If I were a salmon, I would probably spawn in a latrine. An outdoor latrine without plumbing. I am creative with directional ineptitude.
|Warning: I probably taste like asparagus pee smells.|
Short Story Longer:
Basically, took the Uwharrie 20-Miler (1st race in 2012 La Sportiva Mountain Cup) out pretty quickly, deciding to let the cards fall where they may. The card house quickly crumbled as I made a minor off-course detour in the first mile. But just as this city was built on rock and roll (Ed. clarification: roooooOOOOOLLLL), my Uwharrie card house was built on rocks and rolls, so I got back on track, bounded over some boulders, and fell a few times on my way to a 5ish minute lead, ahead of Ryan Woods and Patrick Reaves.
The 8-mile finish line passed in 53:48 (would have been a course record in that race, in the same way that I would be really sick right now if the post-race hot chocolate was actually runny poop). I really felt great going hard on the super technical trails--I feel as if a lot of things came together in those first 13 miles. Joy and suffering. Peanut butter and jelly. Ebony and Ivory. Etcetera and stop this rhetorical gimmick before I punch you in the freaking face.
|This was especially frustrating because it fell on the same week when those "Free Boob Inspector" beach shirts gained, then lost, political relevance.|
Medium story Mediumest:
So I'm running along, with a nice lead built up, when I suddenly wind up on a fire road. Then start seeing hunting signs. Then keep running, because my mom never denied having an extremely unreliable baby-grip. By the time I turned around and retraced my steps, somewhere between 4 minutes and an eternity had passed. Fortunately, the amazing runner Ryan Woods and the awesome^(handsome x athletic) Patrick Reaves came up on me just as I found the trail.
After, Ryan said he got varying time splits from 4:30 to 8 min, though the upper end of that spectrum is probably by spectators who are blog readers and are looking out for their homeboy. I tried to hang, but I was a pansy, and backed off after attempting one hard surge off the front. I proceeded to jalk/wog in to the finish, trying to save my legs for another day. Of course, my legs invested heavily in Freddie Mac in those first 13, so those savings currently look like a hot chocolate cup filled with poo.
Anyway, Ryan won and Patrick was second, both having awesome races. In fact, even with that lead, I am almost positive Ryan would have crushed my dreams on the final long climb. He looked great, and I could feel the fatigue creeping into my loins. Which, Fatigue, is a greatly appreciated place to creep. Just be more gentle next time.
|First Google Image result for "loins". Probably for the best.|
All in all, a super fun race put on by super fun/great people with a super fun amount of post-race lukewarm chocolate. Next up, training for an attempt (I should probably add emphasis to that word) at a 4-min mile (or whatever the Communists say the 1500 equivalent is). You make a right turn on the second and fourth laps, right?
P.S. You guys are awesome. Shannon and Karen made my freaking life out there on the course, with the absolute best cheers I have ever heard. Guys, if your 40-mile times were equivalent to your amazingness, you would run negative one gagillion minutes.
P.P.S. I don't mean that you are really bad, negative people, just that negative one gagillion is an amazing time.
P.P.P.S. Getting off-trail was totally my fault, and the race directors did an incredible job putting on such an epic event.