October 11-14th 2024

144 miles +19,551ft/ -17,379ft

“The only thing that can limit you is believing you are limited. Become limitless” ~Yogi Teas

When I wake the world is slowly becoming light. It reminds me of so many mornings I have awoken on the trail to the soft pastel glow of daybreak in the desert. I slept, hooray! I feel like I slept hard and trick myself to believe I slept a full night even though it was more like 90 minutes. And boy could I keep on sleeping, but I know what needs to be done, so I get right to it. In these events, that 90 minutes is supposedly the magic number that gets you just enough REM to re-set your system. I will take it!

We pack up and set off as the sun begins to rise, casting a bronze light on the cliff walls and in the distance I spot some pink glowing rock formations. The sky is already a brilliant blue and textured clouds hang like a sweeping canopy. There is a cool breeze and some small birds flitting about, all making for a perfect feel of morning as we approach day three out here.

Our next stop will be Bridger Jack Aid station, mile 96.49 which we will hit shortly. My In Reach messages are piling up from the night while I had my device switched off. It’s good that I did otherwise it would have awoken me the entire time. Thanks Anne! She had been texting me several times while I slept, apparently worried that something was wrong. Watching from Switzerland, she was my “eye in the sky” and saw that I had stopped just shy of the next Aid. I can understand her concern, though wouldn’t have taken the time to let her know my plan to get there in the morning so we could have food, coffee and then GO, GO, GO!!

We arrive at Bridger Jack at 8:20am pushing our feet along the red gravel to the tents and table that hold promises of food and beverage. There is a smattering of folks there, some runners, some volunteers. Several runners are asleep here and I feel like we made a good choice to sleep before getting here as there is a fair bit of commotion surrounding them.

We drop our packs and get down to business, we have a lot to do here. Firstly, we both need to poop, and the only option is to use another wag bag in the privacy of a “lug-a-loo” tent. Ya gotta do what you gotta do. This is very awkward but a success though it takes up a lot of time. We both need to eat, fill our flasks and bladders and I am really hoping to get some coffee into my system. I don’t think I’ve had any since race start morning.

Food options are once again meager. There is a nice volunteer making pancakes but she is almost out of batter so she has to water it down and hence we get “crepes”. Nevertheless, they are a vehicle for some butter and syrup so we both eat a few and take some to go. I seek out some instant coffee, downing a couple cups followed by a couple packets of BPN’s Strong Reds and Strong Greens. I need the nourishment in any form I can get and this seems like a good idea but it’s a little bit of a gut bomb. We are on our feet the whole time and when we leave we estimate about 40 minutes time has elapsed. Not as expeditious as we had hoped but we got all the needs met.

From here our big goal is to make it up to Shay Mountain as quickly as possible. The plan once I get there is to try to get a little more sleep, then leave at sunset with Margaret pacing me through night number three. We have 17.73 miles to Shay Mountain Aid Station which will be mile 114.22, and within that we have to climb 4,228 ft to an elevation of 8,500 ft.

We leave Bridger Jack at 9:00am on the dot with mild terrain and a slight downhill which helps a lot to get the momentum of the day started. I am constantly expecting to start a massive climb but it takes quite a long time to reach it. We have several miles that are flattish and then a gradual uphill but no real climbing for the first 10 miles.

We follow some lovely single track for a spell and then dip into a wash where we find some shade for a short calorie and heat break. After the break I rally to run and we keep up a good clip for a couple miles right around the 100 mile distance. I am surprised at how good I feel and how fun this is now! Brad is surely a big help and motivating force, so was the sleep and the snacks, and I caffeinated again mixing Hammer Nutrition’s Recoverite with an instant coffee packet and topped it off with some Ibuprofen and vitamins. Ready!!

We cruise along the single track through a stunning area and play more fun songs from our Moab 240 playlist, singing along to Starship’s “Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us” and other great beats from the 80’s. There are interesting rock formations surrounding us and textured walls that line a wide wash we run through. We pass by many ancient looking Juniper trees and there are shrubs with yellow flowers lining the trail making it all so pleasing to the eye. Eventually we run into a few creek crossings and let me just tell you, the sight and sound of running fresh water is such a gift.

At 9.5 miles past Bridger Jack (mile 105.99 total) the real climbing finally begins. I suppose I have been anticipating this because of my experience in backpacking and loving the climbs. I set my head to tackle this climb strong and when we get there I am feeling pretty good still. The wind has picked up some and the vegetation shifts to willows and eventually pine as we ascend. It is really only going to be power hiking from here to Shay I reckon, but that is one of my strengths so I am counting on these legs to get me there. Brad and I have spent many hundreds of miles backpacking together this past year so we fall into a familiar rhythm where he is in the lead with his long stride and I push the best pace I can to keep up and we keep the music on steady.

After a few miles the pitch of the climb becomes quite steep and we are now at an elevation where Aspens thrive. I revel in the astringent scent of their leaves and bark as I try tuning into their soft fluttering as they quake in the breeze. I am reaching for something comforting, something familiar but it just feels so hard all of a sudden.

My energy seems to take a dive and I am feeling super sleepy again. I have lost my ability to keep my mind sharp, once again experiencing the delirium of what I can only describe as heavy jet lag. I stop along the steepest part of the climb, I must sit down now. I lean against a tree, I feel like crying, feelings of defeat wash over me. Brad’s job is to keep me moving and he offers some encouragement in the form of getting me to take in some calories, which are the left over “crepes” from Bridger Jack.

I manage to fight off the tears, get the calories in and muster the motivation to keep moving. As little of a break as that was, it helped. Thankful for Brad’s encouragement, we finish off the steep ass climb and eventually drop onto a wide gravel road. I am relieved to find a completely different scene, the gravel road is lined with golden leaved oaks and thick, tall Ponderosas, both offering me solace with their mere presence.

I am relieved that the climb is over yet I understand we have one more big push to get to the Aid station. I fear it will be as sharp and steep as the last one and brace myself for the suck. The dirt road makes my feet hurt really bad. Perhaps my feet also hurt because of the mileage I have on them, but the flat compacted gravel and forced faster walking pace just add fuel to the fire. Brad wants me to try to run but it seems impossible. I would have thought I could will myself to do so, but it just isn’t that easy. I am doing a hard thing. I am almost there.

At 3:22pm I glance at my watch, we have reached mile 112.6. We have just under two miles left to get to Shay Mountain Aid Station and have surpassed 8,000ft now. We should have been there by now, I think to myself. As we climb, we realize the cut-off time to leave Shay is narrowing exponentially so we discuss possible ways to adjust the strategy. I am not going to have much time to sleep and that reality hits me hard, I really, really need it. Instead, I have to prioritize fueling, charging my devices, changing clothes for cold temps, replenishing my bottles and water bladder, filling up my snack pockets and ensure proper overnight gear. I will say goodbye to Brad as he heads back to the hotel for some rest and set off with Margaret for a 30 mile stretch through the night and into the wee hours of tomorrow.

I shift my attention to the sky noting there are some clouds moving in, yet the mountain environment is quite refreshing and beautiful. Earlier, Christy and Dan texted me that they were getting some light rain up on Shay. The temperature is definitely dropping and I am thankful for that after three days of extreme heat. By the same token, I am aware that we are moving from the scorching sun to the possibility of snow. Welcome to the Moab 240 people! You can’t say they didn’t warn us.

I feel fortunate that the final two miles are easier than I had anticipated. The gravel road simply continues up. It is still steep but at least not that punchy, rocky pitch of the previous climb we did when I almost fell asleep crying. It is 4:20pm when we are greeted with our crew. The golden hour is upon us and we welcome cheers coming from some happy volunteers as we enter the aid station.

Brad and I kiss next to the check in table and someone snaps a candid shot of us (though I don’t know it at the time), a memory to keep forever for sure. Our team is once again on the ball and ushers us back to the van, jumping on all the tasks. I see tents set up and smell burgers on the grille,  so I vow to eat a burger. I need these calories bad, I just hope I can take it down.

Brad needs to get his gear off, change into warm clothes and start fueling himself as well. Margaret jumps in to assist me and Christy and Dan get my feet taken care of like usual. I am cold. It is cold. Christy is worried about this. She procures a very heavy blanket and wraps me up like a little burrito as I begin shivering. It’s the depletion as well as the cold that’s making me shiver. My feet are in agonizing pain, and I am so tired, bordering on delirium. Everyone is in good spirits though and I am focused on getting my needs met and trying to sneak in a 30 minute nap if I can. Thus, I drink and eat and get wiped down, change into warmer clothes and crawl onto the bed while they all take care of my other needs.

I don’t quite sleep. I am too anxious knowing that the cutoff time is so near and I am an entire five hours behind my B goal time now, where did all the time go? Margaret is ready to set off too and I don’t want to make her wait, we have a long night ahead of us. I lay there in a haze, I want sleep so bad and I know what is ahead of me, we have to climb another 2,000 ft tonight.

I try to crash out but it’s a rock and a hard place. I can feel the night descending upon us, they are all outside talking, it feels like they are strategizing about the rest of the race, though I can’t hear words, just voices and vibrations. I have a palpable sense of doubt beginning to creep in for the first time. I know I am way way behind, and I am going to have to accept the new circumstances but in no way am I ready to stop.

As I ponder what the night will be like with Margaret I feel excited. This is something we have talked about for months and I am so honored that she drove out from Flagstaff just for this. It’s definitely type II fun, running over a mountain and through the desert in the cold dark all night long with a friend, what more could you ask for?

And speaking of friends, it is Christy that shortly comes in and places her hand on my leg. I feel warmth from her touch and at first think it is Brad, then I hear her voice. She delivers some hard facts to me, she is tender but honest. I am in last place. DFL. Dead Fucking Last. It is time to go, I am almost at cutoff for this aid station. There is some potential weather coming in tonight. She encourages me that if I choose to drop here that it’s perfectly ok and they are super proud of what I have accomplished already. I believe her. Yet, I know I can’t quit now. I had not even entertained the notion of it until ten minutes ago.

We have our “heart to heart” moment and then I rally. I have to go. I pop out of the van, dressed in my warm Janji tights, warm base layer top, warm buff, gloves, my Kogalla wrapped around my waist, my Ultra Aspire headlamp at the ready, my pack is roughly 20lbs again but I know I can handle that weight if we are mostly hiking. Margaret carries the essentials, she is more tolerant of the cold than I so her pack is lighter. Plus, she plans to keep me moving all night long (though I don’t know this yet). Ha!

At 6:25pm we set off into the sunset like a romantic finish to a movie, our arms up in victory, our smiles are large with the promise of a beautiful evening ahead of us. The moon is rising over the mountain with a backdrop of golden aspens. Margaret remarks on the beauty and she is pumped to be out here and that gets me jazzed as well. This is what pacing is all about friends. I feel more optimistic even though we left the aid station only five minutes before cutoff. She says DFL is something to be proud of. Because you are still out there doing it.

We have 2,000 ft of climbing to do right off. We power hike and I am yet again surprised at the strength I sill have in my legs. Thank you legs! We exchange great conversation the whole way and Margaret, like Christy, offers me some advice that could only come from a woman with a lot of experience under her belt. She has some life perspective that I have yet to gain so I open my mind and heart and listen deeply to what she has to say.

She knows about my lingering chronic injuries and in a wise and compassionate way suggests that I need to consider the long term effects of what this race will do to my body if I continue to push, push, push. She offers the macro perspective of longevity in the sport versus the micro perspective of trying to finish a single race. I honestly never thought I would not finish this. I have never not finished something I attempted except for a case of bad weather that would put me in danger. I’ve never not finished something for lack of preparation, training, mental fortitude or physical ability.

As we push up above 10,000ft the air becomes even colder, the wind picks up on the side of the mountain as we crest the high point at 10,500 ft and the half way point of the race at mile 120. It’s about 9:20pm now and we left Shay 6.5 miles ago, so it took us three hours to cover that distance. It’s crazy it took that long as I feel like we have been moving really well, all things considered. From here it’s all downhill to Monticello Aid Station over the next 6 miles. The cut-off to leave Monticello is 12:30am so we literally have three hours to get there, get aid and get out. Game- ON!

We hit a series of switchbacks heading downhill at a good clip. There is another runner we catch up with. He seems to be quite delirious and out of sorts. We try to encourage him to hike with us but no dice, he seems to want to be on his own so we press on. We are a little concerned whether he will be okay, but we see that he continues moving so that’s some re-assurance.

Shortly we are back in the trees and the trail becomes very steep and rocky. This is my least favorite terrain of all time. I find that my ankle (one of my old, chronic issues) starts to flare up immediately. I am no stranger to this pain and know this type of terrain is exactly the perfect storm for it to get pissed off. The pain becomes enough that I begin to limp, it is sharp and stabby. Margaret notices this and I try to placate her by letting her know “this is something that just happens” which is true. I am confident that once we reach flat, smoother ground, it will go away. Still, our pace slows way down over the next couple of miles as we drop back down to 8,500 ft. It’s 2,000 ft of painful descent to get to Monticello.

No matter my pain or the terrain, Margaret remains very positive and comments regularly at the beauty of the night, how fun it is to be out here together and we admire a nearly full moon pouring light through the branches of the Aspen forest we are in. She sets a solid pace for me to try keeping up with. I am so very thankful for her. We are fortunate it is not raining and we praise the beauty of the night as we move along.

It is a bit of a daunting feeling knowing I have many hours of moving through a third long, dark night, it weighs heavy on me and I try to push these feelings away. As if reading my mind, Margaret encourages me that if I want to drop at Monticello and have the crew pick me up there I can. She is not necessarily suggesting this, but is letting me know it’s an option. She must know my brain is a bit short circuited at this point. It is hard to think, hard to calculate, hard to project what is next. In a way, I need her to be my brain for me, but only I can be my own emotional center.

We finally reach the bottom of the rocky descent and I feel a wave of relief wash over me as my ankle pain immediately abates. We are now on a gravel road for the rest of the way to Monticello. As we approach the Aid station I feel super confused where to go. There are some parked trucks but it’s so dark out it’s difficult to ascertain where the aid tents are.

A volunteer appears and ushers us to the tents. There are a smattering of folks sitting around the fire. It’s around 11:30pm now and we have only one hour before cutoff. I have a sense that several of these folks are not planning to leave but it’s hard to tell. I am a little bit relieved that other runners are here since I have been in DFL since Shay. I am not alone.

Food does not agree with me as I still have such a terrible dry mouth. Margaret gets me quesadillas and says I have to finish them before we leave. I can hardly chew them and instead ask for broth and they procure some minestrone soup which goes down well! A win! I shove the quesadillas into my pocket planning to try and nibble on them throughout the night. We fill our water bottles and I sit in a chair for about 20 minutes eating the soup and gazing into the fire hypnotically.

Just after midnight a crew of runners sets off. They are the back of the pack and I am still going to be just behind them. Might I be able to catch up? Hard to say. I know I can drop here but I am still not ready. It is 17.4 miles to get to Dry Valley Aid Station and I know I have at least that in me. The steepest climbing and descending are behind us so I feel confident that this section can go well and perhaps we can make up some time. Before we set off, I ask a volunteer to snap a photo of us so I can preserve the memory, everything feels like a big blur at this point but I am certain I want to press on.

We leave the aid station at ten past midnight on a wide gravel road. Margaret encourages me to try jogging but my feet hurt so dang bad. It is hard to do anything more than a fast walk, despite wanting to try, it feels impossible. I am in it. I thought the previous two nights were tough, this is tougher. I suppose this would be the pain cave. It’s different than anything I’ve experienced before. It’s the combination of accrued miles, increasing pain that won’t abate, and accumulated sleep deprivation that now present the trifecta of difficulty. My brain can’t begin to calculate what we need to do to make the next cutoff in time, but Margaret has it dialed in and she pushes me to keep up with her stride. The good, the bad and the ugly. This is so not glamorous. This is why we are out here. To transcend.

We are fortunately now on a flatter section of wide gravel though soon we are presented with a shit ton of rocks. The rocks are anywhere from pebble like scree to baby doll head size. I had taken Ibuprofen at the Aid station with my food but it seems like it’s not touching my pain. I vow to wait as long as I can to take more since I was advised against it at the medical check in before the race began. How is it possible for my feet to hurt this bad? Not only is there general foot pain, but I am certain that new blisters are growing big on my lateral heels. I had taped one hot spot there yesterday but it may have been too late. Since I am wearing a half size bigger shoe than normal it makes sense that there would be more friction. Dang it. I don’t have time to deal with this.

Margaret is a great companion and she is a great story teller too, helping to distract me from my pain. We move fluidly together for a spell and I cling desperately to her voice. Then we hike in silence allowing the vastness of the desert to wrap around us. Our Kogalla light beams shine across the trail, up ahead there are large rocks and a small cluster of folks with their headlamp beams projecting too. We calculate at the pace we are moving we should be at Dry Valley by 7:00am. The cut-off time to leave is 8:30am. I will need sleep, but how?

I am feeling very weary of everything. I am so tired and in so much pain. I start sharing this with Margaret and this quickly turns to tears, my emotions overcome me. I feel so overwhelmed with it all. I know rationally I am just sleep deprived but I can’t help it. The tears spill out. Margaret is a “tough love” type and while she holds space for my tears, she still makes it clear that we are not stopping to sleep tonight, not like I have been. Doing that is what got me so far behind. Shortly we become aware that the course sweepers are not far behind. This is such an odd feeling to be in DFL and I wrestle with weather it’s worth it to try to keep pushing. I try imagining what that finish could even look like. It’s not pretty.

I am so thankful for Margaret and I want this to be a fun experience for her but I sort of feel like she is babysitting me. I keep begging for sleep and she negotiates mileages with me saying, “okay two more miles and then you get a five minute nap”. I accept this and push on, I have no choice, she is doing what she came here to do, to keep me moving, to keep me getting closer to that finish line. So as not to get overly discouraged, I switch my Moab 240 playlist on and this offers quite a better vibe than the dead silence and my begging for sleep through tears. We get a little more pumped with the songs and our pace quickens. Margaret loves the music and I am glad to have this shared joy. She is great at reminding me of the fun we are having and regularly pointing out the beauty of the night.

Finally we hit the two mile mark and Margaret says “ok, you can sleep now, you have five minutes”. I immediately drop to the ground and curl up in a ball on my side, passing out in about five seconds. The sleep feels amazing. So amazing that five minutes feels like an eternity. Thank you! Since I agreed to this and since I have been given five minutes of sleep I rally hard to get myself up and moving when it’s time. This is not as hard as I thought it would be. I simply stand up, switch my light back on and start shuffling. Interesting.

Because of this break the sweepers are now even closer. So close, in fact we can hear their entire conversation. Our music does not drown them out and it becomes annoying honestly. I am pretty much too tired to care at all but Margaret is protective of my experience saying they should not be that close. After a mile or so I am in agony and I need to sit down to alleviate some pressure off my feet. The sweepers walk up to us and ask if I am okay. Margaret lets them know I am fine and suggests that they missed a ribbon back there (which they did) and didn’t they want to go back to get it? She is smart! They turn back and she rally’s me to get moving again so we can gain a small gap.

We still have somewhere in the 9 mile range to go and we are approaching 2:00am. My mind is not clear at all. I fear there’s no way I will be able to get any sleep for the rest of the race. I am in no space to calculate mileages between aid stations and future cut off times (nor am I in a space that would allow me to recognize that the cut-off times would space out more as the course gets harder ahead).

What I do know is we will have just over an hour at Dry Valley to get all my needs met and get me back on course. From Dry Valley to Road 46 is 27 miles of flat gravel road. This would normally be a place for runners to make up some time and move faster on the easier terrain. My challenge is my hamstring, it does not like flat and fast at all. I try to imagine what 27 miles of that will be like for my body. I have already taken too much Ibuprofen, it’s not touching my pain. And besides, Ibuprofen makes me even sleepier. I also have these new blisters to attend to and sleep aside, I need to fuel.

I try to imagine covering that 27 miles with no sleep save for these five minute dirt naps and then what it will take to cover the miles from Road 46 to Geyser Pass. That is 8,000ft of straight up climbing for which Christy is supposed to be my pacer. She and I have spent a ton of time in the back country together in the High Sierras on cross country routes and peak bagging. Our friendship was forged in the mountains and in wild places. We share a deep love for those particular mountains and being “out there”.

That said, we always do our best to “make good choices” and what I know about the segment she will be pacing me on is it will be night number four, it will be potentially raining or snowing and we are not going to be set up to stop both due to the tight cutoff and the projected low temperatures above 10,000ft. I think of her and our friendship and I do not want to put a strain on her or us. It’s not worth it. Having her climb with me is supposed to be fun, not a death march fending off hypothermia while hallucinating.

Two more miles have gone by and Margaret allows me another dirt nap for five minutes. I am ever so thankful for this and understand that this is the best we can do to keep the sweepers behind us. Just like the previous nap, I pass out immediately and it seems like hours have gone by when I hear her voice “time to get up”. She says she gave me six minutes, what a gal! I rally once again, peeling myself off the ground, switching the music back on along with my Kogalla and we start moving. I try eating a snack and it’s very difficult to get down. You would think that a caffeinated gel would help too, but nope. I am a complete zombie.

Up ahead we see lights, it is very strange how they appear. I see what looks to be a large TV screen hovering up in the sky, like images are being projected like on Hunger Games. Margaret says it looks odd to her too, but I am having a really hard time making any sense of this. There are some trees and rocks casting shadows that add to the confusion. I become aware that I might be at the beginning stages of hallucination. With this, I feel a certain peace wash over me. I can’t quite describe this new sensation, I am so exhausted and depleted and yet somehow finding it in me to continue on, it’s almost like I am floating now and all I can do is smile and put one foot in front of the other and do what Margaret tells me to do.

Somewhere between 2:00am and 3:00am Margaret says she needs to pee, so she goes off trail to do that while I sit right down on a rock in the middle of the trail and I promptly fall asleep sitting up. It is shortly after this I make the decision to drop at Dry Valley. Given all the factors of how I am feeling and how far behind I am, it seems inevitable that I am not going to make it all the way to the finish line under the 117 hour cut-off.

I feel a certain sadness about this but also a certain comfort in knowing I am making a wise choice. I think of the conversations Margaret and I have been having this evening, about preserving my body for the longevity of the sport (and otherwise) and the fact that this is my first attempt at a 200+ mile race event. I have chronic injuries that are only going to become more difficult to manage if I push on. I don’t want to get myself and Christy into a bad situation on the mountain in shitty weather and have hypothermia become an issue. That is dangerous. My crew is planning to be at Dry Valley in the morning anyway, as Brad would be taking over for Margaret at pacing me this next segment, so it is no extra strain on them to get there to pick me up. Either I drop there or I push on another 27 miles with no sleep, then drop at Road 46, what would that benefit? I can’t see the benefit of that right now.

Given all these factors, I pull out my In Reach and begin texting my crew. I text Brad first, then Christy and Dan. I feel remorse in so doing, and I hope I am not waking them up. I hope they are not disappointed in me. I don’t feel super emotional about my decision however, maybe I am too tired to cry, but mostly I feel relief. I am comforted in knowing that when we get to Dry Valley I will get to see Brad and he will hold me and I will be done and then I can sleep as much as I want.

We still have four more hours of pushing to get through this night now, but somehow knowing that I will be done after the four hours helps me settle my mind into a better space. The mind is powerful, they say, what your mind decides, your body will follow. But it is hard, hard, hard. My In Reach text messages are blowing up from Anne sending me notes of encouragement. She is not aware of my decision and I don’t want to take the time to stop and tell her. Instead, I take in her words and feel her love with appreciation and occasional annoyance because she is flooding my inbox.

Around 5:30am we begin to see some light on the horizon. Daybreak is promised to come once again. Having some color and light to fend off what felt like never ending darkness is very helpful. Shortly we are able to switch off our lights and enjoy the beginnings of a pastel glowing pre-dawn. I snap a few photos and we admire the beauty together, feeling grateful to be out in this amazing space. We share the beginnings of celebration for having almost made it to the aid station. We only have a few miles to go!

We are up on a hill and it’s difficult to see where the aid station is, in fact we can’t see it at all but we don’t know we are looking in the wrong place. As we descend to the road, there is deep sand, we are trudging through like it’s mud and our shoes fill up with piles of the fine grains. The fatigue has hit me hard and I am pushing as best I can hoping that maybe I will be able to jog once we hit the road. The pavement when we get there feels mean too. No surface is a nice surface. We maintain a walk pace all the way down the road for a half mile then cross the street onto a dirt road where cars are parked and tents are set up. It’s 7:30am, if I were to continue from here I would have only one hour to get everything done.

Soon I see Brad walking toward me and before I know it we are embracing. This is the moment I have been waiting for. Christy and Dan offer their congratulations and are in jovial spirits as usual. Everyone knows how tired I am and everyone supports my decision to drop. I am so thankful for them.

I make my way over to the volunteer table to turn in my tracker. I take off my pack and stop my watch, pressing and holding the “finish” button. It reads 144.88 miles, I feel okay with this number if not a little astonished. I unfasten the velcro on the tracker and hand it over to a volunteer. They have a look of surprise and ask “are you sure you want to drop here, you still have an hour until cut-off?”

Yes. I am sure. I made my decision four hours ago and I want to stop while I am “ahead” if you can call it that. They accept my tracker and mark my name down as a DNF (Did Not Finish) and congratulate me for making it this far. At once I am disappointed that I did not make it all the way and proud that I made it this far. It’s truly been a huge learning experience, so many new things discovered, so much fun had, yet so much pain and struggle it had become not fun anymore.

I make my way over to one of the tents and my crew gets me situated in a chair. I am given food and a volunteer tends to my feet. The blisters are far worse than I had imagined. It takes her several tries to pop the blister on my left heel. Both blisters are the size of a silver dollar. I am thankful for her care, I try getting some hash browns and eggs into my belly but it’s hard. I feel like I can’t talk, like my brain won’t form words but I am blissfully content with everyone else’s soft chatter. It is a peaceful morning and I am thankful for the time to simply sit and be in this space. There is no rush, we have all the time we want now.

144.88 miles, 67.5 hrs / 2 days, 19 hrs, 30 min

Check out Christy’s Stories on Instagram of our Moab 240 2024 Adventure here!

The Moab 240 endurance run was created in memory of ultra runner, father, husband and accomplished 200 mile pioneer Stephen Jones. Stephen was the inspiration for this run as well as the person who first dreamed of a 200 miler in Utah, specifically a single loop 200 miler beginning and ending in Moab. Stephen died tragically in an avalanche in early 2016. The Moab 240 strives to honor his memory and his vision and was created in 2017.

To learn more about this event and others like its, click the link here: https://www.destinationtrailrun.com/moab