A 7-minute video--not my shooting--from 2010. Add in a few more falls on the ski down, and much more wind, and it's a pretty accurate depiction of my day.
Promise: last entry about the quad. I am so appreciative of all your support and kind comments...with the number and intensity of them, I feel like I should've been going to the Olympics, not to some random winter race in a prison town in New Mexico.
Because I am writing about the race for Runner's World, I can't spill all the details here, but I can share a few random highlights--or low lights. (Pencil it in: the article will be out in February 2012.)
1: Number of times I locked my key in the minivan, 30 minutes to race start. I had carefully put the key in the Velcro pocket of my hydration pack, which also held a full bladder of Kona-Cola nuun laced water, 6 Gus, my windbreaker and an extra pair of gloves. So I get my bike out of the car, have my helmet + sunglasses on, ready to go. Click. Lock. Oh, look at that pack on the passenger seat. F*(#!
2: Number of firemen it took to "break" into the Odyssey. Thankfully, the fire department, the race start and my van were within a block of each other.
5 minutes: Number of minutes it took them to rescue my pack. Thankyou, thankyou, thankyou.
2.5: About the number of miles I actually ran for the 5-mile portion uphill. I told myself I was being conservative, saving my legs, but the truth was, I couldn't have run the whole way even if somebody was chasing me.
4th: The attempt number this year's 2nd place woman, doing her 8th quad, was able to run the full 5 miles. (Awkward phrasing, I realize: she didn't run the whole way until her 4th time doing the race.) Yes, that made me feel better to hear that.
0: The number of shots of Jack Daniels I took at the snowshoe hydration station. Love the idea in theory, just not at 11,000 feet with my temples already pounding.
2 seconds: the amount of time I stood in a port-a-potty on the run course before I immediately exited and grabbed a tree. Of course, nobody was around until I stood back up and flashed him.
3 miles: The number of the five miles I probably ran on the way down. I anticipated this section being much easier, but my legs were fried and what mental toughness I owned at the beginning had definitely left the building by then. Flat ground felt uphill, uphill felt like a stopped escalator.
40: mph the gusts got up to on the bike on the downhill. There was no cruising home. I had to work for almost every pedal stroke. The oh-crap feeling rivaled that of the key incident six hours earlier. Fast, 8-peat woman told me they were the worst she's seen. Yes, that made me feel better too.
171: number of soloists (crazy people?) who took on the course. (They also have 2 and 4 people teams if you're interested in it, but not interested enough to be crazy.)
31: number of those soloists who were women. (Not sure what this says about us as a species: we're smart enough not to put ourselves through this or we're not ready to put ourselves through this?)
18th: my place for the solo women. Solid mid-pack, my favorite place to be. Lots of chatting going on.
1 hour: length of time I had to stop on Sunday on the 500-mile drive home to nap. Wiped.
101 degrees: the temperature Amelia clocked tonight. Ben, I'm pretty certain, isn't far behind.
Time to be a mom again.
And also, time to take the focus off of me. What's a number that relates to your latest run or workout?