Impressed. Day two at the aid station began with voices. I was more than a little disoriented waking up to find the RV ceiling a few inches from my nose, bunked as I was in the little bed above the driver's seat. Johnny, our ham radio friend, was chatting with Torrey and Carrie, something about the runners and their locations, or something. I'm still not quite sure. It took me a good while to wake up enough to realize I'd slept well past the two-hour time limit I'd set for myself, and dawn's first light was leaking across the horizon. Even that realization wasn't enough to get me out of the cocoon of blankets wrapped around Hoodoo and I, but when Torrey started making pancakes I dragged myself to the table. With dawn brought other runners who had slowed down overnight but were eager to make up distance with first light. We kept up a stream of warmed food, and Johnny provided a thermos of (real, not instant) coffee. Let me tell you how those zombie-walking runners perked up when they heard we had real coffee!
It wasn't too long after I woke that we had a bit of an emergency pop up. A call from another aid station came over the radio for medical assistance, possibly an ambulance or even a life-flight. Over the radio chatter we gathered a male runner was lying on the ground, though it was unclear if he was non-responsive. It was clear that he was not able to be transported in a bumpy side-by-side ATV, though. Through Johnny and Base, they got an ambulance on the way to the area from wherever the closest hospital was, and I flagged down a race volunteer who happened to be driving by on an ATV on some mission of his own. He agreed to return to base and guide the ambulance to the aid station with the runner, and it was with nerves on edge that we kept an ear to the radio, waiting to see what would happen. It wasn't too long after that the volunteer returned with an EMT buckled into the passenger seat of his vehicle, flying down the road past us to get to the runner. Maybe five minutes later a car drove towards base, driven by one of the aid station's volunteers (who happened to be another aunt of Torrey's, and a nurse), with the runner and EMT in the back seat. The last I'd heard (though I didn't ask after we left the race) was that he was still in the hospital recovering from hypothermia and a few related issues. I sure hope he's okay now!
The second day of the race saw a few other injuries, including a broken arm, a few busted faces, and a myriad of other bumps, scrapes, and bruises. The course was not kind, featuring rough, ankle-twisting rocks that seemed intent on tripping tired runners. It was no surprise we had a some runners go down, a few on more than one occasion. Fortunately, only the one gentleman was hospitalized that we heard about, so we'll take that as a win. In addition to the exhausted runners from the first day, a new set of runners began the morning of the second day, consisting of those running shorter distances. Our aid station was busy for a time as those fresh runners passed through, but a lot of them breezed by without stopping, intent on the finish line only four miles away. Unfortunately, the new day also brought new weather, and we had to contend with a few flurries of snow showers that were sure to make the runners miserable. It cleared up as the day went on, and as the runners began to wind down we had a few linger in the warmth of our RV, not quite ready to face the chill again.
We met some truly inspiring people. Women who I want to be when I grow up, including a 48 hour racer (read: run as far as possible within the 48 hour time limit) sporting bright pink hair and fantastic tattoos with her own book out in bookstores, a 50 K racer with a bright personality who insisted she'd get lost on course and begged us to help keep her straight and who came back once she'd finished to hug each of us and thank us for being out there (she only got turned around once, and it was on the other side of the course from us), and a woman who was running (and finished!!) her first 100 miler. Can we talk about persistence for a second? Because holy cow, I want to have even half of the will power of these women. Then there were those who stayed long enough to have conversations with, where we met a man who had lost his wife, found ultra running, and carries her picture pinned onto his backpack every race he does. I'm not normally emotional, and I made it through most of his story about losing his wife to cancer and all that entailed with interest, but as soon as he pulled his jacket aside to show us her picture and explain that he never remarried, even after nearly 20 years, because he was still in love, I lost it. I took one look at that picture, at the love I could see in his eyes and hear in his voice, and let the tears flow. It took a little while to get myself back under control after that one. We definitely felt the gratitude of most of the runners that day as they wrapped up their races. Nearly every one of them thanked us personally, taking the time to ask our names and praise us for volunteering to help out, thanking us for being out there and providing what we could for them. Those who came in to our RV, to warm up or to rest or to use the restroom, all gave Hoodoo a little love if he was out and about. The cat even curled up with the people who came in to nap for a few minutes!
As the sun set and the desert cooled even more we lit up the RV and laid our trail of glow sticks, beckoning runners to light and food and warmth. Johnny and I spent a while communicating with the other aid stations and base, trying to get a list of those who were still on the course and those who had dropped out or finished. In the end, with extensive cross-checking, we got a list of a few names to watch out for as night settled in around us. Johnny was invaluable in this, as we were able to keep track of who had passed what station, and could judge about when they should reach each point on the course. I realized I was worried about those men and women, cared about their safety and well-being, most of whom were entering their second nights of running/walking, most of whom had been awake for that long, and most of whom were exhausted. We took a great deal of care in marking what time each person arrived at our station and what time they left, radioing in to base to let them know when each was on their way to the finish line.
After pulling a 20-hour day, I finally passed out after trading Torrey and Carrie our watch chairs for the bed. I felt like I'd barely laid down when I woke up to the sound of vehicles driving the road, noting that dawn had come and gone and the sun was well above the horizon. Torrey and Carrie were asleep on the other bed, which told me our last runner had finished the race. With quite words we got up and packed the supplies, most of which Torrey and Carrie had done while I'd slept. We drove back to base, where tear-down was a subdued affair, exhaustion a physical presence among the group of race directors and volunteers. We cleaned the RV then helped clear the supplies and waited for runners to come pick up their drop bags. I hung around and chatted with Carrie, Torrey, and her family, as we traded stories from the aid stations and talked about the race overall. Every one of those runners amazed me, and I have nothing but respect for them and their ability to even attempt to do something so grueling. I told everyone this just before I left to continue my desert adventures for a few more days, and I'll say it again now: I had a wonderful time volunteering with this race, and it's inspired me to look into volunteering at other races closer to home. I think I've found yet another annual trip to add to my growing list, and now I can't wait until next year!
Miss Part One? Read it here!
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