How I found fun, and my competitive streak, on zippity trails near Fruita

How I found fun, and my competitive streak, on zippity trails near Fruita
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I felt a burning determination to finish this course, partly because I was the only over-50 woman entered. The drive also comes from the paradox of ultrarunning: the more I wear myself out, the more powerful I feel during and after.
A rock-strewn climb at the halfway point felt as steep as climbing a multi-story ladder, and the loose-dirt descent that followed felt as frightening as surfing a landslide, hence my feeling of being a pawn in an evil game of Chutes and Ladders.
Of all the injuries and hazards I prepared for—bloody knees, sprained ankle, heat exhaustion—the threat of cows never crossed my mind.
Big ultras that involve a road trip help clear and refocus my mind and leave me more motivated. I’m counting on this week’s experience to make me feel more energized and positive.
My lungs hurt when I breathed deeply. My knees hurt when I went down a hill. With virtually every foot fall, my feet and quads registered sharp twinges as if being jabbed with a skewer. Even my eyeballs hurt when I blinked, because my eyes were too dry.
I’ve felt reluctant to blog about participating in races because of the guilt-tripping and shaming communicated through social media by many runners I respect and admire, who have been criticizing in-person racing during the pandemic.
At Mile 37, with 20 still to go, I got the news and thought about Biden’s ultra.
I get insomnia and cope with anxiety, which I sense is shared by many these days. This is what I think about and how I cope.