"The darkness was almost complete, only the weak haze of the flashlight penetrated the pervaslve gloom. Highlights of glistening black liquid shone around the haphazard jumble of dozens of irregular footprints in the mud. Sucking, splashing noises were all he could hear. The dank, sour odor of deeply mixed mud and rotting horse manure drooped over his nostrils like a blanket. He could feel the chill of the night seeping through the sweat trickling down his back. How had he come to be here, he wondered."

     Welcome to the Bridle Trails Twilight 50K in Bridle Trails State Park, Kirkland, Washington. After random arrivals, hellos, and reminiscences at 4:00 pm some 62 souls, a fair number of them women, both young and old, took off into the forested twilight. Here it was, late Saturday afternoon, east of Seattle's Lake Washington, winter's chill in the air and a weak southern sun poking feebly through the overcast haze. Temperatures would dip into the mid-30's after darkness, but fortunately the rain held off until late in the event when most runners would be done.

     The first lap went well, despite the occasional confusion at trail forks because the strategically placed nighttime glow-sticks were not yet visible in the late afternoon light. Some runners gingerly hopped and skipped over or detoured around the early mud holes and pockets, not realizing what awaited them later on the course and into the night. The first 5-mile plus loop went relatively quickly, though the inevitable, pervasive mud was soon discovered. Still, most feet were relatively dry on the first lap and spirits were generally high.

     Darkness crept in almost unnoticed on the second lap, when I discovered "Laurie." She was going backwards on the trail somewhere near the middle of the back side of the course. She had been running 60-70 minutes, but had yet to reach the start/finish point of the loop when nightfall overtook her. Now she was staggering perilously in the black muck and ooze without a light. She had obviously taken a wrong turn somewhere earlier, and now she was meandering aimlessly in the blackness. I urged her to follow me, since I was half way through my second lap, and I was sure I could take her to the start/finish aid station.

     We stomped and thrashed through the mud and brush. I would slow periodically for her to catch up, and I would announce "root," "tree," (for the occasional downed tree), or note the sometimes especially deep mud hole, and I would shine my light backwards for her to see the announced obstacle. Thus, over the next 20-30 minutes, we made our way to the aid station. A quick hug and thanks, a hasty cup of Coke, and I was out on my third lap. Laurie, undaunted, would get her light and her bearings and be out on her second lap.

     My third lap was uneventful, but already muddier, longer, and slower than the previous ones. And it was now totally dark, except for the occasional lights of nearby streets and developments as the trail approached the park margins before turning back into the reserve. My fourth lap brought failing, feeble flash lights (2), a somewhat weakening resolve, and growing impatience with the course, the mud, my wet feet, and the sloggy darkness. Now I was forced to run through the middle of the ankle-deep mud holes, where the best footing was to be found. This was also the only place which could reasonably be seen in the murky gloom. My time for this lap fell off significantly. Finally, I reached the aid station and retired to the shelter to work upon my three miserable flashlights. That task completed, I gulped down another cup of Coke with a water chaser, and I was off on my fifth lap.

     This lap was to be my slowest yet. The course was still longer, darker, and muddier. A very occasional dark form would slowly enter into view ahead only to be passed in turn with a grunt or salutation, as I lurched ahead into the blackness. Likewise, sometimes a light would become evident to my rear, growing ever brighter and casting my shadow, until it passed into the night. Meanwhile, occasional eerie green or red glow-sticks would perch silently in the abyss ahead, watching mockingly the spectacle below. They would beckon, hauntingly, quietly, even ghostly through the inky, sloppy darkness. My addled mind and now insular, failing tunnel vision, along with my growing fatigue and numbness would only enhance the effect of personal isolation. My sinking reflexes and mounting stiffness also aggravated the extreme muddiness of the trail, and I would advance slipping and sliding through the persistent muck. Sometimes an especially poor placement of a foot would force me to flail helplessly against the darkness, thereby splashing wet but invisible ooze onto my face or chest. And the smell of sour, rotten mud would entice my unhappy stomach to produce another fitful retch. Thus I slogged and mucked through the fifth lap - my worst.

     Mercifully, the aid station finally appeared. Gary Parcher, with whom I had come, happened to be at hand. He gave me a new, bright light to replace my once again failing beam, and I was off on my final round. On this lap, more people passed me than on any other, perhaps 6-8 people, though I passed still others and passed some of the passers back, The rise and fall of fortune at this point is curious but typical of ultras, as energy and concentration ebb and flow. Each of us by now is firmly locked in battle with our own private demons and the omni-present urge to quit the fight. And this plays out in the dark muddiness amidst the silent trees. Here you must will your rebellious, complaining body to maintain the chase. After all, this is what you came for! Now you are engaged in it.

     I ended the run in 5:33:02. I have no idea where I placed, nor how many finished, but I edged a few of my long-time ultra friends and rivals, and I finished. For that I am pleased. Also, the opportunity to sit, reflect, and stop the chase is immensely satisfying. At length I get cold. It is now 35 degrees in the woods, and I need to get changed. There is a nearby restroom in the park with an outside hose and a pay shower. Some hose off the mud outside, others disrobe before entering. Everything is thrown into a garbage bag. Several people simply throw their shoes and socks into the trash. The hot water feels divine. Soon we are back on I-405 heading south, and now it rains lustily and blows hard. We were spared an even worse fate! This very morning, the now infamous Cascade Half-marathon will be run. We reach Gary's house at 2:30 AM, where I move to my car, At 4:00 AM, I slip quietly into bed. It was quite an adventure! And that's why we do it.