They Had Strobe Lights: The Last Day of 40 Miles in 48 Hours

The first two days of our trip the sun blazed like it thought it was the height of summer, but overnight the weather changed to a cool autumn. Summer had broken like a fever.

I didn't really feel like running on the third morning. My muscles were holding up well but I was just tired. Weary. A bit used up. The running had diminished my appetite so I didn't have much in reserves and I was feeling it. Falling asleep in my chair during dinner probably didn't help either.

So I donned the shirt I wear when I require Super Powers and put one foot in front of the other, waiting for momentum to kick in. Instead of listening to podcasts, I listened to music and the songs lifted my knees higher and put a wind at my back. Everything loosened and the day cracked open for me like a geode.


This is it. Home free. Finish line in sight. Only 13 miles to go.

The dew steeped the oak leaves and iron-red earth just enough to let loose the smell of a California Foothills autumn. Dried weeds, gold, wet acorns, and rust.

I swear I am in this photo.

Anyone who has read this blog knows running with music is basically a religious experience for me. I let that music float me down the path like a cloud. I imagined all the gunk of the past 40 years kicking off my heels with each stride. Tiny pebbles of hardened regret slipped off my fingers, my wrists, and dropped without sound into the soft dust. Me, a lizard shedding layer after layer of used-up me. Me that no longer fit. Me that outlived its usefulness. I shoved my chest forward into all the good times, and let the wind blow away the rest.

A little bit of forgiveness for myself. Loosening the white knuckles of a clenched fist.

It felt quite spectacular. I mean, I was happy. To-the-bone happy. I was that asshole running with a smile  on my face. I felt grateful for just about everything.

Of course, it's times like these when my old lousy habits like to bitch slap me right off my unicorn.

And bitch slap they did-- in the form of a group of runners coming up behind me.

I'd seen this group the day before. Some of them were younger than me--okay, they were all younger than me (I still forget that if you're in your thirties, you're younger than me). I'd passed them on the trail-- and by "passed" I mean I came up on them while one of the guys was taking a pee break. I thought the trail I was on was going in the opposite direction from where he was; turns out it switchbacked me right down to him.

Awkward meeting for sure.

That night we camped downstream of them and while I was busy falling asleep in my dinner, I noticed they were all standing upright,  playing a game even, laughing, not looking the least bit tired. Sky had spoken with the river guides rowing their gear and found out they were on a commercial raft-supported running trip, doing similar daily mileage as me, running with two guides.

Basically, this was them. And yes, strobe lights followed them.

The next day while I was running in my blissed out state, I heard a man's voice behind me and turned to see this thirty-something coming over the hillock, followed by eight more runners, all decked out in the latest running gear, complete with fancy hydration vests. I stepped off to the side to let them pass, said hello but didn't receive much in return except for a few glances.

That's when the little knock came at the door, the little "scritch-scratch" of a fingernail on the roughened wood. And then, of course, those tiny voices in the back of my brain:

"Ahem, excuse me, but did you see how bad ass they were? I mean, those girls looked like serious runners. I wonder what they thought seeing you yesterday in your Old Navy running shorts with your gas station water bottle in your hand... well, never mind, I know what they were thinking... and let's not even mention your circa 1980s headphones...".

In mere seconds, instead of thinking of how great my life is, I was imagining how pitiful my stride must look to them, how very "mom runner" I must look, how slow and plodding. Embarrassed by what I thought they'd surmise to be my shortcomings. 

I passed the group again at Flora Dell and then spent the next twenty minutes looking over my shoulder, nervous about not knowing when they might pass me again.

Preoccupied with Them. Wondering what They  would think. Not enjoying the sunny, victorious, best-smelling autumn day in all of 2014.

My hottie support team

"Wait, wait, wait...  you're really going to do this in the next 40 too?" I thought. A louder voice this time; a grounded voice. "That's what you're going to take with you from the last 40?".

Nope, not a chance.

So I flipped a switch and chose better. Literally refused to walk down that path any longer. With as much effort as I was exerting to propel my body along that trail, I pushed the Crap Thoughts out of my head too.


It had just been a beautiful day-- and it still was that beautiful day! The only thing that had changed was my perception. And I could change it back.

Choose my thoughts.

Be an author, not a recipient.

I took off my shirt, let my "momness" out to play in the sun, and started enjoying the rest of my run. 

 40 Miles. 46 hours. Done.

I missed a link back to the trail and ended up here at the end-- oops. I got to run by some awesome cows though.

This is the real end to the trail, directly across from the gate. Mission accomplished.

P.S. As of this writing we have enough to build the 6th grade classroom! To afford the teacher's salary, it looks like we'll be applying for a grant. But we welcome anyone who still wants to be a part of the action. Go to: https://www.crowdrise.com/40Milesin48HoursforEducation/fundraiser/amystewart1