This event was going to be my first official 50k. The only trail running event I’d ever participated in beforehand was a 10k twelve months prior.  That was the extent of my lifelong organized running event experience.  I’d been following “Mike’s 50 mile Sunmart Trainer” since August and this run would be a piece of the puzzle that, hopefully, gets me to Sunmart.  I would also have the opportunity to see parts of the Sunmart course and put course places and names together.

I drove to Huntsville Friday afternoon and arrived at the La Quinta around 4pm.  After unpacking the car, I rested for awhile before getting back in the car and driving to Huntsville State Park.  The park was nice and it was good to see towering pine trees everywhere—looked very similar to Bastrop State Park.  In my hurried anticipation, I arrived at the Lodge 15 minutes early.  I meandered outside the Lodge on the back patio and admired the craftsmanship that went into building the Lodge.  At 5pm I went inside to pick up my race packet, which consisted of a packet of Endurolytes, T-shirt, a few flyers, and race entry forms to several trail races.  Several of the race volunteers were busily assembling the race packets.  I saw Robert Heynen, who was helping in the assembly process and briefly spoke with him. I didn’t want to bother anyone since they were trying to ready the packets.

I drove back to town and had a quick dinner at Chili’s—pasta and lots of water.  I went over to the grocery store, afterwards, and picked up some water and fruit to take back to the hotel.  I spent the rest of the evening looking at the race info included in the packet and tried to figure out what I would need during the run.  After triple-checking to ensure I had everything, I laid out my running attire and gear.  I set the alarm on my watch, the clock on the nightstand, and called the front desk for a wake-up call.  I wasn’t taking any chances even though I regularly wake up without an alarm at 5am almost every morning.  I lay down in bed and drifted into a deep slumber.

The next morning I woke up without the aid of my triple-alarm armada.  I took a quick shower and got dressed.  I powdered up my feet and put on my socks.  While filling my water bottles, I dropped one onto the tile floor and water went everywhere!  The unexpected deluge dampened one of my socks.  I removed my socks, repowdered my feet, and put on another pair of socks—glad I brought 2 extra pairs.  The drive to the park was uneventful and serene.  I followed the line of cars to the lodge and quickly found a good parking spot.  I grabbed my gear bag and headed for Lodge to find the starting line.  “It’s over there”, someone said.  I walked over to towards the darkness and put my bag down at the base of a tree. I began final preparations in the dark with the aid of my newly purchased flashlight.  Runners started congregating at the start line.  The seven o’clock hour passed and the race hadn’t started.  I assumed we were waiting for the pre-dawn darkness to subside.  After a few brief words from the Race Director, he said “go”, and off we went.

Where the heck is everyone going in such a hurry?  Is there a fire?  Is a pack of hungry alligators chasing us?  I instantly became initiated as a back-of-the-packer.  All I could think of is, “I’m going to DFL in my first official ultra”.  After about a mile of running up the dirt road, we finally made it to the single-track.  I was eager to make it to aid station 1, since  f HCTR would be there volunteering.  My race strategy was to run 25 minutes and walk 5 minutes throughout the entire race.  The first 25 minutes came quickly and, although I didn’t want to lose my place on the trail, I stopped and began my power hike pace.  My strategy was to get in and out of each aid station as quickly as possible. Although this was a 50k, I’d better practice making good use of my time.  Those minutes at the aid station could add up to hours if I ever summon the courage to run a 100-miler.  Aid station 1 appeared and I saw some HCTR familiar faces manning the battlestations.  I quickly headed for the table to fill my water bottles.  Being the rookie that I am, I started grabbing the little 4 oz cups and emptying each one into my bottles.  Thankfully, Chris Matus grabbed my bottles and filled them before I embarrassed myself too much.  I thanked him and off I went for the next aid station. 

A funny thing started occurring.  Runners that were once way ahead of me were getting closer as the minutes ticked by.  I fell in behind a large group before the second aid station.  I told myself if they stopped, I would skip the aid station so I could get ahead of them.  That’s how thing panned out and off I went deep into the woods all alone.  The next several miles went by fast.  I had found my groove and the running seemed effortless.  I arrived at the halfway point much earlier than I anticipated—2hours, 40 minutes.  Uh, oh.  That was too fast.  I hope I didn’t set myself up for a long second loop.  I made it over to my drop bag and picked up a few more GU packets and a water bottle containing my favorite sports drink.  Off I went on the second 15.5 mile loop. 

Shortly, thereafter, I passed what I assumed were the lead 25k runners heading for the finish.  On the second loop, I continued my run/walk strategy.  In addition, I walked the little uphills that I found to conserve energy.  I come from a background in mountaineering and alpine backpacking.  I’ve learned that energy conservation is the key to staying fresh during extended periods of exercise.  It prolongs the inevitable—exhaustion.  I was going to milk every kernel of energy I could during this second loop. 

I couldn’t wait to get to aid station 1.  I arrived all alone and I was happy to see everyone.  They asked how I was doing and I told them I felt good.  They said I looked great and that was nice to hear.  I grabbed a few Pringles, had my water bottles filled, and had a small cup of Coke (the first Coke I had drank in over 2 years since giving them up, cold turkey).  Off I went down the trail. I often wondered during the race if any of the runners realized the cumulative trail running experience volunteering at aid station 1.  I felt honored to be assisted by the HCTR volunteers at the aid station.

On my way to the next aid station--I’m now just focusing on making it from aid station to aid station—I reached into my fanny pack to take a salt capsule.  Tragedy! The capsules had disintegrated inside my fanny pack.  The culprit was the constant rustling of the GU packs against the capsules inside the pack.  They had turned the inside of my pack snow white.  Once I reached aid station 2, I grabbed a few potato chips and scooped up several piles of what I assumed was salt from a plate heaped high.  Bottles refilled; off I scampered into the woods. Less than a mile down the trail and the first signs of trouble—a twitch in my right upper calf.  Then, both calves started twitching.  All of a sudden, full-bore knots encompassed both calves grinding me to a slow walk.  What was causing this?  How was I going to endure the next 7 miles in this condition?  After a minute, or two, I managed a slow run and continued.  My mind was going to have to take over the workload to get me to the finish.  After what seemed like several miles of running, I looked at my watch and only 5 minutes had passed.  Time was standing still and I still had over 6 miles left.  I continued onward and the cramps in my calves were bearable. 

At the aid station 3, a volunteer could obviously see the concern in my empty stare.  I told her what had happened and she quickly smeared two apple slices with peanut butter and sent me on my way.  I was rejuvenated after only a few minutes.  My cramps were behind me and I made it to the final half-mile stretch. Usually, the end of these types of physical accomplishments brings lots of emotion. This time, I was too focused on finishing strong as I ran to the finish line.  I made it!  5 hours, 37 minutes.

I walked over to my gear bag and dropped my bottles and cheered a few others as they crossed the finish line.  I headed to the aid station and ate and drank whatever seemed palatable.  A race volunteer walked over and handed me a green granite 50k finisher’s award.  I’m glad they remembered to bring it to me because that was the last thing on my mind. 

I learned quite a bit during Rocky Raccoon.  I made my share of mistakes and that equals into experience, as long as I don’t repeat the mistakes.  I recorded my lap times to each aid station during the race.  I was surprised that my average heart rate was 155bpm.  The last 3 miles of the race, my average heart rate was 170bpm—funny, it didn’t seem that hard.  I changed into some fresh clothes and proudly donned my Rocky Raccoon t-shirt, hopped in the car and drove 2.5 hours to make it to my 4-year old son’s friends birthday party, which was at 5pm.  I could barely walk while at the party.  There was a guy asked me why I was moving around so slowly.  I explained what I had been doing 3 hours before.  “Why would anyone run 31 miles?”, he asked?  “Because, I can”, I said.