From owner-ultra@caligari.Dartmouth.EDU Wed Jul 23 18:51:01 1997 Date: Wed, 23 Jul 1997 21:47:16 -0500 To: ius-l@american.edu, LConfer001@aol.com, bederer@falcon.cc.ukans.edu, jrm1521@aol.com, mmwood@falcon.cc.ukans.edu, 103357.1732@compuserve.com, tgonyer@falcon.cc.ukans.edu, lsrusl@falcon.cc.ukans.edu, ultra@caligari.Dartmouth.EDU From: Peyton Robinson Subject: Vermont 100 (XP) Hi yall, I know this is a little long, but I hope you enjoy it. I ran the Vermont 100 this past weekend, and this is the story of my run. ------------------------------------------------------------------- VERMONT 100 MILE RUN July 19-20, 1997 I had never been to Vermont before this year’s event. I had never even been near it, and so this was a great opportunity to see the country, enjoy the area, and meet a lot of other ultrarunners. Dee & I drove up from Arlington, Virginia starting at Oh-dark 30 on Friday, July 18. It took about 11 1/2 hours to get to the start/finish area, the location of the pre-race briefing. This was at the Smoke Rise Farm, outside of South Woodstock, Vermont. And if you’re thinking cheap rural farm, or even just some little thing there in the sticks, think again. It is a beautiful place! Manicured and magnificent. The pre-race briefing was relatively uneventful, and the food was about what you might expect for feeding several hundred people. But there was plenty of it (and beer). And I was able to meet up with some ultra folks like Jay Hodde, Anstr Davidson, Mickey Rollins, and Tim Hewitt. Dee seemed to know as many people as I did (the crew people have their own network going on). The lodging situation was a little unusual, in a bed & breakfast, but the Mill Brook B & B was fine. I’ve got to remember to get to sleep earlier than 9:30 pm! Up at 2:30 am. Ouch. Worried about being late, lost on some mountain road, but Dee got me to the start on time. Port-a-potty break, roll, adjust everything, listen to the live music (no kidding!), enjoy the fireworks (seriously!), and then we are all off and running -- all 226 or so of us. The horses started an hour later. Horses on the same course?! It surprised me in a way, but there were no problems I know about with the horses being run on the same course at the same time. They just were not an issue for me -- though they were nice to watch as they passed. I had moleskin pads on the little toe joints on both feet, shorts, a tank-top, and an Ultimate one-bottle water pack around my waist. I carried toilet paper in a plastic bag, a few pieces of hard candy, and Succeed caps. All in all, I was prepared as best as one can be for the unknown ultra experience. Gotta stick with what ya know works. I had been struggling with some shin pain on my left leg for the three weeks leading up to the race. You know, I would run- ice- massage in sequence in my training. Crosstrain regularly, and keep my fingers crossed. At the first covered bridge, a beautiful red long barn looking thing, I felt some aching in my left and right shins. Lower down than normal shin splints, so I anticipated an injury to my tendons. I was bummed, and had a hard time enjoying the river view, the fog, the aid station, the quaint valley -- I was getting that Mr. Bill “oh noooo” feeling. But you know, I worked hard to be at the Vermont 100, and I was not going home so easily. Nonetheless, my shins hurt and got progressively worse from that time on. On to Pomfret aid station, somewhere around 18 miles. I heard Anstr had come through earlier and seen my license plate (Dee was there with my car). Anstr thought it was a “wussie” tag. ULTRBOY. What can I say?! When I grow up I hope to be an ultraman. But Anstr, the “w” word?! Dee gave me a Slimfast chocolate drink. Aaahhh, sweetness. Took my first of five major potty breaks during the race. That part was not fun, and there’s no need to go into it. Like barfing, it’s just the body yellin’ “hey, what’s up?” I ran with Meredith Bonta for about 8 miles early in the day. While my shins were getting me down and the pain was intense, her presence and positive sense of self picked me up. We concurred that talking with non-ultrarunners can be a little difficult sometimes. We ran across some beautiful grass fields, and along the way talked about how the scenery was like lots of great postcards. On to the Route 12 aid station at about 30 miles. I met up with David Roemer at that point. He was number 160 -- I was number 159. We ran together for the rest of the race. In truth, he enabled me to get through some very tough moments, and without his encouragement, well, you know, it’s that look, that word, at the time you need to hear it. And fortunately, the pace we maintained was about the same. He got blisters on his feet (especially his toes) at about 40 miles that were as debilitating to him as my shins were to me. And yes, yall, I introduced the man to the miracle of duct tape at Camp 10 Bear first time around. He was able to manage his pain from that point on -- in other words, it did not get any worse. But his face would contort in pain, like mine, every once in awhile, and strangely enough, that sharing of a similar type of pain was helpful. Somewhere between 30 and 50 miles -- the time is all kind of a blurr right now -- I met up with Richard Ratzan and Michael Lestz, some experienced ultrarunners who brought their unique sense of humors along. I passed some time with them, including “the road up Agony Hill.” Mickey Rollins passed David and me at some time near the Tracer Brook aid station. All I know is he was behind us, then suddenly he was in front of us. I walked a hill or two with him, but he was faster on the downhills on that day. We all met up again at the Camp 10 Bear second time around, and Mickey decided his legs were needing to stop. The day continued on. Up and down mountain roads, across fields, around farms, and sometimes a feeling like we had seen that farmhouse before. The scenery was awesome, but in a completely different way than Laurel Highlands, or than Massanutten. It was quaint, Norman Rockwell-ish, but in a New England sort of way. Lots of maple syrup stores. The evening turned into night. The sky was cloudy and we were warm. Sometime around 1 am the sky cleared up completely. Nearly a full moon. And cold, yall. By the time I ran into Bill’s aid station (the big barn), it was a little after 3 am. I was shivering, and there were cots with blankets, soup, hot chocolate, medical folks, and Dee. I warmed up, I laid down, I put on some more clothes, and David and I headed off down the road (he with one of my extra jackets). At the aid station I had met up with Elaine Anthony. She was warming up on a bed nearby. Though I left before her, she passed me later on at about 90 miles -- looking very strong. Overnight, in the bright moon lit night, the fatigue played havoc with our senses. Leaves looked like porches and cars and groups of people standing along the edge of the road. The trees were nefarious creatures hiding at the outer edge of our vision. And if anyone ever asks if I sleep when I run a 100 miles, I’ll tell him or her, “Yes, I sleep while I run.” My eyes were rolling back in my head in the early morning hours, and I was constantly running off the road. It was very tough. The only way to stay ahead of the sandman was to run, but even that was not entirely successful. The body just finds a way to do what it needs to do. Sleep? Okay, sleep. Running? No problem. Eyes roll back, mouth drops open, and consciousness disappears like a puff of smoke in the wind. On the way up Blood Hill, approaching 88.6 miles, I felt an eruption occurring in my insides. Had to stop and commune with nature for a few minutes. By the time I completed the climb, I was pale and weak. Elaine and David questioned me about my physical health and mental state. I was there, but barely. At 90 miles, I wanted to quit really bad. I was starting to seriously look for an excuse to stop. Dee was there. She looked me straight in the eyes, and asked me if I wanted to go on. I said, “no.” She asked me if I was sure. I said, “no.” I was on the edge of dropping. But I warmed up with some soup. I had my vital signs taken by some race medical folks, and after checking out physically, I was going on. My attitude then picked up, and with sunrise, we were moving (like fast snails). Survival shuffle when running. Running downhills and flats. But we were doing it, on time enough to beat the 30 hours. If we kept moving. We got to the statues at about 98 miles, and were misinformed by a well-intentioned person that we had 35 minutes to cover one mile. Hey, lots of time. Alas, not so. Dee met us along the trail and told us we had an extra mile. Yikes! So we ran and grunted it in -- as in “don’t talk to me ‘cause I can’t talk back, hurumph, hurumph.” David and I finished together at 29:49. Dee said I was listed at 159 and he at 160. Final thoughts: Extremely well-organized event. Lots of aid. Attentive to the runners. Nice people. Reasonable cost. Beautiful scenery. And I hope to go back. Regards, Peyton Robinson mailto:phr@mindspring.com