BEYONDexistence

‘Still covered in mud I stepped into the tub, half filled with water, and realized it wasn’t rising because the drain stop didn’t work. I put a plastic cup over it; it scrunched up from the suction and basically didn’t work. I almost fell asleep so I got out. Too tired to actually shower, I barely managed to get a t-shirt on and flop down on the bed. 9 hours later I woke up in the same position I hit the bed in, no covers, wondering when and where exactly I was.’

9.17.16 KILLINGTON.

Now, as I sit on the plane (that I nearly missed) en route to Reno, trying to process being a part of the Spartan World Championship in Tahoe in less than 48 hours, I look back on the last 2 weeks as something of a distant memory, yet it was only 10 days ago I was crawling into bed, as exhausted as I imagined possible; my goodnight to Killington. The weekend  began before 4am on Saturday morning with the packing I’d procrastinated doing the night before. I hit the road soon after, made one DD stop on my way, picked up a hitchhiking Spartan down the road from the Mountain, and arrived at an incredible sight. I’ve raced at Kilington for 3 years now, but this sight upon arrival was spectacular: fog lay in the lowlands, gently being pulled upward by the days warmth, while the sun lit up the side of the mountain towering ahead; the leaves were just beginning to turn… this is where we get to race. I had to catch my breath.

WIDE EYED. The first time I ever watched the elite athletes take off, I had goosebumps. Now, I watch them sometimes; I am them sometimes. Running in the competitive heat this time, I had time to spare; I arrived so early that I parked not 100 feet from the start line where the ‘Ultras’ were in the start line waiting to take off. The Killington Beast is known to be one of the toughest Spartan races there is. The Ultra Beast is 2 laps. To me, the energy in those moments is powerful beyond words: irresistible. So I left everything in my car and bathed in their restlessness. 200+ athletes, seemingly one mass of movement as they took advantage of a moment that would feel explosive standing still to keep their muscles warm and joints fluid. Adrenaline pumping through their veins, feeding off of each other, they knew how hard they’d have to work to achieve something great.

ROUND ONE. I met one of my girlfriends at registration; her start time was 30 minutes later than mine. I know she’s a runner and I’m all upper body, so we kept our own start times and at 8:30 she hugged me as I began my adventure. I’m never going to be fast, but racing alone gives me the opportunity to go exactly as fast as I am capable. My body accepted the challenge and fell into rhythm. I know as far as speed goes, I make up time on the steepest climbs, and lose on the descents; so, each time I rounded a corner to look up at people climbing into the sky, I put my head down and drove. The course was laid out BEAUTIFULLY. Up and down the mountain we went, interrupted by incredible winding miles of trail running. On a mountain like that, as much as your body might be aching, the flat will make you feel like a million bucks. I thought I could run forever… and like I said, I’m not a runner.

MILE 8. The last time I saw the ‘Tarzan Swing’ was in 2014 when the Spartan World Championship was at Killington. From the top of the rope ladder, soaking wet and shivering, I held onto the first rope, reached for the second, and fell so fast I cut my hand. My cold swim to the shore was welcomed by 30 burpees on the gravel. I wondered when we’d meet again. Here she was. Mile 8. But not before a cold, SLOW (awkward orange life vest slow) swim. You can’t hesitate; hesitation will only drown you in nerves, and in this case, (if you weren’t wearing the awkward orange life vest) drown you in cold water… No not actually- there were lots of lifeguards :p. So I swam along like a snail and wiggled my way up that rope ladder and I really thought, as I’d made my way to the 8 or so short hanging ropes, that I COULD hold them. PUT TWO HANDS ON EVERYTHING. I used to get lucky and swing one to the next on some of the rigs, until hanging baseballs became the regular. My better at ‘OCR-ing’ friend told me that. I think at first I didn’t listen, but I do (mostly…). You have to take your time, BUT keep moving forward. The thing about 2-handing rings, ropes, baseballs, etc. is that they all move. Like SPIN move. Once you get a good grip on one, you look for the grip on the next and get there quickly- waiting to move on will only leave you spinning in circles, and burning out your forearms. So, I pulled myself up onto the first rope (I can’t hold “Ls” the whole time but for the first one at least it gets momentum going in the right direction) and then 2 ropes, 3, 4, until I had one hand on the 7th, and one on the 8th and realized there were no more ropes and the bell was SO far. There was no way i could hang from the last rope and reach for it with a hand, so I’d kick it… But it was even far for that. I got a swing going, careful to use my upper body and not rely on my grip, and on the forward, brought my body up and reached my foot out and missed. And then I missed again. And a third time. And somehow, there I was, awkward orange life vest and all, still holding on to these little ropes with my cold hands. But now my grip wasn’t good and I had to get a bigger swing, so it had to be this time or I was going to fall. I used every ounce of strength to keep my hands tight while I pulled my body back and forth… and then my toe hit the bell. With the biggest rush of relief I plummeted back into the water. I thanked the girls below me for cheering me on. I’ve gotten through my most challenging race moments with the help of strangers’ belief in me.

DEATH MARCH. I swam on. And then I ran on. I ran into one of my friends who had started the race in the front of my heat and broken away faster than me. We met last year at this very race, and here we were, running alongside each other once again. We continued to run our own races, bumped into each other here and there, and talked about the goal we were sharing. We both came to Killington this year planning to run it both days. 16.5 miles. 30+ obstacles. By mile 11 the tendons on the top of my feet had officially checked out, and taking downhill steps became terrible, so my thoughts leaned negative. But when we looked around the corner at mile 12, we  were going only UP… and straight up for 2 miles: the ‘death march.’ A single file of people rose ahead of us until they faded into the sky. I always love to hike, and when the trail is challenging, I don’t necessarily discourage myself from looking up, as many people say, “don’t look up,” but I always remind myself to look at where I’ve been. The view was spectacular.

WHAT GOES UP MUST COME DOWN. Even the very first step down the mountain was excruciating, but sitting and whining about it on the top of the mountain would only keep me as far from the finish line as possible. So, slowly, I descended and thanked my feet profusely when I hit flat ground. FLAT GROUND AND BURPEES. Because I still can’t hit the spear throw. But the lovely girl I’d left at the start line caught up to me just in time to finish the race together. We blew through the next few obstacles and came face to face with the rig. 1 short rope, 2 baseballs, 3 rings, the hanging bar, 3 rings, 1 rope, BELL. I had a good hold on the rope, on the first baseball, 2nd baseball, 1st ring, and then I made the stupid mistake of trusting that grip too much- exactly what I thought I’d learned NOT to do  – and I swung one handed to the next ring and my hand slipped. ON THE EASIEST PART OF THE RIG. I almost cried in frustration. I went and did my burpees, came back to try again, but my grip was spent, and I fell. But that was it, the finish line was right in front of us. We’d done it. So I tried to shake off my disappointment as we headed toward the fire, grabbed her hand, and shared the moment of overwhelming relief and pride. I do the majority of racing on my own, but this is [one reason] #WHY I RACE.

TO DOUBLE LAP OR NOT TO DOUBLE LAP. We waddled around in the mud, to do end of race things, and then we waddled to our cars. And then we waddled to a cute motel a delicious dinner that I ate in about 42 seconds and what I thought would be an amazing hot
shower. BUT I raced without a shirt, and my Camelbak rubbed all day and it was this “amazing” hot shower where I found out what I’d done. But I survived the shower and my biggest worry for tomorrow was my feet! It hurt to walk, it hurt to drive, and it hurt to touch. I massaged them with ice, took ibuprofen, and hoped for miracle sleep-healing powers.

5AM WAKE UP CALL. My eyes sprung open and immediately I started moving my feet, hmm… 😉 I tiptoed to the bathroom, and… my mind was made! Though I could still feel a  little pain, there was drastic improvement from the previous night. I knew it’d be tough to push through a second day but I taped them, kept my shoes much looser, and promised myself I’d take good care afterwards. I texted my ‘1 year anniversary friend’ who’d also been unsure about his body’s condition for a second day. “I’m really still on the fence,” was his response. So, not waiting for his decision, I got ready, ate breakfast, and headed back to the mountain… in the cold rain. I got a call 10 minutes out: “Let’s do this.” A rush of relief blew through me. As hard as today was going to be, I wasn’t getting back on the mountain alone.
NO “AROO AROO AROO GOOOOOOO” FOR US. We were ‘late’ for our competitive heat, so
we expected to start with the first open heat; 2 minutes before they took off, the announcer noticed our arm bands, and told us we had to get going! So we awkwardly started the race on our own, adrenaline lettingour legs move in a not TOO embarrassing way as we ran out of sight. He stuck with me ALL DAY. I told him to go ahead, but he kept saying ‘no.’ And so we laughed to pass the time, and did the best we could. Neither one of us had it in our forearms to make it through the tarzan swing a second time, but we mostly impressed ourselves, exceeding our extremely low expectations. On our way down from the death climb, we had to finish our own races- I asked if he’d wait for me at the finish line. I was a few minutes behind him, and watched as he nailed the rig as I came down from the log carry. And then I nailed the rig! I kicked the bell and had ALL the feels. The guy who stood next to me as I started the rig, said “no way” as I cleared the baseballs, and then joked for me to take his turn next. When I hit the ground, I hit the ground running in excitement, but when I made it to the top of the slip wall, I turned around to cheer that guy on. Then I crossed the finish line with the biggest smile, right into the arms of a friend I couldn’t have done it without.

9.24.16 WINTERGREEN VA.

WHO AM I. I am determined.

DRIVING THROUGH THE NIGHT. I worked for a couple of hours that Friday morning, and got on the road just after 10am. I drove to Wintergreen, Virginia VIA Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. If you are good with geography or look at a map, you’ll know that’s no straight line, but I wanted to visit a friend. I made it to Pittsburgh at 8pm where I was welcomed with a delicious dinner and a few hours to enjoy each other’s company. I left at midnight, and drove some totally ‘middle of nowhere’ way. I stopped at a gas station at 3am, put my seat back and set an alarm for 10 minutes later, but an ambulance parked its noisy self next to me so I got back on the road. I pulled into a rest stop at 4:45 and slept for 15 minutes. I finally arrived at Wintergreen Resort at 7:30 am, thinking I MIGHT still make it to the 8am competitive heat… until I realized parking was 10 minutes away and the bus ride back was another 25.

10.1.16 TAHOE WORLD CHAMPIONSHIP.

When I walked off the plane, I didn’t know what I was walking into. I can tell you now that I walked into something that felt like a dream; a weekend filled with enough emotion, people, inspiration, and experience to feel like a lifetime. A race that (for now at least) topped all.

WHEN IT STOPS BEING PHYSICAL IT STARTS BEING MENTAL. I entered this adventure on my own, as I do most of my adventures, but I shared a room with some Spartans I’d met before… some more seasoned, more athletic spartans; SO, I spent Friday tagging along, feeling shy and out of place. But lucky too. Walking around the venue surrounded by so many athletes felt cool. We got to sit in on the ‘Athlete Panel’ as they filmed some of the top Spartan racers in the world for NBC sports. I couldn’t even believe I was in the same room with all of them but I soaked up their words, and their energy. Hunter McIntyre was asked the question “What kind of athlete does it take to win this race?” As he explained that it would be someone who trained hard, and was most dedicated in the moment, my thoughts drifted to all the moments where I’d reached what I thought was my limit and pushed beyond it- the moments when there was no longer anything physical about getting through, except that physically I had no strength left. It’s been in these moments where I’ve defined myself, and in these moments alone, that I’ve allowed myself to consider the label I never thought I’d even be associated with: Athlete. Obviously these guys are 500% on a different level than me; but, to me that means that they’ve spent their lives breaking through limits. They are an inspiration.

DO I BELONG? I didn’t bring real ‘race clothes’ to Tahoe. I mean I’ll always wear OCR shoes because one season of slipping up and down mountains was more than enough, but the rest of my outfits come from the Target athletic section. And I mean, I’m not complaining! The only thing is, I’d never run a race this cold and I know for me it wouldn’t only be mental torture, but dangerous. So I went into this fancy alpine sports store… because people do alpine sports in Lake Tahoe… and couldn’t decide if I felt nervous to be there, or like I just ‘leveled up’. Obviously I didn’t know what I was doing, but the woman was so helpful she gave me every option of ‘long sleeve, quick drying, warm, fitted, running shirts: NorthFace, Marmot, Patagonia… etc. Am I like… legit enough to deserve buying a shirt like this? I still chose one of the most basic shirts, BUT IT FELT SO FANCY THE MATERIAL IS SO FANCY. I tried on the most expensive ones too, just to look at myself wearing them. I laughed at the conversation I was having in my head as I tried on 6 different shirts in the little fitting room. I wandered around, and realized upon seeing them that I should buy a hat… I was feeling very prepared; I completed my shopping extravaganza with some Gu flavors I’d never heard of (but tasted pretty good when I was dying on the bucket carry) and walked out feeling as weird as ever. I WAS here to attempt running this race twice.

SNOW?! ARE YOU SURE?! I rarely look at course maps or check the weather anymore, a. because I already signed up, b. because it is what it is. This weekend it wasn’t just a course map I saw, but I stood at the racer briefing on Friday night, listening to the details of the course: the climbs are wide, the descents are single track. You can use both feet or 1 foot on the herc hoist, you can use the chains on the thigh master, you can’t kick the bell on the ape hanger, life vests are required on the swim, THE BUCKET CARRY IS HEAVIER THAN USUAL AND 1/2 MILE LONG. And as if I hadn’t been stressed out enough, everyone is talking about SNOW ON SUNDAY and I spent Friday shivering in nice weather, wearing sweatshirts at the bottom of the mountain. People kept saying, ‘Are you freezing? What are you going to do tomorrow?!’ What am I going to do tomorrow…. WHAT AM I GOING TO DO ON SUNDAY!?!?

4AM. FAMILIAR UNFAMILIAR. It’s always 4am. Or 3am. Or 2am. But as many times as I told myself it was just another race, just another early morning forced breakfast, I couldn’t shake the nerves. Eating my oatmeal was like eating sand. I parked in the dark parking lot and finished my pre-race routine: tape up the weak parts, braid the crazy mane, drink enough coffee to feel it (which isn’t much when I’m nervous) but not enough to have to pee too many times (which is hopeless when I’m nervous)… Then I really had to pee, and as usual got lost on my way (which was only 200 feet) and climbed over a rock wall instead of walking through the entrance. Before I diverged from the path I found my friend, without his clown mask, but, WITH a windbreaker he’d picked up from Walmart for me. I am so sure it helped me finish the race. He was one of the first people I ran into, and I ran into him 3 more times, and then I ran into everyone else I knew. I always find that nice; out of thousands, you always find the people you know. I was most lucky to find and spend some time with one of my best friends from the equestrian team at Hofstra before she lined up for the WC Elite heat (she’s cool!). I’ve run into her twice since graduating 3.5 years ago… at two other Spartan races! Her and her family are some of the best people I know.

ITS STILL FUN. I ran ahead to catch a video of the WC starts which really kind of freaked me out even more but gave me inspiration as I got to the start line myself. I started the race alone, and 6 hours later crossed the finish line alone. The “rolling mud” (freezing cold, waist deep, muddy water) was something like 4 minutes into those 6 hours. I guess if its really gonna be tough, its gonna be tough from the very beginning. Out of the mud, we climbed and I got nervous again because although I’m used to climbing, I’m not used to altitude and I felt out of breath SO quickly… like after 50 feet of elevation gain… 50 feet above where I started at 6,200ft with 2,800ft of climbing to do still. HAHA I’m going to crawl to the top, I thought. I managed to keep my speed one level above crawl, huffing and puffing all the way. The monkey bars were the first test for cold muscles… right at the top of our first climb. I was sure I couldn’t write my name if someone handed me a pen, but I talked myself into it and, with the day’s first wave of relief, I touched the bell. Onward and down I headed to the THIGH MASTER (they said they may have to re-name that one…). It was pretty easy, I just pretended I was riding some weird horses. We did some more things and then went for the 2nd (final) longer climb. I still managed crawl+1 speed. At the top the temperatures were much colder, and the wind much stronger. In the most open, wind

blasting area, about 12 obstacles were set up. Some of my favorites: 1) The Spartan Ladder, an A-frame of metal bars to climb from underneath, spaced just far enough apart to make it interesting for us short people. I got to the top bar and realized I couldn’t physically reach from the side I was on to the side to climb down, so had to let go totally and trust myself. 2) The Ape Hanger. A rope hung above the water, and was the way up to the long set of somewhat hanging monkey bars. I found the grip was easier than I expected, just a bit of a reach to the top bar and I had to steady the swing that gravity was giving me on the way down to keep control… but ugh, when I hit the bell with plenty of grip strength left and the only place to go was down I didn’t want to let go! I looked down at that water, and steadied myself to land with less splash. I landed chest deep, so I was glad I’d taken the time to Ziplock my shirt and jacket. Once I climbed out, I took off in a shaky, “drying,” sports bra run. For 100 feet and then frantically re-dressed.

BREATHE, KEEP MOVING. We all knew it was coming, but we couldn’t be prepared. And then I finished the sandbag and was looking straight at my biggest dread. Freezing cold. I just kept smiling at everyone to ease my mind. I put my clothes back in bags (because somehow only my portion of the day actually had to swim with our packs and all of our belongings), and already shivering, put my little orange life vest on and walked into the quickly over my head, instantly numbing, instantly breath stopping water. And so I had to tell myself after each tiny breath to breathe, and after each 2 inches forward to keep going. Stopping to “catch my breath” would be dooming I thought, though one guy I passed (I told him ‘keep moving!’) did seem to choose doom. Don’t do that! It took forever and a lot of weird noises on my part, but I climbed up on the shore, threw off my life vest and started running. I wouldn’t slow down, even though my legs felt like giant icicles, until my skin was somewhat dry, so for the first time I thanked the freezing cold wind. I found a sunny spot to re-dress and it became the worst 5 minutes of the race. Within 30 seconds of sitting down my whole body was shaking so violently I could hardly aim my arms back into my shirt. I was getting TOO cold, so when I came up to the 8ft wall a moment later, I didn’t even attempt it, I just started doing Burpees. They momentarily became my favorite thing. The mountain turned down after that, and I played a mental game: I knew/imagined each step brought warmer air and I never stopped running after that. And when there was a mile of super fun switchbacks closer to the bottom, I felt like I was Super Mario, music and all, narrowly avoiding the ‘lost a life, fall off the screen’ music when i slid down one corner. I proceeded to enjoy the epic 8? hurdles in a row – now that i’ve mastered the armpit grab rather than the boob smash – and then my fun came to a screeching halt. 1/2 mile of bucket. It was like the cheap gravel that makes dirt roads- 1 part small rock, 1 part moist (sorry if you don’t like that word :p) dirt, zero part air. I was hating it every step. But kept smiling all the same. For the 3rd and final time, I passed this Delta pilot I met at Killington. I waited for him after I finished the race but he must’ve snuck by… sad because I don’t know how to get in touch, but I’m sure we’ll meet again. The end of the race took everything out of my forearms; the bucket was followed by a heavy Herc. hoist, the rope climb, the rig. I thought I might pull off the rig, some 8 rings to the metal bar, to some skinny longer ropes I’d never seen before, but I got a one hand solid grip on the bar and the other hand landed in some super slimy water. I shimmied across but was definitely slipping, so i hung from my one hand, and tried to dry my hand on my soaking wet pants (oh yeah the freezing cold dunk wall was right between all these things) which didn’t help things, so I did my burpees at the finish line, and with much relief, took my metal.

DECISIONS YOU CAN’T MAKE WILL MAKE THEMSELVES. I spent a long while walking
around the festival after the race with nothing in particular to do, and no one in particular to see. I think it helped me soak in the day. When I finally decided to leave, I passed a ski shop and went inside. I picked out a pair of gloves, a neck/face fleece, and a pair of bikini bottoms. When I put them on the counter, the man and woman on the other side asked if I was running the race again. I said, “…Something made me walk in here and buy this stuff before tomorrow, so, yeah, I guess I am!” And it was in answering their question that I realized I’d made up my mind. They were confused about the bikini bottoms, but they were for the hot tub 😉

THE ONE WAITRESS WHO NOTICED ME. I stopped for pizza on my way to the hotel. They had no tables, but the hostess offered I sit at the bar. Of course- a seat and a pizza was all I wanted anyway! But the bartender lady was outside with the police and none of the waiters/waitresses thought to cover for her. Granted they were busy, I was getting a little sad. And so, so hungry. One of them did pay enough attention to get me water before getting back to his tables. The girl who finally noticed me was so kind; between that and the pizza in my belly, I wanted to hug her but I tipped her the cost of my meal instead and made my way back to the hotel.

HERE WE GO AGAIN. I changed my start time when I got there so 3 of us could all start together: one of the guys I was staying with, and one guy I’d briefly met on Friday. In the elite heat (because why not I guess). The one I was staying with is super fast so we stood at the front which was weird, but the group of us (men and women were combined) was so small that I guess it was ok. Almost all of us were on day 2 which gave a kind of unity to this little first heat of the day. I pretended to be fast for 30 seconds, and then, of course, fell back. After a few miles I was relieved to see that our faster friend had moved on only because I hate the pressure of holding somebody back. When we got to the monkey bars this time, even though I had gloves (to take off for obstacles) and the day before I didn’t, my hands were as cold, and my body was colder. I remember gritting my teeth in my fight to hang on because I couldn’t very well open my hands to move on from each bar. I even took one bar lefty (not hard but I never do that) because my right hand temporarily stopped working. But it all worked out, and we shuffled along back down the mountain. I was having fun. I didn’t really expect that.

FOREVER THANKFUL. I thought I’d go through the day alone. I thought it was going to suck. By the time the two of us resumed panting up our second climb, I knew the day was special. We learned about each other and laughed at our current situation. We thanked EVERY volunteer we passed. It gave me the non-cold kind of chills to imagine how freezing cold they had to be. Some of them had to stand in the wide open wind at the top of the mountain where I would have cried if the tears weren’t frozen into my eyeballs. Just before we reached that terrible place, we picked up our 3rd musketeer as his buddy had just called quits. I’d remembered briefly speaking to him in passing at Killington, but we’d never actually met. He was immediately super cool; he seemed like he could go much faster than we were going, but he kept waiting- all the way to the finish line. Now I was with these two super cool guys, and after barely managing not to cry my frozen tears because it was so windy at the atlas carry that I couldn’t breathe, holding back good tears became harder and harder as waves of emotion started to hit me. I could not believe how lucky I was for this day. The barbed wire crawl was hilarious as the sand was absolutely flying and we couldn’t open our eyes, and the spartan ladder was ICE cold to hold onto. The ape hanger was closed and the swim was closed. Those miles of bitter wind had us miserable, but because we were together we kept laughing. [I’ll call them my BFF and Superman- in order of meeting- for now to clarify].

DANGEROUSLY COLD. Just as we finished the log carry, we watched one girl take a log and, in a daze, barely drag her feet a little ways down the trail with it, drop it, and walk on. She was in a t-shirt. I ran to catch up with her and gave her the sweatshirt I’d taken off because I still had two layers. Superman noticed that she couldn’t even put it on and helped her. She was talking to us, but we could all see that the way she was moving wasn’t good and I was quickly more worried. Her hands were purple so I took the gloves off of my hands, and quickly put them on hers in hopes that there was a little heat in them. She wanted to continue on, and figured she’d be ok if she kept moving… but when we came down from the sand bag (which was double sand bag and I thought I was dying) we agreed we should wait. She’d now also left her sand bag behind, and was slowly limping back towards us. We asked her to call quits, and she agreed it was time. Superman, who was so caring toward her the whole time, carried her to the shelter nearby as the volunteers called medical. We waited with her until they had her safely inside warming up and, again, I took a moment to realize how fortunate I was, and these guys were special. 

THE BEST IS YET TO COME. Full of emotions now heightened by relief, we were headed down the mountain and out of the wind. We were all so cold. My BFF didn’t even have gloves. I tried to give him mine, but he’s too much of a gentleman to accept. He tells me I helped him get through that day, which tugs at my heart, but in my mind it was the other way around. The switchbacks were fun again, and the hurdles too. Superman helped some girls over them which is always so nice to see. The bucket carry was mixed with wood chips from the previous day so it was half as torturous and as we handed off our buckets, I saw a familiar clown running up the trail and gave him a hug 🙂 Yeah, he’d almost caught up to us and he was running the ultra..! Now all that was left was a few more miles, a pee stop at the exact same bush as the day before, more grip strength than I assumed I had, and snow. It’d held off for most of the day, but we would finish our race in it. The dunk wall was closed because it’d blown over earlier in the day and luckily not crushed anyone! I managed my bag at the Herc. hoist and then tag teamed with the girl next to me to lift hers, climbed the rope, and then composed myself for one last shot at this rig. This time I made it all the way onto the ropes at the end, but I really didn’t have much left and I couldn’t figure out how to leave the first rope. I did my final set of burpees and then my BFF, Superman, and I took each other’s hands, even knowing there was no photo to be had, and ran across the finish line together. I was so happy. And since the tears weren’t frozen, I didn’t have as much success holding them back as I told my BFF that it’d been a day I wouldn’t forget.

Because of two kind men, dedicated volunteers and Spartan staff, and incredible mother nature, Squaw Valley will always have a special place in my heart. 

Until next time, Killington, Wintergreen, and Squaw Valley- Thanks.