Posted by: Sue D. Gelber | July 29, 2011

The Buffalo Run: Failure Leads to Success

Dawn came early Saturday morning. Well, I guess technically dawn came at the proper time, but for a change, I was up to see it, my alarm having gone off at 5:00, many hours before I would normally be rolling out of bed. And, as usual, I briefly thought about how much easier life would be if I didn’t sign up for races. But this race was worth getting up for, one of my favorites: The Buffalo Run Half Marathon, part of the Good Old Days celebration in St Ignatius, Montana.

The Buffalo Run is near and dear to my heart, partly because of its great name and because it’s the only race where I’ve ever placed first in my age group. Granted, I was the only runner in my age group that year, but I consider that to be a minor detail.

The Buffalo Run Half Marathon, you see, doesn’t get a lot of runners. Usually just around 20. Last year, however, another gal in my age group showed up and she smoked me. This year, I was determined to regain my first-place standing. My strategy? Praying that no one else in my age group showed up.

I had to win by default, because I knew I wouldn’t win based on speed. Last year, I’d spent my entire summer training for a Half-Ironman triathlon and a marathon. This year, however, I’m not training for anything. As a result, by the time July rolled around, I was not in what you’d term top running form. What’s more, instead of running, I’d been doing things like hiking and waterskiing with a vengeance, having foregone those activities last year out of fear of injury.

Unfortunately, that meant I had sore legs going into this year’s Buffalo Run. Instead of tapering for the race, I’d spent all day Monday waterskiing for the first time in two years. I then spent Tuesday popping Advil and limping around the house, amazed that I’d somehow strained muscles I didn’t even know I had. On Wednesday I went for a long hike, which included some pretty significant elevation gain and loss. I spent Thursday on Advil again. Friday I went to do my pre-race workout to prepare for the Half Marathon, and I could barely walk, much less run. Maybe my legs will loosen up tomorrow, I foolishly thought to myself.

Heading to the race on Saturday morning, I ignored the soreness in my legs and tried to forget about the fact that I was completely under-trained. Instead, I focused on the early morning scene around me, admiring how the rising sun cast a slight pink tint on the lingering snow fields at the top of the mountains.

I got to St Ignatius about 15 minutes before the start of the race, just as the sun was starting to streak over the mountains.

I got my bib and counted the competitors: 22. I saw one other gal in my age group, and she looked fast. She had arm warmers on. Rats.

The crowd at the starting line, pre-race.

I jogged for a few minutes to warm up. Ouch. My quads were not happy. But I had no time to whine. The starting gun fired and we were off. We headed north, then turned onto the aptly named Airport Road and passed the St. Ignatius airport.

The one and only runway

The airport entrance. Easy to miss. You can just make out the cow grate in the lower left corner. Please leave all liquids, gels and aerosols over 3 ounces in the mailbox.

We then headed a little further north, past some fragrant dairy farms, and turned east towards the mountains.

Fans lined the course.

Their energy added to the excitement of the race.

Heading eastward towards the mountains, my pace was slow. Painfully slow. My legs were killing me. I looked at my Garmin, did some calculations and realized that a PR was out of the question. Today would not be the day for me to have Buffalo Run glory. In fact, I’d be lucky to make it to the finish. The course turned southward, giving me what would have been a welcome downhill stretch, except for the fact that my quads were sore from too much downhill hiking earlier in the week. The long, gently sloping descent was not my friend.

Fortunately, I had some lovely scenery to distract me.

I laughed when I saw a sign like this along the very rural Foothills Road,

because so many people in St Ignatius Montana cross the street carrying a purse and briefcase.

I also passed a Ten Commandments sign like this,

a common sight here in Northwest Montana.

At that point I had only about five miles to go, which worked out to one Commandment per half mile. Not bad. I only saw one Ten Commandments sign on the Buffalo Run course, but there’s a section up by Kalispell where there seems to be a Ten Commandments sign around every corner. I started to think about organizing a Ten Commandments 10k, with the course passing as many signs as possible. I even envisioned themed water stations based on the Commandments. One would have Gatorade that runners couldn’t drink, because it would be someone else’s Gatorade, and you shouldn’t covet thy neighbors electrolyte drink.

I spent a mile or so thinking about the Ten Commandments 10kTM, dreaming up T-shirt designs and slogans. I even started working on race instructions: “Thou shalt affix thy bib number securely in the front, not the back.” Finally, however, I realized that all my fictitious race planning was distracting me a little too much. I was going even slower (something I hadn’t thought possible). I tried to refocus on the race at hand.

In the distance you can see the road for the Bison Range snaking along the mountain

The course finally turned west, and I was grateful to be nearing the end, small tears of joy, or possibly pain, forming at the edges of my eyes. I passed through quiet farmland, whining and cursing out loud.

Water stop for the desperate.

As I got into the homestretch, my quads were screaming. I was determined not to walk, but as I got to the Finish Line, I realized it was my worst half marathon time EVER. A personal worst! I grabbed water from the hospitality table and walked over to the board. Huh, no finish times posted for my age group yet. Could it be?

I waited, and yes, they put my name up first! And then – get this – they put another name up below mine. And then, the icing on the cake – a third name! Not only had I gotten first in my age group, but there were actually OTHER RUNNERS IN MY AGE GROUP. I had beaten someone else. Go figure. My worst, and I was first.

I’ll still never get the coveted Golden Buffalo statue – those only go to the overall top male and female runners.

But at least I got this nifty blue ribbon, so I can always remember my worst Half-Marathon ever.

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Posted by: Sue D. Gelber | July 15, 2011

The Best Bike Ride Ever: Glacier National Park (complete with grizzly bear)

So I had this idea. I’d go for a bike ride, all by myself, in Montana, on narrow mountain road with 3000+ feet of elevation gain, miles from civilization, with no cell service and a questionable weather forecast. On a bike with an iffy front tire and a wrong-sized spare. Oh, and I almost forgot to mention: through an area frequented by grizzly bears and mountain lions. Why in the world would I want to do such a thing? Because it’s Going-to-the-Sun Road in Glacier National Park, that’s why.

I’ve been coming out to Montana during the summer for years now, and every year, we make at least one pilgrimage to Glacier and drive Going-to-the-Sun Road. We have other favorite parts of the Park (Many Glacier, the North Fork) but we always do Sun Road every year, because it’s an icon. It’s a tradition. And it’s amazing.

The road starts along the floor of the valley, running along the edge of Lake McDonald and adjacent to McDonald Creek. As you drive along, you can’t help but notice the wall of mountains in front of you. If you look very, very carefully, eventually you’ll see the tiny sliver of road, clinging to the side of the mountain near the top. “We’re going up there?” It’s a scary thought in a car, and even more so on a bike.

So why in the world would I want to bike it? I have no idea. Why do I want to do any of these crazy things? But riding Sun Road is something that has intrigued me for a couple of years now. However, it always seemed impossible. The biggest obstacle, of course, was the massive elevation gain. What’s more, even if I could manage to pedal my way up, there was the issue of plummeting to my death – the road is narrow and snakes along the edge of a mountain with a precipitous, deadly drop-off on one side. A slight tap from an RV’s side mirror and it would be all over.

However, in the beginning of the summer, the road is open for hikers and cyclists but closed to vehicles while they get the road plowed and ready for traffic. This year, thanks to the massive snowfall Glacier received over the winter, the opening of the road was delayed all the way until mid-July. Which meant I could bike the road without worrying about getting caught in a late-season snow storm.

The drawbacks? I’d have to do it all alone, because I don’t have a biking buddy out here in Montana. What’s more, since the road was closed to traffic, I couldn’t even have my husband provide SAG wagon support. And to top it all off, there’s no cell coverage in Glacier, so if I had a mishap, I’d wouldn’t be able to call anyone for help. Huh, those sounded like some pretty good reasons not to do it. But I wanted to try.

I decided to skip the portion of the road that was still open to traffic, seeing as I was reluctant to share the road with oversized SUVs and RVs. I parked at the Avalanche campground, got my bike out, and headed towards the “Road Closed” sign. It was a magical moment, finding myself alone on a road usually packed with cars and RVs. I savored the tranquility.

I took some time to admire the scenery, since, really, who cared about my pace?

I pedaled along in complete silence. Suddenly, however, the obvious fact dawned on me: I was alone in bear country – not a good idea. I kept an eye out for movement on the side of the road, but only saw the rushing water of McDonald Creek.

The Park Service was running a shuttle to The Loop, which is about halfway up the ascent, so I had occasional shuttle vans passing me, and they were a welcome sight. I knew if I got in trouble, eventually I’d be able to flag down the shuttle. At the very least, they’d find my mauled body in the middle of the road, my hands still clinging desperately to a useless can of bear spray.

The ascent was, believe it or not, rather easy (at least in comparison to the riding I did at VQ Camp in California). Before I knew it, I was up at The Loop.

Only a few miles further, I reached the farthest I could go, the Bird Woman Falls overlook.

Beyond that, crews were still clearing snow from the road, so it was impassable. As a result, I didn’t make it all the way to Logan Pass, but what’s a few hundred feet of elevation when you’ve already conquered 3000+? I wanted to go further, but I could see the crews working on the road ahead. Also, the posted signs seemed to mean business.

As I turned and headed back down, I came across a group of hikers (who’d taken the shuttle up to The Loop, but hey, who am I to judge?) who were admiring a young bear frolicking in the snow, just off the road. A grizzly bear, no less (at least, according to the hikers). I’ve never been that close to a grizzly before, but I felt safe, certain that I could pedal away faster than those hikers could run. Because when you encounter a grizzly, you don’t need to be faster than the bear, you just need to be faster than one other person. Preferably two, just in case.

I spent a moment watching him play before deciding to continue on my way – a fast curvy descent on a closed road. I felt like a breakaway rider in the Tour de France, heading to the valley floor far below.

Sadly, I was back at the bottom in no time and my ride was over. I’m already looking forward to doing it again next year.

babybearinsnow babybear2

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Posted by: Sue D. Gelber | July 2, 2011

Gear Check, Sunglasses: These Aren’t Your Creepy Uncle’s Transitions Glasses

I have issues with sunglasses. No, I’m not opposed to them on principle; in fact, I think sunglasses are a crucial piece of equipment for outdoor activities. The problem is that I wear prescription glasses, so that makes things a little complicated. On gray days I wear my regular glasses, on bright days I wear my sunglasses. Most days, unfortunately, I’m constantly switching between the two. Particularly when biking, it can be a pain. I don’t like having to drag along the extra pair, and I’m always afraid they’ll fall out of my back pocket when I’m riding. Clearly, I needed a better solution.

Fortunately, I’ve been doing some product testing for Higher Gear bike shop, and they were kind enough to let me road test some sunglasses. I stopped by their Wilmette, IL, location a few weeks ago and took a look at what they had.

Higher Gear carries Tifosi sunglasses in various styles, including several that come with interchangeable lenses. I had a pair of glasses with interchangeable lenses once. I never swapped out the lenses – not one single time. I, you see, am too lazy for interchangeable lenses. Fortunately Tifosi also has other models that feature what they call “Fototec” technology: they darken in bright conditions. Yes, that’s right, like “transitions” lenses, those 90s throwbacks. I can still picture their advertisements in my mind: an aging lounge-lizard-esque man trying to look young and hip in a worn Members Only jacket and smoky glasses. Um, no thanks.

Then I looked at the Tifosis more closely and slipped on a pair. They looked nothing like the glasses from the 90’s commercials. Dare I say it? They looked pretty cool. No swapping out lenses, no carrying multiple pairs of glasses. The perfect solution.

Higher Gear had several different styles of Tifosis in stock. I selected the Paves, lightweight and comfortable frames that featured an adjustable nose piece for a custom fit. They were comfortable at the temples and had a rubber coating designed to keep them in place even under sweaty conditions. What’s more, they were at a great price point, right around $70, not bad for a pair of biking glasses. And they passed the most important criteria test: they looked good on me.

The Paves featured lenses with Fototec technology, but they came in several different lens colors. Which ones to choose? I tried on a few pairs in the shop and narrowed it down to two choices, the red lenses and the yellow lenses. The red offered fast darkening on bright days. The yellow promised more contrast to see changing road conditions, especially in low-light. I’d have to check out both pairs on the road before I could decide which ones to take the plunge with, so I brought them home and had them ready for my next ride.

I have to say, I took to the red ones immediately. They offered great glare reduction and when I wore them I felt a little bit like Bono, who frequently wears red lenses. Granted, he’s not a cyclist, but still, if red is good enough for him, it’s good enough for me.

The yellow ones? They languished on my kitchen counter. I kept reminding myself that they were great for low light conditions: at dusk, on rainy days, in the predawn hours. Well, here’s a newsflash: I don’t ride at dusk or on rainy days or in the predawn hours. If it’s that dark out, this fair-weather athlete is staying home.

And so, after much deliberation, I decided to go with the red ones. Alas, according to the Tifosi website, the Paves can’t accept prescription lenses. After all that. Fortunately, Tifosi has other similar styles that can be made prescription. Phew, because once you go to self-darkening lenses, man, you don’t go back. And I know Bono would want me to stick with the red.

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Posted by: Sue D. Gelber | June 17, 2011

Driving Outside the Comfort Zone: Good Times in Jordan, Montana

With the arrival of summer comes our annual pilgrimage to Montana. It’s a moment we all look forward to, when we leave the crowded flatness of Chicago and head for the open space of the mountains. The drive to Montana is usually scenic but not exciting. Except, that is, last year.

Last year we decided to do something different. Note to self: past experience shows doing something different is bad. Apparently, I’m a slow learner.

We usually take Interstate 94 across North Dakota, which then drops down to join Interstate 90. Montanan friends of ours, however, said we should take Route 200 from the North Dakota border. It’s a smaller road, but it goes straight across, saving a lot of mileage. We looked at the map, did some calculations and figured that 200 would save us some time – but not much. However, it promised to be scenic. And what the heck, it seemed like an adventure.

And so, we roused ourselves at 3:30 AM from our hotel in Dickinson, ND, (we like to leave in the early morning – a.k.a. the middle of the night – to get a jump on the driving for the day) and hit the road. We sped along through the thin pre-dawn light.

We passed through a few storm clouds just as the sun came up, but then found clear weather after that.

It was just getting light as we passed through (I kid you not) Home on the Range, North Dakota, and we came through Glendive soon after. We did one last “Are we sure we want to do this?” check, and got off the highway. Sure enough, it was scenic.

Route 200 through Eastern Montana consists of just one lane each direction, but it’s a straight shot through wide open country. We cruised along at 65 miles per hour, admiring the views. Some wildlife, a rare smattering of buildings, but for the most part just empty land as far as the eye could see. Less than an hour later, we got to our first town, Circle. That’s when we realized that we might be in trouble.

Circle, cute town that it was, was closed up tight. We’d forgotten that not everyone would be up at 5 a.m., particularly on a Sunday.  We were getting low on gas and completely out of coffee. The gas station was closed. Everything was closed. OK, coffee we could live without, but gas?

Now, we’re not idiots. We know better than to drive around the open West on an empty tank. When in the Dakotas or Montana, our policy is to never get below a half-tank. But that assumes there are open gas stations to refuel at. And in Circle, Montana, there was not. We kept on going, hoping for butter luck at the next town, Jordan.

As we drove along, I had visions of us parked on the side of the road, giving instructions to the kids: “OK, now look cute, and put your thumb out. No, no, thumb facing up. No, not straight up over your head, your arm out to the side and your thumb pointing to the sky. OK, now smile at the nice truck driver as he goes by!”

We examined the map. Only an hour to Jordan. But what if they don’t have an open gas station, either? After that, the next town was Lewistown, a large (by Montana standards) city that would surely have a station open by the time we got there. The question was, could we make it?

We debated what to do. Should we head back to the highway? But that would add a lot of time and there was no guarantee that there’d be a gas station when we got there. Eastern Montana is famous for its “No Services This Exit” signs on the highway, which means that, quite literally, you’d get off the exit ramp and find precisely nothing. Not even a dirty, overpriced service station with bad coffee and worse bathrooms. We decided to press on to Jordan and hope for the best.

Fortunately, we were in Montana, where people help each other. Still, I didn’t relish the idea of knocking on a rancher’s door just after dawn on a Sunday morning, sheepishly saying, “Hi, so sorry to bother, but do you have a gas tank on your property and if so can we buy a few gallons off you?” As we cruised along, I kept an eye out for homesteads where we might be able to stop in a pinch.

I pulled out my phone to google “Gas Station Jordan Montana.” I was even willing to try to get information the old-fashioned way, by calling 411. But alas, no service. Not even one teeny, tiny bar. We drove along, through open grassland, up and over hills, with no one and nothing in sight.

Our gas was gauge dipping lower and lower. We realized that Jordan was our only hope. There was no way we could make it to Lewistown.  It had to be Jordan, even if they only had one station and even if it wasn’t open.

“Well, how are we going to do that?” my husband asked.

“We’ll sit and wait ’til it opens.”

“But it’s Sunday. What if they aren’t open on Sunday?”

“It’s Montana. We’ll find someone to open it for us,” I said optimistically, although actually I had visions of us parked in front of a small and quite firmly closed gas station, waiting for the attendant to show up…on Monday morning. I took mental note of how many granola bars we had left and wondered if they could feed the whole family as we camped in our car outside the local Cenex station for 24 hours.

We nervously pulled into Jordan, a speck of a town, and proceeded down the main street. I saw what appeared to be a gas station ahead on the right. And a small sign glowing “Open.” Hallelujah. Not only was the gas station open, but the general store and the restaurant were open too. As a nice bonus, they all happened to be one entity.

We walked into the gas station/store/restaurant relieved and grinning like idiots. The restaurant, it turned out, was packed. Crusty ranchers, sprawled at tables much too small for them, turned to stare at us as we walk in. I felt a little conspicuous clad in yoga pants and wearing socks with sandals (don’t judge: fashion rules don’t apply on overnight road trips). The smell of coffee and bacon hung in the air. It was one of the most heavenly scents I’ve ever encountered. I smiled and said good morning to what appeared to be the vast majority of the population of Jordan and asked the waitress/store clerk/station attendant if we could get some coffee to go.

I was tempted to stay and pull up a chair and hear some stories from the Jordan locals, but we now had coffee, fuel and a place to get to: home. Thank you, Jordan, for your gas station. We’ll never forget you. This year, we’re sticking to the highway, but if we ever take Route 200 again, I’m sure we’ll be back. And maybe next time we’ll stay for the bacon.

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Posted in Travel

Posted by: Sue D. Gelber | May 28, 2011

Mistakes Were Made, Tears Were Shed: All Good

When the time came to sign up for the Soldier Field 10-Miler, I asked myself if it was a race I wanted to do again. I thought about the fact that it’s quite possibly the most well-managed event I’ve ever run. What’s more, it’s a scenic course along the lakefront and the finish is in Soldier Field itself, on the 50-yard line. I’m not much of a football fan, but finishing in the middle of a huge stadium while seeing your own face up on the JumboTron is pretty cool. So without hesitation, I found myself clicking the “Register Now!” button.

Alas, I’d forgotten about training: mistake number one. I’d done the Chicago Spring Half two weeks earlier, a rainy, windy, slow 13.1 mile effort, and then I did….nothing. Well, almost nothing: one four-mile run a week ago. That’s it. Talk about coming in under-prepared. But instead of saying that I was under-trained, I preferred to think of it as over-tapered. After all, I’d just done a half marathon, so one could argue I went straight from recovering into tapering. Or at least that’s what I told myself.

As a result of my over-tapering, I had very low expectations for the Soldier Field race. In fact, I was prepared to skip it altogether in the event of rain. As race day approached, however, the weather forecast looked perfect: cloudy and cool. I had no excuse. Rats.

Unfortunately, I didn’t think much about race prep, so I forgot to eat a big dinner the night before: mistake number two. What’s more, I didn’t have much for breakfast that morning, just one piece of toast with some peanut butter: mistake number three. As I headed to Chicago, I realized I was hungry – not a good sign. I fished through my bag for some Clif bars, but found nada. I’d have to hang on ’til I got some Gatorade on the race course.

Just like last year, I was amazed at how well-organized the event was. Packet pickup and gear check were a breeze. Within minutes, my friend Ilyse and I were in our start corral. Unfortunately, we were in the “Open” Corral, which meant that pretty much everybody and their brother started before us. We stood, and waited.

The crowd waiting

Getting closer to the start

I was getting more hungry by the minute. Ilyse had some Sport Beans, which I’ve never used before, but at that point I was starving and desperate and happy to eat anything. I also had a bottle of water, which I sipped on nervously. After a few moments, I looked down and was surprised to find that the bottle was empty. Mistake number four. Why was that a mistake? Because as we stood waiting for our wave to start, I realized I’d had too much to drink and I had to go to the bathroom, but I didn’t want to miss the race start. I was torn over what to do when the decision was made for me:  our wave started moving forward. The bathroom would have to wait. Finally, 25 minutes after the official start time, we crossed the starting mat.

Ilyse and I run at slightly different paces, so we wished each other luck and settled in. As usual, I checked out the crowd around me. They were remarkably normal. Huh, well, what’s fun about normal? Where were all the crazies I saw at the Turkey Trot last November? I needed some entertainment. There was one guy in costume, but he was a little disturbing. He had on a mask, but it wasn’t just a mask, it was a hood that slipped over his entire head and tied in a corset-like fashion in the back. It was a bit like this:

I’m sure it was a harmless enough costume, but it struck me as a little creepy. Ilyse and I had been standing near him at the start, but moved away from him in the crowd. As I ran along, however, I looked next to me, and there he was – Blue Mask Guy. I moved to the other side of the course, but then drifted back only to find myself right beside him. I picked up speed to get a little space. About a half mile later, I looked to my right and whoomp, there he was. OK, Blue Mask Guy was making me nervous. I made a concerted effort to run fast for a quarter of a mile. I finally lost him.

Then I looked over and saw my pal Chanthana cheering on the sidelines! I wasn’t expecting to see her, so I ran over to say hello and give her a hug. I hopped back onto the course with a big smile on my face. I looked to my right and GAH! There was Blue Mask Guy! I hightailed it out of there. That guy was freaking me out.

Into the second mile, I was confident that I’d ditched Blue Mask Guy (although I kept expecting him to pop up out of nowhere at any minute). I relaxed and started to enjoy the run. It was time to look for someone to pace me, because I’m a lazy runner and slower than a snail when left to my own devices. That’s when I spied them: two gals in cute outfits, trotting along at just the right speed. They seemed like perfect candidates. I got behind them and followed them happily until Mile 4.

Girls With Cute Outfits, my pacers for the first half

Alas, I lost Girls With Cute Outfits at the water station. Fortunately, I was feeling pretty good so I didn’t panic. As I got to mile 5, however, I knew I needed some more pacers.

I looked around and identified two candidates. The first was a girl wearing a bright pink shirt and sporting a large tattoo on her right leg. The other was a girl wearing a bandana with what appeared to be a shaved head underneath. She was putting out a consistent pace, so I hooked on to her. Five miles to go, and I was feeling fine, in spite of being over-tapered, under-fueled, and over-hydrated. I followed Girl With Very Little Hair, while Girl With Big Tattoo was just off to my right. My pace was getting slightly faster, but I felt good.

As I ran, I was touched by all the DetermiNation/American Cancer Society signs pinned on runner’s backs indicating the names of loved ones afflicted by cancer. I looked at Girl With Very Little Hair in front of me. I wondered if her hair was shaved from the effects of chemotherapy or as a fashion statement. I didn’t know, but I vowed not to leave her.

Unfortunately, she slowed at the last water stop and I went by her. I looked over to see Girl With Big Tattoo and stayed with her. We plodded along, picking up speed. Suddenly, on my left was Girl With Very Little Hair! I got behind her and didn’t let her get away. I looked down at my Garmin. We were doing a 9-minute mile. Wait, that’s too fast for me. I can’t do that. I was on track to do under a 9:40 pace, something that I just can’t do at that distance. Should I let Girl With Very Little Hair go on without me? But I felt strong. That’s when I heard a little voice inside my head say “Surprise yourself.”

We ran along, approaching Soldier Field. As we flew, I couldn’t help but notice all the runners wearing those DetermiNation/ACS signs with people’s names, names of people who were fighting for their lives, or who, sadly, had lost the fight against cancer. For a moment I was overcome by the realization that I was so very fortunate to be there, so lucky that I’m able to be a runner, so grateful I’m not a name on the back of a shirt. Off to the right, running slowly, I saw a woman with a sign on her back indicating that she was running in memory of her sister. She looked young. I wondered if her sister had been young, too. I got choked up, holding back tears. Then I realized that my emotions were making it hard to breathe and if I wanted to maintain my pace I’d better back off on the sentimentality. After all, I didn’t want to lose Girl With Very Little Hair.

I re-focused and then there it was, the final turn. I sprinted into the stadium just behind Girl With Very Little Hair, both of us raising our arms as we crossed the finish line. It didn’t matter if we’d won or set a new PR or anything else. We’d stuck it out and made it to the end. I tapped her on the shoulder and told her that I’d been behind her for five miles and that she’d done a great job. She gave me a high-five. I didn’t ask about the lack of hair under her bandana, because it really didn’t matter. Cancer survivor? Probably. But at that moment she was just a runner. And so was I.

Taking pictures while running creates interesting effects, but I wanted to catch the flag guy

The End

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