obligatory year end 2017-by-the-numbers-and-other-stuff note

We're on a planet that somehow knows how to rotate on its axis and follow a defined path while it hurtles through space!  Our hearts beat!  We can see!  We have love, laughter, language, living rooms, computers, compassion, cars, fire, fingernails, flowers, music, medicine, mountains, muffins!  We live in a limitless Universe overflowing with miracles!  The fact that we aren't stumbling around in an inconsolable state of sobbing awe is appalling.  The Universe must be like, 'what more do I have to do to wake these bitches up?'

--Jen Sincero

not the same Jetta as 2015.
also, my daily is not a Jetta.

Race Report: Detox Just to Retox

longtime readers will know that the last time i had a legit off-season was between 17 January and 7 May of 2016.  since then i've been racing either monthly or bimonthly at the very least, and needless to say....it's getting fairly onerous.  it's not the same type of burnout i had after my 24h run in 2015 that culminated a 5-month stretch with a monthly 99mi+ run, but as of late i've been definitely viewing my training regime as a chore.  furthermore, despite my race history reading like a masterclass in destination racing, lately i've been more stressed out while out of the office than when in the office because of the fires i had to fight from far far away.

you could say i wasn't getting much enjoyment out of running anymore.  

Race Report: The Beauty of Brutality

Despite my ninja-nomad lifestyle, I'm not one for intentionally running-for-shits-and-giggles.  Being raised by working-class immigrants and being largely depraved of genuine, legit vacations in my early childhood, the vast majority of the races I run these days have some utilitarian function, whether it be bagging a qualifier or completing a race series, or because I have to burn off vacation days I don't want to, or to say I done did a race arguing with a burro for nearly ten hours because I needed a Tinder profile picture refresh.  

I did not need to run Mogollon.  I already had my totally-unnecessary Hardrock qualifier from Northburn (I had finished Angeles Crest in 2016, which itself was totally unnecessary because I finished Fat Dog in 2015), and Mogollon counts for shit-all at WSER.  I only signed up because I joked to my friend Del last year at R2R2R that I should come back for a visit and make the ritual an annual event three years running, and Mogollon could be the excuse.  Amazingly this wasn't the first time I half-jokingly suggested a race to someone we could all do, only to realize later they weren't fucking around (sorry again, Karen/Lourdes!)--so I didn't want to flake out yet again.

Appreciating suffering--it's not easy to do with intention.  My motivation and hunger have previously been compromised at the start line of races where I lacked a raison d'etre, but I wanted Mogollon to be a more difficult study in casual lunacy.  I wanted to mix in a sense of urgency into an unpredictable exercise with minimal tangible gain.   I wanted to actually experience the Mogollon Rim's unique character not just with my eyes, but by jumping feet first into hell.  I wanted to be able to laugh about it right at the finish line.  I wanted to finish a race with no necessity, yet in a complete bliss that would have began by mile 75--and in the complete absence of regret.  

Race Report: Aid Station Perogies Can Only Get You So Far

(After being stateside every second weekend for the last six weekends, I regret to inform you that this one's not as sermon-y as my other reports.  Sorry.  I'm just phoning it in for this one.

Besides, I'm sure a few of you want to read something more digestible than my last one.)

Race Report: Obligatory Ass Pun Goes Here

I know my prose is not for everyone, but contrary to my statement of events of my time down south in March, finishing the long course of Northburn Station was one of the happiest moments of my life this year.  I had just waddled into the medical tent and was getting my knees checked out by the medic, and she had briefly left me alone while fetching her blister lance (she was really sick of dealing with exposure all weekend), so while waiting for her to return I decided to take my phone off flight mode and catch up on my emails.  

The subject line on one of them contained the word "Invoice", but my face slowly contorted to a shit-eating grin as I finished reading it off.  

So That I Can Remember: A Whole Bunch of 14ers

Quandary

Sherman

Lincoln

Democrat

Race Report: The Dreaded Clip Show Episode

I like to run my races according to something Lao Tzu said a long time ago--

If you are depressed, you are living in the past.  If you are anxious, you are living in the future.  If you are at peace, you are living in the present.  

The Worlds End 100k was one of those times where I tried to live in the present and enjoy it, but it was apparently just too fucking boring for me.  Here's what I did instead.

So That I Can Remember: Morning at Welshtown

Race Report: To Be Human Again

I am still one of the lucky few who have never had to write about a DNF (did that merit a spoiler alert?  Sorry if it did), but it’s something I look forward to because there are just so many dimensions in finding the strength to persist.  When the day comes for me to have to write about it, it will surely take volumes to describe the eleventy-bajillion ways I done-fucked up.

The 100mi Northburn Station was the closest I’ve ever come to not finishing, even though I finished with more than nine hours remaining on the race clock.  So hopefully this will keep you entertained in the meantime.