Race Report: 2024 Rocky Raccoon 100
This race will go down in infamy for me as one of the worst - if not the worst - racing conditions I’ve ever been in.
Let’s start by saying that I’d run this race in 2022 and really enjoyed it. The course is great and the trails have that perfect mix of runnability and technicality that makes this sport so fun. It was only my second 100-miler at the time and my first real trail ultra, and so the goal then was just to be under 24 hours. I came in at about 21:28 then, so it was a no-brainer decision that this would be the perfect race to attempt my sub-20 hour finish goal. Clearly Mother Nature had other ideas.
The week prior to the race, Huntsville, Texas had received upwards of a foot of rain, and we were receiving reports from locals that large portions of the race course were completely underwater. Naturally I was keeping a fairly close eye on the forecast, and was less than thrilled when the Friday night/Saturday morning thundershowers appeared to be sticking around. Thunder and lightening are one thing, but these storms were also due to dump another 1-1.5” of rain on already completely soaked trails. So, it was going to be a wet one. Extra socks and lots of lube, check.
The Friday before the race, we arrived at the park mid-afternoon to set up our tiny personal aid station at the start/finish line and get our race bibs. “We” here includes James (my partner in crime and all things running), Jason (a fellow Pennsylvanian and reigning Mamba 100 male champ), and Raymond (another Mamba alum from Louisiana). We were all going into the race uncrewed and opted to share a small tent for all our goodies. Bibs in hand and supplies stashed, we headed off to an early carb-filled dinner at Potato Shack. Yes, it’s literally a restaurant that serves GIANT baked potatoes with all sorts of toppings for the picking. An ultrarunner’s dream really. And it was delicious.
The rain started about 8pm Friday night, just as I was crawling into an Airbnb bed for my pre-race snooze. Not a good omen, but with any luck it would fizzle out and quit earlier than they anticipated, and so off to sleep I went.
“Flat Gibson”
Race morning dawned much as expected - still rainy as hell, but at least warm. I chugged some overnight oats on the way and we arrived at the park about an hour before race start. As the 6am hour approached, the RDs made the call to delay by 15 minutes due to lightening in the area. They also announced a reroute to the final quarter mile because the original route had been swallowed by the swelling lake. OK, cool.
Race morning starting line shoot
6:15 and we’re officially off. The race starts by winding through a long chute of personal aid stations; tents full of supplies and crew members cheering as we trotted along through the rain. The chute then gave way to grass - or what would have been grass, but with the deluge was now more of a swamp. Swamp gave way to a road crossing and up a small hill to the trailhead. Jason, Raymond, James and I set a hot pace, in the second or maybe third pack for the first few miles. As we approached the first aid station around mile 4, I could hear the lead pack runners hooting and hollering. This is either a GREAT sign or a TERRIBLE one. I discovered the reason as I popped out of the trees onto the logging road that led to the aid statin. Between me and the aid were 3 small “rivers” across the road, each getting progressively deeper. The first was ankle deep…the second mid-calf…and the last one was mid-thigh. Nothing for it but to plunge in. After all I was already rain wet and muddy! I blew through the aid station, back across the “rivers” and started up the logging road out-and-back. Traditionally this road section is THE place to make time on this course, and for this loop, it was in decent shape. There were some large puddles, but most were somewhat avoidable if one stayed to the edges and I was able to maintain 8:30 pace along this 2ish mile section. I rolled into the Nature Center Aid Station around mile 9.5 and grabbed a PB&J and some Pringles and kept on keeping on.
The next section featured many wooden bridges across lowlands. Coming up to the first one I was shocked to find the little ramp that led up onto the boardwalk almost completely submerged, and the water underneath the boardwalk itself was dangerously close to the top of the walkway boards already. It was still raining, too. I crossed the boardwalk and was descending the ramp on the other side when my foot slipped on the wet wood and I went down on my shoulder hard. Hard enough to knock the wind out of me. Ouch. On the bright side though this end was on marginally higher ground so I fell on plain old dirt instead of water or mud. I walked it off and then got right back on the horse to the next aid station around 14ish miles.
Between aid 3 and 4 is a really odd section of trail. It’s runnable, but there are these little “speed bumps” spaced every 50-100 feet or so and they are just so weird. There are of course a few more bridges, and we come BACK across that lovely boardwalk I mentioned above. The last aid station is also on the back side of the first one - literally they are back to back on the logging road - and as I came in I could see a few 100 milers and now 100k runners coming into aid #1 on the other side. Admittedly hearing the reactions as they realized they had to ford a thigh-deep creek to get there was comical. I grabbed another PB&J and rolled into the last stretch of the loop. The thing about this part is that about 1.5 miles in, you pop up on this levee on the far side of the lake, and you can SEE THE FINISH across the lake when you get up there. So mentally you’re like “oh hell I’m almost there!” But you’re not. You’ve still got 4 miles AROUND the lake to go, and these are the most technical of the miles on the loop. LOTS of roots, which have turned into a fun series of puddles at this point. Still making good time, I cruised into the start/finish in about 3 hours and 15 minutes, a full 45 minutes ahead of my 4-hour-per-loop pace.
I ditched my long-sleeve and grabbed some snacks from our tent and headed out on loop 2. The grass section was even swampier than before, the addition of 400+ runner feet doing nothing to improve the condition. The rain stopped about this time, so at least we were now “dry” from that stand point. I buzzed through the first section, across the little rivers to the aid station and up the logging road. Now it was impossible to avoid the puddles; they’d grown to take over the entire road and the edges of the forest on either side. In between the puddles was now slightly muddy from the water dripping off of runners’ feet into the dirt. Still runnable, still making good time, just keep moving and get to the Nature Center.
Truth be told the rest of loop 2 was uneventful aside from a few things:
There was a dog (maybe a Malmute?) at one of the aid stations that was ENORMOUS and legit looked like a wolf. He was super friendly, so I made sure to give him a pet on my way through.
I had tripped on a root and jammed my left toes into the front of my shoe so hard it brought tears to my eyes and a plethora of curse words to my lips.
The shoulder I had fallen on in loop 1 was now on fire and achy.
I was very, very cranky.
40 miles in and despite still being 45 minutes ahead of sub-20 pace, I was in a dark place mentally. I called in my “phone-a-friend” as I was leaving the start/finish area for loop 3 and was on the verge of tears. Talked off the ledge, I was advised to get some caffeine and ibuprofen at the first aid station and then give it 30 minutes. Fine. I power hiked the first 2 miles of this loop at about a 12:30-13:00 pace just to get my head right. I was pleasantly surprised to find the wolf-dog at aid station #1, where a lovely volunteer hooked me up with Advil and a Coke. I’m not sure if it was the dog snuggles, the drugs or the soda, but I DID start to feel way better as I started up the logging road for the third time. My money is on the wolf-dog. I tried to pick up the pace here where I could - even running right through the puddles. I mean hell at this point everything is soaked and has been for hours, what’s the point of trying to avoid it? The muddy sections though had become VERY slippery and I was forced to walk a bit to avoid falling. Nevertheless, I was getting a second wind and was going to take advantage of it. I was starting to pass other runners and was feeling pretty solid. The problem was that as I was feeling stronger, the trails were getting muddier. Despite my run pace hovering around 8:30-9:00, I was still barely able to string together 11-12 minute miles because there was just so much that was un-runnable. Puddles had grown and broadened and held unknown dangers beneath their brown surfaces - mostly rocks or roots that you couldn’t see until your foot hit it and you either tripped or rolled your ankle. I managed to come through mile 60 at about 11 hours and 55 minutes, still technically 5 minutes ahead of that sub-20 target.
As I readied to hit loop 4, the sun was setting and I knew it was going to be a slog these last 40 miles. I put the long-sleeve back on and my headlamp, and power hiked through the swamp to the trailhead, drinking a Coke and eating some gummi bears and Pringles. Foolishly I was hoping it would be easier at night. I don’t know why. I’ve been doing this long enough to know better. But wishful thinking I guess. By the time I reached aid #1 I was reevaluating the race goals. There was barely a dry spot left on the trails; between the mud and the fatigue the paces were slowing and I begrudgingly knew sub-20 was a pipe dream. New goal - just be sub-24. Like loop 3, loop 4 was uneventful. My shoulder was still achy, the Advil was clearly wearing off. Dry trails were now muddy, muddy trails were now 3-5” mud deep, and all of them were slicker ‘n pig snot. What seemed like every other step a mud hole threatened to suck the shoe right off my foot. About the only plus was that some of the water logged sections were draining, so the boardwalk ramps were no longer completely underwater and the small rivers that had formed at various places were slightly shallower. Even though loop 4 took about 5ish hours to complete, I was still passing people and even lapping a few.
I wasted very little time at the start/finish between loops 4 and 5. This was the last one, just suck it up. Like loop 3 I opted to power hike the first bit - not that I could have run in that mess anyway at this point. Mentally it was JUST KEEP MOVING. I got to the first aid station shortly after midnight. The temperature had dropped drastically and I was shivering. Not being able to actually run more than a few steps wasn’t helping. Under normal conditions my own body heat would have been sufficient to keep me warm at this temp, but even aggressive hiking wasn’t doing the trick. I asked for hot coffee and choked down my 4,683 PB&J of the day. I pounded the coffee and started up the logging road. I had hoped to be able to run at least some of this, but those hopes were quickly dashed. The entire road surface was essentially a mud slip’n’slide. Pushing off to run resulted in either sliding backwards (the best outcome) or sliding sideways and then flailing to regain balance (the less ideal outcome). Walking - shuffling - was the move then. About half a mile up the road I was overcome with a wave of nausea and promptly added that coffee and sandwich to the sludge that was coating the road. Well, that was fun. There was a chip reader at the turnaround, another half a mile or so away. I just wanted to get that chip scan, turn around, and get off this damn hell hole of a road. The next half mile was just as unpleasant, including another nauseous moment and some dodging of other runners who were also sliding all over the place. I made the turn and noticed to my dismay that my headlight seemed really dim. I turned it off and then back on, clicking it 3 times to make sure it was on the highest output. No dice. Apparently the fresh batteries I’d installed prior to loop 4 were already dying. WTF Energizer…can’t even power a tiny lamp for 6-7 hours. That was strike three. I was shivering uncontrollably, puking and now I was going to be doing it in the dark. Okay, okay, Mother Nature, you win. I’m out. Instead of taking the right turn that would lead me two more miles to the Nature Center and mile 90, I opted to walk the quarter mile or so back to aid station #1 and call it. I rolled in and announced “I’m f*cking done”. A couple of volunteers attempted to talk me into continuing with offers of new batteries, a jacket, maybe some hot food and a rest would make me feel better? Nah, my dudes. I know when to call it a day. Thanks but all I really need is a lift back to home base.
45 minutes later I was huddled up in the truck waiting on James to finish his fourth loop (which he did, about an hour after that). He also threw in the towel.
Looking back, yes, I could have taken the batteries and jacket and food and schlepped along another 12 miles and been done under 24 hours. But here’s the thing - the risk involved with doing so were not worth the rewards. The last 12 miles are the most technical and treacherous with the boardwalks and roots. Add the mud and puddles and dark and the chances of another fall or a broken ankle go up exponentially. The DNF sucks. But it’s better than all the potential DNS’s I might have had if I’d continued and injured myself. Well, injured myself more. That shoulder? The sterno-clavicular joint is partially dislocated (whatever that means?) and the connective tissues are inflamed, so I’ll be taking it a little easy on the heavy lifting for a couple weeks!