Race morning, I arrived at 4:45am. I went to use the campground rest room and this is what I saw above the stalls. Yes, thats a vulture, not a good omen. I think he was waiting for an ultra-runner to die.
Miles 65 to 75 were hard and then it actually got a little better, in terms of effort. I felt like I was holding a 7 minute pace but in reality, it was hardly a shuffle. I worked hard to avoid the dreaded "death march" by not permitting myself to walk unless climbing.
Later I did resort to a speed walking pace, off and on, only because I came to the realization it was probably faster than what my running pace had become. Got passed by three people between 60 and 80 miles. After that, I wasn't passed again and I passed a dozen or more. This was a mental boost considering my geriatric pace.
Here is a picture of my poor foot. Honestly, it didn't feel nearly as bad as it looks.
Can't even explain the satisfaction I felt on the plane ride home. I had a sense of peace that I can only compare to what people refer to as a religious experience.
Life is good.
Now that I've finally done it, my next goal is a sub 24 hour! (after Western States).
