Touch the Horizon

I will be adding a record or "blog" of my training as it leads up to the Heartland 100.

 To Kansas & Back (Epilogue)

“Unless a life is lived for others, it is not worthwhile” -- Mother Teresa

To Kansas & Back (Part 5)

Lying in the back of the Subaru, Rosanna iced my knee and ankle once again.  I never realized (until later) that she had pulled Brian aside and asked him how I was doing, if he thought I could finish.  He reassured her that I was doing great and didn’t doubt I had enough to make it to the end.

After another cup of soup and some warmer clothes, my dad and I took off.  I don’t remember us talking too much either during those hours.  Perhaps I expected the fire and brimstone of a Baptist preacher.  Perhaps I expected a Vince Lombardi speech extolling the virtue of leaving it all on the field of play.  Perhaps my father, the accountant, had seen the numbers on Rosanna’s clipboard and knew something I didn’t – that I had already left it all out there on that Kansas plain.

Whatever the case, sometime as we walked together in the hours after heading out from the 75-mile checkpoint, my dad said, matter of factly, “You don’t have to finish this thing.  You’ve done so much for the Krebbs.  You have nothing left to prove.”  It wasn’t the speech I thought I was going to hear, but perhaps it was the one I needed to hear.  I’ve learned a lot about the difference between what one needs and what one wants in the past few months.  He merely opened a door that needed to be opened. As I’ve mentioned, I NEVER considered calling it quits before that point.  Not for a single moment did it enter my mind.  I had given up the idea of 24 hours, but still believed I could finish under the time limit.  We walked for a while in silence and I said, “Maybe I will call it quits when we get back to Lapland.”

I picked up speed.  My dad recognized it and asked, “Feeling good again?”  Looking back, these were my agonal breaths, my last gasps.  I crashed soon after.  I would take two steps and then I would have to stop.  I repeated this process for a few hundred feet maybe.  Eventually, I just sat down.

Sitting on the ground, I thought about Viktor Frankl and his book “Man’s Search for Meaning” in which he describes the horror of the holocaust—the absolute suffering that he and six million other Jewish people experienced.  It made me embarrassed to have suffered a mere 22 hours.  I thought about Dean Karnazes suggesting that if you were too tired to run, then you should walk, and if you were too tired to walk, then you should crawl.  It hurt when I rolled over on my knees.  Mostly I thought about just going to sleep.  My dad asked if I wanted him to leave me his fleece coat so that he could run ahead and get Rosanna to bring back the car.  I told him that I would be hypothermic before he got back.

Moments later, the lights of a vehicle could be seen in the distance.  I had not seen a vehicle on the roads since the sun went down 8 hours earlier.  As it got closer, my dad waved them down in the darkness.  As he poked his head in the driver’s window, I could see the license plate on the back.  The guy was a firefighter.  “Care to help a brother firefighter from Indiana?”  I interrupted.  He pointed us to the bed of the truck and within minutes we were in Lapland.   

Being wheeled back to the hotel room on the luggage cart. 

My swollen ankle. 26 hours, 10 Ibuprofen, & several bags of ice after the Heartland 100. 

To Kansas & Back (Part 4)

“Faith is taking the first step even when you don't see the whole staircase.”

                                                                                                                –Martin Luther King

Jacob waiting for me to arrive at Matfield Green. 

Brian had been running 10 miles a day for the past several weeks.  He’s always loved running and when I asked him if he would pace me for 17 miles, he took to the idea like a duck to water. I often think about how lucky I am to have found the Krebbs Family.  I think about how much more I have gotten from them than what I have given in return.  There are so many people out there who need help in some way or another.  I almost felt guilty when I first gave Brandy a call because if she was to ask me why I chose them and not someone else, I didn’t have an answer.  As if I needed it, Brian’s passion for running is just further confirmation that I was on the right path.

We left our headlamps off in the twilight.  The sky grew increasingly dark, but our vision adapted to the darkness.  It was amazingly peaceful until I almost stepped on a snake.  I jumped and scared Brian.  I think he thought I hurt myself.  It didn’t frighten us enough to turn on our headlamps, though.  Pretty soon, I had the feeling that we weren’t alone.  I told Brian that I thought a herd of cattle were surrounding us.  He said he didn’t see them.  I remember thinking to myself that it’s way to earlier for me to be hallucinating. He turned on his hand-held light and sure enough we were adrift in a sea of cattle.  He shut his light off as not to scare them.  For the next 20 minutes or so, it was cool to hear them rustle around us, occasionally picking up their pace to move from our path.

A short while later a couple from Cedarburg, WI (Rosanna’s home town) caught up with us.  We got to talking with Brent (#2) and his wife.  Like me, he had an amazing group of supporters with him, including his parents, children and brothers.  He had a prayer list of forty-some people that he carried with him.  Brian began the story about how the two of us found ourselves on this remote stretch of road.  He shared with them the whole story, referring to me periodically as “Ronnie”, which I thought was funny.  It’s such a humbling experience to hear Brian talk about me.  Brent added us to his prayer list and they bid us farewell.

Sometime in the next mile or so, I took my first gel pack with caffeine.  I really hoped it would give me a bigger kick, but no such luck.  We arrived at the Ridge Line aid station not much later, just before 9 p.m.  I lay down in the car again for a few minutes while Rosanna iced my ankle and knee some more.  I remember sitting up and being cold.  The wind was still pretty ferocious and I knew it would only be worse on this next section so I asked for a warmer shirt, my hat, and my gloves.  Brian and I headed back out into the night.

I thought about my friend Dave Tanner during this stretch.  I had read somewhere that miles 60-70 were the hardest and it kind of surprised me.  Dave, however, confirmed that this actually was the case.  You have so many miles behind you, your body is beaten down, but the end isn’t yet in site.  I was comforted by the fact that Brian was with me and getting to Texaco Hill would put me on the downhill side of 70 miles.

To Kansas & Back (Part 3)

“I’m a firm believer that the Lord sometimes has to short-circuit even our best plans for our benefit.”  -- Tony Dungy

 The downhill leaving Ridge Line.

 Arriving at Mattfield Green six minutes ahead of schedule

 A couple of other things merit mentioning:  First, the Krebbs family hadn’t arrived yet and that concerned me (given the flat tire) and, second, I had mistakenly underestimated the time it would take me to get to the 50-mile turnaround and back.  I mentioned it to Rosanna, but I feel it played a key role in the race later on.  I had some soup, a couple more potatoes and another hard-boiled egg before heading off for the halfway point.

The late afternoon sun made this section of the race a little hot.  Not far out of Matfield Green I wished I had poured some cold water over my head to cool my body temperature.  I tried shuffling again during this phase of the race. I would pick out a telephone pole a few hundred feet ahead and go for it.  All the while, saying my kids’ names with every step.  “Miranda, Garrick, Miranda, Garrick, Miranda, Garrick…”

I hit the 50-mile turnaround at 11 hours and 2 minutes.  I didn’t linger for very long.  I grabbed a few jellybeans and they almost made me sick.  As I made the steep climb back up from the checkpoint, I thought about how I probably wouldn’t make it to my goal of 100 miles in 24 hours.  13 hours would be tough given the toll the race had already taken on my knee.  But I wasn’t discouraged.  I was actually very excited that I only had about 2 hours left until I would have company for the rest of the race.

Dad Bateman and Dave Sears waiting at Matfield Green.

An interesting thing happened on the way back to Matfield Green.  Another runner passed and stopped a few hundred feet ahead of me.  He was stretching and set his water bottle on a 3-foot tall parapet wall on the edge of the road over a culvert.  The wind had blown it off and it landed in a quagmire of stagnant water below.  I stopped to make sure he was all right.  He had a long reed in his hand and was trying to lasso his bottle.  I told him I had plenty of water to share for the next three miles, but he persisted.  We walked for a while together and he told me that this was his second attempt at 100 miles.  He had dropped out of the Arkansas Traveler at 84 miles.  He said his legs quit working.  I wondered to myself how you could give up so close to the finish.

 Arriving back at Matfield Green (Mile 57.5) at dusk.

It was a reunion of sorts when I got back to Matfield Green.  Brian was ready to go.  Brandy, Susan, Jacob and Silas cheered me on.  I lay down in the back of the Subaru and Rosanna put ice on my knee and ankle.  I tried to force down a sandwich, but couldn’t stomach the last few bites.  Brian and I marched off into the darkness.

To Kansas & Back (Part 2)

"Things that were hard to bear are sweet to remember" -- Seneca

i headed east from the Lapland aid station and felt great.  I had a couple of hard-boiled russet potatoes and a hard-boiled egg and walked as I ate.  I finally turned on my Ipod and listened to Dave Matthews, I think.  I resumed my routine of walking and running.  The 8 miles to Teterville is relatively uneventful–a four-mile straightaway with a left turn, followed by another fairly benign four-mile march to the north.  It was after making this left turn that I saw what had been sneaking up on us (as if anything can truly sneak up on you when you can see for 20 miles).  Soon I could hear the thunder building in the distance, the ever-darkening sky stretched from the southwest to the northeast, roughly parallel to the Kansas turnpike.  It was about this time that I saw the first 50-mile runner returning from the turnaround.  I wondered to myself if he would make it back to Cassoday before the rain came.  I also began to question if I would make it to Teterville without getting soaked.  The sun had come out right before Lapland and I had forgotten completely about the lightning from this morning or the bleak forecast for the weekend.  For that reason, I wasn’t really concerned—I really felt like, given the amount of terrain we would be covering and the length of time we would be out in the elements, I would be getting wet sometime during the race and it might as well be now.  Perhaps, subconsciously, I picked up the pace a bit because of the looming rain or I just felt good.  Either way, I rolled into the 25-mile checkpoint 16 minutes ahead of my plan. 

The Heartland 100 Course 

After the twenty-five mile checkpoint, the course changed character.  I remember hearing another runner remark, as we headed out in a slight rain, that this was the highest and most exposed 11.5 miles of the course.  The course turned north off of the main county road and the gravel became larger in size as it gradually climbed.  Gaining the heights, rain could be seen in pockets across the horizon—from north to south.  It came in fast and I put on my coat and hood.  It made those seldom traveled roads muddy and my running shoes became caked with an inch of mud on them.

Rain coming across the plains 

This was when my plan went out the window.  I was no longer adhering to the run 22 / walk 8 mantra, but I didn’t beat myself up too much.  I kept telling myself that I was moving forward and that was all that mattered.  One critical thing I learned during this race was the need to walk the hills from the beginning.  Any gains (a few minutes here or there) are more than lost when it comes to their toll on your body. 

Another critical thing I learned on that desolate stretch of road was how to urinate while moving.  The 50-mile runners had turned around and were heading back and the remaining 77 100-mile runners were spread out like ants across the countryside.  This afforded me a bit of privacy and made me feel better about not running as much as I had planned.  After all, I was so hydrated that I was stopping every 10 minutes to relieve myself.  I know this discussion (of this ilk) may seem a little crass.  But I learned long ago that these subjects are not taboo when it comes to distance running and are bridges that must be crossed.  There is nothing natural about running 100 miles and your body can do some rather absurd things when it’s put under such duress.  

In any event, I felt better about my ability to keep moving and the rain and lightning finally gave way.  The wind, however, did not.  It blew relentlessly across the ridge at about 25 mph.  The road improved and I got back to running.  I stormed into the Ridge Line aid station still 5 minutes ahead of my plan.  All things considered,  I couldn’t have been happier with the way things were going.

Coming into Ridge Line (36.5 miles) like ants on a giant canvas.

To Kansas & Back (Part 1)

 “Plans are worthless, but planning is everything” – Dwight D. Eisenhower

The alarm clock rousted me at 3:30.  I felt terrific.  I started the coffee, and Rosanna applied sunscreen and Band-Aids.  I got dressed and headed down to the lobby.  I had asked the Hotel Manager the night before if I could get a couple slices of wheat toast, and he said it wouldn’t be a problem.  In fact, he was still there at the front desk at 4 in the morning.  He took care of me, and I ate alone.  Back upstairs, my father and my wife were finishing packing the tub and cooler that held all the food, clothing and other supplies.

We met up with our friend, Dave Sears and headed for the car.  Brian Krebbs was downstairs in the hotel lobby smiling, waiting for us.  He planned to drive the 30 miles to Cassoday just to see me run into the night.  As he pulled around the building we discovered that the right rear tire was flat and the rental car didn’t have a jack.  But, as is so typical with Brian, he remained undyingly upbeat, promising to see me later in the day when we would log several miles together.  We paused to pray together in the parking lot before leaving.

I don’t remember any nervousness on the drive up, nothing like before my first 26.2.  Several events in the weeks before the race made me realize that I was a single piece in a much larger puzzle.  Perhaps a corner piece, one that you might like to build upon, but a single piece nonetheless.  My little idea, that had been so lonely in the beginning, had through faith and the efforts of so many people gained momentum and become so much more.  Many, many people were playing integral parts.  Now it was my turn.
 
I was clumsy at the start.  Sometimes the way the headlamp dances around in the dark makes me dizzy, off- balance.  I am not the best night runner.  After about fifteen minutes of weaving this way and that, I shut my headlamp off and ran in the darkness.  The stars to the south and east were beautiful in the pre-dawn sky and an incredible display of lighting could be seen far off to the north.  The race course would eventually take us that way, but the stars above were beautiful at that moment.  The first eight miles were perfectly flat and the ground was soft from the previous day’s rain.  I found my groove in the darkness and was happy that the race had finally begun after months of anticipation.  I could hear (more than see) people moving around me in that darkness.  I thought about turning on my Ipod and I thought about striking up a conversation with another runner, but I didn’t want to change those moments—they were truly perfect.  I wasn’t afraid of what was ahead…

Just after sunrise near Lapland

As the sun played up over the southeastern horizon, we finally moved into the rolling hills.  It’s truly an amazing site and my only lament over the next several hours was the concentration needed to find secure footing took away from an unencumbered ability to enjoy the majestic landscape.  Speaking of footing, we also encountered the first of dozens of cattle guards that we would need to navigate during the race—they come in all shapes in sizes and I now knew why the race director had asked us to stop and walk over them.  Rounded pipes separated by 5 or 6 inches that prevent the open range cattle from moving from one area to another are treacherous if they are wet, it’s dark, or you are tired.   It would be terribly easy to sprain or break something if you slipped on one.    

I motored through the first manned aid station, Battle Creek.  Rosanna, Dave, and my father were waiting 7 miles up the road at Lapland.  I had everything I needed—water, Heed, and gel packs—for the time being.  I spent a good deal of these first few hours “leap-frogging” with other racers whose run/walk routine was slightly different from mine.  My plan was to run for 22 minutes and walk for 8.  It worked fabulously on my long training runs and landed me in Lapland about 10 minutes before I had planned to be there.  The plan was playing out to perfection.

 Coming into the Lapland aid station at 9:10 a.m. 

October 15, 2007 

We are finally home (after stopping in St. Louis for the night).  My ankle is still quite swollen and I am working on  a more thorough report.  Here is a picture a few minutes before the start of the race....

October 14, 2007 

 Shortly before 4 a.m., about 82 miles into the Heartland 100, my father and I flagged down an off-duty firefighter on a rural road.  We road in the back of his truck a couple of miles to the check point and a waiting Rosanna.  I was finished.  I gave it everything I had.  My right knee and right ankle were both swollen significantly. 

I wouldn’t trade the experience for the world.  Hard rain, 25 mph winds, and lightning while on exposed ridge lines.  There will always be a part of me that wishes I couldv’e pulled out the last few miles, but I feel certain that I would’ve landed myself in the hospital.  Back at the hotel, Rosanna and my father wheeled me into the room on the luggage carrier.  My body convulsed at intervals for the next three hours and I almost threw up when I tried to take some Endurox.

I will write more later.  A beautiful experience.

October 13, 2007

About an hour till it begins.  We are leaving the hotel in the dark.  Lightning can be seen in the darkness.  I feel great after about 6 hours of sleep.  Brian Krebbs is dealing with a flat on his rental car.  He will miss the start of the race, but he will be there for me later this evening. 

“Better pass boldly into that other world, if full glory of some passion, than fade and wither dismally with age” – James Joyce

October 12, 2007

We have arrived safely in Kansas!!!  My wife, father, Dave Sears and I made the all night trek from Bloomington relatively unscathed.  We rotated through the driver’s seat and a small place to lay down, squeezed between all the supplies.  After a quick bit of breakfast at the Holiday Inn Express in El Dorado, my dad showed Rosanna and I around Wichita.  Among other things, we went to the house that I lived in 30 years ago.  We were even able to sneak a peak inside.

By the time we got back to the hotel, the Krebbs family and their good friend, Susan, had arrived.  They were checking in from a hard trip.  Everyone (but me) is resting in bed for a little bit longer.  We are headed up to Cassoday in about an hour to check in and for the pre-race supper.

Everything is going well.  During one of our stops near Kansas City in the middle of the night, some self-doubt crept in…and lingered as I lay looking at the roof of the Subaru in the pre-dawn darkness.  I guess that is normal.  At least I tell myself that it is.  It was fleeting, though, and disappeared with the sunrise over the Flint Hills that I am to run through tomorrow.  It’s a beautiful setting.  I cannot wait.

October 11, 2007 

October 9, 2007

It’s a matter of mere days now—and it’s difficult to focus on much of anything else.  My mind is consumed with thoughts of what I should’ve done differently or what I need to do before leaving.  Should I have run more that one weekend?  Could I have re-scheduled this family obligation to squeeze in a few more miles?  Should I have done something different to try and raise money for the Krebbs family?  I try to quiet these thoughts.

It’s hard to put logical thoughts together for this blog.   I no longer have the ability to even comprehend what is going on around me.  It’s a synergy of things that I may have started, but no longer have control over.  In the beginning, it was one person running one day for one family.  Now it is so much more. For example….

Yesterday, I called Brandy to hammer out some final plans with their hotel out in Kansas.  She told me that she had contacted the Holiday Inn Express in Wichita and they pointed them to the one in El Dorado (30 miles closer to the Flint Hills).  She told me that the hotel has only been open for a week—divine timing, she said.  Brandy went on to tell me of her amazing conversation with the General Manager at the El Dorado Holiday Inn Express whose child has been given a terminal diagnosis like Silas.  They had talked at length, cried a little, and made plans to have dinner this weekend.  What an amazing opportunity to share her strength, her faith with someone who needs it so deeply. Before we hung up, she reminded me that had I never listened to that voice inside me, none of this would be happening now.

I try to convey these feelings and emotions to my wife after receiving a phone call like this and she doesn’t really know what to say.  She’s been at the eye of this hurricane since it began, after all.  She’s offered advice, support and guidance. But it’s still nearly impossible to tell her how I feel overwhelmed, but not nervous about the next few days.  And more often than not…none of those feelings have anything to do with running.  It’s become a sub-plot in a much larger narrative.

September 25, 2007

I have been asked so many times what motivated me to run 100 miles for a family I had never met.  So many times and I don’t know that I have ever given a very thorough answer, so I will try now. 

What inspires us (as human beings)?  Perhaps it’s a movie, perhaps it’s a relative or a coach, perhaps it’s any number of things.  For me the song “Pride (In the Name of Love)” by U2 has always moved me.  In fact, I can remember lip-syncing the song at a church over-nighter sometime in 1985.  At thirteen, I couldn't comprehend the depth of the song and didn't  yet understand how a man from Atlanta had shaped and changed the world in which I lived.  Twenty-two years later and that song still calls for me to touch the horizon. 

I am motivated by people using their talents—big or small—to change the world.  To be sure, MLK moved the world with a talent seen once in a millennium.   My talent, on the other hand, is pretty rudimentary.  Most of us learn to run sometime in our third or fourth year.  Most move on to bigger and better things.

Speaking of inspiration or motivation, I recounted the story the other day of the final nudge I needed to contact Brandy and Brian. That inspiration came sometime last November.  Warmer weather had afforded my son’s kindergarten class the opportunity to meet at the park for the afternoon.  Sitting there on a bench, talking with another parent, out of the corner of my eye I caught my 5-year old needling a toddler.  I hurried over to him and pulled him aside.  I explained to him (in no uncertain terms) that we didn’t pick on the little guy, but quite the contrary we stood up for them.  I don’t know that I made it back to my seat on the bench before the Krebbs crept into my conscious.  What better way than to model for him the behavior I expected?  I know the message is lost on him right now, but his sister understands and one day so will he.  And maybe he will use his talents to change the world--to touch the horizon. 

 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_HY-WfDPm7s&mode=related&search=

 September 13, 2007

Once again, my wife had to remind me that I needed to post more often to this blog.  I assured her that no one could be that interested in my thoughts and experiences, but she always wins in discussions like these.  Either way, here is a re-cap of another remarkable week.

As I mentioned last week, my improvised plan was to run a full marathon prior to the I.U. half marathon and then run another full marathon after the race.  Friday (the day before the race) was frenetic.  It culminated with a phone call from Brandy Krebbs late in the afternoon.  She told me that Silas' insurance had decided to drop his coverage effectively immediately.  I was floored.  I sat in my truck in the parking lot of Target, not knowing what to say.  Brandy was ecstatic.  Her spirit had told her this was confirmation that he was getting better.  In fact, he had been without some of his medications for a few days and was doing remarkably well -- continuing to make progress.

I wasn't able to get to bed very early Friday night.  I think I was asleep shortly after 10 p.m.  Three hours later I was up sipping coffee and having some wheat toast (my normal pre-run fare).  After stretching out, I set out about 2 p.m.  I don't know who I startled more in those dark hours...the deer or the I.U. students coming back from a hard night of partying.  I stopped by the house around 6 a.m., and headed towards the starting line.  I got to the race about 20 minutes before the start time.  After some food and well-wishes from my kids, i headed off with a couple thousand "friends" on a 13.1 mile jaunt through the city. 

 I cannot thank Ryan Risse and the entire staff of the Circle of Life Indiana University Mini-Marathon enough.  They made it a truly memorable race.  At the finish line, I immediately took my medal and put it around my son's neck.  He's our second child and a little less demanding than his big sister.  I, sometimes, think he gets the shorter straw.  I wanted to share this one with him.  Less than a minute later, a young woman (handing out medals) came over and asked if she could give one to my daughter as well.  Wow.  What an amazing and generous gesture.  I look forward to participating or helping out with the 2008 race.

 From the finish line, I headed over to the fire station and ran some miles with my friend.  The temperature had really jumped up and I hopped on the treadmill (in the AC) and called it quits after 56 miles.  Nine miles short of my goal.  I tried beating myself up over it, but my wife was having none of it. 

 I have recovered well.  Running 11 miles a mere two days later.

 Finally, much to my surprise, I was nominated for (and selected to recieve) an RTV6 Leadership Award.  The news crew from Indianapolis will be down Friday to talk with the Krebbs Family and I.  The story will follow soon after.

 Last, and certainly not least, my biggest thanks go to my wife who continues to support me in so many amazing ways.  She is truly an inspiration.

September 2, 2007

Someone reminded me recently that I had been remiss in updating this blog…for the handful of those who may read these words, I am sorry.

So much has happened in the past few weeks:  Every slight setback has been followed by significant progress forward.  First of all, the open house at Hoosier Heights Climbing Gym was a tremendous success.  Almost 500 dollars was raised for the Krebbs family.  Many thanks to Josh Thurston for his dedication to this cause.

Three big steps forward from the past week:  Difficulty scheduling time off at the fire department was resolved in a most amazing manner.  An anonymous benefactor provided the logistical support for my family and the Krebbs family to make the trip to Kansas for the Heartland 100.  And the Bartley’s at the Indiana Running Company are graciously supporting me with running gear.

 I.U. could not allow me to run around the stadium during the Hoosier football game yesterday, but expressed their support for the Krebbs family in an email correspondence. Ultimately, I would have to find another avenue.

I decided, then, to run the I.U. mini marathon on September 8th.  The only catch is…I am going to run a full marathon before and after.  My goal is a touch over 65 miles next weekend.  If you are planning on running the half next weekend, and plan to finish in around 3 hours, look for me – maybe we can log a few miles together.  And stop by the Indiana Running Company booth afterwards for some post-race food.

August 20, 2007

A friend asked me the other day why I decided to run a 100-mile ultra instead of the 50-mile race.  I didn’t immediately have an answer to his question.  After a bit of thought, though, I told him it was the same reason I ran my first marathon a few years back – I didn’t know that I could do it.  I had never pinned a bib on to run a race of any length.  I just figured that 26.2 miles was a good place to start.  

When I started entertaining the notion of running an ultra-marathon, I knew that I could do 50 miles.  100 miles was an entirely different story, though.  It’s a rather illogical number when you think about it for very long.  But that’s me – I hate a sure thing.  I like to bite off more than I can chew.

Ironically, later that day, Mr. Denny (from the newspaper) called and asked me if I thought I could actually finish the race.  A part of me wanted to say, “No, that’s why I am doing it.”  But I think I said “There’s no way Brandy will let me not say ‘yes’.”  Dann laughed because he truly understood what I was saying.

And that’s the crux. Prior to meeting the Krebbs this past winter, I imagined raising money for research towards Alpers or maybe for a playground to honor Lauren, but after a few hours with Brandy I knew more than anything I wanted her to be able to tell her story.  She and Brian don’t want the attention; they abhor pity.  They simply want to share their hope.

August 17, 2007 

My first 40 mile run today.  Started down the trail at 6 a.m. in the pre-dawn darkness.  Fantastic temperatures.  Nice quiet first 10 miles.  Brian Krebbs was actually out on the trail with me for the first few hours.  I think the family may come help support (and Brian help pace) me in Kansas.  That would be fantastic.   My friend, Mike (who is training for an October marathon), joined me for the next 13.  I never run with anyone so it was a nice break from the norm to have company.

Experimented with some different foods during the run today.  Running and eating is a pretty new thing, but not too difficult with a little practice.

Turned the ipod on around mile 25 and felt pretty good until mile 36 or so.  Some mild cramping during those last few miles which should be remedied by some sodium tablets (which came in the mail today).  Managed to finish in 7:59.21.  Quite pleased.