“Today was a day I did not deserve and I am grateful.” – Keith Thompson

The weather forecast leading up to the Pinhoti 100 wasn’t pretty. Only 4 days before the race, there was a 100% chance of thunderstorms. Luckily for the 200+ runners on November 7th, there wasn’t a thunderbolt in the sky. There was however a light drizzle and the heavy rain from the previous night had pre-soaked the trails for us.

I wasn’t worried about the rain. I love running in the rain. Back in August, I ran my first 50 miler in a downpour and ended up having the race of my life. It struck me peculiar that morning how I wasn’t worried about anything. Standing outside of my parent’s car before the start of the Pinhoti 100, I only had two things on my mind: “Ok, David, make sure you finish this entire Clif Bar and drink this entire bottle of water before the race starts.”

I spent months leading up to this race visualizing the starting line and the emotions I would feel. I expected to feel excited, nervous, anxious, nostalgic, proud or any combination of the above. Instead it seemed I had already felt these emotions for so long and my quota for those feelings was spent. All I knew was I wanted to run and lucky for me running was exactly what was on the menu for the day.

I recognized a friendly photographer from Huntsville walking by. He comes to so many of these events and always does a great job. “Hey guys! I wanna take a picture!” I called out to my mom, dad and older sister who would consist of my crew for the day.

I was worried about my crew and debated for months whether or not I wanted others there. I wasn’t worried whether they do a good job not, I knew they would do great. It wasn’t because I didn’t want them there, because I did. I wanted to invite them because I wanted to share the ultramarathon and trail world I have fallen in love with. I also wanted them to see me as the new runner I’ve become. They knew me as a cross country and track athlete, but I’m not the same runner I was then. However, crewing is a hard job and I was worried they would be miserable and resent me for inviting them. I tried to warn them for months about what they were signing up for. I told them it would be difficult, miserable and cold. I told them they would be stuck in the car together for over 20 hours and would be standing outside waiting for me for long periods of time only to find me not in the best of moods. Despite these warnings, they were here and were beaming with the excitement and nerves I expected to feel myself but didn’t.

After walking to the start line together, I gave my crew quick hugs thanking them again before taking my spot on the starting line. No matter how bad today went, I wanted them to know without a doubt how grateful I was for them to be there.

At the start line I found another Birmingham runner for whom I have a lot of respect. His name is Bob, he is about 40 and this is his third time running the Pinhoti 100 and his third 100 mile race this year. He is an incredibly strong runner. One of my goals was to be the first runner from Alabama to cross the finish line. I had studied the entrant list and Bob was one of two people I was worried about getting in the way of my goal. Thus, I made sure to start right next to him.

After the gun went off, we raced down a gravel road for about a quarter mile before jumping onto the single track trail. It made sense to go out fast on the road to avoid getting stuck in a conga line on the trail. My strategy at this point in the race was simple: stick with Bob. I knew we should be close together in this race and I trust his experience to not go out too fast. He was running a little bit faster than I wanted to at this stage in the race, but I went with it anyway. We talked for those first few miles about the trail and the race. He is a dad and I asked about his kids running cross country in middle school and I told him about how my dad is here and will be pacing me for about 10 miles today. He was able to let me know what the section my dad would be running is like so I knew what to expect.

This section of the course is stunning. It is a good thing I didn’t carry a camera with me or I would have stopped to take pictures of everything. I couldn’t get over the surreal feeling of where I was and what I was doing. I had spent months visualizing the Pinhoti 100 and now I was doing it. I felt overwhelmed with gratitude.

Because of the rain, the race director moved the starting line of the race meaning the first 13 miles were an out-and-back section to the first aid station. It is normally a point-to-point. The second aid station would be the same place the race began. The out-and-back was fun because it allowed me to see all of the other runners I knew at the beginning of the race. There was still so much excitement this early on and everyone cheered each other on while running past.

When I came into the first aid station, the cheering was loud because every person’s crew was still there from the start. We hadn’t spread out yet. I was worried in this crowd of people I would have a hard time finding my crew, but they were ready and prepared. As soon as I came off the trail, my dad was standing ready with a packet of tailwind nutrition and told me my mom and sister were just ahead with more supplies. I didn’t need anything from my mom and sister, so I gave them a happy wave and kept on going.

I left this aid station before Bob and now I was by myself. This gave me a peace of mind and made me feel more in control of my own pace. I had a lot of nerves related to this being my first 100 mile race and the pace I was running. I didn’t want to run too fast and kill myself later in the race and I didn’t want to run too slow and miss my goal time. I was still ahead of pace of my A-goal time, but only slightly and the second half of this course would be much more difficult than the first half. I knew my pace needed to be a little faster to make up for the increase in difficulty later, but I wanted the pace to feel more effortless than it did in the moment. I resolved to simply run the pace I knew would get me to finish. I knew my A-goal was a stretch and as long as I ran decently, I wouldn’t actually be upset if I missed it by an hour or two.

I came into aid station 3 at mile 18. This would be the last time I would see my crew until mile 40. My dad was there with a bag a tailwind to mix into my drink. I wanted to take 3 additional bags with me to get me through the next 22 miles.

“Sorry, we only brought 2 bags over here.” Said my Dad and sister.

“I need 3,” I replied “Where are the others?”

“They are in the car. We didn’t bring them. Just make do with these.”

“No!” I yelled “Let’s walk to the car then.”

Apparently the car was farther down the road than I thought. So my dad told me to start heading to the trail head as he sprinted to the car and drove it up to meet me with the supplies I needed.

I headed back into the woods frustrated and embarrassed. I didn’t want to snap on my family who was making a big sacrifice for me, but I was frustrated because I felt I had made it clear how I don’t know what I will need at each aid station until I get there and I put everything I may need into two bins which aren’t hard to carry into each aid station. I knew I would want a change of clothes and a chair to sit in at mile 40 and now I was concerned they wouldn’t have it ready if there wasn’t a close parking spot to the aid station. Being frustrated with my crew in-turn made me frustrated with myself for being so high maintenance and for even thinking negatively about my crew who were being saints towards me just by being here.

Running frustrated is always a poor racing strategy. I did everything I could to turn my thoughts positive. Friends and family ask me frequently what I think about when running for hours at a time. The answer is simple: cheesy, pop songs. I don’t typically listen to music while racing, but if a song gets stuck in your head while running. It is going to be there a while. I’ve learned the cheesier the song, the more likely it is to get stuck.

Needle and a thread, gotta get you out of my head

Needle and a thread, goona wind up dead

The next 17 miles were beautiful, long and wet. The trail wound along with a creek and intersected the creek on numerous occasions. Sometimes the water was as high as my knees. There would be no hope of keeping my feet dry. There were two large and stunning waterfalls which left me tempted to stop and enjoy for a few minutes, but I didn’t. I was starting to feel tired for the first time at this point. This wasn’t unexpected because I usually start to feel sluggish after mile 20 on most of my runs. I knew if I just kept going at a steady pace, I would start to feel better.

There was only one manned aid station during the section before I saw my family again at mile 40. It was put on by the Birmingham Ultra Trail Society. They are basically the coolest trail runners you will ever meet.

It was nice to see familiar faces. I’ve gotten to know members of the BUTS primarily during this year of getting ready for the Pinhoti and I knew they were cheering for me.

Once I reached mile 35, I knew the next 5 miles would be all up hill to the top of Mt. Cheaha where I would see my family again. This climb looks very intimidating on the elevation profile, but I’ve heard that it isn’t that difficult. They were right, I enjoyed this section and I began to feel better and stronger. It is a long climb, but it is very gradual and it is stunning. The farther up I went, the more mist covered the trails and the setting became very spooky in the coolest way possible.

At the top of the mountain, my family was ready for me and I was overwhelmingly happy and grateful. They knew I would probably need to sit at this point so they had a chair set out for me and bins of all of my stuff ready for me to ask for it. I knew exactly what I wanted. I had been drinking Tailwind all day and I was craving some real food, so my mom gave me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I also wanted to change my shirt, shoes and socks. This was more of a mental strategy than anything. The first phase of the race was over and I wanted to feel like a new person. When I took off my socks, we found a pretty massive blister on my big toe. My sister, who is a rock-star nurse, got it wrapped up very well and I never felt it for the rest of the race.

I left the aid station at the same time as another friend of mine from Birmingham. He is a very strong runner and I wanted to beat him very badly. At the same time, however, I was rooting for him because it was his second attempt at this race and he DNF’d the first time. He is an example that no matter how good of shape you are in or how well prepared you are, if the odds are not in your favor on a particular day, anything can happen.

The next section of the course was the descent down Mount Cheaha. It was steep, slippery and borderline dangerous. This was taken very slowly and cautiously. After making it down the mountain, there was only a three mile run on jeep roads until I saw my crew again and my dad would begin to run with me. I’ll admit at the beginning of the day, I was nervous about my dad running with me because even though he is a very strong runner, he doesn’t have a lot of experience running on trails, let alone trails in the rain at night. However, in these last few miles before picking him up, I was absolutely ecstatic. I was ecstatic because I had such a fun day thus far running on and enjoying the beautiful trails and having such an adventure. My dad was exactly the person I wanted to share these beautiful trails and adventure with. I couldn’t wait for him to see what I had seen and experience what I had experienced. My dad has always been a big part of my running. It has always been a bonding activity for us. Sharing the next ten miles was going to be very meaningful.

When I arrived at mile 45, my dad was dressed, equipped and ready to go. He would be with me for the next 10 miles. The sun was going to set during our 10 miles, so he had two headlamps ready for the both of us.

We departed and aid station together and made the turn onto the single-track trails we would enjoy for the next 10 miles. We ran for about a minute before coming to a creek crossing. I calculated the width of the creek and jumped across it. 10 seconds later…SLIP! THUD! AHHH!

I whipped around concerned to find my dad on his back in the creek and his headlamp in the water. For a second I thought, “Well, that is it. I broke my dad.” However, he popped right back up without missing a beat and exclaimed, “I’M FINE! KEEP GOING! JUST SLIPPED ON A ROCK!”

The next seven miles went well as I told him all about my day so far and how amazing this adventure has been. I picked his brain for how everything was going on the crew side. I made a comment to him about how cold I was which he found concerning because I was cold in a jacket and he was in short-sleeves and not cold at all. He fell a few more times because this section was especially technical. It takes a lot of practice on technical trails to become comfortable on them.

By the time we arrived at the next aid station at mile 52, it was dark and we were using our headlamps. This aid station was my favorite one of the entire day. First, there was a man standing at the entrance of the aid station cheering in every runner exclaiming, “YOU’RE OVER HALF WAY THERE! CONGRATULATIONS!”Second, they had chicken quesadillas which were exactly what I needed in that moment. I was sad to leave, but I knew there were only 3 more miles until the next aid station.

What happened next was the longest three miles of my entire life. Soon after leaving the aid station, my dad’s headlamp died. I’m still not sure why because the batteries were new. We figured it was from water damage when it fell in the creek.

This meant for the next 3 miles we would be two people sharing one headlamp. This required some problem solving and creativity. We tried to have myself run in front with the lamp and my dad behind. We tried to have my dad in front with the lamp and me behind. We tried to have myself behind with the lamp and my dad in front. We tried to have my dad behind with the lamp and me in front. None of these methods were working perfectly. The rain only made it more difficult for the beam to shine very far. Leaves were covering the rocks and roots on the trail and it was easy to miss the flags and signs keeping you on the trail. It felt like an eternity until the next aid station. I tried not to let my dad see it, but by the time we got to the next aid station my mom and my sister could tell I was frustrated. Now my dad and I joke about the experience because those three miles ended up being one of the most memorable parts of the whole day.

I had two friends from Huntsville on their way to run with me through the rest of the night. However, they were late and I would run the next 13 miles alone until they arrived. The next 8 miles were primarily on dirt roads and those miles flew by. However, the last 5 miles until I saw the pacer again was on single track and I reached my second major low point of the race. My body was finally starting the feel the impact of the miles I had run until this point and I was struggling. It felt like a lot of people passed me during this section and with each person running by, I felt a little more demoralized. When I reached mile 68, my friends were there. I looked right at them and said, “You have a lot of work to do because this is the worst I have felt all day!”

“I just need you to keep talking to me. I think it will make me feel better.” I said to Dante as we started running onto another trail. The next seven miles would be mostly uphill until we reached the aid station at mile 75 at “The Pinnacle.” I had been told this climb was the most difficult one, so I was very grateful to have Dante there to help get through it.

I’ve known Dante since high school. Back then I saw him as my rival. I ran for Bob Jones and he ran for Huntsville. I would beat him in every small track meet, and he would beat me every time it mattered at the Metro or Sectional championships. Even back then he was extremely outgoing and made friends with every runner before and after the race. After High School he ran for The University of Alabama Huntsville (or UAH) and had an incredible college career. We saw each other at a couple of cross country meets our freshman year and it was obvious he was an improved runner and had a serious shot of towing the line at nationals one day. Now he is still active in the running community coaching individuals as well as a small high school cross country team. Having the combination of a rival and friend with a coaching mindset made him the perfect pacer.

I was pumped to have him there because I knew he would be optimistic. Every time I said something negative about myself, the race or told the story about my dad’s headlamp going out, he wouldn’t hesitate to snap back with something positive. He ran in front of me and I stared at his neon back-pack as it glowed in my headlamp. Talking with him did help me feel better and we started to pass some of the people back who had passed me on the last section.

Eventually, we made it to the Pinnacle aid station at mile 75. This was a big check point in the race. I’ve heard it said if you can take one step out of this aid station, you will finish the race. After this, there are only 10 more miles on difficult single-track trails before starting on the last 15 miles of easy jeep roads.

This aid station was also sponsored by the BUTS. They had great music playing and the familiar faces were nice to see. At this point my mind was gone and all I could think about was how cold I was. One of the volunteers wrapped me in a big hug and her warmth made me feel so much better. They asked me what I wanted to eat. They had a lot of good food, but all I was craving was more of the chicken quesadillas from mile 52. They gave me a cup of hot Ramen noodles and I was on my way.

People have asked me what the hardest part of the experience was. Absolutely it was the cold. I don’t mind running in the rain, but it rained for most of the day. At night the temperature dropped severely and the combination of wet clothes and cold weather kept me shivering for most of the last 5 hours of the race. I was feeling this especially on top of this mountain where the wind was blowing pretty hard.

The second most difficult thing was muscle fatigue. I was never sleepy and I was never tired from a cardiovascular standpoint either, but around mile 80, it became increasingly difficult to pick up my legs. I was hitting my toes on every rock and root. Dante will testify how this resulted in a lot of screaming and vulgar language on my part. Dante recommended we treat the next few miles like a fartlek and run for a minute with thirty seconds of walking between. This helped, both mentally and physically and we knocked out a few miles with this method.

Once we arrived at mile 85, we saw my crew again and Dante’s turn of running with me came to an end. I heard the last 15 miles were relatively easy and Mindy would be joining me for the next 10 miles. I tried to take some time to stand by the fire at the aid station and warm up for a minute before leaving. However, an aid station volunteer warned me not to stand by the fire too long because I might not want to leave. She was right, the fire felt amazing to my shivering body, but I had to leave. I only had to suffer for 15 more road miles before earning the belt buckle I had been dreaming about all day.

Mindy was one of my college cross country teammates at Birmingham-Southern. She was one of the first friends I made at BSC because we were both clearly the most nervous and socially awkward at xc camp freshman year. Mindy is one of the few people who understands how I think as a runner. She understands why I love the longer distances and she acted like it was perfectly expected when I registered for a 100 miler. She also understands why I’m never satisfied with my running performances. We have the same definition of what “good” or “acceptable” running performances are. She knows disappointment and what it is like to run through struggle much better than I do as she has bravely dealt with various running injuries and setbacks. She was perfect for keeping my mind straight.

Mindy did exactly what I needed her to do. While I was too cold to talk and overwhelmed by how far I still had to run, she was a chatterbox of optimism. I just listened while she told stories of thier car getting stuck in the mud, of almost running out of gas and her hopes/plans for grad school next year. This was good because I was starting to feel a little disoriented at this point and off-balance.

Eventually we made it to the final aid station at mile 95. This was supposed to be crew accessible and my crew would pick up Mindy and I would run the last five miles alone. However, the race directors made a last minute decision to close this aid station to crew vehicles and Mindy would end up running the last five miles to the finish line as well. She was not planning to run 15 miles, but didn’t complain once.

When we left the aid station, the reality of the finish line sank in for the first time. This was the first time I started to become emotional because not only had the last 22 hours been an incredible adventure, but the entire year had been part of an incredible personal journey for me. I started to tear up when I visualized running into the stadium in Sylacauga and finishing the race. However, I really didn’t want Mindy to see me emotional, so I decided to suppress and wait until the actual finish to feel any emotion.

When we hit the roads in Syclacauga for the final 3 miles of the race, Mindy told me to leave her. She was tired and I was ready to push hard to the finish. I was warned the last road section to the finish is torture. Torture is the perfect word. The long road stretched on for what seemed like an eternity. It would bend around a corner and I would hope to see stadium lights, but they would never be there.

Eventually, I saw stadium lights and I saw flags telling me to turn left. I looked for more flags or a sign telling me to turn right into the stadium, but they weren’t there and I couldn’t see or hear anyone in the stadium. I also saw another runner on the road ahead of me past the stadium. So I continued straight. I thought it must be the wrong stadium. Half a mile later, the runner ahead of me stopped. I caught up to him and we both knew we had missed a turn somewhere. I ran for 100 miles and never got lost in the woods once. Now, at the end of the race, I finally got lost. No one was around on the road at 5:30 in the morning. Eventually we found a post office worker who told us the stadium was half a mile back. My brain was too tired to be frustrated. So I just pushed back as hard as I could down the road. Found the turn I previously missed and ran into the stadium.

When I entered the stadium, I saw Bob, another Birmingham runner crossing the finish line. I spent most of the race as the first runner from Alabama and because of my misdirection, I lost that distinction. I saw my family behind the finish line huddled together, and they did not look excited to see me. I crossed the finish line to a perfectly silent audience in 22:53:37 and 12th place overall. No cheering. No excitement. I started to walk towards my family and after a minute, they finally recognized me and we laughed at how they didn’t realize it was me until after I finished. It was the most anti-climactic finish to a race I could have ever expected, but it didn’t matter. The journey was over.

“Today was a day I did not deserve and I am grateful.”

I first heard this quote 3 years ago. I was given the advice to put it into my phone to go off as a reminder at the end of every day. So it has gone off on my phone every day at 9:00pm for the last three years. This is the quote that was stuck in my head as I was finishing this race. It has become a mantra of mine this year, as much has happened for which I am grateful.

After the race, I only wanted to do one thing: take my shoes off. I had been running with wet feet for almost 23 hours and I was dying to see the damage. I have no pictures to share, but trust me when I tell you they weren’t pretty. The second thing I wanted to do was take a hot shower. I was freezing and my family later told me how they saw a lot of people drop from the race due to hypothermia.

We didn’t waste much time hanging around. We all had an incredible weekend but we were ready to get home. I tried to find words to thank my family and friends for what they had done for me. Those words don’t exist.

When I got home to Birmingham, my roommates gave me a warm greeting. I turned on my phone and read the most amazing messages from friends on Facebook, Instagram and SMS. My sister apparently did a great job managing my social media and generated quite a bit of attention. I felt grateful for every person who wrote me a comment or a message. It made me feel very loved and I am grateful.

While unpacking my things. My roommate made a comment how he was surprised I wasn’t asleep or starving. I told him how I didn’t want to nap during the day because it would mean I wouldn’t sleep as well at night. However, eating sounded like a good idea. So I heated up some lunch and took it to my room to eat and watch some Netflix. Once I actually sat down in my bed just before 12:00 pm, it took about a minute before I passed out and didn’t wake up until 4:30 the next morning. I slept for 16.5 hours. I guess I didn’t have anything to worry about when it came to sleeping through the night.

Overall, the Pinhoti 100 was one of the craziest adventures I have ever been on. Despite being anxious about if my family would have a good time, they seemed to have loved it as they had an adventure of their own. The next day, my sister texted me about “next time.” My dad called me too on a high from his 10 mile adventure in the woods and seemed ready to go again. Even my mom, who I feared would be most out of her element, told me how she enjoyed it and would do it again. As it turns out, they had more stories to share from the weekend than I did.

Now the Pinhoti 100 is in the books. The question arises, “What’s next?” I thought about this a lot in the months leading up to the race. Training for this resulted in one of the most unique years in my life. I stepped out of my comfort zone this year and the result was learning things which made me a better runner. However, now I am trying to figure out how much of my life I want to dedicate to this sport going forward. There are higher callings than running. This isn’t a new internal debate for me and I’ve struggled with this question since I started running when I was 13. Right now, I’ve resolved until thanksgiving to take a break from running and focus on some other priorities in my life. After thanksgiving, I’ll start preparing for my next athletic goal. That goal however will remain a secret until December.