I'm a dreamer. Always have been. I've dreamed of being able to make my living as an artist and/or writer since college. I've dreamed of covering my body in permanent artwork since I was ten. I've dreamed of competing on a couple of reality shows for more than a decade. When you're dreamer of huge dreams, you are the recipient of a plethora of disappointments; but sometimes... after years of toil and hope and almost's....one of those dreams comes true.
Of all the huge dreams I have had and still have, sky diving has probably been with me the longest. In fact, I've had it so long, that it was more of a fantasy than an actual possibility, in my early years. After all, a lower-middle class kid from small-town Ohio had little hope of achieving such a fantastical goal. That's part of what appealed to me; it wasn't quite impossible, though highly improbable. I love, and NEED, goals like this in my life at all times. My dream to sky dive has accompanied me from as far back in childhood as my memory banks go. It was with me during my emotional teen years, through my Goth period, through my twenties and all the way until, here I am, 39-years-old, standing on the border of dream and reality. On the shore of hope, with the tide doing what it always does, slowly creeping closer...closer....It's almost at my toes. Almost. The anticipation is so beautiful I have to let it was over me slowly, savoring every drop.. .
....I did it!!! Holy shit! I actually did it!
After a loooong drive from my in-laws place in Polk City, FL to the SkyDive Ultra race site in Clewiston; a check-in process that was stream-lined but still time consuming; a quick run-down with my instructor, Joe, on what was expected of me (blessedly little); and an incredibly short plane ride up to 14,000' where-in I felt so calm and collected it almost freaked me out (especially considering the restless night of "sleep" I'd had as I imagined every terrible possibility of things going wrong); I did it! I jumped!
Technically, I just sat there while Joe did all the work. There were five jumpers and five tandem instructors in the plane. We were packed in to the two rows of bench style seats. As we quickly gained altitude, the instructors began latching and clicking the various straps, harnesses, goggles and what-have-yous, while running through the instructions one more time. Head up; knees bent; arms out when instructed; pull chord when instructed; have a blast!
Having had issues in the past with my ears popping on flights, I chomped away on a piece of grape Juicy Fruit, which seemed to be doing the trick.
I glanced at the provided altimeter- 2,000'. Wait a sec. Joe told me we'd be going to 14,000' for the jump. The needle on the altimeter would go all the way around past twelve and back to two. To the casual observer- me- it looked like we were pretty fucking high. I assumed we were close to our goal, but seeing the needle already at the two, I had to clench the cheeks up tight to avoid shitting the cool-ass flight suit provided for me. Did we really have another 12,000' to go?! Already the land below us was nothing but abstract squares and rectangles closely resembling a Rothko painting. Despite all these things, we were in fact, still climbing. *Gulp*
As we neared the actual drop point, Joe instructed me to slide along the seat, stay in a sitting position, and wait for his cue; a simple three, two, one...and....we were flying; well, we were falling with style.
I immediately forgot the few basic instructions, unable to do anything but whoop out my battle cries of "fuck yeah" and "woo hoo." Joe had to put both my head and my legs in the correct position, which he accomplished expertly.
Sorry, Joe!
Free-falling was every bit as bad-ass as I'd hoped. watching the earth slowly zoom in as gravity worked its will on us; fear, excitement and overwhelming happiness competing for the top spot. Being completely enveloped in the moment of on of my oldest and greatest dreams coming true was the purest magic.
Before I could say "holy shit" for the eighthundreth time, Joe placed my hand on the chord. As the chute deployed, the force of our deceleration yanking us upward in a warm embrace, an icy-hot ball of emotion exploded in my chest.
It was at this point that my ear drums began to hate my guts. Big hate. The biggest fucking hate ever. They were cracking and popping like mad until the pressure built to a point that I could barely hear. I chomped my gum madly and re-focused on the moment. This was where I needed to be now- living this moment to the fullest; I could deal with my ears when we landed.
Joe handed over the controls, showing me how to do the cool spin move each way. While this increased the pain in my ears, it was a fucking blast.
A little less than two minutes after we'd expelled ourselves from the plane, we sailed in on our asses for a smooth as a baby's butt landing. Awesome.
Now I had to deal with the reality of my ears, which was growing into an ever-increasingly crappy situation. Fuck. I have been waiting for this moment for most of my life. Right now all I wanna do is hug my wife, call my kiddos and tell them all about this awesome experience, and bask in the magic. Unfortunately whatever was going on with my ears was effecting my equilibrium. I walked like a two-day drunk, feeling light-headed and nauseous. Plus, my hearing was still fucked.
How the hell was I going to run 50 miles? In temps up to 80+ degrees? On a course with zero shade?
How do journalists like Christian Amonpour and Hunter S Thompson deal with the unexpected pit falls of life like this? Thompson lived with the fucking Hell's Angels for God's sake! He had to have more than a few experiences that left him too sick or destroyed to continue- but he went on. He gonzo'd the shit out of life. Amonpour has reported from front-line foxholes. Has she ever had a case of the screaming shits from drinking the water in some third-world hell-hole that she had to fight through for a scoop?
My wife and one-woman crew, Angie, set me up a seat in the shade of our mini-van. The SkyDive Ultra start is set for non-jumpers, fluid for jumpers. The 50-miler was underway by the time I landed, but there was no way I could start running in my current state. My stomach rebels in the heat under the best circumstances, which these were not.
The minutes ticked by as I sat uncomfortably in my faded camp chair. Waves of nausea crashed down on me with every small turn of my head. My eardrums continued to imitate Snap, Crackle & Pop. I've never been able to stand doing that hold your nose and blow, ear-pop thing, but in sheer desperation for relief I gave it a try. Oww.
Running through various fixer-upper scenarios in my woozy noggin- not a damned one of them seemed as if it would stand a snowball's chance of success. 20 minutes walked by.30. 45. Fuck.
My family and I were to begin our week of relaxation on a Caribbean cruise the morning after this race. the SkyDive 50 miler was supposed to be a training run in which I actually raced the 50 in preparation for my first 150 mile attempt at Potawatomi Trail Runs in April this year. My best case scenario plan had been about nine hours. Given the heat and humidity that would have already been bumped to ten hours. Given my current state of dilapidated sheik, I would be lucky to finish sub-12, if at all. The race start, fluid as it is for jumpers, was bumped up about an hour from the original guesstimate. Now I was sitting here, another hour about to trickle by.
All this shit spinning around inside my head served only to exasperate the nausea. I made a decision. Switch to the 50k, push through the pain and get my ultra finish, and still finish within the time I had originally allotted (thereby not forcing my family to sit around waiting on me all dang night). Step 1: Easy first loop. I'd take the first 7.5 mile loop as slow as necessary, feel out the course and my situation, and make further assessments from there.
Walking towards the timing tent I began to feel slightly better. The nausea eased up as I moved around. Weird, but cool. I was still a little dizzy; still corked up aroundabouts the ear holes; but a manageable mess. Yippe. Then I had this thought: this is what ultra's are all about, right? Pushing through the bad shit and coming out stronger on the other side. Never giving up. Redefining your limits. Of course, the bad shit usually doesn't start before your fucking race, but hey, what're you gonna do?
At the timing tent I was pleased to meet the legendary Mike Melton who hosts the Ancient Oaks 100 in Florida, and provides top notch timing at events all over the country. He'll even be in my neck of the woods in May, timing the O24 trail race in Kirtland, OH.
Unfortunately I had to meet Mike for the first time as one of "those people", changing my distance at the last minute on race morning.
Sorry, Mike!
After stumbling from mysteriously locked bathroom, to over-occupied bathroom to sweltering but vacant porr-a-john, I received another curveball- no TP. I needed TP for my bung hole on a very bad way. Never one to back down from a challenge, I scraped the tiny remnants from the three empty cardboard tubes, pinched the 1" square I'd gathered between two fingers, squinted my eyes into tiny slits, and made as precise a movement as ever I have made in my life. It was like a surgical procedure. A work o(f)art.
Sitting in the swear box of sweat for some minutes did my nausea no good at all, but I felt progressively better as I trod back to my make shift aid station.
The day was already sweltering, so I soaked a bandana in refreshingly cold water , placing it neatly under my bright white technology cap. A bottle of tailwind, a bottle of water, a quick kiss from my #1 cheerleader and captain, and I was on my way.
A mile in I felt better than I could have dreamed only fifteen minutes earlier. It was at this same time I realized I'd forgotten both my iPods and my phone. Typically I can lean on podcasts, audio books and music to pull me through the toughest parts of ultras. Naturally I'd wanted to start with one of my faithful pick-me-up to ease the suffering I expected to feel this first loop. Add that to the growing list of just my luck.
While the nausea was manageable and I no longer felt as if I might topple over at any moment, it was clear that I wouldn't be setting in records today. I settled into a cautious pace, enjoying the course and the people as I went. My mind wondered, thankfully, as I ran; keeping me out of my own head for the most part.
Since I had planned to run 50 miles, I hadn't bothered checking the race instructions for I found on the other distances. Knowing that the course was 7.5 miles per loop, even my somewhat slushy brain could multiply 4 x 7.25 and come up with 29. Since 50k is roughly 31 miles, I assumed we'd have to run a fifth loop, but I was scared to look. I left it in the ether for the time being.
I came in for the first loop in 1:11, feeling cautiously optimistic. It wouldn't be pretty, but I would finish.
Did I mention how awesome my wife is? She was anxiously waiting to get whatever I needed as I approached our mini-van aid station, set-up about 100 yards from the start. She had a bucket of ice water and a sponge ready for me! Aaaahhh! Soaking my body down from head to toes, I felt even better.
Many times when I am running, I begin thinking of things I need, or need to do, when I come into the aid stations. If it's a relatively long loop I use an acronym to help me remember all of them. I was in such poor shape that all could come up with was this:
Egb. Sisae.
E- Electrolytes
G- GoPro
B- Bandana
S- Shoes
I- iPods
S- Socks
A- Ass cream (My scrap of TP hadn't been enough to prevent some serious monkey butt.)
E- Ensure
I switched to my New Balance Minimus after discovering how soft and non-technical the course was. I also ditched my tall, black socks, as the sun was somehow being sucked into my calves through them.
I walked out of the aid station drinking my Ensure. One mile later I realized I forgot my fucking iPods. Again. Balls.
After eating a Paleo diet for nearly three years, I recently made the decision to give it up. While there are many aspects of Paleo that I enjoy, and while I'm glad I did it for that time, I was beginning to feel limited and as if my body was missing something it needed. For the past couple of months I have been training with Tailwind and Ensure, which have worked well.
For the SkyDive Ultra, I planned to drink a serving of Tailwind per loop, and one Ensure every second loop. I'd also add in date logs and homemade energy bars on the non-Ensure loops. Feeling good-to-go for loop two, I had chugged the Ensure, assuming the worst of my stomach issues were behind me. Oh how wrong I was.
Upon finishing the Ensure, my stomach kicked me squarely in the nuts. With no iPod to turn to for comfort, this was a painful loop. I struggled to the three mile aid station port-a-john, killing ten minutes as grunting away. Though I forgot my iPod, I did remember to strap on my GoPro, so there is some tasty footage of this crucial moment in my race.
About this same time I realized I had left my timing tracker back in my van. I had taken it off to change my shoes and socks, and in my hurry to get back on course, left it behind. I let the girls working this aid station know, and ask them to please record the time I came through.
Sorry girls!
This loop saw me doing a lot of walking and struggling to maintain a 9:30 pace. I let myself get into a really low place as my mind re-visited a possible 5-loop, 36.25 mile, 50k. After suffering through twenty more minutes than loop one, I had to face Mike and tell him that not only was I the person who switches distances on race day, but now I was the guy who lost his timing chip.
Sorry again, Mike!
At my personal aid station I immediately searched for the chip, to no avail. As if my poor wife didn't have enough crap to put up with outta me this day, she continued the search as I went through my mental checklist again. iPods! Check! Sponge cool down; check. Tailwind and water refills; check. Force down date logs; check.
Off I went on loop three, armed with some fantastic epsiodes of the Nerdist podcast! First up, the lovely and talented Krysten Ritter! Halfway through the lap, the crazy-interesting Joe Rogan took over.
When I came in from loop three my kiddos had just arrived! Yay! Talk about the greatest boost ever! Seeing their smiling faces perked me up like nothing else could. My daughter gave me a sugar cookie and an air-hug, while my son braved my stench for a real life hug.
Rejuvenated, I buckled down for loop four. I felt better, but the heat and utter craziness of the day had worked me over like a two-dollar whore. 10-11 minute miles were all I could muster, even with a good amount of walking mixed in. I was dreading the last loop, but the Nerdist was working wonders.
Coming in for the last loop, my wife saved me for the 47,000th time in my life. She had overheard a couple next door discussing a change in the last loop set-up for the 50k. Apparently it was originally slated to be a one mile out-n-back strip, but had been changed to a run out to the three mile aid station. From there you could be picked up, or walk a short-cut back to the finish. We double-checked with the race officials, and hot damn! It was true! I hit the trail with a new zest!
Because the universe had given me all my good luck at once that day- in the form of allowing me to not die during the sky dive- it now had to give me one more slap in the face to balance things out. I forgot my phone, thereby requiring me to walk back from my finish spot. It was all good though! A little Hillary Swank to round out my Nerdist listening for the day, and I finally did it. I finished one of the toughest damn races of my life! Coming in at 6:42 and change, it ranks as one of my slowest 50k's, but damn it- it's one of my proudest finishes!
Fortunately- and surprisingly, I had no stomach troubles after the race. I was even able to celebrate with frosty-dipped Wendy's fries! Yummy!
Two weeks later, and my ears still haven't fully recovered. I saw my doc and she informed me that I, "Really did a number," on them. Currently I am taking a prescribed steroid to relive the fluid built up in there. No pain, just a little pressure and the sense that I fucked something up.
Despite the misery of my day post-sky dive, I would highly recommend this event. The RD, Eric Friedman, is a dude I'd love to party with. He loves bacon, is a great dude, and puts on one helluva race!
I'm sure I met only a fraction of the crew it takes to host this event. Eric must have a slew of devoted, super-awesome, bacon-cooking baddasses helping him. I can't imagine the logistics of dealing with sky divers who aren't running, sky divers who are running, tandem versus solo jumpers, which of the numerous race distances each person is running, and on and on the list goes. It's gotta be total insanity.
Mike Melton did an amazing job providing the event timing. He's a super nice guy and didn't kick my ass for being a pain in his.
The volunteers were top notch! Thanks to you all!
The sky diving process was streamlined and the instructors were incredible. Thanks again, Joe!
The finisher's medals- HOLY SHIT!! If you can find a bigger, more bad-ass 50k finishers medal- well...you can't! Definitely my new favorite.
If you can handle a sunny course with no shade, just remember what the website says...there's no elevation change after the first 14,000'.
Thanks to all involved for a great event!
