Masochism Re-visited
                                                                        
                              by  
                                                                        
                      Rick Brooks  

    The ride to the James River Visitor Center brings back familiar feelings
of past ultra events I have participated in.  Everyone is taking
inventory of the last-minute essentials necessary for this journey of
pleasure and pain.  Is my running gear suitable for the conditions? Am I
properly hydrated? Where is my Clif bar? Do I have enough Power Gel? Have
I put Vasoline on all the right places? (This is vitally important in an
ultra!) Once the logistics have been attended to it is time for the fun
to begin!

    Even though this would be my sixth 50 miler there are unique challenges
to face this year.  My running schedule has been inconsistent and
sometimes non-existent for the past two years.  As a result I will be
carrying an additional twenty-five pounds of “loose baggage” for this
foray of fun.  Although I am far removed from my “fighting weight” I
still know I can finish.  The only question is how long will it take? 

    I am running this year’s race with a local ultra legend, Steve “True
Grit, No S--t” Bozeman.  We have set a realistic goal of eleven hours for
finishing.  The time goal is somewhat arbitrary, but it will help keep us
focused when the “Fun Run” (1st 25 miles) is over.

    Race director Dave Horton gives the start command at 6:30 sharp.  A
mixture of half-hearted cheers and sighs of resignation fill the air.
Are we all insane or what!?  The first thirty minutes of the race are
surreal due to the blanket of darkness draped over us.  Some people are
engaged in polite small talk, while others are probably thinking about
how comfortable their bed was this morning!

    Steve and I discard our old dress shirts at the 3-mile aid station.  I
may be crazy but I am not throwing away an expensive Polartec shirt just
for the cause!  We establish a good tempo that carries us across Cashaw
Creek and onto the footpaths of Peavine Mountain.  Several miles into
this rocky and uneven section of the course we are joined by a small
group of local running extremists: Drew Wilds and Matt and Terri Ripley.
We had unknowingly passed them while they were making a “pit stop.”
Taking advantage of “the more the merrier” theme we proceed to run the
next ten miles together.  The time flies by as we reminisce about past
experiences.

    Unfortunately Terri develops stomach problems around mile eighteen and
eventually has to stop at mile twenty-seven. I would like to congratulate
her on completing the Holiday Lake and Promise Land races earlier in the
year. I am sure she will come back next year to complete the last leg of
Horton’s Ultra Series.

    Steve, Drew, and I continue our methodical march of madness up and down
the beautiful and steep mountains of the Blue Ridge.  The fall colors are
varied and vibrant during the middle of October and we are witnesses to
the mastery of Mother Nature in our own backyard.  We all continue to
move at a steady rhythm as we carry on in conversation and moral support.

    We make it to the halfway point at Highway 60(26.9) in five hours and
twenty-five minutes.  We all feel good as we refuel for the next
twenty-seven miles.  Yes, the math is correct, it is a 54 miler!  Anyone
who runs in a Horton race knows about “Horton miles” and how much joy he
derives from doling out a little extra “enjoyment” to his grateful
participants.  We received a warm sendoff from my father, mother, brother
and nephew as we started our ascent up Buck Mountain.

    This is where the men and women are separated from the phony tough and
crazy brave. I stole that last phrase from Full Metal Jacket! I still
feel good at this point and feel confident that we can make our goal of
eleven hours.  As we approach the top of Buck Mountain (Mile 30) I hear
the familiar sound of the Rocky theme song echoing throughout the hills
and valleys.  The music rejuvenates me and I am propelled by adrenaline
to the top of the hill.

    I take time at this aid station to eat several quarter sections of
peanut butter and jelly.  I have to fight several pesky bees that are
unaware I will eat them for their honey at this point! Proceeding to move
at a reasonable pace we all deal with our individual aches and pains that
inevitably emerge at this point in the race.  We approach Mt. Pleasant (I
thought this bit of humor was ironic!) and the beginning of the five-mile
loop at just over seven hours.  We are all starting to feel the
exhausting signs of our efforts at this point.
   
    The five-mile loop is a treacherous and unforgiving stretch.  One false
move and you will be eating rocks and dirt for lunch!  After what seems
like an eternity (actual time: 73 minutes) we emerge from the loop.
Fortunately for us there are just enough drinks left at the aid station
before we move on.

    At this point we are all beaten and battered; yet determined to push
even harder for the finish line.  We continue to run all the downhill
stretches, flats, and slight upgrades.  The steep hills are met with a
grim “death march” mentality.  Several narrow footpaths along this
stretch are extremely steep and our legs are begging for mercy.  This is
when the mind has to take over and tell the body to shut up and stop
whining!

    By mile 45 Drew tells us “not to worry about him” and for Steve and I to
continue on.  We come to the mile “47” aid station and we are told there
are four miles to go; yet another cruel psychological test from Dr.
Horton.  One extra mile at this point seems like one hundred.  We have
forty minutes to make eleven hours.  Steve and I are doubtful we will
make it, but were determined to give it our best effort.  We are relieved
to discover that this stretch of the race is either flat or slightly
downhill.  Summoning any energy there is in our bodies we continue to
pass people who are walking or staggering toward the finish.  With one
final surge we reach the fish hatchery at Montebello in 10 hours and 56
minutes! 

    A feeling of immense relief and satisfaction comes over me as I shake
Horton’s hand at the finish.
I am so exhausted from the effort that I can hardly move or get my
bearings straight.  After a brief massage and a drink of some fluids I
see Drew come across the finish line in 11 hours and 15 minutes.  It was
a successful day for us all.

    Even though this race is a stern physical and mental test I am reminded
why I enjoy running so much.  It makes me feel more alive and vital than
anything else in my life. This rekindles my enthusiasm for the sport and
makes me refocus my efforts on future goals and races. 

    I will even go as far to tell all of my past training partners that it
is going to be  “60 minutes or Bust” at the Charlottesville 10 miler in
April of 2002!