RACE REPORT: 2024 River of No Return 55k, or “Remember Who You Are”
Welcome to another one of my race reports. A race goes beyond what the results say, and I want to share with you, usually with too much detail, the ins and outs of my race and what I thought about it. Along with telling you how my race went, I also discuss what my training was like up to that point, and my overall thoughts on my performance. Enjoy!
The night before the race, my girlfriend Kiley wished me luck, knowing she wouldn’t be awake when the gun went off the next morning. “I hope you have fun or a spiritual experience, or both!”
Fun is a relative term, but running is always a spiritual experience.
TL;DR
- Race: River of No Return 55k (that’s 34.1 freedom units)
- Location: Challis, ID
- Course description: Snaking around the mountains southwest of Challis, the course follows some ATV tracks up and down around old mining sites and desolate but beautiful terrain. My watch clocked 8700 feet of vert.
- Result: 7:06:33, 18th OA
- Strava Link
Storytime!:
Before:
For those uninitiated with my race reports or aren’t familiar with my family history, I tend to sprinkle in some spiritual things surrounding my dad. He was the epitome of a hard worker and worked hard to instill that in his children. In my case, endurance athletics has always been an outlet for me to express that work. From the moment he passed I vowed that his spirit will still live on through me.
Earlier on during race week, my memory banks served me a helping of deep emotional nostalgia by way of the hit 1994 animated film The Lion King. Specifically the scene where Simba is spiritually lost and happens to run into Rafiki for the first time, setting off a series of events that ends with the spirit of Mufasa reminding Simba that he is the one true king. “Remember who you are,” he boomed from the clouds.
For me, it’s one of those scenes that brings me to tear-shedding. Not saying that I’m destined to be king, but it’s a parallel that I relate to back in my own life. I am my father’s son. Sometimes I need that reminder.
I needed it because honestly I really had no clue how this race was going to pan out. Since Spitfire I felt like my legs were being held together with duct tape, with the result of one bad movement of the body cascading it into injury jail. Every couple days, I would be debating with myself whether this calf pang or that IT band ache would be something to be concerned about. Every week, I walked into my PT’s office, trying to figure out “what hurts this week?” Ice baths became more frequent. I actually learned how to stop worrying and love the foam roller.
Training was generally inconsistent. While I was still able to get out, I generally felt like garbage for a majority of my runs. I swam more than I usually do. My speed work consisted of short hill sprints and 30-second strides. At the end of each run, there was a sense of relief that I didn’t get hurt (survive-and-advance). I longed for a two-week break just to get my legs to actually feel normal again.
So yeah, not ideal with the River of No Return, RONR (collectively referred to as “Roaner” by the community) looming on my race schedule. Dropping this race wasn’t really an option unless I couldn’t actually get to the start line healthy. This was the first of four races that I would need to complete as part of the Idaho Ultra Trail Series, one of my big goals for the year. It was a big Idaho race. It was situated in my coach’s backyard. It was also held on Father’s Day weekend, so yes of course I’m gonna beat myself up in the name of hard work to honor my dad.
Oh yeah and it was the longest I had ever raced up to this point.
Advertising 9000 feet of gain, the RONR 55k starts with a mellow couple miles before a 3,000 foot climb that lasts for about eight miles. The trail then drops down into the Bayhorse ghost town, where a massive aid station awaits. After refueling, the course travels back up a mile from which we came, then veers up a 4-mile, 2400 ft climb that people consider the crux of the race. Once runners navigate down to the main trail, they travel back up 1500 feet and are greeted by an 8-mile, 3200 ft decent that takes them to the finish.
Last fall I learned that I had enough of a running history and base that I could saunter along the course and finish within the cutoff time, the only things damaged being my ego and my UltraSignup rank. The problem though was that RONR’s course is a level of magnitude spicier than Antelope Island’s, and I haven’t effectively killed my ego for this race yet (a la why yes I say I just wanna finish, but really I’m hoping to finish while also posting a decent time).
So the goal was to finish, but I admit it wasn’t the top goal. Goal setting for races can be a difficult mind game because the goal of “winning” requires events outside of your control to occur and “I wanna finish in such-and-such time” is difficult because courses and conditions are different with each race. I was completely in control of finishing. That wasn’t the minimum goal. I usually have a hierarchy to hang my hat on. The first goal was to get to the Bayhorse aid station feeling good and healthy. It was about halfway through and it would give me an idea of how my body was feeling that day. If I hobbled there, unable to finish the course, then it was an easy spot to get a lift back to the start. If I felt good enough to keep going, I could will myself to the finish. The second goal would be to finish.
The top goal though was what I wanted to use to dictate how my race was to be run. I did not want to go out too fast, flame out, and make the rest of the race an absolute slog (or hurt myself). Instead, I wanted to spend the last parts of the race collecting the carnage of those who bonked. Top goal: the last 20k of the race would be my fastest. It definitely helped the cause that a good chunk of that was downhill, but more importantly, I wouldn’t care where I was in the field until I reached that 35k point. Then it was go-time.
Oh yeah, and maybe I should have some fun too.
During:
Spoiler alert: I was able to get through the aches and pains and make it to the start line for this race unscathed! However, between allergies, stress, and the incoming heat of the day, my shakeout run was putrid, to put it nicely.
I arrived at Challis the afternoon before, giving me enough time to pick up my packet and fish before the pre-race meeting. It was very windy this evening, but the race director mentioned that it wouldn’t be as windy the next day, but it would be a little cooler than the 85 degrees that was beating down on us that evening.
This pre-race meeting was the first opportunity to rendezvous with fellow runners. I grouped up with friends from Idaho Falls. Amanda was running the 55k while Steph, Georgina, and Veronika were all in the 32k. It was also the first time meeting with my coach in the flesh. The last message I sent Cody was after the really crappy shakeout run that morning. I felt better by this point, which he was thrilled to hear.
The race began at 6:30 am, so I woke up at 4:30 to give me time for breakfast and a warm up jog. The night before went as expected before a race: not much sleep and the shut-eye I did manage to get wasn’t the best quality. Thankfully, they say the sleep you get two nights before the race is the most important, which in this case was…well, not good either. It was also warm in the van, so I lost a good chunk of hydration through sweat and woke up pretty dehydrated. No big deal, water would solve the issue.
As I was eating, the 108k runners were sent off to start their long day navigating the ups and downs. Cody was in this race, a last minute entry, and was probably going to win it. Maybe break the course record. I watched the start from afar.
As I was listening to my pump-up tunes, I rechecked my pack. The bladder was full. I carried four Honey Stinger gels, four Honey Stinger waffles, a Kind bar, a few Pure Organic fruit bars, and a couple shots of pickle juice for nutrition (I would also raid the aid stations). Along with that I packed my inReach, first aid kit, and Vasoline. The last thing I packed was a Sawyer water filter. Probably wouldn’t need it but I have been screwed by lack of water in the past so better to have it.
If you can’t tell, that last sentence was blatant foreshadowing.
After rewatching that Lion King scene and some football highlights and drawing reminders on my arm, it was time to warm up. I jogged around the parking lot. My legs felt good. Everything was firing as expected. Everything was pretty loose. My body was ready for the looming 34 miles in front of me. It is time.
Amanda found me right before I was about to begin heading over. She felt undertrained for the race. She asked my opinion on bringing a jacket. I figured it’d be warm enough today to not really need it. Amanda said she always carried one but decided not to take it this time.
“How are you feeling?” she asked me.
After the music and video watching and hype, I was ready to burst. “I want to explode.”
At around ten minutes to the gun I started to make my way to the start along with everyone else. There were many athletes sporting various fluorescent-colored shirts and different sized packs. There were runners who were just wearing shorts, no packs or bladders or anything of the sort. There was no spectrum for these types; they either knew exactly what they were doing and would probably win, or have no idea what they were getting themselves into and have a long day. A few people dressed as if they were about to go to a beach luau (they usually win too, IYKYK).
I ran into Blake Jenkins and we wished each other good luck. He’s been having a good campaign on the Spartan circuit so I knew he was in shape. He was a pretty solid athlete who would probably be somewhere up high in the field, despite dressing up like a trail runner today.
Slowly the countdown began and then the clock hit 6:30 and we were off.
The first part of the course ran down the highway that ran through Challis. Being this early, there weren’t a ton of cars on the road. The field ran two or three abreast as people were jostling for position. I just kept a pace as people switched around me. I saw a decent sized pack strung out in front of me, and concluded that I currently was running in the 20s as far a place was concerned. Not a concern in the first few moments of the race.
The course veered off onto an ATV trail after 1.5 miles. At 2 miles the trail wrapped around to a downhill switchback before beginning the long climb up. The 5k mark appeared, and I manually lapped my watch (it was otherwise on autolap for 10k). 29:41.
While the trail currently was fairly runnable, I started the competitive hiking portion of the day. Still early and didn’t want to burn up fast. A few runners passed me. I overheard a conversation of a couple people who were doing this after racing an ultra last weekend. They were either very resilient or crazy. Or both.
My hands were starting to swell at this point. I guess they were a little puffed up already, but it was the first time I noticed during the race. Tell-tale sign of dehydration. I started sipping water. Then I realized that I really shouldn’t be conserving water because I was lacking it and I could just fill up at the aid stations.
The jostling for positions was coming to an end and we were pretty set within the field at this point. The trail continued on the ATV trail, following the contours of the sagebrush-covered hills. Slowly and slowly I began to pick people off.
My stomach wasn’t feeling too great though and didn’t have much of an appetite. Regardless I needed to fuel up. Originally I was gonna go for a waffle but it didn’t sound good. I opted for a couple of the fruit bars. They’re good, you can find them at Costco, and they’re pretty carb-dense, with 19g per bar, of which I take two at a time. They went down easy and I was back on my way.
I found myself riding along with a couple women conversing amongst themselves. I found myself as the awkward third wheel of this group, huffing along behind them as they discussed their lives in Boise and Salt Lake. We were at about mile 7 at this point.
“What mile is the aid station?” asked one of the women.
“Mile 9 I think,” said the other.
Half a mile later we were at the Birch Creek aid station, coming up a little earlier than we anticipated. The bacon they were cooking smelled incredible but I just opted for some Tailwind and one of my Honey Stinger waffles. The next aid station was four miles away so I didn’t feel the need to top off my bladder here.
I left the aid station pretty quickly, before the women, and was on my way. There was still a little hiking involved before we finished up with the long ascent. I saw a white-shirt guy up ahead about a hundred meters and started to focus on gaining up to him.
I did not feel great during this stretch. My stomach was not feeling super great; the waffle wasn’t sitting well. I was still dehydrated. The downhill was starting but it was pretty steep and not runnable, and was gonna suck coming back. The wind was really starting to pick up. I needed to adjust my hat’s angle at times so it wouldn’t fly off. Any photos taken of me at this point would look like one of those 13-year-old white kids who wear their hat as if Tupac was their hero.
My watch lapped a 10k during this stretch. 1:23:51.
The Keystone aid station was the next stop. I caught up to the white-shirt runner and noticed his bib number 420.
“Nice number,” I told him. He looked down and noticed it too. I guess he didn’t live on the internet like me and didn’t initially make the connection until I mentioned it. I, for one, was one number off of being able to quote Lil Jon. “368, damn you’re great” doesn’t have the same vibe.
It would be four miles from here to the big aid station in Bayhorse. That stretch was all downhill. I stuck with the white-shirt guy, whose name was Kevin. The two gals also joined our little pack. I caught the name of the Salt Lake-based one, Caroline, but not the other. Anyway ultras are much more fun when doing them with people, and I figured I’d stick with this group until I started to care about racing.
I ran out of water at this point but didn’t think it was a big deal. It was a pretty shaded section and it wasn’t too hot yet, and the terrain was pretty flowy and at a soft enough angle where we could just stride out. There were many points where small flows of water were crossing the trail, which required a little maneuvering around but was not too bad. Other than those points, getting to Bayhorse was really just falling with style at this point.
On the way, we saw one runner coming the other direction. He must have been a 32k runner. He was way ahead of the field, as we did not see another runner chasing him. He would have that race pretty much cleaned up at this point. Additionally we were starting to see the trail get a little tamer and touristy. Runners in the 108k were walking up the trail. Fences were starting to appear. We could see the Bayhorse parking lot a couple hundred feet down.
I continued to stride out. The downhill felt good and my running mechanics were holding up. No IT band issues at this point. I entered Bayhorse in just under 3 hours. I theorized that it would take me 3.5 when race planning so I was stoked to be so far ahead of schedule!
In talking with Cody pre-race, he told me to spend a little more time here and get cool as the next stretch was going to be really warm and exposed. I gave my pack to a volunteer to refill and then went to gouge on some watermelon. It was the greatest watermelon I had ever had. I also soaked my Buff in some ice water and threw it around my neck. Gotta keep cool. As I was thanking everyone at the aid station, I watched as Kevin and Caroline took off back on the trail. Hey! I guess the idea of sticking together wasn’t mutual. I took my pack and chased after them.
My watch lapped right as I left Bayhorse on the pursuit. 1:11:10.
The next few stretches had me in run-walk mode. I wanted to catch up to the rest of the group, but I didn’t want to expend glorious amounts of energy to make that happen. I saw Kevin and Caroline about 50 meters ahead. We were all hiking here. I started to chip away as I began running in 10 second intervals, then hiking, then back to a 10 second run when my lungs had calmed down. By the time we made the turn to start the 4-mile section, I had caught up with them. I dunked my Buff into the stream that was near the junction. According to Cody, this was the last water I would see for a while.
The hike began. I hung with Caroline. Kevin was up ahead another 30 meters or so. Caroline was a powerful hiker, and I was working to keep up. At the same time the heat exposure that was advertised on this section was not coming into fruition. Heavy clouds were rolling in and the wind was getting stronger. The water saturated in my Buff was dripping down to the front of my shirt. On an 80 degree sunny day, it would feel fantastic, but with the overcast and wind my core was pretty chilled. That conversation I had with Amanda earlier about a jacket popped into my head. Yes, a windbreaker probably would have been nice in this section.
There were a lot of runners on this section, many running the 108k. They were going to have such a long day. We intercepted another 55k runner into our group, Carsten. As Caroline started to forge ahead, I stuck with Carsten and we worked our way up to Kevin. In hindsight, a lot of this section was pretty runnable and in future RONR 55ks I’d probably end up running most of this section. There was still one more climb though and I needed to get through that too.
Also I’m not sure what my rate of drinking was at this point, but somehow I ran out of water. Considering that this portion did not have any water stops and we were on the longest stretch between aid stations, this was not a good spot to be in.
Thankfully my decision to pack my Sawyer filter last minute paid off. Now I just needed to find some flowing water and it would all be good. I was worried though because I was already dehydrated that the cramps would begin to set in until I was able to grab water. I took one of my pickle juice shots to help keep the cramps at bay. I took the other one a couple miles later.
I think we were nearing the top now; the landscape was beginning to show signs of an apex. After a couple small poppers we were on our way down. Caroline was in front, followed by me and Carsten, with Kevin behind us dealing with some back tightness. The downhill here had a smooth enough angle that running down it was not an issue, although I was beginning to feel the stress of it in my feet. I wouldn’t say that Nike Frees are a great trail running shoe. I was almost certain I would be getting out of this mess with a couple black toenails.
We rounded a junction in the road. 108k runners were to start back up again, making their way to Bayhorse Lake, while the 55k’ers continued down. There was a stream flowing in a gully alongside the trail. If only it were about 10 feet closer…
My watch lapped. 1:29:17.
35k mark. 20k to go. This was my cue to begin the race. Sorry group.
I started to stride out a little bit more on the down. I had left Carsten behind me and was working on gaining back to Caroline. The trail met back up with the main Lombard trail as we started the last climb up to Keystone.
It was this part that was the most difficult for me. Without water, dehydrated, unable to find a stream, suffering from the lack of wind cooling my body down. Juxtaposed from my feeling of chilled earlier, the sun was really starting to beat down. I needed to keep moving, stay persistent on the trail to get to water. I knew there was water somewhere. I had crossed it before! Caroline was breaking away. It would be the last I saw of her until the finish line. Carsten and Kevin were inching their way back.
Yet through all of this, I continued. And maybe I wasn’t the worst off. I passed a guy who was just wearing shorts, no T-shirt or pack. Remember when I said they either knew what they were doing or not? I had a feeling that he underestimated the brutality of this race.
We all continued the death march up this hill. My hands were pretty swollen, to the point where I couldn’t squeeze them into a fist. It was hot. I wasn’t sure how much more time I could go before real disaster set in. In a feigned attempt to quench my thirst, I downed a bag of Honey Stinger chews, but the sugars didn’t do much to solve the issues. This was called the River of No Return. Where was the freakin’ river?
So much for racing this section.
Then, a stream! I was so thankful for this! I filled up my Sawyer filter and squeezed the creek water through it. Nectar of the gods! I soaked my hat and my Buff as well. It was a great oasis.
As I worked on filling up the pouch with water, Carsten came back and passed. Kevin caught up as well. I probably spent four minutes or so mobilizing at the stream but it was important. Now, the run (hike) up to Keystone.
I employed the “run for 10 seconds, the hike” approach to bridge the gap between me and Kevin. As we were climbing, the trail became more exposed and the wind was really beginning to whip. Was it really this far uphill to the next aid station?
I finally caught up with Kevin at Keystone. The aid station was a wonderful welcome. I had a volunteer fill up my bladder, this time making sure that it was 100% full. I traversed the food and decided on some potstickers. I ran into my coworker Jana, who had mentioned previously how undertrained she felt for this race (she was doing the 32k).
“I don’t belong here,” she said to me.
I looked at her, halfway through her race, with a little uphill still to go before we all fell with style towards the finish. “You belong just as much as we all do.”
Kevin and I left the aid station together. Fully replenished, I felt good again. My hands were still clammy though. Oh well. I was happy to run with someone again.
The tippy-top of the climb was marked by a very steep hill, probably 25–30% grade. Kevin exclaimed that he didn’t remember this. I definitely remembered coming down this section, thinking about how I would need to climb back up it.
It was relief at the top, as the fun downhill was about to get underway. Somewhere my watch lapped. 1:31. Definitely not any faster than the other splits.
I could still salvage the goal maybe by making this last 10k super fast. And I had the opportunity, as it was a 3,000 foot drop into Challis. The Caltopo maps also measured the course a little short (32 miles) so who knows what it actually is.
Kevin’s back was giving him fits again and he decided to lay off. I continued the push. I ran minor inclines that I would have walked previously. Most of the trail in this section was a flowy track cut into the sidehill. It felt good. I felt good. I kept pushing.
There was one last big incline that I needed to navigate before the real downhill began. Right before the meat of the climb, I ran into Steph and her friend Ania, both working through the 32k and taking pictures of flowers along the way.
I said some smartass comment about how they’d run faster if they didn’t stop to take pictures of flowers. Steph defended that it was a cool flower (it was). We then hiked up the last major incline together.
I continued to push the downhill. I was feeling really good. I breezed through the last aid station, taking some pickle juice along the way to help battle any cramps that could come up in this section.
It was time. I turned a corner and now out of the trees saw the trail stretch out in front of me. I probably saw the next mile or so of the course. There wasn’t the carnage that was advertised, but my focus narrowed to a black dot making their way on the trail. Carsten still looked pretty far away, about a minute ahead, but I felt good, and the downhill was manageable, so figured I give it a shot. My legs felt fresh; I had conserved enough energy to really make an attack here. The plan was working. Now if I worked super-duper hard, I could possibly show that with a one-place improvement.
Let’s go!
As I continued on the ATV track, I was passing 32k runners. The trail itself had good footing so it was easy to blast. The wind was really strong here though, and if we weren’t careful, a burst of a crosswind could take us off our feet.
As the trail began to descend, it became more rocky and the footing more difficult. I wanted to push, but one fall could still potentially end my race, regardless of where I was at on the course. The course veered off onto a game trail that would lead us back to the city center. I peering at my watch and at Carsten in front of me. If Caltopo were to be believed, we only had a mile and a half left. If the course length was as advertised, we had 2.5. Looking at the overall time, there may be a chance I could get under seven hours, which would be a huge win for me on this course.
I saw Carsten pass a distinct rockfall in the distance. I noted the time on my watch. When I got to that point, 45 seconds had elapsed. Keep pushing. You got this. Remember who you are!
The spiritual experience began. I could feel the other side coming through, helping me push over these last few miles. It was Father’s Day weekend after all. And while my dad was still around in a different form, the thoughts trickled in about how cool it would be for him to witness what I was doing.
Look what I have become. You did this.
However around this point the footing began to spike in difficulty. Between the steepness and the rocky surface of the trail, footing became very important and that unfortunately began to slow me up. The gains I had made were slowly beginning to unravel. Carsten wasn’t coming any closer.
But there was still the idea of finishing in under seven hours. I looked at my watch again. I had 12 minutes to do that. I saw the course stretched out in front of me. At the end of the game trail was a grass field that brought you to the road. The road would lead through Main Street in Challis down to the highway and back up to the park. If Caltopo was right, we had a little over a mile to go.
I got off the game trail and started to really push. Strides felt good. Turnover felt good. I didn’t have a whole lot of sustained speed training built up, but I felt like I could make something happen. Golfers on the adjacent golf course were cheering me on, which felt nice.
The course led onto the asphalt, a slightly downhill road that went straight through the city center. 6:55, 6:56. If I pushed I could get there. All I needed was four good minutes.
6:57, 6:58.
This stretch was very long. The asphalt was hot. I could barely make out the highway where we would turn. The dream of getting under seven was beginning to fade. The push turned into an anguished attempt to expend the last of my energy stores.
The clock hit seven hours. The highway cross-traffic was barely legible. The line of 32k runners stretched forever. Carsten was long gone. Now it was a matter of just getting this thing done.
I looked to the side. My reflection was shown on some of the storefront windows. Despite my best efforts, I felt like I had disappointed someone.
A message came through my mind. Did you give it your very best?
I was waiting for the Miracle reference to continue: “Because I know there’s a lot more in you, a level that for some reason you can’t seem to hit.”
Maybe I had held back for too long. Maybe I was too conservative. Maybe I should have ensured my pack was full coming out of Bayhorse.
Instead of thinking about the what-ifs of the race, I simply replied “Yes.”
All of these decisions I made pre-race and during were made in real time and seemed like a good idea at the time. There was dehydration to consider. I came into this race undertrained and battling injuries and despite all of that, I was well on my way to finishing uninjured with a myriad of ultrarunning lessons and on the verge of collecting my first RONR finisher rock.
Look what I had become. How cool this experience was. Pushing myself to my limit, then realizing my limit was much further away than I could have imagined.
The route finally turned onto the highway for a couple hundred meters before turning again into the park. The course directed me between some flags signifying the last few meters before crossing under the finisher arch.
7:06. The last 10k ended up being an hour even.
Finally finished, my legs decided not to support me anymore and I folded to the ground. A volunteer ran over to give me my finishers jacket and told me to pick up a finishers rock in the pile. Veronika had finished her 32k right ahead of me and we gave each other our finishing congrats. Blake came by to say congrats as well; he had finished 8th, about an hour ahead of me.
I eventually was able to get my legs to hold me up again. Carsten came by to say congrats. “I wasn’t sure if I was gonna hold you off,” he said. “Yeah I was honing in on you, the trail terrain just got to be a little too much,” I replied.
The initial postrace thoughts zipping through my head were ones consisting of a kind of humility that occurs when you fantasize gaining ground on a lot of people and placing in the top 5, and a feeling of gratitude that alleviated the anxiety that caused the aches and pains leading up to the race that I was able to get through the race uninjured. And to top that, my legs felt much better than the end of Palisades. Like, I was able to walk up and down stairs. Of those two feeling competing for dominance within my brain, I went with the gratitude.
Caroline ended up finishing as the second female to come through the line, finishing a couple minutes under seven hours. Kevin came in about 15 minutes after me.
Georgina seemed to have finished quickly enough to go back to the room and clean up by the time I finished. Steph and Ania ended up finishing about a half hour after I crossed. As we waited for Amanda to finish, Cody blazed his way across the finish line in the 108k. Amanda finished about a half hour later.
The guy who ended up winning the 55k race was one of the people dressed up for a luau, while second was one of the raw-dog “just shorts” guy. They knew what they were doing.
After:
The main takeaway from this race was that I able to prove that my many years of keeping active and pushing myself allowed me to complete another multi-hour adventure in the mountains. I was thrilled to have made it to the finish line uninjured, which was a primary anxiety of mine during this part of the training block. I had come in a little undertrained, but I think that helped my psyche, not so much as “I won’t be disappointed with the result”, but more along the lines of developing a more conservative plan for racing, which was executed well and didn’t allow my legs to really blow up. Who knows what the strategy would have been or the result if I felt 100% after a really good training block.
Even though the buildup to this race was lackluster, the performance didn’t reflect it. The race I had just completed was not made possible by a few key workouts a couple weeks prior, but instead by the miles and effort I logged on my legs over many years of passionate fawning of the sport. The race was an embodiment of the consistency of showing up every damn day to put the work in, even on rest days (the work is to rest, which is important as well. Don’t skip rest days).
This race was not about showing off the recent work in the training calendar. It was about the years of running that I already had tucked in. A reminder of who I was; raised to be hard-working, disciplined, and tenacious, using endurance athletics as the embodiment.
In another universe, my training block went super well and I probably shaved a chunk of minutes off my overall time or went out too fast and bonked or even ran the same time. On a different timeline, I didn’t start dehydrated and struggle with water intake. If the quantum wave function is to be believed, versions of me didn’t even have the opportunity to tow the start line. These are all for a different Joe to experience. For now, I need to work on recovering well and getting back into a rhythm of running and feeling good about it as we prep for the next adventure. Get back to who I am and where I am most comfortable.
I would like to thank Paul Lind for putting a great race together! The course was fantastic and the aid stations were very well equipped with wonderful food options. Thanks to Cody Lind for helping me manage my training schedule around the aches and pains, allowing me to reach the start line without blowing up in training. I would like to express my gratitude to the runners I encountered on the course, especially those I ran with in the middle parts of the race. You helped me keep going and the camaraderie turned those doldrums into an enjoyable social run amongst new friends.
And a final recognition to my dad with the gentle nudge of reminding me who I am and instilling the tools to help me continue running and racing at a high level.
The best thing we can do is try and find our limits. I did not find mine in this race, but that just means I’m capable of far more than I have ever imagined. I will find it again, but in the meantime I will bask in the knowledge that I’m stronger than I may think I am.
