Where the fuck do I begin? I signed up for my second Lost Boys 50 mile endurance race. The first one was a nightmare…..keep in mind I’m writing about the second one which tells you how bad it was.
The night before Doc, Harv and I decide to stay at a cabin about 15-mins. from the start to save ourselves a 2-hr drive. Little did I know Harv sounds like a fucking freight train from the moment he falls asleep and that shit didn’t end. I was trying to sleep with a pillow and my index finger in my ear to minimize the noise. Seriously dude, I could have use a decent night sleep.
I show up at the start line at 4-4:30amish for a 5am start in the middle of the desert. Who the fuck has a 5am start? STUPID
It’s so windy the porta-potties are blowing over, your mouth and eyes are full of sand and the god damn race hasn’t even started. Needless to say I’m still running the mother fucker but now I’m shitting myself.
So the race starts and I’m feeling pretty good. I’m holding down a decent pace through the soft sand and finally reach a nice downhill hard pack section around mile 8-10. Still early in the race I’m all over the shit. I pick-up the pace to ELITE status and I’m throwing down sub8 close to 7 minute miles. BIG FUCKING MISTAKE
Getting through the desert that wind was no joke. Definitely not comedy hour on the trail that day.
I reach the mile 20ish AS and I’m already fucked, but the fun was just getting started. Feeling like ass at mile 20 with 30 miles to go and a 5-mile climb ahead of me. The fucking joys of running an ultra. If I just stayed in the cozy warm cabin and jerked off a few times that morning my life would have been so much better.
Ok, here we go crushing the Oriflamme 5-mile climb. Ha fucking ha. Even though I wasn’t sure if I was going to make it up the hill, my head was down walking/running, passing a bunch of no named pussies. I’ve been up this hill so many times I had a good idea where to push and where to pray.
Finally the climb was over, but unfortunately the race wasn’t. I’m feeling worse than ever when I reach the 30-mile AS. Doc’s there to pick me up and I have Harv crewing. That’s right, I fucking roll big time when I race.
After telling a few generous AS volunteers to shut the fuck up, Harv was kind enough to introduce me to the idiots that didn’t know me. (I guess they do now) It was at that moment when I came up with the idea of having an Amsterdam AS. Tray or containers filled with different drugs (not cookies) and I get to choose what to take depending on my state of fucked-upness. I sure it’s word, look it up.
We head out of the AS and I’m not doing so well. Mostly walking with Doc harassing me to run. Right, go fuck yourself dude.
The next six miles to the Dirt Devil AS sucked bad. At one point, I was stuck behind a rock blocking the trail. (See pic) We arrive at mile 36 and I’m not sure if I should stand or sit. My feet were killing me and Doc offered to tape them, but the thought of taking off my shoes and putting them back on seemed impossible. The AS crew keep asking me stupid shit, they just wouldn’t shut the fuck up. I was getting confused and irritated so I knew I needed to keep moving.
Ok, here we go. 7-mile climb to the top of Cuyamaca Peak which never seemed to end. At one point Doc insisted I give him an elevation reading, nice work dude. I still had 1,500 feet to climb and now things went from bad to worse in my head. As we continued to summit, now my fucking knee is killing me. The only hope I had was that a mountain lion or wild turkey attack would put me out of my misery.
We reach the summit and headed back down. Now the knee is so fucked up I’m walk/running sideways. Awesome, only 3-4 miles of the shittiest, rockiest aka technical downhill section of the course. Damn, this shit is sooooooo much fun.
Now doc is starting to ask me some crazy shit. To be honest I’m not even sure what the fuck he’s talking about. I keep saying to myself, does he really want talk about this now?
On to finish and another 50-miles of regret.