'26 100K World Championships - Ames, Spain

I have been visualizing winning a World Championship race since I ran my first one in 2019 - the IAU 50K World Championships in Brasov, Romania, where I was 5th; the same race where Alyson Dixon bettered Frith van der Merwe's WR in 3:07:20. What's hard about the road 100K is that opportunities to run it are rare, and opportunities to run a fast one, rarer. The 100K World Championships (held every other year) are rarely held in good conditions or on fast courses. When something is rare, and rarely run fast, it keeps the event stuck. However, on this side of the sport, it is obvious we are to be grateful for anything at all, because every year holds threat that someone won't foot the bill and host. 

A few weeks after Comrades I got extensive bloodwork to garner a sense of internal/nervous system status, as a hopeful guide on how to navigate a build towards the IAU 100K World Championships in Ames, Spain, in September. There were 3 months between the two races. I think this is a tight turnaround as is, but today's ultrarunner's race schedule is sort of psychotic in that it seems like these freaks are racing every month. 

I hadn’t felt good in the build to Com, for numerous reasons, so it was a surprise to find the best bloodwork I'd seen in years. I’m not sure what it meant that I could feel bad, but the blood/fatigue panel could say, Go, and obviously there’s nuance & important things that can’t be measured by blood, but I took this and ran with it. What ignoring my internal coding (that of intuition & feeling, hiding there behind the blood) did, was result in likely the worst feeling training build of my entire life. 

This was a summer of no sunning, no pool, lake, bbq, camping or blackberries. It was the most adultly boring, strictly working summer season sans summer luxuries I've ever known, and in so, the closest to lifeless I've ever felt. That's dramatic. But when life is just work and pain and no reprieve, it does not feel like living. 

For the past year it was my knee, moving from top to outer side to top. I’d wake up with a new thing added: itb, tfl, ql, high ham, adductor, pubis, plantar. A chain. System failure. I feel sorry for the person I’ve been. What it felt like to exist in my body like that. Every day a battle of, I should shut this down, and then not. Being in chronic physical pain forced me to consider my body every minute of every day, and yet I kept moving forward, not sure of the cost. I complained so much a co-worker brought me witch balm from Alaska. I took more ibu's than I have in a long while. I splurged for weekly bodywork & asked Dylan & Nikki (my PT buds) for house-calls for assessments. I did rehab & gym work (shocking), heavily evolved my workouts, stopped doing them near the end, stopped strides & hills, and just really hoped a longer taper & adrenaline would let me finish the race & score for the team. In shorter words, I was heavily compromised. 

Everything this past summer told me I should not toe the start line, but I kept at it because the timing of this race, in my life, in that place, felt like it needed to be my chance. See how I say, needed it to be? I forced it. It was hard feeling like the timing was nominal, perhaps singular, but I was not physically or emotionally ready to meet it. It is the greatest lesson I’m trying to make sense of - How did I not give up? (Stubborn, Willpower). How did I navigate the pain just right? (Intuition? Blind faith or fear. Pain tolerance? Luck. Bodyworkers?) And, How did I win? (All, Paired).

I also could not not go for (3) reasons: 

1. I could not let the US Women's Team down, especially since we were dwindling in size already (from 6 athletes down to 4, and you need 3 to score),
2. I purchased everything as non-refundable, and, 
3. A few years back I thrifted this Camino de Santiago 90's baby tee, not knowing what it was or meant, and when I was packing for the trip, I came across it and was like, Destiny?

I thought to share the journey. I wanted to say, "This is my goal - I want to win the 100K World Championships," but I was in so much pain, and from the pain - growing fatigue & irritation, that I chose not to say anything at all. In not being able to train as I'd have wanted to, in self-edits & cutting out all that would afford me a semblance of confidence, I leaned into (3) things: Volume, so long as I could stand it (this was largely forced, but I got in 9 consec. weeks over 100 mpw), Sauna (which, because of the chronic pain, I had little mental reserves to last longer than 15-20 minutes), and Making Wishes Over Train Tracks (I'd run this loop around BTC and every time I'd run over the tracks I'd feign floating & think loudly, Win the 100K World Champs. I also lifted my feet over tracks while driving and made wishes to win; one time MM caught me and asked me what the hell I was doing). 

I made it.

Wednesday - Thursday 9/16-9/17: SEA to Frankfurt 

Lufthansa half-flight lounge splurge. Milk lounge. There were glass jars of licorice allsorts (dude, these were introduced in 1899 & taste like it & I've always been way into them). I thought, Ah, I'll re-read "What I Talk About When I Talk About Running" by Murakami & take a hot shower between flights; instead, I sat through two rotations of meals & I ate & drank as if I was not in route to the World Championships. I watched a lady pick her chin hairs & let them fall to the floor. I think the upgrade was worth it. 

Through the gray adoption of EES. Someone’s nervous tick taps the seat all the way to Santiago, which taps brain and crawls skin. Arrive Santiago. The LOC has me wait at the airport for 2 hours to gather other Arrivals. A smarter person would have gotten themselves to the hotel on their own. Instead I follow my personal narrative wherein pre-paying €50 for a shuttle means I’m taking that shuttle. I don’t like this righteousness. I don’t like that instead of comforting my own outcome, I’d rather lean into small injustices and resent per the slight. But, there are moments made in inconvenience. A sort of serendipity. And mine was bumping into Brogan & his curious dad. I liked this time with them, in a sort of travel delirium, laying on the hard plastic of an airport seat for 2 unnecessary hours more. 

Bus to Hotel Scala in Padrón. Into a warm musk into cigarette smoke into lobby into the first US team meeting, upon which I find myself sassy and sandwiched between Allison, who has deposited my nutrition bag on my lap, having muled it for me to save me precious carry-on space, and Charlie, who feels like a conspiratorial hug. I introduced myself as the poorer Charlie Lawrence. Lin’s got a fresh cut. I'm feeling out the energy in the room. There’s a difference from teams of past, and it’s the camera recording the meeting, the creative one-man crew accompanying Charlie, for all of our benefit, and his name is Alan.

Ames is so small they’ve spread federations across multiple hotels in various small surrounding villages. This is atypical of the IAU World Championships. Usually there is one host hotel, or in the least, two side-by-side. Because of the spread, it didn’t feel as momentous, as celebratory, as World. This minor logistical difference sort of jarred me. It felt more erratic over cohesive, but this was probably for the fact that Scala is literally on the Camino and there was a buttload of trekkers stopping in anew every day. That flurry of foot traffic felt at odds with the nervous tension of pre-race competitors in taper. 

Hotel Scala, developed in 1980, felt such. Located in the province of A Coruña, the village of Padrón dates back to the Roman era. It's the birthplace of Rosalía de Castro, a 19th century Spanish poet/novelist who was expressive, melancholic & spoke on themes of love, loss & social justice. She wrote, 

Los grandes avances siempre van seguidos de grandes catástrofes.

[Great breakthroughs are always followed by great catastrophes.]

Todos los momentos son hermosos para quienes mantienen la alegría dentro de sí; pero no hay tiempo feliz o favorable para quienes tienen el alma desolada o huérfana.

[All times are beautiful for those who maintain joy within them; but there is no happy or favorable time for those with disconsolate or orphaned souls.]

Full board at Scala included a classic Galician breakfast spread of cold cuts & cheeses, eggs, baskets of loaves, olive oil packets so good we’d bring some to bed, Nutella filled pastries. Lunch & dinner of caldo gallego, a traditional, hearty, salty potato, white bean & greens soup, ensalada mixta, ensaladilla clásica, paella, fried todo, potatas fritas, langostinos crujientes, piranha filets (which was actually flatfish, flounder, sole or plaice). For dessert, a larger spread of tarta de milhojas, tarta de queso al horno, flan de huevo, arroz con leche, tarta de Santiago, a freezer full of copa de helado, macedonia de frutas, and a hundred other little cakes. What's excellent about Hotel Scala is there's this perma-fridge on the ready with like 100 bottles of chilled D'eli Albariño & Mencia, corks pulled, and you can drink as much as you like. 

I thought I paid for a single room, hoping for a quiet numbing. Instead, I find two cute side-by-side twin beds and my roommate - teammate Sarah Morrison. I didn’t know Sarah personally, but I followed her result at the Mad City 100K/US 100K Championships, and was impressed, inspired, and convinced of her ability to be one of the best in road ultra. She was immediately warm and quick to laugh at all my jokes. This helps when you’re sleeping side-by-side next to someone you’ve met for the first time. Rest that evening was a joy. I wanted to know everyone better, immediately, but travel dulls the mind. I think I flipped that first night, into an appropriate Spanish timeline. 

Friday 9/18 - Lion, our historian & statistician, historied himself, passionate, had organized a course preview on his own euro. Friday morning we bussed in & ran the course together. The driver was like, "See you in 4 hours," and we're like, "Wait, wut?" Spanish drivers are booked and busy. Being exposed in a Spanish heat wave for hours longer than you'd planned, ahead of the race, is not ideal but what's beautiful about your plans being made gray (akin to the delay at the airport) is that that's where the best memories are made. We ran together, no man too big to run ahead. This statement feels sexist, but it's something isn't it? A deviation in pace between the sexes is easy to assume, yet the men's gold winning team ran a shakeout with the women's team, together. This shouldn't be so novel, it's actually been the case for every World team I've made, so I think it says something about the quality of the people & their accompanying egos. I shocked myself by enjoying the course. I'm usually full of judgements. And this too, after we'd found we'd run past a sewage treatment plant 20 times. 

After the shakeout we relaxed outside a café over coffee & cake. I liked the fonts of the businesses in Ames. The buildings themselves, their green tiled walls & red tiled roofs, the overgrown vines choking the stones. The Pazo da Peregrina, an old manor made municipal. Our mgmt purchased buckets & sponges for ice & icing us during the race. After the 4 hours we boarded our returned bus back to Scala. A few of us walked a part of the Camino into Padrón for groceries. It was sweltering. There I was, moaning beneath the heat on a walk when in 1 day I'd need to run well in it for 7 hours. I sauna year-round & yet I moaned. 

Saturday 9/19 - Creeping from our shared room to let Sarah rest, I met a few teammates for breakfast. There was a soft tangerine hue to the sky & the air was brisk when Allison, Ben, Garrett & I set out for our final shakeout, this time in the other direction on the Camino. It was this direction that I felt convinced of it's being a necessary undertaking. We braided the traversers, some singing, others in a silence so thick it felt spiritual. There were many a walking pole, overstuffed backpack, and jostling dance of a scallop shell tied to each pack. We wove between serpentine alleys lined in stone walls and the graying white of granite locally quarried. Past end-of-season grapevines and cornfields taller than us. Past petite cats whose size indicated youth, but whose aura & crusty eyes indicated farm-feral. I did strides outside Scala in a large gravel lot filled with potholes & I thought, This might exacerbate my injuries. But, present to the risk, present to the pothole, I felt a sort of self-assuredness I hadn't felt in a very long time. It might have been as simple as I was inspired by the Camino and from that inspiration, confident in my being. And suddenly I was inspired by a banana plant's inflorescence. 

Photo by: IAU

Photo by: IAU

Later thar morning I boarded a bus with mgmt and a few other athletes from other federations for the pre-race press conference. I'd been asked by John O'Regan, one of my favorite Irishmen, and the new Communications Director for the IAU, if I'd speak on the pre-race panel. I said, "I might be down, though I can't be trusted." To which he said, "So that's a Yes." And then I tried to pretend that didn't happen, which worked until the night before, we're talking 10:00 pm, he tells me to board the morning bus. To the city centre, to Casa Consistorial Ames, the town hall & official seat of government for Ames. I appreciated John's thoughtful questions, and hearing the thoughts of the other athletes, that of Sarah Webster, Aleksandr Sorokin, Elmir Askarov & Maria Romero. Sorokin said it would be his last "short distance" event, wanting to focus on the longer stuff. We didn't really have a ride back after that. That seemed typical of my 2.5 weeks in Spain - a We'll get you there, but get you back? Think again. Sarah Webster & I took pictures with the Ukraine women's team, who are wonderful, and then we eventually caught a van back to Scala. I liked getting to know Sarah - this sweet & stealthy & ridiculously good athlete (whose stats include: 24-HR WR of 278.621 km, the NR in the 100K in 7:03:40, and a 2X medalist at the 50K & 100K World Champs of past). It's not often you get to talk openly with your competitors about Life & future race plans the day before the race. Feels like something that happens easier post-race, when guards are down. And this is another reason why I love this vein of the sport. It's not too big, too ego-driven, too secretive or manipulative to shy from building real relationships with people ahead of trying to beat one another. I knew GBR would be our toughest competition. I wanted them to succeed, to give it their best days, to get to know them, and also to beat them. It's funny, then, how it would play out, that neither of our women's teams would podium. 

We got back to Scala in time for lunch: paella, fried shrimp, fried croquettes, fries, chorizo & other marbled meats, thick quarters of tomatoes, hardboiled eggs, a fridge of kiwis. After, Kelly, our team Dr., gave me a leg flush. I'd conveyed all my current ails & potential crises that have occurred after long races (see: Kidney Stones), and how she handled me by word, care & touch was exactly Exactly right. She gave light adjustments to my ankles & toes. She rubbed a cooling gel on each leg. I'd never had such care ahead of a Championship race (I'd also never asked), and it made me feel better, more connected to her, to being in my body, that I think it was one part to the whole of my outcome.

I can see a sort of positive momentum happening here. I'm on the Camino. I'm eating a lot of fried food. I'm doing strides. I got a massage. The simple things, you know. That or getting away from the weight of working & never progressing & living in a country that's fucking everything up - that weight was slowly starting to dispel. 

Photo by: Alan Lam

Photo by: Alan Lam

Alan took team photos for us & then we boarded a bus back to Ames city centre for Opening Ceremonies. We were always on a bus. Susan passed out miniature flags so we could hand them out to kids in the parade. The square was packed, and it was ripe hot, and we were full long sleeve & long pant suited. There's something so optics over athlete coded that has athletes doing a parade at the hottest part of the day, in full suit, the day before a very taxing distance race. But every country faired the same, and in that shared discomfort, an even playing ground. The Spanish team was lit up, singing and dancing. It was fun to be beside them; there's always something special about the host country's competing team that feels more & rightfully exhuberant. I took pictures of people sweating, of sweat collecting on cottoned backs, of the joyful faces of athletes not yet ruined, of people cheering from their balconies, and of the sidelines lined in locals full finger whistling. Honestly, it was the best & biggest turnout of any opening ceremony I've seen in all the teams I've made. Paraded through a park, past bars where all the people drinking beer had a look like, What is happening? MM arrived; it would be his first World Champs experience.

We were paraded up to the stage; had our national moment. Garrett was specifically approached by the cutest bowl-cut for an autograph. I think he teared up. A band called "Glasgow" played Zombie. It took a very long time to figure out how to get to a bus, of course. Pre-race dinner at Scala included some generalized over-soft pasta dish, pizza, fries, a petite bowl of the Galician soup, and a sampler plate of all the desserts. This is very serious pre-race specificity. Suddenly inspired by the silver stemmed bowl overflowing with vanilla & strawberry ice cream & a glass of red wine in front of Lion, my last moment of creativity that evening was photographing his hands devouring his treats. 

Sunday 9/20 - '26 IAU 100K World Championships 

What was cool but also not so desirable about this iteration, was that the race was set to start at 8:30 am. That's rare. We did not have to deal with a sleepless night into a buttcrack early morning, but we did have to get through a 30–40-minute bus ride & near mile walk to the team tents. The later start time derived from Ames' late sunrise. I think it would have been most ideal had we been granted an earlier, darker start to help offset the number of hours we'd spend in the heat later, but whatever, it's not my race (just my body). Together there at the U.S. tent, about 3/4th's of the way down the line, we applied our nutbutters, laid out nutrition & tightened our laces. I did not feel nervous. 

The race was laid out with 1 lap of 4.8K + 19 laps of 5K (with two transition sections of 100m), fully paved. I said I liked the course & that remains after 20 laps of it. We checked in proving bib & chip & full team and at 8:30 am took off. Down Rúa Alcalde Lorenzo, passing Tirolina Park, the team tents to our left, Lorenzo becoming Aldea Punxeiras Altas, past Restaurante Mollos e Moios, up this nice steady climb, ever-exposed (& halfway through would be the site of a water spray truck tucked to the left in an inopportune place at odds against the course's best through-line). Right down Rúa Tras do Muiño, which was this rolling backstreet pushed against a greenspace, dappled in leaf shadow, and where the LOC set out buckets of large oval ice cubes & extra water once the heat picked up. From there a sharp right turn down Camino a Sisalde, the only downhill, curving further right between trees, passing a treatment facility that offered what could be as simple as cowpie or as complex as porous ammonia 2-nonenal biological waste. Once past the facility, there was a long stretch running parallel to the Rúa we'd run in on, and in fragments you could look across a large field to see other runners & the team tents. Some supporters would walk between the two to cheer. I think this long road was nameless. At the end of it, left back onto the Aldea Punxeiras Altas, back down Ponte da Condomina & Rua Alcalde Lorenzo, you're back at the start, do a 180 around a cone, and the lap again, and again.

Federation Tents. Photo by: IAU.

The Camino de Santiago originated and continues to be a pilgrimage for devotion, reflection, self-discovery, challenge, penance or to earn indulgences. So too, it could be said, of the 5K loops, of the sport itself.

The temperature in Ames is not gradual but a light switch. I started cooling by lap 3 with an ice bandana. Ben's mother (Allison's MIL), had made handmade American flag ice bandanas, sewn with openings at each end, little loops & mini carabiners for an adjustable fit. I'm not the proudest countryperson (something I've been slightly uncomfortable with since my first team), but I'd proudly wear something handmade from someone who cares & thought about our likely discomfort. I imagine the effort it took her, making 20 of these, having never met any of us. It is the single memento I hope to keep forever in commemoration of the achievement. 

The first few laps held excellent company in Naomi Robinson (GBR) & Dominika Stelmach (POL), with appearances from Sarah Webster (GBR) & Caitriona Jennings (IRE). I knew Finland's Satu Lipiäinen & Noora Honkala were ahead, as well as a few other identities unknown. We were running sub-7-hour pace...if there were women up ahead, and we'd be meeting the Spanish sun shortly, I had to believe they'd come back. I could not imagine that the conditions would proffer a sub-7. We get to chatting. Which I love, because it is that easy for a while. Battled thoughts of, I should really preserve every ounce of energy for when this starts to get serious, but then, it's like a freaking long time to race in a state of seriousness, and I'd rather risk some energy to get to know someone, than I would in being mutely focused. I admire Naomi. She's better on paper in some things, and we're pretty evenly matched in others, following the same trajectory of marathon to 50k to 100k. This was her debut at the distance, and I was really excited & scared for it. She said that the pace we were running was on the higher end of her range, which was good info. I was on the same page, with the same parameters so long as my body could handle it, and it was empowering to think we could help/push one another. I wish there hadn't of been a heatwave. Those 6:30-40's felt really good. 

Dominika would look at her watch, anxious or anal to plan, said, "This is too fast," and then dropped back. Miles later she'd rocket past and I'd have to spend the next umpteen miles reeling her back in. A welcome stimulus and fun game when you're looping for 7 hours. I lost contact with Naomi and was gutted to see her standing in the GBR tent, having dropped. Gutted further to see Caitriona from Ireland, & Sarah Morrison having also. It's a unique sensation to have multiple opportunities to run past federation tents, observe the excitement or panic of the tenders, their hands at the ready with all sorts of bottles, gels, sponges, the searching look in their eyes, the ground beside each growing wet & slick from dousing their athletes, and catching your competitor's having dropped, standing there under the shade of their tent. You feel sad, knowing what it takes to have made it there at all, a little worried it's a taint that'll fate you too, and also, motivating, as if each observable loss is a super mushroom or pac-dot. 

I love loops for their opportunity to watch the race play out. You get a taste in the lollying. I could cheer on our men's team. I could egg them on to come get me. I had this very motivating moment with Charlie, when we were passing one another & we high-five like dorks, and I think, Damn, he's doing it, we talked about this and he's doing it.

Once, somewhere, MM played Big Freedia on his speaker, and it was uplifting, but he was immediately shut down. In road ultra world champs (and US champs, and in elite fields of marathons) you can't listen to music, at all. And you can't get information outside of the team tents.

Photo by: Ben Mercer

At one point I asked MM for advil to be ready on the next loop. On the next loop he handed me a cup with the pills within. I went to take them, and they bounced off my face and onto the ground. On the following loop I asked for another attempt on the next loop. Lol, my gawd. Look at me spending 4 loops trying to take advil. On that loop he had them in his hand and he slammed them into my mouth. I gagged, but it worked. You'd think it wouldn't be so hard, but it is a very specific skill. 

Photo by: IAU

At some point I overtook the Fin's: Noora, her long bubble braid perfectly silken, her stride strong, and Satu, who had gone out fiercely in a way I trusted and did not trust. I overtook her with like 400m to go in '22's IAU 100K World Champs in Bernau, Germany, moving into 4th. It took me 62 miles to get her then, and I think it was rude but exciting of me to have passed her in the finishing stretch. Her time there secured her a National Record. She holds NR's for the 50K, 100K & 100 Mile, has the WR for the women's 12-hour (153.6 km) and just this past May got the 6-hour WR (53.258 mi). Satu is a force. To have passed her means something. After the Fins I caught up to the surge-queen, Dominika, who then went on to drop. This woman races like every weekend, and went on to race Berlin, then the following week raced a sub-17 5K and is now racing Chicago. I don't get it. 

A group of locals walking with a boom box played Cascabel - irony in the winter-rich tune against the heat wave. They too were reprimanded. Children lined the main drag near the start/finish; I high-fived their outstretched hands. The US might not care about this vein of the sport, but a mass of children in Spain are willing to stand in the sun for hours, cheering for people of all ages from all sorts of backgrounds, across 40+ federations as if what we're doing is really cool, inspiring & entertaining. The children of Spain and the entirety of South Africa think we're worth something, and I love them for it. 

Photo by: Alan Lam

K, at this point in the looping, I'm only privy to (1) person being ahead of me, and I'm surprised about it, because based on paper & research, I didn't expect her to be. It's Gemma Arenas Alcazar from Spain, and she's maintained the same distance/time from me for the majority of the race (of which I'm tracking when we pass against one another near the 180). In retrospect, I shouldn't have been surprised because I understand how hard it is to get an opportunity to run a fast 100K time, so you have to look at the full body of work. She's a good trail runner with a UTMB Index of 749, and she'd run a 7:20:57 at the Spanish Championships in Malaga in March '26 in her road 100K debut...It takes most of the race to reel her tan, glistening body & ear-to-ear smile in, which is motivating, because happy people kind of irritate me. I am loving that a Spanish athlete is leading this (or so I thought). *I just saw that she won the Ultra Pirineu (shortened from 100K to 60K due to weather) this past weekend, so, again, shocked & confused how people are racing in such close succession. 

Photo by: Alan Lam

With a few laps to go, I'm cautiously thrilled to pass her. I think I'm in first. I run by the US team tent, get sponged down, given gels, bottle, a refreshed ice bandana, and they say, You're about 2 minutes from the leader & gaining. And I'm like, Wut?! Aren't I leading? No, I was not. Apparently, Miho Nakata has been leading this thing for like 50+ miles and was so far ahead that I never glimpsed her, which was insane because, again, the conditions. 

Miho, like so many in this field, is Legit. She's the '23 IAU 24-hour World Champion, where she set the then WR (270.363 km). She was 4th at the IAU 100K WC's in India & earned Bronze at the '25 IAU 24-hour WC's. She has a 13:09:09 100 Mile & a 7:19:12 100K. I wanted to reel her in purposefully; prolong the engagement. When I overtook her, I noticed that she was taped to the gills & could tell she'd found her limit, stuck in a pace that did not afford us time together. I assumed she'd struggle to hold onto a podium spot. What's crazy is that she not only did, but started to gain me back near the end. 

K, so in passing Miho I'm finally and actually in first, with 2 laps (10k) to go. My body is breaking down. All the little injuries I've come in with have spoken but have not thrown fit & I'm incredibly grateful and confused about it. But I am cramping down the back of both legs, and at the team tent I have Kelly lather me in pain relief cream. Ben & Allison (Charlie's partner) are sponging me. MM hands me an ice bandana, gel & bottle, and Lion's yelling, "Go, go!" And I'm like, Bro, I've got to take care of myself, I'm cramping, though I don't manage to say this, and I limp away. I have to keep myself in check, because any uptick in speed sends searing cramps, and I'm afraid, after all of this, this long hot battle, that I could be reduced to a walk and overtaken. I felt energized enough to have picked it up but was held back by an issue of my own doing - I hadn't consumed enough salt/electrolytes. I forgot to mention that I went pee 10+ times (a problem I tried solving with Precision a while back, but did not).

I never feel more inadequate than when I'm trying to do math at the end of an ultra. I literally knew I had to run 62.2 miles, and that I had 20 laps @ 5k per, but when I had 2 laps to go, I convinced myself that maybe it was only 1 lap to go. This could be for the fact that I took on extra distance every lap to not only run but stand beneath the water-fountain-truck. This got me an extra half mile long in the end, but it was worth it, even if it meant I was dumb. 

I've been watching and doing shitty math on how far back the next competitor is. It's Sarah Webster, and I know what she's capable of, so I feel like I can't back off too much. And then I see the space between us grows. And Caitriona yells, "Soak it in," or something, and it's the exact right advice from the exact right person. 

Photo by: IAU

Ahh Caitriona - her and her partner Marty are some of my favorite people of all time, and I'm so grateful we met while both with Hoka. I'd be dropped a thousand times over if it meant I got to keep her in my life and thank the Universe I have. I have had the privilege of going vis-à-vis with Caitriona at many a race, at Comrades & World Champs, got to see her run the 100 Mile World Record at Tunnel Hill last year, and for years she's been building me up, asking me to believe in myself, that I could be a World Champion, and even though I'd have fought her on it this time around, with how bad I felt leading in, she still believed. And though she dropped, she stayed on that course and cheered for over 7 hours and championed me to the conclusion she always believed in, even if I couldn't & didn't. So, soaked, I soaked it in. And I high-fived the children, and I broke the tape, and I won my first World Championship.

Photo by: Alan Lam

Photo by: Alan Lam

Photo by: Alan Lam

Kelly comes over to rub the white smegma pain cream residue off my legs (thank god, wth). I sign an autograph (lol). Hug Lin & MM. And am surprised to see Miho cross the line in 2nd, in 7:11:57, 1m26s from me. She came back from the dead. She's frightening. Rounding the podium was Spain's Gemma Arenas Alcazar in 7:17:50, bettering the Spanish National Record. Sadly, Sarah Webster, who was running in a podium spot at the time, dropped in the last lap, citing cramps. That very well could have been me. 

Photo by: IAU

Not knowing how the men's race ended, I'm like, "Did he do it?! How did the men's team do?!" And am amped to find that Charlie has won, and the US men's team have claimed gold. I get to catch a glimpse of Allison Mercer finishing 15th in 7:39:55 (second scorer for the wmn's team) before being ushered into drug testing, which requires ascending & descending steep stone stairwells. It takes me a while to pee. I'm downing water, coke, non-alcoholic beer to the point of nausea. Miho's mgr/coach wants to know my marathon time. Then, suddenly they're wheeling her away in a wheelchair asking to go to the hospital and I'm like what about this chick's drug test? I'm joking around with the Spanish drug testers & the other athletes. I say, "I think I can do it now?" And a particularly gruff drug tester is like, "You sure? You need to be sure. Once you start, if it's not enough, it's going to take quite a while to fill'r back up." That felt a bit threatening, but I say I'm sure, and then I didn't have enough, so, that lady was right. Look at my dumb, happy face holding my dark piss like I didn't just set myself back an hour:

This is prob classified.

Eventually got it done and made it onto a bus back with the team, save for one very important person - Laura Cortez, who was still running. Laura had accepted a place on the team with short notice, after having recently raced a 100-miler. She stuck it out so that the women's team could score (you need 3 to finish to score). And we left her there. She had crew with her, but the majority of us left her, and I do not feel good about that. This just to say, I'm sorry, and you're the definition of Teammate. Laura finished 70th in 9:53:22. 

A more concise replay of the race by iRunFar can be read HERE. 

Full Results HERE. 

Photo by: MM

After a shower that felt like a painful but delicious porch cigarette, we were back in our long-suits and put on a bus back to the town centre for awards and closing ceremonies. There's this general haze to the brain after you race an ultra, but racing an exposed, hot, strictly road ultra has its own flavor. You can kind of fake being normal for a little bit, but things can definitely get weird. I remember happily sitting beside Charlie & Aleksander. I remember Miho running around as if she hadn't raced. I remember getting up on stage and not knowing what to do with my hands when they played the American national anthem. I remember psyching out Charlie about the hands, so then he didn't know what to do with them either. It was night, and the crowd filled the whole park, and food trucks served burgers and beers, and the men's team went onstage to collect their team gold, and I was happy for them and sad for our women's team; for me, a personal win doesn't feel as sweet if it's not accompanied by a team podium. 

Photo by: Alan Lam

Photo by: Alan Lam

Positives - Spanish ice cubes, water spray truck, a brevitous period of boredom, injuries on 90% pause, misinformation, Caitriona, men winning individual & team gold, being on a team. 

Negatives - projectile butt stuff (at me, not me), and the whimsy nature of Spanish buses. 

I was talking to my friend Dylan the other day; he said, "The speedsuit was cool." And I'm like, "Nah, not that cool. I've raced in one before." "No, it is, because you can't show up in a speedsuit and finish midpack. If you're showing up in a speedsuit, in an ultra, or anything really, you better win."

Nutrition - What is helpful about 5K loops is that it's a manageable, organized point of time to collect nutrition. I'm more of an every-30-minutes generalist but was willing to attempt to consume more often for the cyclical benefit of being handed something anew. I packed the following to consume: 

Pre:
1x Nomio 
1x (expired) Maurten Bicarb 

During:
3x CARBS gels (50G CHO/200 Cal)
7x SIS Neutral (40G CHO/160 Cal)
1x SIS Dbl Espresso (22G CHO/150mg Caf/90 Cal)
6x Enervit Mango (40G CHO/160 Cal)
2x Enervit Cola (40G CHO/100mg Caf/160 Cal)
1x Tailwind Dauwaltermelon packet (50G CHO/630mg Sod/200 Cal)
1x LMNT Lemonade Iced Tea (1G CHO/1000mg Sod/50mg Caf/5 Cal)
1x LMNT Mango Chili (1G CHO/1000mg Sod/5 Cal)
1x SaltStick Fastchews Watermelon 5-ct packet (2G CHO/100mg Sod/10 Cal per 2)

with:
1x 350ml (rounding up to 12oz) HydraPak SkyFlask *to be filled with H20
1x 16oz PF&H Soft Flask *to be filled with electrolytes listed above
and switched in an every-other format.

Math In Total: 829G CHO/3325 Cal/400mg Caf/2880mg Sod/3500ml or 120 oz of H20 (plain) & 4700ml or 160 oz of H20 mixed w/ electrolytes 

Out of all the above, I did not take 1x SIS, 1x Enervit Mango & 1x Enervit Cola. I did not finish every ounce of liquid in the earlier bottles. In the second half of the race, I'd take cups of water at the midpoint, provided by the LOC. This leaves my final total to: 709G CHO/2845 Cal/300mg Caf/2880mg Sod/3500ml or 120 oz of H20 (plain) & 4700ml or 160 oz of H20 mixed w/ electrolytes + undetermined amount of extra H20. The breaks down to:

98G CHO/HR
397 Calories/HR
402mg Sodium/HR *Likely culprit of the cramping the last 2 laps of the race 
39oz or 1.2L of Fluid/HR+
*Took 2 advil somewhere around mile 40

Houston

For its flatness & time of year, the Houston Marathon hasn't been my favorite. I tend to use it as a proximate second chance in an attempt to realize a fitness not properly expressed at a marathon prior. There's fun in the puzzle of prolonging the training cycle, readjusting mentally from "jokes on the first one, that was just a mass stim," and training so that you maintain rather than eke out further gain at a cost that keeps you kicking a stone down the road of mediocrity, or injury. It doesn't have the robustness of female-fuk-yeah that races like CIM do. I go in knowing I'll likely be alone, because the gap between the top and ADP is vast. Based on history, the number of people achieving a qualifier there is small.

This year was different in that I didn't have a marathon before Houston, I had a 100K. I didn't think I could get into Olympic Trials Marathon qualifying shape 2 months after an all-out 100K, but I was curious to see how training & racing for an ultra might translate to a marathon so close. I figured Houston would show me where I was at & what I needed before a more focused attempt in the next year+. 

I recovered in action, risking, did a little MP work & then on a whim largely fueled by the opportunity to see Devon, reached out to Houston to see if they'd let me in despite being sold out. If they said No it would force further recovery & a focus on Two Oceans, and if they said Yes, I'd spend a weekend in Texas with someone I love and ride a line until I couldn't. The RD kindly let me into ADP, and because of that kindness, I'd end up achieving this goal I set out for myself in my 20's - specifically: 2x Olympic Trials Qualifier in the Marathon. I think I made this up as a way to prove to myself that the second would further validate the first, moving from: Anything Can Happen Once, to, Established. 

The last time I was here, in ‘22, it was intense, a splintering. Raced with COVID (somehow ran 2:48), which likely induced long haul & I’d go on to be stuck in place for years with symptoms akin to a copd patient, one provider said. 

I arrive. Devon's got Mexican takeout for me. I sleep on the couch. The next day we get groceries, wine, I go thrifting down Westheimer. I love Westheimer. I probably expel really valuable adrenaline in the peruse. It’s possible I leave minutes on the marathon table thrifting on my race trips, shoulders aching from reaching up high racks & sifting weighted hangers. I’ve ruined Boston this way. For the love of the game, at odds with one another.

High functioning depression is something else. I trained hard, committed to the goal, had an open mind, and was so grateful to be there, in Houston, with Devon, grateful to have a place to stay & an opportunity and I saw & felt all that but I was still miserly. Full of duality, of contradictions. I was sitting on the couch beside Devon, qualifying my negativity, or apologizing for it, hoping that in apologizing, in claiming before someone realized, that I was aware of it, that I could offset any effect & affect. I'd hear myself talking (I've been hearing myself talking a lot), and the basis of every statement, observation, question was/is steeped in negativity. I think I'm emanating this sort of stink, one because it's my default, two because of the state of the world & a deep sense of helplessness, and also, what is most shallow in the collection of promptings - feeling like the sport is obnoxious. There I was, with my friend I rarely get to see, who is uplifting & loves me & believes in me so much it brings her to tears, making this last-minute trip to Houston possible, and I’m angry, spouting costs & loss. What’s beautiful is that I could sit in that, with her & not feel like I sucked up all the air in the room. That says a lot about her, what she gives.

As I've never felt an encouraging or elevated hand at Houston, I planned as if it'd be patterned to fail. I ran with my phone in case I needed to drop. Tell me why a pessimist can plan for pessimism & doesn't then experience it. Big mystery for the self-fulfilling destinyr's, the you-are-what-you-thinkr's. I appreciate that good, that luck, that hard work shows despite. 

I felt this a lot around Tunnel Hill in 2024 - this wonder over how I was "succeeding" despite devastation/poor mental health. Better understood its nuance in racing Comrades in '25, where there was a line drawn from which pursuing high level could be negatively affected. There seems to be a spectrum of sad whose boundaries I’m ill-conceived to understand when it comes to performance guesses. 

Race morning: I've got a latte in one hand and a cup of bicarb in the other. We have the privilege of walking to the start. It's dark, and feels real runnerd & odd (almost or exactly a joke of myself) to be in a $345 Soar men's marathon speedsuit (albeit gifted), $300 Puma Fast-R Nitro Elite 3's, the sound and height of them, with my waistline weighted in $3 gels (as I’m not fast enough for bottles at Houston). I have to consider it a joke, have to conceptualize it as a gag, because it's at odds with the nature of me, which is, at center chest, that running was best when it found me natural & affordable, with cotton all-comers t-shirt you earned by guessing your mile time to the second while racing sans watch, thrifted split shorts & flats purchased by someone of more means in the family (but not much more) via layaway. All of it is a joke, but an interesting one, and one I buy and buy into so I can seek one obscure goal I set in my 20's to pivot egotism. 

So I go, 6ft tall in my supers, feeling naked but weighted, running little circles in the small cordoned off area reserved for ADP. I'll probably miss it all when it's over.

I prefer a start in the dark; it stills hyper-awareness & self-assessment. I find a group and I'm grateful for it. They're pushing at the exact preference & cadence. Not right on pace, but those delicious several seconds faster. I'm with them for I don't know how long until I move up and into another, smaller group. I like this group too. Save for some of the men are jockeying around for placement in the peloton and I’m a feminist to the task. They’re not helping lead, they’re taking valuable slipstream. I think, en route, that this irritation is good fuel. I’m being an optimist.

Tasked in lightening my load in gels, eager to consume each. The group keeps & surprised, so do I. I think we’re halfway when a space clears & I get a peak at who’s leading, who’s doing the majority of the work: hidden by the height of us, Olympian Fiona O’Keefe. I think: Oh no she must be having a bad day...After a while she peels off to a porto & I dbl down on feeling bad for her. She catches back up, returns to the front, self adjusts to the pace, verifies by watch & I’m slow to realize she’s helping us. She’s the metric. This is a gift.

She stops pacing maybe around 20, and it sort of splinters the group. What I didn’t expect was that it wouldn’t splinter me, and that a few of us would pick it up, as if she was keeping us in line & we were within means & now we were free to explore, a reward of patience. This is rare. I’ve only experienced it a few times in my racing life. That convergence of preparation, timing, luck, belief, the right group. So much of it intangible but once you’re doing it or have done it it’s so conceivably tangible and then it’s years before you feel it again & you’re all like Fuk why is it so intangible!

I never need the brick of my phone, weighted there at chest for a sad call back. I’ve got a mile left and I know I’ve got it so I get to enjoy it. Down the long stretch to the finish, 2:35.  

I’ve trained myself to two Olympic Trials Marathon qualifiers. I’ve PB’d in the marathon in my oldest year, after years of being stuck, after writing off Houston as a lesser, after long haul, after sponsor loss, after no one cares, after I suddenly realize Do I Even? As it happened, after, and now, it’s like it never happened. It feels like someone else. And I have to remember I get to relax. I don’t have to keep trying. I get to focus on ultra for 2 yrs without trying to perfect the balance in training for both simultaneously, interchangeably. The Houston volunteers let me hang at the finish so I could grab Devon in arms, witness the variety of emotions & engage with the wmn in our pace group. It prolonged the moment. And hanging there in the air above awe of others was the question -

Tunnel Hill 100K

I've been kind of a bitch the past month because everyone, including close friends, were like, "I didn't know you were going to race the 100K?" And I'm like, yeah duh, I didn't tell you. I acknowledge that the bitch in me is irrational. What surely aided was the relaying of a feeling I can only describe as, thatwascute, whatyoudidlastyear, but now the talentedbelovedsponsored - she'sgotitinthebag, thatpacewillbeeasyforher. This too, assumptive, and fueling, but also annoying. I'm sure I'm speaking from the Ego & a slackened sense of worth, but, here was the hope from the people, that this person would draw attention to it, make it sexier, break the record. This record that took 31 years to break. This is an annoying topic, because if you try talking about it, you're sure to be met with "records are borrowed not owned." Yeah duh. I know I possess nothing fully, wholly. Moreover, what I'm speaking to, is - I've got a chip on my shoulder I'm not cool enough to feign irrelevant. It's lame to me that instead of being excited to race against good competition, I felt slighted, like I wasn't in the same room with the talent. See the above (chip on shoulder, possess nothing fully, ego afraid of being irrelevant to self). 

I think that it wasn't just assumed I'd do the 50, but that I was going for my own record. That didn't light me up. What did was Ann's 100K AR, with its solidly sexy round figure of 7:00. I was told once it wouldn't go down, or that I wouldn't be the one to get it the day I wanted to in Berlin a few years back. I do well with negation. 

Trason ran 7:00:48 in 1995 (a world record at the time) at the IAU 100K World Championships in Winschoten. It would descend into an American record in 2000 when Tomoe Abe ran 6:33:11 at Lake Saroma; no one's been near the WR since. In '95, Trason won handedly, with 2nd place Joubert from RSA 33 mins behind. She seemed to have a good group of men about her, including one she outkicked by 1s. I can't pretend to know, but I want to think the setting encouraged the performance. These days it is incredibly difficult to find a fast road 100K (though there are numerous trail 100K's). Our national championships tend to be on more complicated courses or at times of the year where weather is a factor, and our world championships are unreliable, infrequent & seemingly no longer designed with the athlete in mind. 

It took Durbin a lot of time & effort to get his 100K certified; it didn't come to fruit 'til the few weeks before and was only granted American Record eligible (not World). Somehow (and I consider myself lucky for it) they allowed me to double-dip in the 50-mile en route to the 100K. All of those things came together at the last minute. 

It being Ann's, it being round, my being told I couldn't, the hard fucking work Durbin put in, having nothing to lose, no money to make, no sponsor to impress, no one caring (or knowing lol), just a hunt to break 7:00. With 2 weeks to go, my plan was: 100K AR & hopefully place in the top 3 in the US 50 Mile Champs en route (I mean ideally win both, but also, reserving the self & efforts for when it can work for me more).

In Vienna, M & I met Durbin et al at the park's Forman Depot, the matriarch overcome with our being from WA, how it would allow her to color in the state on her map tracking visitors for the year. Later, at the Perkins Inn, this 129-year-old thing with 14 quirky rooms, we unloaded the science of squeeze bottles, rubber bands, powders & gels in the Safari Room, with its porcelain sink by the animal print bed, the shower so narrow you can't bend. Caitriona & Martin who'd flown from Ireland were also at the Perkins, and I cherished my time with them. Irish, intelligent, attractive, funny, authentic, empathetic, caring, encouraging, motivating, thoughtful, competitive, likes to drink. I'm not into polygamy, but if I were. I also appreciated my time with Allison & Ben, also wonderful & supportive, but I knew we'd have a few weeks together traveling through Thailand & India within the month, so I metered my love for them. It was a big collection of favorites under the 129-yr-old roof (of which was collapsing in at the corner of the house). A group of us gathered in the dim-lit living room, on floral couches between fake plants, beneath the canted stained-glass window, talking, drinking wine, beer, whiskey, and I'm there, but I'm also not.

Race morning: I wore a thrifted mesh pinnie, shorts gifted by soar, an ice bandana from 1980, shoes my friend picked up from the adidas outlet in OR sans tax after the pair I got off ebay turned out to be fakes and the guy fought me on it until I told him they were going to get tested because "I was going after a record." Lmao. I didn't feel nervous or daunted, which is always a fortunate state of mind. If anything, I felt more interested in how this was going to go for Caitriona. I had a feeling - well & world record. But I (strangely, as I speak without thinking often), did not say this to her. I saved it for Martin. It's aggressive to tell someone you believe they can get a WR on their first attempt at a distance. I like being right. 

TH 100K: As clear as I felt Caitriona's outcome, I also felt one for Anne. Though not great for my mental health, I appreciate being off antidepressants because my intuition is reactivated. I prophecy a lot, and the ability to went away on antidepressants. I think this would be fascinating to analyze. Anyhow, the vibe I got from Anne was that she was confident and mischievous and that she'd get the 50 mile record. It's funny that I spent a good half year visualizing racing Des, just for her to drop it and Anne to come in. All that time the mourning of was a prophecy itself. 

The hard part about my racing the 50 Mile in tandem with the 100K was that I'd have to straddle both of those efforts. In doing so, I kinda spent some load in the 50 that made the final 12 feel pretty shit. If Anne hadn't of been there, I'd have slowed it down in the first half, but I wanted to position myself to capture her if she faded, and/or secure 2nd in the 50 Mile US Champs. 

It being the US Championships, there are specifics you must understandably adhere to. One being: no pacing is allowed by others outside your race distance. Fortunately, I was in (2) races, and I got to legitimately spend some miles with Wardian. It was our first time meeting/racing together. He was going after his age group record, and he was wearing tevas, and he was a chatty soul-counselor. I lost him to a pee stop after admonishing him for not being able to pee himself, which is something I've only been able to do for about a year, but I guess I judge people for not being able to now, up on my bladder control flexibility throne. It has been my experience to relish early mile company, because the majority of the race is spent alone & it gets tiresome (esp as a depressive). What can be hard is navigating that energy differential, wherein we'll be talking about being assertive, and lifelong sponsorships, and taco bell, and then there's pee, and then silence for 45 miles. However, one thing about TH that adds to its spirit, is that because you're going back and forth, and because there's several races happening at once, you get to cross against others, and these others are soulful others. They look you in the eye, smile, cheer. It is a sad quiet lonely introspection dotted with miles of engagement from people who care just as much about what you're seeking as in what they seek. 

I had testing done with Precision Hydration prior to Comrades this year & developed a plan to put to practice at Com & TH with hopes that I'd manage the balance of intake vs. need to pee better, but despite the info/advances/evolutions, I'm still out here needing to pee 10+ times in an ultra. It's positive for saving time that I went from stopping to pee 10+ times to peeing myself 10+ times, but it is not positive for my creases. I'm currently ok with this exchange, but like, wtf.  

The first 1/4 = Mike Wardian & an ever-growing gap from Anne.

The last 3/4 = a study on aloneness, on staying the course solely dependent on self-motivation. Knowing there is nothing to win but satiating a curiosity on whether or not I can accomplish something I decided one day I wanted and have been working towards for years. That's how I access what little pride I allow myself - not that I did it, but that I did it hard. It would have been way more fun to have had to compete, to practice tactics, to talk. Alas, let me burrow further into a self-belief that I need nothing from no one & pride myself as hyper-independent...

Around mile 42, a man in the opposite direction said, "She's walking up ahead! You can get her." That reignited focus, but he was either lying, wrong, or possibly right, but the right wasn't enough to catch. In looking at numbers after, it's funny. "She's walking" wouldn't have saved me 14 minutes those final miles, but I think a part of me believed it could be possible, because I couldn't imagine how she was running so fast without fading. Anne Flower went on to severely lower the WR in 5:18:57, smiling start to finish. She has had an incredible year. It would have been fun to see her & Des compete. 

I came in 2nd in the 50 Mile US Championships, in 5:33:59, and as I passed through Micki said I had a look of mischief about me. At that point I didn't feel too bad, but I remember looking for Anne to congratulate & was mourning all at once. The angst felt physical at the center of me. Eyes welled. That there was a mischievous look is a lot cooler than the myriad feelings, but I can suss I was probably feigning and trying to reign in a sense of power. 

There followed physical, emotional & mental degradation. Sensible, as I'd passed through the finish twice now, and I'd shot a lot of load trying to cinch 2nd, and shot a bigger load emotionally on being bested. For a lot of what was left, I wanted to lay down. I tried for math, to know what I was working with, and after a cycle of equations, I believed I did not have it. The turnaround for the 100K felt so far. I saw M ahead waiting to hand my last bottle & in seeing him, the panic I'd been feeling rose. There's something about seeing someone you love when you're feeling vulnerable & exhausted that can break you. You'd hope it could strengthen, but perhaps, as a hyper-independent, for someone to see you breaking is too much to bear. I was experiencing this small cycle of an oncoming panic attack, lack of oxygen, panic, being severe with myself as in I'd tell myself, suckitup, I'd get my breath back, and then the small panic attack, cyclically. Thankfully, the further I got away from M, the more it was just what it was with no witness. Save for, I started moaning. I'd be coming up behind racers, and they'd look behind them to see what the moaning was about. And then at mile 61 I looked down and was surprised to see that if I "sprinted," I might just get the record. That made me mad. Mad at the math earlier that could have aided in this last mile feeling more appropriate, mad that this is what I choose to do with my life, my body, my mind, mad at the state of the world and lack of support and how I only held that record for 1 year, and now, I'm just realizing that all of this fueled me to my own personal goal. I can do well mad & slighted. I think I'm just realizing I reverse-pyschologied myself. I curated the fuel to make it possible. I had to get mad enough. 

Some feet from the finish line, you have to cross a major road. I barreled through that, feeling, that if I was stopped by a car, or hit by one, none of it mattered. All I could see was red digitals climbing to a 7:00. I was going to be pissed with a time that started with 7. I finished in 6:59:55, laid down & cried. 

This Tunnel Hill did not feel as good as the last did. I had to run it in a balance of conflictions. I was distracted and self-involved & both help in their ways. It was hard to go back to TH because I knew what to expect, and because it's rare you're given the same feelgood twice. But it was easy to go back because it has a soul that's rare to find. It was a reunion. Of Durbin & his jovial crew. Of world teammates turned friends. It's special because it means we continue on together. We're not just once's and then digital, we are re-engaging at events through the years. I know their wants better, their skillsets. I know what it means intimately if I see one pulled to the side, or walking, or having their day. I see their people on the side supporting them, and I know them better and well now too, and it's this collection, this slow earned learning through like-paths that makes me feel like the sport as I love it still exists. Here we've all found ourselves in the middle of the woods with little to no fanfare. Allison got the Marathon CR then stayed to cheer for us all those hours later. Caitriona & Martin. A story itself. Success in debut. The love & recognition she received thereafter. The gift of meeting, of racing against, of supporting, and in the shared experience of being dismissed. 

I wanted to see Caitriona finish, but we had an early flight out of Nashville. Did drug testing with my partner in piss, Geoff Burns. Ate a burger & took a shot of double-oaked Woodford with M & Durbin. Was afforded the chance to see Fleet Feet Phil & Caitriona pass through a last time. M & I headed for Nashville & I sat with an anxious discomfort, upset that I hadn't planned better to see Caitriona finish this first for herself. It was slightly assuaged by updates from Durbin & Martin. She's going to do it, they said. And she did. 

M & I got to our hotel in Nashville, drove past the animated downtown grid, to Jack Cawthon's BBQ per recommendation, for: brisket, pork ribs, smoked chicken, baked beans, mashed potatoes, mac & cheese, collard greens; grabbed a bottle of wine and hardly enjoyed it. He splurged for first class on the way home, an endless stream of weak mimosas. Landed just in time to drop into Lincoln Park to watch BDP race PNTF's. Within the next 24hrs I was in the ED with a second bout of kidney stones in 8 months. I knew what to expect this time, and I still couldn't manage it at home. Perhaps I was working from a deficit having raced the 100K. It really fucked me up. I can't think about it too much. It's in a box in my brain.