My entrance into the 100 mile world came about unexpectedly and quickly.  I was coming off my marathon PR in the Spring of 2003 and got off course while talking to Morgan at the trail triple crown marathon.  Talking with her was my first exposure to the ultra running world.  I felt I was ready for the longer challenge after finishing that race in a little over 4 hours despite adding in some extra miles.  I found the first ultra on the race calendar within driving distance and signed up.  

Despite not knowing anything about ultras and how you are supposed to pace yourself, I had a great race at the Old Dominion Memorial 50.  I even ran up Woodstock Mountain the first time we went over it–-was I naïve or what? Although the sense of accomplishment I got from winning the race that day can never be taken away, that race was the catalyst that set in motion the last four years and my fascination with the 100 miler.   For those that may not know – my recent times aren’t indicative of what I ran prior to the 100 milers.   My time at ODM that day was 8:20, more than 2 full hours faster than last year’s JFK.  

The race was only in its second year and although I got a great medal for finishing the 50 miler, I got nothing extra for winning the race.  But I saw the buckles that the 100 mile guys got and I wanted one.  I was hooked.  Back to the calendar I went and the application for Vermont was in the mail.  

I felt out of place listening to all the people talk the night before the race, but I was okay with that because I had all the confidence in the world following the ODM race.   Needless to say my world got shattered that night.  I don’t know if I have ever had such a humbling experience from running.   Envision this: Reduced to being on all fours, in the dark because your flashlight stopped working, at the bottom of a hill looking up at a string of glow lights, with the skin torn off your back because you weren’t smart enough to keep a shirt on all day under your camelbak, shivering because you didn’t realize that 60 degrees would be cold after running all day in 90 degrees, vomiting on a continuous gut wrenching basis, with a pacer barking at you to hurry up because her friend was getting farther away.   Not a pretty picture.  

Over the years I have found a way to eliminate most of the ugly parts of that picture through trial and error.   Running a 100 miles is definitely an experiment of one.  There is no guarantee that something that works for one person will work for another.  The one constant that had remained is the vomiting.  Sometimes have been worse than others, but it has never left me alone.   I know some of you may have suggestions, but at this point it is too late.  I have tried numerous sports drinks, water only, and combinations of the two, but always the same outcome.  

It was nine months before I tried my second 100 miler.  At Umstead I blamed my DNF on the hot dog I ate at mile 80 since they were out of hamburgers and pizza.   By the time I made it to 84.1 my body had forcefully removed the hot dog and whatever else it could find inside me.  I even pointed out to Dave this year the tree that I painted with the hot dog while my dad stood there asking me why.  He had come to do 20 miles with me, but got a meager 4.1 that seemed to take as long as 20.   This was the first time that a pacer would get a lot less than they bargained for when making the trip with me, but not the last.   The disappointments would keep appearing.   Since I blamed it on the hot dog I was eager to try again and I did 3 months later.   The end result was the same (DNF from vomiting), but this time I thought I was a victim of the weather.   I spent 16 hours running that day with about 12 of them spent in 3 inches of mud.  

I entered 2005 0-3, but still not knowing that I was defective.   I returned to Umstead (My parents enjoyed volunteering at the start/finish area of the looped course so it made sense to go back).   I completed 75 miles that day in 15 hours and then the stomach went.  I death marched the last 25 miles in 7.5 hours.   Those last two laps were physically and mentally tough.  I left my water bottles with my parents and didn’t even pretend that I was putting anything in my body.  If Umstead weighed people I’m sure they wouldn’t have let me finish.   I even asked my parents to go back to the hotel because I didn’t want them to see me as I deteriorated.   I could tell that my mother was upset by the way I looked at that point and believe me it got worse.   I’m still not sure how I managed to finish.  

Looking back I wish that finish had left me satisfied, but it didn’t.   Instead of being happy I couldn’t stop thinking about how much better I could run.   I was convinced that 20 hours was within my reach and 2 months later I was ready to find out.   My return to Old Dominion Memorial where I ran my 50 was short-lived as I called it quits at mile 36.   I blamed this early exit on the drink I was using as I was vomiting so much earlier than any other race.   Seeing a trend of me being hardheaded?

In December I ran 78 miles of the Delaware Fat Ass, but don’t consider it in my list of attempts since I never really planned on running the whole thing.  I was out there to keep Dave company for as long as I could and that just ended up being a lot of miles.  I also didn’t throw up that day, but that could be because the temperatures never got much above freezing the whole time.  I’ve never had the urge to run in conditions like that again to test the theory.  

That run did do a lot to prepare me for Rocky Raccoon in February 2006.  That could have been my day.   I think I could have a set a PR at any distance that day except for the 100.  I made it to the 77 mile aid station in under 14 hours, but 3 miles and a little over an hour later I was a different person.   I sat at the start/finish aid station changing into warm clothes for another 30-45 minutes hoping that my stomach would recover.   I made it almost a mile up the trail before it (and by now you know that means vomiting) starting again and I turned around.   The silver lining in this gray cloud was that I got to see Dave finish what was an amazing run as his sub 16 hour finish was the fourth fastest time run in the country that year.  

One more race in 2006 ended with the race director removing me from the course at mile 58.   This was the first time I apologized to Dave for his measly 8 mile training run that took about 4 hours and had elderly people in their cars stopping to see if I needed a ride to the hospital.  Puke, stand up, walk or crawl, repeat.   I did this until I passed out.  At least this is what I think happened.  

I should have been done at this point, but the lore of Western States was just too much.   I knew Dave was in automatically so I decided to put in so that we could go out there together.   Unfortunately, I got in and the story continues.  

Since I was in States I decided to enter Vermont so that I would know what it was like to do the first two legs of the slam.   I signed up for Umstead so that I could have some confidence going into States since it would be more than two years since my finish.  

Umstead was 37.5 good miles and 25 miles of fighting off the vomiting spell.   It came while sitting in race headquarters trying to settle my stomach.  I never had the guts (literally) to continue.  

I think most people know that I got pulled at Western States at mile 48 for excessive weight loss attributed to vomiting.   I will say that I’m glad I got to experience Western States.  There is nothing I have done in ultra running (with the possible exception of crewing at Badwater) that can compare.   That weekend was amazing and I would encourage anyone who can qualify to give it a shot.   But be prepared because that course and elevation will kick the crap out of you –- repeatedly.  

That brings us to this past weekend at Vermont.  I had signed up in December so I went even though I knew my days were numbered.   I brought it full circle with an outside glimmer of hope that the outcome would be different and I could walk away on top.   I was on top of the world and moving quickly when I saw my dad, brother and John Straub at mile 30, and sick as dog by mile 35.  I continued to push until mile 57 when I just decided it wasn’t worth what I might be doing to my insides.   I’ve met a lot of people during the past four years and my 10 attempts and quite a few of them were pulling for me on Saturday, but it just wasn’t and isn’t meant to be.  

What used to hit me 70 miles into a race now gets me before 40 and doesn’t leave me much of a fighting chance.   I have to consider the possibility that I’m doing some damage.  I think that I have been knocked down enough times now to know not to get back up.  I don’t know exactly what the future is going to hold for me running wise, but I do know what it isn’t going to contain.  

I do question if I can call myself a hundred mile runner.  I have a certificate on my wall that says I am and a buckle in my trophy case as the one piece of hardware I earned in four years, but then again maybe it was just a fluke.  No, I’m not a hundred mile runner, but I was once.   I guess I’ll always have that.   For that one day I was somehow able to hold it together long enough to make it seem almost worthwhile.  

Thanks for reading and I look forward to seeing you on the shorter trails.  

Rick