At a subconscious level beneath our thin veneer of civilization, in times of anticipatory stress, humans hark back to earlier ages. When anxiety builds to a certain level, a vapor of mythology rises at the edge of our consciousness and we search for "augurs" - signs that fate (spirits, gods, whatever ...) favor our enterprise. We encourage such possibilities by wearing / using "good luck" items.

As I rolled into an open parking spot within a few yards of the Start/Finish line at 5:30 AM my eyes were drawn to the odometer as it slowly, gently changed from 99,999.9 to exactly 100,000.0 miles. It was as if this machine was reassuring me that if it could run for one hundred thousand miles and still be ready for many more, I could be confident of running the one hundred miles of the Arkansas Traveler and live to tell the tale. Superstitious silliness, I remember thinking then, but there was no denying the warm, calming feeling of support that I felt at that moment. A feeling that welled up several times to bolster my efforts during the ensuing hours.

I had arrived at the Lake Sylvia ranger station of the Ouachita National Forest, some 35 miles west of Little Rock, around 1:00 PM the day before (October 5, 2001). First, I had to be weighed in my running clothes and have personal data recorded and strapped to my wrist with a hospital ID bracelet. At most ultramarathon events lasting over 12 hours all runners are monitored at various checkpoints for physical signs of deterioration that could lead to emergencies. Percentage of weight loss at any particular time is a convenient way of checking for dehydration and is rigorously enforced. Suitably branded and now officially part of the herd, I picked up my race number, shirt and the usual bits and pieces of advertising that constitute a race packet, and drove about a mile to the campground.

A warm, soaking rain had been drenching everything as I drove on my way north by north-west into Arkansas. Wondering what camping was going to be like that night, I staked out my space and hitched a ride back to the ranger station. A very professional, very detailed runner's briefing that lasted almost 2 hours held my focussed attention from start to finish. Over 300 people then ate one of the best high carbohydrate-calorie meals I can remember having. The organizers seemed to really know what they were doing and I was completely reassured that no matter how good or bad it was going to get out on the course, their mission was to take very good care of the runners. By the time I returned to the campsite the rain was starting to let up. Soon after, it was dark at 6:30 PM and I was snugged-up in my bag. After 580 miles of driving I had no trouble at all falling asleep.

During the night, I awakened several times and was keenly aware of the cold front that was sweeping in. The sky cleared and temperature and humidity dropped to the low 40's. The tops of the forest trees moaned as they wrestled with the wind while eery bright silver light shown down from an almost full moon and a canopy of stars. All that crispness made burrowing again into the sleeping bag a singularly hedonistic experience. Soon deep sleep was over. Review of my logistical plans took over my thoughts as I lay there with "cold nose and warm toes". Survival without trauma was primary. The overall cut-off time of 30 hours was possible, but a big unknown since it was my first attempt at this distance and my first genuine trail run. I also had to beat the intermediate cut-off times during the second half of the course. When my umpteenth glance at the watch registered that I had 2 hours left to get ready and report in by 5:30 AM for a last minute check with race officials, I shivered out of the bag and into my running gear, layering it on.

Radio weather reports predicted a cool, sunny day followed by another cold, very clear, frosty night. The daytime / nighttime clothing choices made, the drop-bags were readied to provide me with clothing and gear options at selected check points. Hand-held and head-mounted lights (and spares) were checked and rechecked. Packets and capsules of electrolytes, concentrated complex carbohydrates, and proteins, along with a blister kit, eye glasses, garbage-bag poncho, toilet paper (will I have enough?), skin lubricant, etc., were accounted for and strategically placed in my waist pack along with a full 24 oz. drinking bottle. Water would never be more than 5 miles away, so there was no need to carry a dehydrator pack on my back. The bottle would suffice so long as I filled it at every opportunity. Even so, I was carrying over 5 pounds strapped to my waist. The faster, more experienced runners had support crews at the aid stations and during the second 50 miles would have companion runners pacing them to maximum efficiency. Me, I could only hope that my inexperienced planning would be adequate and that I would manage to fend for myself in the long run.

At exactly 6:00 AM, 121 runners were off into the dark, shuffling and huffing steam in the frosty moonlight, flashlight beams darting back and forth to locate the many mud puddles left over from yesterday's soaking. It would be disastrous to get wet feet this early in the run - that would come soon enough. With gloves, ear protection, windbreaker, gaiters and waist pack, I truly waddled on like the back of the pack penguin I was that day.

To relate the details of the next 30 hours would fill a book, assuming I could remember half of them. I can, however, make some summary comments. It was one of the hardest physical things I've done, but very rewarding with respect to character insights. Many small lessons in humility were offered. I hope I will remember some of them. I also learned to hate rocks, especially medium sized ones that lie on top of smaller ones, with moss and fallen leaves covering them. Add to that the previous day's rain on a course that went up and down steep hills with switchback trails and you get the idea. At mile 12 there was a 1,000 ft elevation gain in 3 and 1/2 miles, with an equivalent drop down the other side. By that time I already had badly stubbed toes and numerous "hot spots" on my feet (and elsewhere...) that would soon turn to blisters, and I NEVER get blisters! There were 82 miles still to go and my quads were informing me that I would be lucky to finish.

40 miles later we turned around and did it over again in reverse, but this time mostly in the dark. I learned to hate rocks. I twisted my ankles, fell flat on my face, grew blisters on top of blisters, had my hands and legs and feet swell up while I tried to enjoy the scenery. I got puzzled looks at the weigh-in stations later that night as I showed a weight increase instead of loss. At the time, my claims of having layered on more clothes seemed reasonable... I was also eating hot soup whenever I came into an aid station. The food choices offered were unbelievable! At some, people were actually asking for requests and cooking fresh food. Some stations even had boxed toothpaste and brushes for those who had been throwing up along the way and wanted to freshen up!! Always mindful of my stomach, with the exception of the soup during the night, I stuck to my prepared supplements and had no trouble. The mischievous thought of taking some toothpaste and later crossing the finish line foaming at the mouth was quickly dismissed. All these volunteers were so cheerfully eager to help and be supportive!

I loved running at night, I really did. The temperature was around 38 degrees and the air was so still I could blow perfectly round smoke rings with my breath and then run into them. The bright moon and stars were painted all across the sky, seen through the tree tops just like the night before. Lovely. And every time I looked, I paid dearly as a rock jumped out in front of me and brought me down hard. There are no such things as inanimate objects ...

When fatigue really set in (sometime before midnight) the expected hallucinations started. For me, they took the form of people conversing just far enough away that I couldn't make out the words, but the intonations and genders were very distinct. Sometimes, they weren't hallucinations but other runners catching up to me. Shadows seemed to move at the periphery of my headlight beam with a rapid stealth that sometimes startled me. And always the ankle-twisting, toe-stubbing, blister-busting rocks. When on service roads, even the gravel acted like ball bearings and tried to make hamburger out of the soles of feet. Did I mention that I hate rocks? Anyway, much, much later, I finished in 30 hours and 26 seconds, 86th of 88 official finishers. And, do you know what? I love that belt buckle award more than I hate rocks!

It took me a week to get rid of the 6 lbs. of water I retained because I took too many electrolytes and edema set in. Having trained in the heat and humidity of Mobile, I didn't think to adjust my intake when the weather turned cold. Fortunately, no harm was done, although it did scare me at the time. My feet took three weeks to heal after losing several toenails and what seemed like acres of skin. The magnitude of my addiction can be observed in the fact that I have bought a book that explains how to tape one's feet to try and prevent blisters, and how to treat them properly when you get them anyway! I am already planning my next event, even though they warn it has lots of rocks. I can hardly believe I'm writing this because, you know, I really hate ...