Arkansas Traveller 100 Mile Run ’05 – Mike Bouscaren It’s spelled with two l’s because there’s more to it than you’d think. Billed an easier 100, AT in my book rates tougher than Vermont and Kettle Moraine. It’s the rocks – rocky going on the ups, rocky going on the downs, rocky on the roads, rocky trails – just tell your loved ones you’ve gone to a rock concert for the weekend. Excellent aid stations offset the hard running surface. This combination makes AT doable for the lite 100 mile runner like me. Forget Hardrock, Wasatch, Bighorn, Massanutten, and the others made for uber-mensch. If you want to bag a testy 100 miler that isn’t a circular rope-a-dope layout, head down to Ouachita – RD’s Chrissy and Stan will make sure you have every chance to put AT in your 100 mile bag for keeps. The AT website has a nifty pace chart in two hour finishing increments for every aid station – put it in a pocket to keep track of your time. There’s eleven hours of darkness, and it can be hot during the day. That’s about all you need to know. My trip lasted 29 hours, versus the 28 hour goal set realistically using a combination of estimates I have refined over the years – take your percentage finishing rank from previous ultras and apply it to the past few years’ AT times, take your past 100 mile times and apply a “toughness” quotient for AT, or follow the website guideline, and take seven times your marathon time for another look. By that last calculation I would have finished half an hour past the 30 hour cut off - hey, even turtles have a bit of uber mensch by some measures. Along the way I thought of chi running – lean forward, let gravity and the psoas do the work while relaxing extremities - helpful. I also entertained the Buddhist philosophy of emptiness, which holds that there is no objective reality grounded in independent existence. And breath control to calm the mind. Running 100 miles is a purification rite – this one I’d do without a pacer, to reach for refined pura vida. I remembered the song, “Lonesome Highway:” “You gotta walk that lonesome highway – you gotta walk it by yourself – ‘cause nobody else can walk it for you – you gotta walk it by yourself.” This I sang periodically along the way after dark and into the next day, finding a good pacer in myself. I sang it to Mickey Rollins at his Smith Mountain aid station. As we know, Mickey prefers Bobby Bland. But he did acknowledge I had a point there, as far as my own deal was concerned. I recalled Joe Prusaitis’ advice from Bighorn – “never, never, ever give up,“ repeating this to myself especially in the 19 mile out and back from Powerline aid station ( miles 48.5 and 67.6 ) via Turnaround ( mile 58 ). These supports failed to keep the bad angel away - seeing I was slipping from a 28 hour pace at the first Powerline to just under a 30 hour pace at Powerline the second time, he whispered, “ You can drop here, they said you’ll get a quick ride back, you can rest and sleep - probably can’t beat 30 hours anyway - just not your day – maybe the end of your 100 mile career.” I discussed this with an aid station volunteer. He told me not only was the remaining 32 miles doable in 11 hours, but the last nine miles was downhill. So? I swallowed it. At that critical moment I exchanged the physical for the mental, breaking my own resistance. I ran just as he said I could, making up nearly an hour on 30 hours from mile 68 to mile 100. Why couldn’t I believe in myself to begin with? So, even alone, the reality of ourselves exists only in relation to other people. I remembered reading of Joe’s tendency to lie on his back and admire the stars. As much as I wanted to try this, I felt the press of time. I chewed eight pieces of Jolt gum through the night to stay alert – really works. Different reports on AT include snakes and stinging bees. I saw them both. More striking, though, was the sparkling reflection of spiders’ eyes in my flashlight. At first I thought these tiny reflecting lights on the ground were lost earrings. But as they kept appearing I examined more closely to see the lights belonged to eight legged creatures out on patrol. They can see at night, in contrast to we humans, who need lanterns. Who’s better equipped? On a height scale comparison, 100 miles to a spider extends just beyond the reach of my stronger flashlight. To think they will never in their lifetime wander far from where I see them – and how many tonight are being crushed under runners’ feet? I can almost hear them screaming. Not one other runner seems to know this is going on – so much for objective reality. What’s happening around me doesn’t matter – I’m driving, and there are no stops. At Winona ( mile 84 ) my watch tells me I’ve got a 32 minute cushion on 30 hours. Now I know I can make it. AT aid stations have plentiful ice – cold drink is a huge positive. There’s chicken noodle soup – very useful in the later miles. Aid station volunteers emerge from nowhere with your drop bag to attend needs as if you were a brother – I guess that’s how they felt about it. What a difference they made. Heck, one of them pulled me away from the bad angel - I owe him my AT finish. Essential people. Coming back over Rocky Gap ( mile 87 ) the rock rubble, beyond comprehension, triggers in me a question, “ Has anyone ever counted all the rocks in Rocky Gap?” To this the aid station volunteer just smiles sympathetically. Real and unreal mix freely. “Hey,” I say to another runner, “.”We went by this place this morning.” “Yes,” he replies, “except it was yesterday morning.” 4.2 miles to the next aid station. Sunlight. I feel energy. Shapes in the woods trick me into thinking they are the next aid station. They are not. Even knowing this, I keep thinking they are. We see what we want to see. I am so happy. In the Buddhist cosmos I am moving from the desire realm, characterized by feeling and pain, to the form realm, free from any experience of pain, permeated with bliss. Says the Dalai Lama, beings in this realm possess bodies composed of light. I feel nothing but the sun’s rays on my head and back. I am finishing. The AT’s last gift to me comes with Mike Stansberry and his 19 year old daughter pacing him. You see, my daughter Lila paced me at Kettle last year, so Mike, his daughter and I have much to talk about as we slow to a walk. We toy with a sub 29 hour assault on the finish but agree to enjoy these last few miles reflecting on family and our ultra running experiences. It all comes back together for me then. Suddenly we see the finish banner, tumble down the last 100 yards with fanfare, music, and Chrissy’s warm greeting, to completion. Oh, what a feeling. Did I mention the 100 Mile Run Arkansas Traveller license plate frame we got in our goody bag ? It wouldn’t be right to put that thing on your car unless you actually finished the darn race. Gotta say, mine looks pretty good right now. Thanks and gratitude to Chrissy, Stan, and the crew. Mike Bouscaren 10/8/05