Coming into this race last year I had pretty low expectations, and the emotional/neurotic journey surrounding my unexpected win is discussed at length in the blog entries from the time. This year I felt similarly physically unprepared, unsure I could even make it through day one, and wondering how I’d react if I didn’t do as well. Between the detour on day one and the fact that Amanda and Theresa are way out of my league when they’re feeling good, there’s virtually no chance of a repeat. There’s definitely a sense of relief in this; easier to go straight to the part where you enjoy the sensations of movement and beauty of landscape. Also the beauty of other humans’ movement. Amanda is a wonder. She’s faster than all but one of the men and there are some really strong men here. After three stages she’s already multiple hours faster than her cumulative time from last year. Theresa is also considerably faster than last year, whereas my results have been virtually the same. There are also several other really strong women who could conceivably end in third place. The guy who’s in the lead has won this four times. He passes me an hour into each stage. This year since I’m in the slower half, I go out with the first wave. Half an hour later the faster people start. After another half hour Ryan passes, moving at twice my speed and it is gorgeous to watch. Another half hour later Amanda appears. I asked her where her “Race Leader” bib was, since I didn’t see it pinned with her number bib. She said it was in her pack, folded into a book on Buddhism. I laughed — trying to yin/yang your competitive spirit? She said yep, that she doesn’t like it. Then she was gone, the little blonde gazelle.
(My leg still hurts by the way. But it doesn’t seem to be getting any worse and just like last year’s various aches it’s completely out of my mind for extended periods of time.)
Because this was such an intense experience for me last year there are many spots I remember well — here is where I first saw Catra on the trail, this is where I took a certain picture, that spot is where Candice was sitting on the side of the road, not feeling well. Early in last year’s Stage Two post is a pic Jean-Michel took of me with my arms in the air. I labeled it “Commando!” because that’s where the whole no-underwear thing started. We’re both slow starters so yesterday we were together around the same spot. I asked him how this was for him, being back here. I knew what the answer would be. Last year during the race J-M’s wife was in the final stages of pregnancy. The pregnancy ended in a stillbirth and for the past year he’s posted the most beautiful, heartbreaking things to Facebook. Running has been tough because of the hours alone with his thoughts — the very reason people are drawn to it in the first place. He said yeah, it’s really really hard being here and that he didn’t want to come back. He feels like a plane that has stalled and he doesn’t know what to do but keep moving forward and hope that at some point the engine will kick back in.
Later in the day I was running with another guy who told me he also has experienced a stillbirth. This happened to my sister as well. Meanwhile our government is separating young children from their parents at the southern border. Life can be amazing and life can be horrifying.
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In the context of those sort of things like it feels self indulgent to mention my four new blisters or the fact that my back and sides are covered with chafing from my running pack. Pro tip: If you’re running in a sports bra and your fancy top of the line pack is made of inexplicably abrasive material, things will only get worse after you place the sweaty pack in sand at an aid stop.
Since it’s not as hot as last year I wasn’t as obsessed with my water and electrolytes but I got away with it, just felt a bit off for the last few miles and did some major replenishing at camp. There were four DNFs today (this was the 39 mile day mostly in direct sun — the one where Hans had heat stroke last year) and at least one vomiter.
Reid started the evening’s meeting with a joke:
Race director sees a runner struggling, covered in vomit.
“Hey you don’t look so great, I think maybe you need to stop.”
“Oh, this isn’t mine. One of the other runners puked on me, and gave me ten bucks to get my shirt cleaned.”
“Isn’t that a $20 bill sticking out of your pocket though?
“Ah yeah, I forgot to mention he also shit my pants.”
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Stage three is the 9 mile “sprint” and despite feeling pretty beat up after yesterday’s 39 miles, I felt good today and again finished more or less in the same time as last year. Now we have the entire afternoon/evening to chill alongside the river before tomorrow’s “expedition stage.” I’m typing this while sitting in my orange hammock, enjoying the shade, a nice breeze, sounds from people and dogs cavorting in the river, and the occasional blast of odor from the nearby outhouses.
at the end of 39 miles, enjoying an adult beverage in my hammock
Ultra celebrity Catra stopped me for a selfie on the 9 mile “sprint” stage. I have arrived! Last year she was "taking it easy" because she was training for Badwater... this year she's got a little 310 mile run planned for next week.
Gunnar and sunset. It's nice to have dogs around. Gunnar really likes sticks.
There's not enough Bella in this blog. Would be fun to bring her when we travel but we don't like the idea of shipping her on the plane. Here's a video of us at an Aid Stop at that run in Pennsylvania last September.