottle to give him the strength to finish. Maybe that's the real reason he had trouble navigating the last few miles!) From Densmore Hill to South Woodstock in 2.1 miles of generally easy downhill running. I surged on trying to maintain a pace that would get me to South Woodstock with time to spare. The rain had returned and was now only a light drizzle. I was still only in my tank top and shorts and was beginning to feel the chill. I certainly didn't want to be out here much longer. I came upon the South Woodstock aid station at 10:59: just 1:05 remaining to break 20 hours. My crew was out to greet me, be like a horse that can smell the barn, I was not stopping. I turned around to hit the last 4 mile stretch. There was a lot of walking in this final section. It was all single track that was starting to turn mucky. This was the first time in this run where the footing became challenging. Still trying to push the pace, I stepped on a log my foot slipped from under me and I went down. I decided to proceed with a bit more caution. This section ran much longer than 4 miles, each time I crested a hill I thought I would be running down to the finish. Just when I thought this would go on forever, the lights of the barn appeared and I was bearing down on the red neon finish line and crossed through at 19:43! Steve Pero and Deb Reno were there to share my triumph. My crew helped me into the barn happy that it was over. I made my way over to a table for a much needed massage and then slumped into the chair where my story began. I learned a lot from this race, being my second 100 miler. First I would advise everyone who chooses to run Vermont to don a nice pair of cushioned road shoes. The dirt roads run like pavement and road shoes will save you a lot of discomfort. Second: taking too many ibu's can really make you feel sick. Wear road shoes so you don't have to take them. Third: Having a crew and friends out on the course is an invaluable asset. Finally: The Race directors and volunteers are very special people and we can't do enough to thank them for their work and hosting a spectacular event.