Susan Donnelly

As we were driving toward the campground the night before the race, the sign on a church outside Batesville, Arkansas, preached “You can’t walk with the Lord and run with the Devil.”

Yikes!  Was this meant for ultrarunners???

What’s A Stage Race?

A stage race is a set of races over several consecutive days.  At 3 Days, stage race runners face a 50k, a 50-miler, then a 20k, though other runners can run just one or two of the events instead.  The total adds up to about 93 miles, less than a 100, with nights of sleep thrown in between so it can’t be as hard as a 100, right?  Not necessarily.  The extra time gives delayed onset muscle soreness to kick in between races, making you stiffer than you might be in a 100, and any chronic problems like, say, dehydration, can cause major difficulty if not fixed quickly.  The keys to successful stage racing are smart pacing and fast recovery and it’s a real challenge.

But the camaraderie among the stage runners sharing this weekend is pretty special.  By the time Sunday morning rolls around, we’re all laughing at how impossible 12 miles sounds.

This year, it was March 12, two weekends after LOST 118.  On one hand, it would have been nice to be fresh for this weekend, but since we weren’t, LOST just added spice to the test. It’s always fun to see just what you can do in tough back-to-back weekends like this.

Day 1 – 50K

Half an hour before the civilized 9:00 am start, the runners began to gather at the picnic shelter that served as race headquarters.  This was one of the best moments, getting to see friends and knowing we had three days of craziness to enjoy as one big family.  The weekend held tons of promise.  I love it!

The first friend I saw was Lynn Saari, there for her first 3 Days, then Stuart and Deb Johnson, Paul Schoenlaub, Dale Humphrey, Dave Wakefield, Sarah and Carl Woerner from back home here for their first…and last but definitely most anticipated, Jerry Frost.

A moment about Jerry.  He’s a great friend, the kind you’d trust with your life.  We’ve shared a lot of trail together, including good times, tough times, fun talks and talks about tough stuff.  I always look forward to seeing him, but this was special because it was his first ultra after breaking his neck in a bicycle accident in early November.  The thought horrified me but miraculously, he made a full and astonishingly quick recovery and was here, a scant 3 months later, toeing the line once more.  Physically, this is a tough weekend for anyone.  For him, it would be the perfect way to gauge his recovery and hopefully to mark it “complete.”  For me, no matter how well he ran, it was enough just to see him here.

Breaking into the excitement and chatter of hello’s, Steve Kirk, the RD, welcomed everyone to the weekend, outlined the schedule of events, and briefed us on the day’s course (lollipop) and the markings (yellow and black ribbon).  Then he wished us luck and started us off.

My plan was to run comfortable and for a while, I was.  Rob and Jerry dropped back to coast smartly through the first day and someone at an aid station less than halfway through told me they were having a great old time, talking and laughing (no surprise).  I was sorely tempted to join them.  I hated passing up even a day running with Jerry, but this was traditionally my “Susan” day where I just let the running happen and flowed along with it in peace.  Something told me I needed that, but I waffled with the temptation until I remembered that Rob wouldn’t want to soak his legs in the creek afterward and that I could do that while he was still running.

So I finished, talked with Sarah and Carl Woerner (who must have waited for me after Sarah finished), and stood in the creek with a couple other runners until my legs were pleasantly numb, returning to the shelter in time to watch Jerry and Rob finish, all happy and smiling.

Rob and I showered and joined everyone for dinner later at the picnic shelter.  The chef is a runner who drives all the way from Memphis to cook, and like everything else he cooks this weekend, his pasta was restaurant quality.  I’d been craving his Day 2 red beans and rice for weeks now.

Lights out in the campground as quickly as possible.  Tomorrow was an early start.

Day 2 – 50 Miles

Runners began assembling shortly before the 6:00 a.m. start with noticeably more gravity and less bravado than yesterday.  This was where things got serious.  Unpredictable.  You could almost see the thought bubbles hanging over each person’s head.  “Did I run too fast yesterday?”  “How do I manage yesterday’s tendonitis/twisted ankle/pulled muscle?”  “Can I make cutoff?”  “How am I going to do this???”

Steve gathered everyone around and briefed us on the day’s course.  No flagging today.  It was an out-and-back course and we’d be using the permanent trail markers on the trees – blue markers, then at one of the manned aid stations where they’d tell us to switch, white ones; return on the same course.  Ok, can do.  This was actually simple and the trail blazing would be easier to follow than less frequent flagging.

With that, Steve started us off.  Deb, Colleen Voeks, Jerry, Rob, Lynn, and I fell in together, all talking with anywhere from one to three revolving conversations.  It was a moving party with lots of cool people you wanted to talk with, so we mingled.  At one point I was talking with Colleen about vegan cooking and at another, Deb was sharing a memorable story about her parents’ farm.  It was one of those happy moments you can’t possibly manufacture with good running, the perfect mix of people, sunshine, and a day full of promise.  We stuck together past the unmanned 5 mile aid station at Gunner Pool all the way to the manned 9 mile aid station at Barkshed Campground, and all agreed it was a fantastic way to spend the morning.

At Barkshed, Deb and Colleen peeled off while Jerry, Rob, Lynn and I stuck together, just planning to enjoy the day in good company.  And so it went.

We were nearing the 23.5-mile aid station when Rob got quiet, and since we’ve been here before, I knew this meant we were pushing cutoff.  I hate that and will never get used to it.  We still had a dog-leg out to the actual turnaround.  We pushed it and made it to turnaround, where I had to make an ill-timed but necessary stop and told the others I’d catch up with them.

Before I started back, a few individual runners made it to the turnaround and started back.  I worked hard to catch my group and eventually passed these runners.  The last guy, though, snapped “aren’t you the sporty one?” and then something about a bungee cord.  Great incentive to keep pushing the pace. I caught the group and even led the next section.

After that, it was something of a struggle.  Maybe dehydration from the day before, maybe residual LOST miles, who knows.  When nothing else seemed to work, I remembered two of Colleen’s homemade cookies she’d given me at the beginning.  Mmm…good, very good.  I gobbled them both, no sharing.

We made cutoff at Barkshed, the last manned aid station, where we grabbed our headlamps before hurrying back on trail for the last aid station, unmanned Gunner Pool at 45 miles.  Once there, we finally had to turn our headlamps to make the last leg.  At this point, Jerry took off, feeling good.  I kind of hated to part company but to see him running well the second day meant he was really and truly back.

At the finish, Rob, Lynn, and I cruised across and grabbed some extra clothes for the cold so we could eat the long-awaited beans and rice with the few runners still there.  From the talk, it sounded like there were four runners still behind us.  At least we weren’t last!

As we ate, two runners came across, then eventually a third.  Steve Kirk and someone else were talking to the third guy and the guy’s voice grew loud.  He was the “sporty” one from the turnaround.  Whatever the discussion, he left and we kept eating as runners drifted away for the evening.  Cold and busy eating, Rob and I thought ahead to tomorrow while others talked nearby.

Thinking back, it must have been that word that caught my attention…missing.  I stopped mid-bite and heard it again.  A cold sweat washed over me.  Rob looked at me.  He’d heard it too and we stopped eating to listen.  The runner had been in sixth place when he had passed through the final manned aid station at 41 miles.  That was at 3:00 p.m. that afternoon…almost 7 hours earlier.  He had no clothes for the cold.  He had no food or water.  And he had no headlamp.

It was a race director’s nightmare.  Rob turned to ask Steve, “What can we do?”  Steve wasn’t sure.  He must have gotten lost in the 9 miles between Barkshed where he’d last been seen and the finish, but Steve racked his brain to think what had happened and where to look.  The runner had had at least three hours of daylight.  The few turns were well marked with flour and ribbon.  He could have mis-navigated on the gorge cliff trail and fallen down the cliff or stepped off trail and gotten in trouble.  Still, the sweep had come through without seeing or hearing him.

Dale Humphrey, a friend of ours who’d driven in with the missing runner and two others, had been standing there with Steve.  He and Steve decided he should to go back to their cabin in case the runner had dropped out and gotten a ride there without telling anyone, which unfortunately happens.  We gave him and his two friends our some of my spare headlamps and gave Steve the others, since he was heading out to sweep that section of trail again.

Tired and cold, we showered and went to bed uneasy.  No soaking in the creek tonight.

Day 3 – The 20k That Wasn’t

We woke at 7:30 a.m. to get ready for the luxurious 9:00 a.m. race start and were just starting to move when we heard the helicopter.  I caught my breath, Rob looked at me and we listened for a moment to be sure.  It grew louder and flew straight and low over the campground.  I said it for both of us, “That’s bad, really bad.”  Sure enough, the pilot came around for another pass.  There weren’t sightseeing helicopters here and there was no other feasible reason for a helicopter passing back and forth early on a Sunday morning.  The runner was still lost.

I couldn’t eat.  We tossed possibilities and scenarios back and forth as we hastily broke camp.  Since he was an experienced runner and since he hadn’t stayed in place when lost, none of the conclusions were good.  Temperatures were cold, 41 at night, and he had no extra clothes, headlamp, food or water.  Any plans for the day were out the window.  We got to the picnic shelter as fast as we could.

Steve wasn’t there but Paul Turner was.  We talked to Paul briefly, got the story, and waited.

Right before the 9:00 a.m. start, Paul called everyone together.  The runner was still lost.  They’d swept the trail again overnight with no luck and now had a helicopter searching the trails and gorge area.  So, they’d decided to end the stage race with yesterday’s race.  We could run the 20k course if we wanted to but had to run in at least twos because the helicopter had infrared sensor and they were scanning for a single individual.  Or, we could help search for the runner, though it could take up to seven hours or so and you had to commit – we couldn’t split up.  Paul let the options sink in, then asked if anyone wanted to search.  Several people had driven here just for today’s race but there was minimal discussion and no visible anger or disappointment.  It looked like everyone who could stay chose to search for the runner.

The Search

The searchers convoyed up the hill to the Forest Service Station.  Everyone geared up for slower walking pace and gathered in front of the building.  Rob and I had crammed the stuff we had that might be needed – wool blanket, clothes, my medical kit, and more into one of Rob’s drop bags. I carried a small backpack that happened to be in the car and stuffed my pockets with GUs, handwarmers and tons of other necessities, but I only had the one water bottle so I’d have to ration it.

When everyone was there, Joel, one of the Forest Service Rangers, spoke.  He immediately focused us by announcing, “This isn’t a race.”  We’d be going slow, he reminded us, and looking.  They told us his name, his height, that he was wearing a red shirt (though this could have changed), and the fact that he was an experienced trail runner.  While Joel briefed us and counted the searchers, the other rangers passed out photocopies of the runner’s photo from yesterday – I recognized him and wondered for the hundredth time what had happened to him, where he was.

There were an astonishing 43 runner volunteers, so we’d be dividing up into 3 teams.  Each team had a leader.  The leader would stay on the trail and the team would divide into an equal number of searchers on each side (in our case 5 on one side, 5 on another).  We would fan out in a line from the leader on either side of the trail and proceed forward but everyone had to stay in visual contact with the person next to them.  Mandatory.  We didn’t need to be rescuing anyone else that day.

Joel instructed us to look under cedar trees and rock shelves since the infrared couldn’t detect well under either.  It could pick up a low body temperature of an injured runner who’d been laying, on say, a rock all night.  The helicopter had flown the river gorge a few times (dangerous flying) and scanned the cliffs, so we thankfully didn’t need to worry about that.

Joel and crew passed out radios and professional GPS units, and instructed Paul how to use them.  It’s a big, remote area (130,000 acres) with little cell phone coverage.  Joel said that they hadn’t announced it on local news because that would bring everyone from all over the county looking.  The last thing we needed was a bunch of single heat sources looking for another single heat source and possibly getting lost or hurt on top of it all.

While the Forest Service rangers passed out as many neon yellow vests as possible, the Sheriff spoke about the runner.  We’d be looking for an individual that might be severely injured and might be, he paused, carefully choosing his word, deceased.  If anyone had a problem doing that, he said, it was absolutely fine to step aside.  He talked about what to do if the runner was injured (don’t move him) and asked if anyone had a medical issue. reminded us we could be out there a long time, so be prepared.

The briefing and organization was to-the-point, organized, and very professional.  Several years ago, a runner friend went missing overnight in the Smokies on a cold February night and my boyfriend and I tried to help.  We had the gear, the know-how, and years of experience running 100-milers on rugged trail, and he even had first responder expertise but the Park Service said they’d let us know if we could help, but not right now.  We had to respect their decision but it was incredibly frustrating waiting near the park entrance in the car all night for their okay.  In the end, the friend emerged on road and flagged down a passing car, but not after breaking ribs and suffering effects of the cold weather.  So when Joel asked if there were any final questions, I thanked them for letting us help.  He said they viewed us as an asset.  What a relief.

The team that had to drive the furthest left first, then the next furthest so each would have a better chance of making it to the planned meeting points at the same time.  Rob and I were in the closest team that would be starting from the race shelter at the campground.

Paul Turner was our leader and a good one, especially considering his job turned out to be very much like herding cats.  We fanned out as directed okay but immediately saw it wasn’t going to be as easy as it sounded.  The trail curved, so the inside group had to slow down while the outside group covered their territory.  Plus, it was hard sometimes to stay in visual contact when the outer one or two people that might be tempted to look just a little further out.  Then there were all the rock outcrops that had to be inspected, holes left by the root balls of fallen trees to check, in addition to the expected obstacles – fallen trees from last year’s ice storm and briars.  All stuff we don’t have to deal with on the trail.

It was slow going and gave me a new respect for the people who’d created the trails.  It took us what must have been hours to make it a mile and we had five to cover.  A branch tore my jacket and the trees and briars scraped my legs up much worse than the race but I concentrated on staying in line and looking in every nook and cranny.  I didn’t want to wonder later if I’d done a good enough job.

Hours went by but no one commented on their passing or visibly checked watches.  We all knew that each minute without news reduced the likelihood that we’d find him alive, or find him at all.  I knew the runner was wearing a red shirt but instead of scanning the wintery brown woods for red color, I found myself scanning for a skin-toned form – a body.  Looking for a body, worst-case scenario, felt instinctively more effective than looking for someone moving because I’d be less likely to miss him but the suspense and intense focus of looking for a body were wearing.  The mind can’t help but jump ahead in time to the aftermath and spending that much time with it eventually weighs you down.  One time, while we paused to let the other side of the line catch up, I commented quietly to Paul Schoenlaub, uphill from me that “it’s about time for a call.”

Paul was silent for a moment and said, “I was just thinking the same thing.”

In the afternoon, three hikers came up the trail behind us and Paul briefed them on what was going on.  Ten minutes later, they returned and word spread through the line that they’d found a honey jar and that the runner had been using honey since he’d forgotten to bring GU.  Hope.  We gathered on the trail and hiked en masse to the site.  The jar turned out to be a Fuel Belt flask near the edge of the gorge cliffs, but we sent a group down to inspect what they safely could.  Nothing.

We had just returned to where we broke off our search and fanned back out in a line when the radio call came in.  They had found him.  Alive?  Alive.  What an unexpected relief.  Jen Foster had found him by happenstance on a road near Allison (a town on our way out).  From the radio, we could hear that the runner apparently said he was fine but the Forest Service insisted he get checked out in an ambulance that was nearby.  It was about 3:00 p.m. – a full 24 hours after he’d last been seen.

Back at Race Headquarters

Our team hiked back down the trail to the picnic shelter in lighter spirits and dispersed.  Rob and I stuck around with a few others to grab some food and talk with Steve, who had returned from searching in the helicopter.  He seemed a bit dazed and said he was tired.  When we asked where they’d found him, Steve was exasperated.  It was way over by the 50k course but he said they’d flown over that trail and he couldn’t figure out how they’d missed him if he’d been on the trail.  Jen arrived and said that he’d missed the turn around the corner from the Barkshed aid station off the gravel road onto trail and for some reason he had the yellow and black ribbon from Friday’s race tied around his wrist.

Steve returned the headlamps and we knew we’d be seeing Dale in a month at Zumbro 100, so we could get the others then.  It was hours later than we planned to leave and we wouldn’t get home tonight, so I’d be several hours late to work Monday morning.  We said our goodbyes to Steve and Paul and the crew and walked to the car.

As we were loading the car, Dale pulled in behind us with the others and the lost runner.  The runner smiled and thanked us for looking for him and asked how many had been looking.  Surely he must have known that by now people would be panicked?  Had heard the helicopter that had been flying for 7.5 hours?  At a loss for the right description I just said “everyone.”  We asked where he’d gotten lost.  Sure enough, he missed the turn back onto trail right out of the last manned aid station.  No, he wasn’t hurting for food and water because he’d been using he unmanned aid stations (from Friday?).  He got out of the car to get his drop bags and turned one last time with a grin to show me what he called his souvenir – quads all cut up from briars.  I was tired, stressed, cut up too, and lacking the appropriate depth of sympathy.

Dale handed me the other headlamps and with a tired smile said he’d see us at Zumbro.

Taking a Deep Breath…or Two

I’ve let this report sit for awhile before posting to let the whole thing settle.  I’m as grateful as anyone there that we didn’t find him hurt or dead, but I find I still have some strong feelings about it.  I don’t know the runner’s story.  I don’t even know Steve’s story.  I only know mine.

One thing I’ve noticed is that it annoys me when someone dismisses it with all’s well that ends well, and I’ve been trying to figure out why.  It could be a reaction from the stress of searching, from opinions gained studying the balance between wilderness access and rescue in college, from being a new race director, from working in a very risk-averse industry, from analyzing events like this for a living, from a love of the sport, from having been lost and through those decisions myself.  Wherever it comes from, the reality is that it could just as easily have not ended well.

In Rob’s 560+ ultras and my 108 ultras, neither of us had even seen or heard anything like this.  The likelihood may be small but I have a sense from the increase in races and runners that it’s growing, and the consequences in this situation can be intolerably high.

I’ve seen plenty of responsible runners and race directors that think everything through and plan for safety.  Then again, I’ve seen more than enough runners and race directors do careless things and am often amazed that we don’t experience more situations like this.  I suppose at the bottom of this annoyance is the strong desire for us to continue to have the fun we all love about it and never have to think back to a regrettable episode that changed the sport.  I didn’t have this sport growing up and it was a godsend to me.  Running and finishing these races is not a right – it’s a privilege and I choose to respect and treasure it that way.

So, What Now?

The only positive thing I know to do is to learn from it, use any lessons in my own race and pass anything useful to other RDs and runners.  I’ll put some of that event analysis experience to good use in another post.

But before closing, I need to bring this back to the race itself and say that 3 Days is exceptionally well-managed and remains one of my favorite races (actually, favorite weekends).  I’m thankful to have been there this year and to have seen so many people give their time so willingly for a stranger, though it wasn’t a total surprise.  It reinforced what I believe about my ultrarunning tribe and about this race.  3 Days is a special weekend that’s hard to adequately capture in words and I’m already looking forward to spending it with my ultra family here next year.

I had to laugh as we drove out of town.  Another church sign jumped out at me and again, the reference seemed oddly pointed to ultrarunning and our weekend…

Posted: Friday, April 2, 2010, 5:32 pm | Tags: Blog | Respond | Trackback