Uphill endlessly over the dunes, digging a hole with every step, sinking in and climbing out. The sand, the miserable sand. My aching quads burn, my Achilles cry, and I continue my mental whine. Oh my aching back! Damn, I wish it would just stop. Oh, thats a novel idea! Just Stop. Just because I am thinking of stopping, I simply refuse to do so. A contrarion at heart, I revel in reverse logic. I experiment with this idea by insisting that I slow down for my own well being... and yes, of course, I pick up speed instead. But this psychology is only so good when faster doesn't really mean that much. I was going pretty slow to begin with so faster is not much to carry on about. The demons have a firm grip on me by now. I can't function in this humidity, my back hurts, my stomach is one tight knot of surging spasms, my feet are dragging over the roots, and I continue to trip over the nasty little bastards hidden under a bed of rotting leaves.

GO! I yell. Let me be! Find somebody else to torment. Just then, I actually pass somebody going slower than me. He doesn't even turn his head or even acknowledge that I am there. Nor does he seem to hear my ravings. And then I see them, all the demons he has of his own. He has his own set of miseries. Mine seem so insignificant. I laugh out loud... at myself... at the demons. GO! I shove them off and attempt to see the better side of all this. The blanket of leaves that I slide across are beautiful. An abundance of color with a rich woodsy smell. I push the pace but my positive thinking only works so much magic. Still, I start to feel better. I insist on it. More, I demand it. The smile slips back on, but then again, maybe I just think it does. Still, it is enough for now. And I begin to run again.

I begin the day knowing it's going to be bad. I have not had much luck lately and the hot humid runs of late have been less than lovely. My body will be mistreated today, but I'm running with a very dear friend. Paulie has flown in from San Diego just to run with me. Even with his own back problems, his wife insisted that it would be good for him to share some time with an old friend. And so, we start out together, slowly, talking, enjoying just sharing time and being. The crowd flows past us, a surging tide that ebbs and flows, but never stops. Bits of conversation, a hearty laugh, a kind word, a slap on the back: my goodness but it all feels so good and makes me happy to be alive. Just to be a part of it. To hell with winning or even finishing, it's good just being part of it. We dont say much, neither of us. There is no need. The tide we ride is a casual one, back of the pack, relaxed, and easy. We pass through the first few sections without seeing anything, but feeling everything. The jeep road at Amy's Crossing changes the flow and feel somewhat. People are yelling and bouncing into each other as they hurry into & out of the aid area.

A short hill that we have the pleasure to walk up and over begin the jeep road to hell. But it looks so pleasant and innocent. We start to run after we top out. Can't be more than 20 feet, but oh how this beast will grow. We waddle up the road, visiting with old friend and Canadian via Oklahoma, Earl Blewitt. He looks so out of place without his cowboy hat. It ant too long before they start coming back on us: the leaders. In ones, then threes, and then whole packs. I hear my name a few times, and occasionally I even see one who says it. I am so blind. Every step is a whole new adventure.

We reach the aid station at the end of the road and observe that we need to go a bit further to the turn around timing mat. It is of no matter really. We see what we need to do and go do it, same as everybody else. From the aid station, I take a potato and pop it in my mouth only to learn it its still hard and uncooked, so I drop it in the trash. Paulie has his own little trauma when he takes a cup of water and pours it on his head, only to discover its 7-Up. So we are not off to a very good start. Interesting for sure but not so efficient.

Back down the road we go at a leisurely pace. Quite a few friends and others are still coming up the road behind us with lots of encouragement. The road is more sand than dirt and we search for the best track through the soft surface. The road is full of people, all doing the 50 mile race, and all quite loud. They fill the forest with their noise. Its a cheerful happy sound, but the forest is either silent or overwhelmed for the moment.

Cresting the last short rise and descending the short hill to Amy's Crossing, we elbow our way into the circus. I ask the lady behind the table for a beer, and she laughs, thinking that I'm joking. I move on down the sand pit where they have placed a boardwalk, but it just seems wrong to not go through the shallow drainage, so I go around the planks and through the water, making certain to splash myself. The turn just ahead is where I know the real fun begins: the single-track. Paul & I both seem to pick up the pace in here under the trees, where the people sound is muffled down so that I can again hear the forest.

Usually, I go out much faster than this. I like to use this race to test my speed on trails, to gauge where my fitness is. It's just not looking very good and I know its not going to get much better. My energy comes in fits and starts: running well for awhile and then walking at too frequent intervals soon after. I'm getting very large doses of heat training of late, but I am so tired of it. How about a little rain? The entire loop seems to move along slowly and passes without much conscious thought. Paulie and I are even too thrashed to talk much which is certainly a very bad sign for both of us. i start out just ahead of him and usually this is very common for us, because he always catches me. And as slow as I'm moving, he doesn't catch me this time. I see him on the out and back. he looks as rough as I feel and even tells me not to wait for him. The second loop is as meaningless as the first one.

I take the time to eat some salmon & drink a large cold Gatorade, but revival doesn't come. I start loop three in a funk that stays the entire circuit. Charlene passes me, as do many others who seem to managing the heat better than me. At the start of the final loop, I take a flashlight, because I'm not so sure I will finish before dark or even the 12 hour cutoff. But, I am still too bull headed to quit and this is actually my 10th time to run the 50 miler at Sunmart, so I struggle on. The final loop has no meaning. Its just about getting it done. Robert has already taken down the HCTR tents and waits with all the others for us final stragglers to come in.

And I do get it done. If not for my recent disaster at Palo Duro, I'd think this was the worst run I have ever had. So now I have two very bad runs back to back. Lots of excuses. None, very good. Can I get a cool day to run... please?