"In Greek mythology, a phoenix or phenix is a long-lived bird that is cyclically regenerated or reborn. Associated with the sun, a phoenix obtains new life by arising from the ashes of its predecessor." - Wikipedia

During my first 100 miler back in 2010, a fellow ultra-runner and now friend, Tony Portera, told me that no matter what happens during a race, to make sure I learned something about the race, and something about myself. If I were to do that, he reasoned, nothing would be in vain, even if I didn't finish the race. I've subscribed to that mantra ever since. 

Badwater 2016 taught me two important things. First, due to its extreme conditions, Badwater cannot be planned, anticipated, expected nor relied upon to go as one would like it to unfold. What I mean by that is no matter how well one preps for it, something will go wrong. And it will happen over and over. This race is about how many times a runner can "die" in a sense, and come back from the "dead", or rather, rise from the ashes. The race requires patience, flexibility and the mental fortitude to completely change plans many times over and be ok with it, even when the very idea of changing direction seems counterintuitive. That's what I learned this year about Badwater. More importantly, what I learned about myself is that my spirit animal is a phoenix, one that continually rises from the ashes and keeps coming back, over and over until I'm done. I knew I was a fighter. I just didn't realize how much until this past week. Here's my story. 

Because this was my second year in Death Valley, I was far less nervous in the days and hours leading up to the race. I was excited to be back to a place I love with a crew that had served me well last year. I had one crew replacement and I felt confident in my choice of my friend Bob. We all arrived on Saturday in Las Vegas and headed to Death Valley on Sunday morning for racer check in and to get settled into our newly chosen location in Stovepipe Wells, also known as mile 42 on the course. The majority of runners stay in Furnace Creek which is 17 miles from the start line at Badwater Basin, however, we had made a decision to stay in Stovepipe Wells and to let two crew sleep while I ran the first 42 and to pick them up when we arrived in the morning, which aligns well to an 8pm start time. During the first night, I would utilize one crew member, Thomas, to do the crewing/driving from start to 42 thereby ensuring Leslie and Bob would be completely rested come sun up on Tuesday morning and as previously mentioned, with an 8pm Monday night start, I was targeting hitting mile 42 around sunrise. This was a VERY wise decision. 

Around 6:30pm on Monday evening, Thomas and I headed out to the start line since it takes a good 45 minutes to drive that 42 miles. As a side note, with the stay at Stovepipe Wells instead of Furnace Creek, things were far calmer for the team. We found last year that Furnace Creek is a hotbed of frenetic, nervous energy and that bleeds off into the rest of the runners - you cannot go to the restaurant, nor the general store, nor the pool, nor the parking lot, without all these runners and crews milling about, half of which appear to be absolutely terrified, the other half wound up tighter than an angry achilles tendon. On the other hand, the atmosphere at Stovepipe Wells, which is mainly filled with European tourists, is a completely different, welcomed calm and for me, that is always a preferred pre-race environment. So back to Monday night - we drove out, making a pit stop at the general store at Furnace Creek (mile 17) for a last minute ice cold coke. It should be noted that Furnace Creek is actually *cooler* than Badwater Basin so I decided to stop and take a check of the famous Furnace Creek thermometer:

That's right. 50 minutes before the start, it was 140 degrees in the sun. NOTE: It wasn't a record, mind you...  no, the record is/was 134 in the shade back in 1913 and on this day in 2016, it was only 120 in the shade. It was hot, nonetheless... DAMN HOT. As a comparison to last year, the temps at the start were 105. This year it was exactly 117 at the basin. That's a 12 degree difference, one which I was not prepared for. Now, you might say "what's 12 degrees when you're already at 100+?" and I would tend to agree but in this case, one thing I had forgotten to do all day was to take in electrolytes. I had been vigilant in drinking water, soda, tea, etc but actual electrolyte intake slipped my mind. I could blame the heat, the distractions, the race prepping but it really didn't matter, not when everything came crashing down at mile 14. 

Once the gun went off at 8pm, I felt great and even the scorching heat wasn't terrible - the sun had set, my iPod was on and my body felt good for the first 13 miles. I was in a groove and my 12 minute pace was exactly what I wanted it to be. Suddenly, out of the blue my left calf muscle seized up and I collapsed on the side of the road, screaming in pain. I've never experienced debilitating cramps in my legs and in that moment, I felt completely hopeless. I tried to get up and hobble but I couldn't stand. Several kind runners ran by asking if I was ok, I said yes, more embarrassed than anything that I could be so foolish to eschew the electrolytes during the day of the race. I radioed Thomas telling him that I had only made it about a half mile since I had seen him last and would need his help getting across the street. He pulled up and carried me to the car while I screamed my head off. But it didn't stop there. Suddenly I was dry-heaving, my stomach deciding to take a turn for the worse and my head so light that I was on the verge of passing out. As if that weren't enough, my lower abdomen distended and I couldn't grab the Biffy bag (portable toilet sack) fast enough. Those 4 Immodiums I had taken earlier in the day seemed like a heat-induced hallucination as I threw my cramped leg onto the open passenger door, stood on the non cramped leg and contorted my body just enough to lean backwards where everything, and I mean EVERYTHING, came out. I cannot imagine how pathetic I looked in that humbling moment, nor did I care. It was 11 pm and dark outside. Front and rear passenger doors were open, affording a small bit of privacy in an otherwise mortifyingly embarrassing moment. For the next hour and 10 minutes or so, I continued to experience terrible diarrhea and cramping and I threw everything I could possibly find into my body in a panicked effort to stop my body's internal war. It was also at that very moment I got my period, something no woman ever wants to deal with during such a long race. The quick loss of iron from that didn't help and in addition to how bad I already felt, I also began to become very tired, something that is fairly common for me every month. In that 70 minutes, I consumed 3 HyperHydration packs from Skratch, 2 ibuprofens, 2 Red Ace beet shots, 1 KOR ginger shot and a coke. As those went down, I started to feel less light-headed, less cranky, less "bad" and I knew I *might* make it. At that time, it wasn't just the idea of a DNF, it was the idea that I'd be the first person to drop out, not even making it 20 miles. I was petrified of that outcome, knowing that I likely wouldn't get invited back in 2017 and that I'd have to explain to a lot of people how I managed to really screw up something so important, something I had spent time, money and effort on. So I pushed myself to quickly recover, to do whatever it took, and to suck it up and push myself out that car. And then I did. 72 minutes after I had stopped, I started back again. And while the leg cramps didn't completely dissipate for another 10 miles, I was able to continue forward progress. I ran faster and faster through the night, hitting 10:30 miles close to daybreak. I rose from the dead. It was wonderful. 

The next morning came in with the sunrise and by the time we reached mile 42, my pacers were ready to go. I changed clothes, we did some foot taping and were on our way. Now, one thing I didn't mention above is what happened to my body during that 72 minute "recovery". Because I had consumed 3 packs of HyperHydration within an hour, I had taken in 213% of my daily sodium (5400 milligrams) with exactly zero forward progress. I had also been drinking Gatorade and popping salt pills and SportLegs. All that sodium caused massive leg swelling far earlier in the race than I originally planned for and as a result, blisters were starting at mile 30, rather than last year's mile 122. I had brought 4 pairs of shoes, each progressively larger but I hadn't counted on being in the largest shoe, shoe #4, size 11, so early in the race. This was not a good thing but I really had no choice and for the hike up to Townes Pass (miles 42-58), I was counting on the blisters to be fairly benign. They were but that didn't last. 

As the day wore on, my amazing crew kept my spirits up. It was extremely hot and there wasn't a cloud in the sky this year. Those miles from 42 to 58 are just one long slow uphill during the super hot daylight hours so they require a lot of hiking and hydrating. My pacers switched off a few times but generally speaking, we made good progress. The downhill into Panamint Valley (mile 72) wasn't bad and we were excited to get to Panamint for real food and a chance to prep for the night. 

Side note again, the past few weeks had seen some crazy rain storms for DV with tremendous flooding and washouts and as a result, the winds were higher and the sand storms far greater. Our trek across Panamint Valley proved that rebounding from such acts of nature doesn't happen quickly. The floor of the valley was well above 120 degrees when we crossed and the winds were around 45-50 mph. The sand was so heavy that our crew vehicle was absorbed by a thick brown cloud and Bob and I were left to lean forward and hike as fast as we could, with him occasionally trying to shield some of the wind from me, for fear of me being blown into the sand flats across the road, pausing at times to reach out and see if we could feel a vehicle nearby. It was ethereal. 

Once we made it through, we arrived for an early dinner break at Panamint. My crew pulled the Yeti out, wrapped my feet in plastic bags and plunged them into what I can only describe as a pure, unadulterated pedi-heaven, better known as an ice bath. Once again, off came all the bandages and Thomas performed the second of several minor foot "surgeries" in the field. The blisters were huge and three toenails were bulging out, nearly popped off from the massive swelling and blood beneath them. The pain was intense.

After departing Panamint, we began the second long slow hike up to Father Crowley which runs from mile 72 to about mile 90. The sun was setting and once again, the beautiful moonrise proved that all the suffering was worth the scenic austerity we were so blessed with at this time of day. Night fell and we were shrouded in a beautiful nocturnal bubble, broken only occasionally by the sounds of other exhausted runners and their vehicles. As happens in races of this distance, we spent the second night leap-frogging with other, similarly paced runners. We knew the winner had already finished but we argued that he was missing this beautiful experience and we would never want to be at mile 135 when we could be here, at mile 75, instead... (side note, we lied)

After the sunset, the fatigue really set in. This year had been much hotter than last and the drama and stress had been tougher and we needed to sleep. The alarm was set at 9pm for 45 minutes, which turned out to be the fastest 45 minutes of my life. It went off and I, being cranky and really wanting more sleep, protested as I climbed out of the car with Leslie, irritated that it was pitch dark, we were at mile 83 or so and we still had a long time to go until the second nap, having already decided to emulate what we had done in 2015 - a nap early in the evening and a nap just before sunrise. 

As those night miles wore on, we exchanged banter and stories and continued forward, deciding to walk because my feet were very, VERY unhappy. The cranky ankle had returned, the blisters were enormous and we still had 40 miles to go. Finally around mile 97 it was once again, nap time and once again, that 30 minutes went by faster than any other 30 minutes in my life. However, this time the sun was just starting to look over the edge of the horizon and mile 100 was not much further, a mental milestone that is about as exciting as one can get in this race - TRIPLE DIGITS! I also felt more alive, more awake, more excited to get going and so I began to run as I had two nights before. Owen Valley (miles 100-120) is a beautiful, cool oasis and I knew I could count on overcast skies and temps in the 80s, just like last year. We even had a nice misty drizzle for a bit in 2015 so I was extremely excited for that heat hiatus because I naturally assumed it would happen again...

Except it didn't. The sun came up and nary a cloud was to be seen. The temps soared into the 90s by about 9 am and the 2015 storms, which had started gathering at the base of Mt. Whitney last year, were nowhere to be seen. Instead, a heatwave came through and once again, I was sweating, swelling and swearing. I. Was. Miserable. By this time my back and shoulders were bleeding from heavy chaffing, my feet were so swollen we had to cut out the fronts of the shoes & cut off my calf sleeves. My blisters were back and worse than before. So we decided to take yet another 45 minute stop to work on my feet. I felt nauseous, I was once again roasting and I needed to be left alone. My crewed obliged and I ran for a while alone, left to deal with the sadness and frustration in my own head, broken only by an occasional upbeat song on the iPod that took me away to a happier place. 

But as is the way with life, in this race time passes and each step forward is one step closer and eventually we were in Lone Pine, mile 122. All that was left was a half marathon hike up the mountain. I remembered it was tough from the previous year but how bad could it be? I knew what to expect, right? Well, that is I knew what to expect when road construction wasn't happening and the brand new, shiny black, blazing hot asphalt hadn't just been poured that morning. Oh, it was miserable - the loud sounds, the smells of tar, the heat so hot you could see wavy lines in the air... it was just terrible. The rocks and gravel were rolling into my shoes where we had cut out the toes, hitting my blistered toenails and knocking into my tender skin. It took us another 5 hours to go 11 miles, each step seeming like it was harder than the one before but again, much like the morning hours, time passed and we worked our way up until we finally were at the portal road (mile 134). There was no beautiful calming fog like last year, no drizzle of rain to cool us down. Just the blistering sun, pushing us, fighting us and ultimately allowing us to cross that line where we hugged, high-fived and congratulated ourselves on our mission accomplished. As I stood there smiling and watching the flurry of activity, I couldn't help but notice a small bird sitting in the tree next to the finish line, observing, watching, flitting about and wondering what was going to happen next, what adventure was waiting on the horizon after this one, happy to be perched there in the afternoon sun, knowing the day had been successful. And I knew that little phoenix had been me all along. 

"Where are the dreams that we once had?
This is the time to bring them back.
What were the promises caught on the tips of our tongues?
Do we forget or forgive?
There's a whole other life waiting to be lived when...
One day we're brave enough
To talk with Conviction of the Heart." - Conviction of the Heart by Kenny Loggins

Today was training - 3 hours and about 19 miles worth, to be precise. It was hot (91) and it was humid (85%) and it was perfect, mainly because I ran with conviction. I've been doing some thinking lately and with everything going on in the world, it seems we have lost a little bit of our way. Of course, this is a running blog and I have a general rule on social media which is to stay far far away from charged topics, particularly those having to do with politics, religion and OJ Simpson (don't ask) But it doesn't mean they're not somewhere in my head, rolling around, especially on Memorial Day weekend, when we look back at those who risked everything. and speaking of risks...

There was another reason why today was poignant for me. It was due to Craig Williams. He died last night. I didn't know him personally but I know his beautiful and thoughtful wife, Susan Williams, as a volunteer for the Oil Creek 100 miler in Titusville PA (ed note: she's not a runner, not even close but she supports the community she's known her whole life). Anyway, back to Craig - he was involved in a terrible biking accident about two weeks ago. He held on for a while but ultimately succumbed to his injuries. It got me thinking about the risks we take in life and how to balance those, especially those that are wrought with physical danger. Ultrarunning carries a great deal of risk but so does owning a motorcycle, getting on a plane, parkouring through the city, riding on a bicycle... do we remove that potential for danger by excusing ourselves from participating? Or do we embrace it because we have only one life? I prefer to subscribe to the idea that we need to take risks, if for nothing else, to really experience life. Not just the same life everyone else experiences but the REAL LIFE experiences, different as they are for each person. I know that if I didn't do this (this = ultrarunning), I'd miss SO MUCH. Like Antelope Canyon, a flashback to a race in March 2015:

I mean, HOLY HELL, look at that... so as I ran today, as I always do, I attempted to take in the small things, the reasons I run, the little 'nuances of nature' as I call them, that we miss. Granted, it was no Antelope Canyon but I wouldn't have seen this gaggle of baby ducks:

Nor this newfound trail cut-through:

If I hadn't gone for a long run today. So really, where's YOUR conviction of the heart? I know where mine is. I know where Craig Williams was - and each of us has to decide when, where and how to embrace ours. This is it. Life is fleeting. 

"One with the earth, with the sky
One with everything in life
I believe we'll survive
If we only try..."

In the spirit of summer finally arriving in DC, I signed up for Habanero 100 in Smithville Texas. It's exactly one month (August 20) after Badwater 135 (July 18-20) Someone has to the the first person to do the two hottest races in the country within a month of each other. Right?

So yesterday I ran in an "event" called the Texas Treasure Quest put on by none other than Trail Racing Over Texas (TROT).  I call it an "event" for two reasons - one, I wasn't racing it. Two, it's less a "race" and more a strategic expedition. I decided a couple of weeks ago to come to Texas for it mainly b/c DC weather has been a real fickle b*tch lately and all the glorious DC heat and humidity has been on hiatus since I started training for Badwater 2015 and 2016 over a year ago. So I figured 12 hours on my feet in the dry Texas heat would be perfect. Side note - it was great training. It was most definitely NOT dry. 

Anyway, the race itself is held on this KILLER horse ranch near Sealy TX called the 7IL ranch. It's just spectacular and I was interested in seeing the ranch prior to my fall 100, Blazing 7s, which will also be held there. So you can see the justification behind my decision to venture once again, to a favorite town of mine. 

Ok, anyway, let's get back to this "event". The way it works is that there are several primary trails that weave all over this mainly pancake flat ranch for a total mileage of about 40 miles. Because they constantly intersect each other and and criss-cross, you can essentially get from point A to point B fairly easily, which makes the idea of an open scavenger hunt very viable. 

There's a HUGE strategy behind this because once you have 5 stamps, you must return back to the start-finish area, have your stamps logged and then you go back out. You can only get each stamp once and because Rob Goyan is smart, he likes to add a wrinkle, which was that each stamp has a certain point value. Not surprisingly, the harder to reach/find stamps are worth more, the close in stamps are worth less. To make it even more interesting there were 5 bonus items that you could bring back (if you could find them) for additional point accumulation but most were things you wouldn't want to carry around with you should you be out there mid-collection, like a 10 lb kettlebell. So dragging that back means losing time. Speaking of, when your cut-off is coming up, you have to make a choice to try to run out and squeeze in more or stay back b/c each minute you miss coming back in for your cutoff is a point lost. After 30 minutes, you're DQed. Trust me when I say it's surprisingly easy to get lost on this course later in the day. I know. I did and kept going in circles come 2pm or so. 

But did I mention in the midst of these rules that it was ridiculously FUN? Because holy cow, it was a blast. You'd be amazed how fast you can run when you see a small sign off in the distance and you know it's something you've been looking for. Or how fast time goes when you stop watching your Garmin Fenix 2 (which died anyway... useless brick of a device that it is)? And this ranch... oh my god was it gorgeous:

So it was really a marvelous place to run and great day for it ... except for the trail conditions. Wanna see?

The course was under a ridiculous amount of water and the mid-morning severe thunderstorms made it so bad that one of the water crossings I had to traverse twice was waist-deep for me. WAIST DEEP. I realize I'm a bit of a shorty at 5'3" but an ark would've been a more appropriate vessel to navigate with than my feet. The good news is I didn't have blisters and the muddy Sketchers held up reasonably well. I say "reasonably" well because they didn't make it into my suitcase to come back home. I'm going to try going back to Altras for BW135 after having tried out a few post-race. 

At any rate, it was crazy fun, TROT and Rob know how to put on one seriously well-run race (<- HA! See what I did there?!) and I'll definitely be back next year... if for nothing else but to hear the cheers of the race staff each time I came in, usually spoken in with a bit of a pirate accent. It was a dAARRRRRRn good time. 

"But every time it rains,
You're here in my head,
Like the sun coming out--
Ooh, I just know that something good is going to happen.
And I don't know when,
But just saying it could even make it happen." - Cloudbusting by Kate Bush

It's rained and been cold for weeks. Hardly what I'd call appropriate training weather for BW135. Today was magical though because suddenly, it stopped. And while it wasn't very warm (ed note: I wore gloves. In May. Just let that sink in...)  it was enough for a few hours of my favorite time of the day to run - sunrise. 

On top of that, I managed to negative split my run which is like, the greatest thing to happen on a long run. I have two months and two days until I leave for Vegas with my amazing crew in tow. So as I sit here and review my upcoming training plan including next week's Texas Treasure Quest race, which is really just a 12 hour hot but hella fun training run, it seems apropos to think back to last year and some of the amazing highlights. 

First, while the race is grueling and it's hard as f***, it's also a hell of a lot of fun. And why shouldn't it be? No one wants to work their ass off training for months, pay thousands, take off a week from work and family and suffer if you can't enjoy at least parts of it, amirite?! And clearly, we did:

There's a lot of running, especially when it's "cool" at night (aka only around 100 degrees):

And there's a LOT of walking, particularly when it hits the mid 120s:

And if I were to tell you how much your emotions range in this race, I'd sound like a manic-depressive, bi-polar, multiple personality psychotic because I laughed, I cried, I became furious, I whined, I bargained, I went numb and I became full of vivid color... it's really hard to express how this race affects your soul but those who do it year after year understand. And last year I was indoctrinated into that magical, special, tiny group because it's all I can think about. I swore during miles 90 to 120 I'd never come back but the moment I stopped, I knew I was kidding myself. Sometimes we run to find peace, to find answers, to find solace and escape, to find truths, to find the shortest route, to find the longest route, to find a break from reality... the list goes on and on. All I know is that on any given day, I run to find all those things but I run Badwater to find myself. And I need that again. I'm out there, somewhere. I can't wait to find it - the strength, the grit, the will, the resolve, the real me.

"​And you're just in reach
When you and sleep escape me...."

Badwater Salton Sea, finish #3. 23:59. Not my best time on the course but as is standard for any AdventureCorps race, nothing was surprising, yet everything was (un)expected. What do I mean by that? Basically, as is the case with all of Chris Kostman's races, you can plan for anything and still get caught off-guard. 

As I mentioned in the previous post, 2014 included extreme conditions including heat, dust storms, extreme cold, sleet and heavy fog (in that order) 2015 presented even hotter temps but we were rewarded with a clear and relatively warm evening portion that culminated in one of the most breath-taking sunrises I have ever seen in my life. As you can see below, I was up to around 5600 feet but the entire valley below me was blanketed with a cloud canopy. After a night of calm, it was one of the greatest moments I've experienced so close to the finish line and made the 11 mile hike up worth every step. 

This year, the sunrise was quite beautiful as well (although, really, 2015 set the bar high)

As you can see, no canopy but just as beautiful. Anyway, I'm jumping ahead of myself. Let's go back to the beginning and tell the full story. 

The start of this race is really unique - we essentially form a group standing on what is left of the shore of the Salton Sea (which, if you've never heard of this place, look it up. Its history is fascinating, to say the least), listen to the national anthem, take a bunch of photos and then Chris sends us on our way, scampering through "sand" made from dead fish bones:

My teammate, Todd and I took off and just like last year, settled into an easy 5.5 mph pace while it was still relatively cool [ed note: that quickly became 5.0 and 4.5 MPH but that's pretty typical for this race] Unlike last year, the temps were 20 degrees cooler and we had a small(ish) dust storm midday. The good news is it passed pretty quickly and it didn't wreck my asthma. The bad news is that it was still hot - 88 degrees with almost no humidity which can test the heartiest of souls. Personally, I was made to run races in the heat, however Todd is a polar bear and he struggled a bit early on. We managed to stay away from the "red zone" and that conservative approach paid off in spades later on. 

Much like last year, we traded stories about how life had progressed for both us and our families since we last saw each other at BW135 back in July. Those first 40 miles are the toughest in the course and true to form, several runners ended up dropping before they were over. Once we realized we were at the trail section which picks up at 40, we felt much more confident in our finish. Last year Todd was hit with a terrible heat stroke and ended up dropping at the end of the trail section. The 6 or so hours it took us to get through that was pure misery in the form of severe dehydration, vomiting and near collapse for Todd and frustration, fear and utter desperation for me. This year we arrived and he was in great spirits which meant I was too. And I was NOT disappointed in what happened up there....

Even the impending thunderstorm and hail that was happening at the top didn't dampen my spirits - I was going to have a TEAM finish this year. So with our gear and lights, we set off at 4:30, the absolute last minute we could start ascending without getting DNFed from the time cutoff (told you we stayed conservative.)

The steep rocky climbs were like a homecoming - I love this trail. It's only 8 miles but it feels like 18. It climbs over 4k feet over that 8 miles so you can see how steep it is. The fastest teams get over it in just under 3 hours. I was hopeful we could come close. 

We did great for about the first mile, then once again the wheels came off. Todd was struggling due to his (insane but awesome) weight loss, paleo-esque lifestyle. In dedicated form, he eschews most carbs, particularly the evil simple sugars. This is great for weight loss, terrible for endurance sports. And it hit him hard. After much pleading, whining and finally demanding on my part, my partner-in-crime agreed to eat all the sugary carbs I had and BOOM, he not only rose from the dead, he turned into a man with a mission. [Side note: I gave him the best simple sugars money can buy, from Skratch labs.  Seriously, this stuff is amazing] We conquered the trail section in 3:29. I AM NOT EVEN KIDDING. 

So off the trail we came and it was now the "easiest" and my most favorite part of this race - the last 31 miles. We paid homage to the ultra gods by getting our requisite Ranchetti photo:

Not gonna lie - the evening is always my favorite time but this one was tough. It was colder than last year and while those temps were well within Todd's sweet spot, I had to continually move in order to keep from freezing to death. During the evening, we were also "gifted" with light snow/sleet/rain type of precipitation that only served to make it tougher. By about 1 am we were both zombies. Our crew was VERY GOOD at pushing us out of the warm Tahoe before we could get too comfortable which is key in any race. More than 20 minutes of sitting/warming up means a runner is far more likely to get too comfortable and drop out (aka DNF). However, we kept at it and between us, we moved much like an old married couple, choosing, at times, to stay very close, chatting and laughing, while occasionally distancing ourselves from each other as much as we could without so much as a word. 

As with all things, the dark times come to an end and the sun starts rising, a new day once again breaking on the horizon. Anyone who's ever done a race that goes overnight knows a lot about what I like to call "the dark place." It's the time between 1:30 or so and sunrise. The body and mind are at odds with one another, the former craving sleep so badly that it's palpable, the latter pushing pushing pushing to keep going, if only to the next aid station. To say it takes a lot of heart and soul to forge on is an understatement. It was for this reason I was so proud of Todd - as exhausted as he was, he kept going. I could see him falling asleep on his feet yet he kept moving forward. He had a hell of a tough day and was having a tougher night, yet he never gave up. It's those small moments of sheer pride and happiness I had for him and in that, I knew we would be ok. And we were because the sun rose and suddenly, not only would we finish, we were within the realm of possibility that we could break 24 hours. And just like that, we did. The fanfare of the finish line lasted just long enough for the runners behind us to come and steal it away, as is always the case in any ultra. But in the moment, we both basked in what we had done. We showed up, we worked hard and we were rewarded. In short, we accomplished what we came for and in that time, we grew a little more. The third time really was a charm. 

The more things change, the more they stay the same. My mantra for this coming Salton Sea is one that relates to the passage of time, the gaining of new wisdom and insights, yet the runner's habit of sticking with what works. Sunday will kick off my third attempt (and hopefully, finish) of Salton Sea, the closest training run I can get to emulating the "real Badwater experience". My first year included temps around 106, a severe sand storm and sleet once the sun set and the journey up Palomar commenced. Last year, I was lucky and temps remained right around 100. There was no sandstorm, no sleet... no crazy weather. I can only hope for the same this year. 

​As they say, "third time's a charm..."

I found my original running blog, "I Run, Therefore, I Blog" preserved in the Way Back Machine. To say it's inspiring to go back and re-read the beginnings of my running career is quite the understatement. 

It made me realize I miss blogging. I miss pacing. And I miss the people I used to meet trying hard to qualify for Boston, break 4 hours or just prove to themselves and the world, that they are athletes. 

I'll continue to add the old entries but start with May 2010 just over there -------->

​You'll catch a glimpse into where I came from and maybe get a better understanding of what motivates me. Thanks for reading. I promise not to let this one die again. 

What can I say? Life got in the way and I realized tonight that in the midst of all that life, I had forgotten to stay true what I promised to do - get back to blogging and running. 

RR100 left me with a bit of a strange foot injury and after 8 weeks of PT and doing everything BUT run, i have made a quick comeback, just in time to get on the training horse, albeit slightly late. 

So three weekends ago I came back with my first real run, a trail marathon. What made it unique was that for an early April day, it snowed. It was a disgusting, sloppy, muddy mess but it didn't matter. For the first time in two months, I ran and it was WONDERFUL. 

Fast forward a week later and I found myself toeing the line at Brazos Bend 50 miler in my favorite state, Texas. It was 180 degrees different than the prior weekend. Whereas TNF has snow, BB had temps in the mid 80s. TNF was my slowest marathon time ever, BB was my fastest 50 ever. As is always the case with my life, and my runs, there was definitely a yin to the yang. It didn't matter though... as is true any time I'm out there, a bad day of running is always better than a good day of working. And both days were great. 

Less than 3 months to go time. There is no more injury, no more excuses. Just miles to go and my feet to take me there.