MS50 Race Reports and Comments

ALL NEW SIGNS & WONDERS!

by Rich "The Troubadour" Limacher

No, the "Marlboro Reds" sign is old. It's become sort of a standard. Something to be looked out for, to be shuddered at, to let you know you're not in the wrong race. And you certainly can't miss it-if you are indeed in the right race. It's put there every year just ahead of the first aid station called Bubba's Trucks Stop; and, yes, it's plural because, when Bubba sees big loads like mine hauling up that road every year, he knows there's more than one truck.

So no, this isn't one of the new "Signs And Wonders." Bubba did put out some new ones, but most of the "freshly added" were scattered around the second aid station, which is also the third aid station, because it does double duty. It dutifully shoves folks on down the out-and-back road, who then risk dying in traffic; and then, when they arrive DOA back at the (very same) third aid station, they perform their second duty and call for a hearse.

Along the way, though… ah, that's where all the wild new things to read are!

Here's a few of the more memorable ones:

A PANDA CAN POOP UP TO 40 TIMES A DAY.

Hmmm… no wonder there's so much logging being done in this forest. To make all that toilet paper! And BTW, I've also been told (by zookeepers perhaps?) that panda poop looks like sweetcorn. Maybe that can be next year's sign?

Here's another one from this year:

AS MANY AS 300 WEDDINGS ARE PERFORMED IN LAS VEGAS EVERY DAY.

Right. Even more poop!

And possibly as one of the less subtle effects of all this matrimonial cause-

THERE ARE TWO EARTHQUAKES ON THE PLANET EVERY MINUTE.

Or, hey, almost as many Las Vegas weddings!

In the spirit of Burma-Shave (and I'll bet I'm about the only runner here that remembers those old roadside signs), we travelers just love being entertained every year with new trailside signs (and wonders, too). Like this one:

HIPPOPOTAMUS MILK IS PINK.

But maybe it's past-your-eyes before you can see it?

Now let me guess about rhinoceros milk. I'll bet it "builds strong bodies 12 ways." I'll bet it's like Bosco. I'll bet rhinoceros milk is chocolate.

Do you see how all these clever little-known-fact-but-true signs give us runners something to think about-besides pain? It is indeed a wondrous concept. And whoever does the research on all this should be commended. Heck, I have been in such pain over the years here that-you betcha!-reading a fresh sign that I might've missed on an earlier loop gives me just enough brain-balm to ooze straight through to the finish.

How about this one:

YOUR BODY CONTAINS ENOUGH IRON TO MAKE A 2-INCH NAIL.

Right. And right about now, it'll be the last one in my coffin.

Another thought provoker:

PARROTS NAME THEIR YOUNG AND JUST LIKE US THEY KEEP THOSE NAMES FOR THE REST OF THEIR LIVES.

Until, I suppose, they get them changed at The Chapel of Love in Las Vegas.

Bubba's their own self did come up with a new one. It was just after their station and it was about 8,000 words, all in small print, and thus tempting you to STOP and READ the whole dang "thang" whilst you were munching your chips and swilling your Heed. It took me ten minutes to read. And it was all about how races are meant for you to MOVE and put forth YOUR BEST EFFORT, but if you're standing here reading this stupid sign, you are NOT moving or putting forth your best effort.

So, yeah. When I finally got to the end of the sign, I dropped the chips and chugged the drink and got my panda-ass the heck OUTA THERE!!!

And never mind the 40 poops.

Here's one of my favemost signs; and, sure, next year go ahead and ask me how I remembered this:

ANATIDAEPHOBIA IS A WEIRD CONDITION IN WHICH YOU THINK THAT SOMEHOW, SOMEWHERE YOU'RE BEING WATCHED BY A DUCK.

Wow. Who knew?

And finally, this next one is indeed my absolutely all-time favorite. It appeared alongside the out-and-back "road of death" just after leaving that second aid station. Check it out, oh ye millennials:

IF WE SEE YOU COLLAPSE, WE'LL PAUSE YOUR GARMIN.

BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!

I nearly peed when I read that.

And if that didn't make me feel all warm and fuzzy (and moist) inside, just a tad farther down that same road, this happened:

A sweet young speedy runs by me, then stops, turns around and says, "I'm really impressed that you've done this for 20 years!"

Hmmm… does she mean reading signs, or showing up every year for the race?

"Twenty-two!" I correct her, grinning.

"Oh, sorry," she grins back, then continues speeding.

Awesome runner. And actually-ya know?-I think the privilege of appreciating young people fly is what brings me back to Mississippi each March.

That, and this (which happened on my second loop at that same aid station):

A nice young man who was volunteering there says to me, "Didn't you know Dr. Touchstone?"

"Oh yes," I respond. "He was a good friend for years."

"He was my orthodontist when I was growing up."

"Oh."

"He used to tell stories of running a hundred miles, and I just couldn't even comprehend it!"

"Oh yes," I say. "He and I might've even done one or two."

"And now look," he says. "I'm HERE!!!"

"Yes you are!" I tell him. "Yes you are. And you'll be running hundreds, too, before long."

And, well, that's the real reason for my, um, longevity "record"-shared of course with Harry and Bob. The REAL REASON is to remember our old friend, Dr. Carl Touchstone, without whom none of this in the middle of the DeSoto National Forest could have been possible.

So please, everyone involved, whom I gratefully admire, keep this memorial running!
[For at least another 22 years, eh?]

TWENTY YEARS OF RUNNIN' AND THEY GIVE YOU THE DAY SHIFT

by Rich "The Troubadour" Limacher (from 2017, but its timeless now)

Back in my day, we had Bob Dylan. I think he started out as some kind of Yankee (possibly Damn) from Minnesota, but doubtless ended up in the Rock 'n' Roll Hall of Fame. In his equally nowadays unknown Subterranean Homesick Blues, he sings this lyric: "Twenty years of schoolin' and they put you on the day shift."

[Ever your pseudo-scholar, I've footnoted it here: http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/bobdylan/subterraneanhomesickblues.html. See the last stanza.]

If you're searching for relevance, you won't find any. Or maybe there's this: I have now run your usually soggy Mississlippery footrace for 20 years. (Hubba hubba. Yay me-and two other guys.) So there's been three of us who've run this thing (or some version thereof) for not only two decades, but also two decades in a row! Except for 2006 and the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina, when the race was cancelled.

So. That's almost 20 consecutive years, almost from March of 1996 to March of 2016, and almost 20 completions of the 20 distances I signed up for. But as I've told countless others over the centuries, "Mississippi is the only race I know where a finish isn't guaranteed, not even by the people who put on the race!" Indeed, it's the only known race that's ever been "called on account of rain" twice!!

But I get ahead of myself. This is supposed to be a grand, perhaps subliminal, retrospective of one lone runner (perhaps crawler) over the course of the past score years. I just wish I could remember them.

In 1996 the very man we memorialize, Dr. Carl Touchstone, was alive and well and putting on an ultramarathon in the middle of the Mississippi woods. (Its predecessor was a road race, consisting of many loops run on pavement around some MS town I've never been to.) This was now woods indeed: deep in the middle of the DeSoto National Forest, where Robin Hood and his Band of Merry Men gave me the idea of coming from the Middle Ages. I think. Hence my e-mail "handle." Well, it probably wasn't Robin Hood. It was probably the Sheriff of… Cook County, Illinois. I developed my e-address because nobody knows how to spell "troubadour" and you cannot believe how much this has cut down on my SPAM. Plus the Sheriff hasn't been able to find me either, in order to serve a summons. But I digress.

Carl, who fast became my great friend in this brave new whirled called "ultrarunning," just so happened to hold his first woodsy footrace right smack on my birthday. And for my being from the Middle Ages and born some 800 years previous, that took some research! But Carl did it. So of course I showed up-and wham: his dear wife Wanda even brought a birthday cake to the race. Heck, they sang to me after I finished! No one's ever done that! Never before nor since. (At a race, I mean.) So, it was evening and morning The First Year.

On the Second Year, our Carl staged another race in the woods, and I similarly attended. And during those early years of creation, I actually did manage to finish 50 miles. Our Carl wasn't overly impressed, though. When I looked up his running records, his times beat my times by hours! But Carl was also good friends with Norm and Helen Klein, who put on (perhaps the most famous ultra of all) the Western States 100-Miler, and so I managed to run that that year as well. Hubba-hubba. Yay me. None of those folks were impressed.

On the Third-thru-I-don't-know-how-many-years, Carl and his race experienced something which to me was very unusual: monsoons. The rains fell so hard and heavy that, yes, "the good Lord wasn't willing and the creek did rise"-practically over my head! So the good rangers of the National Forest came and called off the race-during the middle of the race! They didn't want any drownings, they said. Thus Carl couldn't let me finish the 50-miler, but he did allow me to run the "little loop" (at that time it was called "The Dog Loop") and so finish the 50K. I remember being disappointed. It was my slowest 50K ever. Today? OMG I'd take that time in a heartbeat!

Sadly, waaaay before his time and way before the race blossomed into what it's become today ["What's it become today, Rich?" I have no idea. But it's good!] Carl succumbed to a horrible cancer. I was devastated. We all were. But then Steve DeReamer stepped up and directed the race and so it became The Carl Touchstone Memorial Mississippi Trails 50/50 (and later the /20 was added). Oh yes, and there's a picture (somewhere on this website) of Steve himself somewhere at Western States at some time in his life, also obviously influenced by Carl, if not by Norm and Helen, to suffer through 100 miles. Maybe he figured race directing a distance half that size wouldn't amount to double the work.

But certainly it does require that. And Steve hung on as long as he could until Dennis Bisnette has now taken over (and done a superb job!) currently memorializing our friend Carl year after year, which is why I keep showing up. (By the way, the good Rangers of the National Forest also "called the race" once during Steve's tenure as well. That's twice. "On account of rain." Who knew? Baseball gets called on account of rain, not footraces!)

I have other memories as well, except I'm too old to remember them. Oh wait. Once those Mississippi Monsoons were so severe, the trails became rivers (all underwater!) and the mud was so much like quicksand that it actually succeeded in sucking my sole off. No, not the shoe-the sole! It severed right off the shoe! Can you imagine? Fortunately it happened not too far from my parked rental car, and I was able to change into a spare pair that luckily I'd prophesied enough to bring along. My race was saved, and my unbroken "streak" remained unbroken. Over the years, Carl has looked out for sad sinners like me.

What else? Oh, all those highly entertaining trailside signs! Wow. Like Burma-Shave. (See my previous year's report.) This year, Bubba's Filling Station boasted similar signs, and so I asked them: "What in the world is Pee's Cornbread?" Bubba's volunteers laughed and offered to sprinkle me some… but I declined. Which reminds me of another sign: something to the effect that the Ancient Romans used their urine for toothpaste. (Gag!) Where do they get these tidbits? These highly suspect factoids? Another one said, "There are 177,147 different ways to tie a tie." It took awhile to commit that to memory. I'm currently trying to disprove that number.

Oh, one last thing (and this is about Carl and why I've missed him so much over all these years): The very first year that "parking tags" were issued by the National Forest, some of us didn't know what to do with them. At the pre-race banquet, I remember Carl saying that those new fees had all been paid (as they continue still to be paid) out of our entry fees. So when I showed up on race morning, and (I'm such a dufus) decided just then to rummage around my pre-race packet and find the parking tag, I bring it to Carl at the check-in table and ask: "What do I do with this, Carl?"

Without missing a beat, he takes it out of my hand, balls it up, and pitches it into the nearest trash barrel. "That's what you do with it," he says. "Your parking has already been paid."

You can't beat a guy like that, which is why I keep returning in my own feeble attempt to keep his memory alive. I just, you know, keep showing up and watching my race times go further and further into the trash. I'm pretty sure Carl isn't honored by that.

Nevertheless, the first thing that happened after 20 years when I and the other "perfect attendees," Harry Strohm and Bob Wilkerson, showed up for the banquet was: Dennis had us gather 'round and then told us, "You don't have to pay anymore." Hey, sweet! And thanks!!

So what this maybe means is that for the rest of our muddy earthly lives, we get to run those lovely, soggy, and often underwater Mississlippery Trails for free. And no matter what, those three different-distance races always take place between 6 AM and 6 PM. Or, in other words: "20 years of runnin' and they give you the day shift."

But of course your results may vary (YRMV), so don't quote me on this.

[End of memory]
[YMMV]