sunday was like a whole new world in the campgrounds.
bright sun had replaced the steady rains and low hanging clouds.
it was warm instead of cold.
about half the tents were gone.
 
if it weren't for all the limping people,
with their bruises and cuts,
and the wall of license plates,
it would be hard to tell the barkley was happening.
 
there were a couple of issues that i needed to attend.
first, i got some chicken going on the grill.
after the insanity of saturday,
i was ready to put some hot food in me.
 
it was also time to start studying the placement of the runners.
i still felt fine,
but, approaching 30 hours without sleep, and only 4 hours in the last 80,
i knew i would need to get a nap soon.
 
i had some time before jared could possibly come thru,
but marcy could show up at any time.
 
really, my schedule depended on what was happening with the four amigos.
abbs, fegys, and coury had to have a good loop,
if there was any hope to make the hundred.
jodi was seemingly over the limit of human possibility.
 
as bad a beating as they had taken,
the weather was almost perfect...
 
for now.
 
it seemed like a longshot.
but there would not be but a couple of hundred milers since the race began,
if it were not for the remarkable guys who had been able to fight the time limit the whole way.
i wasn't going to sell this class short.
and i was not going to let them down.
there would be no serious sleep until all the surviving runners were at least on loop 4.
 
eva and harald.
if there was enough gas in the tank, harald had a reasonable shot at a fun run.
eva would have to have a miracle.
i have seen enough of her that i would not bet against it.
i am not going to underestimate anyone with the ability (and guts) to start loop 3.
real sleep was probably still about 12 hours away.
 
i ate some chicken and then slouched down in my yard chair for a 10 minute nap.
10 minutes later i woke up.
it took a little longer than usual to shake off the cobwebs,
but i felt refreshed enough to make it thru the rest of sunday.
 
sunday was a great day in camp.
defeated runners, who had stayed for the finish,
recounted their horror stories about the race.
little, who had been freed from her prison in the van shortly after sunup,
was finally enjoying her perfect weekend.
 
we spent a lot of time speculating about what was happening to the runners still "out there."
 
the general sense was;
"nothing good"
at the barkley, the beating never stops.
 
30:23:26 race time.
jared completes his fun run in the warm early afternoon.
his third loop took 11:59:48.
it is easy to tell he needs sleep in the worst way,
but there is sun shining.
barkers know how tough it is to make time at night.
daylight is something not to be wasted.
he is back out in only 39 minutes.
he has taken a frightful beating,
but from somewhere deep inside a fire still shows in his eyes.
he reminds me of the campfire that burned all thru the long day of rain yesterday.
31:14 race time.
marcy beard finally completes her second loop.
she is proud to be the first person to time out.
 
6 remain on loop 3.
we wonder where they are, and what is happening.
 
one is out in the rarified air of loop 4.
we wonder if he is human.
 
mig (michiel panhuysen) has come up with a theory about the barkley.
the great minds in camp work on refining it.
 
we know we are the great minds,
because the minds that would still be "out there" must have something wrong with them.
 
essentially that is mig's theory.
the barkley is a stimulus response test...
 
sort of like the tap on the knee,
or the stroking of the sole of someone's foot,
to see if the apprortiate reflexes are functioning,
or, if they fail, there is possible brain damage.
 
the appropriate response to the barkley is to quit.
jared is failing the test.
 
34:00 race time.
eva pastalkova is back.
she has been totalled.
it is not clear how far she got,
even tho she says several times;
"10 books."
 
she came back on the north mac trail.
the north mac trail is not the shortest route home from anywhere on the course.
however, this is not the first time it has been used.
i doubt she cares about anything except the hell has ended,
and a hot shower and warm dry bed are in her immediate future.
 
as the clock ticks remorselessly towards 36:00 race time,
we begin to watch anxiously up the trail.
will anyone be here in time to join jared on loop 4?
has someone managed to come back to life during the perfect day?
 
once again, it is us here in camp who are sufferering.
we are the only ones in the dark.
out on the course they know what is happening.
and it is not that good.
 
36:00:00 race time.
now we all know.
one runner carries the banner for all the barkers.
the course has beaten everyone else.
 
36:36:03 race time.
it is jodi isenor who pulled out the miracle lap.
he started an hour behind everyone else,
and he is the first one back.
is he so happy because he finished a fun run?
or is it just because he gets to stop?
 
apparently he passed the three stooges on the zip line, without seeing them.
that is a good place for that to happen,
altho not good for them, since jodi took the best line.
 
he saw them when he was on ratjaw,
about a mile behind him.
that doesn't sound like they were moving well at all.
sometimes there is strength in numbers,
pulling one another thru the low spots.
sometimes there is only a reinforcement of the desire to quit.
i wonder which is happening out there in the darkness.
 
jodi thinks the others are close behind him.
he has been hearing voices since it got dark.
i keep my smile to myself.
me and raw dog have spent many hours alone in camp at night,
listening to the distant voices of frozen head,
calling to us from the dark woods.
i know what those voices are.
they are the ghosts of crushed dreams and shattered ambitions.
it is the voices of 3 decades of barkley failures
warning us to stay out of these woods at night.
"stay by the fire, where you are safe. there is nothing out here but pain." 
 
i post his finish to the list, under the heading "isenor fails"
it doesn't take long to get indignant responses.
jodi laughs.
failure is not the same thing as defeat.
he lives to fight again.
already he is making plans.
now that he has been "out there" he knows what he faces.
 
and so we wait around the campfire for the others.
and we watch.
 
every few minutes, someone hollers;
"i see a light"
and we all rush over to the gate to wait...
 
for no one.
 
the phantom lights go back as far as the voices.
maybe they are the lights of those ghosts of failure.
 
as the clock ticks down towards 40:00 an unheard command
calls us all to the gate.
for the moment it doesn't matter that the starry skies have sucked all the afternoon heat out of the air.
we all want to see these guys have something to show for their race.
 
i keep getting out my pen and opening the book.
as if that would somehow bring our guys home.
then i look at my watch again.
time is running out.
 
the runners know where they are.
and they know what time it is.
they are either dredging every last reserve from their bodies in a race against time,
or they are dragging themselves thru the mountains for no reward except to end the hell.
 
false alarms are coming more frequently.
even after all these years, i never seem to learn.
when you "think" you see a light, it is nothing.
when a real light shows,
we will know it.
 
crews that were telling me a day and a half ago that;
"anything less than 100 is unacceptable"
are now hanging on a slender thread of hope for a fun run.
 
they were virgins then.
veterans know better.
people who fail at the barkley do not hang their heads in shame.
 
finally comes the moment of truth.
if no light appears right now, for these guys the race is over.
i have one hand on the book to close it one last time, and head for the warmth of the fire,
when bev sings out;
I SEE IT! I SEE A LIGHT!"
some one else sees it too,
and then we all see them
one light,
then another.
and another.
 
everyone starts screaming and hollering at them to hurry
(as if they don't know)
we can see that they are "running"
even the lights look tired, just the way they are moving.
we can see that they are running...
then walking...
then running again.
i cannot see them,
but i am sure they are checking their watches every 20 seconds.
 
we are exhorting them with all our might.
at one point bev, standing next to me, mutters;
"they aren't even trying!"
i'm not sure why, but it is the funniest thing i have heard all day.
 
39:54:59 race time.
john fegyveresi slaps the gate.
his face radiates joy and gratitude.
 
39:55:57 race time.
jamil coury joins fegy.
he just looks incredibly tired...
 
and happy.
 
39:55:59 race time.
alan abbs touches home.
 
all three guys are grinning like the cat that ate the canary.
 
they receive the reception of conquering heroes.
 
then they get tapped out.
sweet, magnificent, failure.
 
ah, the stories they have to tell.
but i won't repeat them,
these are their stories to tell.
 
but i will tell you this much.
it was a heroic fifteen and a half hour loop.
 
now there is one more to go on loop 3.
when i speculate if harald will be the second to time out,
i am corrected.
jodi, john, jamil, and alan timed out.
and they are proud of it.
 
40:49:24 race time.
harald zundell proudly reaches the gate.
"the german" and his crew beam with pride as he is tapped out.
the course beat him,
but it did not break him.
 
i check my watch.
jared has been out nearly 10 hours.
in theory he could be in any time.
i hope it is soon.
whether he stops, or goes on, i get to sleep after he does it.
and i could use a good nap.
it is almost monday morning.
 
44:03:15 race time.
jared comes in.
he does not look so good.
physically he looks kind of wrecked.
but when i look in his eyes, i can still see the fire.
it is buried way down deep.
but it is still burning.
those guys,
those very few guys,
who get the 100,
there is something special in them...
 
even if they do fail the stimulus response test.
 
jared still has it.
 
but he has to get some sleep.
i don't have much choice but to wait up.
no telling when exactly he will leave,
but it won't be long enough to sleep now,
even for me.
 
45:45 race time.
jared is ready to go.
the sun will be up in about 2.5 hours,
and hardly anyone is there to see him go.
everyone left in camp hears the bell, tho.
i make sure of that.
 
i watch him disappear up the trail.
every step looks painful.
he has a very long monday ahead of him.
 
then i go get in the van.
little has been there for hours,
and she has co-opted my mattress.
she is like a liquid dog,
as i try to push her aside to lay out my bedding.
she flows back into her warm spot as fast as i can push her off it.
i don't care too much.
once i make a place for me, she will be really warm under the covers.
 
we have a small dispute when i first get in.
little believes she should still sleep in the middle,
and i can cling to the edge.
i see it the other way around.
 
200 pounds wins out over 50.
i snuggle down in the middle, pushing her to the side,
and pull the covers over us both.
 
i open my eyes to see little's face about 4 inches from mine,
looking back at me.
"i need to poop."
i check my watch.
4 hours. whew. i feel much better.
altho i know it will take more than one normal night's sleep before i feel completely right again.
little honks at me.
"i need to poop NOW!"
it is sunny outside, and i can hear people moving around.
so i get up, put on my boots,
and take little to the brier patch that i have assigned her as a bathroom for the weekend.
maybe it is cold to make my poor dog squeeze in among the briers to poop.
but she doesn't seem to mind.  
and it means i don't have to clean up after her.
the runners have encountered plenty of briers "out there"
they will feel no need to go in the briers next to camp.
 
it is a great day.
the sun is out again, and the day is warm.
probably close to 80 by afternoon.
 
we cook chicken, and eat,
and listen to more horror stories.
 
we speculate about jared, "out there" in his personal hell.
even when you "have it made" at the barkley,
there is a cruel necessity to actually do it.
 
those stories are jared's to tell.
 
57:53:20 race time.
jared comes home victorious.
his 5th loop has taken 12:08.
 
a pretty good crowd has stayed to see him home.
his barkley family.
for we are all family, who have shared this incredible experience.
 
a chair materializes.
a chair always materializes.
jared looks at it for a moment,
as if wondering exactly what this thing is.
then he smiles.
"yes. yes, i think i will..."
and he sits down.
free at last.
 
we pump him for stories for what seems like a long, long time.
we cannot hear enough.
and he seems willing to oblige.
who else, in what other place, will really understand?
 
darkness is falling again, when i finally get to packing up.
me and little get in the van to drive home,
and i make a decision.
a selfish decision.
i know how this works.
i have done it so many times before.
i feel great now,
but in 20 miles it will become a struggle with sleep.
i will stop repeatedly to take naps,
each one buying me another 20 miles,
and the drive home will be a hellish ordeal.
 
"little. i am getting too old for this. we are getting a room, and driving home in the morning."
the barkley fund lost a little ground this year.
but there is enough there to put on next year's race.
i don't think anyone would begrudge me one night's sleep.
so i call home and tell them not to look for me until tomorrow.
i get that room and take the world's most wonderful, long, hot shower.
 
then i go to meet the remaining barkers at the wartburg mexican restaurant.
we have to apologize for getting there 5 minutes before closing,
but it is great to eat something that is not chicken.
and i don't want this weekend to end.
 
it will be a year before the barkley family gathers again.
 
frozen head will be waiting.
 
laz