It was inevitible that I was going to melt down and start talking to myself, but I didn't anticipate it happening at 124 miles. I'd been hoping for the greater part of three hours that the rumor of thunderstorms I'd seen in the distance would usher in something truly awful, perhaps even a tornado, anything to get me off this road for a while without the personal stigma of having thrown in the towel. But, the clouds were all passing south-- too far south to be of any use to me. Blisters and hot spots had boiled all over my feet, the chafing had spread like fire over gasoline, and I felt pitifully sorry for myself, hot, hungry, and mildly disoriented, raw skin burning in all the places a person wants least to be burning. I was tired of walking, but I couldn't bring myself to run. I'd reached my breaking point-- those last few threads pulling at my psyche, threatening to kick me into a wasted, demoralized crying jag, just as a convenience store came into view, and the welcome sign for Linden. I could see from the road that there were tables and chairs in the store. Relief! I lumbered through the door and struggled to find my own voice in the process of choosing food. What did I want? Food. What kind of food? Food I could eat. Burger or pizza? Food. Coke or DrPepper? Drink. Sit? Fuck.

The Vol-State is not just another ultramarathon. It is much more than that. The Vol-State is a journey, an adventure, and an exploration of inner space. It begins with a ferry ride across the Mississippi River, from Missouri to Kentucky, and finishes at “the Rock,” high atop Sand Mountain in Northeast Georgia. What lies in between are 314 miles of the great unknown.