It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. And it
would’ve been much better if there was a moderation of the two feelings.
Because as great as 50 miles of feeling on the top of the world may have felt,
it was sure a hellish 50 miles (and an extra 6 hours) to end and remember the
race by.
The tradition of Grandma coming to town to watch the
hoodlums seems to be set. I was all excited like a kid waiting Christmas all
Friday. Luckily, my Fridays at school are fairly easy (which always makes a great
start to my weekends). With the new school schedule this year, the kids leave
at 2:30 and we’re allowed to leave at 3:00. I figured it wouldn’t matter too
much if I left early one day (since I get there early every day and typically
work through all my lunches). The bell rang at 2:30 and by 2:35 I was biking
home as fast as I could. We got Zack out of school early and then Amy and I
were off to Bandera at 3:00 p.m. Friday afternoon.
We made it to Boerne by 7 p.m. and it was still light
outside (which had never happened up to this trip). After gassing up the van
and getting our traditional Little Caesar’s pizza (Friday dinner and Saturday
breakfast), we headed out to Hill Country State Natural Area, aka the rocky
hilly place with no cell reception, electricity, running water, bathrooms, or
paved roads (as our van will attest to).
Since we made it before 9 p.m., I was able to pick up my
race packet that night instead of waking up early to get it Saturday morning.
There wasn’t anything special in the packet (some sponsor stuff that would cost
me money if I wanted their products. And I got this far without buying anything
special, so why would I need to do so now?) except for the jacket. I love how
Joe Prusaitis (race director) always gets really nice running jackets. They’re
so nice that I don’t even like running with them (besides the fact that it’s
never cold in Houston) so I don’t end up with permanent sweat stink.
Amy and I walked around a bit just to kill some time before
we went to bed. We looked at the various trophies, found where the
port-o-potties were, and were gonna go down the trail except the trees blocked
out any light from above and it was very dark (and we didn’t bring a light). So
after about fifty feet, we turned around and went back to the car. It’s so nice
to not have little yappy kids around sometimes.
I
came prepared this year to get myself to fall asleep. I brought my Nook, two
mp3 players, and a fully charged phone. And because I was prepared, I didn’t
need it at all. I woke up at one point during the night, but otherwise slept
soundly ‘til my alarm went off at 4:15. Starting with the breakfast of
champions, I had myself a pizza sandwich and began getting my running clothes
on. I walked over to the bathrooms to have 
Though it didn’t really make a difference last year, I
didn’t want to be late again. With our camera broken (thanks kids), we had to
resort to our phone cameras (which luckily have flashes). Amy took a few
pictures of me eating my pizza and within a few more minutes, the race had
started. One last kiss and I was off.
The start of every race (even this one with so many fewer
people) has enough light from everyone’s headlamps and flashlights that I
typically never turn on my light(s) until I’m a few miles into the race and the
runners are a little more spread out. One part of this race that I always enjoy
and wish there was a way I could get a picture of it, is when we get out of the
forest (at least that’s what I call it) and onto a flat wide grassland. The
runners are finally able to spread out to 3-4 wide and there is a quarter mile
of lights bobbing up and down right before we get to the first aid station (Equestrian).
As I turn to go up and cross the road, I love looking back at that sight.
The
first five miles is rather uneventful. We don’t have to sign in at this aid
station and I never stop for anything this early. There’s a bunch of people there
clapping and cheering all the runners along. Five miles of nearly flat trails
that are void of any killer rocks that inhabit so much of the rest of the
course make this the 
Now
it was off to start the fun part of the race. So far, with fifteen miles there
were really only two hills that would bother most people. However, the next ten
miles would have about seven hills with a few non-rocky patches scattered here
and there. But the first lap doesn’t ever matter. I walked up all the steeper
parts of each hill, ran all the flats (or anything close to flat), and walked
down the really steep downhills. I was feeling wonderful as I checked my
breathing rate, my exertion, and my hunger/thirst. Breathing felt normal; I
wasn’t breathing hard at all (except for those longer uphills). I didn’t feel
like I was pushing the pace. I knew approximately how fast I was going just
because I had to write down my number and the time of day at each aid station.
And since I had such a fast race last February at Rocky Raccoon, I figured that
I’d be just fine if I was a little ahead of schedule. The sun was still mostly
behind clouds, so I wasn’t being fried and the food/water I got at each aid
station every five miles was feeling more than sufficient.
I finished the first lap in 4:39:08 and was around 11th
place or so (from counting the 100-milers as they came back toward me). Got
some sweet tea in me (and man did it taste so good), a snickers bar, and an
orange (I ate so many of those during the race). A little bit of water and I
was off to retrace my footsteps but now in the opposite direction. One good
thing about the clockwise, counter-clockwise laps is that you quickly complete
that hellish ten miles right off the bat. But again, the second lap doesn’t
mean too much. Just don’t go too fast or spend too much energy fighting rocks
and hills so you still have something left in the tank for laps three and four.
But I was still floating on top of the world and feeling great. I passed
Lorenzo (Sanchez) a little bit before getting back to Boyle’s aid station.
Asking him what was wrong (he was walking), he replied that his body just
wasn’t cooperating today. He said I looked strong and to keep it going, and I
left not knowing
that I wouldn’t see him again (at least not until the next race). His wife
(girlfriend?) asked me when I was at Boyle’s if I’d seen a shirtless guy and
how he was doing. I said, “Lorenzo?” and I think she was surprised I knew his
name. I told her that he was walking and not feeling too good, but he should be
coming by in the next fifteen minutes or so.
As my second lap continued, I started thinking to myself
that this was going to be a great race. “I’m a machine! I’m gonna smash my last
year’s time (just as I smashed the time from the year before).” Those
I finished fifty miles in 9:15:04 and was in about 4th
place. Incidentally, that time would’ve qualified me for a 6th place
finish in the fifty-miler. But I still had another fifty to go. First place was only about five miles ahead
of me at that time. As I was finishing the last few miles of lap two,
I kept hoping to not see any other 100-milers for as long as possible (since
that would mean I’d be closer to being able to pass them). But then I saw them
both within a few minutes of each other, and they were roughly two miles in
front of me. Not to worry. Two miles over fifty miles just meant speeding up a
few seconds a mile to pass them.
Though
the sun was still mostly behind the clouds, the temperature was rising. Yes,
November was just around the corner but it was in the 70s and the humidity was
a little more than I was used to for this time of year. The only thing ok with
this is that everyone would have to deal with the abnormality of this weather.
I left the Lodge for my third lap and felt pretty good considering I’d just
finished fifty miles. I knew where my three runners were ahead of me and set
off to see what I could do. By the time I got off that lovely hill and down
into the forest, it started. The machine wasn’t feeling tip top anymore. My
pace slowed down quite a bit as I realized that I couldn’t keep this up anymore
and still wanted to be able to finish.
It’s funny how quickly your goals can change. You start the
race knowing you’re gonna be awesome and surge at this place and that place and
how you’re gonna make sure to check your vitals throughout the race to make
sure that you’re not going too fast or skimping on nourishment. Then you start
feeling the pain of doing something wrong (or forgetting to do something) and
no longer do you care about having this great race. You’ll be just fine having
an ok race and not losing to last year’s time. And then the race continues to
wear on you and you don’t even care if people pass you; you’re just gonna
finish, no matter how much time it takes. And then you start to contemplate
what was unthinkable (or sacrilegious) just half a day earlier-DNF’ing (Did Not
Finish).
At this point, the thoughts started creeping in that I might
not be able to catch any of those guys in front of me and that I wouldn’t be
bringing home a cactus (the nice three-foot tall metal trophies for the top
finishers). But I could still fight it. I just couldn’t fight it continuously
for fifty miles, so I had to back off the pace. I came into Equestrian aid
station not feeling super like I had all day up to this point. Amy noticed and
though she was planning on going in to town for some real food and to post race
updates on Facebook, she stayed here to help me. And man was I thankful for
that. Leaving Equestrian, I knew I had a basically flat five miles ahead of me.
But I held back. I wasn’t going to have a crappy finish and I needed to slow
down to save energy. I pulled into Nacho’s aid station feeling even worse. When
asked what I wanted, I responded with “I don’t know. Whatever.” I walked out of
Nacho’s and after a while was able to get myself to start running a bit. I even
took a water bottle with me, hoping that it would make me feel better. It was
the first time I had ever done that during any ultra (I ended up carrying it
for the next ten miles-to Boyle’s aid station). Then I realized that I had
taken my hat off and left it on the chair. But there wasn’t anything in the
world that was gonna get me to go back a quarter mile to retrieve it. Good
thing the sun was on its way down and was still behind clouds most of the time.
There was a beastly hill a few miles out, but it was still mostly flat until
then. Once I got to the hill, the walking commenced until I was down the other
side. One thing I hate about the last half of this race is how hard it is to go
down those steep rocky hills. The trail isn’t smooth in most places and the 1-2
foot drops, which were not even noticed during the first half, all of a sudden
are huge cliffs that require your utmost attention or you’re gonna fall to your
death (maybe not literally).
I
came into Equestrian aid station again with ten more miles to finish the third
loop. This is where it gets really fun. The next twenty miles are the suckiest
of the whole race. But if you can get through that suck, you are almost
guaranteed to finish. I wasn’t feeling too great (still) and just wanted to get
a bit to eat and drink and get out of there. But of course I’m moving all slow
and whining to Amy about how I’m walking so much and not feeling good (like
it’s her fault). And despite wearing compression shorts, my groin is all kinds
of chaffed and my nipples aren’t feeling much better. So I took out the trusty
ol’ Vaseline and lubed up like crazy. Maybe next time I’ll want another pair of
compression shorts on hand in case the first pair get too sweaty from the heat.
I never had a problem with them before (not putting Vaseline on and running
with them), but I’d never gone on this long of a run with them. I ask Amy what time it is and then do some
math and figure I’m probably not gonna make it to Boyle’s aid station before
dark, and it’d be just slightly stupid
to try to do this part of the course by the light of the stars (which ended up
being covered by clouds anyway). I’m still in fourth place at this time, and I
kinda still want to keep that. I have no idea how close the next runner is to
me and…wait. There he is. Great! Well, I gotta go now. So I take off (at the
jogging pace that is my new top speed) and go to make my way up the first of
many hills. Fifth place is right behind me by a couple minutes. I come off that
hill and then I saw a tarantula and had to stop for a few seconds to admire the
beauty of it. A few seconds later I was passed and dropped to fifth. Oh well. I
don’t care. No, I do care. I’m gonna go with him and stay behind him. We get to
the next set of hills and he just keeps going like the machine I was during the
first half of the race, which seems like it was ages ago in another lifetime.
If only I had just signed up for the 50, I’d be done with this and I’d be
enjoying some nice rest and a break from all these damn rocks.
Ok. I made it up this first rocky hill. Now to go over and
up the second. Whoa! I don’t remember it dipping down so low and then going up
like this last time. I can do this, but it’s gonna take some walking. Now on to
the steepest rocky hill of them all (at least in my opinion). It’s not too
long, but long enough for how steep and gravelly it is. I made it passed this
point last year while it was still light and repeated the feat this year as
well. I like not having to go down this beast in the dark. Up isn’t so bad in
the dark (not that I get much of a choice). As I wandered down that bastard of
a hill, my calf started cramping. So I flexed my foot (which was also cramping
every now and then) only to have my shin muscles cramp. Now there’s something
that’s never happened to me before. Then after flexing opposite side muscles my
quad cramped up. How am I gonna get down this thing? After stopping numerous
times so my cramped muscles didn’t help me topple over and speed down the rest
of the hill, I finally made it to the bottom.
Now a little break and some ups and downs and
I’ll be rolling into Boyle’s aid station. I make a right turn and…what is this
monster of a hill doing here. Plenty of expletives were given up to the evil
race gods. I was so disappointed that I put my hands on my knees and was about
to rest for a bit before I continued up another hill. But a few seconds after
doing so, I got all light headed and felt like I was going to pass out if I
stayed in that position any longer. So I got up and continued, whining in my
head the whole time. Finally I recognized the hill. Oh, so now you decide to
just show up right here in the race and expect me to just be ok with going up
you? I get to the top and make the horseshoe loop around to go back down. I
need to come up with a game plan. I’m gonna finish this race. I’m still in
fifth. I can catch fourth. I can still beat my time from last year. But I’ve
got these cramps that just won’t leave me alone. Why am I cramping? Hey. It’s
been a hot day and I probably haven’t drunk enough liquids nor enough
salts/electrolytes. My muscles are just yelling at me for not taking better
care of them with all this heat and the number of miles I’m make them do. So,
how to fix this? I’m gonna get to Boyle’s aid station and get some water and
food and salt. I’m gonna take a break. But if I sit down, I may not wanna get
up as I’ll still have thirty miles to go. But if I don’t sit down, I’m probably
not gonna make it through the next five miles. So. Sit down. Get food and water
and salt in me. Wait awhile so my muscles can take it in and recover a bit.
Then get up and I’ll be good as…as good as someone can feel after running
seventy miles.
So I follow my plan. Amy’s there of course. She now has a
wind breaker on and has a folding camp chair for me to sit in. I told her my
plan and like she had read my mind (or saw how awful I was feeling five miles
ago), she had heated up some broth. And as sacrilegious as this may sound, it
was better than ice cream (at least at that moment). She got me some s-caps (salt pills) that were
on the water coolers at the aid station (I think I had about two or three of
them). I drank a couple water bottles of water. And I lay on the ground
thinking nothing would be better than just being done right now and being able
to go to sleep. Oh man this feels great. Here comes a runner. Now I’m in…Oh
wait. He’s with the relay race. So I’m still safe. Another runner came up.
Crap. Now I’m in sixth. But he had somewhere to be by 2:00 and wouldn’t be able
to finish. So he dropped. Why do I care which place I’m in? I don’t deserve any
glory for how I’m finishing this race. But I’m gonna finish it. Now I just need
to get up.
My resting time was drawing near to an end. Amy knew the
shivers were on their way, and as soon as I convinced myself to finally get up,
there they were. I kept Amy’s jacket so I didn’t die before the next five
minutes were over. But the uncontrollable shivers shook me like an old man. I
hate those shivers. I know they go away after a few minutes of exertion, even
if it’s just walking. I leave the aid station. I’m freezing, but I didn’t quit.
And I feel much better, excepting for the shivers.
Those ten to fifteen minutes helped so much. Once the cold
was finally gone, I could fully appreciate how much better I felt. How did I
ever come up with that thought process feeling the way I did? But I’m glad it
came to me or my race report would be over right now.
I was on my final five miles of loop three and I don’t think
I’ve seen any of the lead runners come back passed me yet. But no bother. I’m
moving and feeling pretty good. This five mile stretch is one of the longest in
the whole race and the only section longer is the five mile return trip after
starting your fourth loop. Here comes the front runner. I can’t see who it is,
but was hoping it was Nathan (Leehman). I recognized his face the few times I
passed him near the end of each loop, but couldn’t remember where I’d seen him
before. Then I saw his name in the books at one of the aid stations and was
able to put the two together. Here comes the second runner. And he’s running
too. And the same with the third. No hope for top three. But why would I expect
to be there with the last five hours of getting whooped on by the trails? It
wasn’t until I was coming down the last hill, about a mile from the
start/finish, that I passed two runners going the other way. One was the one
that had ‘recently’ passed me and the other was moving slow enough to be
another hundred-miler. I was coming down hill. I could run a bit. It was rocky,
and when it was too rocky, I slowed down. But overall, I was able to run the
rest of the way in to finish my third lap (75 miles). The time was 15 hours 40
minutes 40 seconds. Not too bad. If I just keep that up for this last lap, I
can finish in just under 22 hours. If. If is a nice word.
I told Amy how much better that felt and how I was able to
run parts and how the muscle cramps had vanished and how close I was (about
three miles behind) the next runner. I was excited. I got some stuff in me and
headed back out. Joe (Prusaitis- race director) asked me if I was done or if I
had another lap to do. “I wish I was done, but I’m heading back out.” He
informed me that there was a system coming by that might miss us, but also
might be dumping some rain on us. I found out when we got home that Houston had
quite the rain storm. And if there’s one thing I don’t need right now, it’s
some rain (warm or cold) to cool me off even more and force me to quit early. Just
twenty five more miles. Just one more ‘marathon’ to go. So I left the
start/finish and headed back out-running. After about thirty seconds, I
realized that the trail was slightly uphill on the way out. That sucks. Well,
right now it sucks. I’ll be pretty happy about it when I get back on it and take
the downhill express to the finish line. But I can’t get myself to run or even
jog for that matter. So I set out and speed walk, because that’s what my legs
are allowing me to do. If I have to speed walk this whole lap, I’ll speed walk
a marathon to finish this race.
As I’ve already mentioned, this five mile section is long.
And it did get longer even though I just got done running it. It’s amazing how
much longer it is from aid station to aid station when you walk. At least it’s
amazing when you’ve been out running all day long. Most people would realize
this and not think anything of it. But I was so used to being an hour or less
from the next aid station. And now I was an hour and a half. And that extra
half hour is like an eternity. The night probably doesn’t help it seem any
faster either. I finally end up walking in to Boyle’s aid station (I didn’t run
a bit that whole time). I need another break. Luckily Amy brought a blanket for
me this time. And more broth. With the windbreaker on and the blanket over my
legs, I was nice and toasty. There was another hundred-miler sitting next to
me. We talked a bit. He was finishing his third lap and I was more than happy I
wasn’t in his place, even though he was only ten miles behind me.
Should I quit? The car is right here (Amy drove over). I
could be in bed and be asleep in seconds. And that would make me so happy. I
think I’m gonna quit. Eighty percent of the race is complete. I did eighty
miles. That’s more than most people would even dream of doing in a few months,
and I did it in less than a day. But I’ve never DNF’d before. What excuse will
I tell people? I don’t like excuses. They wouldn’t understand. They don’t know
what it feels like to be on this terrain for eighty miles. But all I think
they’ll hear is ‘You didn’t finish? What happened?’ And then I’d have to try to
explain something that would never make sense in their heads. I have to keep
going. But it feels so good to just sit here. Can’t I just quit and have no one
bother me about this race? And if I quit, then I won’t feel like I have to do
the Bandera 100k race in January (which’ll save us a couple hundred bucks)
since I won’t be completing the Tejas 300 (Cactus Rose 100, Bandera 100k, and
Rocky Raccoon 100). So this will help us financially and help me feel a lot
better right now.
Up again with the uncontrollable shivers. I didn’t forget
the huge hill that was fast approaching this time. At the top of the hill I can
see the cloud cover and the lightning passed the far hilltops. It doesn’t seem
like we’re gonna get rained on. And that makes me happy. At least something’s
gonna be nice to me. I go up the rocky beast and curse it one last time: ‘Til
next year you bastard! Down the last of the rocky hill chain, I’m back to where
I saw my tarantula a few hours earlier. I still haven’t ran a bit, but the
walking can go from super slow to speed walking as the trail is now a jeep path
and rocks are nowhere to be found. I’ve been passing numerous groups of
hundred-milers and their pacers (you know they’re pacers because they’re
talking/singing/etc. with the runner they’re with, and nobody who’s been out
all day long has any desire to say anything but grunts). I’m so glad I’m not
where they are. I don’t know how they can do it. And every race convinces me
more and more that those are the really strong ones. Sure, it’s hard to go fast
for a hundred miles. But at least if you go fast, you can get it done in twenty
hours or so. These guys are out here for thirty plus hours. They will have seen
the sun rise twice during the same race. And they (some of them) will still
stick it out ‘til the end. Those are the real crazies. Not me.
I’m back at Equestrian aid station. Just fifteen more miles.
Just two more tough hills and the rest is basically flat. I can do this. But man,
it’d feel so great to just stop. I take another break and sit down with a
blanket. I’m ‘double or nothing’ for the third time in a row and it’s only a
matter of time before my luck runs out and I actually quit. I’ve done nothing
but walked for the last ten miles. And it is killing me that I can’t get my
body to run. If I can’t run the race, why should I finish? I just need to quit
and let people that ran a smarter race get their buckle. I don’t deserve it.
But somehow, I upped myself out of that chair, freezing once again, and walked
with ever-chattering teeth and a shaky flashlight for the next mile. After I
made it up and down the next rocky hill (Ice cream), I passed what would turn
out to be the last hundred-milers that made it out before the cut off time to
start the third loop. It was really nice having the whole trail to myself. And
since there was not a single big hill to worry about for the next eleven miles
or so, I could speed walk on the non-rocky trails. I think I’m really gonna
make it now. No, I’m definitely gonna make it. It’s flat for the next eleven
miles, so they don’t really count. Then one big rocky hill with its even worse
downhill followed by the best part of the race: the last mile. And it’s all
downhill (at least slightly).
By the time I got into Nacho’s aid station for the last
time, I was actually happy and not thinking about quitting. I gave Amy her
jacket back. I got a bit to drink. Ate an orange. Kissed Amy and left walking
again. No more shivers for me. I got a race to finish. I speed walked the whole
way to Equestrian aid station. And I repeated the same entry/exit as I had at
the last aid station. Five more miles to go! “Amy- What time is it?” “3:37.”
Ok. 3:37. I just heard someone say something about 4.5 miles. This section must
not be a whole five. That’s good. If it takes me a whole hour and a half, I’m
not gonna break twenty-four hours. I know I told myself over and over these
past many hours that I didn’t deserve to finish, but I still want to come in
before twenty four hours. So. The five mile loop back home. If I run kinda
slow, I finish it in about forty minutes. That’s around eight minute pace. So
if I speed walked it, maybe that would be around sixteen minute pace. Sixteen
minute pace for five miles is, is, is eighty minutes. That doesn’t leave me
much leeway. And then there’s that hill. That’ll definitely slow me down. I’m
gonna have to run/jog some of these parts. I’ll just run while I count down
from ten to zero. Then I’ll take a break for a few minutes and do it again.
I’m into the forest doing my “run”/walk thing when I came up
on a light in front of me. This can’t be the guy I passed. Who is this? He’s a
hundred-miler, or else he’d be running at least a little bit more. We say a few
things to each other, knowing that we’ll both finish as we have now completed
ninety-six percent of the race. I continue my “run”/walk and quickly leave him
behind. Now out of the forest and starting to make my ascent up the last
treacherous hill, I see a small group of what looks like three runners. Who are
they? I don’t remember being passed by that many people. But I was sitting down
at so many aid stations and was surely not paying attention to anything around
me. The trail bent back on itself, so it was awhile before I saw them again. I started
imagining what the rest of the course was in my head. There was the uphill,
turn and flat. Then another turn, uphill, and flat. Then the last mother of a
hill, the downhill, and then a tiny steep section that led to the blissful
mile-long downhill to the finish line. But I kept going up, turning, up, and
wasn’t getting to that awful hill. Where are you? Why don’t you just get over
here so I can walk up you one last time? I just want to be done. Get over here!
There’s the lights from the runners I saw earlier. They’re up the big hill a
little ways, but they’re not moving. Nature called one final time for them. I
passed them as I walked as quickly up that hill as possible. It droned on
forever, but I was in much better spirits (being so close to finishing and
all), so it didn’t matter at all. I got to the top and might have said some
choice words to all the hills in the area, and started my descent into
happiness. There’s the steep uphill. Now I’m on a rocky trail. I don’t remember
this being rocky, but I don’t care. My forefoot (on both feet) has never hurt
so much in my life before. They are aching every step and have been for the
last twenty plus miles. But nothing matters anymore. Nothing can keep me from
finishing now. I repeat my run count downs. Start running. Ten, nine … zero.
Break. Repeat. Ten, nine … zero. Break. I think I should up this to twenty.
Twenty. Run four steps. Nineteen. Run fours steps. Zero. Break. Repeat. Now I’m
to where the loops split and it’s only about a half mile to the finish. I gotta
finish strong or I won’t be coming in before that twenty-four hour mark. And
I’m gonna hate myself if it’s just a few seconds or minutes after. Gotta keep
running. No more breaks. Just go. There’s a light up ahead. That better not be
a hundred-miler (it was a relay team). Here’s another light. I try to say ‘Good
job’ to him, but my emotions are running wild now and as I say
‘Good job’ to him it comes out like when you’re trying to talk right before you
cry and it’s just a bunch of air and indecipherable whimpers. So I just give
him the thumbs up as I pass him. And there’s the lights from the Lodge. The
happiest thing I’ve seen
all day long (besides Amy of course). I’m coming in and Amy, not knowing if it
was me, is asking “Matt?” “Yeah.” I get through the finish and I look up at the
clock. 23 hours 48 minutes 24 seconds. I made it under twenty four. Twenty
minutes slower than last year, but I still made it. Joyce (Joe’s wife) and Amy
come over and hug me. I’m practically in tears I’m so elated to be finished.
The hurt is gone, at least until I wake up and can’t hardly walk. I tell Joyce
that I swear Joe must have brought in a few extra truck-fulls of rocks for this
year’s race.
 |
|
A few seconds before my headlamp
and flashlight crossed the
finish line
|
Amy and I look at the results. I’m fifth overall. Fourth was
an hour and a half in front of me. But sixth and seventh were just ten minutes
behind me. Wow. I didn’t think I would finish it from about mile 60-80 or so.
But I did. And my biggest help was my lovely wife who gets a birthday weekend
away from the kids only to spend it crewing for me all day long. Man I love her
so much. I gave her my race jacket as a thank you, which means a lot because I
love those jackets Joe gets us. I know I wouldn’t have finished the entire race
if Amy hadn’t been there. I’m so thankful for an understanding and helpful
wife. She's the greatest crew for races, and more importantly, for life.
 |
| After a few hours of sleep, I waddled over to get my picture taken with my buckle and 5th place boot. |
 |
| Amy loves when I sleep with my eyes half closed. |
