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Sprinting with Doodle Bug

Doodle Bug is a nickname my dad gave to my younger brother, Dustin, when we were kids. I don’t know exactly how it came about, but it stuck. The monicker is a tad misleading, though. To hear the name conjures up an image of a meek little bug with an innocuous, neutral, and otherwise impotent disposition. Nothing could be further from the truth; my brother is a bear!

Yes, he can be a teddy bear, granted, but he can also be the kind of bear that will tear off faces and devour human flesh if he feels his family is being threatened. I love that about my brother: his passion. He loves with all he has, and is willing to sacrifice himself for the ones he loves. He has the scars, both physical and emotional, to prove it. Dustin, Doodle Bug, Doodles, is not only the best brother the universe could have ever provided me, but he’s also my best friend and one helluva business partner.

Sunday morning, Dustin and I were running as fast as we could, uphill, toward a finish line of a race that would have seemed a complete improbability just a few years ago.

In those days, Dustin and I both had problems just walking a few miles, much less sprinting up a hill to finish a 100-mile race.

I’ll never forget a specific duck hunting trip where he and I were required to walk almost 2 miles in our chest waders to get to a pond deep in the woods. At that point in our lives we weighed close to 800ish pounds combined. We had to take several breaks. We were sweating profusely, and were very angry that this ridiculousness was being asked of us by our hunting buddies in the first place. The anger was a projection; what I really felt was helpless, heavy, less than, tired, useless, etc…

Yet, here we were, together, a combined 300 pounds lighter, running full speed ahead toward the finish line of a 100-mile race. Who woulda fuckin’ thunk it?

My All-Star Crew

Doodles was integral to my finish at Bear Bait earlier this year because he’s a rock; a technician; a real pragmatic, logistics-oriented guy. So I knew having him involved would be crucial in my first 100-mile experience.

But he was not alone. I had an All-Star crew in addition to Doodle Bug. Beside the usual familiar faces of Wally and Jean, my buddy JT was there as a pacer and all-around tech guy. He also updated my social media profiles throughout the race.

Also, of course, my mom was there (my dad was back in Thibodaux making sure my grandpa Bam Bam was taken care of). She is becoming quite the hand, I must admit. (She needs to work on her Injinji toe-sock replacement speed, but still. lol.) My little sister, Kassi, was in the mix this time along with her husband Derick and my little nephew Grayson. Dustin’s wonderful lady Mishca was there, too. I could see her taking it all in with wide eyes as she has her first ultras on the horizon at Bobcat Bait and Children of the Cane respectively.

But having my lovely bride there was almost like cheating. That woman sets my insides on fire every time our eyes meet. And to have her there this time, with not only her unmatched leadership skills and get-shit-did-ness, but her obvious love for me and concern for my goal was more effective than P.E.D.s. No offense to anyone in the race, but I definitely had the best crew. I’m not kidding. It wasn’t even a contest. Our tent had so much capacity for support that it became a spot of aid for many others, and that makes me smile big-big.

Start Line

As I made my way to the start line, I would be lying if I were to say I was not scared. I was scared shitless! But as I stood there waiting for the signal to run, I just went inside myself to find comfort in what I knew I had done to prepare for this moment, and the things that tried but could not, did not, derail me.

I knew I had run myself into the ground in July by overdoing it. I had made myself sick, driven my body to a place where swelling and vomiting were the manifestations of my efforts. I knew where that moment had taken me mentally, and how I had sat in my office in the middle of the night crying because I had invited the world to watch me do this thing, and now I was feeling like I had ruined my chances by running too fast, and too far; a dance I often dance.

Then, of course, the last-minute mindfuck of Hurricane Hermine. I was fighting the urge to go into a worried state about this tropical development, invest 99, just a week or so before the race. But for whatever reason Hermine, aka invest 99, did a 180 and left my race alone.

“It was meant to be,” I told myself. I felt like the universe had conspired to put me here, at the start line, on this day, with these people. It was time to respect that, honor that, and wring my soul, every last drop, onto the sandy soil that made up the Wildcat 100 course. I took a deep breath, and I was fucking ready!

The First 50

As I ran the first few loops the lesson I’d learned back in July was still very clear in my mind; chill out, no racing, just keep running, we got all goddamn day. I relaxed and fell into a groove with a couple buddies who were also competing, Rob Smith and Joshua Holladay. We just ran around and talked food, plants… shocker. lol! As they each stopped at their respective support crews, we began to separate. But Rob caught back up to me one more time, and thank goodness he did.

Rob clued me in on a trick that he’s used in past races where the heat was an issue. He told me to fill a long tube sock with ice and keep it around my neck. That seemed like a great idea, I was in! But that wasn’t enough for Rob. He actually had his wife hand me one of his tube socks (clean, of course. lol!) to use for this in the next loop. And man, it saved my ass, I must say. After learning this little gem, I had my crew prepare a backup sock-with-ice so I wouldn’t have to wait on them to fill one on every visit. This little trick helped me push through the 104-degree heat index, and keep a steady pace.

With my rhythm of ice-sock, water, Tailwind, GU’s, Bearded Bros bars, and fresh Injinjis and Altras every 20 or so miles, I was clipping through the miles with relative ease. I was really having fun. There was tons of encouragement from my friends on the course, as well as the bystanders at the start/finish area. Things were great, and I was all smiles with the carrot-on-the-stick of picking up Wally, my first pacer, in mile 50.

My Pacers

As I came in for my 20th loop Wally was there waiting on me, bouncing around in his shoes, ready to get the show on the road. If you know Wally, you know what I mean. He is, as Bam Bam would say, “sitting on ready and rocking on go” all the damn time. I love that dude! I have referred to him and Nikki, his wife, as human Prozac before, lol. There is no way to get in a funk around Wally…unless it is mile 55 and you’re starting to hit your first low point in your first 100 mile race, while weathering a torrential rain storm…

As Wally and I took off we linked up with the current leader, I was a lap down on him so I guess he felt safe just hanging with Wally and myself for a while. Yet as we got into that first loop, I felt the pace picking up a tad, and it was throwing me off.

At that point I was charging my watch with an external battery, which had the display disabled, so I had no idea what our current pace was. But the watch did display mile splits, so I knew that in the first mile with Wally and the leader I had sped up almost 1minute/mile. That, combined with our exuberant conversation with the leader (a barely-18-year-old young man trying to break the 100-mile world record for his age group), was kinda throwing me off a bit, and I began to falter.

Wally could tell. After a few miles with this young phenom, Wally gently encouraged him to move on ahead. As Wally and I ran around the loop a few more times, we began to talk. He brilliantly brought up the subject of food, and we began talking about plant-based nutrition. I was completely lost in talking about helping people get traction with their weight-loss and health goals through plants and running. We were talking about all the possibilities.

What Wally was really doing, of course, by reminding me of all the people who’ve been helped by me, was making me better in that moment. He said to me around that time that he could feel my passion about this in the pace. He was like, “Do you realize how much more relaxed, and how much better the pace has gotten since we’ve been talking plants n running?” Wally suggested I tap that passion for the rest of this race, and within the next mile handed me off to JT.

JT and I have had a lifetime of running experiences together in a matter of just a few years, so we had some fun reminiscing to do. We talked about how far we’ve both come from that first 5k where we found ourselves, two strangers, racing each other through downtown Thibodaux for the 2013 Thibodauxville 5K, where he out-kicked and beat me, but unwittingly carried me to a new PR. That bald-headed fucker has become like a brother to me, and to have him there running with me in my first 100 miler was so cool, and I am so glad that his wife and son shared him with me for the weekend. He’s a solid gold soul, and one of my favorite humans, even if he did attend Central Lafourche High School.

JT and I ran around the loop a few times, and we wondered where my boy Jean was. We hadn’t seen him yet, and we knew he was next in the rotation. That didn’t shock me, my boy Jean is always late. lol. I knew he was with his family at the beach, so I figured he may be running late. As JT and I got back around to the start/finish I could someone standing there in what, from a distance, looked like an ol coonass offshore all-in-one work uniform. To myself I was like “Wally has dressed up as an oil rig rough neck or something. crazy fucker…” But, as I got closer, I could see it was not an oil field uni, it was Jean in a goddamn Chewbacca costume! I laughed and shook my head. Only my crew. I fuckin love it! Jean met me and JT back around by my support tent where he helped change my shoes. In a Chewbacca costume! I’m still laughing! Then we took off!

As Jean and I started off, I said it was pretty fucking hot to be wearing basically a full-body fur suit. To which he replied that he figured I’d been out here suffering all day, and the least he could do is come out and run in this hot fucking suit to suffer a little with me. It made my voice crack, but I held back my tears because Jean is the tough guy in our clique. I didn’t want to go all Tammy Faye Baker on his ass, so I just said thanks.

Jean’s encouragement was amazing and perfect. Having just finished the Leadville 100 two weeks ago, I’m sure he still had the taste of 100 miles fresh in his mouth, so maybe he could empathize with where I was at the moment better than anyone that night. He made me feel so good about how I was doing, and he really put me at ease and got me motivated to get my mind right for the upcoming final push at the same damn time. It was a really good few loops. But, it was time to swap out pacers because he needed to get the hell out of the damn Chewbacca suit.

So, as Jean shook a fresh pacer from the rack, my wife, rather unexpectedly, found herself on a half loop back to the start/finish with me to pick up my next pacer. It was a short run together, and not her forte, being it was at night, in the woods, with a head lamp (upside down, btw. so cute!), on wet trails. I know it wasn’t her favorite, but I sure enjoyed her being with me for more than the fleeting moments we’d gotten at the aid station, where she was quite the efficient General I was hearing…not a surprise there. She is the most capable human I know. I got me a good one. But soon our little run was over, and we were back around to where Wally was waiting to run again.

Falling Apart and Getting Put Back Together

Wally and I made a loop, then I decided I needed a break on our second loop. My groins were cramping, my back was tight, my whole body was tired. Seventeen more miles was feeling daunting.

I was falling apart. I sat in a chair and Wally massaged my calves, and I could see the worry on his face. He was concerned. Not concerned for my safety or anything, but I think he was concerned that I was starting to come apart a bit. And I think he was trying to figure out how to tell me to get my ass up without telling me to get my ass up, but he really didn’t have to say anything. I could see it in his eyes and on his face.

So I got my ass up, with considerable help from him. I could barely stand without a cramp forming somewhere in my musculature. When I got to my feet, I just wrapped my arms around Wally and stood there getting my bearings. Then we began to move ever so gently, deliberately, slowly back into the woods and night.

As soon as we got away from the tent, I started to cry. I sobbed. I told Wally I was so sorry. He had come here to pace me, help me get a solid first-hundred-mile finish, and here I was looking like a damn zombie, walking without bending my knees. I followed behind Wally with a hand on each shoulder, with my head hung low, eyes closed, trying to get my life together.

Then Wally chimed in.

“Big J, you fucking killing this hundred miler bro. I’m not bullshitting! You are doing great; you’re not sitting, you’re walking, you’re moving. That’s all that matters right now; one foot in front the other. We’ll walk this whole fucking lap if we have to bro, just as long as you’re moving forward. Your legs will come back. I promise, J!”
He just let me cry and walk, and run when I could. And when I did run, then stop for a walk, he’d say, “You fucking killed that run, J! Nice one!” It really kept me going. He knew exactly what to say, when to say it, and most importantly why to say it. Wally was my hero of the night on that couple loops. I love that man!

Doodles Reignites My Engine

When we got back to my family, to my surprise, my brother was up and dressed in his running gear. He looked at me in the eye and said, “Me n you ‘bout to go for a fucking run, ya heard?” I immediately lost my shit and started to cry.

My brother has been by my side through thick and thin.

He’s been there when I wasn’t there for him.

He’s been there and never wavered in his brotherly love when I let “cool kids” that I was trying to befriend fuck with him and call him “fatass” when we were in high school.

He’s been there and still wanted me as his big brother when I shared my pair of boxing gloves with a friend when we were kids, as Dustin, two years younger, stood there and took us both on and got a bloody nose.

He’s been there as my business partner when I’ve been out doing cool things like traveling around to places like Plantstock while he picked up the slack, and dealt with pouring rain and aging pumps, drainage and levees.

He came over and buried my dog for me when I was too destroyed…

My brother is my better half in many ways. He’s the entire O-line, and I get to be the quarterback.

As he saw my face devolve into cry mode he stopped me dry.

“Joshua! We ain’t got time for that shit. You hear me?! Save the emotions for when you’re done. Right now, we run.”

We ran. He ran my ass off in that loop. That really broke my legs free, and I was really starting to feel better, but we knew I needed a little gentler loop on the next round because we could see the writing on the wall that I was about to go hard as a motherfucker in the last 10 miles, so my little sister took a lap with me next.

The Final 10 Miles

I feel so fucking old! I remember when she used to call out from the bathroom, “somebody come wipe my buuuuttt!” when she was little (she’s gonna kick my ass! lol), and now she’s a wife and mom. Here we were, Kassi Sue and her big brother running through the woods in the middle of the night, wrapping up mile 90 or so. So surreal. Flashes of my Mammaw looking down at all of us went through my mind. Wonder what she thinks of all this…I hope she’s proud.
As we rounded out the loop for the end of her shift of pacing, I could see that Mishca, my brother’s lady, was there waiting for me. She was bouncingingly ready to run!

Saying that Mishca is a ball of energy is kinda like saying that a nuclear bomb will leave a bruise. The girl is definitely related to the Energizer bunny. I don’t know how, but she’s a fucking first cousin or something. I mean, she is from Pierre Part so they might call him T-Lapin or something, but it is the Energizer bunny fa sho. Anyway, Mishca and I took off down the trail as she was singing and rapping and skipping and fucking hopping! The girl was just a vibration. I fed off her energy and I was now ready to go!

Mishca passed me back off to Jean. He had removed the Chewbacca suit by now. It was time to go to fucking work, baby!

No surprise when Jean came right out the gate with some great words of encouragement. He reminded me how in our training we look forward to our easy days where we are only required to run less than ten miles. The more he talked, the more I wanted to impress him. And when I tried to thank him for his words he just deflected, and said, “Bro, I wouldn’t come pace many folks two weeks after running Leadville, but I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.” My heart swelled, and I was ready to eat raw human flesh!

Jean passed me back off to JT, and when we started off JT did what JT does; he began filling me in on details. He told me that 24 hours was probably in the bag. He said I was so far ahead of 24 hours that I may wind up sub-23! That was crazy to me. I really had no idea. I was trying not to spend brain calories on calculating my finish time. I probably would have fucked it up anyway.

As JT and I came through that start/finish for the last time, I asked him to calculate for me how fast I had to run in these last two miles to get in under 23 hours. He thought for a second, then blurted out that I just needed an 18 minute average in the last two miles to get in under 23 hours. Well, that shocked me. I had no idea I was so far ahead of my goal. Next thing I knew we were back to Doodle Bug, where he was to take me in to the finish.

A Team Sprint to Finish

This time there were no tears. This time there was Kevin Gates blaring on a bluetooth speaker, and a younger brother ready to try to run his older brother’s ass off in the last mile of his first 100-mile race. Honestly, I thought Dustin was going to kill me with the pace he started with. But as he got me rolling, and I could hear “I was tryna get it how I live…I want den dead presidents…I wanna pull up, head spent…get it! get fly! I got 6 jobs, I DON’T GET TIRED!!” we hit a little downhill section, and I started to let my legs go, I was just gonna RUN till my body made me stop.

It wasn’t long before Doodles gave an audible “Uh oh! I can’t keep up! keep going!”

Then I heard him holler back to my dawgs who weren’t far behind, giving chase with the speaker, “One of y’all better come catch his ass, he’s running too fast for me!” Although I was pulling away from him, I knew it was making Dusty proud. I could feel it. It drove me even faster.
I was nearly a half-mile into the last mile before my buddies caught up to me. I ain’t gonna lie, I was trying to outrun their asses too! My hair was on fire!

There was an out-n-back section in that last mile, so they made sure Dustin stayed put and would be waiting for me at the turn for the last tenth of a mile.

We made the final trail loop at the end of the power line right of way, and I began to charge down this last little downhill section for the fortieth fucking time, at a 7:00-7:30 pace.

As we made the approach to the final hill, that I’d been very conservative on in the previous 39 trips, Jean hollered at me to “smash dat fucker!” I gave it all I had. I smashed it.

At the top I could see my brother running from me. He knew I was coming in HOT! He was running his ass off! I was so goddamn proud! I know how hard he was working. When I got next to him he said for me to go on without him. He didn’t want me to lose any time because of him.

Fuck that! It was time for him to keep up! We only had a sprint to the finish left to get done, and I’ll be damned if he wasn’t coming with me!

We both spilled out every drop of what we had left in that last 100 yards. When I got to the finish line I felt like a goddamn warrior. It was one of the most intense feelings I have ever had in my life. I finished my first 100 mile race in 22:45:19, third place overall. And I got to share it with people who mean the world to me.

As I propped myself against the fence near the finish, the race director asked me if I wanted my buckle… “You fuck’n right!”

I shared a very intense moment of emotional release with Wally because he saw my worst that night, and helped me through. I can’t think him enough for being the voice of calm and reason as I came apart at the seams.

But the thing that will stick with me forever is my wife grabbing me by the chin, and pulling my face close to hers for a quick kiss in the midst of all the mayhem…I made her proud, and that made my day.

Peace. Run. Plants.

“You ma boy, Josh! Look what we’re doing man. Another damn ultra! We’re hurting, we’re tired, we’re cramping, but we’re shuffling through the pain and getting it done. I love you, brother!”

These are the words I was saying aloud to myself in mile 29 or so of the Gamelands Ultra on Saturday morning in Wagram, NC. It was getting warm, I had tested my body with an ill-advised pace for the first 10-15 miles, and I had been testing what my limits on nutrition and hydration are, but dammit!, here I was with one of my closest friends in the past couple years, me, wrapping up another proud moment. To say it was pleasing would be an understatement. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not being arrogant here, I’m just trying to sufficiently share a shift in mindset that I think has been my biggest asset recently: self-podnaship. (ask a coonass. sorry, normal people. lol-or click the hyperlink)

You know, I grew up hunting and fishing. Hell, I still have a gun cabinet full of guns. I have a euro-mounted deer skull in my office, alongside a 5lbs bass I caught, and the hide of an elk that my Bam Bam killed in Colorado. Now that I no longer eat animals, and no longer see the killing of these beings as a “necessary” evil accepted in order to achieve the “proper” amount of protein, I don’t tear down these things and burn them. You know why? Because they have a deep connection to very fond memories of my life, shared with some of the most important people in my life. I refuse to hide from the fact that I was a hunter. Most of my very best friends still participate in the sport regularly. Yes, I said sport. Although we have leveraged the internal combustion engine, gun powder, and other technologies to such a degree that it may no longer be the intensely physical activity it once was (and, actually, quite an ill-advised energy gamble in times of scarcity-but I digress), it does still take some level of skill and experience. That being said, for the most part these days I must admit that “sport” is a loosely used term here. There is a big difference between subsistence hunting, and the kill-a-limit-every-day hunting we do today. I’m not trying to be an ass, or all judgey, I’m just trying to offer a point of view that has come into view for me over the past couple years as I try to reconcile the things I know today with things that have brought me a sense of pleasure, and honestly, meaning in my past life. I know what guns and hunting leases mean to people. I know very well. I also know I walked away from mine a few years ago quite reluctantly. I did so not to be a plant-based ultra-marathoner, but because it just became untenable in my life given other areas that were completely out of balance. I don’t want to give people the impression that I had a health epiphany, and just quit hunting overnight. It was way more complicated and confusing of a time for me than that. But to say that since that time some things have become clearer, and some ideas around it have crystalized in my mind is completely accurate.

I spent a lot of time chasing pleasure on our hunting lease. This pleasure had a price, a price I saw paid in health by the elders in our group. It wasn’t the hunting, per se, but a lifestyle of pleasure purchasing/chasing and hack-leveraging that made it possible for us as an organism to achieve the euphoric feeling of sustaining life (escaping death) without ever really having the life’s sustainability threatened, except for by the way we were pretending to sustain it. Damn, that was a mouthful! lol! What I mean here is, we spend tons of resources making a sport of pretending we need to, or that we can, survive off what nature has to offer. The reason I say we pretend we need to is because we don’t need to hunt to survive, but that is  one of the chest-pounding pride driven reasons we do it; “putting meat in the freezer for my family. (so they/we can survive/eat good)” And the reason I say we pretend we can is because it’s our guns and machinery that make it possible to “harvest” limits of game animals in a quantity that would be un-attainable in nature, therefore unattainable without these technologies we leverage, therefore surviving off nature with the quantities of “foods” (animal muscle and organs) we think we need is not possible—therefore it is not really living off nature. Make sense at all? I think familial protection, and being an asset to your clan’s survival is very important, but I just don’t think that the traditional paradigm of filling a freezer with animals to do so is on par with how nature would have us surviving in a vacuum of modern convenience to leverage. Our 2nd amendment-, NRA-centric idea of protecting our families as a core value seems to me to be missing the biggest threats to our and our family’s wellbeing; our lifestyles, and the “traditions” and paradigms that keep us overweight and under-healthy. I know deep down we are survivors, and that our propensity to going out into the woods and harvesting survival from nature is a manifestation of that. However, I submit that maybe I have reduced my desire to participate in those pseudo-survival rituals, while actually helping my clan’s survival through new, yet ancient means; plants and running.

If one thinks about it, it’s not that far of a stretch from what is being done today on hunting clubs and rural backyards around the country. The only difference is I have pragmatically taken the difficult, against-the-grain tact of no longer eating animals. And instead of going into the woods to do the perceived survival prerequisite of harvesting nature to bring home, I go into the woods to do the survival prerequisite of covering ground and coming home with a sweaty brow, tired legs, and a more in depth connection with the given plot of territory and its plants I happened to be “surviving” in and around that day.

As you can see, I put a lot of thought into this line of reasoning, lol. There’s nothing more I would like to see than a marriage of my love of the woods and nature to be able to be understood, shared, and appreciated by the three circles of people with whom I have created the most indelible memories of my life; sportsmen, runners, and plant eaters. (the recipe for a human?) But my pleasure source has shifted from a pleasure sourced from the butcher shop and liquor store, to one sourced from the produce department and the running store.

That brings me to NC.

As I was planning a trip to NC to spend a week with a friend brainstorming on a very exciting project, I just had to check ultrasignup.com to see if there was a race that may work with my travel plans. There was! I found this race called Gamelands Ultra. The finisher medal had an etched image of a euro-mount deer skull with arrows passing through it in a skull-&-crossbones fashion. To most plant-based/vegan types, I’m sure a total turnoff, but to me a bit of nostalgia honestly. I got giddy when I found and signed up for this race. It was perfect! I’d spend the week talking plants and running, attend a Plant-Based Prevention of Disease conference, then punctuate the week with a 50k through some beautiful gameland trails; in a way bringing my life from hunter to plant based ultra runner full circle. I loved it!
I arrived Tuesday afternoon in NC with a full week of work to do with my friend. As we attacked what we wanted to get done, and got our ducks in a row on what still needed to be done, I had this race in the back of my mind the whole time.
All week I had been watching the weather, and every day the weather channel app on my phone was predicting a 100% chance of rain for Saturday morning. I was mentally preparing myself for a slopfest of a 50k. But by Thursday afternoon the weather was threatening to stall our plans for a Saturday morning ultra through the piney woods due to the possibility of lightening. We would know for sure by 7am Friday morning if the race was still a go or not.
At 6:30 am Friday morning I went for the second 7-mile run of the week with my friend. With my mind kinda half believing the race was going to be canceled, I put on a 20 pound weighted vest and figured I would go ahead and get in a good workout. If, when we got back at 7:30 or so, the race had in fact been canceled, I’d lose the vest and go for another loop, maybe two. But when we got back to my truck, I checked the Roam Ultra Facebook page, and found that the race was still on! Immediate butterflies…

After getting showered and fed, I drove to NC State, about 45 minutes away, to meet my friend at the Plant-Based Prevention of Disease conference. There were a few speakers I wanted to see, but my main motivation for going was that Dr. Caldwell Esselstyn himself was the last speaker of the day at 8:15pm. Being a kinda known guy in the plant-based circle, my friend was able to arrange a dinner with a few plant-based doctors, we picked up a fan of his podcast who we met on our way out and invited to join us. As we walked through the lobby of the McKimmon Center, we ran into Dr. Robert Ostfeld, a plant-based cardiologist, and had a brief conversation in which he said that he knew who I was and that he “stalks my Facebook page” to look at the runs I post…mind blown! He stalks my page? Surreal.
After a bowl of grits with an oyster mushroom gravy and grilled veggies, atop a serving of cooked collards, with a side of smashed potatoes, at a cool little vegan restaurant, our little posse headed back to campus to wrap up the day. As we entered the building, the first thing I noticed was the white hair of Dr. Caldwell Esselstyn! Total fanboy moment! My friend knew him personally, and

said rather nonchalantly “let’s go say hi.” My mouth went dry, I could feel tears welling up, and all of the sudden I felt the cool rush of nerves. This man just doesn’t know what his book has done for not only me in the way of self-education, but for my Bam Bam and his health. His book gave me the confidence to really dismiss the “make sure he gets his protein/calcium,” talk I often got from Bam Bam’s physicians when I revealed to them how we were losing weight and changing our health so dramatically. It was doctors like Esselstyn, Ostfeld, Greger, and Davis who really provided me with the knowledge to take the “locust of control,” as Dr Esselstyn would put it, when it came to my and my family’s health, which is really about survival, no?
Anyway, as we approach Dr Esselstyn, he was fiddling around with his carry-on bag. He had it open and was digging through it rearranging some things. I couldn’t help but notice a pair of Hokas in his bag, and immediately in my mind thought he needed to try a pair of Altras, lol! “Maybe I’ll get him a pair,” I was thinking, as I was having a mini daydream. Then, all of the sudden, he’s standing and facing my friend and I.
“Howie!” he says to my friend, and gives him a big embrace. “How are you?”
Howie told him that he was fine, and that he wanted him to meet me. As I shook hands with Dr Esselstyn, Howie filled him in on my weight-loss. His face lit up, and he began to ask me questions about my experience. “Holy shit,” I thought, “I’m having a conversation with Dr Caldwell Esselstyn!” He was engaged and interested in my story, but when I told him about the changes Bam Bam made in his health as an 80-year-old, he really beamed.
I hung around to listen to his talk at 8:15. I didn’t get away until 9:45 or so, and had to drive the 50 minutes back to Chapel Hill, where I was staying.
I peeped at the time as I set my alarm. It was 11pm! Because the race was nearly an hour and a half drive, and the start time was 7:30am, I had to leave by 5:30 at the absolute latest. But, because I still had to pack, give myself time for a good dump (or two), and leave a 30 minute or so cushion to actually find this place once I got to Wagram, NC, where the race was being held, I set my alarm for 3:45am.
When the alarm sounded, I was ready! No snooze, just feet on the deck, and “let’s get this show on the road, baby!”

Arriving at the race site after a few Siri-induced wild goose adventures, I was immediately reminded of my old hunting lease. There were barns, horse paddocks, and sandy dirt roads; I heard twangy southern accents discussing the promised post-race BBQ and beer. This was going to be fun! I was a coonass in a not-so-strange land, but an alien just the same. Yet, even here I had someone come up to me and ask if I was Josh from the RRP?!? Wow, what a reach you have, Rich! So cool, right?

In the start corral however, I began to feel a tad bit alone. Everyone was laughing it up and taking pics, having obviously run races together before. I was an outsider, and I started to feel like in a way I had kinda crashed the party. I got quiet. I got serious.

“3, 2, 1! Go!”

With that, the race was officially underway. Immediately I was in a three runner lead pack, bringing up the rear. The guy in first place, Sean Zion, I heard in a pre-race conversation, had just run a marathon in 2:40. I was pretty sure he wasn’t going to be in sight for long. But then there was a girl with a swishing ponytail in second, who seemed really young, and I didn’t know if the pace we were running (mid sevens) was really in her bailiwick. I thought that maybe she was a 10-miler or something. Yeah, I didn’t pay enough attention to the race description and start times, so I didn’t realize at the time that the 10 milers were to start an hour and a half behind us. But, getting back to Miss Ponytail, she was running fast and strong, but this is a 50k, 31 miles is a long race. I figured I’d just keep her in my sights and use her to pull me at this pace. (which, btw, was not in MY bailiwick. lol!)
About 2.5 miles in, we realized we’d made a wrong turn, and that three of us were now behind the first half or so of the 50/100k pack. This bunched us back up together, and we climbed back through the field, eventually getting out ahead again. Then we began to talk, just the three of us. I already knew who Sean was from ultrasignup.com and from the pre-race port-o-let line chatter, but the rest of us shared our names, and a little about ourselves. It wasn’t long before I realized that I was easily the slowest guy in the lead pack. Katie (found out later she is a big deal on the ol interwebs! check out her blog) was the girl’s name. Turns out that she was a faster marathoner than me also (3:15), but this was her first ultra. So in my mind I’m thinking that my little bit of experience makes up for the 10 minutes I gave up to her in marathon PR. They were both very nice people, and very inclusive and accepting of this loud, foul-mouthed, Sasquatch of a coonass, as we flew through the woods at what was a completely unsustainable pace for me. But hey, I wanted to see limits today.
As we topped a little hill toward the end of loop one, and began the descent, I could already feel the tinge of a calf cramp in my right leg. “Fuck it! we ‘gon hurt today, bruh!” I thought to myself.
We came through start/finish, and I was in second place. But, I needed to refill my water and grab a GU before I headed back out. Lil Miss Katie just flew through, no stopping for her. Immediately, I’m trying to hurry so I can at least keep her in sight. Sean bolted off next. Then I finally found where I’d put my GU’s (I’m a special case of jumble-fuck. js), threw one in my handheld, and took off after Miss Ponytail again.
She was way out ahead, but I could see I was gaining on her. On this lap her husband had decided to run with her. In my head, I was like “maybe she’s hurting a bit, and her husband is helping her to keep moving. Poor thing, must have come out too fast…” Well, in about the 3rd mile of that second loop, her husband turned and ran back toward me. He complimented me on my performance thus far and headed back toward the start. Nice guy.
Back to trying to reign in that poor young lady who’d come out too fast. But wait! She’s going faster now! So I sped up too, but by now sub-eight-minute miles were seeming like a bad idea. I decided to chill out and let the race come back to me, eventually, maybe. I’m sure she will have to slow down at some point. I’ll just hold steady right here, I have experience on my side.

As I started to settle into the idea of being alone for the next 15 or so miles, all of the sudden someone catches up to me and flies by. Dammit! I must be falling off my pace hard. But upon checking my watch, I could see that I was well within a pace that would net me a sub 5-hour effort so I was cool. Oh well, I had just gone from secondish to fourth in the span of 30 minutes or so. I was digesting that when I saw my fast little pony-tailed friend heading back toward me on the trail.
“Hey, I think we’re going the wrong way!!” she said.
I was like, “ I sure as hell hope not because I feel like I know where I am. Plus, I just saw Sean blasting back up the trail on the other side of this tree line, so Im pretty sure he came from this direction.”
She returned with a “I dunno, I’m gonna go this way.”
For the next 1/2 mile or so I thought I may have been lost too, but the guy who’d just passed me hollered back to me that he saw a sign. Cool, I was not lost, I was on track. But then Immediately I thought about my new friend Katie. Where in the hell did she go? Why didn’t she just come with me/us? “dammit, girl, you were KILLING this thing!” I thought to myself.

As I approached the end of loop two, Katie’s husband was waiting, looking a little worried. He asked if I had seen his wife, and I told him that I’m pretty sure she got turned around, but she was looking strong as hell.

At the start/finish I realized the guy who’d blasted by me in mile 15 or so was in the 10 mile race, not the 50k. So, now I was officially in second. But damn, it felt dirty. I mean, I know the possessor of that ponytail I’d been chasing all morning should be in second place. Where the hell did she go? I even took a long break this time, and took my time making sure I got more hydration and nutrition in me, as I was really beginning to feel the effects of going so hard on what amounted to 110 calories, 40 oz of water, and 4 Salt Stick capsules thus far. I stretched out good, and began to shuffle back out onto the course. I spent mile 22 recovering in motion. I was cramping everywhere. Then, up ahead, I see that bouncing ponytail coming toward me. Damn, she’d gotten way behind. I felt so bad for her.
“I’m already in mile 24!” she said. She should have been in mile 19 or so at that point. I wished her my best and we parted ways again. I was going through a rough spot right then, so I wasn’t exactly chipper, lol.

In mile 23 I began to be able to run again. My Salt Sticks, calories, and water was starting to kick in. Phew! When I passed the aid station the RRP fan that had introduced himself earlier gave me a loud “GO JOSH!” I don’t know if he knows how good that felt. I was able to hold it together and stay in the 9’s for a couple miles, but as my water depleted my pace followed.
Around mile 26 I saw Katie again. She was not half way through the third loop yet. I just felt awful for her. As she sees me she stops and says, “let me ask you a question… what’s protocol in these races because I’m in mile 28 already, and I’m thinking about just turning around and going back. I’ll have 31. Would that DQ me?” I told her I was pretty sure it would. I mean, I felt like a jerk in a way, like maybe she thinks I just want to finish ahead of her so I’m telling her to keep going on to finish the loop instead of running back and helping her lobby the RD with her to let her have 2nd place. But that wasn’t it at all! I knew she had to do the loops to get the finish. Getting lost, or not getting lost is part of trail running.
As I broke the news to her, I could see tears welling in her eyes and it broke my heart. Really. I said “come here!” and reached for her with my arms to bring her in for a big bear (or Sasquatch) hug. I knew I was sweaty and gross and that she was dainty and cute, but I also knew the lonely feeling of discouragement that the late miles of an ultra can sledgehammer into your mind. In any case she didn’t recoil from my gross embrace, and I hugged her long enough to let her know that I truly give a shit, like really. She said something like she didn’t think she was mentally prepared to run 7 more miles. And if you know me at all, you know that shit just ain’t gonna fly with me. Fuck mentally prepared, you’re in the shit now. Finish this damn thing, girl! Take pride in the fact that you will have run more miles than anyone else here today. Just FINISH!
She told me thank you for the words of encouragement, but she wasn’t sure if she was going to listen to me or not just yet. lololol. Oh, don’t I get it!

We parted ways and I continued on with my shuffle of pain trying to get to that next aid station where I could get some more water, and hopefully get these cramps under control for a final push. By this point, my sub-five-hour goal was in jeopardy. I had to get moving and keep moving. I suffered through mile 27 and 28, then in 29 began to feel able to run again. This is where I told myself out loud how proud I was of us. No tears this time, just grit, determination, and pride. I felt really good about my effort, and I felt like I had learned a lot about my limits on nutrition, hydration, pace, etc. Not only that, but I think I was able to pay forward some of the encouragement I have received from more experienced ultra runners in my interactions with Katie. What a day of pleasure! Running through the woods, fuel by plants, built by plants, changing my paradigms with plants, finding new friends, and reaching new peaks due to plants, as well as sourcing pleasure, a whole new kind of pleasure: phyto-pleasure.

As I turned the corner and came in to the finish, my watch read 04:57:57 and 31.5 miles. It was a new 50k PR, and a second place overall finish. I’ll take it, even with an asterisk.

*(Katie ran 31 miles in 4:22 that day, not me. That was the second fastest 50k on the course.)

This whole week was like a hunt to me; there was travel, there was prep, there was work, there was camaraderie, and there was a sense of flexing my ability to survive. I may not squeeze the trigger from a box stand, get puke-drunk at a deer camp, or eat like I’m trying to explode my heart (in the name of family tradition); but I still want to, have to, need to mimic the main activity the universe put us here for; ultimately, to survive, or not. With plants and running I am not only surviving but thriving. I may have a truck, and be able to hack my way around the needed movements to sustain life, transportationally speaking (yes, I make up words dammit), but just like hunters go out into the woods despite the meat department hack that exists, I like to mimic survival in a more sustainable, healthy, and harmonious with nature and her creatures kind of way. And yes, it hurts more to do it like this, but it’s really neat how, to me, the parallels are so obvious. So, it is with great pride (and ironic symbolism not lost on me) that I brought my euro-mount finisher medal back to my much healthier and happier Bam Bam and put it around his neck.

Even though I didn’t kill a limit, I killed some limitations.