The Shadow of the Wall

“I am always doing that which I cannot do in order that may learn how to do it.”  – Pablo Picasso

I only had a handful of miles to go to see my van.  But now that I was stopped at this Baja Pit under this pop up canopy, I realized I was seriously overheated and dehydrated.  The workers at the pit were awesome to me.  They gave me water and a banana and a wet washcloth.  I wiped my face and neck down and it felt like first aid.  I took five minutes – maybe ten.  I thanked my new friends, and headed out on course.  A blistering hot, rocky, white-with-sun course.

If I didn’t know I’d see my crew soon, I’d have stayed there longer.  Another fifteen minutes and I see a flagman and cones ahead – the physical checkpoint.  Thank God.  I rolled in slow between the cones and came to a complete stop.  They wrote down my race number. “Get it right boys – 714x is here, at mile 784!”.

Just as I started again I saw a half dozen faces I knew.  My crew!  They pointed to where I should pull over.  I dismounted, happy to see them.  They hadn’t seen me in 13 hours, and didn’t really know if I was dead or alive.  They looked relieved. 

They were baking in the heat too.  I got my pack off, then my wind proof jacket.  Then my pullover.  Evaporative cooling – sweet relief.  My face was red, and I was down a few quarts.  Since I saw them last I nearly got hypothermia, and now I was wiped out from the heat.

It’s hard to describe how great it was to see them.  Tanner looked very concerned about me.  John rubbed my traps and arms.  I got some cold Chia drink and food in me.  Chad and Omar changed the rear wheel and checked the oil.  There wasn’t much for the mechanics to do, as I had not crashed the bike since I saw them last.

I told them about what happened as I rehabilitated.  I started to feel better as my body cooled some.  We put a Tanner’s water bladder in my pack and filled it – lots of ice too.  I changed helmets, goggles, jersey and gloves, put my pack on, and mounted my trusty motorcycle.  Trevor changed my helmet camera batteries and memory card. I felt good….compared to how I felt 20 minutes ago that is.  I had a job to do and so long as I was able, I was going to do it.  Only 339 miles to go.  It was a little past noon, and I had been in the race for 35 hours.

I know what’s coming. During pre-running it was the hardest most technical section of the course.  I told Tanner about it 10 times since pre-running when he sat in the truck with a swollen ankle and foot.

I asked Tanner what the math was for me finishing in time. He said “Don’t worry about it. You only have to go 43 miles” (to the next van stop). I knew this meant they damn well figured the math and it was becoming nearly impossible to finish in time.

I told Tanner this section was 43 miles of hell. “Don’t be surprised if it takes me three hours to get there.” He said “Just give me ten miles, four reps”.  Ok, I thought. That’s what I’ll do. Ten miles. I can go ten miles.

He was right.  When we have a huge task ahead of us that seems insurmountable, just break it down into small doable steps, and do first things first.  That’s all you can do.

I took off out of there with authority. The bike sounded great. I had been up for 39-1/2 hours and only had caffeine once. The caffeine put me on a roller coaster I did not like.  It was long gone out of me and I didn’t want anymore.  Amazingly I didn’t feel sleepy. What I was beginning to feel was exhaustion.

I was controlling the bike well, but the pain was in my face now. Arms, shoulders, traps, back, knees and my butt.  They all performed spectacularly so far. But they were all sending me a message – “Hello. Umm, when is this going to end?”

I was beaten down by a long war, and the 43 mile dragon was in front of me – in 100 degree heat no less.

Now was the time.  When the needle is on empty, transcend the definition.  Perhaps it is hard to understand, but I had worked so hard and so long to come within the shadow of the wall, and now I would be able to see what I could do…