Matt's Guest Post

[I asked the crew if they would be willing to share some of their individual thoughts, feelings and experiences from the race via their own person guest blog post.  Here is Matt's guest post...]

“JP?”

“Matty!  I’m in the one on the end,” he announced as I approached the row of porta potties at the Twin Lakes aid station.  Through the cracked-open door I handed him the bag of wet wipes.  “Awesome, can you also get me the butt lube?”  Uh-oh I thought, this can’t be good, he has 40 miles to go with a chafed bung.  To be expected I guessed from ingesting twenty or so packets of Gu in the first 60 miles of the race.  “Gu in, Gu out” I chuckled to myself as I trotted back to our makeshift camp to retrieve the butt lube.

I was in awe when he ran over to the camping chair Molly had waiting for him.  He was all smiles and showed no signs of having run 60 miles including the two crossings of Hope Pass in the last 4 hours.  The last remnants of daylight were fading fast, and I was anxious to get started, knowing the long night that lay ahead of us.  We donned our gear, checked our headlamps, took a few hero shots, and off we went up the steep initial climb out of Twin Lakes.

60 miles in -- checking our lights

Off we go...

Settling into a comfortable pace of running when we could and hiking when we had to, the miles started clicking away nicely.  The banter between the crews was fun and always inspiring, despite the constant uphill terrain in the dark, moonless night.

I was actually having a good time when disaster struck, or so I thought.  In slow motion, I watch as JP spots the plank that safely crosses a creek slightly up and to his left, but his muscles are slow to respond, and his momentum carries him stumbling through the creek, almost ending up face down.  “$#%*!  I think I broke my big toe, and my feet are wet.” 

Oh great!  I can’t believe I have been on the job just one hour, and I manage to let him break his toe and get his feet wet.  “Is it really broke?”  After a few tentative steps, “Nope, just  hurts a bit.”  And off he ran, oblivious to my guilt-induced, panicked state of hyperventilation.  The roles would reverse about an hour later when I twisted my right ankle and ended up on my hands and knees.  “Matty, don’t do that again, because I can’t carry you off this mountain.”

And so it would continue for 6 more hours, with JP surprising me at every turn with his presence of mind, lucidity, focus and determination.  I would try to keep his mind off the pain by singing all six verses of Uneasy Rider and anything else that came to mind, and he would bring his pacer back to reality by asking, “Hey, how are we doing on the pace?”  Oh yeah, right, sorry.

16 miles into my leg of pacing we leave Fish Hatchery aid station with our batteries recharged, and JP announces, “OK bro, this is why you’re really here, to get me over Sugarloaf Pass.”  Oh, really?  As if the first 16 miles were a mere walk in the park.  False summit after false summit we plod along with my set list growing thin, and the verses coming out in raspy gasps of breath.  We finally crest Sugarloaf only to realize that the downhill run into May Queen hurts much worse than the previous climb.  We’ve long since stopped running, and haven’t seen a single crew run for miles.  “Dude, we’ve gotta run into the aid station.”  Why?  For cool points?  Even before I can verbalize this disagreement, he is trotting ahead as if 86.5 miles is nothing.  

“JP!  Matty!”  I hear them, before I can see them.   Three beautiful women, and one of them is waving a ridiculous pool noodle that looks like my legs feel.  Shannon runs up and plants a big, wet one right on the lips, before I can get out, “JP needs a shitter real bad.”  After 26 plus miles and 7 hours 53 minutes, my pacing leg ended as it began, with JP in the loo, asking for wet wipes and butt lube.

Rewind to Ken’s motivational speech the day prior: I know what’s coming, I’ve read his speech before.  He gives it every year, but hearing it in person is another matter.  After his signature, “You are better than you think are,” Ken utters something that stops me in my bleacher seat – “Inside each of you is an inexhaustible well of strength…”

Did I hear right?  Did this quirky old cowboy just say that?  He knows.  Of course he knows, he’s run this race 14 times.   I dimly recognize what he speaks of, I’ve read similar descriptions many times before in different spiritual writings, but have I been there?  Have I reached into that inexhaustible well where I suspect that we are all truly One, truly connected.  I don’t think so.  Not yet.  But I witnessed my brother JP do exactly that on August 21^st, 2011.  Congratulations brother, and thanks for sharing.