A Lot of Hollerin’ at Pumpkin Holler Hunnerd: An Ultra-Racing Story of Heat and Heart
Melissa Brevetti, Ph.D
I flirted with the idea of stopping after the first loop, after getting lost and falling apart in some hot weather. It was turning into mid-afternoon, and the sun had no plans of stopping — unlike this runner who thought she could stop and be home in time to watch some baseball with her husband and snuggle with her three-year-old twins.
If I left now, I could avoid my deep fear of night running. I flirted — and then I thought that I had trained for a long, long time to try and reach this finish line.
With a quiet resolve, I put my gear back on. A runner whom I met at the hotel saw me, moving a little unsteadily towards the bridge that was the gateway over the Illinois River to the racing trails. He called out to me, with valid concern in his voice, “You are not going back out, right?” I looked around at several runners who appeared to be pulling out of the 100K distance as they pulled off their gear. My mouth was dry. My tummy was queasy. I was not sure how I was going to make another 30+ miles. Nonetheless, I grabbed my headlamp. I called back, “I believe so.”
And I started to run back out before I changed my mind.
Seven hours earlier, I was standing in my pink tank top and waiting for the start gun to announce the commencement of the Pumpkin Holler Hunnerd (PHH) at Tahlequah, Oklahoma. Although the race happens in October, the name has roots to honor the small community “Pumpkin Holler” of Cherokee County. The trail goes along the J.T. Nickel Family Nature and Wildlife Preserve. Fortunately, this morning was crisp and pleasant since it was about a 50-degree start as the sun came up to the raucous of excited runners. The fall foliage shone beautifully in Eastern Oklahoma. With pops of red, orange, and gold, the trees were already promising much beauty — and I marveled that this run along the scenic Illinois River should be pleasant with cloud coverage, according to one of the forecasts.
The run started well, heading out in groups with lots of chatter and introductions. I ran the first several miles with Jamie from Idaho. We quickly fell into an easy conversation about being moms and running to find our happy places. As runners do, we spoke candidly about our lives and wished each other to have a strong race when we parted. I had picked up some speed and felt good.
Given the lovely weather at the start, one might have thought it was a sign of a smooth race to come. But that is not this story.
Around mile 20, I happened to see another runner whom I knew. Several runners introduced themselves, and plausible ultra race stories were being shared. We chuckled that anything can happen while surviving an endurance running event. Little did we know, that we missed a major turn. At the next aid station, we were told that we would have to head back since there would not be support along this route after that morning’s first loop. That created some concern inside me.
Now, before we lost any more precious time, we were driven backwards to catch the correct path. “Official Running Rules” do not allow ultra-runners to take vehicles to move forward. I confess that it hurt to lose several miles, not to mention 30–40 minutes of time. Later, those miles would matter more than you could ever imagine.
To pass the time and maintain positivity, a runner who was in the Air Force and I started to speed along together. He and I laughed at our perspectives because he told me that he was a young millennial while I’m a geriatric millennial. I seemed less tired than the previous miles during this happy stretch, as we moved downhill and chatted. Perhaps it was the nice downhill and a warm waffle inside me. Then, abruptly, I sensed that my thirst had been building. The sun was starting to beat down. The heat would be unforgiving as the afternoon sun beamed. My vision blurred. The sun seemed to grow more and more intense. I could smell the sunscreen that I had lathered myself in. Pondering the situation, I told myself to hydrate better and take the time to drink more electrolytes, but my tummy was not ready to eat lunch yet. The heat hit me hard and unexpectedly.
The final 10 miles of the first loop were hot and tough. Although I was drinking constantly, my mouth was dry and nothing could quench the thirst…
When I decided to go back out to complete the 100K, I texted my mom and husband. I sent a simple text. I wrote a brief message with just a few words: First Loop. Hot and hard.
If I stopped for too long, I would lose focus. My irrational brain contemplated on finishing what one starts, and how the heart is inspired when it beats for others. In my world, of course, that meant my faith and my family, as well as fellow runners out in these tough conditions.
With strides that seemed to grow in purpose, I started back out over the bridge and trotted back over to the early inclines. When I ran those on fresh legs several hours ago, I had reminded myself that the hills were to be traversed with toughness the second time around. My back was now to the sun, which was slowly beginning to set in the west — finally, the sun was not so intense. I could make up some time with the weather starting to cool. This thought pleased me initially. It was not after four o’clock, and I was picking up my speed again.
I hurried to get some miles in, starting to feel the stress about my ability to maintain calm and purpose once the woods became completely dark at nighttime.
This night moved in fairly quickly. With some false confidence, I strapped on my headlamp. I patted the pepper spray that clicked into the belt around my waist.
My favorite band The Beatles’ song “It’s Been A Hard Day’s Night” took on a whole new meaning when this race transitioned to nightfall.
I continued to self-talk and got myself going fairly steadily. Indeed, my feet and heart felt steady. “You just try me, mountain lions!” I called out. “You don’t want to mess with this one!”
When I kept my light straight on the path, my thoughts stayed focused. I seemed to handle the night better than I had hoped. That being said, when I glanced to the sides and could see the glowing eyes, as my light veered dangerously off the path, it would somehow represent how my mind veered into uncomfortable thoughts. It’s an uneasy feeling when you are in the dark and see glowing slits of eyes in the trees beside you.
With about 15 miles left, I felt something bump my leg. The mysterious animal was smooth!
I let out an ear-splitting scream that seemed to echo in the dark countryside. Hollerin’ from sheer panic. As it was, I was beyond ordinary exhaustion, but the adrenaline kicked up in my body. My heart raced, and I jumped. Quickly, I turned back to see what was behind me. My light revealed a large brownish-green toad. I laughed from relief. “Oh, it’s only a toad,” I weakly laughed some more. “I’m so glad it was only a toad.”
And now the fear of something different seemed to creep in, just a bit. Although I saw some tarantulas and smaller snakes, I started to lose some focus. Worried about tripping or running into someone or something much more dangerous than a toad, my mind started to play some tricks.
To calm myself, I started to walk for about a minute or two, then I would run a good stretch. It seemed like my strategy was working. Just. Keep. Problem-Solving. I’d try to run as hard as I could for about 15 minutes. However, the now illuminated aid stations that were fairly close throughout the day began to feel like the Summit of Everest to the Base Camp. Truth be told, I had only about 10K left, and my mind was not in a good place. That’s when, of course, I bumped into the Diamondback snake.
Too tired to really scream this time, I jumped — as did the snake.
I shined my light right at it. “Oh. My.”
The snake seemed to be making up her mind what was best to do.
She hissed some. I muttered what I hoped was a convincing “No, no.”
I did not have to make up my mind. I would run — with everything that I could muster and in whatever opposite direction — to get away from a determined snake.
Slowly, the snake started to move… away from my light into the dark woods. Thankfully.
Now I understood why Indiana Jones had his snake phobia in Raiders of the Lost Ark. As the classic line goes, “Snakes…why’d it have to be snakes?” Agreed.
More night running ensued. I tried to play games with the time.
With about a mile to go, I saw a strange light. I called to the person (?). I called again to ask, “Who are you?” I cried into the night, “Are you a volunteer?” I pulled out my pepper spray and unlocked it with my finger on the trigger. My hand could not stop shaking.
I had hoped it was a volunteer. My confusion was growing into horror.
The light was strange. My mind was tired and scared. I called my mom to just stay on the phone with me. I knew someone was out there. It’s a mystery. My mind sensed there was trouble — and I have good instincts, even though I was so scared and jumbled. My mom‘s voice was good to hear. Trying to figure out a plan, I started to run backwards when I saw another girl runner coming in the distance. It seems unfathomable, but when you are scared, you will move away from the finish.
This runner was incredible. Her name was Jess, and she calmed me down — so we could move forward. One light was just an odd green light. The other light could have been a runner or a volunteer who could not have heard me. I don’t know.
What I do know is that I covered 66 miles in almost 15 hours. I’m very grateful to all the amazing volunteers, runners, and my family. They told me no more adventures. I said that I would not have any more this year. Maybe. Perhaps humans have a triumph of desire and adventure more than we care to admit. Dreams are meant to be chased. And good sense, well, it’s tough to reason when aspiring towards a finish line.
