Land's End, New Beginnings.

Lined up they look  like Pan Am sterwardesses-back when you had to be gorgeous, smart and efficient to get the job. Megan, Amanda, Heather, Sophia (me), Allison, Faith, Donna and later another Megan and Theresa.

Free State's Land's End aide station.

I noticed as I sent a photo I snapped on my phone that on one side of the aid station photos were labelled by GPS as Kanwaka and on the other Lawrence. This crux between the two, an oasis at mile 8 and 18 of a 21 mile loop, where on this day every runner flew first class.

"Would you like an S-cap?" Megan Jones, whose husband was running the 100k. It was her first time volunteering and she proved a very quick study, and able to dish out S-caps like a phameceutical phenom.

"Coke or Sprite?" Amanda.
"Baby wipe for you face?" Allison.
"Let me fill that pack." Donna.
(without taking off the pack, we filled- FAST.)
"Stomache issues? Here's a ginger chew." And so the day went. We grabbed, filled, dished and repaired.
"Thanks ladies. You all are incredible." Over and over.

It must be pointed out that there were at times 3 men around, but everyone just loved the beautiful ladies. My long time Saturday running buddy Kurt was the brains and brawn behind the operation hauling supplies in his 4x4 pick up truck and making sure everyone was headed in the right direction. Not his usual fare, on this day he indulges in an affinity for Pringles and PBR.

4 different races. 2 different start times.  The epicenter of the race was Land's End, with two passes per loop. An  added bonus this year, the half marathoners turned around at Land's End.

" Alright everybody, listen up! We now have runner's with all four races coming and going in each direction. Awesome." Kurt.
(Kurt's back is to you in the black and blue shirt- he's yelling directions.)

The strategy: Make sure the half marathoners make a hairpin turn. Make sure the marathoners, 40's and 100 k's go straight, meanwhile  watch for the frontrunners in the 40 and 100k as they head into the aid station for a second pass and make sure they head out the correct direction.  Once this begins, it never stops, but the focus does shift.

The buffet style aid work shifts to an atmosphere of an army MASH unit.

40 miles and 100k are a long way. It can mean a lot of mistakes, especially in a race that attracts many first timers. But it also gives the runner a lot of miles to fix their mistakes with the correct instruction.

My friend Danny who is a nurse and affectionately called "Mr. Mudbabe," due to his affinity for the weekly Mudbabe Monday runs was another of the 3 fellows and joined us after running the half.
"Sophia- come over here- this guy wants to quit."
I headed over to assess.
A firing of questions results in learning the runner needs salt. "Take two S-caps, head to the next aid station- take two more and we'll see you back here in 10 miles." It worked- he left and was back stronger for an even stronger finish. This constant re-grouping and evaluating of runners was exhausting but fullfilling. It pushed my skill as an extreme extrovert to the limit. And it was fun. "Do you want to touch the buckle?" I'd worn the Free State 100k buckle, just in case we had a runner who wanted to quit. However, this ended up being just a fun interaction with Lloyd Lantz one of my favorite local runners.

Actually what he needed more and we provided was a tight ankle wrap for a twisted ankle. The twisted humor, an added bonus. "Why is HE telling me I look good?" One of the male runners was sitting and re-grouping. "I want HER to tell me I look good." "YOU LOOK GREAT!" Squeeled the girls. "Massage?" Allison. Yes, today in a sport still dominated by men, the women ruled. br />
During a lull in the craziness, I noticed we were getting low on Pringles and decided to send Megan for more from the finish line, so Kurt could continue his love affair with the red tube of Pringles that was now sporting a fake mustache.

"I brought fake mustaches for everyone." Danny. I put one on and found it a bit hot, eventually it found a home on my signature cowboy hat. Danny's ended up on the Pringles after posing for this photo with  my bearded Armenian friend Seroj. Man #3. Holding the package of fake stashes, I looked over skeptically.
"I guess you don't need a fake mustache?"
"I don't need a fake nose either, Sophia."

Later I jumped in and paced my friend Erin for 23 miles on her first 100k. She ran a smart, planned race and didn't need much help. Still the friendship and commaraderie of a pacer is always a welcome lift. After her finish I went back to Land's End.

The scene was reduced to one table with cold quesedillas, soda, a few oranges and Kurt's empty can of Pringles. Kurt and Heather greeted me warmly and I sent Heather off to cheer in our friend Amanda (also on her first 100k- Heather had also done double duty, pacing Amanda in her second loop.) <> For three years I helped Race Direct Free State along with about 20 other races per year. Last year's Free State was the last race I co-race directed with my now friend and former fiancee Ben Holmes. Just one look at this blog exemplifies the struggle I've had to put any emotion into words. The void was vast as I stumbled in a community I had worked to grow. I focussed on group runs instead of volunteers. Without the race directing I felt small. Each time I got a call about races and had to explain my new status, it stung. Over and over again. I ran. I hurt. I gave. I grew. I used to joke when I race directed and delegated tasks that I must not be good at anything, because everyone had a job but me. I often felt I wasn't a very good volunteer. But now things are different. In the past year, to fill the emotional void, I raced, paced, planned and thought. I evolved and became complete as a runner, friend and volunteer. With each group headed into the aid station there were people I knew and shouts of happy hellos. Many close friends and friends of friends. The void diminished and I felt a warm sense of belonging that only comes when energy is exchanged on several different levels. I travel a lot for my work with Mizuno running. In that travel, I have developed many nurturing "home away from homes." One of those is Wichita which was well represented not just by runners, but by Megan Jones my little volunteer protege who had contacted me personally about volunteering. My new experiences, the foundation. My constant friends, Kurt, Mark, Erica, Allison, Danny, Heather and Erin add another layer of goodness. So now here at the cornerstone of Clinton Lake, a place very dear to my heart, I realized my world was not smaller, but larger.

Mud Hugs, Sophia

A step above the rest....

66 degrees outside and beautiful. A MudBabe Monday-but I wasn't headed for an early loop at the park--another plan was in place and I was a little terrified.
"Sophia, you're squeezing really hard-are you just holding on or are you nervous?"
"Just holding on." I lied. You see, I was perched on the back of a sleek, red Ducati for the first time. Well sort of. The performance motorcycle isn't really built for two. See that aerodynamic fender type thing behind the driver's seat, about 6 inches up-- that was where my rump was supposed to plant. But as a short woman with a short ratio waist to shoulder, I had no chance.

I kept slipping into the driver's well, where my friend Seroj, a motorcycle junkie was expertly steering my petrified self.

"You can't be nervous."

"This back seat isn't worth shit." I said as I tried to scootch back up on my perch.

"I know- just give me the thumbs up if you want to go faster and thumbs down for slower."

I really don't scare easily. I run far. 100 miles through the night... but... the surge of going from 0 to 55 in a matter of seconds made me start to pray. Well, sort of. It was more a list of things I was thankful for and maybe an amend or two, and perhaps a request that if we were to crash, I wouldn't be rendered incapable of either running or playing the violin.

Regroup.

I breathed out and started to listen to the low and staedy sound of the bike. So unlike the whiny motocycles that used to speed past my parent's home in Iowa, and began to enjoy the moment. Low turns on the clover leaf (with very few other cars to make me nervous) were exhilarating and powerful.

A trip down Shawnee Mission Parkway got some admiring nods and smiles from folks trapped in cars on this beautiful day. I felt cool.

We rolled up to a little spot at Shawnee Mission Park, I actually have never been to. I guess we were going to have a kumbaya moment. I checked my watch, as I couldn't really make an entrance at Mudbabe Mondays if I was late. But the day was beautiful and we are young, so I don't mention the time. Instead, I ask Seroj about the sound of the bike.

"Was that a Ducati I heard?"
We'd walked down a path to the water where an older man with few teeth was sitting on a 55 year old Harley.

I must admit, I know very little beyond the Harley stores and Sturgis when it comes to motorcyles. I know there are people who ride these things called "crotch rockets," and that the Harley people feel superior. At this moment, I begin to learn that there is a step above both of those, and it is a Ducati.

As we went back up the hill to finish the ride, a father and his kids gathered at the curb to watch us drive off. Eyes wide and smiling. I made a joke about my perch, mounted, and despite trying really hard to stay up there, promptly slipped down as we headed off to my run. Humility and laughing at yourself is such an important aspect in life- and I was blissfully happy.

Although I was late for a grand entrance at the run, I felt like royalty on that bike, only cooler.
However, do I think I'm a step above the rest for being on the bike? Not at all--since I couldn't even stay on the seat. A position, that no doubt left my escort quite uncomfortable as his gentleman parts were pressed against the very hot gas tank.
In life, it is the unexpected that makes it interesting. I did expect to be scared. I also expeted to regroup, after all that is what I do everytime I race. I didn't expect the admiration. Let's face it, the Wharton's (my family) are obviously not fans of motorcycles. But they are fans of talent and quality. So I found myself feeling unexpectedly comfortable and at home, as I rode on a premier piece of machinery under the expert care of my friend.

Finding the Key...

When I was a child, my mother , Marjorie was a chronic key loser. The episodes would result in spastic fits of shaking her purse and frantically searching the contents, which generally resulted in nothing. A trip backtracking in her mind and retracing her steps generally lead her  to the purse, where, if she could muster a calmer search, she'd find the keys.

I vowed with my first set of dorm keys, never to be a key loser. I wore shorts with pockets and when I grew older, carried a purse. As an adult, I refined my system to include a keychain with a carabiner to hook the keys either on the purse or my person. When I walk into my house, the keys go into a bowl on an antique chest in the entryway.

Like all systems when you include the human element , they inveitably fail. I've had many failures with my keys, but generally a calm search and journey through my head, would result in the keys. That is until a few months ago.

I was calm. I searched. I knew they had  to be in the house. I looked in the bowl, searched all my purses, pockets and weird crannys my right hand will land on without my thinking. (Hey it's worked in the past-- just walk in the door without thinking, retrace your steps with careful attention to where your right hand lands-- bingo!) So why couldn't I find the keys? (These keys had something special on them, too. The only original to the front door--I had one duplicate, but attempts to make dupes of the dupe, wouldn't open the door. An attempt to get dupes of the orginal in November, resulted in some backwards keys.)

After two months of using the spare set, it was time for drastic action. Sort through every closet. Spring cleaning in January? Well, it had been a warm winter. This is something I often do-- turn a bad situation into a good one, by accomplishing a large task while in the process of finding something lost. Perhaps because of my confidence in the fact that I knew  the keys were in the house, I slipped into a bad habit, and procrastinated the cleaning party. I was, after all in the middle of booking season and the final stretches of training for a 100 mile race.

Then something terrible happened-- I found the keys in a coat in my car. The house was still a mess.

Of course, I was elated to find the keys, but was disappointed in myself for just letting life happen to me on something important like my keys. Even if they weren't in the house-- I am a better person than that. I turn bad situations into good ones. Had I sorted through the house, I would have had a deliriously tidy home and would have known the keys were not in the house.

Here are my thoughts on this situation:
What if it wasn't a set of keys you were looking for? Perhaps it was love, friendship or a job.

1. We often think we know  where something is and struggle herorically to find it. It may result in a wonderful personal journey and growth-- even though we can't  ever find it because we simply aren't looking in the right place.

2. If we find  something (physical or emotional ) without the strong and cleansing personal journey and bring it back into the mess, chances of losing it again are pretty high. 3. (from my mother) If you look frantically, you won't find what you're looking for, even if you're in the right place.

With this in mind, I put the keys in their bowl on the antique chest inside the door and started sorting through the closets and piles of paper that had accumulated over the 3 months. And I made an even firmer committment to my personal rules and standards.

Another observation of myself (who I am genuinely amused by at times...) You can't control loss. It happens. It hurts, and often it's permanent. All you really can control is the journey and being ready when something great finds you from an unexpected place.

POO Babes across the Pond. from THE MAJOR

Alrighty-- I have about 10 blogs swirling in my crazed mind-- yet not done. So here's one from Major Erin-- from "across the Pond."

Okay- so it has been about a month since my last effort was put forth to the blog… I am happy to say that my running has been about as steady as it can be here… despite the ceremonies for fallen Soldiers, purple heart awards presentations, and well a whole other litany of random events that have interrupted the nightly run… But things here are starting to settle into a rhythm which makes it easier and easier to break away during the day to get a good 6 miles in or so.
So I left you guys back in late May, I think my longest run had been a 5K or 4 miles… and really with no one else but me… but a Captain, Caitlin Hall, who came in from the FOB, and she wanted to run… so we did and we went by the most famous of land features here on Kandahar Airfield, the Poo Pond. It was about 100+ degrees out that day- Caitlin was kicking my ass after we had both done intervals the day prior… My legs were a little heavy, and well we went about 3.5 and that I think was the longest run up to that point… As you can see we are really afforded the opportunity to run in about the most uncomfortable running clothes ever… the Army Physical Fitness Uniform… the shorts are super scratchy and the t-shirts are usually huge and don’t forget the mandatory reflective belt to further add to your annoyance while running in broad daylight. Luckily the Army decided awhile back to actually let us wear all white ankle socks of the running type, before it was all mid-calf old man socks.




Oddly enough the Poo Pond doesn’t smell when you are right next to it… it really smells several feet away or even way across the airfield depending on how the wind blows. I have smelled it while running over a mile away and almost heaved- it is that bad… Now that it has gotten really hot I am pretty sure I will not be running by there anytime soon. Apparently the Poo Pond dates back to the Russians in Afghanistan. It is alleged that the Poo-Pond has been emptied before. There are also many an urban-legend about people swimming, diving into, and doing various other things in the Poo Pond. I have not confirmed the truth of any of them… nor would I want to find myself swimming with the fishes in said poo filled pond.


I There is a small off shoot of the Poo-Pond; I like to call it the Poo-Canal. The Poo Canal runs in between the airfield and the road, sort of moat like, and you get to run next to it for a good half-mile on the six-mile route here; that route also takes you by the Tim Horton’s Coffee shop, although sometimes I really am tempted to stop in on a run, sort of like an aid station, I have refrained. Maybe if I tackle the Airfield Loop twice (18 Miles) I will stop!


So as you can see it was fairly clear out that day, and not too dusty- normally it is super dusty- which is why we sport the “eye pro” I also chew gum which is weird, but it seems to keep your mouth from getting all sandy… As it is getting hotter and hotter every day, the dust seems to be getting worse.
The pictures below are from my other out and back lolli-pond, which is the tail end of the 6 mile loop too. I call it the NATO Pond 4- out to the pond and back- you can vary the mileage by the number of loops around the pond…

Erin's Blog. "Me my Mizuno's and Afghanistan"

Me, My Mizunos and Afghanistan…
This is from our good Friend Major Erin Miller.

The creation…
I deployed to Afghanistan in February 2011, leaving my running friends, mainly the Mud Babes and my Dog Rippin’, behind in the States and landed safely in Kandahar on the 24th, hoping that I might get some running in before the brunt of my unit hit ground- I was sadly mistaken. As days turned into weeks and then into a couple of months, I finally got my act together… and that was it- I went out running… and it sucked… mainly because of my running shoes… I had packed in such a rush that the wet soggy Ascends and Cabrakans sat drying by the door while my nice and clean other ones got thrown in the bag. Of course probably with the intention of ordering or shipping my trusty Mizunos… well that didn’t happen initially…
So the motivation came when I started to feel REALLY, REALLY out of shape, out of energy and generally angry about most things… so I ran… it was only two miles but it felt like twenty… it was hot and dusty and well running on the gravel was killing my feet… I got back emailed my mom and had her send the Garmin… and then another run- this time in the morning- thinking maybe it was the heat… but nope… my feet and legs were killing me… and that three and a half made the difference- and I ordered the Wave Ascend 5s… two pair!
I patiently awaited the arrival of my new shoes. I continued to suffer through several days of running - constantly asking the main clerk if they had arrived…. And finally the day came… and I was SUPER EXCITED! And I was not disappointed a bit…
The next day was a bit rough for us here in Afghanistan- we lost a Soldier. Part of my job here is to participate in a “Ramp Ceremony” which is the send off of our fallen brother or sister in arms as the remains are loaded into the back of a military Aircraft bound for the states. A somber ceremony that really brings you back to reality… this was unfortunately not the first one of our year here… it was that day when I was out for a run- a short one- three miles or so- and the thought came to me… maybe a blog could be the best way to communicate my story with my friends and those who maybe want to read about a ultra-marathon-ing trail running dog loving Major in the Army while deployed to Afghanistan... There are not a lot of outlets for a woman like me deployed in a predominately male organization… so my thoughts on a run are how I bring myself back to center… sp this might get interesting…
I hope my blog does not bore you- but brings you along on my journey… a journey to survive twelve months or so away from family and friends, and to reach a goal for training- not sure what I am going to train for- but maybe we will start with a 50K… I might be able to find one of those on leave to run with the mud babes…

When love isn't enough

This photo says so much about the way I feel right now. Surrounded by rocks-- headed toward water with an instrument that would surely be ruined if it got wet. I know I used to think that I could defy all odds and use the instrument as a paddle over the water, and not damage it. Just focus on the goal. The rest will simply fall in place. I have learned the hard way, that is not so.

Mid March Ben and I parted ways. Some know, others don't. While it was my decision, the pain is deep as I invested much love, energy, time and hope in the relationship over the past three years.

I wish I could explain or answer questions, but I can not. Except that I will always love Ben.

My new hope is that you all can learn to love me as an individual.

Sophia

Damnation. Purgatory. Tums. Rocky Racoon 100 miler 2011

This story begins at mile 28 as the first 28 miles of running at Rocky Racoon 100 felt like a bad day at the office.
I was at the Damnation aid station, mile 28 feeling gross. This is a special aid station, as it is so remote, no crews are allowed. You hit it twice per loop, and if you drop there, you have to hang the rest of the race to get a ride back. Purgatory.
"Have you eaten anything?" The question, over and over again from a persistent aid station worker.
"I've been drinking."
"What about calories?"
"I drank coke." At this point it clicks that I've been asked about eating enough, that perhaps I'm not looking too good.
"Do you have any potatos?"
"We have potato soup."
The day before Rocky, I got the most debilitating migrane of my life. I vomitted a chunky pink mixture out twice, once outside of Walmart, and later at the park. The second bout was like the scene from Alien.

The thought of chunky potatos was highly unappetizing, but I looked in the cup, and it was pureed, and salty and oh so delicious. I grabbed a handful of TUMS, too and snacked on them.
A 6.5 mile loop later, I was back at Purgatory, and saw the same aid station worker.
"Well you look much better than the last time I saw you!" That was Mike. And each loop, I made sure to connect with him and give him a muddy hug-my signature- as well as the purple Mizuno skirt I was stylishly wearing.


Finish that loop. Finish the next. Eat way more than my share of potato soup. Pig out at mile 56.6 on everything. Quesedillas, apple pie, avacado, dates, three cups of coke, more dates, two quesedillas to go. I had to walk just to digest.


Mile 60: Our glorious Trail Nerd Mudbabe crew station, complete with banners, music, and Hayley my Mudbabe pacer. Many DNF'd at this point. I threw on some tights, grabbed a jacket and light and headed back out. I saw Ben, my fiancee a couple miles in and was so deliriously happy. We exchanged a very big hug and I carried on.

I was so HOT. That just didn't seem right. I shed a layer of tights at the first aid station, but just couldn't feel ok. (probably all that food fighting to digest. Poor body, very confused) I was too cold without the jacket, too hot with it. One layer of Mizuno Breath Thermo and an Elixir jacket. Any time I ran, I roasted. I started walking more.

Damnation /Purgatory: I consider changing my base layer, but fortunately stuck with the plan. That was a good decision. A bad one was to switch the battery in my flashlight. It must've been a dud battery, because the flashlight died. I had a lame headlamp and was forced to walk the rooted section. Now I was cold. So cold.

Mile 73: I was stumbling, and falling asleep while running. I slowed down and joined some gals I'd chatted with before DP (Damnation Purgatory). Earlier they had been playing a game, and asked if I wanted to join.

"I am ready to play the game now. I need your help, I am falling asleep."
Nikki and Katie. Cool chicks from Colorado. Nikki was an experienced pacer. Katie was running a smart first hundred. I instantly liked them both. As an added bonus, Nikki had just read the Trail Runner magazine that had the article about the Trail Nerds in it, and knew who I was.

"Sophia... I love that name! make sure you download the song." And oh yeah, I can't remember the band Nikki told me sang the Sophia song.

Headed into the main station to pick up Hayley, the two left me with a piece of sage advice.
"The last loop takes care of itself."
Ok, makes sense. I just need some sort of mantra.


Mile 80: Enter Hayley. I re bundled up. Dry Breath Thermo. Double BT. Triple for Hayley who wasn't warmed up. Elixir jackets. Breath Thermo tights. Adorable skirts.
The air was moist and it was 30 degrees. It was so dark and my light was awful. Matty Mullins hooks me up with a better headlamp and power flashlight.

I just start to cry when I think of Hayley and how much she invested in this race for me. Extra long hours at work the week before so she could have 3 days off, then picking up the extra crew duties for Ben when 2 of our posse, couldn't make it down due to the snow. The extraordinary part, is she'd never crewed or paced before. She held the responsibility, like a champion weightlifter going for the world record.

We are hiking now, as I'd just walked too much to get back to running. I loved having this time with Hayley. We talked and talked about everything.
"I bet this is really beautiful during the day. I wish I'd gotten to see it." Hayley had been so busy crewing she didn't get a chance to see the trail in daylight.
"Oh, I went back and walked Puccini at 8am and 4pm." Our chiueagle who made the journey, but camped out in the hotel room.
"That is so incredible of you. Did he give you a head hug?"
"yes.."


Mile 82: "Where is Ben? Why haven't I seen him?" It was about the 4th time I asked.
"Sophia, argh.. I just have to tell you. Ben dropped. Everyone told me not to tell you. His cold was just terrible and he was just trembling. He's in the hotel room sleeping. Well just coughing really. He just wants you to finish. He's so proud of you."
I was so relieved to know he was safe, and glad she didn't tell me at the main aid station.
Mile 92: Last stop at DP. My body was going sideways, my head was spinning in circles. I had had another bout of sleepiness, and standing by the heater, my equilibrium was off.

I sat down in a chair and put my head down between my knees. As I raised my head slightly, I could see Hayley's profile. Her lips were pursed in a determined position and her eyes were laser focussed. In front of me were zombies. 5 silent quitters, none of which were bleading, all of which were headed to the day after hell of a DNF at mile 92.

I was up. Downed the tepid coffe, slurrped the chicken broth and headed out of Purgatory and into-- THE LIGHT. THE SUN HAD COME UP. Hayley was going to get to experience the beautiful trail in the light.


"Let's go Sophia. It's less than a MudBabe Monday!"
Hayley runs with my Monday all women's trail running group, MudBabe Mondays, the women's division of the Trail Nerds. Training for Rocky, I would do two loops at Shawnee Mission park, which equals 9 miles.

No more sleepiness. Just a steady humble hobble.
"Tell me about the finish line, Sophia."
"Turn left, finish, buckle puke. Puke on Joe (Pursatis)"
"NOOOO."
"Puke on Danny?"
"Yeeeessss."
Not sure how our Wednesday Trail Nerd run group leader Danny became the butt of this joke/mantra, but it entertained us several times during out last eight miles. Sorry Danny.

"Sophia, just think of the warm bed and snuggle with Ben."
Bad Ben. My fiancee. 12 hundred mile finishes, including 3 sub 24 hour Rocky Racoon. I just couldn't wait to see him at the finish line.

Ben had our crew all set up with videos and still cameras so he could give me a hug.
"Ben, in my Mizuno bag is a belt with a Free State buckle. Go get it and put this buckle on it."


"Ben, obviously your crewing job isn't over yet." Joe Pursatis was laughing as his wife got my chip off.
27:39 and change.


Cool Stuff:
1. A quick interaction with record breaker and winner Ian Sharman as he lapped me. (of course I, like everyone else had no idea who he was.)
"Are you lapping me?"
" What loop are you on?"
"3."
"Well carry on."
"I love your accent." I quipped in an imitation British accent.
2. Seeing the legendary ultra guys, Anton Krupicka and Scott Jurek several times.
3. Seeing Mike from the North Texas Trail Runners at Damnation/Purgatory each loop and having him call me by name.


Things I did right:
1. Lubed with A&D ointment. No blisters. No chaffing.
2. Packed warm clothes in drop bag and at main aid. Next time, put an extra jacket at DP.
3. At mile 20 changed from Wave Riders into the lower profile Wave Elixir's-- out of the box fresh. I could feel the trail better, and never fell. Just a couple stumbles.
3A. Note I didn't wear trail shoes. A concious choice to have more breathability, so I would have less possibilty of blistering.
4. Ran a 50 miler in October, which gave me confidence and an understanding of where I would blister.
6. Baby wipes in a zip lock bag.
7. Had a great pacer/crew. I'm letting her wear the belt buckle once every ten days.
8. LANCOME waterproof mascara. "Your feet run, your mascara shouldn't." Man that stuff makes a hundred mile finish photo look great.
9. Injinji socks- to avoid big toe blister.
10. BT socks over too short Injinji socks
Things I did wrong:
1. Not enough back to back long runs.
2. Not enough hill repeats.
3. Not enough walking practice.
4. Lame, Lame , lame headlamp and flashlight. More better light next time.
5. Didn't pack some sort of caffiene suppliment.
6. Didn't pack TUMS.
7. Injiniji socks that only came up to the collar of my shoe. Need taller ones next time.


That's all for now.
Muddy Hugs,
sophia