"There's something wrong with you if you aren't at least a little bit nervous," said 39-year-old John Fegyveresi, who was among a record three Barkley Marathons finishers in 2012. One year it might be socks, another year it might be flannel shirts.īut now, on Saturday morning, with the quirky entry fees settled and the race imminent, the nerves of the competitors became evident. But the rest of the entry fee varies by year based on what Laz needs at the time. Race entry always requires $1.60 and the license plate. Here, in an isolated East Tennessee mountain cove, a new group gathers each spring to subject itself to the sinister combination of Laz's wit and the treacherous terrain surrounding them.Īll had been calm Friday as runners arrived and brought Laz their entry fee: $1.60, a license plate from their home state or country, and a T-shirt with a foreign language on it. They stuffed their faces with calories and carbohydrates and anxiously began stretching. The shell offered little more than a subtle croak on his first few efforts.įinally, at 9:43 a.m., the conch shell sounded, resonating through the trees and signifying an hour until the start of Tennessee's most treacherous foot race.Ĭheers wafted up from the campground below, where 40 runners from around the world, nearly all assured failure before ever passing the starting gate, emerged from tents and campers to make final preparations for the challenge of a lifetime.
Laz can hardly blink without having a camera documenting it these days - at least on the weekend of the Barkley Marathons.Īnd this weekend proved once again that all the commotion is for good reason.Ī few minutes after cracking open the drink, Laz picked up the shell, stepped to the front of his elevated campsite and puffed. "But I could never have predicted all this." "I wanted a race that people got excited about," he continued. "People ask me all the time if I expected this," Laz said as the assembled people bounced their eyes between the bearded 60-something and a conch shell nearby on the wooden table. But it measures more than just speed and endurance.įor decades, the race has lived below the radar of general public awareness, its location and date known only to its inner circle and a group of devoted fans who anxiously await its arrival each spring.īut on a recent Friday morning, dozens of cameramen and spectators descended on a small state park near the old Brushy Mountain State Penitentiary to witness the spectacle that is the Barkley Marathons.Ī small crowd surrounded Gary Cantrell, known as "Laz," as he sat down at a picnic table Saturday, popping the top on a can of soda. Deep in the rugged mountains of rural East Tennessee, a foot race is pushing the limits of human capability.Īt close to 130 miles and with 65,000 feet of climbing, some say it's the world's toughest trail race.
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