Burning River: A Love Story in Three Parts (2007)
Since I'm newer to this blogging world, I haven't posted my first three Burning River reports. What more perfect time, I thought, than now. So as we taper down and gear up for our various roles at Burning River, I share my food for thought, Burning River-style.
This one, 2007, may still be my favorite. Written two days after I unexpectedly paced my husband and before I realized how deeply the trails had gotten under my skin, it's almost comical to read some of my observations. Little did I know what God and life had in store for me.
2007
Darris and George were so amazing out there this weekend. I remain overwhelmed by both of them. Following are the tales of the inaugural Burning River 100 from a crew member and eleventh hour pacer.
Darris and George had completely opposite experiences. Darris had actually injured his back quite badly on the downhills in San Francisco just one week before the race. Sunday night, flying home from the race, he was having severe back spasms; Monday he had x-rays; Tuesday he learned he was 3 mm out of alignment and had a full schedule of chiropractic adjustments (and sleepless nights) throughout the week. As George said, his participation, even standing on the starting line, was tenuous at best. Certainly his best efforts were overshadowed by not knowing if he was running at all. Seeing him at each point on the journey was not far short of a miracle.
George, as we all know, is meticulous. Methodical. Conservative. George spent months preparing, investigating, researching and learning. George prepared to run, and I believe had, as flawless a 100 mile experience as he could have. Seeing him full of energy and spirit at each and every aid station, was astounding and uplifting.
I can't say enough wonderful things about this race: the aid stations, the course support, the volunteers, even the other crew and runner family members we spent time with. The course was beyond challenging - that's coming - but the manner in which the race organziation, from top to bottom, treated everyone - runner, pacer, family/crew member - was first class.
But Darris struggled. From the very start, he was altering his stride in an attempt to protect his back on the trails; this altered stride, however, resulted in him trashing his legs far earlier than he expected or had befor. He considered dropping (and no one who saw him crooked would have doubted that decision) at miles 31, 51 and 56. In the heat of the day, which lasted a good six hours, the runners faced temperatures that exceeded 90 degrees. At mile 56, he had 4 miles to the next aid station; 9 miles to the next crew station where Robin and I could see him. We agreed that he would go the four miles to the aid station, and that if it was truly over, I would drive out and pick him up. If he could go another five miles from there, we would reassess at Happy Days, the mile 65 crew station. While I was out gleefully buying him a surprise vanilla sake at Burger King (which it turned out he didn't want), it occurred to me that since they were allowed to have pacers starting at 65, I would check to see if anyone was available. They were not, and someone asked the fateful question: "Do you have clothes with you? Why don't you do it?" My answer: "I'm his wife!" Most of you will probably understand that "spousal pacing" - particularly when your runner is not having a good day - is a pretty dangerous proposition.
I was worried that he would think I was horning in on his event, but it was only an offer. Robin warned me that he probably wouldn't make it if I didn't go in with him. To my shock, he immediately took me up on the offer, as in "Please come. Go change. Now."
I can't tell you the things I saw these men go through in that 35 unexpected miles. This was not "trail" - it was more like torture terrain. In the first three miles, we were rock climbing. Like up these crazy, slanted rock faces. There was still muddy swampy water; dewey grass hills that had no peak when you began them; more roots, trunks and miscellaneous things to trip over and mercilessly stub toes on than one can imagine; stream crossings; asphalt; gravel; towpath; a sand portion; stair climb upon stair climb upon stair climb. (Man-made stairs. Uneven. Up to 90 at a time.) There was a graveyard, a bee sting, a sewage plant. A 200 foot dropoff (of a ledge about 3 feet wide) into the Cuyahoga River from miles 97-99. And some of the most gorgeos stars I have ever seen in my life.
It has been a long time since I have done something completely selfless. Perhaps too long. This was that night. I was grateful to walk behind Darris, so he didn't have to see me wince every time we came upon a downhill, and I was pained to know and see how painful it was to him. Every stumble, every trip, every stub of his toe sent worse shocks through me than my own. I would take a bullet for my husband without question - having to witness him in such pain, yet showing such dogged determination, was moving, heartbreaking, and inspiring all at once.
I have never been so moved or astounded in my life as I was that night.
In the midst of the silence and stillness of the night, the jokes and the graveyards, our new friend Gabe asking over and over again "Where the #$*@ is the #(@*$ aid station?", I was blessed with the opportunity to get to know my husband all over again. So often it's so easy to get caught up in what's for dinner, if the laundry's done; who fed the dog and why the dishwasher isn't loaded. I fell in love with my husband again, in watching him make this amazing, painful, inspired journey of 100 miles. If I could get a giggle out of him, I felt as if I had won a million dollars. And so the evening and night passed, and dawn came; drinking every ten minutes is how we passed 35 miles and just over 11 hours. Never have I seen anyone show such strength and courage as he did that night; I am blessed with an amazing person to share my life with.
I questioned whether I would discuss my own experience, as this was his event, George's event, but these are the things I feel compelled to share. I had not intended to pace this event. Because I had not intended to participate beyond crewing, I had not prepared physically. I am not a trail runner. Not a rock climber, not a stream forger, and really not good with bee stings. And yes, I've done a few 50 milers, but I'm still not quite sure why someone would want to double that?
I had been so worried for Darris that I hadn't slept well Friday night. My food intake from 6:30 am that morning had consisted of a bagel, tons of trail mix, and a Clif Bar. I "went in" at 6:30 pm and was able to secure half of a turkey sub (about 10 minutes before we started). And so it was that I was up all night. I carried my extra clothes, a jug of Gatorade, a heavy lamp (thanks Lou!) and some food here and there. And yet, at the time, I noticed none of these things. We had one rule: Unless I yelped or screamed, Darris was not allowed to ask how I was. And for once in my life, perhaps the first time, all I cared about - all I cared about - was someone else. I didn't realize what I carried. I didn't feel my own stubbed and jammed toes or aching heels. I was able to ignore the swelling bee sting on my calf. All that mattered to me was easing what Darris was going through in any way I could. And besides the initial getting of the bee sting, I didn't yelp or scream once. And Darris and I were both able to focus on his journey. It was a very special, very spiritual time.
My awesomely huge thanks to Damon for the miles he joined us on from 11:30 pm - 1:00 am; you gave Darris a huge boost and eased the intensity of the experience for both of us. To George for all of his support on the way by, and to Lou for being a familiar face when we so needed it at that nasty sewage plant. And to Gabe and his pacer for keeping it light at a very dark time. Where the @#()$ is the aid station!
At 99.5, I ran ahead to watch Darris finish. He found that thing in his core that allowed him to pick up his feet and run for the first time in almost 10 hours. He ran through the finish, and immediately to me. After a group hug with Robin and George, he wandered off purposefully to be alone for a minute. That was the first time that I became aware of my own exertion. Of covering 35 miles of trails and fears and rocks and mud in the middle of the night; of being up now for 27 hours straight. Many of you know the history of our family - that Robin and George are not just friends, but a part of our family in every sense of the word. When I came close to collapsing to the ground in that moment, it was Robin who caught me, Robin who held me up, Robin who hugged me and told me that it was okay, it was over now, that I could stop now. Robin, who had also been up for 27 hours, and who had taken over crewing for our entire motley crew; George, Darris, and as I got into the mid and upper 20's, me as well. The power of the human will and the spirit of human kindness were a theme throughout the weekend, as pacer took care of runner, volunteer and crew took care of both, pacer supported pacer, runner took care of runner. Robin was, throughout the event, the epitome of all of these things, and everything that a sister and a friend could be in that moment. For finding a moment for me after I had utterly drained out all of my reserves and she too had been going all day and night, I will be forever grateful to her.
This event was the greatest blessing I have been gifted with in so long; both as a witness and a participant; it brought me closer to my husband than I have ever been, and reaffirmed a compassion in the world that we don't hear much about anymore. To George, for allowing me to witness his amazing journey; to Robin, for enhancing and enriching that journey for all of us; to Damon, for sharing the middle of his night with us after his own 22 mile run that day; to Letha and Bob-a-loo, Robin's amazing parents, for their selfless and wonderful offer to take care of getting my car from mile 65 back to the finish when I went in; to Catherine, who was my sounding board throughout the day and never seemed to tire of listening to the stories and analyzations in spite of being worried about her own husband (congrats to all you half-Ironman finishers); to all who called or emailed throughout the day with your concerns and well wishes, and, most especially, to Darris, for allowing me to share not only in this journey, but the greater journey of a life together - thank you. Thank you for your inspiration, your love, and your lessons.
This one, 2007, may still be my favorite. Written two days after I unexpectedly paced my husband and before I realized how deeply the trails had gotten under my skin, it's almost comical to read some of my observations. Little did I know what God and life had in store for me.
2007
Darris and George were so amazing out there this weekend. I remain overwhelmed by both of them. Following are the tales of the inaugural Burning River 100 from a crew member and eleventh hour pacer.
Darris and George had completely opposite experiences. Darris had actually injured his back quite badly on the downhills in San Francisco just one week before the race. Sunday night, flying home from the race, he was having severe back spasms; Monday he had x-rays; Tuesday he learned he was 3 mm out of alignment and had a full schedule of chiropractic adjustments (and sleepless nights) throughout the week. As George said, his participation, even standing on the starting line, was tenuous at best. Certainly his best efforts were overshadowed by not knowing if he was running at all. Seeing him at each point on the journey was not far short of a miracle.
George, as we all know, is meticulous. Methodical. Conservative. George spent months preparing, investigating, researching and learning. George prepared to run, and I believe had, as flawless a 100 mile experience as he could have. Seeing him full of energy and spirit at each and every aid station, was astounding and uplifting.
I can't say enough wonderful things about this race: the aid stations, the course support, the volunteers, even the other crew and runner family members we spent time with. The course was beyond challenging - that's coming - but the manner in which the race organziation, from top to bottom, treated everyone - runner, pacer, family/crew member - was first class.
But Darris struggled. From the very start, he was altering his stride in an attempt to protect his back on the trails; this altered stride, however, resulted in him trashing his legs far earlier than he expected or had befor. He considered dropping (and no one who saw him crooked would have doubted that decision) at miles 31, 51 and 56. In the heat of the day, which lasted a good six hours, the runners faced temperatures that exceeded 90 degrees. At mile 56, he had 4 miles to the next aid station; 9 miles to the next crew station where Robin and I could see him. We agreed that he would go the four miles to the aid station, and that if it was truly over, I would drive out and pick him up. If he could go another five miles from there, we would reassess at Happy Days, the mile 65 crew station. While I was out gleefully buying him a surprise vanilla sake at Burger King (which it turned out he didn't want), it occurred to me that since they were allowed to have pacers starting at 65, I would check to see if anyone was available. They were not, and someone asked the fateful question: "Do you have clothes with you? Why don't you do it?" My answer: "I'm his wife!" Most of you will probably understand that "spousal pacing" - particularly when your runner is not having a good day - is a pretty dangerous proposition.
I was worried that he would think I was horning in on his event, but it was only an offer. Robin warned me that he probably wouldn't make it if I didn't go in with him. To my shock, he immediately took me up on the offer, as in "Please come. Go change. Now."
I can't tell you the things I saw these men go through in that 35 unexpected miles. This was not "trail" - it was more like torture terrain. In the first three miles, we were rock climbing. Like up these crazy, slanted rock faces. There was still muddy swampy water; dewey grass hills that had no peak when you began them; more roots, trunks and miscellaneous things to trip over and mercilessly stub toes on than one can imagine; stream crossings; asphalt; gravel; towpath; a sand portion; stair climb upon stair climb upon stair climb. (Man-made stairs. Uneven. Up to 90 at a time.) There was a graveyard, a bee sting, a sewage plant. A 200 foot dropoff (of a ledge about 3 feet wide) into the Cuyahoga River from miles 97-99. And some of the most gorgeos stars I have ever seen in my life.
It has been a long time since I have done something completely selfless. Perhaps too long. This was that night. I was grateful to walk behind Darris, so he didn't have to see me wince every time we came upon a downhill, and I was pained to know and see how painful it was to him. Every stumble, every trip, every stub of his toe sent worse shocks through me than my own. I would take a bullet for my husband without question - having to witness him in such pain, yet showing such dogged determination, was moving, heartbreaking, and inspiring all at once.
I have never been so moved or astounded in my life as I was that night.
In the midst of the silence and stillness of the night, the jokes and the graveyards, our new friend Gabe asking over and over again "Where the #$*@ is the #(@*$ aid station?", I was blessed with the opportunity to get to know my husband all over again. So often it's so easy to get caught up in what's for dinner, if the laundry's done; who fed the dog and why the dishwasher isn't loaded. I fell in love with my husband again, in watching him make this amazing, painful, inspired journey of 100 miles. If I could get a giggle out of him, I felt as if I had won a million dollars. And so the evening and night passed, and dawn came; drinking every ten minutes is how we passed 35 miles and just over 11 hours. Never have I seen anyone show such strength and courage as he did that night; I am blessed with an amazing person to share my life with.
I questioned whether I would discuss my own experience, as this was his event, George's event, but these are the things I feel compelled to share. I had not intended to pace this event. Because I had not intended to participate beyond crewing, I had not prepared physically. I am not a trail runner. Not a rock climber, not a stream forger, and really not good with bee stings. And yes, I've done a few 50 milers, but I'm still not quite sure why someone would want to double that?
I had been so worried for Darris that I hadn't slept well Friday night. My food intake from 6:30 am that morning had consisted of a bagel, tons of trail mix, and a Clif Bar. I "went in" at 6:30 pm and was able to secure half of a turkey sub (about 10 minutes before we started). And so it was that I was up all night. I carried my extra clothes, a jug of Gatorade, a heavy lamp (thanks Lou!) and some food here and there. And yet, at the time, I noticed none of these things. We had one rule: Unless I yelped or screamed, Darris was not allowed to ask how I was. And for once in my life, perhaps the first time, all I cared about - all I cared about - was someone else. I didn't realize what I carried. I didn't feel my own stubbed and jammed toes or aching heels. I was able to ignore the swelling bee sting on my calf. All that mattered to me was easing what Darris was going through in any way I could. And besides the initial getting of the bee sting, I didn't yelp or scream once. And Darris and I were both able to focus on his journey. It was a very special, very spiritual time.
My awesomely huge thanks to Damon for the miles he joined us on from 11:30 pm - 1:00 am; you gave Darris a huge boost and eased the intensity of the experience for both of us. To George for all of his support on the way by, and to Lou for being a familiar face when we so needed it at that nasty sewage plant. And to Gabe and his pacer for keeping it light at a very dark time. Where the @#()$ is the aid station!
At 99.5, I ran ahead to watch Darris finish. He found that thing in his core that allowed him to pick up his feet and run for the first time in almost 10 hours. He ran through the finish, and immediately to me. After a group hug with Robin and George, he wandered off purposefully to be alone for a minute. That was the first time that I became aware of my own exertion. Of covering 35 miles of trails and fears and rocks and mud in the middle of the night; of being up now for 27 hours straight. Many of you know the history of our family - that Robin and George are not just friends, but a part of our family in every sense of the word. When I came close to collapsing to the ground in that moment, it was Robin who caught me, Robin who held me up, Robin who hugged me and told me that it was okay, it was over now, that I could stop now. Robin, who had also been up for 27 hours, and who had taken over crewing for our entire motley crew; George, Darris, and as I got into the mid and upper 20's, me as well. The power of the human will and the spirit of human kindness were a theme throughout the weekend, as pacer took care of runner, volunteer and crew took care of both, pacer supported pacer, runner took care of runner. Robin was, throughout the event, the epitome of all of these things, and everything that a sister and a friend could be in that moment. For finding a moment for me after I had utterly drained out all of my reserves and she too had been going all day and night, I will be forever grateful to her.
This event was the greatest blessing I have been gifted with in so long; both as a witness and a participant; it brought me closer to my husband than I have ever been, and reaffirmed a compassion in the world that we don't hear much about anymore. To George, for allowing me to witness his amazing journey; to Robin, for enhancing and enriching that journey for all of us; to Damon, for sharing the middle of his night with us after his own 22 mile run that day; to Letha and Bob-a-loo, Robin's amazing parents, for their selfless and wonderful offer to take care of getting my car from mile 65 back to the finish when I went in; to Catherine, who was my sounding board throughout the day and never seemed to tire of listening to the stories and analyzations in spite of being worried about her own husband (congrats to all you half-Ironman finishers); to all who called or emailed throughout the day with your concerns and well wishes, and, most especially, to Darris, for allowing me to share not only in this journey, but the greater journey of a life together - thank you. Thank you for your inspiration, your love, and your lessons.
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