Restoration

“And once the storm is over, you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm, you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.” 
― Haruki Murakami

Mile 607. A few miles outside San Ignacio. 

“I got two problems,” I shouted before I got my helmet off. “The GPS is not showing a course line, AND I fell into a cactus!” Arturo took the bike from me, and I pointed to my shoulder. Now that I had some better light and my helmet off, I could see needles bristling out of my jersey.

We got my pack off. It was cold now and a jersey wasn’t enough. The crew were all bundled up in jackets and hats. I sat down, and Andrew grabbed one of the toothpicks sticking up and yanked on it. “Owwww!” It hurt! I don’t know how, but these needles hang on. When you pull them out they pull your skin up an inch before letting go.

He pulled on another one, and another. When we got all the tall ones out, they helped me slowly pull my jersey off. Now we could see the ones that were only sticking out a little. There were two distinctly different types of needles in me. Dozens of the big toothpick-like ones, and hundreds of smaller fine hairy type ones. 

I had tweezers in my side pouch for this purpose, and Franz started working on me. Soon he realized that this job was for younger eyes, so he gave the tweezers to his son, Trevor. I don’t know how long they were trying to extract the little demons, maybe 15 minutes. I multi-tasked and ate and drank while I sat there. The little needles were so fine and so numerous, we decided to do what I did during pre-running to my forearm – shave them off. At least then they wouldn’t be rubbing up against the inside of my jersey. They’d work their way our over the next weeks.

“Where’s Tanner?” “He’s in second place,” they told me. “Wow,” I thought. 

A vehicle was coming that made its presence known. It was the first trophy truck passing me – 20 hours in as I had predicted. That means others would be coming soon.

Now that I was sitting down, I started to feel how tired I was. I had been awake for 23 hours after having four hours of sleep the night before. I had been racing for over 20 hours. In my race planning, I had rationed my cushion time over the second half of the race. 

I had planned on getting to mile 524 by dark and, so long as trucks were coming through, I’d take a rest there. But I was over two hours ahead, and no trucks had come yet. Now at 607, after that brutal section of terrain, it was dark, and trucks were coming through. Now was the time. Don’t keep going until you can’t go another mile. Invest a little time. Get refreshed. For all the distance I had come, I was only a little over halfway there.

I told the team I was going to take a nap. I put a jersey and a pullover on. Andrew set up the cot behind the van. Ralph, who did not anticipate the cold last year and suffered unprepared, had a huge coat this year that weighed 20 pounds. He wrapped it around me. I’ve got to say, it was a heavenly coat at that time. 

Last year I told the team to wake me up in 20 minutes when I took a nap at mile 430. They didn’t. I woke up on my own in 45 minutes. They said they thought I was done – out of the race. I admit I was in bad shape as I had been riding for 9 hours with a neck injury. But still, if I say to wake me up, then they should wake me up.

I gave them explicit instructions. Don’t mess around. Wake me up in 15 minutes. I lie down. It took me 5 minutes to fall asleep. But that’s all I needed to do. Hit the reset button. Allow all my muscles to relax. I don’t think it would make much difference if I was sleeping 30 minutes or 60 minutes. I was in a race. It was more of a therapeutic trick to my body than it was meaningful rest.

In 15 minutes, Andrew woke me up. “Do you want to sleep for 15 minutes more?” he asked. I thought about it. “Yes,” I said. He walked away. I thought about it more. No. I put one boot on the ground. Then the other. It was cold out. Maybe 40 degrees. I stood up and walked to the bike.

I put my riding jacket on. That was three layers. Backpack on. I hadn’t had any caffeine yet. Now was the time. I drank a five-hour energy. I am sure these are not good for you, but I was hoping for some good results right now. 

I was feeling pretty good about the whole race. Another trophy truck went by. I should still be ahead of my schedule by some. I was into the second night, and one of the two worst parts of the course were behind me. I wasn’t hurt. The cactus needles were flesh wounds that I could ignore. I felt like I was in good shape here. Then I asked the question again.

“Where’s Tanner?”

Did I notice an awkward hesitation? 

“He’s a mile up the road at his van.”

“What!?” Something is very wrong here. I thought he was in second place? He should be two hours ahead of me. 

“He’s where?”

“Just a mile up the road on the right.”

I shifted the 714x into gear. I couldn’t wait to see him…