Born To Run Ultras: Notes From The Blue Loop

For whatever reason, I seem to show up at BTR after some existential crisis. This year my taper started on March 2, when I found out my brother, while out on a training ride, had been been killed in by a careless driver in the UAE. See for yourself how all your #RunStrong memes hold up for you. So yeah, I did the 30-miler, crossed in 7-something, and am OK with it.

Obligatory Running Bullshit: News, Weather and Sports

Weather was perfect for running, but harsh for all the hippies in their shorts and Luna sandals, who were shivering in the cold and damp of Thursday night rain. Friday, Saturday and Sunday were brisk, sunny and breezy—a far cry from the scorching heat of the past two years.

The 2015 BTR Ultras featured two new events that bracketed the extremes in human potential: 
  • The 0.0 Non-Run, and the 200-mile event. Over 60 people paid $40 to do nothing, noon Saturday. Laugh all you want, that paid for additional shitters for everybody
  • The 200 field of 17 kicked off on Thursday night, as they fled a volley from the shotgun I fired into terrified air.
Meanwhile, the remaining 400+ in the other events had to wait. The100 kicked off on Friday night, shortly after the conclusion of the unofficial Beer Mile, which is another portal to stupidity of a different proof. And finally, the 60/30/10 mile events were all chased out of the start at 0600 Saturday with their own shotgun blast, just like previous years.
The titles got shorter as I got back into all this. The times didn't improve much. I leave that to the experts, who fucking shredded it, and were properly adored as befits this oral culture.

Oncoming Clown Cars

We hit the Pink and Yellow loops. On Saturday afternoon we hit the Blue Loop with the First Annual BTR No-Talent Show, where it all went off the rails. I was empaneled with fellow judges Todd "Hebrew Hammer" Kaplan, and Greg "What Are The Odds?" Lowe, by Ms Crista Scott, MC.

We judged a veritable flea-circus of acts ranging from still-life tableaus to ensemble pieces featuring impassioned singing about licking in all the usual places, accompanied by gymnastic choreography. The Applause Meter was an increasingly warm and sweaty Tecate beer can, with the numbers appearing on the back of an indifferent Jack Daniels Extended Family bottle on wheels. Hey, if its on the table, it gets used. Grand Prize was a hefty Solar Shower, that went to a good home.

Social Notes

  • PBR, America's Favorite Yeast Infection was trending upwards, while Fireball had declined noticeably.
  • Course maps, Garmin, Strava and GPS data was mysteriously absent
  • There was a higher proportion of Texas Tornadoes in the pre-dawn music mix
  • Saturday morning began at 0430 with multiple shotgun blasts, presumably to wake up the hungover soreheads at Dirtbag Runner World.

Finally, I'd like to thank GOD, Dr Sevende Sandia [obscure Mexican Mystic], my Pilates coach, and all my support groups in the 310 area code. 

Namaste, And Shit®™.


akabill said…
Unusually cogent for you Mr TS. Enjoyed my time with you regardless. We must do it again sometime. Aloha

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