A Little Late for the Cove

Look. We’ve done some shit.

Rogue and I both have done some legit shit.

In just the last few years that we’ve known each other.

We’ve run Chicago Marathon. And America’s Toughest Road Marathon. Did that one twice. In the same race, matter of fact. Ragnars. Trail and Road. Spartans. We’ve Trifecta’d. That shit ain’t easy. Run just all kinds of ultras.

Hell, I’ve run three ultras just this year. Last month I did freakin Promiseland 50k++. Last week, Rogue did 18 miles through the Grand Canyon.

I’m just saying.

We’ve done some stuff.

So why today’s 15 miles. Not even 15 miles. Was so god awfully impossible. Makes no sense. In my very broken brain.

All I know is I had nothing. Absolutely nothing. At 5am this morning. When we were supposed to leave for the race.

So Rogue let me sleep instead.

And sleep I did.

Hell, I didn’t crawl out of my jammies or participate in any form of hygiene until Rogue said we had to go run this race.

At 2pm.

So…we were a little late…

We started at Timberview. Parking Lot. Instead of Orange Market.

And I gotta say. Going up Gauntlet is way less awful when you haven’t just run five miles of road. In Satan’s Solomon trail shoes.

But that’s where the way less awful ends.

Because when we got to the top of Gauntlet. I was expecting opposite Brushy.

Like, every year. We climb up that bitch for, like, three miles. (And every year they tell me it’s not three miles. And every year it is absolutely all of three miles.)

So this year, I was expecting to run down. For three miles.

But maybe we went left at the top of Gauntlet.

And maybe we were running up. Instead of down.

And maybe we realized this. I mean, maybe one of us realized this. Maybe the other of us was just resigned to misery.

So we pulled out some maps and shit. And determined that we should turn around.

And that way we’d finally be running down.

Except even after we passed back by Gauntlet. We were still going up.

What is even happening?

“Have we even run this race before?”

No. This can’t be right. I distinctly remember being miserable for three entire miles the last five years.

It was right.

Apparently, by the time we hit the top half of Brushy every year. I’m so miserable from the first half of Brushy. That I can’t even recognize a slight decline.

Anyway. It got worse from there.

Even after we finally got to the actual down.

Right hip, knee, and shin pain. Shooting pain throughout my shoulders. Headache. Nausea. Starvation…

About halfway up Buck. Rogue let me sit. And gather my thoughts.

Well, at least that’s pretty…

Took some time to message with Skratch.

How long is Buck?

“One mile. And then another .4 up Brushy until you hit Trough.”

And then he added.

“There were soooo many Doritos at the top of Buck 5 hours ago…”


Yeah I know.

But when we got to the top there was nothing.

Just that fucking sign that triggered my trauma last weekend.

It was fine.

We weren’t going that way today.

We were going to Trough.

And when we finally got there. I barely managed to let gravity take hold of my legs.

I feel like I’m running. But I’m pretty sure I’m only speed walking.

And that’s who I am now. I’m basically a mall walker. Who’s accidentally wandered out on trail.

But we did it. We made it. Back to the car.

And I legit considered sleeping in my car. Rather than making the climb up to my apartment.

Because the level of energy lack. And pain full. That I’m experiencing. Is so far beyond what it should be. Given the shit I’ve done before.

But the food was inside my apartment. And my flannel jammies were inside my apartment. And my new meds were inside my apartment.

So now here I am. At the end of May. Wrapped in flannels and blankets. Trying to be warm again.

And just kind of reminiscing about all the shit I’ve done.

So I can feel ok about the struggle I just experienced for not even 15 miles today.

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