Two marathons, a half, and a world record.

You heard me, folks, a WORLD RECORD. But we'll get to that in a moment.


First, we get to talk about heat stroke and marathon running. It's not as fun as it sounds. (You are all shocked, I'm sure, because it sounds like a friggin' party.)

It was just like this. Except I'm not a dude. And I never wear shorts. 

It all started on a late September weekend. The race was the Huntsville Marathon. The start time was 9 a.m. NINE A.M. WHAT. The forecast for the day was in the upper 80s to the low 90s depending on what source you're looking at. I am not fast. Y'all know this by now, right? So a 6 hour marathon (standard finish time for me) means that I would be finishing the race at 3 p.m. THREE P.M. WHAT.

When Jamie and I disembarked from the bus at the start line, the sun was already high and hot. We immediately took off our jackets and gloves and began fretting over how much we were going to suffer that day. We weren't the only ones having mild panic attacks as the temperature started climbing. It's good to know that we weren't alone in our freaking out. Jamie's plan was to run like a mad woman down the mountain until the heat stopped her. That was also my plan, and it was not a good plan, ladies and gentlemen.

By the first aid station I was already pouring water all over myself like I was in Flashdance. I was wearing enough bright colored spandex, after all.

This is an accurate representation. For real.

Pouring water over my head gave me sweet relief for a grand total of 2 minutes before I was fairly certain that I was on the brink of death. At least I had the downhill of the canyon to keep me moving along at a relatively decent pace. By mile 15, though, it was all over. The course flattened out and the sun was roasting me alive.  I would run in tiny spurts, telephone pole to telephone pole. And the moment there was any shade, my pace slowed to a crawl so I could stay in the slightly cooler air for as long as possible.

I'll never get over Monte Cristo.

As I was death marching my way along, I happened upon another death marcher and we decided to trudge some of the hot, awful miles together. It turns out that this gentleman had also run the Little Grand Canyon a couple of weeks earlier as well. So we reminisced about the blissful weather of that day as we made our way to the finish. After a couple of miles chatting and walking, I decided to try running again. Let me just say that that little plan of mine didn't last long. I was reduced back to the zombie shuffle in a matter of half a mile. By mile 25, there were some course officials driving around with Creamies. Holy smokes, you guys. I wanted to take ALL the Creamies and bathe in them. They were melting fast enough... But I refrained and simply ate one.

My trudging friend caught back up with me at about 25.5 miles and we just went the rest of the way together. We didn't dare to try and run until we saw the 26 mile marker. Surely, that .2 miles at the end wouldn't kill us, right? So we take off running, the finish line in sight. And I swear, it just kept getting farther away. My trudge buddy turned into Mr. Speedypants and I was pretty sure I was going to puke, then die, then come back alive just to puke again.

He's speeding out of the frame. I am just a statue, by comparison. 

I finally made it across the line. 6:18:something. Really? I hit the half way point by 2;42:something. That last half really took some time. Oh well. I wasn't the last person to cross that line, by a quite a bit. I headed straight to the recovery table to drink copious amounts chocolate milk. Ice cold chocolate milk, chugged as fast as I could get it down. OOPS. I instantly regretted that decision and spent the next 15 minutes lying on the ground trying not to vomit. Because being over heated doesn't mesh well with a belly full of frigid dairy product. Lesson learned.

Marathon #13. The race that tried to kill me. But what a great medal, amiright?!

With a week's worth of recovery, it was time to hit the Jordan River trail for a half marathon. The weather was approximately a billion times better than the previous week. It was a very low key event, meaning I was once again postulating a last place finish. Meh. Somebody has to be last, and my non-existent running ego can take it. I did somehow managed to beat 6 whole people though, so that was exciting. Also, I got a high five from my friend, Devin, who happened to be zipping down the trail on a training run. Shout out to Devin and high fives!

Can I get a woo hoo?!

Jamie and I celebrated our pleasant weather finish with a king size Kit Kat bar and some wild cherry Pepsi. Because we EARNED that shiz, yo.

Double agents celebrate in style.

Now the moment you've all been waiting for. The story of the world record. Buckle up, cats and kittens. This is an epic tale of stress, woe, murderous intentions, and ultimate victory.

Now you're all shivering in antici.......pation.

The Layton Marathon course is the only course in Utah that world records can be set on, due to it's relative flatness. So some crazy kids decided to get some other crazy kids together to break the world record for the number of people tethered together to complete a marathon. I'm a crazy kid, Jamie is a crazy kid, and we knew some other crazy kids, so we all signed up to give it a go.

We were a millipede; we were amazing. 

So this looks like fun, huh?! It sure would have been, if I hadn't been tethered to some awful specimens of human kind. The three ladies tied right in front of me were some of the worst examples of the running community that I have ever encountered. There's nothing quite like listening to three Boston qualifiers bitching about our pace for nearly 8 hours.

Hey, ladies. When you signed up for this, they made it very clear that speed was not a thing we were even going to worry about. We just had to finish. And with 82 people chained together, that was going to take some time. I knew that, and just about everyone else seemed to know that. DID YOU MISS THE MEMO?! By about the half way point, I was gauging the likelihood of being sent to prison if I strangled them each with my length of rope. I could plead insanity, because they were actually driving me insane.

"See? This is enough rope to murder three people with!"

I was willing to chance losing the record if I could just get those negative Nellies to shut the hell up. Here's the thing. Negativity isn't going to get us to the finish any faster. It's just going to make everyone hate you. And I do hate you ladies. You soured the experience of becoming a world record holder by being awful, selfish human beings. Your complete disregard for the well being of your teammates was disgusting. You didn't care that some people were struggling to keep moving. Some people weren't able to stay properly hydrated and instead of seeing what could be done to help them, you just screamed at them to keep moving. You didn't care when the man tied behind us tripped and fell. You kept us dragging him along for 3 solid feet before we could get you to stop. And did you ask if he was alright? Did you care that he was bleeding? No. You just complained that we would be even slower now.

I know this is level of vehemence isn't usually found in this blog. But I am still angry with the way these people acted for the ENTIRE day. The worst part is, they are an active part of the local running scene. I have seen them at many other races and I know I will see them again. I do not want to see them again. I may still harbor strangling urges. We'll see.

Woooooosh. 

The bright spot at the end was that Scott (the ever-patient boyfriend) was finally able to come see me finish a race. He was there with icy cold drinks and Snickers bars. Because he is a saint. I knew we would be going to lunch together after the race, which was the ONLY reason that I didn't strangle anyone. They don't let you go to lunch after you murder people. They take you to prison. I had enough foresight to know the consequences of acting on my urges.

Not only a saint, but a diligent photographer. 

I am amazed that 82 people held it together long enough to complete this challenge. We did beat the previous record. We're just waiting on the final confirmation from the Guinness people. I would like to say it was worth all that we went through, but I'm still sort of wondering about that... My faith in humanity took a little hit to the gut. But it will pass. 99% of the people in the running community are the nicest, sweetest, most helpful people you could ever hope to meet. I'm going to try and focus on that. And hey, we set a world record. A WORLD RECORD. That's pretty cool, when you think about it. Plus, I learned that I possess much more self restraint than I previously thought. Learning is also pretty cool.

Stay tuned for another three race report next week, where I will also probably spend half of the blog freaking out about the Javenlina Jundred coming up on the 31st.

Happy running!

Races, meltdowns, injuries, and freak outs.

I shouldn't wait so long to do my race write-ups. Writing has never been an easy thing for me, and when I let too much time pass from the events to the blogging, it's even worse. Let's just jump in and see if any of this comes across in a coherent fashion.

A month ago, I ran my 68th half marathon, the Top of Utah half. I ran this race last year, and was smitten with its moosey goodness. Everything associated with the race has a moose on it. I can't not run this race. 

Also, they have the most colorful porta-potties, of all time, ever.

One of the perks of living in Utah, is that there's a multitude of races that run down lovely canyons. Top of Utah is one of those. The buses take the runners up the canyon about 7 miles. I had the great fortune of riding up on the bus that was staying to take the drop bags back down. I got to stay on the bus, all warm and cozy until right before the start. I managed to take a nap and everything. WHAT.

Heading to the start line.

It was a perfect morning to be out running. The temperatures stayed down; there was no rain to contend with. I waded through the large group of runners to position myself at the back of the pack, my natural habitat. 

The race started, and the typical dance of leapfrogging began. In every race, there are always those people that pass you, then you pass them, then they pass you, and this continues until one person finally decides that he/she can't take it anymore and they widen the gap. On this day, there was a man, close to my age, who played this game with me. Except this time, there was a difference. He was more concerned with me passing him than anyone I've ever seen. I get it, no one wants to get beat by the chubby girl. But they don't know that this chubby girl does this type of thing nearly every single weekend. Every time he would get in front of me, he would keep nervously looking back over his shoulder. I decided to take advantage of this at around mile 6. I could see the fear in his eyes, so I started hunting him. I began to push the pace, making him have to run faster, all the while, looking over his shoulder. It was so funny to me. Probably because I'm a horrible person. I finally decided to leave him alone around mile 9. Three miles of purposeful torment was enough. It was starting to affect my enjoyment of the course. Finish times aren't why I run races, getting to experience new scenery is. 

A lovely, tree lined section of the race course. 

I'm done hunting, it's selfie time.

I felt good throughout the race, and was able to finish right about the same time as I did last year. I like consistency. 

I love the pictures my mom takes. I guess I should have run faster to get more into the middle of the shot.

Moose! Moose everywhere!

I had a week break after Top of Utah and then it was time for the Little Grand Canyon marathon. I had seen shirts from this race on other runners and it had always intrigued me. I decided that this year was the time to make it happen. The race takes place a mere hour and a half from where I live. I'm sorry that I hadn't been running it sooner. 

Packet pick up alone was worth signing up for this race. 

If you know me at all, you know that I have an affinity for dinosaurs. This race course goes past actual dinosaur tracks, and Native American petroglyphs, How cool is that?! These things are what convinced my mother to participate in their 10K option. She can't say no to dinosaurs and petroglyphs either.  

I know you're all starting to wonder where the meltdown mentioned in the title comes in. Well, here it is. It didn't have anything to do with the race I was about to run. I wasn't worried or nervous. I didn't doubt my abilities. But the night before this race, as I got undressed in the hotel bathroom and stared at my naked body in the mirror, illuminated by the harsh fluorescent lights, I lost it. What I saw when I saw myself wasn't a hard core ultrarunner. I was just an overweight, pasty white girl. Weird tan lines, stretch marks, love handles, a poochy stomach, multiple chafe mark scars from my sports bra lining my rib cage, arms that jiggle, thighs that wiggle. How could this body that I'm staring at have done any of the things that it had? This body ran 50 miles?! Yeah, sure it did. This body looks more like it sat through 50 weekends of pizza-bender-Netflix-marathoning. I broke down. And I have to say, I've been in a funk about it ever since. These past few weeks have been full of self loathing. I'm a smart girl, I know that this attitude isn't going to help anything. That doesn't make it any easier to just snap out of it. My boyfriend has been putting up with my body image issues like a champ though. I just hate that it's something that he even needs to deal with. I should be able to be comfortable in my own skin. I should be proud of my body, no matter what it looks like. I have a feeling that this will be a long road...

Now that I've had my meltdown, it was time to get some sleep and run a marathon. My mom and I got up and dressed and headed out to the town of Huntington to catch the buses that would take us to our race starts. The marathon had only one bus load of people in it. Oh great. I'm going to be last. That's the thought that crosses my mind at every small event. Somebody has to be last, so I've made my peace with it. I hung out in the back again, chatting with some other runners. It was really going to be a nice race, so it was tough to be too down about it. I was dressed in a crazy colorful outfit and the older gentleman I was talking to cracked a joke about me needing to wear something a little more visible. I told him I was dressed that way so that they could find my body in the desert. At least this got a chuckle from the people around me. 

Running through the San Rafael Swell is beautiful.

At mile 2, a small jack rabbit ran right in front of me. It scared me, I scared it. It was a fun little adrenaline boost. The sunrise was so lovely as we headed into the San Rafael Swell area. There were a few hills in the first 9 miles that I was content to just hike up. For the most part though, it was a fairly flat course. 

Running off into the desert.

I spent at least 20 minutes taking pictures. I threw my finish time out the window and just focused on enjoying being out there. I felt decent for the first half of the race, but then fatigue started to set in and I walked a lot more of the second half. 

This race tells you how far you have left to go, which was kind of depressing when the sign said 25 more miles.

But as the race went on, the scenery got better and better, so I didn't mind that I was going slower. People continued to pass me and I continued to take pictures. And all was right with the world for that bit of time. 

Such a pretty place to run.

Covered in salt and sweat, but enjoying the journey.

How could you not love this?

They had begun busing down the runners that had finished the half marathon, 10K, and the faster marathoners. The runners on the bus would wave and cheer as they passed the rest of us still on the course. The last bus that passed on by had my mom on it, so I knew she had made it. Her first 10K was a success! 

The petroglyphs were right off of the road. It was incredible. 

My mom chose her distance wisely. The last 10K of this race was the most scenic part of the course. I am considering just doing the half next year to skip the hills and soak up the scenery. When I finished the race, I was certain that I was last but it turns out that there were still 4 other people behind me. We waited there at the finish for the last runners, which was fun. Plus, there was plenty of good food there to eat while we waited. It turns out that there was no bus coming back to take us back to our cars so I got to ride back down to my car in an ambulance. It was a fun way to get back down and they didn't even send me a bill!

Such great swag!

Now you're all wondering where the injury part mentioned in the title comes in. Here it is! As my mom and I were having lunch after the race, something in my right hip started to feel funny. It got to the point that I could barely walk by the end of the night. I have spent the last two weeks trying to recover from whatever it is that happened. I didn't feel anything during the race. The best I can figure is that it was some sort of muscle strain. I was able to run 8 miles yesterday, but it wasn't pretty. Jamie had to prod me through every step of it. But that's what running friends are for, right? I'm just hoping that I'll be recovered enough to get through the Huntsville Marathon next weekend. 

I was starting to have a major freak out about being ready for the Javelina Jundred next month. The anxiety over being ready, plus the body image funk I'm in, makes for more mental anguish than I need. So I tackled my anxiety about Javelina. The time limit for that race is so generous, I can walk most of it if I have to. Reminding myself of that has made things a little better. I can finish the race. I might not be in love with every minute of it. But honestly, what ultra have I loved every minute of? That's not the nature of the ultra marathon. I keep going back because each one teaches me more about myself. And since I'm a stubborn gal, it takes me a lot of time to learn from my mistakes. (Insert winky face here.)

I'll try to be more timely with the next blog, that way Javelina can have its own entry. 100k will give me a lot to recap, so brace yourselves for that. In the meantime, I need to survive running and writing about two more marathons.

Until next time, happy running!

Another Three Race Report

I've been Little Miss Lazy Blogger, gallivanting around, having a life, hanging out with a boy. But I've still been running, racing, and cross training. I even spent some time volunteering at the Speedgoat Ultra weekend. If anyone needs countless bottles of Ultragen mixed up, lickety split, I'm your gal.

A shot of the finish line at Speedgoat. 

Half marathon #66 was the Timp Half. This was my third time running this race, and honestly, it was probably my last. This year, like last year, they didn't get a permit to keep the canyon open longer than an hour and a half. That meant that if you weren't out of the canyon by 7:30, you would get picked up by the bus and driven to the bottom, then they would let you continue. This really bothers me. They're just robbing the slower people of the accomplishment of completing the distance. Sure, they offered an early start. But a bus that was full of people also broke down on the way up and that bus had people who didn't get to take advantage of that early start because of the delay. 

I can run 7.5 miles in an hour and a half. If nothing goes wrong, if I'm not having any issues, aches, or pains. This race has stressed me out of my mind the last two times because of this deadline. I spent the entire morning waffling back and forth between taking the early start or not. Trying to assess how I felt; can I do this? I decided to just go with the regular start and run like hell.

Burrrrrrnt ouuuuuuttttt.

And that's what I did. I ran my guts out for about 7 miles. And then everything hurt so much that I just stopped caring. I had just enough of a time cushion to shuffle through the last half mile out of the canyon. As soon as I got out and onto the bike path, I walked. So there. I was just burnt out. I don't do fast. I do distance at a relaxed pace. I spent the rest of the race just plodding along, praying for the finish. At least the medal was nice and heavy. 

Smiling, like it doesn't hurt or something.

Some not terrible swag.

After my race, my mom, brother, and I, headed over to watch my bike brother finish his first 60 mile race. It was a nice change of pace to sit back and watch the finishers come in. We cheered him in and got some nice finish line pictures. 

60 miles! Whoosh!

The sweet taste of victory (medals).

The family that races together gets a bunch of cool medals together.

The second race of this report is the Park City Trail Series 15k. I've never done a 15k before, so it was an interesting change. This race was on the Round Valley trail system. I knew with it being a trail run, at elevation, I was going to be very realistic about my finish time. Trails are tricky beasts. 

Heading up into the hills. 

The trail started out as a fairly wide, double track trail. We chugged our way up, and up, and up. None of it was ridiculously steep, thank goodness. When we got up to the top of that particular section of climbing, we were rewarded with some decently technical single track. I think this may be my favorite type of trail. I like just enough roots, rocks, and obstacles to make my brain work a bit. The fourth and fifth miles of this race were really great. 

I see you, single track. Shaking your thing.

It was a perfect day out. There had been a big storm the night before, and it kept the temperature down. It also made for some extremely muddy sections on the trail. Mud keeps things interesting. It wasn't too terrible, just another trail challenge. 

Trail running montage! 

I was supposed to do some extra mileage after this race, but honestly, it took more out of me than I thought it would. Trail running is so much more difficult than road running. It took me 2 hours and 25 minutes to get those 9.5 miles. So I called it a day and just added bonus miles to my run the next day. Besides, I had a date to go on (you're all completely shocked, I know). My weekly mileage didn't suffer, and I felt better doing it that way. Flexibility is key in training, you guys. Trust me.

The last race to report on (at least for another week) is the Porter's Half Marathon. There were some great things about this race. Starting with the option to pick up my race packet on the morning of the race, saving me a drive through rush hour traffic the night before the race. Huge bonus points there. The race started at the mouth of Little Cottonwood Canyon, also a nice thing. But the course started to lose its charm as we continued through random neighborhoods and along busy roads with no shoulder. There were a few times that we got to run on a bike path with no traffic and that was alright. I have to call the course a downside to this race, sorry Porter's people. 

The biggest issue of the day for me was the heat. When I woke up Saturday morning, the temperature was 77 degrees. That was at 4 a.m. guys. By the time the race started at 7 a.m., the temperature reached 82 degrees. Yikes. I was doing alright for the first 9 miles. Then, it was just too much. The heat had become oppressive. It took me nearly an hour to get through the last 4 miles. I was reduced to running for about 30 seconds, then walking, then trying to run again. It was one of those days that I started to question everything about my running life. 

I got to the finish, albeit 10 minutes slower than I had anticipated. I was rewarded with a giant medal (bonus) and Jamie's commiseration about how awful it was out there (bonus because misery loves company). We were both just happy to have made it through yet another tough race. 2015 has been a year of extremes for us and race day weather.

Bullet holes in my medal/belt buckle? Hells yes.

I finished up last weekend's running adventures with a 28 mile treadmill run, because I was NOT suffering through that kind of heat for that long. Flexibility, kids. For real. And with that 28 miler, I logged my first ever 70 mile week. I've been doing my best to stick to the training plan for Javelina. October 31 is going to be here before I know it, and those 62 miles aren't going to run themselves. 

I'll have a whole new slew of races to report on in the next few weeks, so stay tuned! And until then, happy running!

Capitol Reef 50K: Adventures in DNF

It started out innocently enough. It was a gorgeous day down in Capitol Reef. We arrived to a scene of lovely red rock cliffs and puffy clouds.

The back drop for the finish line. Not too shabby.

I got my sweet race swag and settled in for the pre-race briefing. As the briefing went on, I became more and more concerned about getting lost. It turns out that was a valid concern.

Sweet swag! I have no problem wearing it, even if I DNFd.

After the race briefing, we went out for dinner. We ordered quite a bit of pizza, because we wanted to have leftovers for the rest of the weekend. There was some other runners there having dinner and when the second large pizza was brought out, we heard one of them say "Wow. Trail runners sure love their pizza,". Yes. Yes we do.

I slept fairly well, having only one pre-race dream about what was to come. I arrived at the Red River Ranch to await the shuttle and lo and behold, I met someone who reads this very blog! Hi Adriana! It was pretty neat to meet someone that reads my ramblings! (Besides my mom, best friends Krista and Geof, and kick-ass running buddy Jamie, that is. You guys are great!) We swapped stories and shared our anxieties about what we were about to do. All of the runners waiting with the shuttle were friendly and easy to talk to. I find this is more common with trail races than road races... I'm still trying to figure out why that is.

The shuttle was late but when it arrived, it was a pretty neat old school bus. It slowly climbed up the mountain, gears grinding as we lurched towards our fate. I talked the ride away with the gentleman next to me and before we knew it, we were at the start line. We only had a few minutes to compose ourselves before the starting shout was issued (it really was a shout, from the race director's cute little girl).

We were off like a shot! Well, we were off like we were about to climb to 11,000 feet. I knew the first 5 miles were going to be incredibly difficult. And I was right.

There we go, winding our way up the Aquarius Plateau.

Getting steeper.

At least this part still looked kind of like a trail. That would change.

We climbed and climbed. And then we climbed some more. It was utterly relentless. I just did my best to keep moving forward. It really was gorgeous, which is why this blog is going to be jam packed with pictures.

This is where I am! Thank you, signs. 

This may have been my favorite view from the course. 

It was a bit rocky where we were...

I finally made it to the top of the biggest chunk of the climbing we would do and I had to just stop and stare for a moment. The view was stunning. The air was thin. It was the perfect excuse to stand still for a bit and take it all in.

The pictures don't do it justice.

I lived through the hardest part! Which is why I have no problem wearing that shirt and hat.

The sweeping expanse of the American West. 

After gathering myself and a snapping more than a few pictures, I continued along the plateau, enjoying the little bit of runnable trail I would encounter that day.

This part was heavenly. Soft dirt and pine needles. Glorious.

It was pretty great...

It didn't stay runnable for long though. I finally made it to the first aid station and was greeted by Kelly Agnew, local ultra runner extraordinaire (I read his blog, he does crazy stuff. Like win the Jackpot 24 hour race with 140 miles). He got me some Coke and provided some words of encouragement as I headed back out onto the course.

The first of many lakes I would see. 

Another excuse to stop and catch my breath.

Dun dun dun! I'm just happy I didn't end up this way.

After the aid station the trail turned into a meadow.  A meadow with no visible trail. Also, lots of mounds and holes to watch out for, hidden by the tall grass. I tried to keep up a quick hiking pace because running just wasn't working. Plus, the markers were tricky to see in the grass. The cairns they had put up were a bit better. Then all of the sudden, the meadow left and I found myself scrambling down rocks and trying not to lose my balance and topple into the stream below.

There's a trail here somewhere...

Whatever you do, don't trip and fall!

So pretty though.

This is the part of the race where the trail started going through this pretty little stream. The flags marking the course were planted in little piles of rocks in the middle of the water. Fun! And it really was fun. I was starting to get nervous about making the cutoff at mile 19 though. I was moving along the best that I could, given the conditions. Then the intense downhill reared its head. The trail got so steep and scary. Every step I took had me slipping down the mountain, slightly out of control.

I finally arrived at the second aid station and filled up my hydration pack. It's a good thing I did, because I would get lost shortly thereafter. Anyway, the aid station was manned by a great older gentleman who was whipping up flapjacks and quesadillas. Delicious! I ate some fruit and had some ginger-ale too. As I was leaving the aid station, two guys were coming in. One of them asked if there was a nurse at the aid station while his friend was carrying a deer antler rack with part of the skull attached. Being the comedic genius that I am, I told them that it was probably too late for a nurse to save that deer. I AM SO FUNNY. And they just kind of glared at me. Fine, dudes. Sure, you're running the 50 miler and you're at mile 31 and your sense of humor is lying dead on the trail somewhere, fine.

I made my way out of the aid station and around the shore of another lovely lake. Then the climbing started again, It was starting to really wear on me. I was only a little over 12 miles in at this point and I was feeling pretty beat up. I had to keep stopping and resting on the way up. I finally made it past the brutal section of trail and got to start going down again. This time, the down hill was pretty runnable. And thus began my downfall.

While the grade was very conducive to making up time, it was still a minefield of rocks and roots. I was so busy watching my feet and running a decent pace, I stopped watching for the trail markers. I just zoned out and followed the trail that was in front of me. I have no idea how far I had gone before I finally noticed that I hadn't seen a marker in awhile.

Now, at the race briefing, they stressed the fact that if you didn't make a cutoff, the aid stations wouldn't be there when you got there. I was flirting with the cutoff time as it was, and since I had no idea how many miles I had gone off course, trying to back track seemed like a very bad idea. The trail I was on was fairly wide and looked to be well used. My gut told me to stay on that trail instead of trying to fight my way back on course. Sometimes, you just need to listen to your instincts.

I kept heading down the trail and eventually it widened out to a road, I even found a trail head with a "you are here" map. That damn map didn't help me at all. This is the point where I started crying. But I knew that I had to keep moving. Roads are where people are, plus, it was leading me down the mountain, towards town. I kept my pace the best that I could and when I had hit 19.23 miles, a savior in a red truck appeared. It was Turd'l, one of the race staff, He had the funniest look on his face when he rolled down the window.

"What are you doing out here?!" 

"I GOT LOST!"

"I can see that. Get in the truck."

"THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU."

It turns out that he was headed up to pick up the 50 milers who didn't make the cutoff time for the Fish Creek aid station. By the time we were headed back down the mountain, the truck was full of weary runners. The DNF rate for all the race distances was very high. We all agreed that this course was the most brutal any of us had encountered. Slow clap to you, Ultra Adventures. A few of the people were pretty darn upset that they weren't allowed to finish the race. Me? I was just so happy to not be lost anymore. It took most of the sting out of getting my first DNF(did not finish, for those who don't know).

When I got back to the finish line, my mom was waiting for me. I ate my finish line pizza and shared my harrowing experience with her. One of the other runners, a successful finisher, brought his chair over to chat with me about the race. Seriously, trail runners are the nicest people. Nothing but smiles and kind words were there for me through the day (excluding the humorless deer head people). My mom thought that I knew the guy who came over to talk to me, since we were able to just fall easily into a conversation. I've said it before, I'll say it again. Runners are some of the nicest people on this earth. I was wearing my hat from the race the next day as we were going around town and through the park and other people who had run made sure to come over and talk to me about it.

I handled the non-finish pretty well, until Sunday night. When I tried to get some sleep, I just tossed and turned. My mind was starting to rebel. And when I did manage to nod off, I would have awful dreams about it. I was in a pretty bad mood about the whole thing all through Monday. Things are feeling better now, and I am bound and determined to get that finish next year.

August is going to be a busy racing month, and that always help to lift my spirits. So stay tuned for many more race reports, and of course, pictures. Until then, happy running!