Indiana Trail 100: I wouldn't have made it through this without...

Since I finished Tunnel Hill in 2017, my races have laregely been shitshows. DNF at Antelope Canyon. An 8+ hour 50K at the Swamp. DNF at GDR. . I did manage to set a marathon PR this spring (I still have no idea how I did that, by the way) but promptly followed it up with a relatively poor showing at Strolling Jim. I was beginning to think that my the best days of my (ultra)running career had gone just as fast as they had come and that I would be one of those myriad of other runners who just disappeared from the community.

The Indiana Trail 100 is 5 20-mile loops at Chain O' Lakes State Park in Albion, Indiana. It is part of the Midwest Slam of ultrarunning, a Western States and UTMB qualifier (so it's pretty hard), and since it's in Indiana (duh) you never know what the weather will do.

Training for Indiana Trail 100 began in earnest in mid-May. The plan was to run as many of the following as I could:

• Off camber trails
• Hill repeats
• Miles in the dark
• Back-to-back long runs

Where could I do that? Ah, yes! At the AgCenter ! It's two miles from my house, it's got a lightly trafficked trail, and aside from the one time security kicked me out at midnight, no one cares if you stash a couple of beers in the bed of your truck for 'aid'. It also has a couple of decent hills and an off-camber section - comparable to everything one would encounter at Chain O' Lakes. I spent many a-Sunday mornings over the past few months on the second half of my back-to-back long runs with my dear friend Andy. I wouldn't have made it through this without his friendship. I focused less on mileage and more on specificity, time on my feet, and consistency.

A coupla' Dumbasses with Shoes

Sue (that's my girlfriend, for any random reader who comes across this) and I drove up from Nashville to Albion the day before the race. She asked me what my goal was for this race. I told her, "I just want to finish. I don't care about a belt buckle. I don't care about qualifying for Western States." I think Sue mostly believed me when I said that. Sue would happily let me disappear for hours on end on the weekend. I wouldn't have made it through this without her generosity. I checked in and met up with a whole bunch of friends (and my sister, pictured here and OHMIGODISTHATJESSICABOHN?!) who had driven down from Michigan to run this dumb thing, too. Jessica got me into ultrarunning three years ago with her epic Western States finish. I wouldn't have made it through this  without her inspiration. We all headed to our hotels or campsites and then several of us went out to dinner at Bob Evans. I'd post a picture of what the food looked like but I hate pictures of food and this ain't a menu. We then made our way back to the hotel for the night where I promptly went to sleep. I can fall asleep just about anywhere. Watching the Detroit Lions game? Yup. Reading a book for class? Yup.

Shoulder flames

The morning of the race, we headed back over to the park. The parking situation is rough, so if you plan on running this in the future, make sure you get there in plenty of time.We all made our way to the starting line (or as I like to refer to it: "somewhere over there, I don't know".) Then, all of a sudden, 210 of us were off to tackle 100 miles in the Indiana woods for the next however many hours.

Lap 1
I was feeling awesome. It was a chilly morning which really suits me but it was not something that I had been training for: it was an exceedingly hot and humid summer in Tennessee. Everything felt easy and smooth. I had two race mantras that I told myself time and time again during this loop (and the others that followed):

1. Walk all the uphills, run the downhills and the flats (strangely enough, another runner that I shared some miles with actually noticed this about me).
2. DON'T YOU DARE RUN ANY UPHILLS, DUMBASS. I found myself saying this out loud a few times, especially during the first lap.

The end of Lap 1

I came through finisher's chute in just a hair over 5 hours. I got a high five from race director Mike Pfefferkorn, looked at the clock and realized that I was going way too fast. I jogged over to the main tent aid to re-stock. Steve (The Dude) Novicki was there and asked me how things were going. "Good," I told him, "but I'm running too fast." "Well, then, slow the fuck down," he replied. I wouldn't have made it through this without his advice and encouragement. I handed Sue my headlamp and asked her to charge it, she got me resupplied, and out I went for lap 2. Sue kept texting pictures to my Jogalope crew. I wouldn't have made it through this without all of those super fun Wednesday night runs.

Lap 2

Siblings

The sun was up and things were still going great. Jessica and I have very different running styles but often end up with similar times at these really long distances. As we left the Hilltop aid station at mile 27, we got our picture taken.Yeah, she's taller than I am. So what?! We continued off into the beautiful sunshine. I continued to recite my mantras as the weather was trying to goad me to turn on the jets and run as hard as I could. I held back as much as I could. As I left the Rally Camp aid station at mile 32, I headed back down Pfefferkorn Hill and remembered that this was the hardest and hilliest part of the course and that the 5.5 miles before the next aid station were the longest of the race.  I would need to keep that in the memory bank for later. I made it back to the start/finish in about ten and a half hours. This was, overall, 30 minutes faster than I wanted or planned to be. I told myself, again, that I needed to slow down or I was going to blow up late in the race.

Lap 3
I grabbed my headlamp and cold weather hat back from Sue and threw it in my pack. I refueled and headed back out. The sun hung low in the late afternoon sky. The air reeked of burnt leaves dying on the trees. The wind had just enough of a bite. I was ready for the night ahead. I cruised on over to the Rally Camp aid station for the 3rd time. It was just about dark so I put on my headlamp which I had been carrying for the previous 12 miles. I was 52 miles in... in just under 14 hours which was right about where I wanted to be. I asked Sue to dig out my backup headlamp and put it my backpack just in case. She gave me some Dr. Pepper and Taco Bell quesadillas (sidenote: get yourself a partner that will drive 20 miles to get Taco Bell for you in the middle of an ultra). I wouldn't have made it through this without the deliciousness of quesadillas. I told Sue that I wanted new socks, trail toes, dry clothes, and a shot of Fireball when I saw her next at mile 60 and that I had to be out of the aid station in 8 minutes. Back I went over to Pfefferkorn hill and over toward the School House. It got dark and cold. And boring. Putting on a headlamp a second time at any race sucks. Putting it on and knowing that won't get to take it off for 11 hours really sucks. And those 5.5 miles from Rally to the School House really super suck. The number of times I said "Where the fuck is this fucking aid station?!" Let's just say that not even The Boss can count that high . I finally made it there, refueled as quickly as I could and headed the last couple miles to the Start/Finish line.

Lap 4

The next to last lap of any race is always the worst: you're nowhere near done, you've been out there for hours, and it's going to get way worse before it gets better. The race was really about to begin. I sat down to address my feet. I sat down and took off my shoes and socks. I pulled out the Trail Toes and reapplied like crazy. I noticed a small blister on my right heel but it didn't hurt so I let it be. I pulled out my socks and.... they were both Injinji toe socks designed for left feet. Ok. This was a problem. There was no way I was going to put my previous disgusting pair of socks back on so I did what any Dumbass would do: I improvised . I turned one of the two left footed socks inside out and *BAM* a pair of socks appeared! The Dude was nowhere to be found with the Fireball. That was problem #2. And problem #3? I was beginning to chafe. I did what I could with that and I'll spare you the gross details. Out I went again. Justin (one of my friends from Michigan who ended up finishing 5th(!!!) overall caught me at the first aid station. He looked like he was cruising! I wouldn't have made it through this without his leading from the front. I started doing trail math and figured that if I could average 19:30 per mile from here on, I'd finish. One of the problems with being a back of the pack runner at a 100 miler is that there are very few opportunities to see other people this late in the race, all you tend to see is the ever-looming shadow of the Cutoff Monster. Aside from aid stations, there were miles upon miles where I wouldn't see anyone else. But this was what I had trained for. All those lonely AgCenter miles in the dark running that dumb stupid hill hundreds of times. All those 3AM alarms on the weekend telling me to get my ass out there when my girlfriend and dog looked so cozy in the bed. This is what I had trained for and I know that for the next several hours, I had to want this more than anything else in the world. The moon was bright and full, lighting the trail so well at certain points that I didn't need a headlamp. I got to the Rally Camp aid station at mile 72. My improvised toe sock situation was working like a charm (and in all honesty, I don't know if I would have been able to get my shoe back on due to my foot swelling if I would have taken it off again). I ate some more quesadillas. I drank some Mountain Dew. I wouldn't have made it through this without the golden syrupy deliciousness of that drink. I asked Sue (probably a little too sternly - sorry!) if my headlamp power indicator had one or two lights left. "One. No, two. No wait, one. One?" "WHICH IS IT? Two or one?" I took it off and handed it to her. Then, like an idiot, I stood there debating whether or not to bring my trekking poles: "I don't want them. Yes. No.  No, wait, YES!" I took them and out I went into the night again. I started to hallucinate: I saw a sailboat, some antique cars, and I swear to god there was a black bobcat. I eased through the next 8 miles back to the start/finish. Normally, I am about the happiest person you will ever meet on the trail. However, when you've reached 80 miles as a back of the packer and still have hours and hours to go, sometimes you look like this guy:

Lap 5
I came into the aid station. The Dude tried to give me some Fireball. I didn't want any (sorry for the mixed messages, Dude). I "sprinted" out of the aid station and out towards the first check point. This was the last time I would see this part of the trail this year. Mile 83, and I felt a surge of energy back in me! Of course, that surge completely went away at mile 87. I walked into Hilltop, more than an hour ahead of cutoff. And I just lost my mind. I stood there in a daze. I had trouble answering questions. I didn't want pizza (WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU DONE WITH PEANUT, YOU MONSTERS!!!). I didn't want pretzels (although the aid station made me load my pockets up with them). If I would have sat down, I would have been done. The aid station captain (whose name I didn't catch but I have to thank) said "Come on, let's get out of here... There's a trash can just up the hill." I knew what she was doing and I was powerless to stop her. Out the tent and up the hill I went. All of a sudden, I was hiking/running again. My spirits lifted. I hiked over to a mostly empty Rally aid station. The sky had grown bright with the morning sun. I drank about 20 ounces of pop (you're damn right, it's pop!) and told Sue that I need all the Gu gels I had left and I needed them now. I handed a volunteer my softflask and asked him to fill it up with water. I was in and out of there in two minutes with just over 3 hours to go! I knew with as little margin for error that I had that I needed a plan. That plan was to not stop for anything until I got to the finish: I had all the calories and liquid I needed to make it 3 more hours and I didn't need to spend precious minutes at the Schoolhouse aid station. Given my most recent pace, I was going to be cutting this thing close. I knew I had the worst stretch of trail in front of me. Those 5.5 miles got longer every loop. So I ran as hard as I could, not as fast as I could, as hard as I could. And at that point of the race, that was 17 1/2 minutes per mile. The Schoolhouse felt like it would never come. The sight of the Finish line from across the lake still some 5 miles away taunted me. Some day hikers in their comfy looking oversized jeans and sweatshirts asked me "Hey! How ya doin' this mornin'?!" I knew I had to be close. And then I saw it: the Schoolhouse. I have never been more excited in my life to see a place of education. I hiked up the hill and the volunteer asked "Hey, can I get you anything?" I didn't even stop. I just replied "Nope! I got somewhere I gotta be! Thank you... you have been awesome!!!" And on I went. I had 80 minutes on the clock to go 2.7 miles. I tried to run and just had nothing left. I had put all the effort into this race that I had. All those god awful early mornings. All those evenings when I could have been at home watching additional episodes of Chopped on the Food Network. All those band aids I had used to cover my nipples. They all came down to this one last section. I hiked as hard as I could. I had put so much effort into the previous 5.5 miles. My pace dropped precipitously. I got closer and closer to that finish line. Then... with a mile to go, I heard a (quite literally) familiar voice: my sister who had been out there in the dark running the race caught up with me. She and her pacer, the Respected Sir Jim Stevens, had finally caught up and passed me. Jessica shouted "I had a helper!" as she passed. And that was all the humor I needed. I looked at my watch, looked at my feet, and said to myself, "Ok... just don't fall." I rounded the bend and saw the finish line again on the other side of a lake. I heard voices cheering from half a mile away for someone who finished in front of me. I tried to run on the pavement through the parking lot and just couldn't. I trudged by the lake. I hiked up the hill by the playground. Then, I put both of the poles in one hand: I was going to try to run this in for the last 1/4 mile. Down the hill I came. I felt like I was sprinting. I saw the clock creep up: 29:38:36. 29:38:37. 29:38:38. 29:38:39. Just 21 minutes under the cutoff. I finished.

The 30 or so people who were at the finish line went wild and cheered me in. I knew I was one of the last finishers but I felt like I had won. I slammed my trekking poles into the ground, which caused everyone to laugh. Then I said "I am never fucking doing that again." which caused more laughter (Full disclosure: I am definitely fucking do that again.)

Mike Pfefferkorn handed me my belt buckle and gave me a hug. Folks, there aren't many better things than a hug from that dude.

I sat down on a bench and cheered in the two runners who finished after me. Then we got this picture:

I ended up laying down on that bench. Someone covered me with a blanket while I tried not to throw up.

I ate alot of fried food and drank alot of beer that Sunday evening. It was worth it. I'd do both of those things again. Hell, I'd run another hundred miler right now if it meant I get to eat that many fried cheese curds and drink that many beers!

I'm not a very fast ultrarunner. I like to have as much fun out there as I can. I am never going to win a race but I am never going to feel like a loser at one. I wouldn't have made it through this without so many people and I am sure that I am going to leave some of them out here. I apologize if I did.
Sue Black, Jessica Bohn, Andy Smith, Laura Hufschmidt, Justin Senkbeil, Daniel Larkin, Newton "The Ultramarathoner" Dominey, Matt Mueller, Alex the Dumbass, The Novicki's, Cindy the TwerkMachine, Tender Jason Peddycord, Mark IDon'tKnowYou Norfleet, Chad Hause,the entire Jogalope crew (we meet at Jackalope Brewery on Wednesday nights if you'd like to join us), my parents and my brother for their encouragement from miles away, and the Ten Junk Miles crew for their virtual companionship and making me look like a crazy person when I'm screaming at them and their podcast on the trail.

Go do shit that scares you.