From owner-ultra@caligari.Dartmouth.EDU Tue Aug 26 13:25:10 1997 From: Nikki Robinson Date: Tue, 26 Aug 97 15:24:35 -0500 To: ius-l@american.edu, ultra@caligari.dartmouth.edu Subject: Mt. Rushmore100: The Second Day (long) Paha Sapa: The Spirit of the Place Overwhelms Me. -------------------------------------------------------------------- "But if the vision was true and mighty, as I know, it is true and mighty yet; for such things are of the spirit, and it is in the darkness of their eyes that men get lost." (from "Black Elk Speaks" by John Neihardt) -------------------------------------------------------------------- Good thing I took that nap at the Wonderland Cave Road aid station. Even though I was at mile 79, it was to take me nine hours to cover the remaining distance. I started out running and eating a sandwich. The trail pitched downwards steeply. I could no longer run down steep sections -- my blisters hurt terribly and I was developing anterior tibialis tendonitis on my left foot. The trail bottomed out in a canyon and we followed Elk Creek upstream. Seven times the trail crossed the creek. By this time, creek crossings were not trivial. The mid-shin to mid-thigh crossings required concentration negotiating the slippery rocks with tired feet and legs. One runner and his pacer passed me during this section. The runner tried to avoid one crossing by balancing on a log. He made it to the far bank only to crash and burn there, sliding back into the water. I, at mid-stream, could only grin crazily at him. I was exhausted by the time I reached the 84 mile aid station. There I loaded up on supplies. We had been warned that the next two aid stations did not have crew access and the aid would be minimal. Thus I would have to be virtually self-sufficient until the 95 mile mark. Even though I was physically beat, I was mentally prepared for the upcoming battle. The battle was to be my descent into complete and utter despair. My physical condition continued to decline, and I sunk lower and lower mentally. I reached the Veteran Peak Road aid station at mile 87 and sank into a lawn chair. This station was staffed by a single radio guy. He had water and little else. I did listen with amusement as he told me of guiding Hammie into the aid station. Apparently she had gotten off-course (how, I don't know -- we were on old logging roads primarily) and was at the bottom of a canyon crying. He could hear her and got on a loud-speaker: "Hammie, just come up the hill; just follow the voice and come up the hill!" She bushwhacked her way up, sat and cried, then left crying. I thought to myself that at least I hadn't gotten lost and I hadn't done any crying. The next aid station was called the National Cemetery Road and it was just before mile 91. We had been told that there might be no aid there. The next aid station with aid would be Alkali Creek at mile 95. I wandered along trying to convince myself that steady progress would soon bring me to the finish. The trail began a continual descent. My left tendon at the ankle began to truly throb and swell. Every turn I expected to see this so-called cemetery, but every turn just led to more pine-needle laden trail. Soon I could hear sounds from a distant highway. This briefly gave me hope as I knew that it was I-90 which runs along the eastern edge of the Northern Black Hills -- we would have to cross under it to finish the run at Ft. Meade on the prairie. However, the trail began a long series of switchbacks to descend to the flatlands. I became discouraged and confused as the highway noises would disappear then return. I could not believe that I had not come upon the cemetery aid station yet. I became completely disoriented and was convinced I was lost. I mentally made note of a distinctive tree along side the trail, as I became certain that I was on some endless loop of trail -- circling and circling on itself. For the very first time, I checked the time and thought about the 36 hour time limit. As the hours passed (yes, hours), I persuaded myself into believing that I could no longer make the cut-off. I almost sat down on the trail and cried. Oh, I was pitiful! Suddenly, Terry Smith (the co-RD) came running up the trail. "Where am I?" I shouted! "I thought I was lost! I am disoriented! I can't find the cemetery!" I ranted. Terry calmly stood there. "You are about a mile from the aid station, Alkali Creek. Do you need some water?" "Can I make it?" it just dawning on me that I had somehow missed the cemetery and that I was farther along than I thought. "Yeah, you should if you keep on moving" encouraged Terry. So I began to run like a mad woman -- for about a half mile. Then the adrenaline wore off. However, I had regained my motivation and hope. The final miles are a blur. I tried to run; I couldn't. I tried to walk backwards down steep slopes to alleviate the tendonitis. It didn't help. I power-walked then stood and closed my eyes. I began to see hazy spots in my vision as I looked down at the trail. But I marched on, determined to cover the distance. I broke out of a pine stand on a small hill and finally saw the finish. Several of my fellow runners, their crew, and the finish line volunteers began to cheer. My sister had hiked down the trail and was standing in a field of wild flowers taking pictures of me as I broke into a final run. I stopped to hug Shelb and walk a few strides with her. I was overwhelmed with her endurance while crewing for me, nine months pregnant. I had a sudden vision -- one of me taking The Minnow [what we called the unborn babe] for a long hike on the trail one day. This thought filled my mind as I trotted to the finish to be hugged by my mother. Paha Sapa -- the spirit of the place overwhelms me. Nikki Nikki Robinson Chicago, IL nikki@meena.feinberg.nwu.edu