Fear found me tonight as it circled around in the wilderness. Every hour it shined a headlamp in my tent, then chased the light with the sounds of defeated voices.
Jenni and I rolled into camp later than we had hoped to. It was our first time on this course and we were not sure what to expect. Judging by the emails leading up to the event the ground would be covered with athletes and we would be lucky if we even found a spot to pitch a tent. Overflow athletes would sleep on the gym floor ¾ of a mile from the start. Not wanting to hog camp real-estate, we packed light. Too light.
We felt a little stupid when we showed up with a backpacking rig while the rest of the crews seemed to be glamping. Turned out we would have had plenty of space, which we could have utilized heavily during the race. But unlike many other athletes, we had no crew or pacers, no pit station or awning to rest under, no big tent to stand and change clothes in. It was just the 2 of us and our tiny little set-up.
We found a spot at the end of the line toward the middle of a meadow. It was never too early for us to stake our claim to the back of the pack. We set up camp within minutes and made our way to registration for packet pick-up and a dinner plate. We stood anxiously in the registration line with all the other runners. (The 200- and 150-mile racers had started the day prior.) No one spoke to each other as we watch the tired racers pass sporadically through the shoot.
There was a woman my age coming through the shoot, she was covered in mud and had a hallow expression on her face. We spotted her again later in the back of a SUV - crying. I made eye contact by accident but turned away quickly. She deserved to feel shame and defeat privately. As she cried, she spoke to her support team about dropping out of the race. I hoped she would bounce back, but it felt unlikely. No judgment from me. My tears would find me tomorrow - I was more than certain.
We ate our spaghetti on the ground and headed back to camp where I sketched to calm my nerves until it got dark, then unpacked and repacked my running gear. Turns out we were the first tent the muddy zombie like athletes would see as they lapped their way around during the evening and into the night.
My mat had a hole in it, so I spent my rest hours shivering on the ground, trying not to give a stronghold to fear, which circled around in my mind. This was one of the biggest physical challenges we had ever been brave enough to line up for, and I knew I would again meet the end of myself on the course tomorrow. I was not frightened of that moment; rather, I was fearful of how soon it might happen.
I lay in bed and watched the lights shine in, wondering if I would have the strength to run past the end of myself, and hoping I would not have many miles ahead of me when my body and my mind stopped.
