From behind me, a woman’s voice: “Hey, Kenosha.”

“Hey, Sparta,” I responded, without turning.  I dumped some more M&Ms into my mouth from the paper cup.  “Been waiting for ya.”

I knew her name.  It was in big letters on her bib.  Julianne.  She knew my name, too.  But that’s not how we were introduced to each other, so that’s not how we addressed each other.  We were at mile 25 of the Deadwood-Mickleson Trail Marathon, on the outskirts of Deadwood, South Dakota.

“See, I knew you’d beat me,” I told her as she walked next to me.

“I don’t know about that; I’m nursing a stress fracture.”

I started to run again shortly thereafter.  As I entered Deadwood, I passed a speed limit sign for snowmobiles - 5mph.  I laughed.  I was on a sub-10 minute pace for this mile, which meant that technically, I was speeding.  Just another few minutes, and I was done.  Marathon number 6, in the bag.

Sparta finished about 15 seconds behind me.  We gave mutual congrats, and went on our separate ways.  I had to find a shower, and our hotel didn’t give us a late checkout.

Several hours earlier

I didn’t know if this race was going to happen.  Or, even if *it* did, was it going to involve me?  The forecast was for low 40s, with possible thunderstorms.  Not exactly what you want when running a remote race over a small mountain.  The start line was at 5358ft of elevation and we climbed to 6225ft at the midpoint.  Altitude and elevation gain, cold and wet; the combination  was worrisome.

I dressed anyway.  Joy was supportive, reminding me to eat my Clif Bar, reminding me that she would be at mile 10 if things got too bad, reminding me that I’d run in worse.  Looking out the window of our room, I saw other runners heading to the shuttle bus pick-up across the street.

Okay, I decided.  Let’s do this.

The shuttle bus took me (and the other runners) to the tiny hamlet of Rochford, SD.  Joy couldn’t join me as the town is too small for spectators to park in.  Seriously.  Just before 7, we were deposited on an open lot next to the church.  Nearly 400 of us huddled against the church, behind trees, or in line for the porta-potties.  There was no shelter, and of course, many of us were in shorts and short sleeves.  I managed to score a spot along the front of the church, out of the wind.  Someone came along handing out garbage bags, and I put one over my head, poncho-style.  Someone joked that we looked like a hobo camp.  I said, “Yeah, hobos with expensive shoes.”

Two questions were asked of and by everyone around me.  Where are you from, and how many have you run?  The “from” question became not only an interesting study in geography, but that’s how you got your name.  By some unspoken rule, you were named for your state, unless there was already someone in the group with that name - then you got your town.  I was talking with South Carolina, Florida, Pensacola, New York, and Spearfish (a local, doing the relay).  I was Wisconsin, so when two others came by, we met Sparta and Burlington.

I also learned that I was truly the noob of the group I was with.  One woman had run 66, another 23, a man had over 150… I was going to be running number 6.  I got to met Roger from England who was running his 500th marathon.  He was kind of a mild celebrity, as everyone wanted to meet him.

After about an hour, we lined up and the marathon was on.  The first half was a good haul up, and the second half was a brutal, mostly downhill wobble.  The weather mostly cooperated, but the mist and fog made for soggy runners.  The scenery was pretty spectacular.

Once it was all over, we were well beyond our checkout time.  On top of that, the YMCA was closed.  Joy is a trooper, though.  She drove the five hours to our hotel in Thermopolis, Wyoming, with my stinky self in the front seat with hardly a complaint.

I limped painfully into the hotel to check in, and the guy at the desk looked at me worriedly.  “Man, you look like you just…”

“Ran a marathon?”

“Yeah, I guess!” he said.

I shrugged.  “I did.  In South Dakota.”

“Really?  Wow!”  We chatted some more as he got us checked in, and then - finally - I was able to take a shower.

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