Rocky Raccoon

The ROCKY RACCOON 100 MILER: February 7-8th, 2009

Typical Trail at Rocky.

It was one of those Ultra Travel days that one can not prepare for, no matter how one tries. But getting into Phoenix at 10:30 in the evening made it impossible to avoid. I had an early flight out to Houston and there was no sense in getting a hotel room, or calling on friends or family to come and get me. So I laid around for ten hours in the Phoenix airport, which is not particularly 'through passenger' friendly...not even much carpet to find to crash on, and couches and benches in very high demand.

The plane ride to Houston, when it finally eventuated, was routine and welcome after the boredom of the Phoenix night. I had looked into doing something in Houston before heading north to Huntsville. My choices were a produce market or the National Mortuary Museum. For some reason, it must have been my upbeat attitude upon getting out of the 'air travel' purgatory, I chose the produce market. And having perused google before leaving I had an idea of where it was, though I managed to leave the map at home. And it was one hell of a market! A few acres of produce and Hispanic vendors. All the produce you could want and at very reasonable prices. I ended up with some ice cream banana, some sweet oranges, and a bag full of the biggest peanuts I have ever seen. However I was too tired to actually get in line at one of the vans in the back and have a meal. A breakfast burrito would have done me well, but I get that way when I travel sometimes... unable to make any real decisions I wander aimlessly. I finally found myself back a my car and headed north again. Outside of Huntsville I stopped at the Sam Houston monument. Big Sam Houston stands about sixty feet high and glows in the Winter sun. Photos

After nearly twenty-four hours of airplanes, airports, and rental cars, I got to the motel room, beat and banged up, and seeing too many fingers in front of my face. I got into the room, collapsed on the bed, only to find Gideon’s bible. Gideon had checked out, he’d left it no doubt..........you’ve heard the tune...

I woke in the morning to find the weather was grand, the sky bright blue and as big as the state of Texas. It was as warm as it was when I was running the Manoa Falls, not three weeks before in Manoa. So for me it was cool; but for others it was a sauna, as they had just come from St. Paul, or Kansas where the temperatures were in the teens. I started the day with a trip down to the Race venue, which is on a small lake just south of town. This part of Texas is known for its low rolling hills and expansive pine forests. I kind of liked it. It had pine, holy, oak, and the occasional palmetto palm growing in thick cover over more oak and pine scrub. Not thick at this time of year, but certainly forest. I can only imagine what this place is like in hotter, wetter times, when the chiggers, ticks, mosquito's, snakes, and heat and humidity make it more exciting than one may desire. February is a fine time to run southern Texas forests, and this particular February seemed to be optimal.

I spent the rest of the day buying vast quantities of Ensure and Boost. Given my experience in the HURT just three weeks before I was convinced that the liquid supplements would be my salvation. When I had finished going from one store to the next I had a stash of supplements that could fill my car trunk. Weather I would need this, or even be able to drink it all in the time I had to run the race was a question I just didn't want to deal with. I was driven only by the goal of having enough and not running out, something that had plagued me in the latter laps of the HURT, where I had to rely on the aid stations to supply it. I made a meal of boost and some peanuts and went to bed early.

I was up in the night, I put on a long sleeve HURT shirt, and the rest of my uniform and it did me just fine. But my support bags were packed with all kinds of cold and wet weather gear. Outside my room I found a lot of other runners packing their cars. The Rocky Raccoon had 240 paid 100 milers and about as many 50 mile starters. A big race. I got there a bit early fearing a crowed lot, but given the parking lots at the lake it was no problem at all.

It was an informal start. There may have been a prayer, I couldn't hear. We were standing around one minute, and the next people were slowly making their way through the aid tent and over the start line. I hit my stop watch and we were off. As usual I was not running, and just stretching out a bit over the first miles. Even starting far back in the mob, I had a lot of people come by me. But the ground was soft and the trails rolling, and before I was really ready I found myself jogging along at a faster pace than I am used to doing at that stage.

As I found out very quickly, this race is a sprint over rolling dirt or sandy trails and twisty curvy forest paths, or down straight long rolling dirt roads and tracks. But don’t think it’s a lark, the paths are crisscrossed with roots, and the trees come alive in the night. I stumbled numerous times in the early miles, failing to see the roots hidden under the debris and once even managed to take a good fall as I whacked a high root. I whacked and bumped my shoes, and was left wondering if my right big toe nail will ever have time to re-grow. So if you come out this way, be fast but be wide-eyed, for these rolling trails can be deceptively technical, particularly in the early stages of the race when you may think you are running smooth open trail.

I knew I was moving along well, but I was not really push hard. Somewhere after the first hour and a half we joined up with the fifty milers who were doing a slightly different loop. The trails became a bit more crowded and the sun came up. I found myself running with Kelly who was doing the fifty miler. It was her first Ultra and she was a bit concerned. She needn't be as she had some good Marathons. Her pace was a bit fast for me, but she was a steady runner and I could gear down and stick behind her. Following her over the last half of the loop, even with some conversation, brought me back toward the finish at 4:15. When we hit the start/finish I wished her a good race as I knew I was not going to be maintaining that pace. I was already feeling the twinges of things not quite right in my legs. It was easy to change my pace a bit, and to ignore them, they were no problem if I was doing a 50 K, or even a fifty miler, but I knew I was pushing things so early in a hundred miler. But Kelly was nice to talk to, and her pace was quick, and it felt good.

I slowed on the second lap, but I was still running a fifty miler with my body, and my mind knew that I moving too fast. I was passing a lot of runners, hard to tell if they were fifty milers or hundred runners. I was running light on my camel pack, trying to keep my weight down, and just using the heavy liquid load that the late night and early morning ensure and boost were bringing to me. There was no Bag Balm to be found in Huntsville and I had only a small amount with me. The Vaseline is never much of a help, and early in the second lap I started to have problems with the typical places. I slapped on more Vaseline and pushed on. I ran out of water twice as I tried to keep my pack light. It was stupid planning, as I could have taken a few seconds to dump in some water at the aid stations. But I was enamored with my fast pace and not really looking to far down the road.

As the sun came up the weather got really nice. I was running with a black long sleeve HURT shirt and it was perfect for the conditions. Most of the runners around me were complaining of the heat. I welcomed it, as it was still just a bit cool for Hawaii conditions. I pushed on, jogging more than I normally do and joining up with various people when our paces coincided. These were small conversations that generally ended at aid stations when I pushed through and most others took a bit of time grazing and chatting with the volunteers and other runners. I just ticked off the list people I passed, their backs to me as they reached for food. I'm not particularly social on runs, and as a middle of the pack runner people often get a laugh out of my silent stalking competitiveness. My feeling on this is that, many of these people can beat me in a strait out run, so I have to get by em any way I can. Aid stations are often much easier points to pass people than out on the trail, where have a tendency to feel a bit more competitive.

Late in the second loop people were starting to complain of dehydration and muscle cramping. The aid stations were hawking electrolytes, salt, and three kinds of energy/electrolyte supplements. There was no reason to be getting screwed up early in the race. But Mid-westerners and Texans are a stubborn lot it seems. A few guys had stripped off their shirts and were running bare chested. These were not guys like Gordon, or Ed, or Don, who are used to the sun, but kind of Michelin like fellows with pasty white winter skin and pinkish-blue hues. I wanted to stop them and scream at them to be careful, but they were ahead of me, and I figured it would not matter anyway. Nobody from Illinois wants to hear how we do it in Honolulu. These guys slowly began looking like New Englanders, the kind with big claws and hard shells you find in pots of boiling water; bugs.

The second lap ended and I was under nine hours. It was startling. I started to think I had a chance at 24! The numbers began to run though my mind. Three more fives and I had it. I could slow down I told myself and still do it. All I had to do was three fives! I think I said something to Marty when we were running together and he just wished me luck. Another guy, who was just past seventy, but looked 62 or so, laughed when I told him we could all make 24. I was running along preaching to the guys in my class about how it was a perfect day to break 24, but there were few takers on my message. I should have known at that point that I was forgetting that I had already pushed too hard, and had a lot farther to go, 55+ miles, to actually make 24. But for those twenty miles or so, I was a true believer.

I came in on the end of the third lap still feeling pretty good. I was starting to have some gut problems, I was having some nasty chaffing issues, I had a problem with my left heel that I knew had become a blister, but that was to be expected at 60 miles--at least that is what I told myself. It was already dark and I was moving a bit slow but I managed to get my shoes changed, to my Adidas Super Nova Trails, as I had a pretty blister from my Ascics, my lights in order, nutrition taken care of, and to lube myself heavily against the chaffing. It took longer than I had hoped, but 24 was still there as a goal. I pushed on. Now it was two just under five or so.

I had done the first 20 in 4:10, the second in 4:20, and the next 20 in just about 5:00. Then I had that long aid station stop. Hey I was thinking I’d still be done before I started and headed out on loop four needing to pull in another low four. I was still feeling good, but my body was beginning to show the wear. I pushed but I was slowing and there didn't seem to be much I could do to increase my pace. In the dark the tree roots seemed to come alive and reach up and grab at my shoes. I was tripping a good deal, stumbling, and occasionally getting those long kind-of-not-quite falls that sap one's energy and mark a funny colored toe nail.

All-in-all I did the forth lap well, but I had to add in the aid station stop and that blew the number well past five. I remember sitting there drinking an ensure playing with my gear and getting my lights ready. It came to me that pushing on at the pace I had been keeping was going to be a very difficult problem. If I had done fives to begin with, I might have been able to do a four plus. But to have done a couple of four pluses, and a couple of five pluses, meant I had wasted myself. There was nothing left in the tank. 24 was out of the question. Well, perhaps I thought to myself, a finish with twenty-four in it was possible. I calculated that out, and even that seemed to be a bit optimistic. But I left it on the table, and headed out on my last lap knowing that I was not going for 24, and that I needed to start watching myself a bit more closely. I can't say I gave up, but I did realize I was in the process of doing what I often caution other runners against. There were other hundreds to run, I needed to keep that in mind.

My pace was good through much of the final lap. That twenty-four something finish actually remained a possible for a long time. But it faded eventually and I was going for a twenty-five. I pushed on, but not with the typical 'last loop' madness I can usually muster. It just wasn't there. I was hanging on, watching my knees which were showing soreness. I had some serious chaffing, my guts were not good, my left foot was still sore from the blister, and some of the problems from that I had at HURT actually came back to haunt me. But I was making a fair time.

I'm not sure what happened at the Damn Road aid station on my return. I had maybe ten miles left, I was slow but doing a good walking pace. I thought I saw Mike Smith at the table, and I wanted to be cute and sneak by him. I just went to my drop bag, downed an ensure and headed out. I was pushing a bit, but everything seemed OK. Then suddenly for no apparent reason, at least if you discount the previous 90 miles of hard push, my left hamstring just tightened. It wasn't quite a pull, but it was suddenly very sore. At any other time I would have stopped, but with only ten miles left I knew I had to push on. Suddenly I was gimping along slowly. The pain was manageable but constant. I could put very little weight on my left leg without some severe pain. I put up with this for half an hour or so, making little distance. Then I took off one of the laces from my gaiter, wrapped my face cloth around my knee and tied it tight just above my knee. The pressure against my contacted hamstring seemed to help a bit. I was still gimping, but I making a better pace.

Somehow I think I took a wrong turn. I don't know where or how, or even if I did, but I never saw Mike, nor a few other runners that I had been moving along with, I was with a small group of people spread out over a half mile of road. It was that pre-dawn dimness when things are seen strangely. Perhaps with a bit of hallucinatory splendor at times. Anyway I kept looking for this left turn that never came. Not finding it I continued down the road. An endless road. Just gimping along at a slow pace. Time left me behind, telling me it would meet me back at the room. A few people passed me but for the most part I was alone on this trail I did not really recognize very well. Things moved in the brush, light flickered ahead and behind, the sky was turning gray, shadows that may have been other runners appeared here and there. Seconds seemed to suddenly turn into minutes. I limped along trying to regulate the pain levels.

I wasn't tearing anything, or dealing with a torn muscle. I could feel the tightness of the contraction all the way up to my groin. I could move, but I knew if I pushed too hard I would indeed tear the muscle or the tendon. So continuing with caution seemed to be the thing to do. As long as I was cautious I could finish. And at near 92+ miles there was going to have to be some really serious reason to stop me.

Finally, after much too long, I found myself back on a familiar path and the final aid station loomed ahead. I crossed the Park Road, and asked for some duct tape. I was lucky, they had some. I grabbed it and began to wrap my leg. All the volunteers could say to me was 'That is going to really hurt when you try and get it off!". "Well it really hurts now, so it is an even trade, I guess," was my reply. I pushed on. Hours of time evaporated. I kept shaking my head. I knew I had slowed down, I knew 24 was out of the question before I started the last twenty, but I could not understand where the 25th hour had gone. Suddenly I was looking at 26 hours on my watch! But a voice in the back of my head was laughing hysterically. "26+ hours you moron! When you ever going to do this again? Just finish and stop belly aching!"

I took my own advice and just pushed on without all the BS whimpering. I would finish, and the time would be the time.

I gimped on, the pain ebbing and flowing, my pace an inversion of the hamstring sensations. I actually passed some people, was passed by others, but kept pushing. I crossed the line at 26:28. Almost 2 hours faster than my previous PR, and likely my life long PR. I have no plans to go after Twenty-four again! Marty, Ed, and Carl. finished close behind me. We took a few pictures. Mike Smith finished forty minutes before me, and I still can not figure that out. I never spoke with Mike at the Damn Road, so I don't even know if that was him at the aid station table, or if it was anyone for that matter. My mind was just over the edge out there at 88+ miles and it was the time of seeing. I waited around for him before I finally asked and found he was all ready in and gone. I showered quickly and came back to the start to congratulate a few of the runners I had spent some time with. Then I limped back to the car and drove back to the motel. My thigh was sore for a couple of days, and I did a lot of massage on it to loosen it up. It slowed me down the following week at the Dry Rock Ridge Run, but that's another post. It still tells me it's there when I run hard.


The Rocky Racoon is a well run race. A fast race. It is a good one to consider for a first 100, or for a sub-twenty-four attempt. The race staff is wonderful. The support is very good, and the volunteers willing and helpful. I always felt at home. There were plenty of HURT alumni there. Mike Smith, Carl Gammon, Marty, Andy, Ed, were among the crowd I ran with. There were others in the fast gang who were there as well. I don’t know if there were any other HURT 09 finishers there, but I talked to a guy who had paced at HURT. He told me I was nuts to be out there. (So what's your point?)This is a Midwest annual event, the culminating run of a number of their Ultra series. There were over 200 Hundred Mile starters and as many 50 Milers. Lots of people. Lots of Texas good cheer and hospitality. Huntsville is an interesting town. A bit of a college place, well known for the gigantic penal institution, home of Sam Houston, dripping with a lot of that 'new money' and the high end communities to show for it, but still having a lot of rural life style running in its viens.

The terrain is rolling pine and deciduous forest, with the occasional palmetto palm tree. Lots of holly, and oak. It is pretty in a South Texas winter kind of way. The warm weather of the week made it quite pleasant. But beware! Huntsville Texas can have temperature variations of over 60 degrees in a day. Wake up to sub 30 and see above eighty by afternoon. The storms can roll in fast and nasty. My fun run can quickly become a nasty never ending treck along muddy, cold and wet trails.

I had lucked out, but I saw the medic to help
Unwind the roll of duct tape from my hamstring
The Nurse said Mikey looks like you met your match
But I said, 'good nurse it's only a scratch'
And I’ll be better,
I’ll be better Doc, and soon be able.

Then I fell back in my room
Only to find Gideon’s bible
Gideon checked out and he left it no doubt
To help with poor Mikey’s revival......


Rocky Raccoon in 26:28