When I signed up for Crooked Road 24, I didn’t have a goal. I didn’t have one Saturday morning at the starting line either, since I hadn’t ran more than 14 miles since April.
But I surpassed everything I thought I could do, finally calling it quits as the weather turned nasty at 84 miles.
I’ve never felt so completely shattered finishing a run. Nothing has challenged me like this did. Every step of my last mile was a conscious effort (paired with a grimace). It took me about 30 minutes just to get into different clothes and into my sleeping bag.
But here’s a picture around 36 miles, when the rain was nowhere to be found and the 50 mph gusts weren’t trying to flatten our tents and I could still run easily. What a race. What. A. Race. That’s all I have in me right now.