More often than not, I hear the words “You’re crazy!” when I tell my friends and family about the training I’m doing or the next race I’ve put on the calendar. After this past weekend, however, my “crazy” can only be called tame. Why the change? I had the tremendous honor of experiencing the Vermont 100 Mile Endurance Run as part of the crew for RUN NYC coach Ramon Bermo. Now this race was crazy! (I think Ramon will tell you the same thing himself).

The race began at 4am Saturday morning in the middle of a very dark field in the middle of the mountains of Brownsville, VT. As me and the others in his crew peppered him with last minute good lucks and hugs, I couldn’t help but look around and stare in awe at all the runners about to embark upon 100 miles of running. I consider myself pretty tough, but I sat there thinking, ‘How in the world does one endure 100 miles?’ I would soon find out.

Minutes before the start it began to downpour, but Ramon barely blinked an eye; it was just part of the adventure. Then before we knew it, he was off. As official handlers, four others and I were allowed to provide Ramon with aid- food, liquids, clothing, gear, etc.- at 9 stations along the route. There were 21 other aid stations where he could refuel, but unless it was an official handler stop, no assistance could be provided to him…by anyone.

We were all thrilled to see him at the first aid station, mile 21.1, and completely awed; he had run almost a marathon already, but was just “starting” the race. After quickly changing shoes, slathering on sunscreen and ingesting some food, he was off again. Next stop: 30.1 miles. We greeted him here by unveiling tees we had designed in Spanish, his native language. He grinned from ear to ear as he read them. We hoped they buoyed his spirit because we knew he had already ran some tough miles. After some soup, a few gels, sports drink and other assorted refueling items, Ramon headed off again. Next stop: a long 17.1 miles away.

I’ll admit that this was a long 17.1 miles for us too. It was tough knowing he was out there, but we couldn’t do anything but wait. It was also in the back of our minds that the next handler station was a mandatory med check station where all runners were required to be weighed. If you lost more than 6% of your starting body weight, you were warned; a 7% loss resulted in disqualification. The Vermont roads were heating up by this time, so we could only hope Ramon was drinking as much as he possibly could.

By the time Ramon made his way into handler station #3, mile 47.2, we were all ready to pounce on him, anxious to assess his condition and find out how the last stretch of miles had been. Ramon was equally anxious to see us; the hills had definitely been tough on him (although Ramon told us the entire course was mountain after mountain…the race website says, “The course both climbs and descends 14000 - 15000 feet”). After being weighed, Ramon made his way over to us. The verdict: down 8 pounds. We needed to get him rehydrated, pronto. Less than 15 minutes later though, Ramon was ready, refueled with orzo soup, a couple salt tablets, several gels and a big smile on his face. I stood there in complete disbelief; here was a man 47.2 miles into a 100-miler and he was still smiling and cracking jokes. Unbelievable.

We bid Ramon farewell with a cacophony of cowbells, hoots, hollers and shouts of good luck (we would become known for our tremendous spirit throughout the race) and hurriedly raced off to the next station 9.8 miles away. When Ramon came trotting into handler station #4 we were all incredibly relieved to find him with more color in his cheeks and less sweat drenching his shirt. He was definitely in better shape. Nonetheless, we immediately pounced on him, forcing him to hydrate, munch on some potato chips and of course, choke down some more gels (this was my job…by the end of the race everyone was calling me the gel sargent which is more than ironic because I haven’t been able to stomach one for years!). After a few wisecracks from Ramon (typical) and some lighthearted heckling on our parts, he was off, headed from handler station #5, Margaritaville.

Less than minutes after we packed up the car and headed toward the next stop, the skies opened up and pounded the ground with torrential rain. We exchanged a few worried looks in the car, but knew the rain might cool the weather and Ramon, always the warrior, would take the rain in stride.

As luck would have it, the rain ceased just as we pulled into mile 62.1. Shortly after setting up, Ramon came running into Margaritaville. The rain hadn’t bothered him, but his back was in serious pain, and it seemed most likely due to his kidneys. We all tried our best not to seem worried, but we couldn’t help it. Pushing away the worry, we went to work, forcing him to drink more fluids, take more salt, suck down more gels and talk to us about what we could do. Ramon reassured us that he wouldn’t do anything stupid and would listen to his body. Reluctantly, we sent him off. We would see him in another 8 miles, at 70.1 miles, where we finally be able to send pacers off with him (runners are allowed to have pacers the last 30 miles of the race).

Eager to see him, we sped to handler station #6 and spent some time before Ramon’s arrival cheering for everyone who came running in. Just like Ramon, these people were working their tails off and we wanted to give them all as much support as we could (we were later told that other runners were envious of Ramon’s crew…yeah, we were pros :)). It wasn’t long before Ramon got his share of shouts from us. After another mandatory weigh-in (he had gained back 3 pounds…yay!), we settled him in a chair and did our thing: change his socks, apply bug spray, force him to eat at least one gel, refill his water, rub his back and do literally everything we could to get him back out there in ok shape. Ramon was hesitant to admit it, but his back was still bothering him. We knew it too, but we also were aware that no matter what, he wouldn’t be dumb…or so we hoped. And you wouldn’t believe it…despite having run 70.1 miles and being in some serious pain, Ramon was still smiling, still making fun of us and still looking ahead to the final 30 miles with a positive attitude. I was beyond astonished, and utterly in awe of his incredible strength.

We soon sent Ramon off with our first pacer Michele and I think all of us felt a little more at ease now that he had company, particularly since we were heading toward dusk. Plus, the next handler station was only 6.9 miles away. We would see him sooner than later. Ramon rolled into handler station #7, mile 77, looking and sounding better…the back pain was dissipating a bit and I think Michele’s company had buoyed him. After a short stay (during which I told him I would love him forever if he ate just one gel; he obliged), Ramon headed out with our second pacer, Peter, and we knew he would need Peter’s help. According to the course info, this section of the run was coded red; read VERY HARD. Ramon would later admit that this was also one of the hardest sections for him mentally and Peter could attest.

I spent some time with Ramon next and I can hardly describe what a crazy experience it was! I think it is appropriate at this point to also tell you that the Vermont 100 miler is also a horse race. Yes, you read that right. Alongside the runners were riders and their horses. (The race actually started 20 years ago as a horse race only; two years later humans were added). This was the most incredible sight to see at night. I am told that horses have amazing night vision, so the riders wore no headlamps; the only light they had were glow sticks strung to the horses. Truly amazing. I chattered to Ramon for several miles (in the pitch black of Vermont, straight up some of the steepest hills you can imagine) and before I knew it (hopefully it felt as short for him too!), we were at the next handler station, mile 88.6!

After being weighed for a final time, we allowed Ramon 2 minutes and 30 seconds (yes, several people were timing it!) to lay down and put his feet up. Then after a complete outfit change, more force-fed gels and liquids and a bevy of quips from Ramon (yes, he was still smiling and joking at mile 88.6), our next pacer Kelly, took off with him. Little did she know, Ramon was ready to run…fast!

I’m not sure Ramon knows this (though he will now!), but he and Kelly ran so fast that we barely made it to the next (and last) handler station at mile 95.5. When we heard Kelly shout through the darkness that Ramon was coming and didn’t want to stop, we were all astonished, but jumped into action, filling his water bottle on the run and sending our last pacer, Aimee off with him. They were off into the night before we knew it, and stunned we each looked at one another dumbfounded thinking the same thing: how in the world could he run that fast 95.5 miles into a race?!

There was little time to waste, however. Ramon had just 4.5 miles left and we had to get to that finish line. We charged off toward the same spot we had sent him off from 22-some hours before. We all settled in at the finish line and jumped every time we saw headlamps flash through the darkness. Finally, after an agonizingly long, in our minds, wait, Ramon came steaming across the finish line in 23:27:05! All of us couldn’t have been more proud and excited for him, and we each welcomed him home with huge hugs and wholehearted congratulations. Ramon did it. Not only had he run 100 miles, but he had done it in less than 24 hours!

The story doesn’t end here, though. Ramon’s 100 mile run wasn’t just about enduring the distance or seeing how hard and far he could push his body. Ramon’s 100-miler was about a little girl named Kate, who after battling a blood cancer, just got the “all clear” from her doctor and has said adios to chemotherapy. In Kate’s honor, Ramon has raised over $55,000 for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society, with hopes of reaching $75,000. Ramon ran for Ms. Kate (and her sisters Emma and Olivia too!) and so many others. In a thank you email Ramon sent last week he said, “On July 19th, I’ll be running for all of you going thru treatment, for your families, your friends, your husbands and wives, your grandparents, your sister or brother, I’ll be running for those fighting cancer, any cancer, on the bed, or on the lab, for those fundraising $$.” And oh did he run!

Even though the race is over, Ramon will continue to help in the fight to cure blood cancers. You too can help. Click here to donate and help move us one step closer to curing blood cancers.