Priceless (50K Race Report)

Generally, I am a non-judgmental person. When I see a someone warming up for a marathon, however, I judge. When I see a person warming up for a 50K/50-miler, like I did recently, I judge harshly. Tell me you are stupid, I thought, without telling me you are stupid. I was at the start of the Mississippi Trail 50. It was March 4, 2023 at 5:45 a.m. But I get ahead of myself. Let me back up and begin at the beginning.

I left home about 8:00 a.m. Friday morning and headed south. I stopped at St. Dominic's Hospital to visit a church member. Then I drove to Florence where I had plans to meet my old friend, Lynn Watts, for lunch. We met at Berry's and had a nice meal while I listened to Lynn talk. He's like our daughter: you don't talk to Lynn, you listen to him. I didn't mind. That's my stong suit anyway.

"CT takes two days to answer a text," he complained.

"Like you?" I responded.

"Well, I'm OK now."

Lynn looking like a bomb blew up inside his head.

I was glad to hear it. More importantly, I was glad to see it.

After I left Berry's, I shot south for Hattiesburg where I wanted to stop by Play It Again Sports. I made it there and found a used pair of 25 pound plates. Gosh, I like that store. Then I headed for the start/finish line of the Trail 50 to pick up my packett. I used my phone to get me there, which is in the Desoto National Forrest outside of Laurel, Mississippi. As I was driving in, I saw two guys running on the trail, 100 milers. They have a 100-mile race now, and they had started at noon. Hungry wolves, I thought. They look like hungry wolves.

I got my packett, and then used my phone to get to my brother's house which is near the Myrick community. At Myrick, I stopped at the store to pick up some ice-cream. Myrick is an "a" town. Everything there starts with the letter "a." There is a store, a Baptist Church, a school, and a house. The clerk told me where the ice-cream was and called me "Baby," not in any flirty sense, but in that old-fashioned, quaint, Southern courtesy that is almost non-existent now. I liked that.

At my brother's, Rebecca cooked spaghetti, and it was good, yeah. And it was good to hang out with them and their son, Haywire who came by with his dogs. I liked his dogs, Rose, a hyper half lab, half border collie, and Maisey, and sweet, shy Mountain Cur.

Satruday morning, I was at the national forrest and parked by 5:30. I don't know how many people were in the race, but it was a nice crowd.

There were as many people behind me as
in front of me.

At 6:00 a.m., we were off. But before we started, I saw Dennis Bisnett, the race director. Years ago, at a pre-race meeting, he told us that alcohol was prohibited in the forrest. "If you get caught," he said, "I will prosecute you. I am the Assistant District Attorney for Jones County."

I said, "Dennis. You might want to announce before the start that my brother will be parked on the gravel road handing out free beer." 

It was like I uplugged his brain. It took him a few seconds to reboot, then he snapped, "He can't do that!"

After the start, we shuffled along in silence while my mind tried to read my body. I was not confident. A month ago I had done a marathon. But since then I had trained little and felt poorly when I did. Very early, my legs felt tired. I am in trouble, I thought. 

About mile three, I started running with an old man. "How many marathons and ultras have you run?" I asked.

"Eight hundred and twenty eight."

"Really?"

"Yeah. There are ninety people in the world who have run more than me. But those ninety have run way more. Some of them are in the 1,000s."

Mind officially blown.

Then my right foot hit a root. I yelled loudly as I went down. Rich, the 828 man, must have turned and watched my descent. "Nice roll," he said afterwards. "I learned to do that in the Army Airborn. If you roll, you never get hurt."

One of the many small creeks we had to cross.

After about eight miles, I realized, I can do this. Then I focused on listening to the birds, and glimpsing the trees. Believe you me, Desoto National Forrest has lots of trees.

The 50K course is two large loops, 12.4 miles, and one smaller loop of 6.1 miles. By the end of the first loop, I was feeling better. That is unusual for me. Usually, running is always a slow descent from the start. Maybe it had something to do with the aid stations. At one of them, they had bacon. You read that right, bacon.

I finished my first lap in 3:10. That got me to thinking that maybe I could do the 50-miler. If I do the second loop in 3:10, I can pull it off. This race allows you to go up or down in distance But about 18.5 miles in, things got hard. And this time, they didn't get any better.

There was an out-and-back section on the big loop on a gravel road. At the turn around point, there was a generator operating a sensor. The race director had told us, "If the sensor does not pick you up, you didn't do it."

What comfort.

At the aid station where the out-and-back started, I asked one of the volunteers, "Is that thing supposed to beep?" because usually they do. "It didn't beep with me so I kicked it real hard and then it made a funny noise." Oh, my gosh. The look on his face.

The sensor I claimed to have kicked.

It was two miles later before I stopped laughing. Once, I had to lean up against a large pine tree to keep from falling down. Right now, my whole mid-section is sore.

Bunnies and bacon. It doesn't get any better.

Before I finished lap two, I knew the 50-mile option was a no go. Starting the final small loop, however, I was encouraged by the fact that I was going to finish 50K. Then I came upon a young man stretching. Never a good sign. We got to chatting. He asked my how many 50Ks I had done. I asked him if it was his first, suspecting that it was.

"It's my first anything," he said.

"You're kidding," I shot him a look.

"A friend talked my into it. I'm stupid."

"How much did you train?"

The look on his face told me. "You're kidding," I almost shouted.

"I'm stupid."

I stopped to take a pee, and he told me he had not peed all day.

"You're kidding!" I yelled. I gave him an electrolyte pill. "Take this now and start drinking." 

We became seperated for a mile or two then joined up again. "Have you peed?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Was it bloody?"

"No."

"Good. You might live."

By then, the miles were slow and difficult. I shuffled a little, walked some, and prayed a lot. Quinton, my brother, texted me and said he was at the finish line. "I'll be there in a few minutes," I answered. And I was. It felt real good to be done, and I was touched that he and Haywire, my nephew, had shown up.

With my brother at the finish line.

That night we ate Boston Butt that Quinton had cooked all day along with mashed potatos and backed beans Rebecca cooked. It was good, yeah.

Driving home Sunday morning, I thought over the past two days. They were good days, days that will live in my memory forever. I thought about the price of it all, the price of the training and the financial cost of going to and competing in an event like that.

Entry fee: $90

Gasoline: $70

Eats on the road: $45

Running shoes: $160

Running watch: $450

Running cap: $10

Running shorts: $40

The look on that man's face when I told him I kicked the sensor: Priceless!