I told everyone who said I was crazy, but they knew I could do it;
“100 miles is a long way, I might not finish.”
but secretly thought I would…..despite the lack of disciplined training, proper nutrition, or plan of execution. It’ll be tough but I’ll be tougher….HA.
The Sinister 7 course was meant to break all notions of what it meant to suffer. At some point I looked up with vomit tickling the back of my throat and saw a mountain with ribbons of trail snaking through it as a representation of my future suffering. In that visceral moment I understood all of this was actually impossible.
The night before the race I slept! used this little ditty to help nod off, repeated;
Breathe in Calm, Breathe out fear.
I should have been less calm, I should have had more fear. At some point in the third leg I was crying because I wasn’t going to finish, and I also knew, as I know now, that I’ll be soloing that beautiful effing course again next year.
The first three legs are all I can attest to, my experience at the Sinister 7 was perfectly choreographed, like a ballet. From far away it’s magnificent, It’s beauty, mixed with pain and glory that draw us into the middle of the performance until we believe we can do it too.
I still believe I can run 100 miles at the Sinister 7. As a former dancer, I know what it takes. This was the first time in my life I failed at a physical endeavour, and it won’t be the last, for sure.
Today I’m still chewing on the DNF, like it’s a piece of jerky, using it to fuel my next year of real training. I even got a book
My body will be pushed to do impossible things on a weekly basis. I will get used to the taste of the back of my throat, and I will be going steady with pain.
The truth is, I wasn’t scared enough and for some reason unknown to my post-race brain, I refused to plan exactly how my day would go. I thought I’d wing it. Frig, who was that girl?