LT replies

No more slam.
Probably ever (?)

In one word - altitude.

More detailed .

The story of how I had become statistic at Leadville 100 50% DNF rate and another "wanna-be" slammer.

Let me begin by stating that despite many predictions (or worries) before hand I didn't want to quit (or drop) in a race ever. I knew it would be very hard. I knew that the biggest problem I will encounter will be altitude. I knew I will slow down tremendously and had no obnoxious expectations of time finish - all I planned was to keep ahead of cut offs. Due to family and job obligations I wasn't able to fly there ahead of time and acclimate (I am just happy to be able to go for races at all). On top of it my family had run into some turmoil (our older son was held back in Russia after his vacation there instead of coming home last week due to favorite bureaucracy) and my head was filled with this instead of preparation. But I went to Leadville with a clear job to be done - come to the finish line. Honest;y, I wasn't excited much about this run even before problem arose - just not my kind of terrain anyway. But it was a mission. I wasn't going to quit. And I can say from the bottom of my heart that I didn't.

My husband Oleg and I flew to Denver Thursday night and by 10 pm were at Leadville. Next day after meeting some folks (Andy, thanks for your help) and checking in we went to scoot around the course for Oleg's crewing prep. Again, (sorry, Gail), not my kind of course. But nothing to be killed by. 3 big climbs done twice, lots of roads/nasty dirt roads with big rocks and some trails. I tried to "run) for 100 feet and went out of breath. As expected. Fine.

Race morning. Start at 4 am. Good weather. Stomach problems - not a biggest concern, but very annoying. Still, just swear. Surprisingly, I ran first 2.5 miles without any problem. Reached Boat ramp fine, saw Oleg and Sid (Gail's husband), then on to a Mayqueen. Didn't care about time, guess just over 2.5 hrs. First climb to Sugarloaf - dirt road to 11200 feet, on dirt road, but very gentle grade. Still - walk hard, not problems (besides stomach and stepping aside, but it's not something to cry out loud about). Fish Hatchery ( 23.5M) - 1 hr ahead of cut off. Perfect. Road to tree line. Pretty flat, but not inspiring to run. Stomach bounces, breathing difficult, walk hard, feel fine. Next aid at 30.5M, Halfmoon. Finally, stomach subsides (I knew it and it was a relief), and a second climb in two pitches toward Twin Lakes. Here is more steep, had to stop a few times to catch a breath, still OK otherwise. Ran out of water 1 hr before aid station, bonked, but came to Twin lake 1.5 hrs ahead of cut off. Very happy, just want to keep an hour cushion and think that once I am over the Pass twice will pick it up. Tony and Annie came down here to see me from Pike's Peak marathon - it was fun to see them. Change shoes and clothes, restock and determined go onto the Monster - Hope Pass at 12600 feet. After about 1.5M winding flat wet meadow we hit the climb. It is nasty steep. I begin to stop every so often, still mentally strong. By half point (and after I met Matt Carpenter going down) it started. The breathing began getting shorter, the stops more often. I do what I can, lots of people passing, but I don't get discouraged and just do what I can. 10 steps, stop, catch a breath, go. I thought nothing serious of it, just too much tar in lungs makes it worse than for others. As I got to Hopeless (12000 feet AS), I ask for oxygen, but it's not delivered yet. OK, lets get it over with. Climb last pitch. Can't breath. Think, everyone is in it the same. Start getting down on the other side. Despite not climbing anymore, breathing is still erratic, but at least I am moving faster. Come down to the trail head, see Oleg and can't talk - inhalations are short and not refreshing and the glands are swollen. Go for turn-around at Winfield for another 2.5 miles, but walk fast. See Gail, she says - don't drop. I am not planning to. I want to get over Pass second time. Come to 50M - oh, boy, I lost 45 min on my cushion! That;s how slowly I was up. Oh, well. Restock, go back. Pick up Oleg. He looks at me, sees something I don't and asks if I am sure I want to go on. I am. I said - 2 hrs of suffering, and it will be over. Everybody passes me. Everybody. All the people who made the cut offs at 50, passes me. It gets worse and worse. I don't go 10 steps anymore, I go 5, and don't just stop, I sit, lay, cough, can't catch a single breath, gurgle somewhere in my chest. But I am determined to get to the top. 2 hrs. Only 2 hrs. Hopeless on the other side - I get oxygen for 2 minutes. Did it help? Who knows. But the guy says I have 1 hr 35 min to get down. What means I lost another 40 min on cut off and pushing it. I get up and charge down. Oleg gets headlamps out. We pass at least 10 people on the way down. I try hard. I just pray if I get there with 20-30 min to spare (it seemed I was running pretty fast to gain time) and will be lower at elevation I'll resurrect. Twin lakes we made with 10 min under. Too little. Way to little time. Who cares, I am not giving up, no more Hope Pass, night is here, I'll make it. We change, and get out right on cut off at 9:45 pm. We have 3 hrs to make 10 miles in two pitches up and one down. Neither one of us is very optimistic (it took me 2 hrs 25 min on the way in), but we go on. They have to pull me out, I say. Dirt road climbs, and as soon as I step on, I bend over without breath. It's lower elevation now, but the damage is done. I can only go a few steps weezing before I half to either hug a tree or sit on a rock. No air in my lungs. But I am making it forward motion. For 50 min. 2 miles. Then Oleg, who had seen enough HAPE on the mountains, gets scared. It is in the middle of nowhere, and I am obviously developing pulmonary edema. I still want to make it to the next aid station and have them pull me out. It is no question I can't go 8 miles in 2 hrs at a rate like that, even flat and slight downhills I am walking slow and out of breath. We stop, discussing turning around and getting help. I see a couple of flashlights coming onto us, a runner and a pacer. They are trying to make it in to Halfmoon. May be I should give it a shot. I turn around and move forward. Out of breath after next 10 steps. Turn back again. See another light coming forward. Turn again and want to give it a shot. Bend over. Repeat another 3 times. No matter how sure I am I am not making it due to medical condition, I want them to tell me that (the officials). I am not ready to give up. Oleg is really scared. I am too. But I don't want to say I dropped. Next set of lights was the sweep. That was over. They were moving faster than I was, and getting to Halfmoon in the middle of mountains an hour after cut off would mean there will be no help there. We turn and slowly make it back to Twin lake. I am almost hanging on Oleg's hand, unable to walk even down. The aid station is demounted, the last person is ready to leave. We ask for a ride. It's over. The wrist band is cut. I practically don't care, trying to inhale enough air. On the way to Leadville, cramped in a volunteer's car with lots of stuff, I can't open my chest. I think on top of lung problems I began a panic attack. I thought we will never reach help and I will dye here, in a car, on the road. I am hyperventilating and panting, scaring a girl and Oleg. We finally made it to the medical tent. I get on oxygen for 30 min with strong suggestion to get to a lower elevation. After abotu 20 min, if I lay still, I can take a full breath. When I run, it comes back again - tight, short and weezing. Cough. Spit some crap from my lungs. That continues whole night, but by 6 am gets better. If I am slow, I can walk.

I am not hard on myself. There was nothing I could do. If I had time, despite all the symptoms, I would have gone on. I missed the cut off. That simple. The hardest part was to see quite a few of those who left Twin lakes with us, finishing the race. On the wire, but finishing. I question myself again if I could. I remember how it felt in the car. How it felt in a medical tent. How I missed the cut off. What's the point of replaying? It's over. Being there is painful, and we leave after we see the last guy squeezing it at 30 hrs flat.

Does it hurt (in my head)? Hell, yes! I did make peace with my first DNF. It's just a race. As Nick says, it's an experience and a lesson. I needed it, I guess. It sucks about the slam. Not that I will dye over it. But I grew to love all the guys and girls who's trying. Liz Walker rocks, she has asthma and pulmonary edema for 3rd year in a row there, yet she finishes! Gail, you came back from the dead, my heartfelt congratulations! Andy, I am so happy you made it! Me - I'll get over it. And after some thoughts I decided to go for Wasatch. It's OK I am not a slammer. I still love to run long. And, as Oleg said on that trail, it is more important to save this love (and life, I guess), than a single race.

Thanks to everyone who thought of me past weekend. I wish I didn't disappoint you. But such is life.

I'll see you all on trails.

Olga


Oleg is right, better to save your love and life and race another day than finish one race which will be there next year. You are an amazing runner with a long and happy career or running ahead of you. Learn from this, that it takes a strong person to know their limits, evaluate a situation and make a hard decision.......know you will be stronger in the future and that everything makes us who we are...it just depends on how you choose to learn from your life lessons. This was not a failure...this was you growing to become a better runner......you have many many many years of running ahead of you, this is only one paragraph in one chapter......you are an inspiration to me and I am glad we are friends. Do not relive this race as a failure...your body would not let you do what your mind wanted it to...usually the mind gives up first...the body is easy to strengthen, the mind is more difficult to train...but you have already made your mind and spirit incredibly tough.......you (anyone) can always make the body tougher, but a strong mind is something that is harder to train.....know that you have more than what it takes to be a lovely human and caring partner and tough competitor......

jason


Olga,
I feel like I known you for years because of all your race reports. I guess bad things come in batches. My company just laid off 50% of its employees, and I survived yet another round during my years here. Still, I didn't care about it as much as I care about your race. I've been checking the reports from the aid stations, and searching for your name furiously. I couldn't find your name after one of them, and I thought that the data was incomplete. I did not want to go the DNF route because you're a tough runner. I'm a little disappointed that you didn't finish, not because of the fact that you didn't finish, but because I know how determined you were to achieve the goal. Did that make any sense? Regardless, I am happy to know that you are safe. Maybe you're a little bruised, but you live to run another day. There is no glory in dying on the course. You'll get nothing more than a footnote in history of the race.
I have no doubt that you'll do this again. It's your life. You're born to run! In my book, you are still amazing!

eric :)

Dearest Olga,

I do not know what should I say... because I do not know you very well, but
coming from a fellow runner and a strong one as you are, I will say:
I'm very proud of you, you rock the mounts girl. Glad to know you're listen
to your body, because the ego is our enemy. You are here and heath.The
mounts are permanent. I'm sure you'll try next year and you'll be there much
more strong with all the lessons you've learned this year. And more, to
accepte our limitations is a sine of courage. I'm sure you know many
runners that are not capable to achieve what you did, recognize their
limitation, and you do not see their names on the races any longer and for
other they are no longer in this level of life.
Life is too short for us to learn evything by ourselves, and you showed that
you did learned from your fellows runners... never forget, you're the one
who are going home with your body... you did the right thing.
Hope you're feeling in your 100%, and wishing all the best in your next
challenges
Keep in touch, and thank you for get back to me.
Keep up with your wonderful work.
Love and serenity...
Lucimar

Olga,
I am so sorry about your slam, and that your race didn't go as planned. I know you never gave up fighting, and you did the best you could. My heart was with you on Sat. and I thought about you several times.
You are tough and I admire you so much.
How is your son? That is a heavy weight on your mind I'm sure. Is he back with you yet, or do you know when he will be?
Let me know if I can do anything for you.

Do you feel better now?
Theresa

Olga,

I am sorry to hear about your experience at Leadville. Altitude can be a bitch especially with little or no acclimation. Its a wild card and you just never know how your body is going to react to it. It sounds like you were really experiencing some pretty knarly symptoms and I am glad that you were able to get back to an aid station and ultimately to a place where you could be medically assisted. Its good to know that you are okay and that you will live to run another day.

So do not be too hard on yourself, I know its a let down but it happens to everyone and this time you had virtually no control over your bodies reaction to the altitude.

Take care of yourself and have fun at Wasatch!

-Walter

My dear Olga,

I am so sorry that the damn altitude waved it's wand.
I am SO very proud of you. Thank you for choosing life. Yours is far more precious than the slam. Slam shlam.....

You really are a hero, my hero.

Love,
Annechka

Olga--It is just a race, you did your best and that"s all that counts.I"m glad your going to do Wasatch. As we have plained I will meet you on Thursday Sept 8. All you whant to do is finish Wasatch, I have finish the race 7 times you and I( will !!!) finish. Talk to you about final plains before the race, nick

I was genuinely saddened to read about your problems at Leadville. I know you have done all the self analysis of how to get pass this problem and I have no doubt that you will in grand fashion. I hope we get time to run together at Wasatch. We all have things to learn from each other.



Admiring Mike with Love


olga you did not dissapoint any of us!!!

you gave it your very best shot and that's much more admirable than what most folks did.

no more tears
james


Olga--You did not fail. You did your best, gave it your best and thats all that counts. Now I have DNF in some 100 milers I don"t think of myself as failed. Things will not always go the way we would like, take the good with the bad, and move on to the next day.Now rest and take care of yourself. e-mail me in a few days and let me know how you are. No one! thinks any less of you because you did not finish. Listen to me, I have been there and know what it is all about, nick

Hey Olga,

I just want to say that you are still a champion in my mind and you didn’t disappoint me (or anyone else) for your superior effort you put forth. I’m glad you are still positive about your running and that you did all you could to try and finish. As indicated many times in your report, it just wasn’t your day. I am still very proud of you Olga for all what you have already accomplished this year (including Leadville) and what is yet to come! Your one of my inspirations that drives me to get me back to running again!

Thanks for all your encouragement and good luck to you at Wasatch and future runs.

Sorry I couldn’t be there to help you, but my knee might have backfired on me too.

We’ll talk to you soon.

John

Olga,
Thank you for sharing your story. I'm very sorry for what happened to you, and I'm positive you didn't disappoint anybody you sent this to. I'm excited that you're still going to run and finish Wasatch. Have a blast!

Sean

VT replies

Olga,
Just read your story, you are a great ultra runner and I admire you for what you have accomplished. You really do run with your hart there is no other way you could have done it.
When I read your articles I can actually feel you pain and glory, not an easy thing to put into words but you always fine a way. Thanks for making me cry in front of all my coworkers
They think I'm crazy anyway.
I only hope you recover soon and are able to achieve your slam goal. Please keep sending these stories you are as good at writing as you are at running.
Gary Spalter

Olga! Congratulations on persevering and finishing Vermont! You are one
tough, strong, humble, amazing woman! Your report did a great job of
highlighting the contributions of all the wonderful people who helped you
along the way, but all the help in the world won't get you across the
finish line if you don't have enough mental and emotional strength to get
there. And you did/do!! Wow. I hope your recovery goes smoothly
(especially your poor feet) and wish you the best on the next one. Thank
you for continuing to be such an inspiration!!!!

Caroline Klug

Olga:

You are amazing! You have inspired me to do those 15 milers in the summer heat and humidity. You tell the story so well, I was there with you while I was reading it. Your tolerance for pain and punishment is unequalled. I will think of you when I feel tired, or when it starts to hurt.

Good luck with the Grand Slam..

Dennis Burns

Dear Olga: I have little to add to all the things that others from
VCTC have said about you--but want to highlight your strength,
determination, endurance, inner fortitude--and wish I had had the
chance to get to know you better (as a runner and as a person--but I
think of you whenever I go to Rockefeller and will always remember
how you introduced me to running the trails in such a wonderful
place) before you moved west. But I know that running is something
that binds people together across the country, and I have the feeling
we will run into each other in more places than New York.
Bette Clark

Jason A wrote:
Amazing story!!!! What will power you have..with or without everyone around you. You said you ran for other people, but it came from within. You are very strong and that strength radiates in everything you do! Congratulations on a great race! two down and two to go...you can do it. I am so proud of you.........

Great report Olga!

And...you're beautiful as is...you don't need to lose weight! Just my opinion...

Joan Messick

I read a lot of race reports, and I've written quite a few over the years. This is one race report that was truly written from the heart, and one that could have been penned only by a true warrior who has seen the face of battle and lived to tell about the experience.

You are a warrior. Not a fighter in the traditional sense, but a modern day trooper of the trail; a crusader of ultrarunning.

You are the Bear. In Lakota (a Native American tribe of the upper plains states) legend, the Bear is a powerful animal, representing the direction of the west, the color black, and the realities & possibilities of change. The Bear represents strength, conviction of heart, and determination. The west also is the direction of the unknown, but the Bear leads us into that unknown with strength. It can be a dark place where we face our greatest fears with power.

In this Grand Slam journey, you still face plenty of unknown. But right now, you can stand tall knowing that you have conquered two of your four races.

I believe that your journey is not yet half finished, however. At the Leadville 50 mile point or the finish line, you will probably be "half way home." Wasatch presents a challenge that will take you to your absolute limit of mind, body, and spirit.

You have dug very deep into an energy reserve, but your bucket soon must be lowered even deeper into the well. The rope by which the bucket hangs must be stretched to its capacity...and even further. You might have to throw the bucket down into the well, or even be helped into the well yourself, suspended by your ankles that are held by your friends (your family, your pacers, your supporters).

You might have to jump into the well yourself when the situation looks most bleak. It could be dark and very, very scary. Self doubts, like the ones you experienced in Vermont, will only grow larger and scarier. It's at these times when your inner strength will be most tested.

At these times, the power of the Bear will lead you to the healing winds of the red north and the light of the yellow east. You have shown yourself and all of us that you have this power within you.

You are the Bear.
Greg pressler

Vermont was brutal.

Guys, I will try to be short, what is difficult as I am very wordy thus my reports usually go to a close circle of people who pretend they can stand them. And since we already heard many times how humid it was, how many people dropped and how everyone suffered, I'll try to just state my problems as opposed to describing what it felt like. Everyone was in for the same:)
My friend Greg Pressler said on the phone Wednesday before I left: it will be a test. I was somewhat upset. Vermont100? An "easy" one with scale 2 from Don's book? OK, I ran WS 3 weeks prior and gave it my all. And I was a smart ass and ran SOB 50k a week before (don't ask why, but I may come up with something like: couldn't pass on great trails and great friends) and was tired. But a test?
It started with flights. One delayed, missed connection, night at Chicago airport/no sleep, hardly making on time to NY and my car ride to VT (thanks, Nick Palazzo!). It all worked out.
The people. I lived in NYC for 11 years, 2 years ago I ran there my first ultra, and last year moved to OR. Looking back and wondering why I fell for it I'd say - community. May be NY doesn't have those fantastic trails PNW is blessed with, but it has not any less greatest runners. VT100 was like a high school reunion. They saw me making first steps. And second. And they actually followed my progress after I moved. I was touched to the bottom of my heart and so happy to see every one of them!!
Organization. I am yet to see an ultra (with about 30 ran) I didn't like, and VT100 and right there at the top. Food before, food during, food after!! OK, you got the idea, I am an eater. Fully stocked aid stations (including electrolyte drinks and Succeed and all you can ever imagine). The volunteers! Oh, my, they were actually thanking me for coming and running and making their life easy. Horses on the course. They were gorgeous! And their riders (mostly women, what I was curious why) and very nice. Always warning on passing, encouraging, and their support with iced water buckets!!! Heaven on earth, best in the whole day of heat and humidity.
The course. As much as I love high mountains, there is no question VT100 is beautiful. Meadows, hills and running through the backyards is quite something. The marking is absolutely perfect, there is no chance you get lost unless you've got no vision or brain (what happens, no offense). Dirt roads. Yeah, it's road race with trails, all right. I'll stop right here:) Weather. Mid-July in Vermont. What else I expected? Did I forget what it's all about in less than a year? 85F, 95% humidity, light rain for 15 min didn't cool nothing, you run in a thick of it. Biggest challenge. Rolling hills. Really, didn't bother me. Yes, it's either up or down all the time, it is NOT an easy course, but it's runnable. For some:) And walkable for others, if you start easy and take care of yourself. Do it. It's got to be in a book.
Race plan. Meant to run 22 hrs, but considering recent WS and attempting a Slam, told myself to be happiest with finish. Went easy, felt good, talked with Kristy (eventual second female) for 20 miles, after which realized good race is out and slowed down. At 25 hit the wall. Face flat forward. Stopped running at 30, walked to Camp 10 bear (44) toying with idea of how to retrieve my entry fees from Leadville and Wasatch and get flying coupons from airlines. Cursed decision to ever enter Slam. And run 100. Stomach didn't process anything, including water. Dropped 5 lbs at first medical for the first time in my life (hmm, may be it's not a bad thing, I need to loose weight). Started to worry about been pulled off. Set for 10 min to recoup. Talked to Dot and my pacer Liz Kellogg, they kicked me out with notion I can walk it in under cut offs. I walked and ran some downhills on the loop. Second came heel bone bruises - I am a trail runner, haven't seen roads in a year, a heel striker (and not a light one) and wore road shoes that were 1 year old. Tried to land on toes while running down (weird feeling)- got egg size blisters on balls of my feet. Tried to land on the outside of my feet - got blisters there, ankle problems and shin splints. Lost spirit. There were some nicest people at the aid stations on the loop (and in between) who acknowledged I always smile. By mile 60 I had to admit it's for them, I swear when I am alone. Camp 10 Bear outbound - 6:50 pm. Slight chance of 24 on a horizon, but not important. I tell Liz I'll walk for the next hour and decide if I am capable of any other movement. Drink soup - finally!! It actually settles in. I guess the sun is down, though humidity is still unbearable (gentle West coast gal I turned into). Chafed at all the parts I don't even want to describe. Walking. Great company!! Besides Liz the pacer, we play tag with Liz Walker (another slammer), a couple of guys and Grant McKeown from BUS (NY club, my original home). Talking heart out. Energy from soup hits, I run for like....long, including uphills and flats, very surprised, but not wanting to stop and using the momentum. I am elated and think 23. Blisters burst by 85. Every twist and rock on trail and every strike on road - wave of pain overwhelming. No muscle soreness whatsoever, I am angry at my feet for not willing to play the part. Bill's (89M). I see Susan Dummar (who I saw a lot, and thanks so much, you are the greatest, for help and all the words you said and your ever positive attitude and smiling face), Grant gives us a one actor play with some doll from his waist pack and takes off to finish in under 23. I try to put moleskin on blisters to no help, and walk off. Lots of trail sections here. Not the NW trails. The "there is a way somewhere here by glow stick, the horses came by and dug in, the grass is high" trails. I cuss a lot and loud. I burst into cries (my new name should be sissy). Last manned aid, 95. Dot is there. I don't pretend to smile, tell her I feel like crap and ask if we have any road for at least 3 miles, I can try and walk there. She promised me that much. Thank you, Dot!!! I walk hard. Before that last 2.1M uphill trail to the finish I stop and tell Liz, I gave it all I have and I will take any outcome. It's 2:55. First step. I swear. Second. Blank, blank. A couple of runners with pacers outtake me easily, I am fine. Sorry for what you had to hear! 3:25. Water jags with glow sticks, final turn, last 400 yards downhill (grass and soft dirt broken by horses, 45% angle), stop. Another guy comes from behind, I tell him to go, I don't care. I've got a half hour to buckle. I crawl, literally, for 5 min. Finish. More crying (will I ever stop?). Realization I finished something I really wasn't meant to. Can't step on my feet. Excited. Determined to run another.

Post thanks. The biggest goes to Liz Kellogg, my pacer from Portland, OR and a friend of Dot Helling (who she was supposed to pace originally). Liz, thank you, I ran it for you! You admiration pushed me to the limit, I couldn't let you down after all you said to me. I am in debt to you for keeping me company, telling me great stories, withstanding my cussing and crying and taking care of me at the aid station. Next - and not necessarily in order of lessening - goes to Dot and Jim and their amazing volunteers for putting out such an amazing event at a very very high quality, to Dot more so for personally kicking me at the aid and been so positive. To Susan Dummar for smiles, salt tablets and care - it feels the best to have people out there who know your name. May Susan's first Umstead be a fantastic experience! Thus goes thanks to everyone who happened to know my name and used it!!! To all BUS members. To all slammers. To all NW runners as few as we had at VT and the rest of them wishing us well home. To Glenn Tachiyama who left a message on my cell phone about Scott's will power at Badwater - I came back to this message many times during VT. Of course to my husband, who stands me traveling so much this summer and worries like hell and always sure I will succeed (I wish I had this assurance myself) and even doing some crazy long runs to support me. To my nephew Michael who was watching me over from up there. To Gordy for starting it all and letting us go nuts. To my new found family of ultrarunners, where I feel at home, finally, after 12 years in this country. You are all I've got.

Admiration for this race. Not in order of quality. Nick Palazzo. My pacer for two WS100, the most encouraging and laid back guy I've met. He cared Jonny Kenul's number, the one who died earlier this year at the race and who this VT100 was dedicated to. There was no way Nick wasn't finishing. Nick also runs without a watch. But - he decided Jonny needs a PR. A buckle. How the hell did he do it? I don't know. But he came in at 23:57, the last one under 24. That is something. Hans Weisshaar. He ran Bighorn, WS, Hardrock and finished Vermont in just over 24. And he is not 25 either:) Krissy Sybrowsky. The girl is something! Not much to say. Byron Lane. Just got to love this guy. Kristy Delacruz. Ran first 100, under this conditions, for second place in 19:46. I hung out with her for about 20M, very nice girl, strong, fast, smart, got a bright future. All the runners who finished - who persevered. All the runners who didn't - for been smart and taking care of them selves. All the ultrarunners who start races. All the runners. We challenge lives. We live.