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
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.
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.
Let me introduce you to some of my awesome clients who agreed to go public, so that they may motivate you, too.
Frustration boiled over as my feet slipped and I fell hard on my tailbone yet again. I willed myself to practice self-compassion and remind myself that I was doing something only a very few number of people can do under normal circumstances, and a much smaller fraction can do during this pandemic.