It’s never a good thing to lie to yourself.

After a successful return to the ultra life with the NYC Trail Mix 50K in November and the Oakwood 50-miler in December, the Rocky Raccoon 100 on February 1 seemed like the next logical step up toward the Really Big One, the Tahoe 200 in June.

Rocky would be my fourth 100-mile race, and my third attempt to actually run it. Family issues the previous two years had forced me to postpone, but finally, in 2025, the way seemed clear to get ‘er done.

And so down to Texas I went, first to Frisco to visit my brother-in-law and his wife, then down to Huntsville State Park for the race. Five 20-mile loops, and done! Easy peasy.

Here’s a little perspective for you: which is harder, running a 100-mile trail race, or raising five kids? I know my answer.

My niece Stephanie, her husband Austin, and their army of gremlins.

At the pre-race meeting the evening before, we were told how amazing it was to hold the event this year. “Imagine standing here last spring, The water would be up to your chest.” It had rained continually for weeks. The buildings flooded with three feet of water. Hundreds of trees fell. Trails were wiped out. But thanks to a herculean effort by the park staff and local running groups, the park’s trails had reopened just the week before, and the race was on.

Packet pickup Friday evening. Ready to rock the Rocky!

With all the great information shared that night, one thing was left out; if you wanted a parking spot anywhere near the starting line, you needed to be Really Really Early. I arrived at the park at 5:15 the next morning for a 6:00 a.m. start, only to wait 30 minutes in line to get a “Rocky” sticker put on my car to avoid paying the $7.00 entry fee. “I’m told they’ll delay the start,” a ranger told me. Where to park? No idea. It was pitch dark and nobody was directing.

I ended up parking a mile from the start, hauling my heavy gear bag. And as I wound on down the road, I saw headlamps on the trail. They had not delayed the race start. I picked up my timing tag and crossed the starting line with six minutes left in the 30-minute start window. I was tail-end Charlie for a few miles, but I got in the groove and ran a good first loop, just a hair over four hours.

I had two goals for the race. Main goal, finish. Stretch goal, get a PR by finishing under 23 hours and 52 minutes. So far, so good. My second loop was fine, too, but slower, enough that I began to worry. As loops 4 and 5 would be at night (thus slower), if I wanted that PR I’d have to step it up while the sun was out. So for loop 3 I pushed the pace.

At first, this was no problem. It was a cool, sunny afternoon and I was running well. But my Big Lie caused me to make several key mistakes.

What was this lie? Main goal to finish, stretch to PR. So “just finish it” should have been my focus, and let the PR happen if it could. But my real goal had become “PR or bust” – in other words, the priority was reversed. That PR was all I worried about on loop 3.

And I couldn’t shake the idea that I was “half an hour behind” the rest of the runners. Ridiculous. The race was chip-timed, and I was in the middle of the pack by now. Okay, by starting on time I’d have had an extra half hour of daylight. No big deal. But I couldn’t get that negative thought out of my head.

Next, in my desire to be “efficient” I did not grab a jacket from my drop bag at the halfway mark of loop 3. At the time, the afternoon was still warm. But guess what, as the sun set, it got cold – quickly – and all I had was a sweaty short-sleeved shirt.

I reached the aid station at mile 14, and out of nowhere I got light-headed and had to sit down. Ten minutes later, after some hot soup and cold Coke, I’d recovered physically. But mentally I had already checked out. I was tired and cold, and my feet were very sore. I decided to “walk it in” the final six miles and decide then whether or not to go on.

Those six miles were hell. I couldn’t even keep up with other walkers, and I started tripping on roots. If I went on, I’d have forty more miles of this, in the dark, and it was likely I’d damage my feet further for no real benefit. The PR was gone, along with my motivation. Even my inner samurai told me it was okay to cash it in. I completed the loop, changed into dry, warm clothes, and called it at 60 miles.

This is my first DNF (Did Not Finish) in over ten years, and by all rights I should be feeling bad about it. But I’m not. As my coach pointed out, it was a good long training run, and I learned a lot from it. The lessons from my early DNFs made it possible for me to finish my first 100-miler, and I believe I’ll be better prepared for the 200-miler based on this one.

And my next attempt is already set. I just pulled the trigger on the Ozark Foothills 100 in early April. Tougher course, with Tahoe-like trails and elevation gain. Perfect to apply what I learned from Rocky. Already looking ahead to it. And no more lies.

Post-Rocky, back in Frisco, playing the sponging brother-in-law on the couch.