There’s a competition happening. Between my head and my legs. To see which one can experience the most pain right now. A kind of my life is harder than your life scenario.

It’s a really solid way to round out a Saturday.

Started this morning. At 2:30am. When I consumed barely enough coffee to operate a fully grown human. And then drove to Harrisonburg. Or somewhere thereabouts.

And proceeded to join several other Roanokers in taking on the inaugural Hone Quarry 40 miler.

For which, I was undertrained. Which is to say, not at all trained.

But this is pretty standard OP for me. So I went anyway.

What I did do in preparation was to take a full on entire rest week. Complete with nightly yoga and hydrationing and electrolyting.

It was all very impressive. And effective. For ten full miles.

Because that’s how long my body embraced trail racing this morning. For ten solid miles, I felt amazing. My legs were all refreshed and full of happiness.

And I was making excellent time. On track to be a solid two hours ahead of the first cutoff at mile 19.5.

And then things happened.

I wrote most of what follows in my head while suffering on the side of a mountain.

Because the rain started coming down a little harder. And the wind would kick in at just the worst moments. And I was freezing.

And there was just a solid layer of fog. So there were zero views.

And then I followed a couple of folks off course. Because I needed an extra mile. I love mileage.

And then we hit the rock climb. Not, like, actual rock climbing. But just a stretch of rocks strewn across the trail. Something akin to Devil’s Marbleyard for the Nokers.

And, I mean, that was ok. I was twisting my ankles all over the place, but that’s just what ankles do.

It wasn’t until we hit the first really long stretch of downhill that shit started hinting at falling apart.

It wasn’t super steep, though. So my right knee just became a little twingey.

Nothing unbearable.

And then we climbed back up into another mountain. Or maybe the same one. I have no idea. Which was becoming more exhausting. And less refreshing. But still manageable.

The problem was. Once I got to the top. I had to go allll the way back down. Again. This time on a super steep trail. With rocks.

And it would occasionally level out. Giving you the illusion of being runnable. Which it absolutely was. Except I was exhausting all my energy with trying to hobble down a mountain without actually bending my right knee.

And this…

Was the moment where I decided I probably just don’t need to do ultras anymore. There was no way around it on either side. And I couldn’t imagine actually being able to bend my body in the ways necessary to climb over it. Or under it. And I was legit about to just set up camp and live there. In misery. (This is how people become swamp witches.)

But I was so so cold. And I wanted my car. And my bed.

So after some rough mathing. I assembled a plan. And kind of slithered my way up and over. Without impaling myself.

And made the immediate decision that I would drop at the next aid station. Regardless of cutoff time.

I just had to make it two more miles to the aid station.

Except I forgot about the extra mile from going off course.

So that last mile took forever.

And left knee was also now pissy from overcompensating. So I was really trying to just get down the mountain without bending either knee. And there was a moment where just throwing myself down and rolling was a very real option.

And when I finally made it down and arrived at the aid station, I said, “I need two things from y’all. Bacon. And a ride back to the finish.”

And one dude tried to argue my reasoning. That there was no way my knee would manage the second half of this race that was almost entirely downhill. With some gentle rolling hills bullshit that Dude With The Charming And Disarming Smile has actually said to me before.

Nah, bruh. I’ve heard that shit before. I’ve seen “gentle rolling hills.” I don’t trust runners.

My assessment was validated by his co-volunteers.

And then another runner came in behind me. Also asking please for a ride to the finish.

And apparently runners get just super chatty when they’ve DNF’d and have to wait for their ride to come get them.

Because dude was just chatting away. And asking me questions. Like where I’m from.

Roanoke.

“Ok. I’m from DC. I went through Roanoke on my way here I think.”

Did you take 460 or 64?

“I think I took 66. Is that a thing?”

Theodore, I’m not even dead sure 64 is a thing. I’m just throwing some numbers around in an attempt to do socials. Here. You talk to volunteer people.

Eventually our ride showed up. After many minutes of me trying not to visibly shiver to the point of full on convulsing. And drove us back to finish. Also super chatty. And I was wishing Rogue was there to do the socials for me.

And when we got there. And I pulled my frigid rain soaked body out of the car. The sun came out.

It’s fine.

Because I’m home now. And if not exactly comfortable, I’m at least warm.