Author: Josh LaJaunie

Disclaimer: I am no nutritional scientist, I am not an anthropologist or human evolutionist, I am not an expert on anything but me, my life, my experience, my story.

However, I have learned some things that I think can be very helpful to most people who find themselves inhabiting a space in which I used to exist, miserably. I think things are a lot simpler than prevailing wisdom, society, and proprietary solution purveyors would have us believe they are. But inside that simplicity exists some difficulty and struggle, don’t get me wrong here. The actual things we need to do, the list of necessaries if you will, are simple. The complexity comes in with the execution/implementation.

As a fat person, nothing made me feel better than to have an excuse, or a well-publicized article to site, that seemed to relieve me of responsibility for my 400 pound plight. When you weigh 400 pounds, to accept that it is your fault is heavy (pun intended). So, when you read anything, or hear anything that might suggest that you are completely normal, your behaviors are completely normal, and you are just pre-destined to be fat, it offers some sort of a sick, twisted comfort. That comfort is chocolate-covered bullshit. The fact is, it is our fault. We must own our responsibility in it before we can truly move forward.
The reason it is our fault is complex, it is deep; it is tied to more than just food and food habits, movement and movement habits; it is tied to society, it is tied to family, it is tied to legacy, it is tied to tradition, it is tied to culture, it is tied to geography. But the basic moving parts of the answer are simple: eat some fucking plants, and cover distance as if you were patrolling a home range/territory, like a wild animal would do, on purpose, with purpose and regularity, period. But I digress.

If you can’t tell by now, what spurred this blog post is the New York Times piece on the Biggest Loser contestants and the fact that they all seem to gain their weight back. They go into all kind of reductionist detail that basically takes the onus of failure away from both the contestants and the riduclosity of a television program that taught them how to fail at achieving a health-induced natural-normal body weight. It basically blames nature for it.
The article goes into all kind of detail about how the contestants metabolisms have been altered to such degree that to regain the weight is basically an inevitability. And it leaves the reader to assume that these people just cannot fight the botched code that Mother Nature has installed into the fat person machine. It is fucking ludicrous! And I’m not talking about the rapper, he’s cool. I’m talking about how absurd it is to blame biology/nature for this problem when it is us who are the guilty ones. We are the ones who can’t see through tv commercials and financially skewed nutritional advice to the deck of cards Mother Nature has stacked for us, in our favor. No, we see that these people, who lost all this weight, that have a metabolism that’s all messed up now, not as an error in approach, but an error in specific people’s biology: fat people.

How many of these people were taught that the human animal, biologically speaking, is herbivorous, and that if one looks, one can find a plethora of examples of humans who’ve lost Biggest Loser type weight without the obesity relapse experienced by almost all the show contestants?
“Umm, wait, we have to sell Hardies, McDonalds, Nabisco, Kraft Foods, Jenny Craig and Nutri-System. We cant suggest that.”
How many of these people developed deep, meaningful relationships in the running community, or built a lifestyle around moving in a way that suggests “hey, this life thing, I mean it” ? No, they were stuck mimicking the unsustainable bullshit they did on the show.
What I’m asking here is how many of these people were taught to adopt plants and running as not a strategy for weight loss, but a strategy to become, finally, authentically human? Not a damn one, that’s how many!
It is NOT that Mother Nature messed up when making these people, so that even when they lose weight they are pre-programed to regain it, it’s from being, technically, calorie-fulfilled without being volume fulfilled. There is a physiological mechanism that is needed to send signals to the brain that say “We are satiated. Stop now.” If we eat calorically dense foods (like the ones sold in the commercials of The Biggest Loser), and constantly play calories-in-calories-out-regardless-of-source, then we never really activate that mechanism because the volume of food in the stomach is not sufficient to do so; if we do fill the stomach with those foods, we too easily achieve a caloric surplus (weight gain, or at a minimum, stalled loss).
To be clear, these calorie dense foods exist, also, in a plantbased, no oil diet.
But if we do the opposite, then we can sufficiently stretch the stomach, sending the proper “stop eating now” signals to the brain without a surplus of calories. Not to mention that calorically dilute foods (water-,fibre-rich plant matter) are usually extremely nutritionally dense.
So, what I think is happening is that these B.L. contestants are never taught this about their bodies, or the proper foods they are meant to use for nutrition (because the show is meant to sell advertising, not fix humans. Just like this NYT article itself), therefore sending them into an overwhelming rabbit hole of blunt-force calorie budgeting without proper attention to calorie sourcing for the human organism. Of course, I’m talking unadulterated plant matter here. No, it doesn’t technically *have* to be 100% plants-only, all the time, but a serious, drastic change in the plant/other shit ratio must happen.

More on the 100% thing, if you are caloric-density-enhanced-food addicted, which is most of America,—hence the success of fast “food” companies in this country—then flirting with the “foods” (see advertisers) that need to be avoided for optimal health is a death knell to sustainability. The caloric density (therefore addicting/habit-forming component) of meat and dairy must not be overlooked, even chicken and fish. If one pays close attention to caloric density, and eats accordingly, one will lose and keep off weight, while accidentally reseting your palate, saving your planet and planetmates. It is a win. Get used to the idea of removing things permanently. I’d say start with milk. It’s any easy one these days.
And while one can be plant based and not lose all the excess weight on one’s body, he or she will still be healthier than the average American. However, that’s a pretty low bar.

I have lost over 200lbs in the past few years. I have made some forever decisions when it comes to my food choices, and that has made my running and weight-loss sustainable for the long haul. I don’t know what my metabolism numbers are, don’t really give a good shit (but I’m open to the testing if anyone is so inclined to study me), but I feel alive with life. I wake up early every day. I run like the wind. I cover territory with my natural bipedal locomotion. I eat plants. I love big, big. And I am happier than I have ever been in my life, and want to share with the world, especially the “loser” world, how I’ve discovered Mother Nature to be conspiring in our health’s favor. Let’s not let self-assigned labels, and what you think those mean, get in the way of letting nature have her way with you.

If where I am is only significant when compared to where I was, then I’m not where I want to be…

It’s seems both like just yesterday and a hundred years ago that I was on that back half or Rock n Roll New Orleans 2014, struggling. I’ll never for get the feeling in mile 17 when I had to walk for the first time, and how bummed I was that a 9:30 pace had proven too much for this newbie runner. That taste of the tears on my face from wresting with whether I should quit or not is still fresh in my brain, but somehow it all seems like such a distant memory as well. On that day my best was a four hour, forty-four minute effort. I’ll never forget the confusing feeling I experienced as my wife, who I hadn’t seen since mile 8 or so, caught then passed me in mile 22. I mean, I was happy that she was doing so well, but damn. I cramped, I cried, I limped, I moaned, and I was coached up and encouraged by more experienced runners as they passed me in droves in those late miles…
“pick your head up”
“shoulders back!”
“Keep moving! Two miles to go!”
“It hurts don’t it? It’s ok, we’re almost there!”
Both only yesterday and a lifetime ago I ran my first marathon. But this weekend I ran my fifth. And what a difference two years and a few thousand miles makes!

Let’s back it up here just a second. Last year at Rock n Roll (RnR) 2015 I ran a great race, and achieved a new PR. That new PR was gained on the heels of a 2014 full of miles aimed at feeling stronger in the marathon. I wanted to be a marathoner! As you know, if you’re one of the few folks who’ve kept up with this blog, I followed up my inaugural marathon effort at the RnR ’14 with my first poster at the Crescent City Classic 10k, my first Hotter Than Hell event, and wrapped up ’14 with a soul-wringing run through the five boroughs of NYC. By the time I had gotten into training for RnR ’15, I had signed up for my first ultra marathon, a 50k, in Destin, FL. Little did I realize at the time that a.) I’d fall in love with running distances that make 26.2 seem like a nice warm-up, or b.) that becoming an ultra-phile would make me a better marathoner.

Immediately after my first ultra, I jumped into 10k training for my 3rd Crescent City Classic. I had already gotten a poster (top 500 finish) in ’14, but I wanted to see if this formerly 400lbs body could somehow run a sub-40 minute 10k, so that’s where my focus went. However, I ultimately failed in that effort, for I ran 41:05. My failures are just as important to me as my achievements. They’re not nearly as sexy, but they are arguably even more valuable. But I digress. Anyway, not long after that 50k on the beach, I signed up for a 100k! I figured that I’d spend the summer logging big mileage weeks and getting familiar with 30+ mile running efforts as a new normal. The hot miles of that summer were brutal at times, but in a rewarding “hey, it was hard but you did it” kind of way. With each emptying of my vessel, and distance/heat-induced failure, I grew back stronger. I could feel it, not just physically, but mentally. I would need it in that 100K! That wound up being the absolute hardest thing I’d ever done.

Not long after that 100k, my buddy Jean ran his first 100 mile race. My friend Wally and I were to be his pacers, splitting the duty almost 50/50 for his last 60 miles. (Jean, Wally, and myself were all first-time ultra runners at the Destin 50k, btw—their peer pressure is what prompted me to sign up) Around this time, Jean had brought up the idea of signing up for the Bear Bait 50 miler this January. I was kicking the idea around because I knew I wanted to give RnR ’16 a PR effort, and with a 50 mile race the month before, I was afraid it may hinder my training for that. But after watching Jean run through the mountains all night in his 100 mile race, that really wound up being 101 miles due to some weather-induced course adjustments (I had to let em know, Jean), I decided that I was running Bear Bait. I guess you could say I was inspired as hell.

Once I signed up and began training for it, I always had the RnR ’16 in the back of my mind. So, in addition to wanting really race my first ultra at Bear Bait, marathon pacing for RnR was always in the back of my mind. Even though I was running back-to-back 25-mile days, and multiple 40+ mile weekends, I always tried to finish with a goal marathon pace burst. That wasn’t always achievable, but it was always the aspiration, and, again, the times I failed at this were, to me, more valuable than the times I succeeded. Failure is a quite a shaper.

After Bear Bait was in the books, I finally turned my sights to RnR ’16. My partner in crime from way back, J.Tizzle, had already found and downloaded a marathon training plan. All I had to do was DO; he’d send me a text with the workout, and I’d show up at 4:30am and get it done, with him by my side. The shift from ultra training speed to marathon training speed was actually kinda nice. In a weird way I almost felt as if I’d been somehow holding Speed at bay in lieu of Distance, so to let Speed out to play was quite a nice change-up. This was made evident in my next pacing assignment as I paced my buddy Wally for 20 miles of his first 100-miler.

Near the back half of my marathon training plan, on the dark trail, running with Wally, who already had 60 miles on his legs, we were not running at goal marathon pace by any means. lol! And, as counterintuitive as it sounds, slowing down like that drained me. I tried not to let Wally see it, as he was the one with a reason to be hurting, but I was tapped out by the end of my twenty. But, I looked at it as a good thing; “I think I’m in marathon shape.”

Look y’all, I never really talk about what I do for a living. It’s not that I’m being secretive or anything, it’s just not a very one-word-explained thing, like “accountant”; I’m a landlord for a mobile home park, I am a wastewater utility operator/owner, and it’s my role to bathe and feed my grandfather. So, from day to day, my day may be extremely boring or it may extremely stressful, or even worse, when it’s a mixture of the two. And honestly, the internal dissonance of that life can either fuel being very unhealthy and feeling justified in doing so because of the stress, or it can fuel a very healthy lifestyle using the internal confusion, and impending decision-angst as a reason to physically exhaust yourself as to achieve a certain internal quiet. And without getting into much detail, this past few weeks have been, let’s just say, angst-rich. But that is where my brother comes in. He always has my back, and, as partners, we help each other up when the other is getting towed under by the minutia. It is a great thing, and I am grateful for all he does that allows me to do these things I do. And, in no small way all those who sacrifice and help out the Josh LaJaunie Project are on my mind in the late miles when my body’s telling me “it’s ok to let up, look how far you’ve come…”

After a short tussle with a head cold—even after committing to a 100% raw existence for about three weeks prior to the marathon, and a few emergencies on the professional front the week before the race—that were devoured by my brother and myself, I found myself standing in a start corral again. I felt fresh. I had plenty decision-angst to fuel me. I had in-person inspiration planned for mile 16 because my rock, my wife, would be waiting for me with a filled water bottle and a “don’t stop, baby! you’re kicking ass! don’t stop!” Dammit, I was fuckin’ ready to run, YA HEARD?!?

BOOM! We were off!

JT and I started behind the 3:30 pace group. It was a large group! I had originally planned to sorta use that group as a pace gauge, and hopefully just keep them close so I could come in under 3:34, but hopefully under 3:30. However, the group’s size made it rather cumbersome to run in that pack, so by mile two me n JT were in front of that group. This made me ever so nervous. For the rest of the day I kept thinking, “don’t let that group catch you!” After putting a gap between us and the 3:30 group, JT and I settled into a groove that we figured we could hold for 20 or so.

I was so excited to still be seeing 7:30s, 7:20s on my watch all the way up to mile 13 and 14. We ran through the first half around 1:38. Hell, that’s 3 minutes off of my Half Marathon PR! I figured we’d be involuntarily slowing down shortly, given we were caring this kind of pace. After an out-n-back section in mile 14, I noticed JT was no longer near me; I could not hear his very distinct, to me, footfalls anymore. I was hoping he was cool, but I knew he wouldn’t want me coming back to check on him, this isn’t some middle-of-nowhere ultra trail, it’s a road race; there’s plenty of help on the course. But I had a hunch that he had just decided to slow down a tad; although we had trained together for this marathon, he hadn’t quite logged the tons of miles I had in the previous several months. And, although he’d never admit it, I think he wittingly ran too fast early just to help me stay on task. Again, he’ll never admit it, but I’m calling him out right now, saying he sacrificed his PR for mine. (my keyboard is suddenly blurry…)

Alone now, with no JT, I started thinking ahead to where my best friend/wife/girlfriend/strength coach would be waiting for me, about mile 16.5. I could see her from way off…my baby. I ran hard as I approached her, and our friend who accompanied her. I wanted to show off for my girl and her friend. I wanted them to both be proud of me, and how strong I was looking with less than 10 miles to go! B.J. swapped handhelds with me and ran along side me for minute to tell me not to stop. She instructed me to keep going hard, and she’d see me at the finish.

As I ran off from my favorite rendezvous, I remembered that I’d been holding in a piss for about ten miles. It was almost unbearable, especially now that I had a new slug of hydration in my belly. I was cursing the big bottle of water I drank before I left for the start line that morning. Dammit! Should I just piss myself? I tried. I was running too fast to relax enough to let it go. I wasn’t running in a residential area, as we were on the back side of City Park, near a lake with plenty vegetation growing on the shore. I spotted a bush, and peeled off the route. I ran through the grass to the bush I’d found. Stopping felt so wrong, but peeing felt so right. When I got back to the road I ran hard for about 400 meters in an attempt to make up for the time I had lost. I felt so much better now!

It started to become a bit of struggle to hold pace around mile 21 or so. But I got a jolt when, along the long out-n-back section along lakeshore drive, I hear, “Josh! you are looking strong buddy! looking great, man!” It was Jason Cheek. I met “Cheeky” at the 100k I ran in October, Children of the Cane. He’d run the 100 miler, finishing second overall. Dude is a straight beast! Jason had already made it to the turnaround at mile 22 and was heading back toward the finish. He was just out for a leisurely long run because he’d already BQ’d last month at the Louisiana Marathon. Hearing and seeing him pumped me up! I could tell he was kinda chilling, so I was like, “what if we could catch up to Cheeky and slap his ass before the finish…” Not that I could speed up at all, I was just daydreaming, keeping my mind off the pain.

As I made the mile 22 turnaround I immediately started looking for JT. When I saw that the 3:30 group was a head of him, I knew he’d be pissed about his time. But when I saw him all that was evident was how proud he was of me. He screamed as loud as he could, “It’s your fucking day, boy! Go finish this fucking thing!!”

By the time I’d reached mile 23, I had slowed down considerably. I was passing people, but not running as fast as my heart really wanted to. One person I passed saw my No Meat Athlete singlet, and decided to catch back up to me and share the fact that we were both vegan runners. His name was Tim. As I conversed with him through my grunts and moans, he figured out that I was the guy he’d heard on the Rich Roll Podcast. His face lit up, “dude?!?! Rich Roll Podcast?” I said, “yep.” And he gave me a fist bump. He was very nice, and very interested and engaging. I couldn’t figure out if he was really that interested in me or if he was just trying to keep my mind off the pain. Either way, I really appreciated his company and willingness to hang with me as a de facto pacer. He pushed me, and encouraged me. He was telegraphing the route to me so I knew exactly what to expect next. (he was unaware that I’ve run this route, and all the parts of it about a zillion times. lol. but I still appreciated it)

Approaching mile 26, I could hear the finish. Tim said, “not even a full lap around the track, bro!” We took off! When we rounded the corner not only did I see two of my favorite people in the crowd cheering me on, Wally and his wife Nikki, but I saw the clock had just turned to 3:24:00! We ran our asses off to beat 3:25:00. We got to the finish in 3:24:45. I grabbed Tim’s slight frame and pulled him in close for a lingering, slightly awkward, “thank you” hug. As tired as I was, and as much as I just wanted a bottle of water and a chocolate milk (SIKE. HA!😂), it was important for me to let Tim know what that two miles meant to me. Thanks, bro.

As I walked away from Tim and toward the bucket of bottled waters, I heard Cheeky, “damn bro, what you doing here? You beat me?! what was your time?” I told him, and he said, “you beat me!” Even though, he wasn’t running hard, and, I found out later, he was helping a young lady across the finish, who had fallen from fatigue in the last 800 meters or so (he is more than a beast at running apparently; he’s a beast at being a compassionate human as well), I was still sad I didn’t get the chance to smack his ass and call him a slacker!

I laboriously brought you through all those steps, and all that information, not as a braggart, but as a human who has, for the first time ever in his life, decided not to limit himself; a human who has decided that whatever he sets his eye on, and is willing to work for, to cry for, to bleed for, to be made fun of for, is completely probable to achieve. I truly believe that weight loss, eating plants, and running are just the tip of the ice burg for me. I use you guys as guinea pigs as I practice writing, and I bounce ideas off of you guys in real time via social media, and I truly think I have a calling. That I am creeping ever so closer to what that is exactly is filling me with passion, a passion that seems as profound and psyche-altering as my very first Crescent City Classic.

What’s next? Well, in the micro, CCC 2016 is right around the corner; In the macro, I’m looking at my first 100 mile race. I’m also find myself being asked to speak at bigger and bigger events. So, as I train for the CCC, I’ll be preparing for a chance to be a speaker at Healthfest in Marshall, Texas. And the city of Shreveport has asked me back for a second trip to north Louisiana to speak at a health expo they are hosting in April on the 16th, just a couple weeks later. Then, I’ll be at the NOLA Veggie Fest on Mother’s Day weekend, both Saturday and Sunday. I’ll probably start my hundred mile training around then because I’m thinking about my first hundo being in September. But the thing that really has me vibrating with excitement is a chance to speak at the Engine 2/Forks Over Knives immersion event in Dallas Texas in October! To be asked to speak on the same stage as Rip and Dr. Caldwell Esselstyn kinda blows my mind!

Anyway guys and gals, I say get on fire for what you love. Even if it’s a square peg in a round hole, beat it, whittle it down to fit, widen the hole, something! Make it fit, force it. For once it fits, the hardest part is over, the customization is done. Now you can set your sights on sustained happiness. But, what do I know? I’m not joking. I’m just a coonass with a laptop. Peace.

I guess I am what you’d call a registered coonass: I’m a hardcore, ex-football-playin WHODAT who bleeds black and gold; And for most of my years on earth I’ve been a hunter, fisherman, and general sportsman in the state that claims the title of “Sportsman’s Paradise.” I love being Louisianan. I love that I usually sound different in a room outside my hometown. I love that I have a crazy-hard cajun-french last name to pronounce (and I secretly love watching people, as they read it from a piece of paper, struggle with it. lol). You see, I love everything about my culture and the people in it except for things that destroy the latter.
I grew up Thibodaux Louisiana on the banks of Bayou Lafourche. Y’all know how we do!, “We live to eat!” Really, it’s even on billboards and pamphlets at the tourist centers. Hell, our very own parish’s slogan is “Lafourche Parish…Dig In!” With an exclamation point no less!
We exclaim to visitors,”EAT! It’s what we do here!” And what do we eat? Well…Fried anything for starters (beignets, fish, alligator, back strap, oysters, gratons, etc…). A roux (which is fried flour to start a rich chocolate colored based) starts many of our signature dishes here: gumbo, jambalaya, stew, sauce piquant, crawfish pie, ettoufee’. We hunt deer in the fall to fill the freezers with deer roast, back strap, tenderloin, and to mix the lesser cuts with pork to make deer sausage. We kill pigs and have boucheries (where the whole pig is used, snout to tail, including skin and guts. It’s actually delicious. I’m not making a “hey, that’s gross” argument here). We cook whole, milk fed piglets and have what’s called a couchon de lait on special occasions like weddings. During the spring its crawfish season, followed up by speckle trout, snapper, and tuna time…And as the average coonass reads this, invariably, he or she swells with pride and says “das right, sha!” And I get it. Hell, I feel pride as I write these things down. It signifies a culture with a history of making due, surviving on the margins; creating a home from a hot, swampy, mosquito infested, flood-prone, harsh environment. And, the tools and tactics we used to overcome are celebrated in grand fashion, and rightfully so. However, there is an availability issue that exists today that didn’t exist when we were actually using these tools of survival to actually survive: now we can have them whenever we want, as much as we want. And that is the issue. When we were living off the land as cajuns, that’s what we were doing: living, as in sustaining life; not glutonizing everything. Along with the fact that the culturally correct vegetables and other plants our ancestors ate in accompaniment with these animal-derived foods make up a smaller and smaller proportion of the whole as each generation’s norm shifts to something a little easier to endure. Everybody wants to hunt and fish, nobody wants to plant, harvest and/or collect the plants that are just as much a part of cajun culture as boudin: mirliton, chadron, blackberries, granavolies, champignon or the plethora of beans, greens, tomatoes, and citrus trees that were grown in abundance in Louisiana back yards.
If you know anything about me, you know that I stand firm in my belief, no, discovery, that humans are made to eat plants for optimal thriveability. Given our biological tools (claws, teeth, speed, power), it makes sense to my logical coonass brain. Our relationship with plants as food is more human than the one we have with animals as food. And as I have embarked onto the plantbased planes of the unknown as a coonass, I have often thought about the feeling I get that I am somehow being disloyal to a culture, my culture, by not participating in some things that, seemingly, have been arbitrarily made almost prerequisite to that culture.
I think Louisianans are tough, competitive, smart, resourceful, romantic, proud, and full of life, which is why these days I choose to embrace the people themselves more than the arbitrary prerequisites of cajundom. While ultra running may not be a cajun prerequisite just yet, it sure does use a coonass’ attributes: toughness, willingness to grind, and a head too hard to let the body quit (tête dur, bruh!). And I am falling more and more in love with the sport.
This weekend my friends and I did something so typically south Louisianan it made me feel like a kid again: we played in the cane fields all day. Growing up on the bayou, as you travel up and down from Thibodaux to Galliano you see acres and acres of sugar cane being grown. Most of us grew up close enough to cane fields to remember playing hide-n-seek in the rows, cutting stalks of cane to chew on (and thinking to yourself, “this don’t taste like sugar!”); we know how the harvest effects traffic, and road conditions; we know what bagasse is and how it smells; and yes, we’ve had a zillion snowballs doused with syrup derived from it. I think it is safe to say that we, especially from the bottom of the boot, are definitely “Children of the Cane.”
When I caught wind of an ultra endurance race being started in Port Allen by Walker Higgins, the director of the Cane Field Classic (which I have yet to race due to marathon training plan conflicts, but I’m signed up for it this year), I was all ears. I had just completed my first ultra-marathon in Destin Florida, and my friends were signing up for this event called the “Children of the Cane 50k, 100k, 100 mile endurance race.” I had heard nothing but awesome things about Walker’s other race. That, and the fact that the race was called “Children of the Cane,” compelled this coonass to sign up promptly.
I dove into the training. I logged miles like I’d never logged miles before. I even ran from Houma to Thibodaux and back, 40ish miles, with some friends before I officially started my 100k training plan. I ran 40 miles at the Dusk til Dawn, Hotter than Hell event in New Orleans, which almost killed me (lol), as part of my training. That 40 miles was huge for me in my experimenting with nutrition/hydration. I learned a lot that night. Then came the weekends of solo 50k’s and 75 mile weeks. All the while I was scared to death of what 100k would feel like. The only thing that comforted me was the fact that I had given my training everything I had. I knew that because I’d laid it all out there, I had really helped my chances of finishing. As the weeks passed by, and the day of the race drew near, I was nervous but excited. I knew at the worst I’d probably just make the 18 hour cut-off, and at the best I’d finish behind my friend Wally, whatever place that was. I’ve written about Wally before. He is a true warrior, and a wonderful sole. He is the kind of guy you just want to be around indefinitely, which is why I was sad when I couldn’t keep up with him anymore.
The weather on race day turned out to be just perfect! Wally, his wife Nikki, Jonathan, Ethan, and I were all running this race. Wally, Ethan, and myself were tackling the 100k, and Nikki and Jonathon were taking on the 50k. We showed up about an hour before the start and met at the ice chest near the start/finish we’d put out the evening before. Here we were, about to kick off our respective races. We snapped the obligatory group pre-race selfie, and before we knew it we were off!
I hung with Wally thinking that if I could just hang with him for the first half or so, I’d be golden. I didn’t achieve that feat. By mile 20 I was starting to lag behind him a little. By mile 22 he was a little further ahead. By mile 23, as I topped the Mississippi River levee, I could see that he was even further ahead. I caught a glimpse of him way ahead in mile 24 as we traversed the worst part of the route, in my opinion, and that was it, no more Wally sightings until I saw him in my mile 51, his mile 59, on his way to wrap up his 2nd place finish. However, he did leave a little message for me in the cane field that said “hey, buddy! thinking about you!” in not so many words; As I rounded a corner in the cane field around mile 44, I read, in giant letters scribbled in the dirt, “JOSH.” It made me cry…shocker! I let him know that he’d made me cry, and we had a quick laugh, and BOOM he was off again. I needed that little message at that point, too.
I had been kinda running with a 100miler named Geoff Landry up until about mile 43. In mile 43 Geoff came by and asked if I was o.k. I told him that I was, but I was really beginning to feel the pain. But I reassured him that I was just gonna shuffle out the pain (to use the words my friend Jean shared with me as he came around me in the Dusk til Dawn event we’d run together in July). Not long before Geoff passed me, I found myself almost face to face with one of the 100 mile leaders in one of the many out-and-back sections of the zig-zaggy cane field course. He is a local legend named Ed Melacon. He shot me a look and I realized I was walking so I hopped to a jog, and he clapped for me and said “there you go!” I don’t know if he realizes how big of a deal that was to me.
In just a few miles I found myself where Ed had been when he shot me the “stop walking” look. There, I could spy that someone was behind me, about the same distance I was behind Ed. This drove me. I now know his name is Nathan Jones. At the time, though, I thought it may have been my friend Ethan. It was killing me that someone was climbing on me. I didn’t want anyone between me and Wally. So, from 47 to 49 I picked up the speed a little. And, as I could see for miles behind me because of the back-and-forth nature of the course, I could tell that whoever that person was wasn’t within 2-3 miles.
I was in new mileage territory now. Hell, I was at a mileage p.r. after mile 43 or so. As bad as I was hurting, it was starting to settle in that I was going to finish this thing. I was in mile 50 walking down the middle of the train tracks that I’d quit even trying to run on. As I walked I was just thinking to myself “50 fucking miles, bruh!” Then a voice in a more somber tone would say “12 to go, it ain’t over yet.”
As I exited the tracks and continued onto a gravel road through a cane field I started meeting up with the leaders of the 100 miler, and I now know, the 100k leader. But as I continued my grind up the gravel road, one of the leaders pulled out his earbuds and caught my attention.
“Hey , man! Eat some plants! Great work, brother!”
I learned afterward that this guy was Jason Cheek, he came in second in the 100 miler! Complete animal. That he would make a point to encourage me, and that he knew about my plantiphelia, was kinda cool.
After seeing Wally in mile 51, as I mentioned earlier, I knew I still had to traverse the dreaded river bank section. Once I had that under my belt, It’d be all over but the crying. I pretty much walked that whole section when I reached it. Keep in mind that all this time, I’m constantly looking over my shoulder for the guy chasing me. Then, out of nowhere, I heard footsteps and my heart sank. But when I turned around it was a very upbeat young woman, who was not racing but manning the aid station in mile 55. She could tell she startled me, I think, so she very warmly introduced herself to me, and explained she had been pacing people through this section all afternoon. It was nice to have company for a few minutes.
As we approached the aid station, she ran ahead with my water bottles and refilled them to save me some time. I immediately chugged them, used the stick roller on my hip flexors and calves, then grabbed a handful of skittles and an Oreo (yes, really) before heading out on my last 6ish miles.
As I topped the levee and headed out along the top toward the descent back onto the trail that would take me to the finish, I couldn’t help but think of how bad it sucked to run on the gravel road atop the levee, and, that the 100milers would have to run about 15 or so miles on it later that night…”suck it up, Josh! 10k to go, baby!”
Once back on the cane field headlands heading back, about mile 57, I met up with my buddy Ethan. We exchanged hugs, and he told me I was looking strong. I told him I loved him.
Not long after this I found myself racing the sun. In mile 59 I was back where I’d met up with Jason Cheek earlier. The sun was below the horizon, but it was still daylight. Right as I approached the last section of train tracks, in mile 60, I noticed what I thought was a little black puppy in the grass beside the road. I remember thinking that I’d take this lost little puppy with me, cross the finish line with him or her, and have a great story and addition to the family. But as I got closer, I could see clearly that this was no puppy! This was an ass-up skunk, ready to spray the shit out of me. I increased my speed and forgot all about my crossing-the-finishline-with-a-new-puppy fantasy. Now it’s time to attack these muddafucking train tracks…
Walking down the tracks, I could see a light up ahead. Was it a train? What if it is a train? Hadn’t thought of that one! Shit, I don’t have the energy for train-dodging. But as I got closer, I could tell it was someone with a flashlight. It was my friend Randy, who had driven in from Lafayette to volunteer and witness this ultra craziness for himself. Randy lit the way, and helped me in to mile 60. There I saw my family waiting and cheering me on…”half a mile, Josh!!! 100K! you did it!” I cried and soaked in that last half mile. It had taken me 13 hours and 46 minutes to travel 62 miles through cane field, gravel roads, train tracks, and overgrown sandy riverbank trail. I was almost sad it was over. Almost.

It was a good thing I finished when I did because when I saw the race results, I realized that Nathan had closed the gap on me considerably, and merely ran out of real estate, as they say, or I’d have come in 4th. Nice show, bruh!

As I identify more with eating plants and running miles, I am understanding how I can still have my coonass-ness, cajun-ness, out-dat-boot-ness without caving to the “prerequisites” of said “-ness.” I was so happy to be participating in this event with folks who have cajun surnames (and those who don’t. don’t get it twisted. lol). And for one of the first times since I have started my running journey, I felt both like an authentic ultra runner (albeit very slow still), and a child of my beloved cajun environment at the same time. That was very cool, and I thank you for that, Mr. Higgins and family. Peace. Run. Plants.