After whiskey into the night, we capped the visit with an awesome breakfast this morning at Camilla’s Kaffe. Sooo good.
Friday night, pre-race. On a recommendation from a local, I got an awesome burger at Munchies, then hopped over to Copper Club Brewing for a couple of carb-load hydration packs, often referred to as “beers.” I was sipping and enjoying the music. Didn’t really register until he started jamming a Stevie Ray Vaughn tune. Damn. The guy was good. I turned to see him and I’ll be honest, I was surprised. He looked like he’d have been quite comfortable sitting and crooning at a campfire. Saturday morning, I set out to do what I ostensibly came to do: the Desert Rats 50K. Things started well enough but by mile 6, I knew I was in for a rough day. First climb was good, but on the descent, I went tachycardic. WTF?! It’s a descent! Made it to the aid station puffing hard. Took a bit of time there, ate, drank and set off on a 4.5 mile loop. Made it back to the aid station and all was good with the world and my heart rate again, but it wasn’t to last. Not two more miles later, my baby cows decided they’d start their usual antics – earlier than usual. Swell. I kept moving, eating, drinking and taking electrolytes. I maintained the status quo for another 9 miles, until I tripped and fought to catch it. That was a catalyst for the rest of my leg muscles to take notice, and say, “why do the calves get all the fun? Let’s cramp, too!” So they did – for the remaining 10 miles. The worst was 50 feet from the finish, where I stopped to give a high five to a toddler, and my calf cramped so hard, it took over a minute to get my heel back to the ground so I could cross the line. How embarrassing, with the spectators witnessing my agony. The best part was after the race. My college roommate from decades gone by Mark came over from Denver and we demolished a huge pizza from Hot Tomato, while swilling beer after beer in Copper Club (yes, again!). Such good pizza and such good beer. And such a good time with such a great friend. (Thought I was going to continue with the “goods”, didn’t ya?) After whiskey into the night, we capped the visit with an awesome breakfast this morning at Camilla’s Kaffe. Sooo good. Now I’m waiting to catch the train back to Reno, and my regularly scheduled program. Sigh.
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Overall, I’d have to say it was a pretty decent experience. Some highlights:
Other observations:
Now that I am here, it’s time to get into event mode. Yes, I have a time goal; it’s neither critical nor terribly difficult, but I’ve been achy lately. I should make it – if I keep the cramps at bay. It’ll be interesting to see how I feel tomorrow morning at the start.
One other rando-thought. I’ve heard one should write with a target audience in mind. I do, but I have significant doubts my target ever reads these. Kinda funny. In the midst of The Great Stuff Purge of 2018, I was clearing out the shirt drawer, and came across this one. The memories of that morning came back.
On April 30, 1995 (I had to look up the date), I toed the line for the very first time since a middle school half mile race against the clock. (Back then it was called junior high.) That one was required to pass the phys-ed class I was in; this one was purely voluntary. I don’t remember exactly why I signed up, but I’m pretty sure it was a result of peer pressure from a dark-haired beauty I was dating at the time. (History shows I’m a sucker for that kind of pressure. And dark haired beauties, too, apparently.) I do remember the race was five miles, and my goal was 40 minutes. Pretty sure I didn’t make it, and I felt absolutely wiped out the rest of the day, but hey, I got the shirt! Soon after that race, I stopped running, stopped seeing the dark-haired beauty, stopped working at my job, and stopped living in Colorado. It took seven years, and a gain of twenty five pounds before I tried running again – to resounding failure. I couldn’t even make it a mile. I was fat and over forty. Like a lunatic, I signed up for the now-defunct Silver State half marathon in Washoe Valley. I survived, and soon after, discovered trail running and have never looked back. Fast forward another fifteen years. I lost the twenty five pounds (and more). I’ve lost my youth and the feeling of invincibility that goes with it. I’ve lost some relationships – losses which haunt me nightly. But, I’ve gained two great kids, and a healthy lifestyle on the trails. I’ve gained some pretty amazing trail companions, and a renewed connection with the natural world. And since every run could be my last, I strive to enjoy every step – even the ones that hurt, though they far outnumber those that do not. Sir Elton may be still standing. As for me? I’m still running. Running like Jackson Browne. |
AuthorJust a guy out exploring the world. Former world-class never-was endurance runner. Archives
December 2022
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