I’ve never ran more then 20 miles and that was over a year ago. I had no goal, no watch; one water bottle that broke in the first 10 and a bicycle jersey that Bob Rose once gave me. My shorts were a gift from Adam Casseday, they were purple. Before the race even started I sat alone and knew that it would be 50 miles before I could rest again and that kind of paused time, made everything seem a little darker.
The night appeared to be more like an adventure or Steven King book. I imagined myself as a slave or jailbird that had just busted out and the hounds were a chasing me, headlamps and all. The road was foggy and spooky and things would creep in the brush beside you. I have no complaints about the course and was very thankful to pass through it. I never felt pain like that before and defiantly learned a great deal about me and my body. I have 50 miles of gritty teeth and whimpers to give to Adam and the gang for hosting a great race in the woods, in the dark, in the rain, in the fog, in a dream.
Author: Steven Johnson