11.03 & 04.12 - Pinhoti 100 - Heflin to Sylacauga, AL

I knew at several points during the Pinhoti 100, I was going to have to pick up the pen again.

I sort of lost my race recap mojo in 2010 & 2011. I had been posting pretty regularly on my blog site, including pictures and whatnot, and just sort of lost the passion for it. Somewhat because I felt I was saying some of the same things over and over again and it was a bit stale. Somewhat because I’m a middle of the pack age grouper that was questioning myself and if I really had anything of value to put out there. So I stopped. Then Pinhoti happened. And there were things I wanted to say. And some things I needed to say.

Let’s go straight to the things that need to be said…

Many of you know how this deal works. You set the stage about the race. Then the blow-by-blow details. Then the lessons learned, acknowledgements, etc. In the case of Pinhoti, only one thing really matters. The acknowledgements. ‘The Whos’. The rest of the details I likened to something between a twenty-seven and a half hour Stanley Kubrick film and a purest form of euphoria. None of which matters in the slightest or ever would have come to fruition without ‘The Whos’.

Nate Hearns and Scott Harber… There is a fourth. Matt Miller. But we’ll get to him in a minute. We had many talks prior to Pinhoti about our race plan and approach. We had no idea what would actually happen or how it would unfold. Unfortunately, my race was in jeopardy in the bus on the ride to the start line in Heflin, AL. The last seven miles in a school bus on a very choppy service road had me chewing on Tums like Smarties and contemplating opening the bus window and hanging my head out to relieve myself. And the meltdown kept on from here.

Over the course of the 100 miles, I believe I legitimately quit five times. I insisted (sometime angrily) that Nate and Scott go on. And they simply would not leave me. They both selflessly sacrificed to pull me along that trail. Sometimes literally. Pushing me out of aid stations. Pulling me up and out of chairs I was trying to sleep in. And as the race progressed, it simply came to this – I couldn’t leave them. It wasn’t an option. For any of us. We had to finish. And it had to be together. No questions asked.

After the fact we came to realize two things – Had we broken up and gone solo at any point, our chances of finishing were slim. For me, the chances were nil. We also had no idea the significance of three people toeing the line of a 100 miler together, staying together and crossing together. Apparently this is practically unheard of. Odd thing for us, we couldn’t imagine it any other way.

The bond I’ve had with these two friends was strong before the race. I’d venture to say it’s now unbreakable. The Message translation of Ecclesiastes 4:12 can’t say it better…

“By yourself you’re unprotected. With a friend you can face the worst. Can you round up a third?
A three-stranded rope isn’t easily snapped.” Amen.

Allyson Werner, Morgan Hearns and Anne Harber… The wives. The crew. In addition to months of support leading up to the race, our wives followed us to the unmolested single-track trails of the Talladega National Forest to take on crew duties. We would quickly learn how absolutely critical this role was. Much more so than we could have imagined going into the race.

Anne, along with their two boys, Riley and Ethan, took the day shift. Basically the aid stations up to mile 41. They yelled. They cheered. They encouraged. At mile 41, I will be forever indebted to Anne for doing one of the most simple (and gross) things one could ask of someone else – help removing a sock. We had crossed a somewhat deep stream some 10-15 miles earlier. My feet were toast. Socks still wet and covered in junk from the trail. I grabbed a chair at the 41 aid station and proceeded to try and remove my socks. Compression socks at that. I got one, but the other I simply could not. Every time I bent over, my IT band would lock up so bad it would throw me back into the chair. I called on Anne, and not only did she get the sock off but she proceeded to dig her thumb and finger into my hip and help relieve the pressure on my IT band. Had it not been for her, I may not have left the 41 station. I was done. I think for the third time at this point. She then proceeded to hand me her phone. It was Allyson. I don’t remember the conversation. It doesn’t matter. I had new life. And new reason to get to mile 55 where she would be waiting.

The sun set somewhere between miles 41 and 55. We made our way through the darkness and emerged from the hole in the woods into the party scene known as the mile 55 aid station where I was anxious to collapse into Allyson’s arms and hand in my bib. I did just that, fell into her arms. But she and the others were having none of the quitting stuff. She and Morgan had laid out a very comfortable blanket in the parking lot and a literal spread of caloric bliss. I was struggling to put anything in my mouth at this point. Nate and Scott, not so much. They ate plenty for me. Dozing in and out of consciousness, I recall the conversation including the girl’s gymnastics results, our friend Matt Miller pulling out at mile 30, and food. All I wanted was to stay on that blanket. Forever. I wish there was more to it, but Allyson and Morgan both in their own ways looked at me and said something that included ‘Get up. You are going to do this. You are staying with these guys. Stopping is not an option.’ And so, it wasn’t. I stood. I moved. Allyson’s hope and expectation moved me forward.

We repeated this routine… miles 60, 65, 69. Then, it was into the abyss known as miles 69-85 (insert reference to a Kubrick film.) A couple of things got me through, but the main one was simply knowing Allyson was waiting for me. And that she and Morgan expected me to be there with Nate and Scott. I had to stop half way up Horn Mountain around mile 73 and puke for several minutes. I stood there bent over, then was moved by the thought… ‘Ok.. Now go. Allyson is waiting.’ So I went.

And there she was. Mile 85, then 90, 95, and of course at the finish line. She and Morgan had navigated through the night on literally a few hours of sleep providing not just food and supplies, but her. That is what did it. Just her. Being there, telling me I could and not giving me an option otherwise. Without her and the support of Morgan, I would still be laying face down in some remote parking lot of the mile 55 aid station. My love and gratitude is beyond words.

Matt Miller… Killah Millah. The unsung hero of the race. It can easily be argued that Matt is responsible for this ultra madness. He was the seasoned ultra veteran and ultimately the one who identified Pinhoti and moved us toward it. For as long as we’ve known Matt, it’s no secret that his kryptonite is heat. So when we saw in the days leading up to Pinhoti that Saturday was calling for a high in the low 80’s, we knew there could be problems. And unfortunately there were. Matt left the mile 28 aid station and shortly after the body simply broke down. The vomiting wouldn’t stop. Things weren’t working. Versus pressing ahead to the 35 stop and then up the climb of Cheaha, he turned around and back tracked the couple of miles back to 28. A decision that was difficult to say the least, but the right one.

The girls heard Matt had DNF’d and as stated prior had passed along that news to us at the 55 aid station. But we had no other details. As Nate, Scott and I emerged from the dark into the mile 60 aid station, I thought I had in fact begun to loose what was left of my mind. There he was. In the literal middle of nowhere. Matthew D. Miller. Trying to gather my wits and comprehend what was going on, Matt proceeded to explain that the folks running the mile 60 aid station were the same folks that manned the 28 station. When he had returned to 28 to DNF, they nursed him back to life and then he was along for the ride.

What I observed at 60 and the remaining aid stations was one of the most inspirational things I’ve ever been a part of. I’m sitting here in tears even as I type this. I saw a guy who could have easily packed it in. Went back to the hotel and slept. Perhaps sulked, loaded the car and went home. Instead, he came back from the dead and made a decision to help get us to the line. He greeted us with open arms. He scrambled for food and drinks. He spoke encouragement. Not just for us, but for all of the runners. The girls said he owned the stations when he was there. In additional to all of the pressure above, now there was Matt. I wasn’t going to let him down. He stayed to see us – all three of us together – finish. I had no option but to do my part. I was going to finish for Matt. He’d earned that.

As far as the actual race details? Inconsequential really the more I wrote the above. We finished 100 miles in 27 hours, 22 minutes. 63rd, 64th and 65th out of 108 finishers (197 people started the race.)  For me, a song can often sum it up far better than I can. And in this case, it happens to be Rob Base from 1988. I only regret I didn’t have more energy at the finish line to throw some moves (with the white guy, squinty eyed, bottom-lip overbite, of course.)