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Barkley 100 2000 Report: David Zuniga

"Barkley Report from the Human Sacrifice"
                            or
"The Gods were very, very Angry"


I have enjoyed reading the many Barkley race reports as they have come in.
The Barkley runners were all either world-class or at least very good,
experienced runners.  But there was one notable exception: the Human
Sacrifice.  Every year Gary accepts one runner who otherwise would not be
accepted, the Human Sacrifice.  This year I had that honor.  So this race
report is written not from the perspective of an elite, or even experienced
ultra runner.  It is written from the perspective of a rookie, and a
midpacker.

We all know the terrible truth of this race.  Or at least, we have all read
about it.  Several Barkley vets emailed me and told me everything that is
said about the Barkley is true, and in fact, the Barkley is even worse than
what is said.  Turns out they were 100% correct.

From the internet literature, and talking to many seasoned Barkley runners,
I learned everything I could about this unique event.  And I will confess up
front that I was really scared, at times, terrified of this event.

I flew down Thursday, and spent the evening relaxing around a campfire with
Hans Put (2nd place at Hardrock) and Craig Wilson (who has finished the fun
run several times, which is a great accomplishment).  When I revealed that
this was my first 100, Hans looked at me with justifiable alarm.

The next day was spent pouring over the map and course description, and
getting all the advice I could.  I knew I was not as fast as most of the
runners there, if any.  But I had the further drawback of not knowing the
course.  So, I needed to stick with someone who was going slow and would not
get lost.  Yes, I was a parasite, but I felt like I had no other option.
Plus, many runners said they would have no problem with me sticking with
them, as long as I could keep up.  One good piece of advice was from Stu
Gleman, he told me to try and keep people in front and behind me.  That way
I would never be alone, and also, if I had to slow down, I could drop back
and follow someone else.

I split a campsite with David Hughes, the self proclaimed "slowest man at
the Barkley."  David said I was welcome to stick with him, and he knew the
course well, but he didn't want to slow me down.  I thought "I can keep up
with this guy"-I would later eat those words.  Right before the race,
prophetically David said "I'll do whatever I can to help you out."

The race began and immediately we began a long steep ascent, with 14 switch
backs, up Bird Mountain.  From the topographical map, it appears to be
almost 2,000 feet of elevation gain.  Gary refers to this as a "Candy Ass
Trail" which is Barkley for "visible" or "able to be seen and followed."
The climb seemed to go on and on.  I thought, "no climb can be as steep as
this."  Wrong again.

At the 15th switchback we came to the "old North Boundary Trail."  In the
course description Gary refers to this area by saying "you will begin to
encounter the marks of true trail."  What this translates to is, the first
real introduction to Barkley "trails."

At first I welcomed the downhill, I thought, "now I can recover."  Wrong
again.  The trail was much, much steeper than I expected.  I think many
sensible hikers would have taken one look at these steep, slippery trails,
where a misplaced step could spell disaster, and reversed direction.

But we were running down them.  My glasses were fogging up, and I had
trouble seeing.  My 12 pound pack did not make this section much fun.  Stu
kept telling me to look back so I would know where to go when we reversed
loops.  Good advice, except that would require me to finish the first two
loops before reversing direction for the third.

18 switchbacks later the course leveled out briefly.  But this provided no
relief.  Soon I was going up, over, under and around more blowdowns than I
ever had before.  After the first one I thought "hey, this is fun."
Initially, on this section, I was almost euphoric.  The course was
challenging, exciting, trail running at its very edge.  But those feelings
proved to be fleeting.  After the fourth blowdown I thought "hey, this is
tough."  By the tenth a good percentage of my body was covered in mud, and I
never, ever,  wanted to see another blowdown again.  Soon I lost count.

I was also getting pelted by thorns, briars, and tree branches.  On at least
two occasions I covered my face and simply charged through branches and
briars.  Perhaps I was off course, but on this section it is hard to tell.
The fact that this was not even the thickest brush on the course, is a fact
so terrifying that I don't even want to think about it.

On and on I ran, trying to keep up with Stu who knew the course.  But
eventually I dropped back.  Each time I was careful to stay in eyesight of
someone who knew the course, or at least someone who was following someone
who knew the course.  I would have liked to slow down more, but getting lost
would have been a disaster.  I am okay with a map and compass, but several
parts of the north section are completely washed out.  If you haven't been
on that course before, staying found is very difficult.  Topography
instructors have gotten hopelessly lost out there.  Plus, if you go too
slow, you risk missing the 13:20 cutoff for the 1st loop.  And believe me,
many good runners have failed to complete even one loop.  Barkley trivia:
over thirty runners have failed to complete even two miles.

Eventually I dropped back to David Hughes and Leonard Martin.  I thought
they were the last racers, which turned out to be incorrect.  They were
chatting away as I was sucking wind and sweating like crazy.  They seemed to
ascend the mountains as if they had wings while I was plodding along.  David
was very pleasant and kept asking me questions, at that point I don't think
he knew how bad I felt.  I did my best to grunt out a response.

After climbing up some trees/boards to cross a ditch, I realized that I
simply would not be able to finish a loop.  I also knew I couldn't keep up
with David and Leonard much longer.  I asked Leonard where the best spot to
get off the course was.  He tried to be positive, and said we all felt bad,
and I could recover.  But I knew I was only going downhill fast.  Later I
told him that I felt I had to get off, and he said the best place to get off
the course was Coffin Spring.

Coffin Spring is 8 miles into the course, and the first water drop.  I had
to get at least that far.  But first I had to ascend one last ridge up to
what is called The Garden Spot, and the site of book two.  David and Leonard
took the elevator up while I wallowed around in confusion.

As soon as I admitted out loud that I was quitting, all my mental and
physical strength left me.  I was dejected.  At this point my legs and
energy were shot.  I felt like I was beginning to lose consciousness.

From the top of the ridge they shouted directions to me, but still I almost
wandered off the mountain.  Slowly I began to make the long ascent up.  All
I could muster was a step or two, and then rest.  Step, rest.  Step, rest.
I was grabbing trees in a desperate attempt to pull myself up the mountain.
I can't tell you how long it took me to get up there.  I really had no idea
what I was doing.

It's hard to describe my mental state at that point.  I was of course
severally dehydrated.  I may have had heat exhaustion, but that is just a
guess.  I had taken in about 150 ounces of water, and a lot of electrolyte
pills, but I guess my body was just overwhelmed.  It was sort of like
everything went hazy, and my mind slowly withdrew, and my head was just an
empty room.  I felt like I wanted to cry, but I simply didn't have the
energy or composure.  Maybe that sounds wimpy, but I was simply way beyond
my physical limits.  I was scarred, confused, and overwhelmed.

When I finally got to the top, David really came through for me.  He forced
me to eat, drink and keep taking electrolytes.  At first I felt too nauseous
to even take water, but slowly I could keep liquids down.  David kept
talking to me, which helped.  I rested for a while, and then slowly I could
take tiny steps.  I would take a few steps, rest; take a few steps, rest.
At this point we were on a gentle downhill, but even that was a great task
for me.  When we got to the water stop, I consumed roughly 100 ounces of
water and many electrolytes, as well as some sugar and even caffeine to get
my energy up.

Someone (Wayne Brasington or Doug Barrows?)  gave me Gatorade, which tasted
like Manna from Heaven.  As I regained my mental faculties, they showed me
an easy way to get back to camp on the topographical map.  Once they knew I
was okay, they went on with their race.  After about an hour, I really felt
a lot better.  It is amazing how quickly the body can become endangered, and
yet also recover.

For just a moment, I contemplated going on with the race.  I looked down the
hill in the distance and pondered my chances.  I knew rationally that that
would be very foolish.  Even though I felt better, my body was still wiped
out.  I was in near last place, behind on time, and darkness would be there
in a few hours.  And that would of course bring dropping temperatures and
worse weather.  But it was still so tempting to continue.  I can't tell you
how badly I at least wanted to finish one loop.  But quitting at that point
was the only logical option.  I had already put myself in questionable
territory and was lucky to be okay.  Things could have been much worse.  So
I got off the course and hiked back to camp.  I had to hike 6 miles to get
back, but I had no choice.  Gary described this bail out point by observing
that "that path is wet with the blood of Barkley DNF victims."  Fortunately
for me, it was all downhill, and on an easy regular trail.  I hiked back to
camp without incident.

When I got back to camp, I looked much better.  When Gary asked me why I
quit, I replied "The Gods were angry."  That was not meant completely in
jest.  While this course is unimaginably hard, I still think I could have
done better than I did.  I don't know why I felt so bad, so fast, so early
in the race.  If I can cover 100k, I like to think I can cover more than 8
miles on the Barkley.  But maybe not.

I spent the next two days in camp recovering and following the race.

I covered 8 miles of the course in 4 hours.  That may not seem like a lot,
but I can assure you, it is much harder than a normal 8 miles.  As a
comparison, I felt worse after 8 miles on the Barkley than a flat 100k I did
last May.  In fact, my body was more beaten up than it was from my black
belt exam!

So I only saw 8 miles of the course.  I believe it was Stu Gleman and David
Horton who referred to that as the worst section of the course.  However,
many others, including Gary, told me that I was on the easiest part of the
course.  If that is true, I cannot image what the rest of the course is
like.  Randy Isler may have put it best when he told me that all of the
course was uniquely hard in its own way.

Really I was very lucky.  If David and others hadn't looked out for me,
things could have been much worse.  I can't tell you how much I appreciate
what they did for me.  I will never forget it.  They assured me that they
had all been in similar straights, and had people assist them.  Perhaps
someday I can assist someone like they helped me.

Some may say I took on more than I could handle.  That is undoubtedly true.
But I think that is the case with many people at the Barkley.  Plus, the
Barkley really is a one-of-a-kind opportunity.  It was simultaneously more
miserable and more wonderful than I could ever have imagined.

I have no regrets, had a great time, learned a lot, and even plan on going
back next year.

It may sound sappy, but a race like this reminds you that there are a lot of
good people out there.  Many took me under their wing and freely shared
their hard earned wisdom.  On the course, when I was in trouble,  several
people went out of their way to help me, when they didn't have to, and for
some I was greatly slowing them down.  They did so willingly and happily.

I had a wild adventure, and also a lesson in humility, and a lesson in
humility is always a good thing.  I also think it is not so much if we fail,
because we all fail, but with how we handle failure and adversity.  I am
trying to use this as a learning opportunity to train even more, and be
better focused in the future.

I knew going in that I probably would not finish.  If people like David
Horton and Blake Wood had failed, I had almost no chance.  And even though I
did not do very well, I think it took guts to get out there.

Part of my problem was that I was psyched out, an easy thing to occur at the
Barkley.  At least now, I sort of know what to expect.  And I can train
harder, and be more focused in the future.

This is a great event, and if you are lucky enough to get an entry slot,
even if it means you are the next "human sacrifice," I say take it.

As great as the course is, the best part of the Barkley is the people.
Thanks to, and I enjoyed meeting: David Horton, Hans Put, Michael Tilden,
Sue Johnston, Craig Wilson, Steve Simmons, Blake Wood and his father, Jurgen
Tiechert, Sean Hudson and his family, Matt Mahoney, Stu Gleman, Leonard
Martin, Mark Dorion, Randy Isler and his wife, Bill Johnson, Cathy and Karl,
David Hughes (who I am deeply indebted to), and of course Gary who gave me a
shot.  I apologize if I left anyone out.

David Zuniga