Vol State 500k Race Report

After reading Cory Reese's account of the Vol State 500k in Stronger than the Dark, I knew I had to try this epic race. I had been aware of the race for a number of years but brushed it off initially because of how different it was from the races I had previously run. It was all on road, had no aid stations (though there were a plethora of 'road angels'), and was self-navigated (no course markings). After investigating the race more, I soon grew curious about how I would handle the unique type of race format and decided to put my name in the lottery last August. I received my invite a couple of weeks later, and so it went...

I knew from the moment I signed up that I wanted to run this race 'screwed,' which meant that I'd have no crew on the course and would have to find everything that I needed to continue on my own. Still, my mother, who has always been the best crew chief, wanted a taste of the race, and so she came out to send me off and see me at the finish.

We headed out to Tennessee on a red-eye the Monday night before the race (which always begins on the second Thursday in July). We spent Tuesday in Chattanooga hanging out, filling up on some snacks and drinks for the bus ride on Wednesday, and making last-minute pack adjustments. 

That evening, we attended the Next to Last Supper, at the China Buffet in Kimball, where I was able to meet some fellow racers and order the finisher's jacket. We ate dinner with Justina Starobin and Harry Good, a pair of runners from Maryland who had been waiting years to finally pull the trigger on this race.

Early the next morning, we drove up to the finish line of the race at Castle Rock atop Sand Mountain in the northwest corner of Georgia. I said goodbye and boarded a bus that would take the runners across the state, following the course backward. The run was fun and informative as I met some more fellow racers, as well as learned a lot from the veterans who pointed out where different resources would be available.

I sat across from Jim Winn (who would go on to run under 5 days, a huge achievement), and Mark and Beth Budden, who were all great sources of information. I also had the pleasure of sitting behind Jeff Manwaring and Ed Masuoka, who answered my questions when Jim got tired of my barraging him. Along with me were two other newbies to Vol State, Wayne McDaniel (who had just finished HOTS) and Louanne Wiant.

We stayed in Union City, TN, the night before the race as we would make the last trek on the busses to the ferry at Hickman, KY on the morning of the race. I roomed with Addison Hendricks, another young runner from Florida who had just finished HOTS and kept warning me of the 'steep learning curve' with races like these. Thanks, Addison!

Addison Hendricks

We all gathered at the local Chinese buffet that evening for our Last Supper. I sat with Addison, Justin (Peter) Strickland (who went on to finish 3rd overall), and the three Jess's - a trio of ladies who met running the GVRAT due to their common name and had decided to attempt to run the whole Vol State together.

We ate terrible Chinese food, traded strategies, and I grossed out everyone letting them know that I would not be brushing my teeth once during the race - got to keep that pack weight light! We received our American flags which we would wear on our packs in place of a bib, listened to Laz and Carl lecture us on safety and race rules, checked in, and returned to our rooms for one last night of good sleep. 

Last Supper Instructions

At 6AM precisely, our busses left our comfortable abodes to make the last little bit of the journey to the ferry in Hickman, KY. I know this fact because Addison and I nearly missed the bus, only leaving our room at 5:59 AM.

When we finally boarded the ferry and started our trip across the Mississippi River, the reality of the race began to set in. It was fun to engage in the exciting chitchat, but at the same time, I finally realized that I was truly settling into a 314-mile adventure I had been dreaming about for months. 

On the ferry trip over, I connected with fellow runner John Taylor, who would join me for the first 30 miles of the race. He is one of an elite group of ultrarunners to have run more than one hundred 100 milers. 

John Taylor

Wayne & Louann

We exited the boat on Missouri and walked up the embankment to a utility pole which seemed to mark the start. Nervous chatter and excitement filled the air as we waited for Laz to light his cigarette. Right on the dot at 7:30 AM on Thursday, July 14th, the dried tobacco caught flame.

It begins!

The race had begun. We trotted back onto the ferry for the return trip to the Kentucky side. On the way back, I sat on the ground hoping to preserve the legs a little. The second we docked, we all shuffled off and began our journey on the asphalt. 

A group of racers actually went on running, but I walked the early miles with a little jogging to spruce things up a bit. The only change to the course from previous years was going up the courthouse steps in Hickman - a surprisingly steep hike. 

On the way out of Hickman, I stopped at a gas station for a couple Powerades, which turned out to be a fortuitous move.

The miles from Hickman to Union City rolled on by with John and I trading stories of past 100 milers and John mesmerizing me with descriptions of winter ultras such as Arrowhead 135 and Tuscobia 160. 

We quickly reached the Kentucky-Tennessee state line at mile 10.

Just after the state line, I realized the first fatal mistake that I had made in regard to self-care. The night before, I had filled my bladder with about 2.5 liters of water. I had assumed this would be more than enough for the roughly 16-mile journey from the start to Union City.

However, I had not taken into account the fact that I would be riding the bus and sitting around on a ferry for a couple hours prior to running the race. While trying to stay hydrated I had actually managed to put myself in a sticky situation in the early heat of the day by running out of water.

Luckily, we quickly came upon a farmhouse with an old man stretched out on a rocking chair on the front porch. He turned out to be my first road angel, allowing me to fill up my bladder using his hose in the backyard. I was certainly glad to have the water, and he seemed glad to have visitors, a fair exchange.

We soon reached the outskirts of Union City, where problem two struck. One of the top pieces of tread on my left shoe was coming apart from the bottom. In order to preserve the cushioning for the race, I had only run ten miles in the shoe prior to coming out to Tennessee and hadn’t noticed this manufacturing defect.

I grabbed Gorrila superglue at one of the gas stations and prayed for the best. In the process, I nearly superglued my two thumbs together. Off to a great start.

The heat of the day was beginning to bore down on us and it showed. The Jess trio was already taking a break outside the gas station to cool off.

John and I continued on through Union City with our new friend, Jun - a medical researcher from New York City. We made quick work of the town, enjoyed some road angel kindness, and headed on to Martin.

Jun Lin

On the way out of town and towards the stinky bridge, we came across Laz and Carl performing their usual 20-mile check-in. We were all feeling great until Carl reminded us that we would have to repeat the section we had already run another 16 times to finish the race. Thanks, Carl!

20-mile check-in

Nearly a hundred yards after the check-in, I picked up my plush friend Seaweed, who accompanied me the rest of the way to Castle Rock. I always like to pick up adventure items and tend not to care too much about cleanliness on these long journey runs. Seaweed fit right in.

Seaweed

On the way to Martin, we had stunning views of corn and soybean fields. At least we had good company and a couple road angels, who provided us with ice cold water and... a cucumber. 

We agreed to stop for a real meal in Martin (~30 miles in). I remembered Beth Budden recommending The Grind, a burger joint, just a block off the course and so that's where we stopped. The food was phenomenal and it was nice to get out of the sun for a couple hours. 

After a great meal, and some foot care for Jun, we carried on to Dresden, where we had the farmer's market road angel stop to look forward to. On the way there, we came across Jeff Manwaring. Jun and John pulled away, while I hung back with Jeff - a fascinating guy and 3-time finisher of the race. In 2019, he had pushed a baby stroller that carried his and his wife's supplies the whole way to Kimball.

Jeff Manwaring

Again, with good company, the hills rolled by all the way to Dresden. About a mile out from the farmer's market, I met Tim Hardy, also a three-time finisher of the race who warned me about the dogs in the upcoming sections and gave me the great tip of just dog whispering and letting them know you aren't there to hurt them. Fuck that! I quickly learned it was better to approach them like you were ready to take their head off!

Fun fact: On the way in, I found the place where all my elves spend their summers. 

Dresden's Farmers Market did not disappoint. They had a nice array of drinks, snacks, and places to sprawl out on the cool concrete and charge electronics. I spent a little bit of time charging my phone and refueling but was itching to go, so I bid farewell to John, Jun, and Jeff, before heading off to Gleason.

Dresden Farmers Market

The Tennessee night truly has some interesting sounds. A cacophony of dogs screaming their guts out accompanied the choruses of katydids. But the stretch from Dresden to Gleason was unique in its frog sounds as we passed the swamplands.

I hung out with two amazing and unique runners on this section - Ken Atkins and Ray Krolewicz. Ken lives in Ontario, but had always been fascinated by this race and decided to come out this year to give it a go. He ended up finishing in a little over 8 days. 

Ray, on the other hand, was a whole another bag of tricks. A legendary runner, with more than a hundred 100-mile finishes, Ray beats to his own drum. He runs light, carries a fanny pack, and ties his shirt onto said fanny pack. I had the pleasure of meeting him at the last supper where he relayed the story of meeting Dan Gurney, the man who invented the champagne spray as a means of celebrating a race victory.

Ray Krolewicz

Ray was chugging along at his speed, never wavering. He gave me some advice on how to deal with heat rash. His solution was to soak it in a tub of water mixed with baking soda, allegedly advice from the Sri Chinmoy runners who run around the same block in New York City for thousands of miles.

Gleason also had a legendary road angel station at the Fire Department at mile 48. The ladies that ran this stop were amazing! They had every kind of food or drink that a man could want during a 314-mile race. I opted for a couple Dr. Peppers and some delicious cookies, while I kicked my legs up to give them some rest. 

Gleason Fire Station

Right before midnight on the 14th, I left the station and headed towards McKenzie. What stood out the most about this eight-mile section was that it had some seriously angry dogs. I learned that if I turned my headlamp off and ran in a gliding manner, I could avoid waking some of the dogs. But some of them were unavoidable and screamed 'Bloody Murder' as I ran by. Luckily, for the most part, the dogs were fenced in in this section.

Coming into McKenzie, I past the famous TNT BBQ, with its legendary pig statue outside, and wasted about 10 minutes trying to get the shot that you see below. But I promise it was worth it!

McKenzie was a sleepy town as I ran through, but had a surprise road angel stop complete with cots. Much appreciated! 

On the way out of the town, I was lagging and stopped at a gas station for a Red Bull. I made the distinct mistake of carrying in a water bottle that I had picked up at the previous road angel stop and had to debate the cashier and prove to him that I had, in fact, walked in with the water bottle. After a little confusion, he let me go. 

The roughly 10-mile section to Huntingdon included quite a bit of climbing. It was mostly rolling, but a steady uphill gradient. I shared a portion of this section with Rebecca Roehm, a humorous and affable lady from Oregon, who was shooting to complete the race in fix or six days. 

On the way into Huntingdon, near the court house, I passed a sleeping Chris Clemens and Sriram Raghavulu. I carried on past the cooler where they had strewn out, hoping that the police station would have some supplies or some sort of a road angel stop, as I had been told on the bus.

Huntingdon Court House

Whether it was a game of telephone or just plain miscommunication, the police station had nothing. I tried to bed down outside a chiropractic office instead. I was unable to sleep and shuffled down to AJ's All-Star Cafe where I enjoyed some breakfast with Chris, Sriraam, and the legendary Salt Shack (aka Tim Purol, an 8-time finisher of the race I believe).

The food left much to be desired, but I was happy to have a hot meal and took some time to post my first daily update to Instagram (@santarunsultras). Even though this took maybe 20 minutes out of each day to find the right pictures, I enjoyed this practice of connecting with my friends and reflecting on the day as the race wore on. It's also helpful as I write this report to see how I was feeling and what moments of each day held significance to me.

After about an hour's stop, we all left Huntingdon and headed onto Parker's Crossroads. A couple miles out of town, I was charged by my first dog. I surprised myself by totally seizing up. Luckily, Salt Shack was there to scare the dog away. I learned another lesson there - the worst thing to do with a charging dog is to lock up and show fear.

Soon, the course made the turn onto State Route 22 - the dreaded divided highway. Laz had warned us that we would be questioning our intentions, ambitions, and goals, as we trod this section and I would soon find out why. 

It was on this section that I checked in at the 24hr mark with 71 miles. I had been hoping to cover at least a 100k in the first day and was happy with that amount.

I had the pleasure of getting to know Tommie Kendall in this section. A legendary runner, he relayed twice having completed trans-Kentuckys. But today, he was not faring well. He already had large blisters covering the balls of his feet. We took some time to add an extra layer of protection.

This is one of my favorite memories of Vol State - sitting there on the side of a divided highway, taping up the feet of a fellow competitor.

In Clarksburg, a few miles out from Parkers Crossroads, we came across an amazing first-timer road angel stop and took some time to relax there before making the final push to Parkers.

The heat was truly bearing down that day, and I know I was not in a good spot by the lack of pictures on my phone. I do remember stopping at a McDonald's in Parkers Crossroads and called my family for the first time. It was nice to reconnect with my support from afar and to take their spirit with me back out onto the road.

The section to Lexington was more rolling hills on a super hot, divided highway. Luckily, there was a fantastic road angel stop about halfway there with an air mattress in a truck bed where I took my first 20-minute nap. I was glad to finally get some shut-eye having struggled to sleep the previous night. 

Road Angels save the day!

Lexington is a significant point of the race because it is where you finally turn starkly east and follow State Route 412 for a number of miles. There was a Methodist church at the turn where I filled up on Gatorade and took my first proper hour of sleep while my socks dried out. 

I left Lexington (~92 miles) with the goal of hitting 100 miles by the 7:30 PM check-in that night. On the way out, I was called over by a man in a red truck. Initially wary, I walked over and found out that I was talking to the man, the myth, and the legend, Peach Man Terry! 

For years, he has supported the race with a road angel stop leaving Lexington. I made quick work to the first of his two stops to fill up on some amazing sausage stew with rice. I narrowly made it to my 100-mile goal at the 36hr check-in.

This was a really unique aspect of the race. Every 12 hours, I got to check in and see where my fellow racers were. I could see if anyone passed me while I was sleeping, and vice versa. It quickly became one of my highlights of each morning and evening.

That night, I trucked all the way into Linden at mile 125. 

I knew from my previous multi-day events that the second day and night were always the hardest mentally for me. And this time, it hit just like clockwork. I rarely pulled out my phone to take pictures to highlight anything. 

I trucked slowly along the road until I hit Parsons. I had my first couple of interactions where I truly had to chase vile dogs back into their dens. It was quite scary. I did meet quite a nice gas station attendant in Parsons who encouraged me to keep going and congratulated me on the epic journey I was undertaking. That was really sweet and I thought about his encouragement all night long.

The road from Parsons to Linden was some of the worst on the course. It had virtually no shoulder and camber that kept my feed sliding out to the side of my shoes – terrible for blister prevention. On top of that, every vehicle that passed me in that section seemed to be a massive truck and the drivers rarely decided it was a good decision to make some room for the pedestrian. 

My one solace in this section was reaching the Tennessee River crossing at Mile 113. A mile out from the river I experienced my first rain – it was a slight drizzle on and off for an hour or so. I also had my first police interaction as I had ducked under some tents outside an auto shop to fix my pack right as a sheriff rolled by slowly. 

Tennessee River Bridge at 1AM

Seeing a man wearing a Santa hat and hiding under tents outside of a closed establishment certainly piqued his curiosity. He was a gentleman and just asked me what I was doing and why I was out there. From my end, it was quite a humorous interaction as his Tennessee accent was so thick, I had to keep asking him to repeat himself. 

I eventually moved on and kept trucking along the road slowly. There were a few surprise road angel stations which helped keep my spirits up. 

About 6 miles out from Linden, I finally came across another runner – Peter Schröder, one of the Swedes. His famous ‘stray dog’ picture from the last section of the course is below. 

He was such a pleasure to run a few miles with and get to know. He had a natural ability to make light of any situation and certainly his. He had gone out fast the first day and clocked 56 miles in the first 12 hours (I had clocked 37 by comparison) and was feeling the effects of that hard push. He went on to have a legendary recovery with a near-tragic ending to finish in just over 5 days. Well done Peter!

PC: Carl Laniak

A few miles later, we caught up with Kevin Gerteisen and Matt Cantrell, who all eventually took off from me as I was moving quite slowly.

I covered the last couple miles into Linden and arrived slightly after sunrise. Walking through the sleepy town is a fond memory of mine from the race. Absolutely nothing and no one seemed to be awake, except for one lone patrol car which kept rolling up and down Main Street as if there was a place to be.

On the way out of Linden, I stopped at the community center where they had set up a phenomenal aid station with a great mix of food and some mats to sleep on. I filled up on soda, pistachios, chips & guac, and got a 40-minute nap before doing a little foot doctoring.

Linden Community Center

My pinky toe on my left foot had decided to give birth to an offshoot toe of its own. I pierced the giant blister, taped it up, and hoped for the best. 

After filling up my pack and thanking the two volunteers profusely (their names escape me now), I headed out on the long trek to Hohenwald. I knew I’d be able to grab a few bottles of sports drink at the gas station at the fork of the road where you have to make sure you hang right and continue to Hohenwald. Runners consistently manage to go off course here and I was sure not to make that same mistake.

A couple miles out from that last pit stop before Hohenwald, I completed my Instagram post for the second day sitting on a guardrail, chafed to wazoo. 

At the time I posted that “Aggressive dogs continue to provide quite the distraction at night and I got questioned by a sheriff.” Little did I know, both of those situations would increase in seriousness in the next hundred miles. 

The road to Hohenwald was long, flat, and sunny as hell. I was glad to be completing this section earlier in the day as opposed to the proper hot parts of the day in the afternoon or early evening.

All I had to look forward to was the legendary car port aid station just past mile 137. I spent some time here resting in the shade on a zero-gravity chair, eating ripe tomatoes, and chatting with the homeowner. It was truly a respite from the ferocious heat.

Hohenwald carport stop

But alas, I had to leave and continue on my way, hot and out of motivation. I made two more pit stops on the way into the town – one at a gas station where I got an ice cream bar and met a local who vowed to run the race the next year after listening to my descriptions of the chafing I was dealing with - mostly on my back and in the nether regions. 

The second was a lovely road angel stop a couple miles out from the town center where they had placed down a blanket. That might not seem significant, but to me it was. 

At home, I love to lie down on the cool dirt and grass to relax, but in Tennessee, that’s not an option because of the chiggers – tiny bugs that will crawl up inside your clothes and leave these nasty, itchy bites. But the blanket on the ground negated that and I appreciated the respite for the moment. 

Rolling into town at mile 143, I was feeling overheated and out of energy. I grabbed some sports drinks at a gas station and asked for food recommendations.

I initially considered bedding down in the post office for a solid nap, but the air conditioning made the environment slightly too cold for me considering that I was damp from all the humidity and sweating, which meant that when I stopped, I needed a dry and mild environment; otherwise, I’d feel exceptionally cold and could start shivering.

I took the gas attendant’s recommendation and continued a few blocks down the course onto the main street near the town center. There I found Snappy’s Pizza. 

I remember walking in and hanging on to the counter like its placement there was simply to hold the weight of my sagging corpse. I was pooped. The teenage girl working the till had to ask me a couple different times what I wanted to order before my brain cells snapped (no pun intended) back into action and I ordered a Hawaiian Pizza and Dr. Pepper.

With her looking visibly concerned for my physical state, I thought it wise to explain to her the task I was undertaking. She was duly shocked and impressed. She said she hadn’t seen any other runners come through yet. 

Realizing my musty smell and distasteful look, I took a table on the completely opposite side of the establishment from the only other customers present midafternoon – a group of construction workers that simply could not believe what I was doing when I told them.

I got into my usual routine of charging my phone and reviewing the course ahead of me as I eagerly awaited my hot meal for the day. The second it arrived at my table, I gobbled it up, pausing only briefly to snap a photo.

With a beat body and a stomach bursting at the seams, I thought it wise to locate a bed for myself where I could truly seek rest.

I walked about a half mile down the course to the Embassy Inn which only had a couple smoking rooms left. By my reaction, you must have thought they offered me a palatial estate.

I made quick work of that room, hanging everything out to dry, smashing a couple sports drinks, and then proceeding to pass out bare naked in the questionably made bed for three hours.

That seemed to do the drink and I headed out near 7PM to make the long trek to Columbia (~178 miles). 

On the way out of Hohenwald, I made sure to fill up at the last of the gas stations with a couple sports drinks I could hold in my hands. I found this practice to be incredibly effective for making sure that I never ran out of liquids on those long sections (I only ran out of water twice – in the first and last 20 miles of the race).

Sunset outside Hohenwald

To mentally break up this long 30-mile section, I focused only on reaching Hampshire and the wonderful porch road angel station that I knew would be present there. Not only was there a great station to look forward to, but it also happened to be just past the halfway mark in the race which was a great mental milestone to seek out that night.

The road to Hampshire was a large highway with rolling hills as usual, but also a couple long steady climbing sections – not a steep grade, but consistent.

A couple miles out of Hohenwald, I caught up to Matt Cantrell, who I had met the day prior. I initially wanted to roll on by but thought it wise to chat to him for a while. Little did I know how many miles I would spend with this amazing human being.

We talked about all things ultrarunning, our dreams for the race, and even Matt’s most recent experience at the Barkeley. Turns out he is distantly related to Lazarus Lake – I believe nine generations back.

During this section, we passed the Big Swan Creek which for seem reason had stuck in my brain during the bus ride a couple of days back and I had to stop for a picture.

A couple miles out from Hampshire, while Matt and I were shooting the shit, I decided it would be a brilliant idea to demonstrate how I react to approaching trucks – duck in close at the last second to get the best position for the wind tunnel they create (a fantastic cooling mechanism). 

In the process, I managed to pull my calf. Man, did I feel like an idiot! I thought my race was going to end right there, in a pitiful heap, on the side of State Route 412, somewhere lonely on the road between Hohenwald and Hampshire.

I let Matt go ahead as I rested a bit trying to massage out my calf. Gingerly, I stood up and realized that it wasn’t too painful to stand or even walk a little, but running was completely off the table.

I limped and hobbled my way to Hampshire, being passed by Jennifer Carvallo and Peter Schröder, who had resurrected himself from the dead.

The last couple miles into Hampshire moseyed along these wide farm properties, with nothing but a few dogs stirring. One shameful driver found it his Saturday night mission to attempt to run us off the road and came around at least four times driving extremely close to the non-existent shoulder and flashing his brights at the last second. While a rare occurrence, this was frustrating and disheartening.

I caught up to Matt and Peter at the lovely porch road angel station in Hampshire where we rested for about 30-45 minutes. I initially considered a nap but thought the better of it when Matt started packing up to leave. I knew he was my ticket to Columbia and got my stuff together quickly.

On the way out, we signed the bench at Mack’s Whiteside Market, a now-defunct market, but a great milestone along the course. Matt wasn’t aware of this bench previously and was glad that I pointed it out so we could make our mark there.

After a short climb, the road exhibited a descent, some flat sections, and a couple rollers all the way to Columbia.

About halfway through this section, we passed a surprise road angel station set up at the front of a large farm property. I say ‘surprise,’ because local angels often post in the LAVS Facebook group where they will set up aid stations. I needed this stop – my eyes were drooping and I was very tired. I stopped for a 20-minute nap on a lawn chair and let Matt go ahead.

The bewitching hours were tough, but I made my way slowly mile-by-mile along the road. Nearing sunrise, I heard some rustling in the bushes and was concerned about what animal may be stirring.

A couple seconds later, a lumbering Matt appeared. He had made it a few miles down the road after my stop before he needed to stop and shut his eyes for a couple miles.

We leapfrogged for a while, looking forward to a gas station that would be opening shortly on the outskirts of Columbia.

It was nice to stop here for a second and fill up on some chocolate milk and a protein bar. I was getting tired of the total junk food diet and was glad to get some protein in.

But alas, breaks can only last for so long. Matt left and I trailed behind looking forward to getting some real food in Columbia.

On the way in, I made sure to stop at the legendary Goad house. Having carried his picture all the way here, I had had the pleasure of speaking to Salt Shack about what kind of guy he was. He sounded like such a kind-hearted old man that wanted to encourage the runners to truly think about their lives.

While resting for a moment on Mr. Goad’s porch, I saw a man walk over from the house next to his. I rightly guessed it was Donald Goad, Mr. Goad’s son. Speaking to him and showing him the picture of his father I was carrying with me on this journey was one of my favorite memories of the whole race.

He commented that I was looking stronger than some of the other runners who he had seen coming through. It was most likely just him saying a few nice encouraging words, but I hung on to that for a while.

Reaching the courthouse in Columbia (mile 178), I turned slightly off course and secured a bbq beef brisket breakfast at a restaurant called Puckett’s. I took about an hour and a half break to call my family, and let my legs and mind rest.

I soon carried down the road a bit and tried to take a nap at a closed Mexican restaurant, but struggling to sleep, pushed on in search of some pain relieving cream for my left calf that was really killing me at the time.

Right before I left Columbia, I noticed a Dollar General about a block off the course and managed to secure some Icy Hot. It didn’t make a discernable physical change but certainly helped mentally.

I covered the six miles to the Bench of Despair in Culleoka slowly. It was hot and I was on the highway overheating and battling fiery calves.

At the bench, I waited a moment to see another soul who could take my picture. Eventually, after 20 minutes, I noticed a car stop a ways away, and ambushed them, requesting help in getting a picture strewn out on this famous bench.

The woman who agreed to help kept her distance, confused why a man in a Santa costume wanted a picture at this seemingly random bench in the middle of Nowhere, Tennessee. She took one quick shot and skedaddled away before I could bite.

I now just had a couple of miles to cover before reaching the Nutt house, maybe the most famous road angel station on the course, at mile 187. 

I moved so slowly and even attempted a quick nap at a seemingly defunct church, but eventually made it there.

And let me tell you, it was paradise! Zero gravity chairs, any drink you could want, and a couple delicious chicken salad sandwiches. I filled up on a lot of food, called a couple of friends from home, and took a solid nap.

This is the face of happiness!

I woke up to see Matt resting in the shade of the tents they had set up. He had gotten a room in Columbia to sleep for a couple hours. That shows you just how slowly I had covered the nine miles from there to here. Before we headed out, Karen Jackson and Bo Millwood, two legends of the race, who cover each mile together, reached the station. It was nice to meet them in person.

We left together hoping to catch the S&K market still open before making the turn to head to Lewisburg. Arriving at a couple minutes after the stated closing time of 4PM, the clerk was gracious enough to let us grab a couple items before closing shop. We sat outside and shot the shit for a little while before we continued moving. 

Again, the course featured a flat section before some rolling hills. There seems to be a pattern!

We walked for miles together, but I eventually found that with my calf situation slightly improved, running actually felt a little better.

I moved ahead slowly and missed the Mooresville Market by a couple minutes. This was a bit of a bummer and to compensate, I rested a couple moments on the bench outside before covering the miles to Lewisburg.

I covered the miles all the way up to the crest where you can see Lewisburg ahead (~198 miles) at a decent pace. I found it effective to run with a goal to sit at that guardrail or utility pole a couple hundred yards away. It mentally helped me cope.

Right at the crest, I nearly broke into tears. In retrospect, I think it was a combination of factors. For one, I could see Lewisburg ahead of me in the distance and for the whole day, it felt so far away. Second, the Lewisburg Running Club had placed a couple of coolers at the top of the hill containing Rice Crispies, possibly my favorite race rood, with some inspirational messages written on them.

For whatever reason, it was an emotional and spiritual moment. I ran down into Lewisburg and chatted with a couple locals, one of which was a part of the local running club and vowed to sign up for the race in future years.

I made it all the way to the other side of the town where I was hoping to catch a good meal at Dairy Queen. By the time I arrived, the workers politely informed me that the lobby was closed.

Bummed, I headed over to the Shell, the only other place open on a Sunday night. My prejudice against gas station food went completely out the window and I purchased a large meal, consisting of a corndog, a couple egg rolls, and a bunch of potato wedges. 

As I was checking out, the Prodigal Son returned. Matt had called ahead to book a room at the Celebration Inn. After seeing the freaks out at night in Lewisburg, I agreed that would be the best option. I grabbed some extra sports drinks and headed down the road to the motel.

While waiting in the lobby, the captain of the Meat Wagon, Jan, showed up, asking us if we had seen Sriraam or his crew the past day as they hadn’t checked in that night at the appropriate time – they were maybe 5 hours past at this point.

Neither of us had so we weren’t of much help. I hoped he was faring well, but had no energy to help and so I got my key and headed to the room for my routine of eating, drinking, drying my clothes, and passing out.

At around 2AM, I gathered my belongings and left the Celebration Inn, ready to crush the last 111 miles of the race.

Despite the fact that the road evened out and was mostly flat from Lewisburg through Farmington and Wheel, I moved slowly and took a lot of breaks.

Kim Durst had posted on the Facebook group about a road angel station at mile 211 and I looked forward to hitting that. They had Dr. Pepper which hit the spot and I ended up taking about a 30-minute nap.

I woke up to a gorgeous sunrise filled with gratitude for where I was and what I was able to participate in.

On the road between Farmington and Shelbyville, I passed a goat farm where I messed around with the baby goats who seemed just as curious about whom I was as I was about their existence.

I also passed a sunflower field which looked superb in the morning light.

Eventually, I came across the famous Pit Stop market, where I filled up on some snacks and a ham biscuit. I made a point at this stage in the race to fill up on real food when I could even when that food didn’t seem particularly appetizing because I was so tired of all the junk food. It is true that you can only eat so many ice cream sandwiches before you want to puke!

I rounded out Day 4 with a total of 216 miles. 

Somewhere between the Pit Stop Market and Shelbyville, I came across a Dollar General. This was a welcome surprise. I treated myself with a bag of ice. I remembered reading somewhere that this was a great trick to relieve aching feet. I spent about an hour here completing my Day 4 check-in on Instagram and catching up with my family on FaceTime.

One undesirable aspect of this section was the consistent stream of livestock trucks. They came by packed with chickens and cows to the brim and a true stench to boot. The way they are designed seems to funnel the air extra fast in a wind tunnel in a manner that shoots the livestock stench directly into your nostrils.

I remember feeling a slight kinship with the passing livestock. They were being led to the literal slaughterhouse while I continued my metaphorical journey deeper into hell, the human slaughterhouse that the unbridled highway in Tennessee represents.

Finally, I made it to Shelbyville and stopped at the Circle K on the turn into town. 

As I was relaxing outside, the heavens opened up. For the first time in earnest, I pulled out my big orange poncho and continued on my way. In retrospect, I should have tried the poncho in training as I didn’t realize how bulky it was and the annoying way it folded around my legs as I tried to run.

I ended up finding shelter in the doorway of a closed sports memorabilia store in Shelbyville and waited out the storm there.

The ten miles from Shelbyville (mm 223) to Wartrace (233) took me a while – 4 and a half hours comparing the time stamps on my pictures of the city limit signs. At least there was a surprise Circle K along the route that had my favorite type of fuel.

The course featured its typical rolling hills with one extra-long climb paired with a nice descent nearing Wartrace. 

Before heading up this large hill, I made a point to make a picture of the following trailer house. To others, it holds no significance. But for me, I recognized it as the house that Cary Long comments about in his Vol State video linked here. He comments on how a dog left the porch to charge him. Pointing out the sign, he was confused about whether the sign outside referred to the dog or the lady outside that assured him of the dog’s kind nature.

Laughing to myself, I continued on my way. Near the top of the said climb, I stopped on a cool driveway to rest. While I was lying there, a truck pulled up and a lady rolled down the window to chat. She commented on how she had seen me in Shelbyville earlier in the day and how slowly I was moving! This incident shot my pride to pieces and had me cracking up.

She certainly motivated me to get off my ass and I soon made it down the hill to the city limits of Wartrace.

I stopped at the only gas station on the course in town and had the most fantastic meal. I never thought I could nearly cry from gas station food but I did.

I indulged in mouth-watering beef stew, mashed potatoes, potato wedges, and of course, a corndog.

I chilled outside for an hour enjoying the food and basking in the sun which had now broken through the clouds and got on a little ultrarunning inception. While gorging myself, I pulled up Cary Long’s race video (my personal favorite) and watch the portion of the video that covered the upcoming sections.

After finishing up, I sauntered into town and passed out in the gazebo on Main Street while airing out my feet.

I woke up early to a policeman softly saying, “Hey buddy, how you doin’?” 

Apparently, my splayed-out body and gear strewn haphazardly around the gazebo had caused some concern among local residents. To be fair, my appearance probably resembled someone who had had a long night out and couldn’t quite make it back home.

The funniest part of the interaction was when he caught a whiff of my stench and pointed out that maybe I should make use of their public bathrooms that were just up the street. He admitted they didn’t have showers, but maybe I could make do in the sink. 

As I began packing up, the three amigos came rolling around the corner – Salt Shack, Matt, and Helmut (who I had met briefly on the first day while leaving Martin). 

PC: Matt Cantrell

I took my time and caught up to them a couple miles down the road just as the course turned sharply onto Knob Creek Road. Someone had used chalk to kindly mark that turn for us. Along with the marking was a warning about the dogs we may encounter over the next section.

Having gained a little experience in the dog whispering arena, I wasn’t too concerned. But boy, was I wrong! 

This section had some of the worst dogs on the whole course. I had carried mace the whole race mostly for the security of just knowing that I had it in the unlikely event that I needed to use it to protect myself. But in this section, I came exquisitely close to using it on one dog before the owner swooped in at the last second.

Other than that, it was great to have company as the hills rolled on. We had two road angel stations to look forward to in the Bailey house at mm 240 and Whispering Oaks Campground at mm 243. 

We actually moved fairly fast in this section and soon came to the Bailey house. Both Robin and Vince came out to chat with us while we rested and refueled. They snapped the shot below of us before we left.

A few quick miles down the road was the legendary stop – Whispering Oaks Campground. They had literally everything – a table of all the food you could want with cold meats to make sandwiches, coolers of drinks, showers, charging stations, and cots. I have to admit, I was impressed and a little sheepish to take part in such a glorious rest station.

Matt and I decided to sleep for 2 hours here before leaving for Manchester. 

On the way out, I kept up with him for a couple miles before I had to sit down and rest for a bit. This is something I experienced to the nth degree in the back half of the race. Due to my schedule in the months preceding, I had not spent as much time on my feet as I would have liked and not enough days in a row. At a certain point, just standing up was simply too painful. For HOTS next year, I’ll spend less time running and more days walking in training to prepare for this feeling. 

On the outskirts of the town, I again rested in the gazebo outside the police station. What can I say, they’re just so pretty and comfortable! 

As I was relaxing, Salt Shack, Helmut, and Danielle came by. I got off my ass and carried on with them. We were looking forward to the 24 hr gas stations on the other end of the town where we could get some coffee.

Helmut and I had to stop to take a photo shoot at this aptly named street.

I stopped at the edge of town for a honeybun and some coffee and got to meet Jen Even. She had been running with Danielle Wangsness, but unfortunately, had to drop out in Shelbyville. She stuck around to keep crewing Danielle and had such a positive attitude.

I eventually bid farewell to Jen and sauntered down to Pelham (~mile 267). The road there was more of the same: country road with farms on the side and houses breaking up the monotony.

The sunrise was gorgeous. What made it motivating was that I knew the day ahead was the last full day I was going to endure. I knew I’d finish either late that night if I was lucky or early the next morning. Spoiler alert: it was a bit later than that, but let’s not get ahead of ourselves.

One pleasant surprise was the tiny town of Hillsboro at mile 258. This past year they had reopened an old gas station and I was able to fill up on some coffee and treats before continuing down the road.

Somewhere between Hillsboro and Pelham, I stopped to complete my Day 5 check-in and Instagram post. Wells Fargo had also sent me a fraud alert – I guess stopping at gas stations every 5-15 miles and spending 5-20 bucks at each of them was an unusual spending pattern for me. I had to verify my credit card transactions so my card wouldn’t get declined.

The clouds looked ominous so I put all my electronics in jiffy bags and had my poncho ready to go if the heavens opened up on us. I did eventually have to pull it out, but with my luck again, the rain only lasted 20 minutes.

A couple hours later, I rolled into Pelham where Salt Shack had advised us to stop at Northcutt Family Market. I have to admit that the ‘Supreme Sub’ I had here was a few degrees less than supreme and I ended up chucking half of it away.

The workers, however, were so welcoming, generous, and supportive. They even offered a place to sleep and rest for a while. I opted to go outside because I knew I had to keep moving. I taped up my feet one last time and headed for the Monteagle climb. 

Right before the climb, while I was massaging my feet on the side of the road, I heard some barking. Not unusual, probably nothing to worry about. I popped my head up to see three large Pyrenees charging down the road towards me. 

I skedaddled right on out of there, one foot sockless, pack hanging on my arm like low-hanging fruit off a tree branch, moving backward to keep an eye on the dogs while getting more distance between us.

Luckily, a lot of traffic scared the dogs off the road and I eventually gathered enough distance to feel safe enough to sit down and put my sock back on.

Boy, did I move slowly up that climb. Near the top, we were rewarded with one of the most beautiful views of the whole race.

Reaching the town of Monteagle (mm 274) in the early afternoon, I thought I’d treat myself to a hot meal, as that’d probably be my last chance before the finish. I knew I’d be going through Jasper and Kimball in the dark, and Tracy City didn’t have too many options.

On the way to the Mountain Goat Market, I ran into Jennifer again who was looking strong but was dealing with a serious lean. Her solution was incredible; she had tied her vest in a knot of sorts around her waist. She went on to finish strong in less than six days. 

I, on the other hand, felt like crap and ordered a pesto sandwich at the market, where I hung out for at least an hour.

While in line to order, the man behind me commented that he had seen me running that morning somewhere near Pelham and asked a couple questions about what I was doing. During the conversation, he slowly moved farther away which I can only take as a sign of how bad I truly stunk.

But at that point, I really didn’t care. I got my sandwich, downed a couple Dr. Peppers, called my family to check in, and left to find a place to rest my head for a while.

I found a Methodist church down the street. I texted Matt, who had gotten a room with Salt Shack at the Quality Inn, and we planned a time to leave together.

On the way out of town, around 5PM, we stopped at a gas station with the sole purpose of acquiring more Advil. That gives a good perspective on just how difficult this race is – we had both gone through all the pain medication we had, something neither of us had done before at races.

An hour later, Tracy City (mm 280) appeared. We took the time to really fuel up here before the long sixteen-mile section to Jasper. We hung out outside a gas station, and I called my parents to give them a predicted finish time. At the time, they were on vacation in northern Alabama and wanted to see my finish.

While we were relaxing, Chris Clemens and Tim Hardy came along – neither of which I had seen for four or five whole days. Chris came by with a huge lean, but he was still trucking along.

Matt and I looked at each other and felt pitiful in our existence – we should not be beaten by a man who looked like an upside-down L. We got off our asses and started moving down the road.

The road to Jasper was lined with trees like sentinels guarding the road. All we had to look forward to was a road angel station at mm 286.

At some point early in this section, I had the bright idea that it was the right time to make a push to the finish. I figured why not finish earlier, rather than later, and I was sure I could finish solidly under six days. 

Boy, was I an idiot! I was nearly thirty miles from the finish and did not have an accurate gauge of the fatigue that I was experiencing.

I pushed hard and even before the steep 4-mile descent into Jasper, I was feeling the effects of that push. I’d run for maybe a quarter or half a mile before I’d have to sit on the ground.

I wanted to cry. When I finally reached the descent into Jasper, I could see headlamps in the distance.

Soon, Salt Shack, Matt, and Sriraam all caught me. By that time we were a couple miles out from Jasper and I was out of water and out of motivation. I told this to Salt Shack who had actually dumped his water out at the top of the descent, knowing that Steve Smalling would have an aid station waiting for us at mm 295.

It felt like an eternity, but we made it there and rested for a moment before heading to Kimball, just five miles away.

My friends quickly pulled away from my slow ass. I moved slower on that section than I ever thought was humanly possible. I constantly had to stop and lie down on the sidewalk. I was beginning to hallucinate and lose touch with reality – I saw yetis and llamas on the side of the road.

Tim Hardy passed me in this section. I tried to stick with him and probably only made it a half mile before he took off. 

He was serious about finishing and we had one of my favorite interactions of the whole race. I paced directly off him for a couple minutes as he ran hard and then walked and ran hard and then walked. I asked if this was okay with him as I was just trying to make it to the hotel in Kimball. He responded, “It’s fine, but don’t expect any nice chit chat.” It was such a Tim experience…

Eventually, I crested the small hill and saw the Valley Inn nearly 200 yards in front of me. I was so happy; I fell to the ground and kissed the sidewalk.

This year, Laz and Carl placed trackers in the lobby of the Valley Inn so that they could have an accurate picture of how we runners were moving in that last 14-mile section to the rock.

By the time I got there, none were left. But it didn’t really matter, I needed to rest before heading for the finish.

I walked a block down the road to the Waffle House to fill up on some waffles and hash browns. There I saw Salt Shack who was looking strong and would go on to finish in the wee hours of the morning before the start of the sixth day.

While I sat there, even the night shift waitress commented on how pathetic I looked. After eating about half my food, I began shivering with the AC and knew I had to move. 

I went outside and walked over to the gas station for some sports drinks. After collecting those, I headed up to the gazebo outside the Valley Inn where I proceeded to pass out for the next four hours (I initially intended a 30-minute nap, but whatever). The receptionist later commented to me that multiple people had complained about me sleeping out there, but obviously familiar with the race, she let me rest in peace.

I woke up to see Matt exiting a hotel room – he had also decided to rest before the final push. It was kind of poetic to go grab a tracker with him and tackle that last section together considering we had run the previous 150 miles on and off with each other.   

We left Valley Inn around 6:30 AM that morning and in about an hour, we reached the famous Blue Bridge. This iconic structure was just as beautiful in person as I had imagined.

It meant we were at mile 303, with just 11 miles to cover till we reached the rock. Matt and I took our time with the obligatory photos and soaked it all in. We were almost there!

As we meandered through New Hope, Tennessee, we reminisced and talked about our favorite moments of the race. I even checked pooping over a guardrail off my Vol State bucket list.

I couldn’t help thinking about the previous Wednesday when I drove these roads with my mother to the busses. I really had no idea what I was getting myself into. I knew I could do it, I just didn’t know how it would play out, what I would experience, or who I would get to meet. Everything… it was a true journey.

As we headed towards the fateful turn onto 377 (mm 308) which would take us up a steep hike for a couple miles before Castle Rock Road, Matt and I talked about the finish. He was feeling much stronger than me and I was still dealing with cramping calves.

We decided that we would split up with him going up the mountain ahead of me. Matt pointed out it would be nice to have some time to reflect on our own anyway and that he would wait to see me finish.

Eventually, it came and we took a couple more photos before Matt took off out of my sight.

Climbing Sand Mountain was slow going for me, but at that point, I really didn’t mind it. I took a lot of breaks hanging out on the guardrail and sitting on the ground because I had earned it. Soon, the clock would stop and I wouldn’t need to run anymore.

About a mile up, I crossed the Alabama state line. Only 1 more state to go!

Just past the state line, however, my calves really started to cramp up. Within 100 yards, I hit the deck twice as my calves totally seized. The second time, an old man in a red pickup truck was passing me and hit the brakes when he saw me collapse. 

I assured him that I was, in fact, totally sound but just cramping. I thanked him for his offer of a ride, but let him know I was in a race and couldn’t accept it.

It took a couple hours, but eventually, I crested the steepest part of the climb and was well on my way to Castle Rock Road (Country Road 132).

I was chugging along totally in my head when I heard a cacophony of honks and cheering. I turned around to see my parents pull to the side of the road just ahead of me. It was an emotional experience seeing them and realizing that I was truly about to finish and come back to the civilized world.

I crossed the road to chat to them for a while before heading back out. 

Right before the turn onto Castle Rock Road, I came across Sally Hernandez. I hadn’t seen her since Lexington, nearly four days ago! She was out of water and completely dehydrated. I let her drink for a while from my bladder and encouraged her, reminding her just how close we were to the finish.

When I finished, Laz and Carl filled me in that she had been on that final 14-mile section from Kimball for the whole morning and had been passed by a number of people. Talk about true grit.

Eventually, I made the turn and began running the small rollers all the way to the farm. I only briefly stopped to chat with a sweet man who lived on Castle Rock Road who had seen me lying on the ground on the road earlier and gave me some Gatorade and homegrown apples. 

Laz later commented how unusual it was for people on Castle Rock Road to exhibit that kind of hospitality considering they have to deal with their dogs freaking out for a week as finishers come by on this infrequently traveled road.

Soon I came across the wonderful gates of Castle Rock and knew I was just over a mile from the finish.

I passed the parking lot for our cars and made the turn into the corn fields.

In typical fashion, Laz and Carl set out a number of signs that said there was only 1 mile left just to mess with our head. By my estimation, I think it was really only one mile in total from the turn into the corn to the finish.

I entered the woods and ran the last couple hundred yards. I saw a glint in the woods and realized that must be one of the race admin’s cars and it all hit me.

I was going to finish the Vol State. It was going to happen. And it was going to happen right now.

I turn the corner to the clearing and saw the most beautiful view of the race. 

I performed my usual finish line stunt and walked over to the rock. I had been waiting over six days to reach this piece of earth which marked the end of my journey.

Following Carl’s rules about not touching the fence, I knelt down, then laid prostrate on the ground and kissed the Rock. I had made it!

I turned around to give Matt the biggest hug. We had laughed, cried, and struggled through so many miles together and it was fantastic to experience this finish with him. 

I then focused my attention on my parents who had followed my journey from afar and been so encouraging at many of my low points.

Finally, I was guided to a chair around the table of champions where I could sit and no longer be required to keep moving. I was satisfied and truly began to relax.

I sat there for nearly an hour and a half, reminiscing on the race with Laz, Carl, my parents, Matt, and Tim Hardy, who had come back to the finish line after cleaning up. 

Soon after finishing, I turned to Laz and Carl and asked, “When does HOTS registration open up?”

Laz responded that he would open up both LAVS and HOTS pre-registration on August 1.

That day is today. And as I sit here finishing up my race report (or book as some of you might think), I’ve signed up for HOTS. I’m hooked. Or as veterans of the race like to say, I’ve been bit. 

My heart remains out there on the road in Tennessee. I found God out there on the LAVS course. 

And I need to come back to meet its big brother. 

See you in a year at the ROCK!