The 180-Pound Fish

Funniest moment on the trail in Vermont, and it's a hoot.

This is a true story!

Anyone that runs or walks with me knows that I have a habit of picking up trash along the road or trail. This can be on a walk between classes at school, during a run around town, or even during a 100-mile trail run. No, I am not some goody-goody, I figure I owe this debt to our Mother Earth as penance for the beer bottles my brother and I used to chuck at signs as Phil Walters zipped us around in town in one POS vehicle or another. Also, as a kid I actually used to say, "it's not litter if you can't see it!" as I slid a soda can into somebody's hedges. So, if you're running or walking with me now, there is a pretty good chance you'll pull ahead at some point as I wedge a Coors or Bud bottle out of a ditch and respectfully place it in the nearest trash receptacle.

Anyway, this habit paid off for me at mile 50 I had to boot scoot it into the woods to do some business, er a yeah, poop, as I climbed over some logs to get well off of the trail I was mortified to see several, 20 - 24 beer cans scattered in the beautiful Vermont woods. When I finished my business and was heading back to the trail I took another look at the trash and discovered that it was not trash at all, rather this was a case of full beer! Knowing that I was to see Woody when I got back on the trail, Becky and I had hooked up with him 1/2 mile earlier, and knowing Woody's love of the suds, yes sometimes even while running (once Candi and I happened upon Woody and Dan at about 7 AM on a Sunday in Croom when we noticed they were walking and knocking back some tepid suds retrieved from an abandoned cooler on the trail), I snagged two of the King of Beers and replaced my water bottles with them in my running pack. Needless to say Woody was significantly impressed that I could turn chicken scratch into chicken salad! However, he was a good boy and didn't partake in those two beers until after the race. We saw his beautiful wife, Trudy, at mile 55 and I handed the brewski's off to her to place on ice. See it pays to pickup litter, even during a race!

This habit that served me so well at mile 50 came back to bite me in the glutes just shy of mile 70. When I get close to an aid station I start actively looking for garbage to pick-up an bring to aid stations, knowing that they have means of disposal. The Beckster and I were cruising toward the Camp-TenBear aid station (mile 70), and were going downhill and were at mile 69.5 when my budding career in sanitation produced a bit of embarrassment. I didn't have to look too hard for trash as some paper shot right between my legs. I bent down to pick it up and alright! there was a nice crisp picture of Mr. George Washington staring up at me in the form of a one-dollar-bill! My efforts were about to pay off for the second time in one race. As I stooped down (not an easy chore after 12 + hours of running) to snag my prize the wind scooted the bill just out of my reach. No problem, two steps to the left and I bend down again, once more that cursed wind moves the bread just out of reach. Now that's odd thinks I. As I start moving again, I see the adolescent boy laying in his yard grinning at me, fishing pole in hand. It took me a second to put 2 and 2 together to realize that the youth had just caught the biggest fish, all 180 pounds of me, as his $1 bait on the end of his line had me totally hooked! Yes, at first I was furious, "That aint right!" I screamed, but as his friends who had been watching from the roof of a house across the street howled with laughter I added, "But it sure is funny!" And it was! I bet that dude is the hero of his neighborhood today. He got me!

All I can say is if he'd have used the Budweiser I knicked earlier, he could have led me to the finish with a world record!

AndyMan