And They're Off

I got up at 3:30 am. Took a shower and put on the clothes that would see me through the day. It all seemed like an almost normal running day which I was hoping it would feel like. I made and ate a half of peanut butter and jelly sandwich and then decided to stretch a bit. My muscles were loose and I felt good.

Before I knew it we were all loading in the car and driving over to the start. Yes of course we were within walking distance but hey there was a long day ahead. Why waste the energy. We arrived and beheld the majesty of people, port-o-pots and of course the lights and music that is a race start. People scurrying everywhere. Testing headlamps. Relieving themselves (in the appropriate places of course.) Myself being kinda of oblivious to most of it walked with Michelle over to the table to check in with my bib number. Once that was done I took a quick trip to the john. How did it get that name? Then I waited.

It seemed like 15 to 20 minutes but I am sure it was simply a few. I made a small joke about being a Kenyan since everyone was looking at my own personal film crew with puzzled faces and then there was the countdown. I gave Michelle a kiss goodbye and then the horn went off. With a small cheer all 212 of us were off. It was surreal running out in the darkness, led by some unseen person or force. As the light of the starting line disappeared in the darkness we transformed it seemed into a barrelling freight train speeding headlong on a tiny track into the darkness of morning.

We could all feel the terrain change underneath us. Grass to rocks, rocks to dirt and then back again. From time to time as we had slowly been peeled by the thinning trail into a bouncing glowing snake you would hear a voice call out "root" or "creek" or "branch" and the whole line of us would hiccup as the obstacle was avoided. We seemed to run a circle at one point (this would of course be later confirmed) and we hit the first aid station. I slowed to a walk and drank most of the first bottle in my Fuel Belt. Before I knew it I was off again.

I had little conversations first with an Army medic who was telling me that this would be his last race for a while because he had to devote more time to his family and he was planning on moving from Virginia. Then I spoke briefly with an Army ranger who was telling me about some of his missions and that running was the only way to have a little bit of sanity. I of course told them about my illness and how I ended up here in the midst of a 50 mile race.

We all settled in and it became a silent uneventful jaunt in the darkness. It would not stay that way for long.