Double-Ultra Tri Off Road Report

My brain still feels a little scrambled from sleep deprivation, but I'll give this a shot.  Months ago, Wayne presented the DUTOR Challenge. I was neck-deep in work, and barely gave it a thought. What usually happens to me, is that I get "bottled-up" for months at a time, and then need a blowout. After an insane Summer, by early September I knew exactly what I needed for the release.

I called Wayne. We've both done multiple events of this distance, but no one had ever done one off road. He said the elevation would be off the charts, and that we might be on the bike for over 40 hours alone. I had a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that it would take that long to cover 224 miles.... boy was I painfully wrong.

The 4.8 mile swim was really just an easy prologue to the event. I was stoked that I made it through with mental ease, seeing as the last time I swam a stroke was at the Deca in 2018. We drove home and prepared to ride bikes.

I brought my gravel bike, because I had ridden that thing over the gnarliest terrain in VT with some buddies a few months ago. Surely if I could ride it down the slopes of VT, the hills of PA would be manageable. No suspension, skinny tires, and a drop bar. Ouch.

We rode the first lap together, and  it became clear what we had gotten ourselves into. Roots, rocks, and long, grinding climbs, broken up by other shorter, undulating, rolling hills. After 96 miles, at 2am or so, Kevin (my crew man) and I decided to sleep for 2 hours as a means to freshen up the mental state and get ready for the final push. It had been over 17 hours of straight riding and I wasn't even halfway. I knew that Friday was going to be a long day.

I got back on the bike around 5am after a quick bite. My feet, hands, ass, and neck hurt from riding a rigid bike on a course that probably demanded a mountain bike. With 8 laps to go, at current pace, I would be STILL on the bike by sunrise if I did another sleep. Fuck that. I didn't want to begin another day feeling how I was feeling. I pedaled the 16 mile course for the next 24 hours straight, struggling through the night big time, helped by Kevin at the end of each lap, and by Russ who kept me conversationally-engaged during the hardest of laps on that second night. Forever grateful for those two. 224 miles, and almost 30,000 feet of gain complete. The new “sexy" thing in cycling is to do an Everest. In finishing this bike course, we would do the first off-road Everest i’ve ever heard of. 40-plus hours of ride time. It hurt like hell!!!

Here we were at 5am, 48 hours into the event, and I had slept just 2 hours. We decided to sleep a little while before beginning the run. I ended up with about 90 mins of sleep, and by 8 or so was back on course. It felt amazing to be out on a cool morning, without a bike seat shoved up my ass.

The day was kind of uneventful. I never stopped moving. I sauntered through base camp each time, afraid that stopping would halt momentum. There was also a very real time constraint of getting home at a reasonable hour the next day. By mile 34 or so, I was starting to lose my mojo- I was running less, and things hurt considerably. Russ showed up. We chatted and laughed, and talked about the dumbest stuff in the world, but it worked. By 48 I was excited about finishing but unable to go as fast as I wanted. He helped talk me through those miles, and we showed up for mile 52 at Wayne's house to an intimate, very small crowd of friends and family. It was the perfect finish. Wayne was in between laps, and I was so SO glad he was there for the end. We chatted and laughed about how ridiculous the course was, and he was off to head toward the completion of HIS race.

This was one of the best, hardest things I have ever done. Wayne and Jan are like family to me. Wayne, the ever-positive, creative thinking man that he is, was SICK in the head to come up with this, and that is why he and I are great friends haha! Jan, HUGE thanks for the hospitality as usual, and the amazing food that always comes at just the right time. Kevin, my crew just knows what needs to happen to get this stuff DONE in a timely manner. I would have NEVER finished without this man. I’m not sure Russ knows the impact that he had on my race. Those hard miles can be exponentially slower when left to your own devices. There is no question in my mind that he saved me from being 5 to 7 hours slower in total. A huge thanks to him! Finally… thanks to Nicole, my wife, for understanding my need to go off once in a while and blast myself into smithereens. And to all of you who are still reading and follow along on these crazy adventures… THANK YOU!!!!!

-KP

Going long at 15 Hours of Fitness

So, you want to “go long” at the first-ever KPF 15 Hours of Fitness! What is “long”? 

Long is in the eye of the beholder!

It could be 2 hours. 6 hours is LONG. 10 hours is LONG. 15?! That’s a different world!

I will try to keep this article to the point- people spend years acquiring this knowledge through experience(which you are about to get) and schooling. Feel free to contact me if you have any additional questions!

WEATHER

Let’s start with the easy stuff. The weather is looking… hot. 

There is plenty of water here to refill your bottles. I’ll talk about fueling in a couple segments. 

Thanks to COVID, every class will be dictated by the turnout of each hour.  If there are only a handful of people during certain segments, we will go inside when possible- but know that if there are more than 3 or 4 people in addition to myself, we will be OUTSIDE. 

PACING AND STRATEGY

Fif. Teen. HOURS. Yowza. To strategize, you must wrap your brain around what is coming, hour by hour. The schedule is 

5a Cycling or Cycle Circuit Fusion
6a Bodyweight Blast
7a Core and More
8a Aerobic Assault
9a Outdoor Boot Camp (rain or shine)
10a Saturday Circuit
11a Agility
12p Cycling or Cycle Circuit Fusion
1p Functional Fitness
2p Mid-Day Jog/Walk
3p Outdoor Yoga or Boot Camp if raining
4p Aerobic Assault
5p Saturday Circuit
6p Leg Crusher
7p WILD CARD CLASS
8p SOCIAL HOUR

Where is your strength in this schedule? Can you find a way to “remain calm” with the things that come easy to you, in terms of speed, or weight, or reps? Hold something back. You shouldn’t feel wasted until the end!

Where are your weaknesses? Plan for them mentally. Can you cut out the negative-self talk before it starts? Beware the downward spiral. Negative thought leads to negative performance, which leads to even worse negative thought….which leads to quitting. STAY IN IT. If you give me your “goal hours” before you start, I will do everything I can to get you there!

Change your expectations of what you think you can do every hour. If you’ve been at it for 13 hours, you may not get a full-depth lunge at 6p Leg Crusher :)

Just keep it positive.

FUELING

It goes without saying that a big dinner the night before, and a robust breakfast an hour and a half before the start should be good.  Be sure to hydrate in the days before, and include a good amount of protein in both meals. Before one Ironman World Championship, legend has it that Paula Newby-Fraser downed mass amounts of pizza and ice cream the night before she won. So, there’s that. 

During the day of- a mix of sugary and salty things should suffice- and that includes the drinks. Peanut butter sandwiches, chips, fresh fruits, swedish fish, twizzlers, etc. The thing we have going for us is that what we are doing will vary every hour, and you have 5 or 10 minute windows every hour to figure out what tastes good at the time!  In the world of endurance, what tastes good is usually exactly what your body is craving. You’ll be amazed how your appetite may wax and wane, and what didn’t taste good an hour ago... may all of a sudden be the best thing you’ve ever eaten. 

It is DEFINITELY a good idea to bring a full meal- something very calorie dense. You might eat it in segments, or just stuff it all down in one sitting if the timing is right! 

At super-low points, a little caffeine goes a long way. I’ve had success with plain-ol coffee, 5 Hour Energy, Red Bull, and even gels and other sport product with caffeine. Timing is everything, as there is always an equal (and sometimes greater) trough in the wave of caffeinated emotion! Know that the low after the high will be for real. 

EQUIPMENT

-Gloves. Durable ones that cover the whole hand. What about those thin work gloves?

-SUNSCREEN- one of the worst injuries I have ever had was an extreme sunburn in Florida during a Double Iron

-Extra clothing- include socks, shoes, underwear, shirts, tanks… you get it. In the “winding down” time of one class would be a good time to get changed.

-Mat- it might get a little gravelly :)

-Any other special items: inhalers, epi-pens, ankle/knee braces, etc

-Bandaids, anti-chafe product, etc

-Foam rollers, trigger balls, etc.

THE BODY (Superficial)

When I say superficial, I mean skin. While we will be varying the activities, there is no doubt chaffing, blisters, etc may occur. Pack accordingly.

THE BODY (Muscles and Joints)

Even though technique and proper movement is EVERYTHING, the true cumulative fatigue of what is to come will have you “feeling it”. Modify, modify, modify. Speak up for recommendations. Just listen to your body, and tune in as regularly as you can. I’ll talk about this a lot on the day.

THE MIND (Most important)

First off- remember who will be here…. Probably the most supportive, coolest, down-to-earth, humble people around. We are all here for the same reason- to have a fun day pushing our limits! Nervousness before something like this is normal- but you know that in this company, there is no reason whatsoever to be intimidated!

One. hour. at. a. time. Some hours will fly by. Others may drag. Stay relaxed in the low points.

Stay in the moment, and avoid “looking ahead” to other classes. Be in this one. 

Nutrition is what guides the mind. When you eat something that “works”, your mindset WILL change. My philosophy when I’m in a bad mood in an event is to EAT EVERYTHING until you feel good again! 

Don’t forget what this is- a test of mental tenacity. Whether you go 3 hours, or 15, if you hit a few walls and plowed through to your Goal Of Hours, you won! The body can literally do anything. Some hours may be a struggle, but if you ride the wave through the low points, you may finish on a high… just in time for the Social Hour! :)

-kp

A Stone’s Throw from the Asylum

24 mile swim. 1120 mile bike. 262 Mile Run…. Sleep is the enemy in this brutal event. This is how I became the youngest male in the world to finish the Deca Iron. 2012

It's mid-afternoon on a hot October day in Mexico. Hot for me, anyways. Apparently high 80s is temperate for the local folk here. I've been swimming for about 7 hours in an outdoor pool, and already the sun has scorched my back.

The nausea started 4 hours ago. Eating has been almost impossible. Nothing tastes good and everything makes me feel like unleashing the beast from within my stomach.

I come to the end of the pool, and stand up. Unsure of what to do next, I launch out of the water like Kevin Costner in Waterworld, and puke on the nearest tree.
The Deca has welcomed me early, in its own special way. Thanks?

Hopping back into the pool, I hope that's a one time deal, but no dice. I spend the afternoon swimming, trying to eat, and getting out periodically to stop the nausea.

The mileage melts away painfully slow. I'm burning off all the fat that I WORKED to put on in the last 6 weeks.. in the first damned day because I can't eat. Those reserves were supposed to help me out a week from now. Shit.

Late in the night, I'm somewhere around 15 miles into the 24 mile swim. I can't take the dry heaves anymore, and I'm spent from eating so little. I need to get out of the water. The temperature has dropped and my depleted body's core temp drops instantly. I look like a trembling wet chihuahua as my Dad throws towels and a sleeping bag over me. Sitting there in a lawn chair, watching my counterpart Simon of Great Britain swim with no issues whatsoever, I burp. And heave. And get more frustrated by the minute. My Dad knows I'm screwed up, so he just says nothing. The silence is accepted because my internal dialogue is doing all of the talking for both of us.

I want to quit.
But it's the first night of many. You're just getting started.
I can't keep going without food.
Your body will come out of it.
This sucks.
Don't forget you said you were racing to honor Adrianne's life. How would quitting at the first onset of adversity look?
True.
Hey Kale, get in the fucking pool.

I jump in and freeze my butt off for the rest of the night, just plowing through mileage, and eating if and when I can. The sheer distance does not play a role in my headspace until the final 4 miles, which feel like I'm swimming through quicksand. Each stroke more tiring than the previous; each pool length mind-bendingly longer with each lap. I try not to think about the current pain...but try to start wrapping my head around the pain about to come: 1120 miles of cycling.

Finally...about 8 hours longer than expected, I swim my last lap. Sweet, sweet survival. I cannot explain how elated I am to be on dry ground for the rest of the event. In the quintuple, I was happy to have completed a 12 mile swim...but it was just a 12 mile swim. 24 miles is serious business.
It's longer than the English Channel.

It is 11am Monday, 27 hours into the event, I decide to not sleep after the swim and get right on with the cycling portion. I figure there's no time like the present to get on with cycling a distance equivalent to going from Maine to Georgia.

The day goes by fast, and before I know it, 36 hours have passed on the race clock. My Dad and I determine it's time for a sleep....and then starts what I have begun to call Bike Blur Time. Let me explain.

When swimming, a person is engaged. The mix of having one's face in the water and the nonstop personal checks of technique keep a person alert. While running, especially at the ultra distances, there's very little "zoning out" because every step hurts.

On the bike, however, things are different- especially at these distances. You simply sit there and move your legs. It is possible to drift away mentally to a faraway place(good or bad), especially on a 1 kilometer course, where after only a few hours of riding, you know every bump, turn, and hazard by heart.

Of the bike, I remember certain key events, and only those events. The five and a half days I spent on the bike all blend into one major mix of extreme physical pain, fatigue I have never seen, and mental torture.

During the first couple of days riding, Simon and I sided against common sense, and slept as little as possible. Why did we do this? Simple. To literally beat the piss out of each other for every waking hour, for days on end. Too hot in the afternoon? So what. Too tired to keep going? Oh, Simon's still out on the course, so no sleep allowed tonight. At one point, we had amassed 300 Kilometers in 10 hours...suicide pace on that course, at those distances.
It was fun when I was on high points, and incredibly dreadful during valleys. People in the other races were telling us to stop. We couldn't. We both knew the damage we were inflicting upon each other, but neither of us would break.

One particular night after we had been ripping around the course for about 5 hours RACING, Simon rolled up to me, and we both just looked at each other and started laughing. We knew were being stupid. At that point, we called a truce. The truth was that the bike wasn't even close to the START of this thing. 262 miles of running is no joke. Anything could happen and probably would happen.

This wasn't the only time Simon and I would have a mutual moment on the bike. At one point we were riding together, and I had recently hit 1,000 miles. We were both thinking aloud about how amazing it would be to finish the bike. It seemed so impossible just a few days ago, and here we were, within a half-day of getting it done. I couldn't hold it in. I just lost it, and he did the same. 2 grown men crying like little kids. I'm sure when we rolled by our crews just minutes later, they were wondering what the hell was going on out there on the course.

I also recall the Friday night before I finished the bike.. I was making a late-night push to get extra mileage in. I had been making shitty time all day, and I did not want to see a Sunday morning sunrise while I was still on the bike, so I went to the well and dug down deep. Around 2am, my Dad stopped me, pissed off.
"Hey, were you just sleeping on the bike?" Apparently I had dozed while going down the small hill on the course.

"No, I was just listening to my MP3 player on the backstretch."
"That has nothing to do with what I'm talking about."
"Whatever, I'm fine."

I pedaled off, swearing like an irrational demon. 2 laps passed, and it hit me. I could not, for the life of me, remember what had happened between my Dad yelling at me, and the current moment. No recollection whatsoever of those last 2 laps.
I elected to go bed, only to wake up a couple hours later, and live the same nightmare that I had gone through the last 3 days.

On Saturday night, I couldn't take it anymore. I was turning myself inside out to average 10 miles per hour...and the bike finish was a stone's throw away. The fatigue was so much that even the prospect of finishing the bike couldn't move me faster or keep me awake. My dad and I went to bed around 10pm. I awoke at midnight, feeling much clearer. Dad was so tired that I chose to let him sleep...a decision I would later regret deeply.
Once I got on the bike, all I could think was FINISH FINISH FINISH FINISH. It consumed me like nothing ever had before. Ever. I pedaled my ass off for 4 hours. Alone. It was weird to me at the time, but I couldn't understand why. All I knew is that I was finishing. Soon. The final beep of the computerized lap counter came through my ears, and I stopped, just across the line.

The nightmare had come to an end. It was a strange feeling, and now that I look back on it, I know why. I had just biked 1120 miles, and the only person to see the end of this major achievement was the timer. Not Simon. Not Pete, Simon's crewman. And most importantly, the guy who helped me do it, my Dad. I did a lap of the run course and decided I was going to sleep again for a long while, because I was not right mentally. When I came into our room where the tent was set up, Dad was just getting up. He thought I was getting ready to go out on the bike and finish. Rightfully, he was very upset when he learned that I was already done. I was thinking about him when I let him sleep longer that night, but I failed to realize that he would've wanted to see the end of the bike. I felt and still feel terrible about that. I can't stress enough how skewed a sleep-deprived mind and overworked body can be. Logic of a mid-race deca athlete is not the logic of a normal person.


The Run.

4 hours later, I crawled out of the tent, energized. A 262 mile run is hardly the "home stretch" of a Deca, but it is a small pinpoint of light at the end of a very long tunnel. I figured it couldn't be much worse than the mental torture of having a bike seat shoved up your ass for 5 days.

The first 5 or 6 hours of the run were bliss, just riding the high of the bike finish, but the bliss was tempered by the 100 degree afternoon, and the start of my largest run issue: the shits.

The heat during the days on the run was at times unbearable. The original goal was to sleep during the hottest part of the day, but that went out the window when I learned that I simply COULD NOT stay awake from 4-6am. I had to sleep sometime, and unfortunately my body was too hardwired for those hours. This meant sucking it up and dealing with the heat. I dunked a shirt in cold water and wrapped it around my head, spending the afternoons staggering across the shadeless backstretch of new pavement. Some afternoons, the heat reflecting off the pavement had to be 120+.

The heat would come and go, but my bathroom issues were around the clock. I found myself carrying toilet paper around the course, stopping sometimes 2-3 times an hour to expel what I had eaten just an hour ago. It was madness.

While I dealt with heat and diarrhea, Simon was dealing with blisters. I knew those were coming, so I just plugged the miles away and tried to take care of beginning blisters the best I could: shoes and socks off, slit and drain, duct tape, shoes and socks back on, GO.

Around 150 miles, the pressure of the upper part of my shoe was too much: my feet were swelling. It was time to fish out the Big Boys from my luggage. Size 13 running shoes...I normally wear size 11. Instantly the relief amazing.

200 miles in, the real blisters started...not the ones in between or on your toes, or even on your achilles. Those are nothing. The REAL blisters that can ruin your entire life are the ones on the balls of your feet. Every footstep misery.

At one point, I had to get out of my shoes. My feet were wet with sweat and that wasn't helping the blisters at all. I had a pair of thong sandals that I had worn to the race. I ripped off the thong part and duct taped the sandals to my foot. Within 2 laps, the blister on my right foot had exploded. It is not normal how much fluid came from that. My whole foot and sandal was soaking wet, but finally the pain and pressure was gone. Shoes back on.

Somewhere around mile 220, I was wrecked. I had just watched Simon finish, and I really couldn't go anymore. Feet: unbelievably sore and in pain.
I didn't want to stop, but had to. I was too tired. Stopping was easy, but getting going again was another story. Every time I stopped, it took 2 miles of absolute hell to move normally again.

When I woke next, I decided that I wouldn't be stopping again until I finished. I couldn't bear the prospect of getting started again. I just couldn't do it. I went to work. I ate on the run. I drank on the run. I forced myself to only use the bathroom once an hour. I didn't care if it killed me.

70 kilometers later, on that Friday afternoon, I was running with my new friend Caleb, and was less than 5 miles from the finish. He was a local guy who worked outside the park we were racing in. A marathon runner of 25 years of age, he had come out on his lunch break and run with me for the last couple of days, and I was very lucky to have him. Every time he showed up, I was in the mental lows, and every time, we would chat about his culture, our similar music tastes, and life in general. It was a welcome reprieve from the race itself. My Dad told me to slow down.

I didn't understand why. I was almost done. He explained that all of the racers from the other events were headed to the course to watch my finish. I chilled out and walked a few laps. On the start of my last lap, I came through the arches and saw them all there, cheering. The last week and a half, all racers had an unspoken agreement to stop their current race and hang out at the finish line if someone was about to finish another race. It's a small part of the camaraderie we share.

Grabbing the American flag, I began the last lap, running up the steep hill that I had walked 419 times before. I got to the sauna of a backstretch and started crying. I had to stop and stand there in the heat because I couldn't catch my breath because I was so emotional. In just 5 more minutes, this insane journey would be over. The cold, pukey night of the swim seemed like a lifetime ago. The mind-bending bike ride didn't even seem real.

All that WAS real was each footstep during that last kilometer. I didn't feel the pain in my feet, the cramping in my stomach, or the fatigue that had me staggering just hours ago. As the finish line came closer, random memories of the whole race flashed before my eyes:
-the time Wayne Kurtz and his wife forced me off the bike to eat 2 massive chicken sandwiches.
-riding and chatting with all of the other participants in the other races and watching them cross their finish lines
-the stray cats tearing the bird apart, and the mystery mammal rodent armadillo beast that some of us saw.
-the strange, strange workout routines of some of the locals every morning.
-the terrible food, but incredibly nice kitchen staff

All of it was finished. I came through the arches one last time, and stopped, unsure of what to do. Beer was poured on me. I shook hands with the Race Director, hugged the other athletes and my Dad, without whom I would not have finished this race. He put himself through the ringer to get me through this. Bad food and no sleep, scary taxi rides, and a language barrier were just a few things he had to face, and no one could have done it better.

Special thanks to him, as well as my other family and friends for all of the support the last few years. That one night on the run when I checked my messages, I was blown away. It took a week to catch up, and because of you all, I had a mental boost whenever I needed it. All I needed to do was check my Facebook. Thank you, thank you.

Grindin’ at Peak 500

How I ran 500 miles in the mountains of Vermont.

Nicole backed the car away from the Pony Barn in Pittsfield on Wednesday, May 21, 2014. 

I walked up the ramp and into what would be my new digs for the next week and a half- a small room with one light, some tables, and cots.   On the wall closest to the door was the board that our entire lives would revolve around during our journey.

Staring at it while I sat on my bunk, the actual length of the race hit me.  
I knew from past experience in long races that the sheer amount of emotional and physical output that the board represented was unintelligible, and tried to imagine how I might feel at 20. 120. 350? 410? There were too many question marks.  

Here with no crew and $100 worth of junk food, I would only have to take this race in one form mentally: the present. 
Sitting here, 24 hours before the start, which was to be at 4pm on May 22, I made a promise to myself to live in the now. Right now. Not 2014. Not 2013. Certainly not 2012. The Deca Iron meant absolutely nothing here. This wasn't a race where you rest on your laurels and skate by.  I was nervous.

Jess walked in.  I was surprised to hear that she'd driven all the way from Iowa, and wondered how in the hell she might have trained for this mountain run, being from a land where flat is flatter than flat. She was a totally awesome individual and I had a great time chatting with her for a short while. She would inevitably surprise us all with her planning and raw ability, trucking through 200 miles FAST before succumbing to a bad bout of cellulitis in her ankle.

Nick, Steve, and Jeff walked in, and I immediately recognized my fellow 500er from images from the Peak website.  He seemed preoccupied and not very conversational, but then again, probably so did I.  It was the eve of what was to be an incredibly stressful 9 or 10 day stretch for us.

Sleep that night was good, and the aura around the barn on race day was very mellow. 
 I was drinking coffee and relaxing, chatting it up with Margaret about the Born To Run Fest, when Andy and Peter came in to post a nice note for us.

photo: Steve Antczak

Super.  We all laughed it off, and by the time noon hit, everyone was slipping into race mode:
laying shoes and socks out, getting food prepped, medical supplies in order, etc.  
Nick and his amazing crew were filling gel bottles, calculating ounces, and really analyzing what was to happen over the first stretch of running.  His food, clothing, and everything around his bunk was flawless and organized perfectly.

My shit was everywhere.  
From the start, it was quite obvious we were two very different people with two different strategies. He was cold and calculated. I had no damned clue what I was doing. He was here last year, so I secretly wondered if I was screwing up from the start.  

The afternoon seemed to revolve around lasts: last meals, last drinks, and last moments of normalcy before our version of normal changed drastically for the next 10 days.

Nick, Michelle, Jess, and I were waiting around at the barn in the minutes before before the race, when a young guy with curly brown hair came in, and introduced himself as Bill Bradley.
I laugh now at this because Will is a cool guy and probably chuckles about it as well, but the whole room just deflated.  This wasn't Epic Bill Bradley that we were expecting.  I hoped he didn't feel unwelcome by our response to him.   Will would end up blasting out 100+ miles before calling it quits from an injury. A great guy and a hilarious personality in the barn.

All of a sudden it was 3:50pm. Andy spat out a 5 minute meeting, and then we were outside, taking pictures before the start.

I had done a Peak Race or two before, so I knew what to expect when we started, and was not surprised when we were immediately hiking up vertical inclines.  Nick flew out to the front right off the bat, and I just kind of hung with him as we seemed to be able to hike together at a good clip without blowing up.  Will and Jess hung back, racing smart, and Michelle stayed within earshot of us as we power hiked inclines and ran flats. 

That first lap was a bit of a shock as the course was revealed to us, mile by mile. Singletrack, dirt road, single track steep, bushwhack, bushwhack.  All I can say to the 200, 100, 50, 30, and 15 mile racers is "You're Welcome!". We created that trail with our own two feet, over a week in rain and sun and day and night and good moods and bad moods.  

Nick and I hit the peak in about 45 minutes. I had a feeling we were going too fast, but with no GPS or mile markers, we really couldn't be sure. It felt comfortable in the present, and that was all I was going for. We ran most of the way down the mountain to Middle Ravine, where there was a fair amount of standing water in the trail.  
Down the insanely steep hill we ran, past the two small waterfalls, and before we knew it, we were standing atop the MeatGrinder. A rocky, somehow steeper downhill than the first. On this, the first lap, it hurt to go down, in that way that burns when you are holding yourself back to keep gravity from taking over.  
Nick used his poles and I secretly wondered if I should have some, too.  

After about 5 minutes of laboring down the MeatGrinder, we came to the river, walked the 100ft flat section, and transitioned directly to the SoulCrusher: en equally steep incline away from the river. 
From there, we ran the endless switchbacks that would eventually dump us out into the field, that was just a 3 or 4 minute run back to the barn.  When we arrived there, I checked my watch and wished I hadn't.  Somewhere around or under 2 hours for the first loop. Stupid-fast. Unsustainable, ignorant, rookie-mistake fast.  That would have been a great split for a 100 mile run. Not 500.

We ran together again on the second lap, and toned it down to a still-too-fast 2:30ish. It felt much better.  I hadn't expected to get 20 miles in before dark, so the catch 22 was that yes, we had gone too fast, but it was a nice mental boost to be at 30 miles before midnight on the first night! 

I needed to get in my own head and start figuring out what I was going to do for sleep, food, etc over the next 24 hours, so after that 2nd loop, as Nick, Jeff, and Steve were tending to feet, I fist-bumped Nick, transitioned quickly, and exited for a solo 3rd lap. 

First impression of the first night on the course was owls. Owls everywhere. They were so loud, and they did not give a damn if I was walking right under their tree. It was magical.
The lap flew by, and I figured that as 11:30pm drew near, I was way ahead of schedule for 50 miles in 24 hours, and decided that the smart thing to do was to sleep.  
I slept long because I believed that toward the end of this thing, it might get ugly.  If I had extra time to sleep, I might as well take it.

I awoke around 3:30am to the sound of Nick and crew shuffling around in the barn around me.
He left for his day, and then so did I.  I saw him in 5 min increments.  He would finish his laps, I would catch up while he prepped his feet and spent more time being a smart racer in between laps. 
I would leave with quick transitions and little foot prep and chill time between laps.  
This would ultimately be the downfall of my feet, but I was stupid, and sometimes, ignorance is bliss.
  
The shitstorm of rain had begun, and we approached 70 miles in the first 24 hours... then a smoking fast 90 miles in under 30 hours.  The shoes and socks were getting changed faster than they could dry.  This was a problem.

I went to bed knowing that when I woke up, I'd be putting on damp shoes and socks, and the weather was not clearing.  So when I got up 4 hours later and looked at my feet and felt how sore my legs were, I contemplated quitting right then and there.  Shit was only going to go downhill from here and the way I felt now, I couldn't imagine what another 400 miles would feel like. 

I forced myself onto the trail after a donut and coffee. It was still dark around 4am, but the sky was getting lighter.  I looked up the trail and a headlight was looking back at me a few hundred yards away. The person would hike a few steps then look back. Who the hell? I made my way slowly on stiff legs to him, and he introduced himself as Josh. He was supposed to hike with Andy, but had ended up ditching Andy after waiting in his driveway for maybe 2 minutes past 4.  This would be the subject of much banter when Andy finally caught up to us. 

They went back and forth with insult after insult.  It was hysterical and necessary.  My shitty mood changed quickly as Josh went on and on about how poorly the course was marked...something Andy happens to be very sensitive about.  As we made our way past Middle Ravine, I noticed a peculiar looking rock on the trail.  Shit, that wasn't a rock at all. 
Andy was nice enough to mule it back to the barn for me, and both were also nice enough to drop me off the back of their hiking date, leaving me to run by myself. Thanks guys!

The rain was beginning to taper, but the trail was still soaking wet with huge puddles, so as I approached 130 miles in 48 hours, the routine was still shoe/sock changes after every lap.  From soaking wet to damp shoes and socks.
A couple more laps, and it was bedtime.  As I settled into my tent in my pony stall for a short sleep with wet and blistered feet, I tried not to think about doing this every single day for the next 8 days. 

I woke up feeling good just a few hours later. It was Sunday.  Today felt different. The weather was clearing and I was in good spirits.  I knew that at some point my wife Nicole would be around, with her sister and brother-in-law.  I could feel the swelling beginning in my feet from the days of pounding, and she was on the way with some sweet new shoes from Wal Mart. Wide ones.

After 160 miles, Nicole and the gang were waiting for me, as they had planned on doing a lap. I threw on the size 12 Walmart specials. I also had a size 13, but hoped that I wouldn't need those for a while. They felt awesome. And as I walked through some puddles, realized that they weren't breathable enough to let much water in. Perfect!  Poor-man's GoreTex.  

I was in a pretty low spot during most of the lap with them, and wasn't much in the mood for talking.  I felt guilty, but no matter what, I could not pull myself out. As the end of the lap came close, I was surprised to see friends Myles and Deidre running towards us.  I was blown away.  So many friends, here in the middle of nowhere.  It was the boost I needed to come out of the gutter.  Pep in my step returned, and we ended up running most of the way back! 170 done.  I would grind out one more lap solo after reluctantly departing from Myles, Deidre, Nicole, Danielle, and Dave... and then, a new era in my race would change everything. The Mark Jones Era.

As I entered the barn after 180, Andy told me that tonight, Mark would be pacing me. We'd met when I was hanging at the Winter Death Race earlier this year. 
He was in the process of winning it at the time, so our conversation was brief. 
Our first lap was mostly small talk and pleasantries at first, and then more in depth as the night wore on. We were fast friends, and from then on, I had a crew chief.  I had pizzas and burgers and dry socks waiting for me every few laps.  He made sure I had a pacer for every night lap.  It was amazing.

I parked it for a brief sleep, but not before the nightly routine of foot care while stuffing my face, and woke up Monday morning bright and early.  It was nice knowing that Lily was coming from NY to run a lap with me today. It was great morale as I climbed past 200 miles.  We chatted ultras and discussed her Cayuga 50 that was coming up. It was great, and she ended up running 17 miles with me.  Huge morale boost.  When Lily left, I decided that tonight I was going to hit 250 if it killed me. 

A few laps solo, and 240 was in the books.  I was kind of cooked but wanted 250 tonight. Luckily Mark must have had some inkling that this was going to happen, so he had arranged for a Party Lap. It was a who's who of awesomeness: Josh from the other morning, Mark, Sefra, and Matt the trail worker.  Right off the bat, Josh had his phone out, playing every early 90s rap song from NWA's Straight Outta Compton to The Humpty Dance.  It was fantastic. I went to bed that night feeling good about life. Pittsfield was rallying for me, an unknown dude, and for the first time during the entire race, I didn't feel alone in the fight against mileage.

Tuesday, the tough day.  Thursday was the start, and Friday through Monday was a holiday weekend, so there were people all over the place for the first few days.  On this day, no one was around.  Jess and Will were in process of pulling the plug on their races, and there just seemed to be low energy around the barn. I was anxious for wednesday, when the 200 milers would be showing up in prep for their thursday start.  Fresh faces excited to race might help the aura around the barn, I figured.

After coming back from 260, the biggest breakfast sandwich I had ever seen was waiting for me, thanks to Mark, who was waiting to see how things were going.  I ate it graciously and took in what I came to call the Don Devaney Comedy hour.  It was not just the racers getting loopy at this point...5 days in. Everyone had started feeling the effects of low sleep and high endorphins. Don was stoked and ready to go at 7am, half-naked and loud, hooting and hollering, hazing anyone in sight or earshot.  We were in tears.  I am laughing out loud as I type this.  

My feet were killing me, and I had long since moved into my size 13s...I think officially around mile 220, the day before.  Stopping hurt, so I tried not to.  I knew that now, everyday was a HUGE chunk of remaining mileage gone.  It was mentally nice to know that staying on pace would mean a Saturday night finish...somewhere around midnight.  I didn't want to finish that late, so that was something I'd need to address later on.  I just didn't know how at this point.  Anything could happen over the next few days.

The trail was memorized.  I started naming certain things. The Dinosaur Egg- a round white rock. The Owl- a large 200 pound rock that seemed to be staring at you as the crested the top of the SoulCrusher.  

The lap that would bring me to 300 was going rough. I was staggering and extremely tired as the clock hit midnight.  Mark and I made our way up SoulCrusher and as we came up over the top, Mark said, "Dude, The Owl is gone." Had we walked past it? No. The Owl was definitely gone.  But how? Seriously? Was this some mystery Pittsfield gargoyle shit? This was some mental fodder for a good day and a half. Where does a 200 pound rock just disappear to?

I went to bed after 300 and some foot care, wondering about the Owl, and excited to see my buddy Nate tomorrow, who would be running the 200. I just wanted some fresh faces and the new energy that I knew the 200ers would bring.

My feet were fucked at this point. I debated just letting them go for the rest of the race as I hauled myself out of bed at 3am, but decided 200 miles is a little too far for that.  I did damage control on my two pinky toes, attended to the two blisters by my big toe, gauzed the abrasions on the top of my left foot, and taped all of my toes off that were rubbing against each other that were creating blisters in between.  This is where I missed having a real crew, who would do this job for me while I ate.  This multi-tasking probably seems easy, but it was incredibly mentally taxing for me at this point. 

I slogged 2 laps out, and was pleasantly surprised to see Nate Sanel waiting at the barn.  It was such a boost to see him.  A wear-tester for Skechers, he had hooked me up with 3 pairs for this race, and gave me a bunch of shit about my sweet Wal Mart Starters I was currently wearing.  

He hiked to the top of the mountain with me, and we shot the shit about my race, his race, and life in general.  It was great. I ran down solo, and hit the barn for some pizza at mile 330.  As odds would have it, my buddy Matt Harlow walked in! I had made it a point to not sit around the barn for extended time in between laps, so the chances of him finding me actually at the barn were incredibly slim! I was super amped to do a lap with him, even though that particular lap was a grind and I didn't feel good at all during it. He brought food and dry socks and a winter hat.  
He saved my day.  
As I look back, hands down, the only reason I finished this was because of the random acts of kindness from strangers and surprise visits from friends. It gives me goosebumps just thinking about it.

I believe Margaret and I ran together for the lap that would be 350.  We learned that we had a lot in common, discussing sustainable living, running, and crazy parasites stories.  The night laps were never, ever easy, as the darkness just seems to suffocate and envelope you.  It forces you to want to close your eyes.  If Mark and Margaret hadn't arranged night pacers, I would have never been able to do those laps on my own.  I climbed into bed not realizing that this night would be my last "real" sleep of 3 hours for the rest of the race, and things were about to get a little crazier. 

Thursday morning. Today was the start of the 200 and also the winding down of our event.  Sure, we still had 3 days of 50s left to go, but in my head I was on autopilot.  I was going to finish unless something stupid happened.  This made me emotional all too often. I'm sure the sleep deprivation was taking its toll as well, but there were times where I'd just be hiking and crying for no reason at all. It wasn't the pain. It wasn't the thought of finishing. It was just me, crying. For no reason. 

"The Wake Up Lap", as Andy called the first lap after the "big" sleep, always sucked, so it was nice to come back to the barn for Thursday's edition of the Don Devaney Comedy hour.  I told him about The Owl.  He said that he saw it, and "took care of it". 

Mafia style, Don had gone on some gangster shit and made The Owl disappear.  I guess a 200 pound rock on Spartan Mountain isn't exactly safe from getting shot-put off the side of the trail.  
Don was no longer funny, because now he was Don The Destroyer.
Mystery solved.  The Owl was not a gargoyle, and he would not be coming back to roost on the top of the SoulCrusher.

Jess had pulled the plug on her race a few days ago, because of a nasty bout of cellulitis in her ankle..but her pacer Gary had flown in regardless.  I was lucky to have him, as he did 20 or 30 miles with me on this day.  At one point midday, I had no choice but to lay down in the castle at the top of the mountain for a 15 minute nap.  I was sloppy and staggering and unable to keep my eyes open.  I was grateful he was with me, and happy he was there to regulate my sleep.  

My night loop that would bring me to 400 was done with Dennis, a professional obstacle racer. He was a cool dude.  Before the 500, I was quite ignorant.  I thought obstacle course racing was just kind of a fun-time fad thing. So wrong.  These people are serious athletes and a person can actually make money doing it.  That lap was tough, but the eye-opening and interesting conversation got me through.  My laps were slow that day, so it was about 1am by the time I had finished my feet and food routine.  

By this time, I got the feeling Nick and I were starting to jockey a little bit and make this a race.   There was a good chance this was all in my head at this point as I really started feeling like I was going off the deep end a little bit, but I used it as motivation to not sleep as long as I wanted to. 

I wanted to avoid us racing for the most part, as I think the worst situation for us- and a good way for both of us to DNF- was to be on the same lap, pushing each other.  My way of avoiding this situation was to make my move, and to do it tonight.  I was in bed at 1am, and up at 3am to start my next day.  I tried to imagine that those 2 hours were a full nights sleep.  Mark and I decided that from here on out, I would run 2 laps, then sleep an hour. In theory this would give me 4 hours of sleep a day...or close...and keep me fresh mentally.  

It was now friday, and this ushered in the Stas era of the race.  Stas was in town to crew for Michelle Roy, who had determined over the course of the week that she would go for 400.  Some events over the beginning of the week had halted the chances of a 500 finish.  Julie, another Michelle pacer, kind of had Michelle's needs all wrapped up, so Stas was more or less just hanging out. An avid runner, he hoped to get 50 miles in over the course of a couple days.  I was solo, so he decided to run a bit with me after I banged out a lap by myself.  I was really woozy. About a mile past the summit, I told him I couldn't go any further and that I needed to lay down.  And lay down I did. Right in the middle of the trail, in a nice sunny spot.  As I was passed out, Nate ran by, and then around me, after making sure with Stas that I was ok.  Best 15 minutes ever.  I felt like a new man after, and continued hammering for the rest of the day.

As I finished the night with Margaret on the loop that would bring me to 450, we were trudging through the mud in Middle Ravine around 11:30.  When we saw two headlights coming at us at a speed I had not seen in over a week.  No one had been moving that fast around here at this race! Who could these speed demons be, flying in the opposite direction of the race course?  None other than Myles and Jonah! I almost died. At an hour where my mood was in the absolute shitter, these two come out of nowhere at the most ungodly hour to pull me out of the gutter.  It was fantastic.

Morale was high, and the jokes dirty, and we made it back to the barn, where I felt guilty when I told them that I had to go to bed for an hour. After they'd only run with me for 30 mins, here I was, telling them that I had a sleep planned.  The goal was to stick with the "Run 2 laps, sleep 1 Hour" plan.  They were cool with it, and I was lucky they were there, because I turned my alarm off in my sleep.  They let me chill for 10 mins longer than I planned before they came in to wake me up.
I ate something and did the foot-prep thing. Myles and Jonah helped where they could.  
Here I was at 450, getting ready for the last day, and I decided that my feet could just fuck off.  

I figured they could handle one last day of pounding and misery.  To be honest, I was sick of dealing with them, and I didn't want to look anymore...because I would be worried and thinking about it every step.  I didn't want to plant any seeds of doubt on this final day.  Nick had to DNF last year at 460, and I didn't think I could handle getting so close and not finishing.

We were out the door around 1:30am and I was HURTING.  What I didn't know was that I had just had my last sleep for the rest of the race.   Had I known, my morale would have been worse. 
Jonah, Myles and I actually made ok time to the top, and as we approached the summit, we were surrounded by the loudest symphony of owls, from all sides of the trail.  We actually just stopped and marveled for a few minutes, blown away by how many and how loud they were.  5 minutes later, we were at the top looking at a nice doe who was grazing.  Even 453 miles in, at 2:30 in the morning, one could really appreciate the beauty of this place. 

The idea of having the 500 come down to a race was still in our heads as we made our way down the mountain.  Typically, Nick had been getting out at 4am.  If this was so, by the time we finished this lap, Nick would be 2 laps down to me, so when we finished the lap and saw that he had left at 2am, I had a small panicky moment.  The last day or so, he had been doing faster laps than me, which meant he was only 1 lap down, with a whole day to make it up...and in my schedule there was 2 sleep breaks.  He would almost certainly catch me.   Nick is a competitor.  You can see it in the way he prepares, and I can see it in his eyes, because I have the same blood.  

I wasn't as worried about who would win this thing as I was about him catching up to me, and then us going neck and neck, absolutely detonating and destroying ourselves and DNFing at mile 480.  Our first-lap soiree proved that perhaps we weren't good to run together.  If he caught up to me, I could see that writing on the wall.  I did not want that to happen. The only way to avoid that situation was for me to stay ahead by not taking my sleep breaks that were scheduled every 20 miles.  It was going to be a grunt, but I hoped that the pull of the finish line would keep me going. 

I hugged and thanked Jonah and Myles, who left after The WakeUp Lap, and Stas was back with me for what would be 460. I told him that I would not be sleeping for the rest of the event, and he thought that was a shitty idea. I didn't care.  The other positive side to not sleeping meant a much earlier finishing time than 11 or 12 at night.  I wanted to hang out with people and have a nice relaxing normal evening. 

We plugged a few laps out, and then it was noon.  I killed some food and headed out on what would be 490. By this time, the other races had started and were in full effect. The 15 milers were doing their thing as I hiked up the mountain.  Matt, the trail guru ran past in full hiking boots like he was gliding on air, and just a few minutes later, I was more than happy to hear a familiar voice say "IS THAT A KALE POLAND?"  I turned around to see Sefra smiling and running toward me.  I told her I didn't want to slow her down.  She said she was doing the 15 miler so she could run with me.  Awesome.

We hiked to the top together, and I was moving SLOW. She ditched me after a photo op, because my lovely wife was waiting at the top to run down the mountain with me!  

The night before, I had 2 hours of sleep.  I got one hour before running with Myles and Jonah this morning.  I was starting to get weird as I made my way down with Nicole.  I didn't say anything because I knew it wasn't real and she would've worried or forced me to sleep or something... but I was starting to see letters on rocks.  I knew no one was taking the time to write on every rock.  

There weren't words, just random letters on almost every rock on the trail.  I was hurting, and Nicole was maybe 100 feet up the trail.  I watched her walk by two people who were standing there enjoying the waterfall, however when I got to the falls, no one was there. A half mile later, someone else, crouching in the woods, standing totally still.  I realized that there was no life to this "person", and that it was just a mannequin.  And then common sense hit me that there were no damned mannequins in these woods.  I was hallucinating.

We finished the lap and Nicole wanted to know if she should come for the last lap of 500.  In my head this was going to be a fast lap.  Somehow I figured I would run like a demon and no one would be able to keep up.  Obviously, this was far from the truth here at almost 500, but I told her that no, I wanted to go solo.

Everything was cool and relatively mentally clear as I made the final climb up the mountain, somehow passing some 50 milers, to their dismay. I did the usual power walk down the mountain, running where I could, knowing that each section I did was the last time I would ever have to.  As I climbed the SoulCrusher, coming up from the river, the letters started showing up on rocks again. And then to my dismay, mannequins. If I looked off the trail, mannequins every time.  I started to get a little freaked out and stared down at the trail on purpose because if I looked up, there was a new weird, lifeless human shape staring at me in broad daylight.  Running switchback with my eyes glued downward, I was all of a sudden out at the field, just minutes away from a 500 mile finish.  Nicole and my Mom and Aunt Ellen were waiting there, cameras at the ready.  For a brief moment I didn't even think they were real because I was expecting the worst with my hallucinations. 

I didn't want to be rude as I ran with them, but I started running fast.  I couldn't wait to sit down and get my shoes off.  People were cheering, and I stopped 50 feet past the barn for a minute at what I thought was the finish line, and then was instructed to keep running to the actual finish line, where a smattering of people's crews and runners from other events had congregated. Andy was there with a big grin.  I'd been crying on and off all day just thinking about the finish, and when I crossed the line and hugged him, I really couldn't hold it back.   Never did I think of finishing a full day early, and certainly not at the same time as the other events.  

It was too good to be true, and without the support of total strangers that became friends, and friends that came from out of nowhere, I would not have survived this.  Thank you, thank you!

10 Irons. 10 Days Groundhog Day at Decaman USA

written March 2019 about the November 2018 Deca

At this point, I've spent months trying to wrap my head around what happened in New Orleans last November. Finally, I am able to sit down and chronicle the events of DecaMan USA through my eyes.  I knew that when the time was right, I would be far enough removed to reflect a bit and draw conclusions on the event as a whole, instead of simply vomit race details one after another into a blog. At 2:30am on March 5, here we are.
It's the right time.

What happens when you send an open invitation to some of the most prolific ultra endurance athletes in the world to come to America for what many consider to be the pinnacle of hamster-wheel style sports?  What happens when an event that covers 1,406 miles in less than a week and a half receives no real media attention, but in each athlete's inner circle draws lots of social media attention?  

How far can a human go on motivation from Likes, Followers, and Comments? How much suffering could one take in order to create and uphold a false image? Before DecaMan USA, my answer was "not far, and not much".  I find it wildly ironic that last June at a Deca Camp in Pennsylvania, I discussed this very topic with a group of Americans getting ready for their big fall races at this event.  I remember saying specifically, "You're going to need more than just the power of attaboys from social media to finish the Deca. External motivation only goes so far. The race needs to stir something in your soul." 

I figured no one could finish the Deca fueled on vanity.
I was kind of right, but I was also kind of wrong.

There is a small part of me that didn't want to acknowledge Alyx Ulbrich's cheating, but in this loop-format sport, the courses are very short. Interactions happen every single hour around the clock for days, and days, and days. I HAD to acknowledge it. Her antics before, during, and after had an effect on every racer, volunteer, and crew person. At first, she was the top story coming out of Louisiana, which was sad because it overshadowed some of the truly superhuman performances that took place. This race was so much more than a struggling fitness model propping herself up for a world of fake followers. The rest of the story needed to be told.

Rather than report every minute detail of my race, I thought it might be fun to tell you about the event as a whole from an athlete's perspective: what I saw while i was on the bike, witnessing during the run, and  all of the high drama that comes when humans become sleep deprived and rationale goes out the window. 
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Race Director Wayne Kurtz met me at the baggage claim. It was late- something like 11 o'clock. While he greeted me with his trademark massive smile, his eyes showed hints of fatigue, or stress, or a mixture of both.  He and Don had been transporting athletes and crews from the airport to the venue all day long. They were rightfully smoked, but the 40 minute drive in Steve Kirby's massive new Ford F-1zillion truck over Lake Pontchartrain was a laugh-fest. I've known and raced with Wayne, a legend of the sport, for 10 years now. Don "The Destroyer" Devaney was instrumental in my Peak 500 Mile Run finish back in 2014.  It was great to catch up, and hear all of the "race gossip" that was already starting. The logistical challenges of putting on the sport's most participated-in Deca of all time, mixed with the personalities of those showing up to crew and race, was already creating a vibe to be remembered for all time. We arrived at the cabin and crashed hard.

I spent the next few days preparing to race the Continuous Deca, an event I had done over 6 years prior as a 29 year old. There were shopping runs for high calorie junk food, a few rides and runs on the course, and laying around thinking about how things might go once this whole thing kicked off.  The race is too long to stress about, but you do tend to dwell on the logistics a bit. A good crew will handle that, leaving the athlete to just GO, but Greg wouldn't arrive until Day 1, and Kevin wouldn't arrive until Day 8. It was great mental fodder for me. I was happy and relaxed. It was great to see the athletes I knew like Chuck, Dave Clamp, Greger Sundin, and Georgeta, and meet the ones I didn't. There was Shanda, the wild Canadian. Alyx, whose reputation as a fitness model and strong cyclist preceded her. Mike from Guernsey, a good-time guy who I knew from social media but hadn't raced with, and so manymore. 

We rolled down to the beach to see Mark and Brian in Lake Pontchartrain battling ocean-esque swells in the water. They were extending their race unofficially- Mark doing 10 one-per-day Irons before beginning the continuous Deca for a total of 20, and Brian doing 5 before beginning the 1 per day Deca, for a total of 15. This is the type of person the event attracts: people who do things not for the recognition or certificate or prize money. They do it to find the limits inside themselves. I knew Mark, a Navy SEAL, was a good dude when he came out of the water and mooned us. Everything he wore was stars and stripes. Brian, a tall, powerful athlete was also a fun guy to be around.  I looked forward to being around these new personalities for the next few weeks. 

The morning that the Continuous Deca was to start, everyone quietly boarded the charter bus to the pool.  Bravado was nowhere to be found. Everyone "went in" to themselves, and the bus was silent for the entire 40 minute ride in the dark. There is so much pain, that you have to find a way to accept it. We all seemed to be in the process of that acceptance.

At the pool, we donned wetsuits and prepared for our lives to change dramatically for the next week and a half. People laughed and made jokes, and set up their food at the end of their respective lanes. Alyx recorded video for her followers. Shanda made inappropriate but hilarious comments and gestures. I liked how she gave no fucks, just owning who she was- everything in good fun. Christine Couldrey of New Zealand laid down by the pool and perhaps slept. I climbed into the bleachers and took it all in. One last minute of silence before sticking my face in the water for the better part of the next day.  

I knew I was toast within 4 hours of the start. 
That old familiar nausea from my first Classic Deca 6 years prior had already started rearing its ugly head. More calories were going out than in, however it seemed to be much worse, and more violent.  Other people were having problems, too.  We theorized that the pool people, who planned to open an hour after the 23 hour swim cutoff, had been "keeping up" with the chemicals, and those were wreaking havoc on our stomachs.  As a result of caloric loss, I was weak. My technique became worse by the lap. I had to believe I could keep going, come out of it, and swim to some sort of resurrection. It couldn't be over this soon.  Greg hadn't even flown in yet!

By 10 or 11 pm, I was crunching numbers and completely miserable.
"No way I could finish in 23 hours", I told Greg, who had only been there a few hours.
I wasn't going to get faster after midnight, that's for sure. I started panicking a bit, asking other people to crunch the numbers.  I had Don meet me behind the bleachers.

Perhaps I was just looking for validation to quit.
I told him the numbers, which in my heart knew were correct.  Always the motivator, he looked me square in the eye and said, "You know what I think? I think you're looking at that fucking watch too much. Give me that thing, and get back in the god damned pool".

I swam about another half an hour, and Italian Vincenzo Catalano, who I shared a lane with, was also having a rough day. He said, "I think I will quit. The times are not possible for me. I will see if Wayne will let me do the 1x10."
My heart jumped.
I hadn't thought of that option. I had swum the last couple of hours thinking about how to tell the world I couldn't hack it. How would I get an early plane ticket home without losing my shirt around Thanksgiving time? Now, I could have the opportunity to put the most recent Deca-Debate to the test: "Which is harder, 1x10 or Classic?".  The stats said 1x10.
While I waited to see if Wayne would let us switch, I swam. I'm not sure why. 

Around midnight and 16 miles of swimming, Don said,"Get out of the pool. You start the 1x10 on Thursday." I was free from swim purgatory, and not disappointed. I wanted to get my stomach right.  Greg and I spent the next day sleeping and chilling. My shoulders were cranky, but I wasn't super concerned about having to swim an hour and a half a day for the next 10 days. I figured I could deal with an hour and a half a day of anything, but as a New Englander, I had irrational fears about open water swimming in Louisiana. What about snakes and gators and brain-eating amoebas?  Little did I know, those would be the least of our swim worries by Day 3.

THE START- Day 1
​The national anthem was sung by a local group of school kids, and we waded into the water.  My shoulders hurt like hell as we began. The swims were going to be a grind, thanks to the 16 mile "warmup" from a few days ago. There were some pretty shallow sections on the out and back Lake Pontchartrain course, so I used those as much as possible to dolphin-dive and give the joints a rest.  Either way, the swim felt good muscularly. 

I felt that I was too casual in my first Deca- lots of stops that added up to probably a day and a half of time. This was one reason I had come back to the distance. I wanted to do it, and apply the lessons I learned 6 years prior, on top of all of the other race experience. I wanted to treat it like a race- not just a journey. That being said, when I came out of the water (I believe in last place), I quickly changed into my bike stuff to "catch up" to everyone. 

Wheeling onto the 8ish mile bike course was interesting: a 4 mile out/back on The Tamany Trace, which is a very long, straight, and FLAT bike path with snakes, wild boars, deer, and turtles.  You could see pretty much all the way to the other end of the course. It was just wide enough for 2 bikes. We were all curious about how this might play out when fatigue began setting in for the Classic Deca folks in the dark, and also how it might be mixing those wobbly Classic folks in with the faster-moving 1/day riders. We all pretty much assumed there would be accidents, as there were always some in these races- usually nothing serious.

That first day, I became caught up in the race, and rode harder than I should have. Kevin Willis of Canada was FLYING, and everyone else was hammering along. I was merely trying to keep up with traffic- I hadn't spend any real time on the bike after I broke my neck in April, except for one big one-day ride to Lake Placid, NY from my house in NH.  

Classic Deca athletes were still looking pretty good, despite having been on the bike for the better part of two days. Prior to our 1/day start, the Classic folks had been complaining about flat tires. Apparently the trees were shedding thorns and very sharp bark.  This became a massive problem  for some- permanently changing the outcome of their races. At one point on day one I looked up the Trace, and there were people off to the side changing flats every couple hundred yards. I wasn't surprised when I felt my first rear tube go. I removed all debris, and made it to about a mile and a half from "home base"... when both my front AND rear went. Out of spare tubes, I decided I wasn't going to be one of the athletes who were forced to walk miles back.  I rode slowly and carefully, trying to keep both tires on the rim. Luckily, those would be my last flats of the race.

I've done Ironman races and other events where riders basically pass others on the side of the road without a second glance or a "hey, are you ok?". We all look out for each other in this sport. At first, we would stop and see if the rider with the flats had tubes or methods of inflation, or whatever... but after a while you really just couldn't. It would have been possible to spend hours a day just helping people change flats! 

Biking on a course that flat and boring for 112 miles takes a lot of mental patience, so I was glad when it was over. Greg rigged up a "changing room" in my stall with a tarp, so I quickly changed into my run gear, and trotted onto the course, which was a pretty flat trail- about a half mile out and then back for 1 mile total. Usually, these courses are all pavement, so it was nice to run on something soft. 

Kevin continued to lead. He was running HARD, breathing and sweating... racing in a manner I would describe as frantic- the same pace you might do for a single Iron. The fun thing about this hamster-wheel style racing is that you are constantly going back and forth with the other competitors, and on a half mile course, you see each other every few minutes. It gives you the opportunity to see their condition as the race unfolds. I figured he'd be at a sub 11 hour Iron on day 1, but I think he ended up around the mid-11s. How many days that was sustainable for? I guess we'd learn.

I had no real expectations for myself on the run, except that since my first Deca in 2012, I had done a lot of "real" shit...including a 500 mile run, a 185 mile run, a Double Iron, a bunch of other ultras, and many, many long days in the White Mountains of NH.  I figured I would just plug away and see how I felt. I didn't want to walk as much as I did in my first Deca, which I staggered 90% of. 

The day 1 run was easy, and I ran through the field. Greg fed me every few laps, and I finished the day around 9pm very excited that I still had 10 hours until the day 2 start. There was time to eat, shower, relax... and still get 8 hours of sleep. I couldn't imagine how the 1x10 would be harder than the Classic on this premise alone! It took me something like 3 days to get that amount of sleep cumulatively in the Classic!

Group Camp 3, as our venue was known, had 2 bunk houses and a main lodge with a kitchen. There were a couple of bunks behind the kitchen. Classic Deca folks were in one bunk house, 1x10 in the other. The separation was for the simple fact that Classic athletes come in and out at all hours, as they are doing whatever they can until they NEED to sleep. 1/day athletes are generally all going to bed at similar times, as we have a set distance per day. I had planned to sleep in a tent as a classic deca guy because I didn't plan on sleeping much at all. Whereas my plans had changed, and the kitchen bunks were open, I opted for indoor arrangements instead. These were noisy because of round-the-clock kitchen traffic, but it wasn't too bad. I figured it might get worse when the Quintuple people started- just more humans around... but I could deal with that later. 

Weather was coming in. Non-Louisiana weather. Mid-forties and rain.
Day Two is always brutal, as the body responds to the trauma of day 1. Now it would be worse.
We all came through the swim unscathed, but the rain and cold was real once we starting riding. Athletes bundled up and used the power of CALORIES and hard riding to stay warm.  The rain was also exacerbating the flat tire problems. Classic Deca people, who had now been dealing with this for 3 days were absolutely losing their mind. Some even quit. Some people were getting 20 flats a day, despite replacing their tires with harder tires, thicker tubes, and sealant. 

The organization that maintains the Tamany Trace began using jet dryers mounted on the back of compact cars to blow off the course, and that seemed to help a little, but we moved faster than them. They had yellow strobes on the roofs, and when they saw us coming in the rear view, they simply pulled over. 

People were moving a little slower today, thanks to the weather and the usual Day 2 blues. Sometime mid-morning I had made the turn around and was a couple miles from Group Camp, when athletes coming toward me began yelling to me with concerned looks on their faces. 
"Don't look when you get up there!"

What were they talking about?! I heard fragments of sentences from everyone during the split second we passed each other.
Then: "There is an accident".
Now I saw the yellow strobe of the car a mile away, with red and blue strobes as well.  The Trace was opened to the public, even during our race. I kept yelling to the athletes "Who?" "One of ours?" 
No answer.

As I rolled up to the accident, I HAD to look. I didn't know what I would do when I saw it, but I needed to know who it was. I saw a white bike in pieces off to the side and immediately thought it was my Swedish buddy and Classic Deca guy Gregor, who gets very groggy because he rides himself into a pulp.

When I came around the car, there was a man laying half against the back of the car, half in the basket normally used for the jet dryers. Blood was splattered all over the back of the car, with a pool of blood under the basket. His hand right hand was twitching. It was Kevin, but I didn't recognize him. He had ridden at a high rate of speed directly into the back of the car and shattered his face. 

I didn't learn that it was him until I made it back to Group Camp. Chris Solarz, who I believe had witnessed it, was visibly upset as he hugged his Grandma inside his stall. The race continued, but the vibe was kind of down all day as we pieced together snippets of facts from a variety of sources about the accident, and extent of Kevin's injuries.

The rain had been so persistent that our running trail was now a quagmire. The run would be moved to the road. People were freezing, but 40 degrees felt absolutely amazing to a guy like me from NH. Perfect running weather. I began what would become my nightly process of finishing the bike toward the back of the field and running up into 3rd place. 

On the course, most people were walking quite a bit, but 3 of us did not walk at all. Henning (IUTA World Cup Winner) of Norway ran hard, and Jozef (Won the world's only TRIPLE Deca)of Hungary was never far behind. As I finished this second marathon in as many days having not walked, I made it a personal goal to not walk a step of this Deca. 

The temperatures PLUMMETED into the 30s as we slept. Ice formed on the porch. It snowed in Shreveport, not far away, for the fifth time in history. Lake Pontchartrain is massive- 24 miles south to north, and 40 miles long east to west....but it is not deeper than 15 feet at any point. The water temperature dropped from 60s to mid fifties. As our already-depleted bodies shivered on the beach at the start of Day 3, the air temperature was 45. I simply cannot put into words how palpable the dread was as we walked into the water. It took your breath away, even with a wetsuit. Cold, tight muscles. We all tried "sprinting" to stay warm.  I wished that I could pee more in my wetsuit.  Claire from the UK was visibly on the ropes.

As we exited the water, appendages did not work. Uncontrollably chattering teeth and shaking hands. We were all at the very least mildly hypothermic. Shivering uncontrollably, I tried hurrying to get bike stuff on, just so I could start generating heat. Eventually socks were pulled over wet feet, ALL the layers I had were pulled on, and I made my way to the bike course.

This was when I started getting grumpy, a trend that would last for... awhile.  By this time, I realized that I was not going to be fast on the bike at any point for the rest of the race. Normally my strength, the lack of training was really showing. I relegated myself to just chugging along at 15 mph and forcing myself to not stop. It wasn't great for my morale, but I owned my lack of cycling fitness. I would die a thousand deaths a day sitting on that bike seat pushing low-wattage power, and be resurrected nightly when the feet hit the pavement. 

By this time, all of the athletes had gotten to know each other a little bit. Riding side by side was permitted in small doses, so people would roll up and start conversations. I really just didn't want to talk.  In some sick way, I kind of enjoyed just sitting in my own personal darkness for 7 hours. It made the light of the run that much more enjoyable. Most of the folks figured it out after a few one-word answers, but one didn't.  I began getting very agitated with Alyx. Perhaps we started off on the wrong foot, but she had a way about her that made her very hard to like. In the pool when I was puking, she'd pull up in the lane next to me, sing-songing "Don't be a fucking pussy". It's not that it hurt my feelings, but it was annoying as hell. Imagine throwing up in a bucket after 12 hours and someone's talking shit.   

On the bike, she'd pull up and just talk about how great she was, or complain about the race, or the directors. What started really getting to me was how she bragged about all the sleep she was getting. As a Classic Deca athlete, you NEVER sleep. You perpetually move until you're done. When she was on course, she was always flying.... but she never seemed to be on course. Every day she would pull up and say "I feel great! Got 8 hours of sleep last night!".

It was weird to me. As a 1x10 athlete, I was on course all day long. How could it be that she wasn't constantly on course all day, but then also sleeping all night? How was she still on pace to finish? These questions rattled around in my head as she yammered on. She never rode alone, always talking while the others listened. That situation would become a lot more interesting later on.

Greg, my crew, had gone home at this point, so I was kind of fending for myself in the food department here and there. Lots of people were helping when they could. During marathon number 3, this was starting to feel like routine. I started believing I wasn't going to feel worse. The question of whether I would walk during the Deca was: how will the feet hold up?  

During the run, rumors began circulating that tomorrow was going to be a weird day. The lake temperatures were still too cold. We were going to have to find a pool to do our swim. The pool we swam in for the Classic was OUT. This put massive pressure on Wayne, who had to sell the idea: "Hey, can we bring 15 people over and take up your whole pool, and pee in it too?" What's worse, the Quintuple would be starting in the next couple of days, adding more athletes and time slots needed. How was he going to make this all happen?

Race staff tensions began to heighten. Some wanted to turn our race into a duathlon. Wayne, an athlete first, would have none of it. These people flew from around the world to do a Deca TRIATHLON. He was going to make this work, but not without some miracles. 

Athlete tensions were also rising- particularly in the Classic, as these guys were deep into the race and very sleep deprived.  As I ate dinner in the main lodge after the race, Mike and a few other Classic racers burst in the door.
"Wayne, there's about to be a fight in the bunkhouse." 

Ferenc of Hungary (who has only lost 1 Deca and competed in many) had brought his girlfriend as crew. His only business at the Deca is WINNING. He is the hardest person I know. An average swimmer and pretty good cyclist, he is an assassin on the run... but the sports are just a part of the race! Mike and the others said that he and his girlfriend would come into the bunkhouses, turn lights on, talk loudly, and basically be as disturbing as possible, as a tactic to not let others get sleep. Wayne had to be the police for the rest of the race, as the tactics would only get wilder.

It was a loud night for me in the kitchen bunks as well. I barely slept.  A couple of the classic deca athletes that had quit were playing slap and tickle in the bunk next to me.  Normally I'd probably let that go and laugh about it later, but the consequences of sleeplessness were high this early in the race. Before day 4 began, I moved my stuff onto a bed in the 1x10 bunkhouse. Some of the athletes had quit, therefore opening up space for me. 

We began day 4 on the bike, not in the water. We would have to get a ride an hour each way later in the day to a pool that I think Wayne was still searching for, even as we started. I was pissy. I couldn't stay awake, so I was riding really slow. Word began to spread that we were to stop riding before 2pm so that we could head to the pool. I started doing the math as noon approached. I wasn't going to get time to finish the bike before we had to head to the pool.  With the drive each way, I was going to have to finish the ride in the dark. With fatigue factored in on top of the usual slower pace of night riding, I knew I was in for a long night. The routine was altered. This was the worst day. 

The pool was at a fitness club. It was very hot, and something like only 20 yards long.  The lap count was stupid-high.  That day, I was not last in the swim. Michael Ortiz was having big problems with fatigue, as he had barely finished day 3 before day 4 started. Cumulative fatigue was becoming an issue for some. Wayne had told me "You don't have time to have a bad day in the 1x10". Michael had had one day 3. I had a feeling I was heading for mine on this day. My weigh in had not gone well. I was down 10 pounds from the start of day 1, probably because Greg was gone and I wasn't doing a good job keeping track of my nutrition. That, mixed with the sleeplessness was a real issue. I sat and ate all I could while I waited for Mike, who was sharing a ride with me.  

Our commute times were to be taken off of our total time for the day, but that didn't change the fact that we were losing hours a day, which would normally be used to sleep. I had gotten off the bike around 1:40pm, and did not start the bike until almost 530pm. I had lost almost 2 and a half hours to commute and slop-time.  

The only thing that kept me running the marathon on day 4 was the fact that I had a quiet bunk waiting for me.  Up until this point, I had showered every night, but it was so late that I went directly to my bunk. Something was wrong.  
In the dark I saw a figure laying on my mattress. My shit was on the floor a few feet away. I felt my blood pressure go nuclear after a long and trying day. Imagine someone having the audacity to blatantly move my stuff when it was obviously placed there with purpose. "Don't lose it. Don't lose it. Don't lose it." 
I lost it. 

I went to the bad and grabbed a sound asleep Eldar Spahic by his legs at 1am. Tersely: "HEY!"
He bolted up. "WHAT THE FUCK?"
"You're in my spot. Get out."
His wife chimed in at the same time when he told me that no, I was wrong... and pointed to his name on the bed, which had been reserved for him. I tucked my tail between my legs and moved to another unoccupied bunk, feeling like a dick. I don't know how many times I apologized to him throughout the rest of the event. He ended up crushing the Quintuple, despite his bad night of sleep prior!

The thing about the Deca is that the fatigue stacks up.
There is no catching up on lost sleep or time. The clock is brutal. The sleepless night of day 3, coupled with the short night of day 4 made Day 5 maybe hardest one yet, and I was not the only one affected by this.

I could run, which saved me HOURS. Some of the athletes were forced to walk the marathon on day 4, and had barely finished in time to hop in the cars to go to the pool on day 5. Georgeta, always the positive and happy racer was mentally thrown for a loop. Michael Ortiz still hung on, despite sleeping in the middle of the bike course at one point, almost getting run over by some of the Continuous riders. The Deca was getting real... and these were the people who could have really used that commute time to and from the pool to finish and sleep, if only for an hour.

We began to wake up thinking about sleep. It wasn't about the distance anymore- it was about the efficiency. Everything was about how to do something smoother, easier, quicker, just so we could get to bed a few minutes earlier.  The finish seemed secondary.  All I really remember about Day 5 was that at this point we were seeing most of the continuous athletes get off their bikes and spend the rest of their event on the run. They were fucked. Most walked for the entire first day, and all looked very, very tired. 

In these races, Greger's wife Lina calls him Gollum.  He pushes himself so hard that his outward appearance changes from a bright-eyed jovial Scandinavian, to a gaunt and dreary animal. He had indeed ridden himself into hamburger meat to take the lead, and he was looking every bit the part. Not very Precious. We all wondered how the next few days would play out on the run. Would Ferenc catch him and repeat? Would Dave Clamp overcome his bazillion flats?

Day 6.
The quintuple 1x5 had begun. I recall the access road to Group Camp 3 just being a fucking melee.  Almost all of the continuous athletes were now on the run course, as well as the continuous quintuple folks. Whereas the run course was the same road as the bike course, there were tired humans everywhere. The turnaround area was the same for runners and bikers alike, so we one/day people were forced to navigate staggering shuffling people on our bikes while fiddling with the food and drink and any other supplies we may have picked up at the turnaround. 

There seemed to be more crews, family, and friends showing up by the hour, and Group Camp 3 Turnaround was getting livelier by the the night as everyone got more comfortable around each other. I've seen crews have a couple drinks here and there at these races, but nothing like at this race. Crews were getting LOADED. Whiskey. Beer. People singing at the top of their lungs. Chris' grandmother was even getting in the mix, dancing on the cooler.

It was very cold. The HIGH was 45, so nights were dipping into the 30s and below. By the time we hit the run, there must have been 30 or more people on course between all 4 races.  Kevin had arrived to crew. There is no way to explain the level of crewing he brought. An ultra-tri guy himself with this unbelievable heart, he just KNEW what to do, when to do it, and how and why. For the rest of this race, I would have the royal treatment. Just having a steady crew person after almost 4 days without one lifted my spirits, which were kind of just in the "blahs". Kevin's personality and abilities brought me to the other side very quickly. 

The 1x5 and 1x10 athletes met outside the lodge on Day 7 to pile into cars to head to the pool.  As Wayne called out names, the amount of people- specifically in the 1x5 that chose to stay in bed and quit was shocking. The cold was taking the will to do this race out of everyone.  The 1x10 was not immune to droppers, but not for lack of trying. By day 7, Georgeta, and Mike, and some of the others had fought until they just couldn't anymore, and ran out of time.  It was sad to see, and I felt their pain, having gone through that in the swim a week ago.

With Kevin around, everything seemed to come back to a routine that made the days really just blend together. Pile in the cars, swim, come back to the venue, try to finish riding before you have to put lights on. 

Race gossip began to flutter throughout the run course on night 7. "They just caught Alyx cheating."
There had been murmurs and suspicions for a few days. Mark had noticed that she was passing him on the leaderboard despite not being on course. She was spending a lot of time drinking beers with the party crew and hanging out with Neil, who was also somehow winning the quintuple.  Dave and Wayne had watched her go to the bathroom and scan her chip, then go to the bunkhouse and scan her chip, then to the kitchen and scan. She'd been caught red-handed.

As I made the turnaround, she was pleading her case to Wayne, who despite his strong hatred for cheaters, was remaining quite calm.  "You're out. You're done."
"I did it by accident!" 
"No- multiple people have caught you multiple times."

In bizarre fashion, she stayed on course, clicking laps away, and posting on her social media account about how horribly-run the race was. She tried latching onto other racers, and complaining to them about the situation- mostly falling on deaf ears. At this point we all knew, and her race was dead to us... but she just kept walking. We treated her a bit like a stray dog. She was totally alienated.  

I had heard about Deca Shin before from other athletes, but in all of my racing I'd never experienced it. We don't know exactly what it is about the Deca that creates this shinspint-like pain , but it's theorized that the flexors just become overused because of pushing off the wall of the pool, the ankle motion on the bike, and the obvious stress of running on pavement. I figured if I didn't have it by day 8, I was going to be good to go. As I came into the last few miles of the run, my left shin started to hurt like hell, but I dealt with it until the end, hoping things might settle down overnight while slept.

On the morning of Day 9, Kevin said,"Yeah, fuck sleeping in those bunkhouses. We're getting a hotel tonight." I hadn't had a comfortable bed and shower in about 2 weeks. At first, it sounded like heaven, but almost felt like premature celebration. I had envisioned part of the joy of the finish being a nice place to sleep after, but Kevin knew exactly what was needed. The excitement of crashing on clean blankets and my own bathroom propelled me to finish the day as quickly as possible... which wasn't that quickly.

Day 9 is weird, because you're so close to the end, but you still have 2 iron-distance races to go.... you're still very far away from the end. My swimming was absolutely fucked and slow as hell. By the end of day 9, I'd swum like 38 miles since I'd been in Louisiana.  I was last every time.  I hated that people were waiting for me to get done so they could get on with their race. I also kept thinking my biking legs would all of a sudden appear, but it was more of the same. It was beginning to feel like the physical equivalent of nails down a chalkboard: knowing I need to go faster... literally struggling to go 15 mph on a flat. 

After running 1 mile, my shins were RAGING. Up until this point, I had run 8 marathons with no walking. The goal was in danger. I went into the main lodge and asked Jade, the doctor on staff, if she could do something. Kinesio-tape was supposed to help, but everything was already so inflamed.  I gingerly ran the marathon...kind of like running on eggshells. It was slower than the rest, but it got done.

Day 10. Quintuple and Deca 1/day athletes piled into the cars and headed to the outdoor pool. The locker room had a celebratory feel as we pulled cold, damp wetsuits over tight, tired muscles for the last time. Jozsef and I had talked for the last 5 days about how we were going to drink pails of beer on this, the final night.  The joke continued as we both looked at each other without saying a word, and tipped an imaginary beer up as though chugging.  It was 6:30am. Steam rose from water. The air was cold still cold as hell, but no one cared. We wouldn't be doing this again. 

Before the last day begins, it is easy to have illusions of going lightning fast all day, because you're on the home stretch. No matter how many times I've done insanely long races, this feeling pervades before you begin the last hard push. But I didn't swim some crazy-fast time. It was more of the same routine- last out of the water, spending the day butthurt on the bike, longing for legs that just aren't there. I think the only real change was that I did make a very strong effort to not stop at all during the ride, just so i could finish sooner.

I began the run relatively scared of my Deca Shin condition. Would I need to walk on the last day? I guess I was less concerned about that, and more about finishing at some ungodly time like 3am.  I really just wanted to to get done as quickly as possible, and go to bed with no alarm clock waiting.

A marathon is a long way when you are waiting to feel the full extent of an injury.  There is a certain amount of self-preservation that happens when participating in a race this long.... but when the light is at the end of the tunnel, sometimes you are ready to say,"Fuck it, I'm going for it."
After running 10 miles on eggshells, I decided it was time to say just that.
Henning finished strong. Joszef hammered it home. I began running hard. My shins hurt, and my soul ached from fatigue. I mitigated that by keeping my blood sugar and caffeine levels high. Coke, coffee, sweets, repeat. Finally the whole gang was standing there at the beginning of the last lap. In one mile I would finish my second Deca, but first I had to carry the flag for the whole length of the course. 

We'd been cheering Continuous Deca and Quintuple athletes through their final laps for a few days now. The last lap is ceremonious. Hugs, crying, pats on the back, and loud cheering and whistling as the person approaches, until they are out of sight.
 
The finish line is deeply personal and intimate, as everyone present- crews(yours and others), race staff, family- has watched you struggle for a week and a half. Each person has helped you in some way or another get to this point.

It's loud and crazy for just a moment, and then it gets quiet as the pictures are taken. You think about the sacrifices you made to get here. How others have sacrificed for you. The happenings of the event flash before your eyes... when you could have quit but didn't. You think about the people that you want be here in this moment that aren't. All of a sudden, you don't need to move anymore.
The soul feels full.
"The Deca finish line is unlike any other," Wayne has always said. He's not wrong, however I usually finish something like this, and say I'm retired.... but the truth is, Decaman in all of its quirks and hardships was such an enjoyable experience that I DO intend to continue with multi-day racing. 

I looked around. Joszef, who had finished an hour or so ago, was nowhere to be found.
I had no interest in drinking beer, either. Kevin and I cleaned some of the stuff up, and headed to the hotel to sleep, with no alarm waiting.