Submitted by Arthur Bennett
If you’re like me, you can appreciate “sensible”. It’s a good quality and, by definition, is all about stability and security. But, sensible eventually rubs on you, chafes against you like a singlet on a cold day. That had happened to me. I was getting tired of sensible.
So, back in the spring, my friend (and the toughest guy I know) Frank Lilley talked me into joining him in this “ultra-marathon” thingy held each year in Rockingham. The concept was quite simple: cover as much distance as you can – or choose to – in 24 hours on a 1.52-mile loop. I was immediately intrigued by the notion of running for 24-hours (not that I could ever run 24-hours for any reason … ever). Still, the unusual flavor of the idea appealed to me and I said “yes”. I even went home and registered.
As the date drew near and the Ghilonis, the Shingletons, Margaret Bentley, Elizabeth Fuson, and Alane Floyd also signed up, I grew steadily more excited about this edgy adventure and the sweet diversion from “normal” life. Better still, it didn’t quite fit the definition of “sensible”. I’m fairly sure Ward Cleaver would have shaken his head.
Pre-race Friday night was about heat and humidity … and Frank’s tent … and heat and humidity… and insomnia … and 2-hours’ sleep. Just the thing before an ultra ! The night culminated with my surreal 5AM pee on the edge of the woods, in the briers, under low-hanging clouds. But, it was all just fine. There was a race to do… an ultra to do!
Saturday morning began with an assemblage of over two-hundred eager participants at the start, each surely ready for a day of personal challenge. The race got under way with a slow walk, then a slow trot, and settled into a procession of trees, wooden bridges, delicious junk food, and exhaustion. I also remember tattoos, all kinds of tattoos, tattoos everywhere … and that’s to not even mention Eric Ghiloni. In one respect, Saturday was a blur of tats.
Another blur that day was human. I later learned the blur’s name was “Mike Morton” and I saw him stop exactly one time: to pee in the woods (he even did that quickly). The rest of the time, he was running (not trotting ,…running) … like he had stolen something.
My favorite part of the weekend, however, was simply being a part of a great group of friends sharing a passion and getting to know a larger group of friends. Though none of us was Mike Morton, we all won that day, we all covered great distances, and we all were rewarded with that sense of accomplishment only exhaustion can bring…and there’s nothing more sensible than that.
Finally, I offer a huge “Thanks” to Frank Lilley, who personified toughness, determination, and persistence while completing 27.36 miles…on a torn hip labrum. I am amazed, but not surprised.
