#20, brutally perfect.

I think the most difficult is what to name this post. Somehow nothing feels fitting. Mace Hideout 100 was my chance at the #20 100 mile finish, and I surely hoped my last and successful attempt. As the words on the website for this first year event stated, "it is as beautiful as it is tough". Well, that was an understatement. But here is a mantra I had:

Is it an itch or a burn? Is it a dream or a goal? 

I had a plan. Of course I did! I made a time chart, packed my minimalistic drop bags, added things I don't normally bring when travel to races - like extra pair of shoes, and had Larry at my site. Let me just get it out - Larry was an absolute perfection. Scott Jurek would have been jealous of his crewing. I think we both missed the logistic part of long races, and the way he shone here was undeniably not only for me, but for all the volunteers and other crews. I mean, I am pretty self-sufficient, and where the crew wasn't allowed, I was still quick and on point, but the way Larry was dialed in, with things I needed, and almost forgot I needed, and the exact correct words - short, acknowledging what I said, yet not giving a window to respond, though still making me feel heard and understood...The team work exceeded all the previous efforts we ever had to put together. And just like my last 100, exactly 8 years ago to the date, though that one was completely solo, the race was executed in a way I couldn't have done any better - but, boy, oh, boy, this one was by far more difficult than I even imagined.

The best thing about this race that we slept in our own bed. How often does this happen? Because the start was at 8 am, we even slept until our normal 5 am wake up hour. An hour and 20 min drive - and the gathering of 30 runners and their crew and race volunteers at Pueblo Mountain Park was feeling friendly and relaxed. I loved it. All my usual pre-race jitters were gone and done. Jokes, a couple old friends and new, laughter. Mike Smith, a 100 miles "collector", blast from the past. Annie Hughes, my newest young little friend from last summer, an amazing human and absolutely superb outdoors athlete, with her bright smile. The RD Chris and his girlfriend Marci - like I've known them forever, we've been in contact since the year before, when I found out about this new race, yet of course it didn't happen. The pre-race was brief and so much fun. "If you don't want to be eaten by mountain lion, don't follow Olga, but rest assured, we have mountain lions and bears in numbers". "No jumbo shrimp or caviar at the AS, but there'll be Ramen and maybe mashed potatoes". First year event on a budget. Do I know that... I wish folks would understand that when the RD starts their event, they lose so much of their personal money. I mean, when it's running for 5+ years, and the field has 100's of entrants, sure, it can be very profitable. But this one? I bet Chris sunk in 10+ thousands dollars on top of whatever he "recouped", if not more. But I digress. We sort of stood near the non-existent start line he forgot to draw, and when Marci said Ultrasignup clock is counting down fast, at "go" I took off first - just because I figured nobody else was aware it's "go time". 😁

Of course, by the turn on the road, I was passed by a dozen of runners. That was the plan, as I started walking the first tiniest incline. The field of 30 allowed me to very easily be aware of where I was at any point on the course, and as non-competitive as this race was supposed to be, I can never completely shut down my competitive brain. I counted 12, and settled in. A first few miles there were some chats going on as runners pass. "Is it true you had 9 mountain lions encounters?". "Hi, this is my first race ever", Jason the legally blind and his friend/runner/pacer (this is total wow), Jacob from TX. The first half of the course, most of it is on dirt roads - and as much as I normally dread wide dirt roads, I really enjoyed it. The views were absolutely fantastic, the roads were smooth (not those with bulky rock), and rolled quite gently. Some trail sections thrown in to connect. 

We got to the first aid, and I am 10 minutes behind. Nothing new here either, I am always behind at the beginning. Refill, take on a huge climb - first of 2 on a single track straight up to Greenhorn. I had my "yikes" moment mid-way up. I am normally a very heavy breather, yet I can go hard and long at what someone could assume redline. I just breathe heavy (thus I prefer not to talk when I am either running or hiking uphill, only on downs). But here I was just not catching on my own erratic breathing. So, when Jacob was behind on one of the bends, I spotted a flat rock and, literally, sat down for him to pass. I had never done "sitting down" in a race, and at mile 14 to boot. But, 60 seconds later, I was rebooted. Go figure. There was some snow crossing near the top of the climb, postholing a few sections, maybe a dozen small ones, but with knee-deep steps already in. No big deal, considering ahead. Also, 4 creek crossings...which really was absolutely nothing for the upcoming shit show, but wet feet. In good news, creeks allowed me to dip my buff in, wipe my face and keep my head cool. Experience... 

I quickly caught up to Jacob, then Jason and his friend, and near the top, one more guy. And just like that, while now I lost an extra 5 min due to some snow slowing down most likely (15 min behind total at Greenhorn AS mile 18), I am in top 10. Not much considering 30 runners, but still. Sheryl (volunteer who knew me from days before East coast racing) yelled "3rd female", to which I had 2 things to say: "You mean one before last?" (we only had 4 gals in the field), and "The race doesn't start until mile 85". Funny I even said that, because the main agenda was to finish, no matter what and how long it would take. Yet here I was, my mouth spitting things before I think. Very looking forward, if I thought I knew:) You can take me out of racing, but you can't take the racing out of me. Is that how the saying goes?

First time seeing Larry. Perfection crewing, position number 1. "That was a mother fucker climb" - "Yeah I heard. Bottles, garbage, how many gels?" - "Tomato juice, egg wrap" - "Love you, bye". Apparently 2 things blew people's mind at aid stations: how fast I transition (whether or not I had Larry, at the solo AS's I was as fast with drop bags), and how well in-tuned he was with me, reading my eyes and body language. I can't say enough for the team work and his commitment. I also can't say enough for my own 20+ years 100+ ultras experience. Larry said most runners either sat on the chair at at AS, or at the minimum glazed over the tables. I will never forget lessons back on ultraserve list when I was just starting and absorbed the knowledge of veterans: if a 100 miler has 15 aid stations, and you spend 1 min - that's 15 min to your time. If you spend 2, 3, 5 minutes...well, do the math. You definitely need to take care of your needs, but you won't catch up that much time on the trail. Learn to be efficient and know exactly what you need - and while AS's are fantastic, that's why I always bring my own stuff. No wondering what and where. Just drop bag - small ziplock bag with exactly the number of gels for the next stretch, no more, no less, and a can of tomato juice (and you are new and rolling your eyes on this, trust me, comes from veterans way before me, never failed, tomato juice with its sodium/potassium and a taste breaking all the sweetness in the gels/drinks).

Anyhow, next section (downhill single track, but a nice one) I got my time on the spot, refilled at the

"water-only", chugged some more water while there (I was a bit behind with sunshine and altitude), and took off running on rolling dirt road, still gentle decline a lot, with some flats and inclines.

I ran! The clouds rolled in, breeze blew, almost chilly. I was so proud of myself, the wife of "amateur meteorologist", that while I saw a lightening strike, I never freaked out - I knew this particular storm is not coming close, the clouds look dark, but not thundering where I was, and no rain is going to materialize. By the time I came to Pole Creek AS, mile 30, I chipped 10 min off the time - and now was almost on the spot. I grabbed my drop bag (4 gels, tomato juice, water refill, no thanks, sorry I am no fun) and was out in a minute. The rolling dirt roads continued, the clouds cover and the storm far away darkened the sky, and I was moving along quite well. Those 2 sections, miles 24 (unmanned water AS) to 38 (Sand Hollow 1) were good stuff. Another smart move on my part: having read that first half of the race has lots of said dirt roads, I chose to wear Hoka shoes for support. Bingo!

I rolled into Sand Hollow at mile 38 15 minutes ahead of time. I saw Larry dashing to grab my drop bag, and he already had a spread of stuff waiting by the car - bottles, tomato juice, gels, his Garmin watch. The idea was since my watch dies half-day through, I'd switch to his for the loop, while he'd charge mine back. I got out of the AS and began the gentle hike up another dirt road, as I heard a cow bell behind. Is someone coming in to the AS? Soon I heard some female chipper voice. I turned my head, and Laura (who was running in 2nd female from the start) and her running partner were trotting behind, gaining on me. What happened they came to an AS before I did, but took longer, and I passed by without noticing. As I kept my power walk, the slowly caught up exactly near the top of the loop at 4 miles in (true, I looked at the watch). Then they trotted down (Laura: Olga, you look color-coordinated, me - congrats on Cocodona). Somehow, in a couple of miles or so, I gained back, passed them one by one, and had to keep pressing - 40 miles is about where I take it a little more seriously and no longer into "I don't care" mode. Once I make a move, I'd like to keep it. Besides, I felt great - and I began to nourish a dream to finish 2nd after Annie, my young wonderful friend (I was actually rooting for her overall win). Yet, on the last half a mile, as I listened to my body, I felt the wet shoes and sand from the creeks beginning to rub a hot spot. So, as I entered the Sand Hollow 2, mile 46-ish, having shaved yet 15 minutes more (now 30 min under chart) I yelled "socks" to Larry. My man read my mind, even though when I left for the loop, I said no change. In fact, once I pulled shoes and socks off, put fresh socks - he quickly said "Are you sure no shoes?". I took a split second, thought about squeezed toes, looked at wide Altras, and said "Yes, thanks". Another great decision and disaster aversion! Team work square. He also had my hiking poles extended and ready. I didn't start with them, again, course studying, no need on those dirt roads that included good running portions (I still can't run with poles, and carrying them on the pack seems extra weight), but I knew what was coming...not really, but I thought I did. And that, my friends, was yet another perfect decision making.

Another 7 miles on the rolling dirt roads. First few miles were shared with crew vehicles, and Larry passed me and took a photo of me - he didn't take any at the aid stations, too busy doing the actual crewing job. I left the AS at 7:30 (with my own watch, fresh buff, headlamp on my head, and Larry's ipod, because mine died, and that, too, was predicted and planned for), and around 9 pm I turned my headlamp on. It got dark fast, can't-see-a-hand dark. But still good solid power walking and bits of jogs, till I arrived to Overlook AS. Here's where we were to do our first of 3 out-n-backs, 1.5 miles to a place to mark the bib and come back. Chris the RD was there, riding his motorcycle all night to check on markers and provide all the help. Did I mention the course was marked immaculate, not too much, yet not too little, pure exactly enough? He asked what I need. I said Ramen, but only if it's ready and in the cup. It wasn't, and I am like "I am not waiting". So, another volunteer guy said "How about while you're on your 3 mile, I'll make it for you and wait?". That's service! I hurried out, drew a smiley face at the turn-around, and jogged back. Approaching AS, I saw Laura and her guy, we exchanged "hey", and I noted inside: at least 2.5 mile on them. Can't relax. My Ramen was ready. Chris excitedly exclaimed "Olga, you're killing it". And I was like "Well, I haven't dropped yet". I have to say, dropping never even crossed my mind in this race. I mean, I had done quite a number, 19 finishes, and 5 DNF's - and I would say I didn't consider dropping maybe in a couple of those. Now, the record is, of course, I overcame those thoughts more often than not...on this day and night, it didn't even appear on the horizon. I shoved the soup down, and took off. I had things to do. Mile 56, half-way done. Last dirt road stretch to the unmanned Water out-n-back AS, and I am still sort of moving strong, not sleepy one bit, still ahead of time, now some 35-40 minutes. 

At some point, just before dark fell, I put my windbreaker over the pack, but it wasn't too cold, so I kept it unzipped and with sleeves rolled up. It was a beautiful starry night, and believe me, I was actually enjoying it. I also was doing my best not to scout the surrounding darkness with my headlamp, figuring if there were kitty cats out there watching me, I didn't want to know. I figured, the track record of still not being jumped out of those 9 stalking pursuits are on my side, so why chance my luck. We all know they are out there, I just don't have to see the green Egyptian eyes I sometimes see in my nightmares. By the way, at the finish line Marci (RD) told me she saw one at night, instead of me. Taking the heat. Thanks, girl!

After that water stop, next is back to Pole Creek at mile 67. There was a neat single track trail getting there, though I wish it was a daylight, because I could only see a beam of my headlamp - and trying to not trip over some rocks. At Pole Creek who do you think was there - Chris! And his father making a family recipe mashed potato soup - which, you guessed it, was ready, and super yummy! ("Top notch" were my exact words). I had a plastic bottle with Dunkin coffee drink in my drop bag, and Chris was "chug it". Well I spilled some over myself ("I have a hole in my mouth"), got wiped, and took off. Um, and the race had just begun...

A week prior the race, my friend Theresa kept telling me how I am "ready and trained", and I kept saying "Yeah, for a solid 50 miler". Up until now, I felt superb. Calm, strong, and even sort of fast-ish by my new standards. The climb to Greenhorn 2 at mile 73...let just say, it was no joke. And if I thought that was hard, oh, boy. Anyhow, on top of this ridiculously steep climb, it was a first section that started to "stretch out", a.k.a. being longer than advertised. Yes, I know, trails, approximate. Try and tell it to yourself at mile 72.5, peering into the darkness looking for an AS. Between a climb and some extra (may be half a mile?) time slipped away. I got to an AS, having lost 30 of my 40 min cushion. Larry, of course, was ready to rock-n-roll. Chair, spread on the ground, volunteers at hand listening to his requests. Ramen, tomato. Mashed potatoes. Hot coffee. Sleeves - right over my jacket. Pulled hood over my head. I was getting cold and shaky - Chris warned me it'll be freezing at the top of this 11,500 peak in the wee hours, 3:40 am. It was. 5 min max, all it took me, and I got up from the chair - surprisingly not too stiff or achy. I have to say, while the 60 miles went really great, I still wasn't falling apart. In fact, I tell you more ahead of time - I never fell apart, I wasn't broken down to the point of hurting. I mean, my legs were definitely sore, but I only felt it when I would try those jogs on downhills, because they'd jiggle, and that kind of hurt. Other than that, all was good. 

Anyway, back to the course. Larry walked me over the road to the beginning of the downhill after Greenhorn, and gently slapped me on my butt. And I thought (speaking of sore jiggle): "Uh-oh, my ass hurts". It was kind of a little funny. I told him I loved him, and off I went into a darkness. And, literally, within half a mile or less, got a little lost. It got wet - right on the trail, running snow melt off, which will be the story until the end - and I dumbly thought about holding off getting soaked, and went right, into, ha, a boggy marsh field. Wondered there, at first trying to hop from a grass patch to another, sinking in, and eventually stopped. Took my phone with CalTopo map in it and a downloaded GPX tracks for the race (another smart decision, as much as I dislike technology, this time it saved my behind twice). While I stared at the phone, my feet sunk in. It took a good minute more to pry them out, almost losing the shoes, but alas, I backtrack back up to the trail where I veered off, and found a perfectly visible marker on a perfectly obvious trail. Duh. Now with shoes full of mud and wet up to near mid-calf. Oh, well. The wet was not to be avoided, anyway, as I trotted down this stinky steep running water trail. Gosh, steep and wet WERE the theme from then on. At some point near the bottom the grey light became more visible, and I turned the headlamp off. I made it through the night. Despite a toes-slamming shin-hurting descend, that was acknowledged with a smile. At the bottom (more creek crossings, frankly, I stopped even pretending to count them, just wade, besides, the water was just everywhere), the climb began. And it was as steep as the descend. Knock your teeth out steep. You know what else? The section that was supposed to be 8.5 miles (approximately), kept on going. And going. It sort of leveled off at some point, and I thought - here is where the turn off to the AS St. Charles is. Nope. It was light, so I strained my eyes looking for it. Climbing again - another gosh can it be any steeper my calves can't flex that much? Snow, again, not much. Every snow pile up ahead made me hope it was a tent for an AS. A mile went by, another half. I took a phone out - did I miss it? Gosh, I am so glad I had this tech at my disposal. Because you know what, the winner, Anthony Lee, was so certain he missed the turn, he backtracked (twice?) for quite a bit and got 6 bonus miles! 6!!! I looked at the map, and nope, I am still not there! I was near tears, pissed off as I was losing all the time I already didn't have on my chart (ha, I still cared). But I didn't let myself cry - that was wasting energy, and blowing my nose with poles in hands was really not easy. I pressed on. Another mile - by the time I got to a turn off sign and the AS, I got 2.5 more than promised. 2.5!!! I came up to the table where the gal was, glazed over, and solemnly said: "It was long". She said "Well, it was promised approximate". I said "2.5 is not approximate". I know it wasn't her fault, I was just tired and mentally fried from reaching it. She asked if I want pancakes, and I just said "half a cup of coke", filled my bottle, took my jacket off, and turned back. I did say "thanks", and she warned me of what's to come. Ha, and thanks again. More climb, snow, steep descend. It was.

As I left St. Charles, I had to go up (thanks for the warning), hitting some snow patches. It was once I reached the top and started down where the craziness started. More snow. Some postholes took us through the banks on the side of the slope. Some - slightly around and ankle-turning. Then, I think Chris gave up on this shit and flagged a section straight down - and I mean, straight down, over sliding snow and wet dirt and rock, to avoid more snow banks? Vertical. Literally half way that thing my left foot screamed - and so did I: "Fuck you, you mother-fucker!" with extreme pain. That was my toenail lifting off and bursting puss under. I actually stopped mid-stride, plopped on the rock, took a shoe off. Yeah, about that...reached for my bandage, then put a fresh sock on (I always carry extra pair, I am that smart and experienced). It felt good. Changed second sock (of course). Popped 4 Ibuprofens. Continued on. Within 5 minutes the pain was bearable. I think it's the burst itself that caused the screaming. I slowly exhaled, and the downhill "leveled off". Um, I mean, it stopped being a vertical drop, and became a super-steep descend. With lots of water. And more water. And more rock. And you would think because the previous section was longer - 2.5 miles! - this one would be shorter. But no such luck. But he beautiful sunrise came over horizon, and I took a deep breath. What a view! I never stopped loving the views, by the way. True gem.

Somewhere within a mile and half from the highway crossing I suddenly come up on a guy (in a race). Walking. Whoa, I think. That's getting fun. He was nice, but broken down. I made sure to run by and kept the shuffle in sight. The trail finally stopped being wet, I saw a couple hiking up, asked them how far the road crossing is - the "unofficial aid" where Larry would be. They said about half a mile. Oh, yes! I jogged more joyfully. And what do you know, within an earshot of highway in another quarter mile, I am passing another guy with a pacer! Holy fuck! Yes!!! My "eye on a tiger" full swing! I smiled, they shouted "good job", and I took off. I mean, that's, of course, describing "taking off" at mile 87-88, give or take, but I tried, crossed over a road, got into a parking lot where a bunch of crew was NOT expecting me. Dropped my lamp, jacket, got water, said to Larry "I just passed 2 guys and would like to keep it this way", and ran my tail off to the next turn. Apparently, all present had their jaw open, and Larry said with a smirk: "They are never catching her". My man. 

I worked SO HARD next climb. Because, let me tell you, it was a CLIMB! A full mile hands-on-knees breathing over scale, and I left nothing behind, pushing on. I am NOT going to be re-passed in the last 15 miles. The drop from the top was as steep - story of this race's second half, indeed. Not much "running", more carefully breaking poles into ground to not catapult. Then - rock bed (like somebody blew a rock cliff, and shit fell down all over the place). Then - stream. Not crossing stream. Walking inside a creek. That was just going on and on, alternating. Finally, a short dirt connection to a parking lot with last AS, Mace. Mile 93 - or whatever, I completely stopped believing and looking. Larry was there, thankful. I gave so much to that section. I nearly lost the will to continue. I was so grateful to see him, even though I knew he wished I'd let him not to have come at least here. He was tired. He looked tired. But he looked composed and committed. He didn't snap. In fact, I NEVER snapped at him either, even though we discussed that I probably would. It was all: his dedication in his eyes and body language and words, and my "yes please, thank you, I love you". Tell me about perfect team work! I got last 3 gels, fresh water - and oh, baby, hold on for a little longer...

There was a climb. Of course. I clocked it - a mile and half of climb, another bend-at-the-waist. Last one? Ha-ha, you wish. Anywho, another crazy descend. And then - an exert from RD's email:

"Also the last 9 miles is well... let me just shoot straight here, there are 43 creek crossings in 2 miles. Yes I said 43 - we counted them, not just hop over stream crossing either these are knee deep and 4-5 big steps to get across. Your feet will be wet and probably cold, like ya think they are gonna fall off cold, don’t blame me I didn’t build the trail :-)"

Yep, it was ALL true! And when it wasn't those 43 crossings, you just wade through run off's right on trail. 3 motobikers kept catching up, then passing, then stopping. Annoyed the fuck out of me. Twice, to give them way, I had to scoot over to the side of that creek wading, on the slick rock, and fell into the water. They stopped and compassionately looked at me, about to offer help. I was like "Guys, I am on the clock, get out!". For real. Get lost! They finally found a crossing they couldn't get over, I (nearly) swam and that was it for them. It was unrelenting, all the wet sand in the shoes. Thank God it was nearly over. Or so I thought. When I finally saw the last creek sign, it was a dry creek bed with rocks for a bit - and then, what else is new, I had to sharply climb! Really steep! For a mile! Then - sharply drop! Zane Grey, loose strewn steep rock section down! No, I wasn't running here. Just praying to survive. 

Finally, a pop on the dirt road. I must be in Pueblo Park. But the torture wasn't over, even though I tried to jog. It was at least another mile, I am not kidding, winding through, gently up and down. I sort of lost count on the time by then, I was deliriously hoping for 30:30 at this point, but the road kept going. Believe it or not, I am not sure of my finishing time, got to be 30:40-ish, but I did find the finish line - and Larry, and RD Marci, and OMG, Annie waiting for me - and the winning guy Anthony Lee. Thank God it's over!

Inauspicious finish line, just same as the start line. Couple cheers. And hugs. I had done it. My number 20. It was pure elation, and exactly what had to happen. When Marci asked how it was all I said "brutal". It was a brutal second half, and both Anthony and Annie agreed. Annie said it was the hardest thing she's ever done. All 3 of us figured it was 104+ miles with 24+ feet of climb. The website purely underestimated. At the same time, there was so much pride for making it through! And let me tell you, while I lost 2.5 hrs since in the last quarter or so on my chart, according to Annie's Strava and my Garmin, I ran 20 miles from Greenhorn (73) to the finish (30 miles) almost 20 minutes faster than her (and she had a pacer😋). There you go. Textbook. (also, sounds like Annie's plan called for 2 hrs less than the actual finish, as well).

It was super-sweet of Annie to wait for me. I don't know her time either, but I am sure it must have been at least 2, if not more, hours. And I am so glad I could be that impressive for her. Damn, I was impressed with myself! 51 years old, 8 years out off the sport, imperfect training, and I nailed it. I am glad I didn't disappoint the RD's as they seemed to have been thrilled to have me there. I mean, they were happy for ALL runners, but it felt kind of special the way I was talked to and about, old school and stuff. The buckle was absolutely gorgeous, too. Probably one of the best, intricate works I own. They didn't skimp. Very cherished from now on, showed off at work next day for sure.

We didn't hang out much, had a drive home and work next day. I relayed a number of things to Marci of what I would have fixed, with my RD-ing and a runner's experience. She was extremely nice and accepting! I am hoping we get to have some coffee some time down the road with Chris and Marci, talk race, help them make it superb 100 it deserves to be. It's a beautiful gem, and it's brutal. Come to think about it, it was how it should be (sans those last 9 miles, which I have an idea for). Larry and I are thinking about helping out next year, too. We really like this couple of RD's, and their take on life, on the course, on how much they put into it, sweat, heart, and tears. It all showed. I hope nobody got hopelessly lost or injured. I hope guys get some sleep (and post results). 

I was not bad for the wear. Stiff, when got home. Only one blister on the ball of my right foot (!?), and 3 toenails are coming off (at least, but nothing new here). Not even "cankles" ankles. Also, a hot spot on my left hand from the pole, and the "tennis elbow" on the right - also from the pole. 

I had put KT tape over my right injured hamstring before the race, interestingly enough, I don't even believe in this witch craft, just covering all I could - and my hamstring never said a boo. In fact, it doesn't hurt now. Go figure, gotta do a 100 miler to fix a problem? Also, a funny little bit: since it was 2nd time with the new pack, I only ran with one of the two straw bottle. When Larry gave me a switch at mile 18, I found out the straw still had tight plastic wrap around the top. Took me a number of minutes and some serious teeth work to tear it off! And, by the way, 104 miles and 24k of elevation gain is the most (sans Hardrock) I ever done in a race setting. Rivals Wasatch. So there.

Things done right: 

- Start in Hoka for first half with lots of dirt roads, switch to Altra for wide toebox trail craze 2nd half

- hiking poles for the second half of the course. First time in a race, but very useful here, for steep climbs, steep descends, snow, and creek crossings

- 2 changes of socks - wet course! Also, Drymax. Enough said.

- all the watch/ipod switch orchestrated

- my usual fare of tomato juice, gels, and night soups

- new Salomon pack worked fantastic, not a chafe anywhere

- Larry - such an implemental part. I mean, not only saving me a minute at each AS, but being there FOR ME was such a huge important thing. His support throughout my OTS/chronic fatigue, for me quest to get this under my belt, during the 30+ hours (CREW!), and his dedication and love. I can't say enough, nor do I have enough words. Thank you.

Things gone wrong: nada. I mean, ZERO! I never felt sleepy, never wanted to quit, never broken down, too hurt, too anything. Execution of 20+ years of experience at my #20. A++, 11 out of 10. I could (and should) probably say even more, but this report is already way long. 

We went for a morning walk on Monday, and after half a mile the crinkles in my body worked out, and I was walking. This morning, I was walking normal pace (not running, nor do I plan on it, full recovery in order). I did go to the gym on Monday, just to keep up routine, and tell my friend Marla and my old guys that I made it. They were sweet congratulating me - and I did half-ass squats with 5 lbs plates, threw some dumbbells around, and rolled on a foam roller for 10 minutes:) I worked Monday, and was moving ok, just got tired half-way through, like sleepy and droopy. But, overall, not worse for the wear.

It is Tuesday, and I am calming down from this performance. It was a great experience, yet get your head out of your ass y'alls, it doesn't mean I am back to the ultrarunning career. No such plans. Some local 50 k's, sure. I like the idea of leaving on a high note, and on my own terms, not like last time. My last 100, San Diego, exactly 8 years ago, was a perfection, too, but I was pushed out by a sudden body shut down. I don't want to have it happen again. My active life is far more important than any result on some arbitrary list. Plus, I have other things I have a high interest in, and not a very long life left to experiment. However, I am absolutely proud of THIS result. This one is MINE, well earned and deserved. I persevered. 

Now that I think about it, I got very little time to recover - and on to another, different, adventure. Yowser. Scary shit. Why don't I just keep it without shaking waves? One life to live. 

Thanks to Chris, Marci, and their volunteers. Annie, for thinking I am the shit (no, Annie doesn't think in such terms, sweet thing that she is, this was Billy Simpson's coin for me). To my son Stephen - those who don't know have no privilege, but he called prior, got excited about it (he always had been so proud of my 100's), then called back to check in. Apparently, when normal people think it's out of norm, my son gets drawn "back to normal" by this. To the mountains that keep inspiring me do crazy stuff for a pleasure to see a sunrise over. Mostly, I am grateful to my body and mind. Thank you.

Courage plus resilience equals triumph. - Anne Grady

Amplify your strengths rather than fix your weaknesses - Chase Jarvis

Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage - Lao Tzu