Just playing thru, don't mind me...
|"Just playing thru, don't mind me..."|
Portrait by Howie Stern. Now buy his photos.
"Tell us about the race, Mr Trail Safety!"
Alright. I started slow and it only got slower. I was 2min/mile slower than the last RM50k outing. It's been a colorful interlude. Nothing like finding out through acupuncture that rewiring over 20 years of anatomical malpractice takes time. Butt! I digress.
As my talent has fled the stage, Tempis Fugit, Et Merde®™, my final refuge in ultras is merely hanging on. International Orange was the color of my spirit animal that day. That morning I made back my entry fee by parking cars on the highway at $20 a pop. Even the signs warning not to pick up hitchhikers dissuaded anxious runners from their appointed time in the PortaSquat Confessional.
|The keys will be at the finish line!|
There were fun moments as the more talented darted past me to their well-deserved finish. Or other moments, like the long haul up to the Chamberlain Trail Jct [22mi +/-], where the 50-milers would turn on their longer-ass haul out to Mishe Mokwa turnaround.
"Do we have more climbing?"
"Yep" I point with my left arm up the mountain.
"What's it like?"
"Where you from again?"
"OK, its like having a jalapeño pepper slipped into your bung-hole, and rotated"
CRICKETS AND TUMBLEWEEDS
They blow up so fast.
Eventually I made it up and over to the Final Descent to the finish line. I was trying to stay ahead of Pete Chavez, ex-local dude exiled to PHX, AZ. Guy's a comedy ninja—had me on the ropes with comedy blasts most of the race. Fucker sunk his teeth into my leg early on and wouldn't let go. But in the final mile he blasted past me with his talented pals and finished like a hero.
When I crossed, RD Keira looked relieved to see me. I wore the orange so they could locate my body if need be. But I didn't tell them my PIN.