Pedernales 60k: The Night Wouldn’t Save Me

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Hey, welcome to Exploits of a Nobody. I'm Andre, and if you've been following along, welcome back. And if you're new to the podcast, welcome. Here I share stories adapted from my journals about trail running, sobriety, recovery, and just about anything else life throws at me. While the stories aren't in chronological order, I would suggest listening through them all from the beginning to get the full picture. Exploits of a Nobody isn't a polished memoir, it's what I call rough draft radio. And I'm not here to teach anything because I'm still trying to figure this shit out as I go. None of these journal entries have a nice, clean, resolved ending. And honestly, everyone, I'm here to say the quiet parts out loud. So if something in here sounds familiar, maybe you've been there too. Or maybe you're still there now. Either way, I'm glad you're here. This is Exploits of a Nobody, an experiment in rough draft radio. And just a heads up, this is a cautionary tale that includes throwing up, extreme cramping, and cursing. The only way to describe the feeling was someone had opened my head and my eyes were floating out. The feeling was fucking strange. I was scared. Something was physically wrong, yet I kept moving forward the best I could. I began wondering at what point I was going to black out on the trail and if I'd find myself waking up in a hospital or at all. I thought once the sun had set, the night would save me. And with each step, I realized I had already spent everything I had just getting here. I was no stranger to this race, this trail, or the weather. Freshly sober in 2019, I signed up for my first summer night race, the Pernolas Falls 60K. A rugged run set in the Texas Hill country, dead in the middle of summer. No experience, no knowledge of trail running. It was my third Ultra I had ever run. And I had finished in seven hours and 30 minutes. Three years later, and well trained with plenty of experience under my belt, I was ready to come back and earn a new PR. This would be a great training race building up for my second attempt at Leadville. The week leading up to the race, I received a standard pre-race email along with need-to-know details and someone's advice. You need a water bottle for this race. The only absolute necessity is water. This is not complicated. All the aid stations are five miles or less from one to the next, and I won't drink more than a bottle's worth. So why carry the extra weight of a hydration pack or vest? While this made sense to me, it had also caught my attention. I was now seduced by the idea of running with less bulk. This would be so awesome if I could run without a vest. Maybe I could PR. Oh boy. This was gearing up to be a standard training run at night in the form of an organized race. My hydration and fueling plan was dialed in, and I had all my food packed and gear ready to go. As I stood in the garage gathering my gear, I was worried about the extreme heat. It was gonna dude, it was gonna fucking suck. But I knew I'd manage. But I couldn't help but feel that something was off. What the fuck was it? Something something just wasn't sitting right. Later that afternoon, I got to the park and checked in. I loaded my gear in a wagon and I set up under the shade of a tree and began unloading my gear and prepping for the race. This was one this was one of the hottest summers on record. A heat dome had stalled over Texas, creating a dangerous heat wave. Everyone at the race was talking about the sweltering humidity and 104 degree heat. Everything organized in piles and ready to stash, I realized the ignorance of not bringing my vest. Fuck, that's what I wasn't thinking about. I left my fucking vest. I always wore my vest, and I always brought a backup just in case. And for some fucking dumb reason, I decided not to bring it because, well, of the advice that I read in the email.

unknown 5:23

Fuck.

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I only had so much space in my small waist strap to carry my phone, key, two hand lamps, and any food that I needed. Oh fuck. What the fuck am I gonna do now? I had I had no space to carry my drink powder, salt tablets, or food. Wait, wait, where are where are my salt tablets? Oh fuck, where are they? I dumped out the bin on the grass. A snack baggie with a few chewable salt tabs lay on the ground. Oh no, no, no, no, no, no. I'm so fucked. I now had a very difficult decision to make. I looked at everything on the ground, and I had to choose very carefully what I could carry with me. I stood up I stood up, feeling off balance, having shit stuffed everywhere. I knew I couldn't run like this. Of all the times, why did you take a stranger's fucking advice now? I have no idea. I thought I'd give running with only a bottle a try. It sounded so nice to be free of a pack for a long run, especially in this heat. But you hate running with handhelds, remember? How it shifts in your hand and how you're always adjusting it? You always curse yourself for using one on your training runs. And now you're about to run a 60k with the same fucking bottle? What the fuck are you thinking, dude? And now you have no room to carry your food? And what if you run out of water? What if what if what if 20 ounces isn't enough? I'd always heard warnings to race with what you trained with. Now I was about to break a major rule of ultrarunning. I had nothing familiar but a bottle I hated carrying. Well, dude, you like doing shit the hard way. Standing there in the heat waiting to start, feeling miserable, I considered what else I could remove. The weight of what I was sacrificing for the benefit of running without a vest felt heavy on my shoulders. Dude, I really hope this is worth it. My stomach began to turn and growl. The race started. It was the first bulk start I had experienced in quite some time since COVID. My legs and feet felt heavy, as if I was already 30 miles into a race. I watched as people ran by. Damn, that should be me right now. My stomach was feeling more upset with every step. Why did I eat a fucking chili burger earlier today? What the fuck was I thinking? My stomach growled more. If I make it through this, I'll be so fucking lucky. Dude, you'll be fine. I'm not feeling fine. Just throw up already so you can get it over with. I'm not making myself fucking throw up. I hate fucking throwing up. Why would I make myself do that? The heat was relentless. I was already soaking from sweat. The water bottle was draining quickly. And the temperature that evening was near 104 degrees with the humidity. And the first aid station was nearly five exposed miles away. It'll be so much better once the sun drops below the tree line. I promise you. The sun's light was fading into an evening glow when I reached the first aid station, yet the heat was still there. My bottle was empty. And the fucking chili burger wasn't sitting well as I looked at the junk food on the table. Nothing sounded good, and I had no urge to eat. I grabbed a tortilla and peanut butter wrapped banana, fruit snacks, and cookies. And just the thought of eating made my lip curl in that I'm about to puke type of way. I refilled my bottle. Just focus on the next aid station. The race was off to a bad start, and instead of feeling strong, I was struggling to catch up before I had even settled into the race. My legs weren't feeling any better, and my stomach was getting angrier. I tried eating the banana peanut butter wrap thing. It was warm, yet stale from the heat and humidity. I took a bite and began chewing. The sticky, thick mess congealed into a ball, absorbing all the moisture in my mouth. I kept chewing. My mouth plugged up with the goop. I tried to swallow. I drank a big gulp of water. I held it in my mouth, letting it dilute the wad, and I tried swallowing again. Blah. Ugh. I tried again. This time I cut it down. I drank another bottle's worth of water and one of my salt tabs. Dude, it'll be better now that it's dark. And I knew the re I knew the reality of not hydrating properly with electrolytes. I was really challenging the universe here. Yet I still I still felt confident, but a little concerned. I had no problem here years ago with only water in the same conditions. Why can't I do it now? Yeah, but remember last time after the race, your your pea looked like Coca-Cola. Yeah, that was scary. And I was starting to realize that no matter how much I drank, I'd never catch up. And the more water I drank, the more I flushed my system of any remaining salts. Just get to the next aid station. No, just quit. It's not going to get any better, and you fucking know it. Just get to the next aid station. I was now managing multiple issues on what was supposed to be an easy training run. This would slow me down on the more technical segments, nor was I running any of the hills as I normally would. And if I finish this race, it is not gonna be pretty. Just get to the next aid station. I kept saying it as if it would magically fix all my fucking problems. And then my calf began to hurt, and I was back to a walk. The sun was gone, and I could no longer clearly see the trail, so I switched on my headlamp. I was hoping for a cool evening breeze, or just a breeze. Anything to help with the stagnant hair. Cool evening breeze in Texas in the summer? Give me a fucking come on, dude. Give me a break. I'm already out of water. My sips had become gulps. Where's that next aid station? I'm so fucking thirsty. Where is it? Dude, what was I thinking not bringing my fucking vest? I heard voices up ahead. There in the dark was the aid station. A few runners gathered around a few large water containers on a table. I refilled, drank, and refilled. I ate my last salt tabs. A shirtless runner appeared out of the dark. He ran up to the water container, propped his head under the spigot, and drank. He wasn't carrying any water bottles. This guy was running with no water at all.

SPEAKER_01 14:18

That dude's fucking nuts. I gulped a few more bottles worth of water, and then I was off.

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My calf and stomach seemed to calm down as I caught a runner's high. I ran smoothly to the next aid station without issue. I ate watermelon and oranges, fruit snacks, and I struggled with the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I was draining my water bottle before reaching the aid station, cutting it close each time. I was beginning to feel fucking horrible again, and I was dizzy. And my eyes started feeling weird. My stomach was sick, and my whole body began to hurt. My calf wasn't hurting, but I was worried that maybe it was a calm before the storm. I was gambling with my calf. This close to Leadville, I didn't want to blow a muscle or a tendon. I'm done. I don't want to run anymore. I'll quit after I finish the first loop. That voice of the quitter was tempting me. And I wasn't even actually expecting to get this far with my angry stomach and lack of electrolytes. Have a fizzy water and rest a bit, and we'll make the decision then. I saw the race hub in the distance. I picked up my pace and I crossed the finish mat. I must have looked horrible. The volunteer asked if I was done, and I shook my head no. I sat down, took my socks and shoes off, and soaked my feet in the ice water of my cooler. My feet tingled as I felt a ticklish sensation on the bottom of my feet. The shocking relief of my feet tempted me to quit. The thought of putting socks back on wet feet sounded exhausting, and I did I just didn't want to move anymore. And the longer I sat there with my shoes off, the idea sounded better. I sat a little longer and I rested, contemplating what to do. I was so ready to quit. But dude, you don't fucking quit. You need to just get up and get moving again, and you'll forget about it. I drank my fizzy water and I ate my fig newtons that I couldn't carry at the start. My stomach settled and I was feeling fine again. I knew for an instant that my body had taken over my mind, and I walked off into the darkness to start the final loop. Well, I guess I'm starting the second loop. I was running alone in the dark. 18 more miles to go. Dude, you can quit in five miles at the next aid station. Why not just turn around here and walk back to the start? But everyone would see me walking back. Who fucking cares? Why keep running? Just keep running. You know how this works. You'll settle back in and be fine. Do you really want to keep doing this? I'm not going to quit. This is what it's all about. Put your head down and make it happen. I had slowed to a walk again. The urge to look over my shoulder distracted me from the trail. A headlamp was catching up to me quickly. I tried running again and quickly fell back into a walk. Just get to the next aid station and we'll quit. I heard a voice call out, Good job, as he passed. Hey, you too, man. I gulped what was left in my small water bottle, and I was out of water again with three miles to go. I saw traffic passing on a nearby road in the distance. You're still close to the start. Make a left up here and we'll quit. No, just walk. A weak light was shining through the holes in the branches of the bushes. The aid station. Right before I came into sight, I began running to make it appear as though I was doing well. I do that. So fucking weird. Just eat something. Anything with salt. I just couldn't eat chips or anything else for that matter. I stashed an Oreo cookie knowing damn well I had no plans to eat it. I ate another orange and grabbed a few packs of fruit snacks. And without thinking, I was leaving the aid station moving forward. Okay. I guess we're still going. I can do this. We'll be fine. I was back to sipping my water bottle, making every effort to save water for the next five miles. I thought about eating the Oreo cookie. I tried opening the package, but my sweaty fingers couldn't tear the edge. I tried using my teeth. The action had made me gag. Nope. Not doing that again. I sipped water instead. I reached for the fruit snacks, and to my surprise, the package opened easily. I ate one piece at a time, making sure to chew every piece, sipping water after each bite, then gulping again. Dude, you can't gulp the water. You have to conserve it. Yeah? If you had your vest here, you'd be able to gulp and drink and how's running with a handheld and not a vest right now? How's that working out for you? I was halfway to the next aid station and my water half gone. Why the fuck did I listen to that post? And why would anyone share that sort of advice in a race email? Were they trying to be helpful? I was looking for someone to blame other than myself for my situation. Good. You tested a limit, and here we are paying for it. Yeah, I won't do this again. After eating the last fruit snack, as if desperate, I ate the last two chewable salt tabs. I really hope this'll get me through the rest of the race. But I already knew they wouldn't. My body was too far gone. I gulped more water chasing the salt tabs and fruit snacks. I was careful not to drink it all. Dude, you're out here. Just keep moving. Just get to the next aid station. I was still at least two miles away and no water left. I was getting worried as my thirst began to grow. I wanted to ask every runner who passed if they had some water to spare. A pressure began growing in my stomach again, and I knew that feeling and what followed. My throat tightened. I violently threw up the little liquid in my stomach and chunks of fruit snacks. I heaved again. I heard runners coming up behind me. I wiped the spit from my lip and I asked if they had any salt tabs. The runner stopped. He pulled out a ridiculously large Ziploc bag of pills from God knows where and asked, caffeinated or uncaffeinated? I was still memorized by the large bag of pills and where the dude had been hiding those things. Hey man, hey, how many do you want? Oh dude, just two. Here, no, here, take four just in case. He fumbled through the bag. Let me make sure not to give you any of the colored ones. Why? What are those? Oh, they're painkillers. I really wanted to laugh at this point, but I didn't have the energy for it. I thanked him for the help. They ran on. I had a very small amount of water left. I crammed all four pills in my mouth and with the last of my water drank. I was hoping the salt tabs would get into my system quick. And then I threw up again, and with it, my salt pills.

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Fuck. God man, fuck.

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I'm done. I'm so fucked. The cramp started abruptly. First a whisper, then stronger in my calf, moving to my quad. My stomach was empty. I had no water, no food, and no idea how far the next aid station was. How the fuck did I get here, man? Like I trained so well with everything. Yeah, and you made one fucking stupid mistake. You ran a race with something new, without training for it, and now this is where you're at. Just walk. There's no rush. More runners passed by. Feeling jealous of their pace, I reminded myself, just keep moving. You just threw up a lot. You have no electrolytes and no water. I wasn't going to let go so easily. I kept thinking there was no coming back from cramps after throwing up, and each time I tried to run, I was reduced to a walk. The cramps kept moving through my legs. Every few steps I stopped and I tried to stretch my sore legs out, and the momentary relief was gone as soon as I started moving again. I made it to the water stop and began gulping water. I looked around the table desperately for any type of electrolyte product that may have been left by another runner or left by volunteers. Of course, the one time I needed nothing. Not even a fucking ground score. More runners came in. Standing in the dark, the runners complained of the heat and being dehydrated. I felt good knowing it wasn't just me getting beat up out here. This fucking sucks. Could anything else happen at this race? Holy fuck. I stopped and I tried to stretch it. My whole leg began to tighten. My second toe cramped. Yes, my fucking toe. I felt it shift to the right in my shoe. I've never had a toe cramp during a run before. What the fuck? It had now moved to the arch of my foot and it caused my ankle to pronate. The arch of my foot was now cramping.

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Oh my fucking Jesus Christ.

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I nearly fell as I lost control of my leg. I tried to put pressure on my foot to straighten the arch, and the pain stabbed harder. I stepped on my tippy toes to catch my balance.

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Holy fuck.

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My legs were shot. All my muscles were contracting now. Dude, keep your balance. I knew if I fell, I wouldn't be getting up. And if the cramps weren't enough, I began feeling dizzy and lightheaded. I stopped in my tracks. I couldn't see straight. My eyes started to feel strange. It was the weirdest sensation I've ever felt. A negative pressure built up in my eyes and in the front of my head. It felt as though someone had opened my head and my eyes were floating out. I can't walk. I can't see straight. Am I fucking dying? The pain in my calf was so intense. When is this going to end? I looked down at my calf and I saw my muscles split into two distinct quivering shapes. What the fuck is wrong with my calf? I had never seen a muscle do that before. I rubbed my eyes and I looked again, and I felt like my body was collapsing in on itself, while my eyes felt like they were about to set my soul free. I was still fascinated by what my calf was doing. I looked at my calf again, watching it split and quiver as it cramped. I stood there taking big deep breaths in the sweltering night air. God, why do I do this fucking shit? I hope you learned your fucking lesson, dude. Do what you know works for you and stick with your plan. If you had, you wouldn't be in this mess right now. I took a deep breath and began slowly walking. Every step painfully tempting the cramps to start up again. Quit. This race is over for you, dude. You're a fucking mess. Just keep going. You have nothing to lose. Everything everyone else runs through the cramps and discomfort. Why can't you? I need to make it to the next aid station. I'll call it there. God, why does this hurt so fucking much? I can barely fucking move. Dude, you need to end this. It's never a good feeling choosing to DNF, especially in between an aid station with miles to think about it. I actually think that's harder than the discomfort of cramps. I heard a car drive by in the distance, and I knew exactly where I was now. I was approaching a hard left turn. At the turn was a service gate, the one thing separating us from the road leading to the park entrance. Maybe I should just go out there and flag a car down. My legs are fucking killing me, and I can barely walk. Seriously? You seriously want to walk out there and flag a stranger down on a dark country road? What the fuck is wrong with you? There are no cars, and by the time one drives by, you would have made it to the aid station. Well, I could call my wife. Okay. It's 2 a.m. and they're at least 40 minutes away. I knew the aid station wasn't too far from where I was at. Miserable. I just wanted to fucking quit. The trail looked familiar again. A memory flashed through my head of the last time I ran this race. In this section, I had experienced a second wind, and I was flying by other runners who were cheering me on. Now I was reduced to a death march. My stomach started feeling weird again, and I saw the lights of the aid station up ahead.

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Fucking finally. I need salt.

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I ate an orange slice and watermelon. She handed me pickle juice. I drank it like water. I was so dehydrated that pickle juice, which is normally salty, tasted like water. I couldn't even sense the salt. I heaved. I moved quickly across the trail from the aid station and threw up again. Very little came out as I dry heaved multiple times. I walked back and sat down. I felt fucking horrible. The volunteer asked if I was okay. I told her I needed water and I wanted to just sit. My legs were my legs were destroyed from the cramping. I just couldn't keep going. Come on, man, keep going. You have eight miles left to finish this. You got this. Other runners come back from this and finish strong. So can you. I looked down the trail. The thought of eight more miles and my body cramping up again did not sound fun or safe. I just couldn't do it. I didn't want to risk having my body not up again like this, or worse, and being left alone out there in the out there on the trail. My body began cramping again. I questioned whether it was a good idea to risk it with my A race on the horizon. Just run. It'll smooth itself out. No, be safe. But I'm not here to play it safe. Everyone else runs worse than this. Yeah, but this is just a training run. Don't risk it. Dude, you got this. Eight more miles.

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But the but the thought of eight miles was just too fucking overwhelming. I sat there trying to relax, considering what to do.

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I hated every minute of it. I finally went over to the volunteer and I told her I was quitting. She asked if I was sure. Yeah, I'm sure. Another volunteer offered to drive me back to the start. As soon as I got in the car and settled into the comfort of the chair, I felt fine.

unknown 34:29

Fuck.

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I knew that was going to happen. As we drove down the road, my body relaxed. Me and the volunteer shared a brief chat. I explained what had happened. I stared out the window with the desert passing by in the darkness. The regret, the regret weighing heavy on my fucking shoulders. Why the fuck did I quit? I could have just ran. Why didn't I try harder? Why didn't I make more of a fucking effort to stay in this? We pulled up to the race hub. I got out of the car feeling relaxed as if nothing had happened. So much so, someone asked the volunteer as I walked away, what's wrong with him? Cramps, he didn't feel he could keep going. Oh, sounds like hubris to me. Yeah, maybe. I knew exactly what that word meant, and for a minute, I considered having a word with the guy, but I already felt let down from my own decisions. Now, my ego was looking for a reason to save face. And that's it, everyone. If you enjoyed this episode, please subscribe and leave reviews wherever you get your podcast. It helps others find the show and join us on this journey. We also have a new website, www.exploitsofanobody.com. There you'll find photos from each of the episodes and additional content related to the stories. Until next time, happy trails.