Grindstone 2019. This is a race I have been preparing for since the excruciating drive home from the same race in 2018. It was a race that found my limits and very much broke me, both physically and spiritually, despite the finish that I walked away with. I made the decision just after Grindstone 2018 that I would face the full Beast Series in 2019.  That would include 6 of the toughest Ultras in Virginia.  Three 50k’s in the spring, Holiday Lake, Terrapin Mountain, and Promise Land, followed by the hard part in the fall– Grindstone 100, Mountain Masochist 50, and Hellgate 100k. This would be the first leg of the ‘tough part’.

I went into Grindstone last year attempting to manage a severe case of patellar tendonitis. Made several mistakes along the way that left me crippled with pain and unable to run by around mile 70.  By mile 93 I was sitting on the mountain crying, unwilling to continue down the trail. (I’m still so sorry for this, Jen!) I felt that I had left a piece of my soul out there on that course, and I was determined to go back and face it again, in order to reclaim all that had been left out there.

I spent the whole year preparing.  I mentally dissected all that had gone wrong and came up with solutions for each issue to prevent those things from happening again. First, I had resolved never to use S-caps ever again– the swelling from the sodium overdose was immense.  I also resolved not to pre-lube my feet. The only time I have experienced great amounts of blisters have been when I have used SNB pre-race, essentially holding moisture on my feet the entire race. Third, I wouldn’t use compression sleeves on my calves. The only time I experienced deep calf cramping has been with compression sleeves on.  I also switched to shoes with a low drop instead of zero drop to take just a smidgen of stress off my shins on the steep grades.  Lastly, I needed a brighter light.  Tripping and falling multiple times last year in the dark/fog was so mentally tolling, especially in this race where you’re immediately spending 12 hours running in the darkness.

I coupled all of these changes with a fresh training plan– adding in lots of cross-training, joining Orangetheory Fitness, making the change to a coach who would prescribe all the strength work and fluidly make changes each week based on how my body felt.  I was heading into this year’s race feeling prepared, even a little excited.  I had spent several weekends throughout the year on the course, making peace with the trail and helping it feel like home to me. Lucky for me, I had also spent the past year developing a deep friendship with an incredible athlete and fellow ultrarunner named Janna– who had agreed to come and be my crew/pacer.

Being that the start of the race is on Friday night at 6pm, Janna and I headed down to Virginia on Thursday afternoon. We arrived around 9pm, checked into our hotel, and quickly changed and headed out for a shakeout run on the Falls Hollow section of the course. This is the beginning of the first big climb, which comes at mile 5 during the race.  We kept a nice, easy pace, tested out different light levels for the next night, and scoped out the water levels on the course.  This is one of the only sections with water crossings, and I was presented with nearly dry creek beds– no way were wet feet going to be an issue this year.  Excessive dryness– that would be the new issue.  At the 20 min mark, we turned around and coasted back down to the car. I was feeling good about the next day, but was hungry– we hadn’t had dinner, but also had gear organizing to do before going to sleep.

With no places open to buy food at this point, we were left with the mini-mart at the gas station next to our hotel for dinner.   I gleefully chose a hot pork sandwich from the warmer and was immediately shot down by Janna. “You’re not eating that”. I tried begging.  She still said no. This was going to be a long weekend.  After making me choose something that would be easy on my stomach, we were off to the hotel to do some gear sorting.  Janna about died when she opened my crew box and saw it full of mixed up gear and immediately went to work sorting into large ziplocks and labeling by type.  I don’t think my things have ever been so organized in my life. Pages of crew notes later (also foreign to me), and we went to sleep around 1am.

Happily, I was able to sleep until 9am Friday morning. Checked out of the hotel at 11 and headed to Camp Shenandoah. On arrival to camp, I was able to quickly check in, weigh in, and sit down for lunch.  The amazing staff had added (and labeled!) vegan options this year!  This was so incredible, because last year there was nothing I could safely eat that was dairy free.  I was overjoyed at this and gleefully thanked the same men and women that had tried so hard and felt so bad last year when they weren’t able to find an option for me. They even had a vegan dessert!!! And vegan whipped cream!! I can’t even explain the immense joy of that moment.

After lunch, Janna and I headed off to set up camp in the cabins and finally ran into my friend Josh from CO, as well as his wife and in-laws arriving. I had met Josh at the CTS ultrarunning camp in Colorado Springs back in May.  We made fast friends climbing Mt Rosa together, and we have kept in close touch while both preparing for this race.

After organizing our space in the cabin, it was time for the pre-race meeting, and reality began to sink in that we were just a few hours from go time.  Clark, race director extraordinaire, made all of his pre-race announcements, gave away some incredible sponsor swag, and took the time to remind us all how incredibly lucky and blessed we were to be toeing the line of a 100 mile race.   This reminder hits home for me, as defining my “why” in mental preparation for this race has led me to this exact reason.  I run for everyone who cannot.  For those who are hurting, for all who know deep pain.  For the patients who would give anything to be out of their hospital bed and joyfully running down a trail.  For those who are struggling to find the strength for their next step, I shall take another step for them. And another.  And another.  My heart is full of gratitude heading into this race, with the prayers, support, and beautiful energy of those I love fully palpable throughout the weekend.

Following the meeting, we had about 2 hours of down time to “rest” before we would be changing and making final preparations for the start line.  Jeana and Janna left Josh and I to “sleep” in the cabin, and after about a half an hour of tossing and turning, we both announced, “THIS SUCKS” and got up to make more productive use of the energy that was building inside of us. It was soon 5pm and both Jeana and Janna came back to join us—and we were quickly busy mixing Skratch into bottles and bladders, packing our vests, dressing, and heading to the start.

At the start, we were joined by around 250 runners who were mostly calm and focused, waiting patiently for 6pm to roll around.  I checked in with Clark on the stairs of the dining hall and took some photos with Jen, Josh and Janna before all runners were ushered behind the starting line. After a quick group prayer and a final countdown, we were running out the gates of the camp toward the trail.

 

This first section is much of a light-hearted celebration of sorts.  Runners are all chatty with each other, mainly discussing last years race and how miserable the conditions were, and how blessed and fortunate we all feel to be running this year in what appeared to be prime 100 mile conditions.  Josh and I ended up pacing together in these early miles, we leapfrog several times and as we settle into our happy grooves, he eventually disappears out in front of me.  It’s chasing daylight to the first aid station— tame, back woods trails, all quite runnable.  I hit the train tracks and knew I was about to hit the Falls Hollow aid station #1, at mile 5.1. I grabbed two orange wedges and continued up the trail.  The energy of the pack changed here, as we began the first of countless climbs to come.  Many runners began using their poles at this point, lights were turned on, sunset had ensued and we all marched forward into the darkness, up, up, and up towards the summit of Elliot’s Knob. Passing the turn-off to Dry Branch Gap, I began seeing runners coming back at me on their return trip down Elliot’s. I was delighted to see both Jen and Josh on this section, confirming we were all making solid progress and feeling strong. I made it to the top of the climb and waited in line to punch my bib, proof that we had summited and not skipped the climb—and then turned around and headed back down to continue onward.

It was on this section where you had to practice deep patience.  This is a long section of single-track trail, with loose rocks, and very few opportunities for passing.  This year, I was so blessed to have brought a solid light source (Ultraspire Lumen 800 Ultra – the best!!), and I was able to easily maneuver over the technical sections that I stumbled through last year in the darkness and fog. I became trapped in many trains of 20-30 runners, and all you can do is relax and move with the pack.  Wasting energy here trying to pass would be a true drain – many runners behind me were discussing whether it would be worth it to try and make their way past the conga line, but no one was willing to make the move. “Patience”, I told them.. “It won’t be like this for long”.

Soon we had emerged at Aid Station 2, Dry Branch Gap, mile 14.63.  I took the time to refill my soft flask with water, grabbed a few potato chips and another orange slice and made my way back up the mountain towards Dowells Draft.  It was at this point where I fished my iPod out of my pack, popped a single earbud into my right ear, and started grooving to the playlist I had built in the weeks prior.  Immediately, I felt myself relax and fall into a running rhythm.  We were able to start thinning out a bit on this climb as we were no longer on single track trail, made it to the top of the climb and then entered one of my favorite sections to run in the outbound direction—the switchbacks.  This section is fairly rocky, a bit technical, but I had trained for it and was feeling so good.  I could hear my coach’s voice in my head, telling me to use gravity to my advantage, don’t lean backwards, fast and light feet down the trail—and soon I was flying down the switchbacks feeling like a million bucks.

I passed many runners in this section, each one with different, positive comments. I was soon ground to a halt as I hit the back of another conga line of about 15 runners.  This was especially painful for me, as I had just found a really nice groove and was reduced to a tentative walk for the next 100 or so yards.  Eventually the trail opened up to allow for passing and I skirted by the long line of runners, continuing happily down the trail, across the road, and back into the woods for more single-track sections.  It was somewhere in this section where I caught back up to Josh, and we briefly ran together, Josh expressing his frustration at the technicality of the trail being more than he had anticipated.  I felt his pain, as I had felt the same way about this section just a year ago—it is so frustrating when you’re trying to run and it feels like rocks are literally jumping out in front of your toes. We pushed forward, and eventually I dropped down into the creek bed section that I knew was right before the first crewed aid station.

I began hearing the voices from the aid station echoing through the woods, and then could see the lights up the hill, and eventually emerged at the top of the climb with Janna waiting right at the junction where she said she would be (Dowells Draft, mile 22.11).  The minutes spent here are somewhat of a blur.  I know Janna took my pack from me and asked me about my temperature.  I know she was expecting me to say I was cold and had winter layers ready for me to put on—but my response was, “I’m hot”, and I ended up changing out to a dry shirt and sports bra to continue into the night until the temperatures dropped enough to need a long-sleeved layer. I briefly spoke to Josh’s wife and let her know he wasn’t far behind.  I’m pretty sure Janna made me eat an uncrustable here, and the next thing I knew I had a fully reloaded pack, a rice ball in my hand, and I was headed up onto the rolling single-track toward Lookout Mountain.

I was in a happy groove through this section, enjoying the music playing softly in my right ear, the stillness of the mountains in the darkness, mixed with countless runners climbing relentless climbs. I found that every time my energy began to dip, I could eat a Spring gel and feel like a million bucks again in about a half hour.  I made it through the Lookout Mountain aid station (mile 30.78) feeling great and really enjoying a rolling happy pace. I was passing many tired runners through this section, and many would fall into step behind me, follow for about a half mile, and then drop off again, leaving me to push forward alone.  Until one of the runners fell into step behind me and stayed there—silently for a solid mile or two, and then he began to speak to me.  At first I was a little bummed that I couldn’t focus on the groove with my music, but very quickly became fully engaged in conversation with this incredibly interesting human behind me.  His name was Sean, and he was a narcotics detective from Ohio. The miles flew by as we discussed the great drug crisis facing this country.  I learned some incredibly interesting facts on drug busts and how warrants can be obtained to access “private” data to build a case.  I was truly sad for this section to end, because I knew we would lose each other’s company once we hit the next aid station.  This is probably the most technical of all the sections, but it honestly flew by with such interesting company to pass the miles.  Before we knew it, we had come upon the road, meaning one short downhill and we would hit the second crewed aid station (North River Gap, mile 37.13).

I dropped into the aid station and immediately saw Josh’s family, who called out to me while simultaneously alerting Janna to my arrival. It was just after 3am at this point, and I felt Janna take my hand and lead me to our crew spot. Again, I have no idea what happened here. I know she took my pack and did magical things with it. I remember being praised for eating well so far. I know I made my way into the woods to find a good spot to pee before continuing up the trail. I also remember starting to shiver and being sent back out on trail before I truly got chilled. And I continued onward, solo again, back with my music. Made a wrong turn here (as I have done twice also in training runs!) and ended up back on the road that leads to the aid station.  Saw runners dropping out from the woods on the other side and quickly realized my mistake.  Cursed to myself, turned around, and headed back up the trail to the turn that I missed.  And thus began the seven mile climb.

This is mostly a double-wide trail, some sections of rock, mostly nice decent trail to climb.  And the climbing feels like it’s never going to end. The temperature is really dropping during these hours and I end up putting on my hat and gloves, I can see the frost on my breath and my poles feel frozen to my hands.  It’s amazing the deep swings in temperature we experienced – about a 40 degree drop over the course of 9 hours.  It’s through this section that I hear Andy’s voice in my head— “put your head down and get up it”, no climb truly goes on forever.  I spent my time alone in the dark thinking of all the things in life that hurt worse than that climb did.  I hadn’t just lost a child to cancer. I thought about Gabe Grunewald and the deep pain of loss that her husband Justin is faced with every single day. Nope, I didn’t have to experience this pain forever. There was an end in sight for me, and that gave me great strength to push forward for all of those who couldn’t leave their pain behind at the top of a mountain.

Eventually, I began to see the lights of the front runners barreling towards me in the darkness.  Took quick note of the bib number of the first-place male to fly past – Number 198! I delighted to myself that Clark’s seeding had been wrong. I exchanged some of the kindest words with the top men flying down the mountain, they were all so strong and looked truly in their element.  I continued my climb, eventually hitting Little Bald Knob aid station (mile 44.96), getting a quick water refill, surveying the tables and not finding any dairy free food of substance (Though the food looked AMAZING!), so I had to carry forward with my trusty Spring gels toward the turnaround.

During this section, the sun began to rise and runners began turning off and stowing their lights. Everyone seemed to have a little more pep to their step into the early dawn hours, and I soon hit the forest service road that would summit Reddish Knob. I was disappointed this year at the lack of view from the summit (last years sunrise photo was priceless!), so quickly found my way to the orienteering punch, punched my bib, and was on my way back down the road to Briery Branch Gap.  It was great passing so many runners in the opposite directions during these out and back sections. I got to see and hug Jen, again saw Josh, and felt terrible for him as he called out to me that I looked strong and that he felt like crap! I made it into the turnaround aid station (mile 51.56), and was again taunted by amazing looking dairy-filled food on the tables.  I was handed my drop bag by an incredible volunteer (bless them all), took it to refill my food supplies, refilled my water, and headed back up the hill from where I came. It’s a great relief to get to this point and know that all you have to do now is get back where you came from, every step erasing mileage left until you’re right back where the journey began.

It was on this return trip where I began seeing a lot of weary travelers still heading up that seven mile climb toward the turnaround, and I gave encouragement to each person I passed along the way.  At one point, about a mile out from Little Bald Knob, I saw a man stumbling toward me on trail, barely able to stay upright.  “Are you okay?” I inquired. “I’m just so tired”, the man responded. “Do you need anything? Do you have caffeine?” I asked.  “I’ve got everything, I’ve tried everything, nothing is working”, he responded. “I think you should head back to the aid station, it doesn’t look like it’s safe for you to keep going”, I told him.  “No, no, I’ll be fine. Just one step at a time”, he responded. “Are you sure??”, I asked. “I’ll get there”, he assured me. I didn’t feel right about it, and as soon as I made my way back to Little Bald Knob aid station (mile 57.5), I approached a man with a radio and asked if he could radio for help for the stumbling man on trail.  I do believe they were able to find and help him, so I’m extremely grateful for that.

And so I continued on, still running solo for the next six miles. I slowed down significantly in this section, feeling extremely tired myself.  The lack of stimulation and lullaby of music in my ear was leading me to be (literally) sleep-running.  I was grateful that nothing hurt—I was just dying for a nap at this point.  I was rehearsing a speech in my mind to convince Janna to let me nap when I got back to North River Gap before heading onto our last 35 miles together.  Eventually, I turned off my music and put away my ear bud, making a bit of conversation with a man running nearby.  We eventually passed a biker heading in our direction who told us that a large group of runners were off course, having missed a key turn to head down into the aid station. Eventually, several of those runners passed by in a flustered state, saying they had added several miles to their race while they were off course.

I continued down trail and eventually ran into Janna who had hiked up the trail from the aid station to meet me.  We continued down together, and by the time we hit the aid station (mile 65.33), I had perked up enough to completely drop the great plea for a nap.  It was here where I was greeted by Kelsey, who had come to crew the last 35 miles for me while Janna joined me as a pacer.  I was overjoyed to see that Kelsey had found Janna (they had never bet before, and there is no cell service out there!), little did I know how much of a planning fiasco it had become for Janna, as she panicked that Kelsey would not arrive in time and scrambled to create and execute plan B should the meet-up not happen.  (In retrospect, I am totally impressed at her ingenuity). Finally, I would have Janna to run with for the rest of the race, no more lonely, falling-asleep miles! “What’s the best thing I can do to help you?” she asked me at this point.  “Mental stimulation” was my response.  Please talk to me. Keep me engaged. And boy, did she ever.

We spent the next miles chatting incessantly. It was honestly like any of our other training runs, felt completely natural to be back running together.  The beginning was rough, as I began hallucinating early on.  My first major hallucination was a bus in the water as we approached the North River crossing.  “Do you see the bus?!” I asked Janna.  “I sure do, you better go get on it!”, she responded.  As we descended upon the river, I saw that my “bus” was actually a very large rock in the water.  It was going to be a long night.   I soon forgot about all the rocks in the North River Gap section of trail as we chatted and steadily climbed our way out.  Unfortunately, it was around this time that a nasty cough set in.  I made a stark realization in that moment that I had forgotten to take the Allegra that I had left for myself in my Turnaround drop bag, and had to quickly accept that there was no fixing that error.  It was the only one I had packed, with no backups in any other drop bag or with my crew.

Running with asthma is always tolerable with Allegra on board, but coupled with the deep dust on course from the drought-like conditions, my lungs were going into full reactive inflammation mode. So long as I didn’t exert myself beyond about an effort level of a 6, I felt fine.   As soon as I passed that, though, I had an audible expiratory wheeze and what sounded like a bronchitis cough. So, I dialed back my effort and kept it comfortable.  I may have crud in my lungs, but the rest of my body still felt great.  Janna and I made our way into the Lookout Mountain aid station (mile 71.68), and I was immediately regretting my choice in pacer (just kidding). You see, Janna decided that the best way to get me out of an aid station quickly was to sing, dance, and embarrass the heck out of me until I continued up the trail (LOL). The volunteers at this aid station were thoroughly entertained, though, and suggested that Janna receive an award for most enthusiastic pacer. Made me laugh hysterically, and die a little inside, so all was good. Forward we marched, again, uphill.

I believe this is where we made first contact with Becca by text. “Becca says you’re moving too slow”, Janna called out from behind me. I may have sent her an unfriendly gesture back by text. And so we climbed. I began hallucinating again during this section.  Looking at the ground, I was so distracted by the leaves.  This year, each leaf had an ad on it. (Last year, animal photos). I was slowing even more to pick up some of the most interesting leaves, and Janna began yelling at me to put them down and leave them alone. I tried to ignore the pretty pictures on the leaves as I ran along, but every now and then a really beautiful one would catch my eye and I’d stop to enjoy it. “PUT IT DOWN!” Janna would yell.  “LEAVE IT!” ..she says I turned into a cross between a happy dog and a curious toddler for the rest of the race.

Now we came to the rolling single track trail which would eventually lead into Dowells Draft.  This section is joyfully runnable, and we had a glorious time running the short ups and downs, as you could catch some great momentum and never feel like you’re working hard before you’re heading back downhill.  Janna declared this her favorite section, and said she wouldn’t mind coming back to run this again in training (I’m holding her to that!). Just in those moments, I began wondering out loud how Josh was doing, and Josh came running up behind me, moving so strong with his pacer Corinna.  “THERE HE IS!”, I yelled. I was so happy to see him moving so fast.  He said something about Corinna lighting a fire under his ass, and off they ran together at what appeared to be Mach 10 speed.

Eventually, we emerged upon the Dowells Draft aid station (mile 80.35) and into Kelsey’s waiting hands. I switched out water bottles and for a new bladder of Skratch, grabbed my 2^nd to last rice ball, and surveyed the tables again for vegan-friendly food. I believe it was here where I was fed chicken broth with rice, and it was truly the best thing ever out there.  Soon, I continued on with Janna towards the switchback climbs. By this time, the sun was setting and we were climbing our way into the darkness.  I don’t remember much from this section, but I do remember full-blown hallucinations.  All of the beautiful leaves, two hanging cow-mobiles (“DO YOU SEE THE COWS?!?”) and finally, a giant boat at the top of the climb. “Please tell me you see the boat!” I said. “I sure do”, Janna replied, “you better go get on, the captain is waiting for you to have drinks on the deck”.  And so I continued up the climb, closer to the boat.  And the boat morphed into a downed tree. “THERE’S NO BOAT!”, I exclaimed.  “Of course there’s no boat!” Janna replied, “We’re on the top of a f*cking mountain!”. She laughed. I was upset.  We continued on.

The climbs subsided and Janna caught a cell signal — her phone exploded with text messages, and she read so many supportive messages out loud to me up on that mountain.  This mean the world to me, I will have you all know.  Soon, we were descending upon Dry Branch Gap.  We passed a man hanging out in the woods who was waiting for a different runner, who assured us we were nearing the aid station.  It felt like quite a long time after we saw him until the steep downhill subsided, but we soon found ourselves back in the company of Kelsey at aid station 12 (mile 87.83). I was extremely pleased to be fed warm tomato soup here (I’m pretty sure either Janna or Kelsey went back to the table and got me a second cup). Janna took this opportunity to create a blackmail video of me attempting to eat potato chips at this aid station, sending it out to several friends (I am NOT AMUSED).  She then began threatening me with song and dance moves to get me out of the aid station, and we began the tedious climb up the back side of Elliot’s.

I’m pretty sure Janna (very kindly) asked me to move faster about 20 times in this section. And I’m pretty sure she was also using musical terminology to describe the tempo at which I should be moving. (HA!) Eventually, the tedious bit of trail came to an end and we found ourselves on the steep descent of Elliot’s.  This was the section last year where I sat down and cried, feeling as though the world was crashing down around me.  This time, I was able to move freely down the trail, my quads were not trashed!!! My feet were not trashed!!!! My knees still felt good!!!! This was the biggest win of the day for me—collecting my soul off that steep fire road, carrying it along with me down into Falls Hollow.  Running fast still made me cough and wheeze, and I know Janna was concerned with my slowing pace, but I was happy as a clam coming down off this mountain.  (Or, as Adam would prefer—happier than a pig in shit. How do we really know clams are happy?)

Eventually we descended upon the final aid station, Falls Hollow (mile 96.67).  I only stopped briefly to envy the amazing dairy-infused treats being served (pretty sure Janna partook, though).   I knew that all we had left was the unmarked section to finish, and left it to Janna’s brain to follow the white blazes. This section was very mentally challenging for me.  I was overtired, and it was taking less and less exertion for me to be audibly wheezing.  It was here where my body lost its ability to thermoregulate, and I drove Janna absolutely crazy with shivering one moment and needing to put on my jacket, to sweating profusely and needing to strip back down to a t-shirt.  We ran very slowly along the flats and downhills, and walked all of the uphills. We came upon a runner and her pacer that were lost trying to follow the blazes, and again more lost runners further down the trail. This section looks completely different in darkness than it does in the light, making it so easy to doubt the blazes and feel as though you’ve taken a wrong turn.  Eventually, though, we made it back to the boy scout camp and back onto marked trail.

Janna cursed the two mile loop around camp when the finish was so close you could taste it, and you have to run away from it.  I plodded along slowly behind her.  I knew I was about to finish, and I was honestly in no hurry to get there. We made our way out to the pond and out to the road, hiking it in toward the finish line. I kindly begged Janna not to take photos, as I was tired and just wanted to be done.  She took photos anyway. I slow-walked my way across the finish line, looked up at the clock and waited for the 13th minute to turn to 14 (I strongly dislike odd numbers)—and crossed in 34:14. There were no tears this year, just a deep sense of peace, knowing that I had finished virtually pain free, blister free, with happy quads and happy knees, just an hour faster than last year, but so much more victoriously. Clark hugged me and presented me with my buckle and finishers shirt, then somehow Kelsey and Janna managed to get some photos of me before trudging my way to the cabin.

Janna wouldn’t let me shower (it’s an outdoor shower) because it was in the 40s and I was already shivering and unable to get warm.  She even left Kelsey with me as a bodyguard so that I wouldn’t sneak off to the showers while she ran to the car to get whatever it was she was after (sorry, my memory fails me).  Begrudgingly, I stripped off my shoes and socks and used my shower wipes to clean the thick dirt off my legs, changing into sweatpants and a hooded sweatshirt and climbing under the covers (with my hood up!) to shiver my way to sleep.  Eventually, I did fall asleep (at nearly 5am), and we were able to sleep until 11am, when I awakened to see Bill (one of the awesome keepers of Camp Shenandoah, who I had met at the trail work weekend in August) pull up in his golf cart to check that the cabins were all emptied.

We had (happily) slept through breakfast and awards, and I quietly made my way outside to greet Bill, where he gave me a big hug and congratulated me on my finish. I then took the most glorious shower ever, and made my way back to the cabin to find Janna and Kelsey beginning to pack the car. We eventually loaded up and headed out, stopping for breakfast (lunch?) at Cracker Barrel on the way. Janna graciously drove home, (lesson learned from last year), and after dropping her at home, I arrived to the most beautiful bouquet of bright yellow flowers with a “Congrats!” balloon on my porch.  The card was simple – “You killed it! Great Job! Love—MamaBec”.  This filled my heart with joy, and for the first time, I cried – for it was the power of the tribe that got me through this race with such strength.

 

Thank you, all of you, for your incredible support as I continue chasing these crazy dreams.  Thank you especially to Janna, for being all-in just for me—for days on end.  I don’t think I could ever put into words how much your friendship means to me, and I’m so grateful to have you to experience these crazy adventures together.  These are the memories and experiences that carry us through the everyday grind—the moments that define us and make life worth living.

Looking forward now to Beast Series race #5 – Mountain Masochist 50 miler—which is just 4 weeks from Grindstone – November 2^nd. Praying for a swift recovery and mountain legs to get the job done yet again – this time, solo—though I will carry the love of you all in my heart.