Pumped to cross the Cowboy 200 finish line, three years running.
I came in dinged up, undertrained, a little stubborn, a lot hopeful.
From mile one, I knew this wasn’t my A game, but my mind clocked in.
Night two tried to ice me out with hypothermia. I kept moving.
Every sit-down flirted with back spasms. So I didn’t sit long.
Night three stretched on forever. I bargained with stars and gravel.
Then the last sunrise cracked open the day, and so did I.
I found a new gear, flew through my fastest miles, and sprinted home.
To every runner I met and shared miles with, even those who offered only a passing hello, it was an honor to trace the trail with you.
To every volunteer, you made this uncrewed runner feel like he had a crew of a hundred. From Silas with the clutch popsicle to Kelly saving the night with a bacon cheeseburger (narrator: he indeed ate not one but three), you were magnificent.
And to all of you reading this, who sent encouragement or simply checked up on me, you’re seen, you’re valued, you’re appreciated.
Video from the Cowboy 200:
Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Pizza 