Page 15 of See You at the Finish Line

I turn and jog backwards, confused at the endearment but still heading to the exit. “Excuse me?”

“I called you deer because you’re my prey.” He grins wickedly and I have to stifle a laugh. So cheesy.

“Does that make you a mountain lion?”

He shrugs. “Maybe. Although now that I think about it, I’d prefer to be the same species as you.”

This time my laugh bursts out of me and there’s more of a spring in my step as I turn to make my way out of the aid station.

“Bib 145 checking out,” I tell the volunteers. “Thank you, everyone, for volunteering, you guys are amazing!” Cheers go up as I leave Amasa Back.

Base Camp29.08 mi/ 46.8 km

I am an idiot. Deer. Deer? Did I really just call her that? I’m going to remember that fumble for the rest of my life. It’ll pop into my head when I’m falling asleep, forcing me to lie awake cringing at how embarrassing that was.

“Dude.” Caleb comes up behind me as we watch my could-be future wife run away from me as fast as she can. Considering this is a 117-hour endurance run, that’s saying something.

“I know.” I rub my hand over my face, crystals of salt from my dried-up sweat brushing off.

“You have to chill.”

“I know,” I say again, exasperated with myself.

Am I bothering her? Maybe I should give her some space so I don’t make her feel like I’m actually stalking her. I probably shouldn’t refer to her as prey. Or my future wife. If I was her, I’d be creeped out. I shake my head and bring my attention back to Caleb.

“How are your feet?” I ask. He had to take extra time at this aid station to get them taped. It sucks to get blisters this early on in anultra, but it’ll be even worse if he doesn’t take the time to wrap them properly.

“Hurt like a bitch,” he mumbles.

I wince on his behalf. “Sorry, man. That sucks.”

“Yeah.” He closes his eyes and takes a breath. “No pain, no gain, right?”

“Right.”

He’s not wrong. None of us here running this 240-mile ultra are afraid of pain. We’re all masochists on some level. On every level.

“You ready?” he asks.

I look at the exit and when I can’t see a pair of bright blue shorts and a swinging brown ponytail, I nod. “Let’s go.”

“Bib 128, checking out,” I tell the volunteers.

“Bib 69, checking out.” Caleb snickers as he tells the volunteers his bib number.

“You’re such a child,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been happier than when I got my bib assignment.” He beams with juvenile delight and the volunteers around us chuckle.

“Thank you for your time volunteering, everyone.” We wave as we exit the aid station, and I glance at my watch.

Just under four hours into this race and it’s time to gear up for the next twelve miles, or nineteen kilometres. Breaking the course up into segments makes the mental load of running this many miles in a row easier to bear. This isn’t going to be the hardest part of the course by any means, but it’s getting hot. We’ll be hiking a lot along this stretch to conserve energy.

After a few miles of peaceful silence on the trail, thunder booms without much warning as dark clouds consume the raging heat of the sun. Cloud cover turns the vibrant, red rock into a shadowy, ominous landscape.

“Shit,” I mutter. Caleb and I unbuckle our hydration vests and get our rain shells out of our packs. I secure my hat and sunglasses, then extend my hiking poles as water begins to pour from the sky like a tidal wave. The path that was dry, dusty terrain just a moment ago is now a mudslide, forcing our steps to slow and encasing our shoes in muck and red clay.

The force of the rain continues to batter us as we make it to the peak of Jacob’s Ladder. We’ve heard the view from the top peak is usually pretty incredible, but the highly anticipated scene is obscured by raging rain, our gazes firmly planted on the mud as we try to keep our footing steady on the rocks.

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