3 rings

Me:  “Hello”
The doctor:  “Yes this is Doctor Ginny, may I speak to Drew Miller” (my doctor is not named Ginny, and not of the female specie, fool me once)
Me:  “This is Mr. Miller”
The Doctor:  “Mr Miller, i’m sorry to tell you that you have a tumor on your brain”

WHAT!
I have never woken up from a nightmare faster in my entire life.  At 5:40 am in the sleepy mountain town of Buena Vista, I was shivering in my sheets wide awake, tumor-less,  which makes my sea level lungs a GOOD problem to have.  Perspective, phew.

Now for some chow.  A banana, dry oatmeal with a splash of warm water due to the lack of a microwave, and an orange consists of the fuel line up for the morning.  That snickers bar sitting on the dresser is awfully tempting as breakfast desert (yes that’s a thing), but my stomach hailed as the sense of reason.

7am:  Gear bag packed, a hot tea at the coffee shop to warm up (and flush the system), and a quick phone call with Olg’s (my work P.I.C) for a convo on stair structure, t’was the perfect distraction for the waiting game before we toed the line.

90 seconds….60 seconds….10 seconds, the announcers enthusiasm rivaled the sound level of the music.  With the Rocky Mountains as the backdrop, the scene was set.  And, we’re off.  The first 8 miles of today’s 21 would be climbing, and more climbing.  It didn’t take more than the first 50 steps for the racing to start, you can always count on the flagstaff kids to rev the motor.

My lungs, they were suffering, but my legs were rising to the occasion.  The pack dispersed by mile two and the chase began.  Mile 4, 5, and 8 (aid station number one) revealed a glimpse of the leader ahead and the trail of chasers behind.  Just enough motivation to turn the pain dial up each time, for everyone.

At mile 9, we were finally rewarded with some downhill trails.  I opened up my stride and took the gentle curves like a NASCAR driver, opting high on the entry and sling shooting into the straights allowing gravity to work its magic.  Hitting sub 5 min miles on the decent at times, and hoping my legs wouldn’t detach from my hips.  In the words of the NASCAR living legend, Ricky-Bobby, “if ya aint first yer’ last”.  

By aid station 3 at mile 17, with the climbing and descending behind me, we were forced onto the fire road for the final 4 miles.  These consisted of a series of straights that are endless, this coupled with false flats makes for some major mind games. Unlike last year, the cloud coverage proved to be the difference, this time no heat waves or mirages along the way.

As we closed in on the finish you can see each competitor ahead, all of us, in a line, separated by mere minutes.  The field is stacked, with the likes of the mountain men from the west, the north, and the alps.  All you can do is hold on.  With a solid finish and some energy well spent, the major mountain days are ahead of us, and I sure do hope my sea level legs are up to the task.  And good thing I don’t have any tumors to worry about (thanks dreamweaver)