June 5, 2010.  Just outside of Washington, DC, near Sterling, Virginia.  Another early morning, and once again I was preparing for a 50k.  This time I was going to be running on my own, in high heat and humidity, on unfamiliar terrain, and with a new, inexperienced crew (my mom, Val).  I was excited, not really nervous.  The day before had been my birthday.  I was a newly-minted 31-year-old running 31 miles.  I’d met Dean Karnazes and got his book signed.  I was ready.

The sun was coming up over the trees and the field was filling up with runners.  I set some waypoints on my phone’s GPS so Val could find the aid stations and her way back to the finish line.  This would ultimately prove useless.  I briefed her, again, on what it would be like.  I tend to repeat myself when I’m anxious.

Okay: I may be incomprehensible later in the race, this is okay.
If I ask for something, ice, water, gel, whatever, that means I need it RIGHT NOW.
My body will not understand patience.
I may be manic, just go with it.
If I snap, I am sorry now and I will be sorry later but in that moment I am not.
Never tell me I’m “lookin’ good!”
Do not touch me at any point during or after the race.
I will probably fall asleep in the car after and then wake up like a hungry bear.
Val said she understood.  I repeated everything.
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