Arkansas Traveler 100 October 7-8, 2000 Ouachita Mountains Joe Prusaitis I'm running, sprinting, over rock and root, with careless abandon. I'm cruising, when my shoe wedges under a rock and stops my forward momentum in an instant, dropping me like so much dead weight. The movement and circumstance stretching me out, my right arm reflexively reaching out, is the only part of my body that actually hits the ground. My foot stays wedged, freezing me in place. I hold my hand up close to my face to get a good look. The smallest digit on my smallest finger is purple and throbbing like crazy. My heart's racing, my arm's numb, but this single tiny digit demands all my attention. It screams for it. With rocks all around, I feel fortunate. But, damn my finger hurts! A few weeks sooner and we'd be toast. Not that very long ago, it was in the 100s. But, a cold front has just blown in and we're blessed with wonderfully cool weather and no rain. The latest forecast is for lows in the 30s and highs in the 60s. I start the day in shorts, short sleeve shirt, jacket, and gloves, and carrying a single water bottle. It's pitch black and I can't see a thing, but the road's smooth and it'll be sunrise soon, so I leave my flashlight behind. Most of the usual characters have shown up again. It's always fun to get reacquainted with my old friends, and make new ones. I've always thought we should wear nametags at these things. Even if you don't feel like an auto-mechanic, you can have fun with it. Just ask Dr. Really Feelgood (Steve Tilley). My typical modus operandi is to walk the ups and roll the downs. I don't power walk, but walk casually, so I can rest while I move forward. The uphills are pretty slow. I make up for it on the downhills, letting gravity take over. I pick up speed as I roll downhill, occasionally reaching breakneck speed on the longer gentler declines. Doesn't seem to matter if the terrain is rough with rocks or smooth as a baby's butt, that's just the way it is. I've grown so used to it that I don't even think about it anymore. So, with any good hills on a course, I bounce back and forth with most everyone around me, endlessly over and over again, until one of us escapes the window of rebound. I don't know anyone else who runs quite like I do, so when someone stays with me for very long they are doing so intentionally, and must be completely insane. They must deal with my incessant talking, belching, farting, high-speed descents, and 'anything is fair' humor. I have to ask why? Max Roycroft hangs with me as I ride this rollercoaster through the hills early on. We've run together a few times since this same race a year ago. Max is a clean-cut guy except for the scraggly beard on his face. He decided many months ago to let it grow until he finishes this race, and I think he's ready to shave it clean. In the dark, running, walking, and talking, we join the usual crowd I run with: Peter Moore, Paul Schmidt, and Jose Wilkie. We bounce about with this group and a few others through Brown's Creek station at 6.1miles. It sits dead center of our 17mile figure eight run route loop, so we'll come back to it again after a few miles from a different direction. A foldup table loaded with food and drinks is cared for by a few nice people who smile a lot and tell us we're looking good. Still on the road at 9.5miles, we find the Flatside-Pinnacle station, and the entrance to the Ouachita trail leading off into the trees. It's a carbon copy of the last station, including smiles, but this one sits dead center of the road to keep anyone from having the idea that you keep going strait. We step out of the station directly onto the Ouachita Trail. This is by far my favorite part of the Arkansas Traveler. Of the 100miles, this is the cream! Blue blazes mark the trail, sometimes on the rocks, but usually on the trees. Most are faded and some are hidden from view by the foliage, so it's hard to follow in places, and very rough. Some people are more sensible, slowing a bit to find the trail, or to be careful with the rocks. I blast through here quickly, sprinting over rocks, trusting my instincts, and my sense of direction. Not wasting a second, a movement, I move fluidly forward, changing direction easily, as the trail dips and bends around tree and rock. Max settles into this rhythm also, occasionally falling back and coming forward. Slipping past a few others on our sojourn, we're forced out of light speed to scramble through a mess of blowdowns. Kyly McMurray is making her way through this muddle of tangled trees, when we slow. Kyly doesn't care much for this trail, and tells us about it. I like it a lot, and tell her about it. Stands to reason that if she can run her worst section as good as I can run my best section, once we get to her favorite section, and my worst, she's gonna fly, while I die. She laughs at my simple logic, but I know! The three of us together enter Brown's Creek station at 12.8miles. It looks a lot different in the daylight, but it's the same friendly people. Plucking a few orange slices, we never stop moving, plunging into the trees again on the other side of the road. A long uphill slows our pace to a trudge, giving us time to get acquainted with Kyly. We're still on the single-track Ouachita Trail, closely surrounded by trees, with rocks aplenty underfoot. Once on top, we begin to roll again, picking up steam and leaving Kyly behind. Things are going real well. We're almost back to Lake Sylvia when my toes find the bottom side of an immovable rock, and I lurch to sudden stop. Oh, this could have been bad! But, the spirit of smelly old fat guys is looking out for me. I'm saved from much worse, but left with one small memento for this mad rush through the rocks. A purple pinkie! Max and I leave the trail, back where we began at Lake Sylvia. 3:15 to cover 17.3miles. I drop my jacket, gloves, and water bottle, and pick up my Camelback. I don't really need 70oz of water, but it's comfortable on my back, and allows me to redistribute the workload of water weight I have to carry. I won't have to mess with water refills until the major aid stations. If I do stop, it'll be for food. I begin my hike with a Promax Bar and some Cytomax, walking slowly uphill and eating. Max finishes his clothing and gear adjustments also, and is soon with me again. The weather couldn't be better. It's cool, but quite comfortable, with a slight breeze and overcast skies. The remaining course is a long 82.7mile out and back. The next major station, Lake Winona is 15miles away with three minor stations between here and there. A radio checkpoint marks the top of the hill with a couple of guys in a travel trailer. Fifty yards later, we slide from a smooth well-maintained road to a rutted and rocky road, descending to mud filled ruts. At the bottom, we cross a large dirt berm, and continue with the road remaining much the same. It's actually a quite peaceful and pretty 4miles of rocks, ruts, and mud, and probably the flattest section on the course. I enjoy this section. Paul Schmidt and Monica Scholz, running together, cruise on by us. Looks like they're moving in slow motion, but I know they're running too fast for me. Makes me feel like a real pachyderm. Paul's a hoot to run with and a good friend of mine. As much as I love to run with him, I let them go. We exchange a few words and then they're gone. Exiting this nice little oasis soon after, we turn left onto a good dirt road and walk uphill to the 132C station at 23miles. I stop just for a slice of their famous pumpkin pie. We meet David Wick on the road just afterwards, coming up from behind us. We pull him into our conversation as he tries to go by, poor guy. He can't possibly know at this moment that he's going to be seeing us for a long time. It's his first 100, so we unload on him all our worldly knowledge. Takes about 2 minutes, but we mix it up with miles and miles of lies. How can he know... we're from Texas? We withhold this information until hours later, dancing around the truth like politicians up for re-election. The three of us pass through Electric Tower at 25.3miles and into the woods again. This section is mostly downhill, and varies quite a bit between rocky, rutted, and smooth surface. But it's wild and fun to run, more of a trail than a road, and only 2miles until the next station. Jay Norman runs with us through the woods for a short piece, but his footspeed is too much for us. His stride is short but his cadence is so much faster than ours, we have to run just to keep up with his walking pace. After he goes by, we catch him again on a long downhill. I have run with Jay a few times these past few years, so he knows it's me without turning around. Funny how runners can recognize each other by pace, stride, footfall, breathing, and such rot. Jay says he's trying to catch Hans-Dieter. We know Hans is behind him, but he doesn't. So Don Quixote charges off in search of the great Hans-Dieter, and we let him. I'm sure he'll figure it out. Any aid station can tell him it isn't so. By the time we reach the 212 station at 29.5miles, Jay's far ahead and out of sight. Immediately out of 212, a short rugged rise leads to an equally rugged but much longer downhill. A mile later, we pass some gorgeous backcountry homes that mark the beginning of much nicer roads. It's only 2miles from 212 to Winona and it doesn't take us long to get there. Parked cars line the road and people cheer us on as we approach the Lake Winona station at 31.9miles. Run time is 6hrs. Real time is noon. The station is just below a large concrete dam and right next to a bubbling brook that drains from under it. Joyce refills my Camelback with cold water and ice, while I sit down to drink some Arizona ice tea with honey and ginseng, and a can of Ensure. The fuel that keeps my tank full is 250 calories a can, and my main source of energy. The station bristles with excitement, the air abuzz with talk, everybody doing something, with runners coming and going. I change into clean socks, finish my meal, don my pack, and move out along with Max. David has already gone on ahead. Right next to the chaos of the aid station, in contrast, a father and son fish the narrow creek in a picture perfect setting. Standing side by side with lines in the water, they remain motionless, tranquil. It's a long uphill walk on a good dirt road for more than 5miles to the Pig Trail station. Here is where my meltdown usually begins. Powerline is the next major station 17miles away, and that's about 4 hours, during the hottest part of the day, normally. Today is different. The cool air and overcast sky remain, treating us with phenomenally good weather. I could not have asked for a better day. There will not be a meltdown today. Matter of fact, I pick up a jacket when I leave Winona. There are four stations between here and there, with the fun-loving Dropoff station in the middle. We continue as usual, walking the ups and sprinting the downs. We find Pig Trail station at 37.4miles, manned by a retired ultra runner and friends ready and willing to help. We don't stay long, but enjoy some friendly banter. The road turns rough and nasty immediately out of the station. It's 3 miles of rough rocky road, which we thoroughly enjoy. Mostly, it goes up, but does finish with a nice downhill into Dropoff station. Max has been paying attention to our split times, with an eye on the 22hr-finish splits. Each station leads to another consultation with his Ken Ashby pace chart and ends with the same statement: 'We're still off by 10 minutes'. The people at Dropoff hand me my drop bag as I come in, put leis around our necks, and wait on us hand and foot. Somebody brings me a coke and some grapes. Smiles all around, accompanied with lots of friendly encouragement. What a place! I only need my Ensure and another ProMax bar from my bag. They zip it up and put it back for me, while I drink, eat, and visit with my new friends. I never needed my jacket, so they put it back in my bag for me. All told, we only spend 5minutes, as everything happens at once, and as efficient as possible, without just skipping on by. Mickey Rollin's Smith Mountain aid station is 3miles away, across some pretty good size rolling hills. A few big ups followed by a few big downs. Max and I pass this one fellow one too many times, I think. Max and I chatter incessantly, so we don't think much of it, when someone doesn't respond when we say 'hello' or 'good day'. Well, we've been talking to this guy for a few hours and many passings now, and so far he's been silent. Well, this time he shouts at us as we sprint by 'You guys are killing me on these downhills'. Confused, we look at each other, but keep going! This time, when we get to the bottom of the hill, we actually run up the next hill. No sense in killing anybody. We find Mickey in pretty good spirits at Smith Mountain station at 43.5miles, but we only need a few grapes and orange slices to get us moving again. We meet Dr. Really Feelgood just as we leave the station. A nice guy with a great disposition and a perfect nom de guerre. He walks with Max and I as we slowly move up into the woods. Smith Mountain is the big bad wolf of the Arkansas Traveler, but it's just a very large pile of small round rocks. The branches hang lower, the rocks bite higher, the stickers stand strait and tall to stab your hands and legs, and the weeds hide the occasional trip hole. Then there's the dirt berm fire breaks to make your smooth running rhythm have hiccups. Run a few paces, climb over the hump, and repeat. I love this section, because it's so different. Keep the roads please. Give me more rough country trails. Max and I make good time running and walking up this big rock pile. Dr. Feelgood is falling back, but our friend who we don't want to kill is closing in. We reach the summit before he catches us and descending, we pick up speed, sprinting over rocks and branches. We've got a good rhythm going, clearing the hurdles by millimeters, while limbo-dancing like champions, when Max misses a hurdle. His shoe snags a deadfall branch that won't release, falling and taking the branch with him. He's up quickly though, untangling himself and muttering about losing his rhythm. We fly into BM station at 47miles to find David and two others, just heading out. Ralphie works this station and we have become friends. We meet here once a year to share drinks and tell lies. Only one coke on the table, so I grab it, sit down, and take a big chug. My throat burns as it goes down. 'Say Ralph, what the hell you put in this coke' He rushes over and grabs the drink out of my hand 'That's my bourbon and coke' 'You're the 2nd guy to steal my drink in the last hour'. Later, I find out that Paul Schmidt was the other guy! Ralph gets me a strait coke and also some potato soup. Max and I both take our time with the soup and then bid a 'see ya tonight' as we move on. Only 2miles to Powerline and I got a buzz going, so we move pretty quick, catching all 3 of the guys in front of us. All 5 of us enter Powerline as a group at 49.1miles. Close enough to call it halfway! After 10 hours, it's 4pm. Max says were 10 minutes off pace! Joyce takes my Camelback and hands me two water bottles. One has ice water, the other Cytomax. I chug an ice cold ensure and eat a turkey and LT sandwich. I relax while everyone swarms over me and my gear. Sure is nice and comfortable being taken care of like this, but as soon as I finish the sandwich, they pick me up, take my chair, and shove me back into the ring. Joyce isn't going to start pacing me until I return to Powerline, so I ask Kelly if she wants a 20mile workout. A run down to Turnaround and back is just what she's looking for, so she joins me as I head out. I yell at Max as we walk out and he joins us within minutes. David also joins us again. From Powerline to Turnaround is almost all downhill, with only the Buffalo Gap party station in between. So, we already know it's going to be fast getting there, and slow coming back. 10 miles each way. Odd thing is, coming back, it'll be dark and although it's uphill, sometimes it's hard to tell. I can't see the hills and my body is quite confused by then, so I won't know and occasionally run some of the uphills. But for now, we sprint headlong into our shadows, watching them grow and run away from us. I'm carrying the most deadweight, so I pull ahead on the long downhills, and fall behind on the few rises. We make good time and are just short of Buffalo Gap when the leaders come by going the opposite way. Joe Hildebrand's in front, with Janice Anderson just a few minutes back, and then another few to Scott Eppelman. We slap hands and cheer Scott on, as we do everyone else. A few more runners go by before we roll into the Buffalo Gap party at 53miles. With fajitas and a coke in hand, I walk out eating. Because it's so much fun, I usually spend way too much time at this station. They probably remember me because they offer me a margarita as I leave. I purposely keep moving and leave quickly. Max and Kelly sprint on ahead while David and I walk until we finish eating. Then we start slowly and pick up speed as we descend. After a few turns, we find Max and Kelly standing in the road waiting for us. Just as we get there, Max leans over and bumps me, just to knock me off balance, and then he takes off running. Well, I'm right next to the road side, and off balance, so I end up in the ditch. When Max realizes what's happened, he comes back and apologizes. It wasn't his intention to put me in the ditch, but it sure was funny. Of course, I have to give him hell about it. 'I think I'm rubbing off on you, Max'. 'You used to be such a nice guy'. 'The bad thing now is - I owe you'. Laughing, we continue our wild sprint down the road. I like getting to see everyone else on the course, and where they all are in relation to one another, so this out and back section is kind of fun. We're getting pretty close to the end, and there are still a few people I know who must be just in front on me. We see Jay up ahead of us, just in front of a small pack of runners. He's going to be so mad if we catch him. He's got a great run going and I sort of spur him on ahead of me. We harass each other mercilessly and he certainly doesn't want me talking about passing him. Kelly runs ahead to catch him, while we walk up the last hill just before the turn. The Turnaround station is just another 100yards. Paul and Monica are just ahead. Paul hands me a can of Root Beer as he passes me going back the other way. Jay hits the turnaround and doesn't even stop. I'm sure he's wondering where Hans is. He asks Kelly about it and because we've clued her into Jay's Hans-quest, she tells him that he just went by a few minutes ago. Jay turns and starts back immediately, knowing I'm right behind him, and Hans is still in front of him. I ask Kelly to go on back with Jay to keep him company and also because he'll be going much faster than I will. I intend to walk most of the uphill going back. David doesn't have any warm clothes in this drop, so he makes his stop short and keeps moving also. Turnaround aid station at 58.7 miles is a wonderful place to visit. Joyce Taylor and her crew really know how to take care of you. Besides all the normal aid station foods, she always has a beer on ice waiting for me. They bring me my drop bag, some potato soup, and an ice cold beer. Life is good! Charlie Peyton's hanging out and I make it a point to thank him again. Charlie's a good guy and I surely do appreciate all he does to make this happen. Night's coming fast, so I change into a long sleeve shirt and get my flashlights. I finish my Ensure, the soup, and the cold beer. I'm ready to leave but have no place to put my flashlights, supplements, and toiletries. The only place, not in hand, for me to carry my gear is inside the legs of my stretch pants. So I stuff everything into the pant legs and make ready to leave. Joyce sees me off and says something about my pants being well packed. This is too good to pass on, so with a wide grin, I say 'well thanks Joyce'. Laughter follows me out of the station. We never do catch Jay again, or Paul, or Monica. They all manage quite well and stay far in front of us. I hear later that Jay was taken quite by surprise when Hans went by on his way to the Turnaround, well behind him. I wish I could have been there to see that. Don Quixote will have to find some new inspiration. Max and I run back down the road, stopping only to wish Angela Weatherill and then Tom Crull good luck. The daylight fades to darkness, but we continue to run without our lights. The silhouettes of the trees around us create a narrow river of stars over our heads. A three-quarter moon slips into view occasionally, and we drift along the dark channel below the stars. Max and I are silent for a change, allowing the night sounds to fill the void. It's mostly uphill in this section, yet we mix running and walking, not knowing in the dark if it's hill or not. We swap positions and conversation with Drew Hackett a few times, before he moves on ahead of us. Our lights remain off for miles before the road turns decidedly rougher and we're forced to use them. Buffalo Gap at 64.3miles is still rocking when we come in, but we don't linger, intent on getting to Powerline. As we leave, Max gives me the latest scoop 'we lost some time on that last section'. Well, I never thought we'd ride that pace all the way. The miles add up and you start asking some basic question. Can we hold it, will we slow, and can we find some inner reserve to finish it off? There's just no way to know, until it's done. One minute you're cruising and the next instant, you're trashed. Then you have a whole new set of question. Will I come back, where, and when? All these words and ideas are rolling between my ears, and I tell Max what I think. 'Yup'. This uphill is killing time and stealing energy. I feel myself slowing. Max is still running well, and pushes ahead some, but stays with me. With a severe power shortage, I drag my butt into Powerline at 68.2miles, looking for a serious refuel. I go to get my Ensure for the energy boost I badly need, but it's gone. Joyce checks again, with no luck. This isn't good. I try a cold pizza and another sandwich. It's getting late and the temperature's beginning to drop, so I change into long pants, long sleeve top, jacket, and gloves. I change my shoes for the first time, putting on some SmartWool socks and my big loose Montrails. I trade my water bottles for the Camelback again, and stuff my lights, supplements, and toiletries into the front pockets that I sewed on just for this purpose. WetWipes, toilet paper, Vaseline, Desiten, Succeed caps, two Advil, and cheap disposable plastic gloves, so that I can apply Vaseline and Desiten to my nether regions without getting the stink all over myself. All I have in back is water and emergency supplies. Won't have to take it off until I need a refill or something serious comes up. I don't carry spare batteries, just a spare flashlight. Batteries are heavy, so I keep the spares in my drop bags. I don't want to carry them or change them on the trail in the dark. It's much easier to deal with in the stations, and usually someone else will help. Besides, by this time, I'm mentally incompetent. With the possibility of putting them in backwards, I will. Brian Knox is ready to pace Max, and Joyce is pacing me, so we have a small convoy as we move out together for our final 32miles. David's gone already. It's only 2miles to BM station, and I'm hoping my energy will come back, so we push it a little, passing a few others in the dark. Our pacers move up front and away from us, so Max and I are behind them, running side by side. 'You know', Max says, 'I thought it would be nice when our pacers came on. We had run out of things to say and I thought we could talk with them'. We roll through some very rough roads on up to BM at 70.3miles. Ralph has some company with him. We sit for some potato soup and then continue, skipping the bourbon and coke this time. This next section is the rough and woolly Smith Mountain rock pile. Tough enough during the day, its doubly so at night. Max is really moving well and cruises on ahead, disappearing with Brian, while I continue to search for my missing energy. Bonking badly, I struggle on, moving as best I can. So much for the lost 10minutes. Eventually, Joyce and I roll into Smith Mountain aid station at 73.3miles, which marks the end of Smith Mountain. Surprised to find Max waiting for us, I tell him to go on ahead while he's strong. 'I'll get it back and you may bonk later, so use it while you got it, but please don't wait on me'. I talk him into it, and he disappears into the night with Bryan. David's here also, and he leaves right after Max. I sit down to drink some potato soup and have a vegeburger. Mickey, you got any canned energy I can borrow? I'm not ready to die yet! Mickey tells me to shut up and go. So I do. The road is good from here to Dropoff, but its also very hilly. I manage a good run downhill, but the ups are much slower than what I'm used to. David doesn't have a light on, so we don't see him until we're past him, standing motionless in the dark on the side of the road. And we don't know it's him until later, when he comes in behind us at Dropoff. We walk uphill into Dropoff at 77miles still somewhat frazzled. My drop bag has two cans of Ensure in it. I down one instantly and put the other in my Camelback for later. Sure hope this repairs the engine, because I'm ready to get moving again. Joyce refills my Camelback and reloads her flashlights. David comes in looking pretty cold, wearing his designer trash bag, but no jacket or gloves. They get his drop bag for him, but it has nothing in it he can use. I offer him my jacket but he won't take it. I insist he take my gloves, but that's all he'll take. We leave, wondering and hoping that he'll be ok. Peter Moore comes in while we're talking to David, and leaves with us as we go. It's back! I can feel the difference in my energy level already. The Ensure works and I'm moving well again, pushing the pace and making good time. It's rough road from here to Pig Trail and I'm enjoying the run again, surging across the rough terrain. Peter stays with us as we talk and catch up on each other's day. I can also see again. My eyes lift from the ground where they've been dragging for the last 10miles. I wipe off the dirt and take a look around. Sure is dark out here. We dance into Pig Trail at 79.9 miles, feeling chipper. I drink my spare Ensure, sip a coke, grab a handful of grapes, and move on. It's good road and mostly downhill from here to Lake Winona. Peter says he's going to run the entire section. I think about it for a minute, wondering if I can do it, and then I just take off and quit thinking. Only two lonesome braincells left in my head, and they're sleeping, so it's pure instinct now. The old downhill crashing and hard charging Joe is back and we let it rip. Joyce and I move ahead of Peter and keep on pounding as the night slips by. Stopping for a nature break, Peter disappears behind us. We continue, passing a few people, and sprinting into Lake Winona station at 85.4miles feeling pretty good. I want to swap the Camelback for a single water bottle, but my bottle is missing from my drop bag. I must have left it out when I came through here the first time. I ask, but the aid station doesn't have any singles either. They do offer me a gallon jug, and I appreciate the kindness, but I'll just keep the Camelback. I drink another Ensure and take the last one for the road. It's cold here below the dam in the wee hours. We escape quickly. Max's wife says he just left a few minutes ago. My energy is still good, and we push on up the hill with a run-walk mix. Less than 15 miles to done, and I have to be careful I don't smell the barn too soon. If I manage this right, I should be able to maintain this pace on into the finish. There are only three minor stations between us and Lake Sylvia. 212 is the first, and we have some more rough country to manage before getting there, just 2 miles away. We continue to push through the wilderness until we see some lights ahead moving slowly up a tough rocky climb. It looks like Max and Brian, so we run up the hill to catch them before they speed off on the next downhill. I can see immediately that Max is gone, bonked! The zombie that was in my body, is now in his. The happy reunion is cut short by indifference. The 212 station at 87.8miles is just over the next rise. I stop for a coke and some grapes, while Joyce and Brian chat it up. We fail to notice immediately that Max has kept right on going. Brian takes off after him, while Joyce and I continue more slowly. Brian doesn't have his light ready and splashes through a mud rut before he turns the light on. We duck under a metal rail, entering another wilderness, not nearly as rugged as some we've seen tonight. There aren't nearly as many rocks as usual. We catch up to Max and continue together, our foursome stretching out like a slinky, and coming back together, over and over again. There's no rhythm to our pace now. Max pushes himself to keep moving. I offer him my last Ensure, but he declines, so I drink it. My energy feels strong on the flats and downhills, but the uphill push is fading. Max and I struggle on, one section at a time. I ask Max about his 22hr plan, and he says he knew it was gone a long time ago. Now, the goal is 24. He's running well for a zombie, making good time, holding his pace, but not much for conversation. Actually, neither am I. We run on in silence. Four miles of woods to the Electric Tower and we're almost there. We limbo under another metal rail right into the station at 92 miles. After consulting my split time chart from previous years, I see it's possible. Only 8miles to the finish and mostly downhill. We still have a shot at sub-24. Mostly, but not entirely, downhill on good roads for 2miles to the last aid station and the best pumpkin pie in Arkansas. We get rolling pretty good, with me the turtle of the pack. Max is either back from his slump or just pushing damn hard to get done. We're all wore out and sleepy, feet beat to a throb, and muscles stiff and tight as a bow. Look ma, no brain! Sheer strength of will and determination pushes us on. And it helps to know we're getting closer with every step. We stretch out our stride and move faster as the slope gets steeper. Reaching 132C at 94.3miles, I walk over and capture a big slice of pumpkin pie. Boy, is it good! I enjoy it immensely in two bites. They warn us to be careful at the next turn. Some hooligans are having fun at our expense, moving course markers, redirecting them elsewhere. We find the turn with no problem and continue to roll into this last 4 mile section of woods. I pick up speed and get the steamroller rolling, crushing scrubs, small trees, and live critters in my path. At 190lbs, I must sound like a train crashing through the brush. As we charge on by Kyly and her pacer, she says something like 'you sound like a horse'. Actually, to be more specific, I'm a Clydesdale. Max falls back, while Joyce and I continue our thundering approach through the darkness. We have both avoided all the mud puddles in the darkness so far. Usually, it's when you realize something like this, that you reverse your luck by just knowing about it. So, I force it from what's left of my mind, and continue to circumnavigate all these swimming holes. We climb a large dirt berm at trails end and turn left up a rugged road. There should be markers here, but there aren't any. I turn left just because I know. The road is filled with large mud holes and plenty of rocks. I suppose it's our final reminder of where we've been and what we've done, because the top of the next big hill is the end of our woodland adventure. Walking, we reach the top and speak with a fellow sitting in a lawn chair by his travel trailer. This is a radio checkpoint and the beginning of the end. He tells us it's one and a half miles to the finish. We've been lied to so many times today by all sorts of good intending people, that we just don't believe him. This is a big, long, fast downhill and we start to roll. We pass one and then another person walking down the hill. The 2nd guy is limping pretty badly. A little way further, I feel completely beat and come to a halt. Joyce asks if I'm ok. 'Just a few breaths, please'. We start again and are sprinting in no time, and again I stop. 'I'm done in'. A few seconds and I take off again, holding pace to the bottom of the hill this time. We walk and run past the park, onto the paved road, and up to the corner. Dead meat now, I walk the last uphill so slowly. On top, I pick it up and run the rest of the way on to the last turn and into the park. A woman on an intercom congratulates me. No one else is there. It's cold out, and now that I've stopped running, I can feel it creep into my bones. We rush into the shelter, strait over to the fireplace. Hobbled and frozen people surround it, wrapped in blankets and heavy coats. I have my shoes off, when I hear the announcement of another finisher. A moment later, Max walks in with a big smile. Pushing it in, he finished just 2 minutes after me in 23:15 for his first sub-24. Peter and Jose are in soon after. David and Angela both finish their first 100, and Tom his second. Jay set a new course record for men 62 years old, with Hans finishing his 18th of this year. Paul and Monica came in together an hour before me. And, Scott delivers the final coup de grace. The next time I see Max, I suspect the beard will be gone. And, I expect Jay to be hearing for a long time... 'where's Hans-Dieter?' Joe Prusaitis, 10/16/00