Part 2
“I’ve never felt this way before.”
A statement that I muttered – either aloud or within my own mind – more times than I’m proud of.
After all, isn’t that what draws me to the world of ultra running? The unknown? The necessity behind finding new ways out of the deep waters that I voluntarily drag myself into – metaphorically speaking, of course.
Sure it is. And yet, here I was, caught “off guard” so to speak, by this seemingly infallible issue that had captivated my body and mind.
I was in a bad place, physically and mentally, with no escape in sight.
One step at a time
The mile 50 aid station had come and gone. The sun was setting behind the trees, the heat of the day was dwindling, and I was meandering my way through the winding back roads of Madison County, Iowa.
A day that had been trending in a far more positive direction than I could have ever imagined, had abruptly taken a 180-degree turn for the worse.
I was frustrated. I was angry, doing what I could to keep my emotions in check.
One step at a time, I made my way to the 58 mile aid station – an eight mile stretch that may as well have been eighty miles.
By this point, my irritation and disappointment had reached its peak. My feet, legs and hips had held up just as I had expected them too, with little-to-no trouble over the course of nearly 60 miles. I was confident, due to my training and preparedness, that this would be the case. Despite this, however, the disaster within my gut would not give way. Anything that I could get down would soon make its way back up.
Still, I moved onward.
In the four miles between the mile-58 aid station and the 100 kilometer (mile-62) finish line, my yearning for a breakthrough continued. The feelings of defeat began to set in, despite a heart and mind that was steadfast on getting the job done, up to that point.
My body was depleted, and time was not on my side. With the prospect of finishing under the 32-hour cutoff becoming more and more uncertain. It was clear that I had a decision to make. An incredibly difficult one at that.
Decision Time
I’ll admit; in that moment – those moments, I was heartbroken. Something that I had poured so much into – mentally and physically – had spun out of control, in a viscous and unforgiving manner.
I crossed the 100-kilometer finish line, and took a seat. In a dehydrated and exhausted daze, I stared into the distance, with the inevitable decision-making process looming overhead.
My mind was numb.
The thought of calling it a day, short of what I had shown up to accomplish, tore me apart. It brought me to tears, and humbled me beyond belief.
For one reason or another, the day had not played out in my favor. My gameplan had held up, until it didn’t. The gas station cheeseburger may have been the antecedent, and the heat did not help.
At day’s end, however, the decision was in my hands, and I chose to walk away empty handed.
But, was it empty handed after all?
In many ways, it was just the opposite.
* The final piece to this drawn out story, coming soon.
Forged in Fire 
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