I had one goal at Capt’n Karls—keep moving forward and run as many miles until the timekeeper told me I couldn’t go out for another loop. Last year, I ran the six-hour race and stopped after 5 loops. I was tired, called it a night, and considered it a good training run. This time, however, it wasn’t a training run, it was soley an opportunity to continue moving for twelve hours. Inks Lake State Park seemed to be in remarkably good condition, considering the deluge of rain they had received earlier in the week. Little did any of us know that the eve before the race, the most western part of the course had been flooded overnight, due to additional water being released from the Buchanan Dam. Brad Quinn did not realize this until the early afternoon of the race and he and Mark Platt would spend the remainder of the day before the race rerouting the course to avoid the flooded areas. A heavy downpour ensued within two hours of the start of the race. Within a hundred feet of the start/finish line was a tell-tale sign of things to come that night. Standing water in a docile creek. It was unavoidable and was just one a many areas of the course where standing water and flowing creeks would mean the demise of my feet. I had brought an extra pair of shoes and socks, but why change them when they would be soaked, again, with a few minutes. The turnout this year was much better than the inaugural event. After the start of the race, we entered single track within several hundred feet. I was near the back of the pack and the going was slow. I kept telling myself to be patient, since I was going to be out there awhile. We finally reached the Pecan Flats road where I could begin picking up the pace a little. Due to the flooded western sections of the park, the course had been reduced to a five mile loop located entirely east of Park Road 4. I was able to run the first two loops without a headlamp. Roger Davis and I ran almost the entire second loop together and chatted along the way. We arrived at the start/finish area and I left soon after for my third loop without Roger. I would spend the rest of my time alone on the trail. My plan was to run the first several hours conservatively, but definitely not an easy pace. After about seven hours, I picked up the effort level, but this mostly just kept me close to my previous loop splits. As the run progressed through the night, the trail became more treacherous in sections. I would soon find that out when I took two really nasty falls. The first one put me on the muddy, wet trail quickly. I came away from it with two sprained fingers, a bruised shoulder, scraped knee and elbow, and a bump on the side of head where the upper and lower jaw bone connect. I picked myself up and the wet granite sand was covering my bottles and I was covered head-to-toe with the gritty, abrasive sand. I saw Diana Heynen within a minute of picking myself back up off the trail and had her check out my head for damage. Everything seemed to be ok, except for the pain. At least now I had something to take my mind off my macerated feet. Two loops later, I took another fall. This time, my feet came out from under me crossing some slick rocks in a creek and I landed on my back and partially on my right side. Immediately, my left calf began cramping profusely and I just lay in the shallow creek massaging it trying to make the pain stop. I was also laughing at myself since I was lying in a creek in the dark in the middle of the night. I believe the main reason I took those falls was I was trying to go as fast as possible to bank as many miles as possible. I slowed down temporarily after my falls, but I picked up the pace again and tried to be a little more cautious in my foot placements. I had hefty mileage goals for this race, but fell short of them. I wanted to run sixty miles, but I would have been happy with anything over fifty—a new mileage PR for me. When I was almost done with my ninth loop, I realized, there was an outside chance I could complete my tenth loop and go out for one more and reach fifty-five miles. As soon as I finished my ninth, I realized I would really have to move to get back to the start/finish before the six-thirty cut-off. The rules stated that you could run another loop if you started before six-thirty. I left for my tenth loop in the dark and would, soon be greeted by dawn. I moved as fast as I could go, considering the damage to my feet. A few loops earlier, I had apparently developed a blister on one of my toes. It finally ruptured and, immediately, sharp pain ensued. And the pain kept worsening. It stopped me from running momentarily. I remember hearing others talk about pain reaching a plateau and then becoming a minor annoyance. I kept hanging on for this to occur and decided to run. I figured if it was going hurt regardless of walking or running, I was going to run. Eventually, the pain mysteriously vanished. Post-race, when I removed my shoes, I discovered they were full of granite sand/mud. When I removed my socks, more of the same and the stuff was adhered to my feet in sizeable globs. I’m still trying to figure out how that occurred, considering I was wearing gaitors. I made it to the halfway point aid station that Mark was running. I knew I was right on the edge of getting back to the start/finish line before the final loop cut-off. I just kept running. After the race, I would find out that Mark called Brad, who was logging times at the finish line and stated that some runner just came through and was running like he was being chased by a bear. I was desperate. This was my last race until the late Fall and I wanted to lay it all out on the course and keep running more miles. I ran as much as I could the last miles. I came into the start/finish and asked Brad for the time. I was ninety seconds too late. A huge letdown, but I gave it my best effort. I would have to settle for fifty miles in eleven hours 32 minutes. It was, by far, my best effort even though the time doesn’t reflect that statement. All the things that have plagued me in previous races were nonexistent at this race. No stomach issues and my mental state on a scale of 1 to 10 was always at a 9 or 10 during the entire night. There was a point in the later stages of the race, while I was running alone along a dark, wooded, flat road section in Pecan Flats, that I would become very emotional. It hit me hard. I was running effortlessly. All the struggles I had experienced during the last year were gone. I was running through the night and enjoyed every minute of it. I didn’t want to stop.