#the last line takes me OUTTTT

[fr4ndszk]

good for them tbh

[sommerbueckers]

HEAR ME OUTTTT what about reader’s being insanely smart and a “good girl” while P being a campus player and party-girl so once they get to know each other at one party because reader was dragged there by her friends and after that P won’t leave her alone and eventually catch feelings 🤭🤭🤭 (you can add smut if u wantttt)

𝐏𝐞𝐬𝐛𝐢𝐚𝐧

___________________________________________________________

✰ ❝𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐚 𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐛𝐢𝐚𝐧, 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐩, 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐩𝐞𝐬𝐛𝐢𝐚𝐧❞

✰ 𝐰𝐜 :: 𝟐.𝟗𝐤

✰ 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭

___________________________________________________________

IT WAS BY FAR the wildest party you had ever been to. Granted, you didn't have much to compare it to, but you were sure this was no regular college party. You had been clinging to the corner all night, the same drink that had been handed to you when you first got here remained full as you carried it around.

Your friends had left your side hours ago and you hadn't seen them since, the only sign that they were still here were the locations of their phones on Life360. If it hadn't been for their promise to take turns helping you study for the next few days, you wouldn't have even agreed to come out tonight. But you had never been one to turn down study help.

You weaved your way through the crowd of people, cringing as their sweaty bodies brushed against yours. At last, you reached the kitchen, letting out a sigh of relief when you found it to be mildly empty. You set your drink down behind you on the counter and pulled out your phone in an attempt to distract yourself. Due to it being the only thing standing between you and an unwanted encounter with a drunken college student, most of its battery had already been drained.

"Nice shirt," a voice came from in front of you.

Standing at the island pouring herself a drink was Paige Bueckers, clad in black cargos and a black crop top.

"Thanks," you smiled kindly, glancing down at your t-shirt. It was a science joke, distance raptor over time raptor equaled velociraptor. It was your only clean shirt.

Paige nodded, smirking to herself and holding back her laughter. It was then that it clicked for you, she wasn't complimenting your shirt out of the kindness of her heart. There was no kindness in her heart, if she even had one. Her reputation on campus, the one that didn't have to do with her being a monster on the court, had never sat right with you. The way she treated girls was nothing short of disgusting.

"You were being sarcastic..." you nodded in embarrassed realization, pressing your lips into a thin line.

Paige shook her head, "No, no it..." she trailed off, twisting on the cap to the bottle of vodka and turning to you, "it's an interesting shirt for a party that's all."

You nodded again, "It was the only clean one I had, I don't usually wear stuff like this."

"Hm," she hummed to herself, "what's your name?"

"Chloe."

Paige took a step toward you, but it was only to get out of the way of the guys that were clawing at the bottle of vodka behind her, not because she found you intriguing.

"I'm Paige," she said.

"I know." Everyone knows.

She raised her eyebrows, face feigning surprise. "You know huh?" she leaned against the counter on the other side of the corner. "How do you know?"

"If you think i'm gonna sit here and boost your ego, you can think again," you sassed, your brows heavenward.

Her eye creased as she laughed, "Alright, alright, I quit."

As the conversation shifted to a more awkward silence, Paige shifted uncomfortably, trying to find common ground. You adjusting your shirt, looked down at your hands, suddenly aware of the vast differences between your worlds. The room seemed to shrink around you, the hum of the party fading into the background. Paige cleared her throat, feeling the weight of the silence.

Paige watched you with a curious intensity as she took a sip of her drink, the party’s noise swirling around you. "You here with your boyfriend or...?" she asked, her eyes locked on yours.

You raised an eyebrow, a mix of surprise and flattery coloring your cheeks. "My boyfriend?" you snorted, a laugh escaping your lips despite the awkwardness. The thought of Paige assuming you were attractive enough to have a boyfriend was flattering, but then a nagging suspicion crept in that maybe the blonde was being sarcastic again. Your cheeks reddened as you said, "Very funny."

Paige’s expression remained unreadable, her gaze steady. "I take that as a no?" Her voice was clear and sincere, devoid of any trace of amusement. It was evident she genuinely wanted to know.

You shifted in your place suddenly self-conscious. "Yeah, no boyfriend," you admitted, the weight of the conversation shifting from lighthearted to more personal. "Just me."

Paige’s soft eyes faltered slightly, giving way to a hint of something else. "Got it," she said, taking another sip of her drink. "So, who're you here with then?"

"Couple friends of mine, this is more their scene than mine," you turned slightly to grab your red solo cup off the counter and take a sip. You cringed at the taste.

"I figured, shirt gave you away," Paige smirked.

"Don't underestimate me, I can throw down when I need to," you pointed at her, a large smile plastered on your face.

"Oh yeah? I'll have to see that."

The two of you broke out into a fit of laughter, Paige's drink sloshing around in her cup and spilling out onto the floor. This made you laugh a little harder, covering your mouth.

"But seriously," she spoke when you both had finally calmed down, "you gotta show me the party animal in you."

"Mhm, next party I gotchu."

You knew there wouldn't be a next time, but it seemd like the right thing to say at the moment. For all you knew, Paige wouldn't even remember this conversation tomorrow.

"Why wait?" Paige's eyes lit up with a challenge. She glanced around the room and spotted a group of people gathered around a table set up for beer pong. "Let's do it now. You and me, beer pong."

You felt yourself unable to protest as she pulled you toward the table. You had never played in a real life game before, your only experience being GamePigeon's cup pong. You weren't sure how well you'd fare. But there was something about the moment, about Paige's soothing voice and reassuring smile, that made you want to go along with it.

The table was lined with red cups filled with beer, set up in a triangle formation on each end. A couple of people cheered as you both approached, ready for a new game. Paige grabbed a ping pong ball and handed it to you with a smirk. "You first. Show me what you've got."

You took a deep breath and focused, aiming for the cup at the center of the triangle. The ball arced through the air, and for a moment, everything seemed to slow down. It landed with a satisfying plop into the cup. The crowd erupted in cheers, and Paige gave you a playful shove. "Not bad for a wallflower, let's see if you can keep up."

Paige grabbed a ball and took her shot, her aim precise. The ball bounced off the rim of a cup and landed in another, earning her a round of applause. She turned to you with a triumphant grin. "Your turn."

The game continued, the two of you trading shots and banter. The tense attitude you had started with faded away with each laugh, each missed shot, each triumphant score. At some point, Paige leaned in close, her breath warm against your ear. "You're doin' so good," she whispered, her voice low and teasing. "Maybe you really can throw down."

You smiled, feeling prideful and relieved at the same time. For once, it felt like you were exactly where you were supposed to be. The game continued, but the outcome didn't really matter. What mattered was the moment—the laughter, the soft brushing of Paige's arm against your waist, how she would compliment you every time she felt you were doing good.

When the game was over, the guys on the other side insisted on playing another round, thirsty to redeem themselves. The overwhelming feeling of not wanting to disappoint the blonde washed over you, this must've been how all the other girls had felt when the time came to get down and dirty with her. There was something about her that made you crave her approval.

HALFWAY THROUGH THE SECOND round you had started to notice the alcohol taking effect. The precision of your aim quickly plummeted, and before you knew it, you were launching balls straight at the wall. When it was over, you threw your hands in celebration even though you had lost. Paige doubled over in laughter, grabbing her stomach when it began to hurt.

You drunkenly stumbled out of the dining room, knocking into a few people, the contents of their drinks spilling onto your shirt. Paige was at your side in an instant, her arm slithering around your waist to keep you upright. It was clearly time for you to be heading home, you were significantly more drunk than Paige despite having roughly around the same amount of alcohol consumption -- if not less.

"C'mon lightweight," she snickered, "let's get you outta here."

Paige didn't know where you lived, but that wasn't something she had thought about until she reached the front lawn of the house. She stood there, stumped and unsure of where to go from there. She looked down at you, noticing the way you were leaning your head against her chest, and she made the split second decision to take you back to her place.

PAIGE WAS TAKING REMARKABLE care of you. Upon arriving back at her apartment, she had given you a cold glass of water, t-shirt of hers to wear, and even helped you wash your face. You were now laid up in her bed, staring up at the ceiling with a dazed look in your eye. Paige reappeared from the bathroom ruffling her wet hair with a towel. She had changed into a pair of basketball shorts and an old shirt, now making her way over to you.

"Hi," you giggled, feet coming up to rest on her chest as you wiggled in your place.

"Hi," she smiled softly, tilting her head at the unexpected contact. She wrapped her hand around your ankle, but didn't move your leg. "You tired?" she asked.

"No," you bit your lip, gradually moving your foot down her body. The alcohol was giving you a new sense of confidence, one that you seemed to be using to your advantage. You reached the waistband of Paige's shorts, anticipating her act of putting a stop to your antics. She did, her grip tightening on your foot.

"You're wasted," she shook her head, smiling brightly.

You mirrored her smile, stretching your arms out above your head. "Hmm," you hummed in satisfaction, "I fear...you're not wrong."

Paige's eyes trailed down to your underwear, cheeky styled gray panties with lime green lacing around the edges. Slowly but surely, her fingers made their way up your leg, softly grazing over your shin...and your knee...before reaching the soft skin of your thigh.

You felt a shiver run through you at her touch, the sensation heightened by the alcohol. Paige's gaze was steady, her touch light but purposeful. The contrast between her casual demeanor and the tenderness of her touch was striking, and you found yourself caught between exhaustion and a growing sense of desire.

Paige shifted her position, her fingers now tracing patterns on your thigh. "You know if you're gonna be stayin' here, I want you to be comfortable..."

"Yeah," you agreed in a whisper.

She moved your leg aside, climbing on top of you with her arms on either side of your head.

"I want you to feel welcome and cared for. So you just tell me what to do, and i'll do that for you."

Your arms wrapped around her neck, not fully understanding how the two of you had gotten here, but also not complaining either.

The truth was, Paige had wanted to kiss you all night. Ever since she had caught sight of you standing alone in the kitchen wearing a dinosaur science t-shirt, eyes glued to your phone as you carried around an untouched cup of...whatever.

When she had approached you, her initial intention had been to tease you, to break the ice with a comment that would get a reaction out of you. But as the night went on, she found herself drawn to you more than she had predicted. The more you laughed and interacted, the more she felt a magnetic pull. Each time your eyes met, she saw a spark of something genuine and kind in you that was hard to ignore.

She didn't just want this to be another hookup that got swept away in the morning wind, she wanted to know every part of you.

She crashed her lips into yours. The kiss was fiery and urgent, filled with the passion that had been building all night. It was as if time had stopped, and for those precious seconds, nothing else mattered. Paige’s hand pulled your shirt up, inching closer to your chest. She pulled away, resting up on her knees as she straddled you.

She grabbed hold of your wrists, pinning them above your head before reconnecting your lips. She kissed you harder this time, fingers clawing at your side and making you squirm beneath her. Her lips traveled down your neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses up until she reached the collar of her shirt. Although you had just put it on, you put up no fight as Paige took it back off.

Her eyes lit up at the sight of your bare body, nipples hard and presented to her like two pieces of candy. She swirled her tongue around one before taking it into her mouth, kneading the other with her hand. Soft moans fell from your lips, and it was all the motivation Paige needed as she moved to your other nipple.

Your back arched off of the bed, chasing the feeling of Paige's mouth around your sensitive bud.

She moved her attention lower, fingers ghosting over your clit. You shuddered, a response Paige took pride in. She ran her fingers up and down, the light gray of your panties darkening as they soaked in your slick.

"Stop teasing me..." you pleaded, staring down at her.

"Hmm but look how wet you are..." she murmured, "I think you like it."

She pressed her thumb to your clit, rubbing in maddeningly slow circles. You could feel the arousal seeping out of you, had it not been for the fabric of your underwear, you were sure it would've made a mess on her sheets.

"How 'bout we take these off..."

"Yes," you nodded eagerly.

Hooking her fingertips on the edge of your panties, she pulled them down your legs and dropped them to the floor.

She spread your lips apart, licking her lips at the way your pussy shined in front of her like a lost treasure. She licked her lips, blowing softly onto it. The cold air was a stark contrast to the heat you were feeling, and a whimper slipped past your lips and filled the room. It was like music to the blonde's ears.

She pressed a kiss to your core, her lips covered in your juices as she parted them to kitten-lick your cunt.

"Need more," you begged.

"What do you want Chloe?"

"Want your fingers."

She ghosted over the entrance of your hole, taunting you as she slipped the tip of her fingers in and took them back out.

"Stop..."

She laughed, finally giving in. She inserted two fingers inside of you, reveling in the way you immediately clenched around her. It was humbling that Paige could feel how wet you were, but hearing it was enough to make you want to sink into a hole and never come out.

You could already feel your release building inside of you, and Paige's fingers curled around inside of you to bring you closer. She swirled her tongue around your clip, flattening it out as she intensified the movements of her fingers.

"Paige," you called out, voice weak.

"Hmm," she hummed against your pussy, your back arched further.

"Ah, Paige!" you said more firmly, hand moving to tangle in her hair. You moved your hips against her, "Gonna come."

It was then that the pleasure ceased. Paige had taken her fingers out of you, removed her tongue from your swollen clit. She was unbuttoning her cargos, hastily pulling them down along with her boxers. You leaned up on your elbows, frowning at her.

She tossed her bottoms to the side, her shirt and bra soon went soon after. She roughly spread your legs wider, climbing on top of you and lining up her pussy with yours. The second they made contact, your head fell back onto the bed.

She held your thigh up to her chest, her hips moving powerfully with yours.

"Fuck," she groaned, her darkened gaze locking onto yours.

"Just like that, just like that," you mumbled, "gonna make me come so hard."

The bed creaked and cracked, the headboard faintly banging against the wall behind it. Your hands grabbed onto your tits, pulling at your nipples as Paige watched hungrily.

Your body shook as you came, your yells filling the room and clouding Paige's mind. She didn't stop, she still had to come. She continued to move against your overstimulated core, your hand coming up to grab her bicep.

"Shit!" you moaned, your brows knitted together. Your whines and whimpers kept her going until she finally came, her movements slowing before they came to a stop.

Her weary body collapsed onto yours, face buried in your neck as you both came down from your highs. She panted in your ear, the sound almost enough to make you want another round.

"Fuck that was good..." you finally said through a laugh.

Paige laughed as well, lifting her head to place a soft kiss on your lips, "I know."

___________________________________________________________

[ihearyou-jikook]

Also the sounds in Interlude: Dive are quite interesting 🧐

OMG! Hi anon.

You are my very first anon! Which makes you special, thank you. I appreciate you.

I never thought I would have one, and you may be my last. 😵 I guess we shall see!

The sounds in Interlude: Dive are very interesting.

@stormblessed95 has a very nice post on what Jimin has said about Interlude: Dive if you haven’t seen it, here is that lovely post.

I’m not sure if you wanted to know my full ramblings about this track but since you kindly sent in this ask and since Jimin has said

“I think it will be a fun experience to concentrate and listen to each (sound)”

I am going to take this opportunity and run with it. Since I love talking about Face. (This may be a long post)

There are so many interesting sounds in this track but I will mainly talk about the sounds that stuck out to me the most. And I will talk about them in the context of what Jimin said in the post that I linked above. He mentioned that he wanted an “emotional line” from Face-off to Like Crazy and to express happy and sad memories.

Disclaimer: These are all just my curiosities and will be all open-ended thoughts and imagery for fun.

Let's get it.

Sound: Rewind

Time: 0:00

Jimin has said that Face is about his feelings during 2020 in chronological order. This rewind sound at the beginning makes me curious to know at what point in 2020 did he start to feel the things he felt in Face-off, about the people around him? About the people, he thought he could trust and believe in. The ones who hurt him. Was this shortly after the pandemic started? Or right before when they were still active? 

***I am not in the Face-off is a break-up song camp. This song, based on the lyrics and the vibe of the song sounds like he is speaking to all the fake bitches who hurt and used him. He wants to be cleansed of dem' demons. Get it outttt. Get it outtt***

Sound: Breath

Time: 0:36

The breathy sounds seem to me like the sounds of crying, sniffling sounds.

It’s interesting that this sound comes before the cheering and concert monologue. It’s possible that some of these sounds may not be in a particular order since Jimin said he wanted it to be a dream-like state. But, could it be a representation of some feelings that were creeping up at the beginning of 2020 while BTS was still active? Things that he wasn’t ready to deal with at the time? Facing one’s self. 

If there is one thing I know for sure about the pandemic, is that when everything stopped in the world we all had to face a lot of things about ourselves at home. It was rough.

Sound: Something Dropping?

Time: 1:39

Warning: This curiosity is kind of out there.

The sound I clipped above, I don’t know if it’s difficult to hear, but to me it sounds like something dropping on the floor. 

This sound happens right before the start of the car engine and driving away. As if something is being left behind?

Like the last time, you left work and then found out you wouldn’t be going to work the next day because the world was in chaos. 😣 Was that Jimin, the performer, being left behind?

Here’s a western thought. Let’s get a little crazier.

That sound also reminded me of the sound of gambling chips hitting the floor or table and one chip landing vertically and rolling. Which then reminded me of the proverb “Let the chips fall where they may.” Which could be used to say: to allow things to happen as they may without trying to change them. 

Maybe finally allowing himself to feel all the emotions he may have been avoiding before the pandemic and allowing the process to play out? A feeling of letting go of all defenses so that you can face yourself? Again, a curiosity using a western phrase.

I don’t know, I don’t know. 🤷‍♀️ But it stood out to me and Jimin was right. This is a fun experience.

Sound: Pouring and Gulping a Drink

Time: 1:57

That emotional line that Jimin wanted to draw from Face-off to Like Crazy?

A job well done. Passed with flying colors if you ask me. 

That pouring and drinking sound really wraps it up and transitions to Like Crazy very nicely.

When Suga asked Jimin on Suchwita if Jimin came up with the tracklist himself.

Jimin said:

The details Jimin thinks about are really deep and all-encompassing. He’s very very good at creating an experience.

One of the many reasons why I love him.

I wish I could tell him personally, face to face, that the things he sets out to achieve creatively, he achieves them well and gets his message through to those who are listening.

You know, I know.

Sighhhh. I’ll just have to keep dreaming.

I would love to hear what other people think about Interlude: Dive, including you Anon!

Hit me up or @ me.

[alastia]

“Last words” meme

Cite the final line of five of your fics - your favorites, or the most recent ones. Tag five writers who should do this next.

Tagged by the lovely @lawlietismyfavorite !<3 This was really interesting to do! :D (And I love the simplicity of your last lines<3)

1. “Loneliness, Yuuri learns, is paralyzing when dancing with doubt.” (adrift - viktuuri)

2. “Keith runs for his life.” (rubatosis - sheith)

3. “Lips brush together, words whispered like promises. “I’m sorry.”” (glass shards - sheith)

4. ““Thank you,” Yuuri says instead, hushed and heavy and fingers shaking just so as they press back.” (easy, now - viktuuri)

5. “ It crackles, the silent line. Carries the final moments of a relationship they don’t know is worth saving. “ (static - viktuuri)

Not sure whom I follow that also writes, so if you see this, consider yourself tagged! <3

[ievenranthisfar]

Going Really Big At The Bigfoot 200

I’m only 165 miles in. Still more than 40 to go. Pain shoots up through the bottoms of my feet. Every step feels like the trail is covered in broken glass, but it’s just the early stages of trench foot setting into my waterlogged soles. For the last half hour I’ve been practicing meditative breathing—in throoough the nooose, outttt throooough the nooose—just to take my mind off the shudders of pain rippling through my body.

I might hyperventilate.

I’m so deep in the pain cave, I’m not sure where the entrance was. And it’s very, very dark in here.

Just then, a realization washes over my body—a glimmer of hope. I pick my head up and croak at my pacer, “Hey Marc, I just had a pleasant thought.” “What’s that?” “At least I never have to run Badwater now.”

Who needs some sissy 135-mile race when you can go 206.5 instead, right?

Of Course

My obsession with the Bigfoot 200 started the moment I crossed the finish line at Western States in 2016. States is the granddaddy of 100-milers, after all, and I had just executed a nearly flawless race. It felt like the culmination of something. No 100 will ever come easy, but it felt like I had figured them out. I needed something that scared me again.

And that’s how, one Friday morning in August, I find myself standing at a starting line in the middle of a remote section of the Cascade Mountains in Washington state. My mind is remarkably calm. There’s nothing to be nervous about; who can predict what’s going to come over the next 206.5 miles and 86,000 feet of elevation gain? I just have to let it happen at me. And it’s about to.

What it takes to run 200 miles apparently.

All smiles... at check-in. (Howie Stern)

My amazing (and still fresh-smelling) crew: Peter, Erin, Marc, and one big ole puppy. (Peter Dawson)

Laughing or crying? Hard to tell.  (Howie Stern)

A whole bunch of idiots. (Howie Stern)

3!... 2!... 1!... Go!

A mass of 160-something bodies lurch off the starting line. Within 50 feet, I find myself out front already. Someone’s gotta win. Why not me? I say to myself, a mantra I adopted many years ago.

Leading already? (Howie Stern)

The first miles are generally easy. Soft, dusty trails under a tunnel of pines. Three of us—me, Ryan and Ben—pull out front on our own, chatting intermittently with the standard ultrarunning small talk.

As we break out of the trees and into the volcanic rock, Ryan pulls away. Run your own race, I remind myself. There’s about 200 miles left of it…

We’re on the south side of Mount St Helens, the volcano which famously blew in 1980, instantly ripping apart hundreds of square miles in every direction. Our route will take us through the barren blast zone where little has managed to survive.

Thar she blows.

As we gain elevation, we enter the field of volcanic boulders. Bubbly, black and sharp, the rocks are a jumbled mess, and I hop my way from one to another, following large wooden poles that define the route. It’s fun, and I nearly slip and slice my entire body open only twice. I’m wearing my trusty New Balance Summit Unknowns. They’re too minimal to go the full distance, but they’re perfect for the nimble scampering I need to do here. My poor gaiters are not as lucky, however. The sharp rock makes quick work of the cords that wrap under my shoes, and soon they gaiters are flapping freely around my ankles, letting in all the dirt they want. I chuckle to myself, Of course.

I make it to the first aid station, Blue Lake (mile 12.2), feeling good, aside from a couple of bee stings I’ve already acquired because, Of course. I fill all four of my bottles, dump ice into my ice bandana and shovel some watermelon and grapes down my gullet. The next section is going to be a long one. More than 18 miles in the open sun.

I’ve caught Ryan, but he takes off so I hurry to follow him. Run your own race, I try to remind myself.

The trail winds us in and out of pockets of forest, mixed with sections of skeleton trees. They stand bare and bleached in the sun—a whole forest of death. Seems like a good sign.

When the trail opens up again, I can see that we’re going to descend down to a big river. I pick up some speed, slaloming down the rutted trail and enjoying the ride.

Suddenly, WHAP!

It all happens so fast I don’t even understand. All I know is that I’m flat on the ground saying the word, “Oof.” I pick up my poles, and one of them dangles in the air like a snapped crab leg. Of course I snapped a pole 15 miles into a 200-mile race. Of course.

Embarrassed but unhurt, I take off again. The broken pole whips around with every bounce. It’s annoying. Finally, I devise a system where I tuck it under one arm while I use the good pole in the other hand. For a brief moment, I feel like Killian at last year’s Hardrock. Except he dislocated his entire shoulder, and you just snapped a pole, I hear myself say. Right.

The course moves clockwise up and around the volcano, and soon I break into blast zone. Vast, desolate, gray and dusty, there’s little life here and even less water. But despite the direct assault by the sun, I’m moving well and feeling good.

Of course I broke a pole 15 miles in. (Scott Rokis)

Things are strange out here. I discover an insect I name the Sprinkler Bug because, well, I that’s what I thought it literally was at first. It chirps just like those lawn sprinklers that spin slowly and then come back fast. Tct, tct, tct, tct, tct, tctctctctctct! At another point, we climb switchbacks up a massive ridge of soft gray dust. I’ve never been to the Moon, but now I don’t need to.

I’m rationing water now. I still have miles to go before the aid station, but my 80 oz is running low. The race directions said something about a water source at mile 16 of the section; I’m just praying I’m close.

A half mile later, I hear something glorious: water. Coming around a curve, I spy a grove of plant life bursting from the rocks. I break through it to see a tumbling waterfall. “Oh-ho yeah!” I exclaim involuntarily and out loud. I pull out my Katadyn filter bottle and greedily begin guzzling water. It’s so clear and cold I nearly get brain freeze. It’s a proper oasis in the middle of a desert.

After dunking my hat and bandana in the glacier-fed water, I bound off with new life. Eventually, the trail hits a dusty fire road, and I begin to climb up on my approach to the Windy Ridge aid station (mile 30.3).

Pole still broken. Because of couse. (Howie Stern)

“Can anyone do some surgery on a trekking pole for me?” I ask as I blow in waving my janky broken pole around in the air. No one seems to want to really be responsible for this fool’s errand, but eventually someone finds some duct tape and gets to work. I know there’s no way they’re going to be able to make it functional; it’s fully snapped in one place and smashed in another. But seeing as I have no crew for another 10 miles, I just don’t want it whipping around anymore.

The duct tape job is so bad that it’s funny. The poor volunteer has created a splint from a spare—but not straight—stick which is then wrapped in black duct tape a few dozen time. The effect is that my pole has grown a malignant tumor. But it’ll do the job. I shove a few potato chips in my mouth, thank the volunteers for their help and bound off.

The Chase

There’s a short out-and-back to get to the Wind Ridge, and by the time I complete it, I come to a confusing sign directing 200-milers to turn right. But there’s no right turn, just desert. Hmm. I run a little more until I come upon Ryan. He’s standing in the trail waiting for me. “I guess we go this way?” he points to the trail we’re on. It’s not a full right turn like the sign suggested, more of a very gentle branch. But we decide it must be right and take off together.

Ryan and I share the next set of miles together, picking up our standard ultrarunner chatter again. We cross washes, bushwhack through dense underbrush and just start to bake in the sun a little. Turns out he’s doing the Triple Crown (Bigfoot 200, Tahoe 200 four weeks later and Moab 240 three weeks after that). Now I’m really impressed but also a hair confused why he’s running out front like that. No mind, we push on.

The trail eventually begins to climb up as we point towards the observation point and our next aid station at Johnston Ridge, mile 39.9. I start to get a little wild hair and think, Eh, let’s push it. I ramp up my speed and start to leave Ryan. I find that being able to come into aid stations ahead of other people is a huge mental boost, for me and for my crew (which in turn is another boost for me).

The view of Mount St Helens and the blast zone, from Johnston Ridge. (Peter Dawson)

I get into the aid, grab a hunk of watermelon and find my godsend of a crew, Marc, Peter, and Erin, for the first time in 40 miles. “Wow! You look amazing!” they tell me. “I’m having fun.” “You’re blazing out there!”

“I’ve got an assignment for you guys. You think you can do some surgery on this thing?” I hold up my sad, dangling Z-Pole. Everyone stares at it. Yikes. Finally, Marc offers a solution, “Hey, I’ve got a pair of adjustable Lekis. Why don’t you just take them?” He shoves them into my hands. They’re new, pristine, never been used. I feel bad sullying them. But I think it’s about my only option if I want to finish this thing. God bless you, Marc.

I munch some pretzels and we change out my Summit Unknowns for my cushier Hierro v2s. They’re the biggest shoes I’ve ever run in, but I’m crossing my fingers that they’re going to save my legs because #166milestogo.

By the time I’ve switched shoes, figured out the new poles and fixed my fussy SPOT Tracker we’re all required to carry, Ryan has taken off ahead of me. I wave to my crew and the volunteers and go to chase him down.

It’s now late afternoon. The sun is high and the trail exposed. I’m pushing the pace to catch back up with Ryan, and I think to myself, I don’t remember it being this hot a few minutes ago. Maybe I’m pushing too hard.

I’m starting to question myself when I see Ryan a few switchbacks below me. I lock in and start careening downhill. It’s a little surprising how quickly I catch him. He sort of grunts a nice “Hey” at me, and I realize he’s hurting. And with that, I’m gone.

Over the next few miles, bodies of several 100Kers litter the trail. It’s hot, and the distances between aid stations are too long for inexperienced runners. Poor 100Kers.

I saunter into Coldwater Lake aid (mile 46.5) feeling good. Really good. I’ve been looking at my splits, and I’m almost an hour up on course record pace. Did not see that coming.

Getting prepped for the first night already. (Peter Dawson)

“Hi, Peter!” (Peter Dawson)

“Bye, Peter!” (Peter Dawson)

Headlight in pack, I roll out. This section to Norway Pass promises to be one of the hardest—20 miles, more than 5,000 feet of gain, all as the sun sets. But for now, I’m just enjoying myself. The trail follows the length of Coldwater Lake, and the trees give me reprieve from the heat that’s undoubtedly out there in the sun. Life is good.

After what feels like a few miles, I cross a bridge and start heading up switchbacks. Ah, the climbing begins. All along the trail bushes of various wild berries burst open. Huckleberries, blackberries, raspberries, thimbleberries. I pluck their gifts as I go hiking by. Natural trail magic.

Eventually, I top out and find myself high above the landscape below. The sun hangs low in the sky, and the trail snakes its way under ridges and peaks. Up and over a crest and suddenly the whole of Mount St Helens is laid out in the distance. The volcano has her own ring of clouds clinging to her. And in the golden hour, everything glows amber. I’m totally gobsmacked. I turn another corner and suddenly Mt Adams comes into view in the far distance too. My insides ignite with pure joy. It’s hands-down the most spectacular sunset I’ve ever witnessed. And I have it all to myself.

I’m totally alone for miles and miles. Up here. I’m on top of the world. I slow down and breathe it in.

Continuing on, alpine lakes unfold below me, hidden from the rest of the world behind a fortress of peaks. A third of their surfaces are covered in white. For a moment, I don’t understand what I’m looking at. Then I realize it. They’re massive tree trunks, bleached in the sun. The lakes are covered in them. They must be from the blast, killed off decades ago and left to float on the lakes. I know I’m the only person who will see these tonight, and I feel immensely lucky.

Just then I hear a screech. It’s high and sharp and echoes off the mountains. There’s only one thing it can be. Mountain lion. Oh heeeey.

The sun sets at 8:25, but I’ve always liked to run in twilight so I keep going without my headlamp, seeing how far I can get before absolutely needing it. Turns out I can make it all the way to 9:00. OK, I’ve tempted fate long enough, I say to himself as images of me eating shit in the blackness play in my brain.

Headlamp on, I top out again and seem to be heading downhill. There’s a quick out-and-back to tag the Mt Margaret peak. I’m sure it’s lovely in the daylight. In the dark, it’s mostly just very dark.

I careen downhill, eager to make it to the next aid. Finally, a faint light appears in the valley below. I remember a race report saying that the aid would be visible but still very far away. But after what feels like a few miles, it’s still very far away. Maybe that’s not it? It’s the only light I see out there in the inky night. But is that really it? After what seems like an eternity of “Guess-If-That-Light-Is-The-Aid-Station” I come upon a sign that reads “Norway Pass 1 mile”. Guess it is. And it’s still kinda far away.

Another down in and I come into Norway Pass aid station, mile 65.2. After being alone in the dark for so long, the sudden buzz of activity and light is a little shocking. Someone brings a blanket—it’s getting chilly now—and I request a cheeseburger and Coke.

There’s a boy of about six years old who’s very excited to see me. “I said he was going to be here soon, and then he showed up!” he keeps repeating proudly. “I said he was going to be here soon, and now he’s here! Do you want chili? Coffee?” He flitters around me like an overly excited mosquito.

For a moment, I think of my own one-year-old boy at home, and I’m taken out of the race. Watching this kid bounce around, I think to myself, One day my baby will grow up to be a super-annoying little boy, just like this one.

Into The Heart of Darkness

Burger in belly, I shove off again. The trail out of Norway is in bad disrepair. Bushes obstruct the trail and dead trees lay littered everywhere. At one point, the trail seems to dead-end into pure forest. I stop, feeling it’s wrong, but go ahead and push my way through a mess of pines. After 20 feet of thick bushwhacking, I turn around. I try a different entry point and push through. Another 15 feet and nothing. I turn around again. I try a third time, but nothing. This seems bad. Finally, I turn around and look behind me. There’s a hairpin turn in the trail at about a 350-degree angle. A ribbon sits squarely but invisibly in the middle. Ahh. In my frustrated state, I can’t remember which way I’ve come. Or more importantly, where I’m going. Everything starts to look the same. I pick the right side and start going. But it feels weird to be going uphill. I stop and turn around to try the other direction. I make it a little way down this direction before I see something familiar feeling. Now I’m very confused. Stop. Breathe. Think. I pull out my iPhone and switch it on. We were required to load the race into our Gaia GPS app before the race. Thank God. I look at it. Yep, I’m definitely going the wrong way. Score one for Gaia.

Heading back in the right direction, I start to feel better. The trail improves, and I enjoy some night miles once more.

The trail seems to be crawling with all kinds of thing. I see toads hop away from my feet. Salamanders wriggle under leaves. And bugs of all kind squirm everywhere. I’m not having hallucinations, but my mind starts to play a game where it makes faces out of every leaf or rock I step over. At one point, I look down a see a rock that’s clearly Zombie Barack Obama.

I’m enjoying my time so much that I forget the last time I saw a marking. They’ve been spaced rather far apart, but, Maybe I just haven’t been paying attention? I keep going, suddenly on high alert. Nothing. The trail begins to climb. A lot. For some reason, that doesn’t feel right. My hands are on knees as I’m pushing uphill. Where is the damn marking? I’m starting to panic a little again. But, foolishly, I keep going. The markings HAVE been really far apart, I convince myself, not wanting to admit what I’m fearing.

Stop. Breathe. Think. Common sense finally appears. I stop and pull out Gaia again. I’m off-course. By a lot. Somehow I’m on a parallel trail to the correct trail. (Unless GPS is placing me slightly off, and I’m really on the right trail?) I wonder if I can connect to the right trail if I continue, but that doesn’t seem likely. What if I bushwhack? Dense brush, going fully off-trail, not a good idea, my common sense rebuts. The only option is to turn around. So I do.

It takes me a long time to get back. At least 15 or 20 minutes. I’ve probably added a minimum of two miles to my race by the time I get back to what Gaia tells me is the proper trail. There, I find a three-way intersection. I see flagging uphill, where I came from originally. And then I see a flag pointing down the trail I’ve just backtracked on. Meaning, according to that flag, I was on course. But my Gaia is telling me otherwise. I look off to the only trail I haven’t gone. No flagging, but Gaia says it’s right. I cautiously proceed, wondering what the hell is going on. Confusion mixes with anger with just a dash of annoyance.

A ways down the trail, I finally see it: a flag. Finally. A little farther, another flag. Farther still, another flag. OK, I must be on the right trail. It starts to dawn on me that the flag pointing downhill at the intersection was placed incorrectly—maybe by a bad course-marker? But by then, I’ve already gone too far to turn back and fix it. I’ve already added enough extra miles tonight.

The side effect of the episode is that now I’m super paranoid. Suddenly I can’t trust any marking. Any time I go more than a couple of minutes without seeing a ribbon, I start to freak. The forest suddenly feels a little more sinister.

That’s right when a bird hit me.

It flies right smack-dab into my chest. OK, weird.

A few minutes later, I hear something directly off to the right side of the trail. It sounds big. Like, pretty darn big. But thinking it’s just a deer, I don’t worry, and it seems to disappear. Fifteen seconds later, I hear it again, it’s directly off to the right. Still. It’s paralleling me. I hear it crashing through the underbrush, still precisely off to my right. IS THAT BIGFOOT??? Objectively I know it’s not, but also, I mean, the race is named for him. Now I’m proper freaked. I begin shouting and singing nonsense, hoping Bigfoot hates my voice. He must because I don’t hear him after that.

It begins to rain now. Just a little. But enough to make the trail slick.

I enter a small, narrow canyon with the trail built onto a shelf. Or at least that’s the best I can tell from the beam of the headlamp through the rain.

Suddenly, through the darkness I hear, CRACK!

Holy shit, there’s lightning now??

The thunder sounds as if it struck just a few hundred feet to my right. Then I think, Wait a second. There was thunder but no lightning. That’s weird. Then it dawns on it. That wasn’t lightning; that was a tree falling. OH GREAT. I look up suspiciously. THE ENTIRE FOREST IS READY TO FALL DOWN AND KILL ME. If I was paranoid before, I’m out of my mind now.

Finally, mercifully, I make it to Elk Pass aid at mile 76.3, alive. I immediately start blubbering about the trail marking fiasco. “It’s somewhere near Badger Peak,” I tell the aid station captain. “Oh, I know exactly where that is. Same thing happened last year. Someone vandalized the course.” “Oh man.” “Yeah, these stupid local kids on dirt bikes go out there and switch up the markings. Think it’s funny.” It’s a bit of relief to know that it wasn’t my fault. But also, what the hell?

I sit down to regroup and eat some more real food for the first time in hours. As I do, someone asks if I saw any wildlife out there. “Uh, well, I heard a mountain lion, got hit by a bird and am pretty sure I was being hunted by Bigfoot.” It feels good to have a laugh and know that all that’s in the past.

The good news is that I’m still well up on my splits. The course record feels within reach. I’m going for it. I wave everyone farewell and head out.

But the stress of the night has taken its toll. I feel worked. A cold is slowly materializing in my chest and nostrils, adding to my general feeling of shittiness. Not only that, I’ve been relying on gels between aid station stops for most of this first day, and they don’t seem to be giving me everything I need.

The trail rolls, then climbs. I start to feel a little foggy. It’s now very, very early morning, that magical time when things get weird in a race. Fifteen miles to the next aid and my first pacer. I just have to make it.

Things get colder too. This is not fun anymore. A deeply awful feeling suddenly washes over me. This is impossible. It’s too much.

A terrible idea takes root: I’ve just run 70 miles. I HAVE TO DO THAT TWO MORE TIMES. All that I just did. Again. Twice.

The flame that’s been burning inside me suddenly extinguishes. Poof.

It’s not that I don’t want to finish; I just don’t know how. It’s just not possible.

It’s a black pit. I’m standing at the bottom of the Dawn Wall, staring up, no rope, no clue what to do. That task in front of me does not compute.

This is impossible. It’s just not possible.

It’s the first time I’ve felt like dropping in years and years. But it comes on so suddenly that I feel like I’ve been punching in the gut.

I begin formulating my exit plan. When is it OK to drop? Where can I drop? What will that feel like? How is my crew going to feel? The last question hits me. I realize how shitty it will be if I asked them to take off almost a week of their lives to come out in the middle of nowhere, just to have me drop. I start to feel really bad.

You feel bad for them? What about you?? a voice asserts. Just think of the time and training and preparation and—screw it—MONEY that YOU put into all of this? It’s true. It’d be pretty shitty to just give up this easily.

Plus… the voice winds up for its final knockout punch. There’s a pause.

Yes?... I ask.

You know you’ll just have to come back and run this again if you drop.

Shit. I know it’s right. And I am not about to come back and run this dumb race again. No way.

And with that, I resign myself to finishing. I’m back in.

I top out of the climb and beginning rolling downhill. In the fog—both metaphoric and literal—my legs work at an embarrassingly suboptimal pace. Picking my way down the rutted-out trail, I finally reach the bottom and spill onto a dirt road. I’ve made it to the mile 91.3 aid station, Road 9327

Marc, Erin, and Peter are there. “I need to sleep,” I announce. They hurry me into the back of the rented Suburban. Mercifully, I rip off my dusty shoe and slide into the trunk. “Get me in 15 minutes,” I mutter as they shut the Chevy-branded sarcophagus on me.

I close my eyes, and all I can feel is cold and the ribbed, plastic bed of the truck on my back. I shift left and right. Nothing makes me feel as sleepy as I know I should feel.

I remember advice from my friend Bryce who said he wasted an hour trying to fall asleep last year. I’m determined to not let that happen. After ten minutes of bullshit, I sit up. My caffeinated gels must be working a little too well. I knock on the window and beg to be let out. Oh well.

By the time I’m out, my breakfast is ready. Eggs, bacon, coffee. It’s glorious. I scarf it greedily. It’s amazing. Then it dawns on me: I need to switch to real food. These formulated gels and chews can only do so much for me. If I’m out here for two and a half days, I need good stuff on my stomach. I ask them to whip me up a quesadilla to go.

Day Two Dawns

Reluctantly, I strap my shoes back on. Time to go. At least I have Marc with me now. We say goodbye and amble down the mountain farther. The morning light filters through fog, and things feel a little better. We chat and catch up. It’s nice to share miles with someone again.

Meanwhile, back in the crew car... #vanlife (Erin Gardner Dawnson)

Marc has downloaded the course onto to his InReach. After a bit, he announces, “OK, I think we have this climb and then we head down to the aid.” We climb for a while longer. At one point, in the total middle of nowhere, we come across some senior campers out for a morning stroll. “You guys out for a running? Doing the one-mile loop?” We just stare at them, unsure how to answer. “No, we’re not,” is the only appropriate answer that comes out.

Marc checks his GPS again. “I think it’s just this climb again.” This climb seems to have been going on forever. And then it keeps going even more. And more. It’s getting steeper too. I have zero recollection of reading about a monster climb here in any course description. “Dude. What the fuck.” This thing does not end. I look up and only see more climbing. We keep telling ourselves that it must top out at the next bend. But every time we hit a turn, we look straight up another half-mile of trail. The cursing becomes more frequent and emphatic. Marc keeps promising that we must almost be there, but every time, I wind up heartbroken. Things start to feel impossible again. At some point, I cross the 100-mile mark without fanfare; I don’t even notice until much later. One hundred miles in 25ish hours. Fast for a 200. But a sub-24 had a nice ring to it.

After what seems like five times too long, we reach the top of Spencer Butte. (Or Spence Butt, as I’ve obviously named it.) Rather unceremoniously, we drop off the top and down towards the aid. It’s a long descent, but not nearly as long as the climb. Ragged, we pop out onto a paved road and the aid. Mile 102.5.

I sit, regroup myself a bit, eat some more food and then off we go. Marc and I patter down the paved road. In the sunlight, I don’t feel terrible, but I don’t feel good either. After two miles, we see the turn-off, a small foot trail that seems to drop precipitously off the side of the mountain.

“Is this even a trail?” Marc wonders aloud. We switchback down a very steep descent, covered with leaves. It’s a screamer. “I think the last time anyone used this trail was last year’s race,” Marc says. “Agreed.” But it feels good to be running again.

Eventually, we bottom out and snake our way towards the Lewis River. And civilization. We cross a road. We start to see cars, hear people, catch tents. After spending the last day in the backcountry, the sudden assault of other human beings is a shock to my system. People who have no idea what I’ve been through or what I still have left to do. Just people merrymaking and lazily cooking eggs over campfire and walking down to the river to get a glimpse. Their presence energizes me a little. After all, people equal an aid station nearby, right?

Marc and I hit a well-trodden path that parallels the river, running upstream. The water looks crisp. I fumble to get some orange-flavored Honey Stinger chews into me.

We must be getting close, I think to myself. Then I say it out loud. “We must be getting close, right?” Marc checks his InReach. “We have a little ways to go.” “OK.” We wind inland some, away from the water. Surely we’re headed into the aid. I ask Marc again, but he only deflects and tells me we have a few more miles to go. My optimism starts to sour. Somehow I’ve conflated the mileage of different aid stations in my head. I’m confused. The trail continues to roll. We head along some cliffs, hear a waterfall, pass more day-hikers. I grunt to acknowledge them. In my head I imagine myself to be a small slobbering hedgehog of a creature. It’s probably funnier in my head than it actually is.

Finally, after what feels more eternal than the previous eternity, we see a sign telling us that the Lewis River aid station (mile 112.1) is a few hundred feet away. There’s a series of signs, a Caribbean theme I think. I recognize a Jimmy Buffett quote, I think.

I throw myself into the folding chair. I made it. Well, I made it to halfway-to-making-it. At least I’m still in the lead, I assume, by a considerable bit. Nevertheless, I want to get out there quickly. Or, rather, I want to want to get out there quickly. It feels good to sit. It’s morning, and I’m eating chili. I change shirts. We wash my feet. I have a long debate with Peter and Erin about whether to change out my shoes to the next half-size up for swelling but ultimately decided against it. Then, I brush my teeth. Oh God. It feels so good. I’d been looking forward to that for about 100 miles now.

I’m patched together as best I can. I feel like spare parts, but at least I’m still well in the lead. With a wave, I amble out of the aid station, back down the hill and past the possible-Jimmy-Buffett quote signs, with Peter now in tow. Just as we near the turnoff to get back on route, a thick bear of a dude comes flying up the trail towards me. He flashes a smile and says hi. I’m dumbfounded.

We turn onto the trail, and then I turn to Peter. “That can’t be another runner… right?” “I don’t think so, man…” “I mean… I don’t think that was one, right?” I get a little more uneasy.

We drop down by Quartz Creek and begin following a trail that’s only slightly better than a game trail. At times, the trail turns and shoots straight up the hillside, leaving us clawing our way up, hands on knees. Then it inexplicably turns down and drops again. Then up and down and up and down, without purpose. It's beginning to feel a little maddening. Then again, I realize, it’s sort of a metaphor for this whole thing, isn’t it?

Rain begins to fall in spits. It cuts the air pleasantly, and I allow myself to enjoy it. But after a few minutes, I realize I’m starting to get soaked. No bueno. I stop to slip on my rain shell.

A few minutes later, we hear a sound over our shoulder. Within a minute, that same bear of a guy we saw coming up to Lewis River aid, goes shooting past us. “Nice job, guys!” he hollers as he sails off. Gut punch. He really was a runner after all—Wes Ritner, I learn later. Well, there goes that. I’m sad but mostly just jealous of how well he’s moving. Within two minutes he’s out of sight.

The rain subsides, and we keep up-and-downing our way along the creek. Finally, we get to a crossing point, likely the last water for another 15 miles. Peter and I stop on a jumble of rocks to filter water into our bottles. I look around at the forest, the creek, the two of us sitting there, and it feels just really pleasant. If I wasn’t 118 miles deep into a race, we could just be two friends out a little adventure hike. I savor the moment. The weight of leading the race has slid off my shoulders finally. Now I just want to finish.

We drink our fill, top off bottles and then press on. Several minutes later, as we’re picking our way through thick, razor-like thorn bushes, we hear a crashing sound behind us. It’s Ryan from before. And he’s flying too. He says a quick hello, asks if I’m OK—Geez, do I look that bad? —and then shoots off uphill.

The next few hours feel like more wandering. We claw our way uphill on the “trail” only to drop back down again moments later. It feels pointless, and I become angry with whoever designed this stupid, stupid trail.

Soft rain falls off and on, and I foolishly feel grateful for the change of pace. But it starts to chill as we make our way up to some road that’s supposed to materialize yet never does.

Pretty par for the race course. (Peter Dawson)

I’m starting to feel truly, deeply exhausted. I want proper sleep. “I’m going to lay down to sleep once the sun goes down,” I announce to Peter. I check my watch. It’s 6:28. Sundown is at 8:00. I can’t wait till 8:00.

We finally reach the dirt road high up on a ridge. It’s a mess. A combo of rains and ATVs have torn it up, in that annoying way that ATV tear things up. But I’m happy to be making progress at least. The late summer sun shines through the wet trees, bathing us in golden light. I’m starting to stumble a bit.

I keep checking my watch. 7:41. 7:46. 7:52. 7:55. 7:57. Finally, it’s 8:00. I can officially sleep, based on my totally arbitrary designation. I begin hunting for a spot to lay down, but the rain has soaked most of the ground. After another few minutes, I spot a small dry patch behind an island of trees in the middle of the trail. Sleep time! I take my pack off, make a little pillow with it and lay down. The dirt is lumpy but soft. I can’t wait to sleep.

ZzzZzzzzzZZ! Smack!

ZzzzzZZZzZZzZ! Smack!

ZZZzzZzZZZ! Smack smack smack!

Shit. Mosquitoes. Really??

I’m absolutely swarmed in mosquitoes. They assault every square inch of exposed, short-shorts flesh. I swat them in vain, convinced I’ll still sleep. My legs and arms are pricked and pierced mercilessly. Shit.

I dig into my pack and produce a long-sleeve shirt which I lay across my legs like some sad pair of pants. It obviously does not do the trick at all. I toss angrily. I give one more valiant effort to ignore the pest, but nothing is going to stop this assault. “It’s not going to work,” I tell Peter, sitting up. “Let’s keep going,” I say, defeated.

We arrive at the Council Bluff aid station (mile 131) in the dark. It’s starting to get cold, and I’m starting to feel properly wrecked. The cheery aid stations folks can tell. They plop me under a blanket near the fire and someone offers me chili. “Sure, thanks.” They bring over a paper bowl lined with a flour tortilla and then covered in a very corn-forward chili. The tortilla-under-chili thing confuses my brain, but I eat it greedily as best I can.

“Alright, I want to go soon,” I tell Peter. If I can’t sleep I might as well keep moving. Chain of Lakes is less than 10 miles away, with all my stuff and another chance at sleep.

“Hey, you need to eat some more,” a volunteer comes barreling over to me.

“I’m good, really. I just want to keep moving.”

“No man, you need to eat more food.”

“I have been eating.”

“Listen, dude, I’ve run a lot of races. I’ve DNF’d before. You need to eat more.”

Weird flex.

“I don’t. want. food. I want to go.”

“I’ll get you some M&M’s.”

“Dude. I’m good.”

He continues to brag to me about running a 36-hour 100-miler or something. I guess if he’s trying to prove his prowess at being bad at ultras, I'm convinced. Either way, he won’t let me leave, and I’m starting to get really annoyed. The other volunteers can sense the weird scene unfolding. One of the volunteers offers, “How about some Oreos?”

I can sense that this woman is just trying to help me get out of here. “Sure,” I acquiesce.

I leave annoyed, with a paper towel sleeve of three Oreos, muttering to Peter.

The next hours drift hazily at best. We roll along, just trying to bide our time until Chain of Lakes. My head cold from before has fully bloomed into something serious. I shoot snot rockets from my nose every few minutes, and it’s getting harder to breathe. Cool.

As we climb up to a paved road, there’s a promise of civilization. Road signs tell us of Takhlakh Lake and its campground nearby. I assume that it’s part of the Chain of Lakes so we must be close. Really close.

Along the sides of the road, we see white frost delicately forming. It’s frigid and exposed on the road. We slip on gloves and await the aid station’s arrival. But instead of turning down the obvious road to what had to be the aid, the flags point us past and then turn off the road entirely and into the woods. It must just be a quick jog through the woods to get to the aid on singletrack, I think. But the aid never comes. Peter looks at his watch and tells me it must just be another half mile. But that passes. And passes again. And we’re still not there. I can feel despair setting in again. I foolishly say I’ll wait to eat food till I get to the aid station because we must be so close. When too much time passes, I fully stop in the middle of the trail to eat. My bar is rock hard in the cold.

Just then, we see lights. Within minutes, Jordan Chang and his pacer on upon us. We exchange a few pleasantries, and then they scamper off. He looks awesome. I feel like shit.

Ten minutes later, the trail spits us out onto a small road. We’re there, finally. I’m energized by making it this far. One-hundred and forty miles. The aid station is dead. After all, it’s 2:00 in the morning and below freezing. Erin and Marc are excited to see us, and I happily take some soup and quesadillas from the hearty volunteers who have shaken themselves awake on my account. But my focus is sleep. Marc informs me that his puppy has somehow popped the sleeping pad. “I don’t think it’s going to matter, man,” I say, fully exhausted.

I clamber into the back of our Suburban, remove my shoes and socks, slide into the sleeping bag and tell them to get me in 20 minutes. I’m very excited for sleep.

But almost immediately, I learn that I was wrong about the sleeping pad. The trunk of the truck is cold and hard with long, plastic grooves. It’s surprisingly uncomfortable, and the knobs of my bones feel like they’re poking out everywhere. It’s also freezing. I toss and turn, trying to find some position that doesn’t suck. Mostly I’m amazed that I don’t fall asleep. I never have a problem sleeping in real life. I start actively thinking about sleeping. I have to sleep. Yeah, no shit. OK, sleep now. Nothing. OK… sleep now. Nothing. OK, sleep… NOW. This is not looking good.

Just then there’s a bang on the back window. “Hey man.” It’s Marc. “It’s been 20 minutes.”

“Wha?”

“Twenty minutes.”

“Uhh, I don’t think I slept?” It comes out as a question. “Gimme another 20 minutes, OK?”

“OK.”

I return to my latest impossible task. I try to force myself to sleep for another ten or fifteen minutes, but to no avail. Finally, I give up and drag myself over the back seat of the car and spill out the door, shoeless. The gravel in the parking lot is cold and sharp on my battered, naked feet.

My crew seems a little concerned to see me. But I’ve already moved on. I’m just not going to sleep at all I guess. With a little too much effort, I slide on a pair of light tights and a jacket. I guess we’re still doing this…

When Hell Freezes Over

Marc and I give a wave and thank the volunteers before shoving off into the dark. We quickly hit some winding, descending singletrack. It feels nice to be moving well again. Soon thereafter, we hit the first of our three river crossings. It’s 3:00 am.

Bundled up for the night. Or so I thought. 

The water isn’t high, but it feels glacial. I yelp as I slip my legs in. The cold wraps up to my mid-thigh. A minute later, we emerge on the far other side, water-logged.

The next two crossing come fairly quickly and are equally unpleasant. But at least we’re done with them, I think.

The trail soon becomes a little less distinct, and it feels like we’re meanderingly aimlessly through dense forest. Thick, lush underbrush, heavy with the evening’s rain spills over the trail, and we’re doing whatever one level below bushwhacking is. We continue like this for some time, and I start to realize that I’m getting wet. The water-bedazzled foliage shows no signs of letting up, so we stop to slip on rain jackets.

I’m getting cold. Like, really cold. My teeth start chattering. Then they start chattering really loudly. My body starts shaking. Why is my body shaking? The underbrush doesn’t let up. Neither does the shaking. I start to feel like shit. Like, really not good. This is not good.

Marc pushes on in front of me. As I fall behind, I realize something is very wrong. I weakly squeak out to him, “Hey man, I’m exactly sure what hypothermia is… but I’m pretty sure I have it.”

In the moment, I couldn’t access the file in my brain labeled “hypothermia.” I couldn’t recall what it was. But it seemed like this must be it.

Marc spins around and sees me. Hypothermia confirmed. “Put on everything you have,” he instructs me. I don’t have much more in my pack, but I zip up my rain jacket completely, to that awkwardly high point that rain shells zip to. Only the round of my face peeks out. “Can you eat anything?” I pop a Gu. It’s cold and thick and caramelly and a terrible flavor.

I can barely speak through my chattering teeth. My body spasms violently. We just have to move. Help is not coming. The Klickitat aid station is mile 158.1, almost 20 miles away from Chain of Lakes. I just have to hold on till morning.

We start moving again. My body is revolting against itself. I feel frozen down to my bones. I realize my breath is escaping unused into the air, so I pull my jacket up over my mouth and breath down into it, blowing warmish arm down the front of me. I’m not sure if this is actually doing anything, I think to myself. But at this point, just the fact I’m able to come up with any sort of attempt at a solution feels like a win.

Time passes. The clattering and shaking continue. I eat an extra gel. How does this all end?

Finally, we start to see the first glimmer of morning light in the sky. We hear a bird. Then, another. Morning is coming. We couldn’t have hit the river crossings and wet underbrush at a colder time—the dead of late night—but the day was slowly clawing its way back.

Eventually, my shivering slows and finally stops. I’m still cold, but I feel like I have my body back, at least a bit. I’m still alive. What a weird, horrible dream.

In the morning light, we climb up to an empty paved road. I get that disorienting feeling of seeing something manmade again. Across the road, the trail drops into a forest. We drop down too. I find myself moving decently again. The forest feels huge. Giant redwoods tower overhead. It’s dank and dark. The air hangs heavy with the glorious smell of wet, rotting wood. Green and brown. Everything else that has happened melts away. I feel like I’m in the presence of magic. My mind tries to wrap itself around where we are, but it can’t. The only thing I think of is that we’re truly in the middle of nowhere. I suddenly become very grateful. I’m far out, way far out here.

We wind through the forest for a while before spitting out on a series of dirt logging roads. Their presence feels jarring and blasphemous.

We cross another paved road and begin to climb a hill. A very steep hill. We quickly realize that we’re starting our climb up to Elk Peak. The last test before we reach aid. The thought energizes me a little. I pop in my trusty iPod Nano loaded with music from 2012 and start power hiking.

The high dissipates after a mile, and it’s just really fucking hard again. Then I feel it, a twinge in my left heel. My Achilles. Literally. It’s my nemesis. An injury that’s haunted me for years. I instantly worry. Any weird step and it could be the end of my race. The only upside is that I can’t believe I’ve already gone 155 miles with zero problems. Look at you thinking positive!

I slow down, hoping to be kinder to my stupid leg. The climb drags on. Every time I’m sure that we’re topping out, the mountain keeps going. It’s not just false summits. It’s tiny false peaks that raise before us. First, it’s annoying. Then it’s infuriating. Then, eventually, it’s just hilarious. Our frustration gives ways to pure, hysterical acceptance of our situation. A running joke, about running.

Just as it seems that we can’t possibly hit another false peak, we see another, rocky peak rises in front of us. But this one is different. It’s an out-and-back. Our out-and-back. We scramble up the sheer, angled rock and finally arrive at our goal.

The view is breathtaking, in the truest sense of the word. We’re surrounded by it. In 360 degrees, the Cascades stretch out around us. Dense, green forests. Rocky, gray peak. Wispy, white clouds clinging to them all. I remember the course description, word-for-word. “Look out from Elk Peak at Helens, now so far in the distance. And Adams, once so far away, now so close.” My mind searches to understand what I’m looking at. Adams is right there. And Helens is so far away. I think back to days? weeks? months? ago when I was next to Helens and Adams was so far away. I’ve traveled 155 miles on my own power. How am I supposed to understand that?

Just a taste of the Cascade, savored by other runners. (Scott Rokis)

I suddenly don’t care about racing anymore. I feel like I’m floating. As we descend of the slightly-sketchy rock face of the peak, another runner and pacer amble up. They’ll pass us on the way down to Klickitat. Oh well.

We bomb down to the aid, getting passed on the way in, of course. I can’t wait to get my still-soaked shoes off for a short respite. They’ve been drenched since the river crossings. Finally, we pop out on a small dirt road in a break from the trees. It’s startling how bright and warm it is. I'm not sure what time of day it is, but it feels like mid-afternoon. But maybe it’s not.

A very nice woman with a thick Eastern-Bloc accent attends to me. We explain the hypothermia and soaked feet, and they lay me up a reclining camp chair. A medic introduces himself and starts to work on my feet. They’re mushy and soft, with deep trenches running through them. He rubs them down with alcohol and sets up next to a gas-powered heat lamp. In the openness of the harsh sun, the heater feels vulgar and awkward.

I sit for longer than I want. But I don’t care. I’ve just been out there for 20 miles. And I have another daunting 20 to go before I see my crew and gear again. Jordan comes in (He must have slept somewhere. Lucky.) He leaves before me. The Eastern-Bloc woman offers to rub down my legs. I don’t particularly want it, but she seems very into it. She spends a lot of time on my calves. It’s getting weird.

After what feels like half an hour, we finally gather our things to leave. My feet are dry now, but despite our best efforts, my shoes are still woefully waterlogged. The moment I slip them back on, I feel the squish. Great. All that’s left to do is keep moving.

We thank everyone for their hospitality and slide off into the forest. The dark, foggy forest has given way to a bright, open one. Hyped on the aid station stop, I feel good, and we start to crank again. We roll through the hills, underneath the ancient pines. Things are looking up.

That’s when the mosquitoes hit. Not just a swarm. A cloud. They descend on us, thick and swirling. Never in my life have I seen anything like this. I swat them away, and I feel like I’m batting at seagulls. They nip at us. We shriek and try to outrun them. It’s no use. They’re everywhere.

After all these miles, it finally dawns on me: This race never gives you a break. As soon as you start feeling good at any point, you’ll suddenly get blindsided by some totally unforeseen thing that smacks you across the face and leaves you crying foul.

“I’ve got some wipes!” shouts Marc. Moments later, he produced two individually wrapped Off! wipes. God bless him. I’ve never seen mosquito wipes before, but I decide right then and there that they’re going in every race pack I ever carry from now on. We tear them open and frantically wipe our entire bodies down with them. Almost instantly the mosquitoes disappear. It’s a miracle.

Mosquito-free, we’re now left to make our way through the forest. The trail begins to wind up and down steep hillsides in seeming random fashion. I feel lucky to have Marc with me. I’d hate to be out here without him. I tell him that. “This is really remote, man. Like, really remote. If you got in trouble out here—like serious trouble—you’d be fucked.” I say this knowing we have still have 15 miles to the Twin Sister aid. I try imagining being out here without a pacer, but I can’t.

It’s hot now. I remember something about how the description said there was no water in this section. Marc pulls out his InReach and spies a small lake just off-trail. We make a small detour to refill our bottles, but mostly to just dump water over our heads. It’s a rare moment of pleasure.

It’s late afternoon, I think. Things start to get really fuzzy. I’ve now been up for two and a half days. No sleep. Hypothermia. A bad cold. Other stuff, probably. I can’t think straight. I just need to be at the aid station. It’s hours away. My waterlogged feet feel like I’m stepping on shards of glass with every step.

Marc is talking, but I sense myself snapping at him. Nothing’s funny anymore. Or fun. All I feel is the need to be somewhere else. I snap at Marc again. For a moment, I have clarity. I pull out of myself and see what’s happening.

“Hey dude, I’m really sorry I’m being a jerk. I’m literally in survival mode right now.”

I realize I’m no longer in control. My body has taken over. We’re in full “flight” mode. The only thing that Andy Pearson—the organism, the collection of cells and DNA—cares about right now is pure survival. I’ve lost agency over myself. The animal is taking over.

We start breathing through in through our nose… out through our nose… in through our nose… out through the nose. It’s loud and raspy. I realize we sound insane. But it’s the only thing that’s taking our mind off the pain in our feet, any bit. In through the nose… out through the nose… in through the nose… out through the nose… It’s working, a little. We’re running at full speed now. But I’m also feeling dizzy. I’m not sure how much longer we can keep this up. But at this point, we don’t care. We just need to not be here right now. In through the nose… out through the nose… in through the nose… out through the nose…

After about 30 minutes, I realize we’re actually going to pass out, and I pull on the brakes. We slow to a walk for a bit. My brain comes back online a little bit. I’m back in control.

“Hey Marc, I just had a pleasant thought.” “What’s that?” “At least I never have to run Badwater now.”

The afternoon wears on. We work our way through the forest. The aid station feels impossibly far away. At one point, Marc takes out his InReach and says we’re not too far away.

The landscape opens up, gets a little rocky. I’m beginning to teeter.

Another swarm of mosquitoes descends on us. Our Off! wipes must have worn off, and Marc doesn’t have any more. We pull out the old used ones he stuffed in his pocket and try to rub ourselves down again, but it doesn’t seem to work. We just have to run faster. Marc takes off. I can’t keep up. A massive hill rises in front of us. I can’t do it. Marc’s gone. Fully gone. He’s bounded up the hill. I’m at the bottom of it.

I suddenly feel alone. Utterly alone. I can’t believe he just left me. Despair floods in. I’m angry at him. I know it’s not fair. He’s out in the middle of nowhere getting his ass munched on mosquitoes like me, while he clocks 50-something miles to support my ill-advised misadventure. But it doesn’t matter. I feel so utterly fucking alone.

I trudge uphill. A hill that seems to never end. I sit down on a rock in protest. I can’t move. I wait a few minutes and then pick myself up again and trudge off. I make it to the top of the hill but don’t see Marc. A few more minutes, and I find him, waiting for me. He apologizes for jetting; he was just trying to get out of the mosquitoes. It’s total fair, and I push down my anger. He’s out here for me.

We move on. The sun sets. We’re back in the forest. Marc’s been with me since the middle of the night to the next day now to the next night again. And we’re just trying to go 37 miles. Damn.

We near the aid station. Or at least we think so. We’ve taken a turn-off, which should be a sign. I’m starting to get really wobbly. The lack of sleep, the distance, everything is compounded. I go through periods where I’m just not there. It’s something akin to blacking out. I’m coming full unraveled. My have never been in so much pain. I don’t actually know how I’m going to take each new step. I black out again momentarily.

The trail become narrow in places with tight ledges and drop-offs below. I think about how I’m glad to have a pacer and how it’s good I’m not super messed up right now. I wobble again. Maybe I am messed up. I can’t tell. I black out again. Probably. I’m not sure. I’m not sure I can finish this thing.

Finally, we turn a corner and see the aid below. Holy shit. We’re here.

I stumble into the Twin Sisters Aid Station (mile 177.5) feeling like I’m floating. Everything is surreal. But I’m seated in a camping chair. A hamburger materializes in my hands. I can’t believe how good I suddenly feel. I’m not running anymore. I’m safe. My brain and body relax. I start cracking jokes with aid station people.

That’s when someone pops his head into the tent. “Welcome, welcome! Tell me what’s going on.” He grabs my arm. “You got a hamburger, great. What’s going on? My name’s Mark. I’m going to help you out.” He grins widely. His breath smells of whiskey. I realize that he’s totally hammered. “We’re going to take good care of you. Let’s get those shoes off and see those feet.”

He wrenches wrestles my shoes off. My soles are a horror shoe. White, puckered, fleshy, with deep crevices running through. “I’m so excited to have you here!” Mark the Medic twitters. “I wait all year to come up here and help you crazies patch up your feet.” He’s an odd bird, but very sweet, and I don’t care. Anyone willing to take care of my 180-mile feet is an angel. Mark and his assistant go to work.

They do all sorts of things to my feet. What? I don’t know, but it seems like magic. I just huddle under my blankets and munch on my hamburger. It feels weirdly nice to be fawned over like this. I’m warm and safe. Pleasure radiates from my brain.

Masticated feet are hilarious! (Peter Dawson)

Not so funny anymore. Look at how white my feet are. (Erin Garnder Dawson)

We talk about my hypothermia, and Mark tells me that my body was probably just so worn out it couldn’t produce its own heat anymore. That was almost 20 hours ago at this point, but obviously I was still compromised. On top of that, my head cold is full blown now. Snot and other things are pouring out of me, and my voice fades in and out barely able to escape my throat. If John Mayer’s girlfriend’s body was a wonderland, mine is the opposite of that.

“I need to sleep,” I tell them. Somehow, this time, I’m pretty sure it won’t be a problem. Mark says they have a tent all set up for me with a cot. He and Peter help me up and lead me off into the dark. They deposit me into a small tent with a cot and sleeping bag waiting. “Here,” Mark says. “Wrap yourself around this.” He hands me a Nalgene full of hot water. “It’ll help bring your core temperature up.” I put it in the bag with me. It’s very warm. I’m instantly worried that I’m going to pee myself, but don’t think much past that.

“This is so cool,” I tell Mark and my crew who are staring down at me on the cot. They look inquisitively. “I’ve never been this messed up in a race before. Like, I’ve always seen people laying on cots and stuff. But now I’m actually getting to be one of them. It’s never happened before. This is so cool.” They laugh, knowing I’m insane. I probably am.

I tell them to get me up in 90 minutes. They leave. For a moment I worry that I’m not going to be able to fall asleep yet again.

Suddenly I slip into inky, warm blackness.

Resurrection

I sit up straight in bed. Time to run! I think excitedly. I look down at my watch. It’s been exactly 89 minutes since they left me in the tent. Just then, I hear a ziiiiip at the door. Peter pokes his head in. “Hey man, you alive?” “Yeah man,” I grin. “I’m alive.”

It’s turned dark outside. I hobble out of the tent, happy to have not peed myself. Back in the aid station tent, I feel like a totally new person. Mark the Medic checks my feet again, giving them a once-over. “Look at those things! Beautiful!” he exclaims. “Almost good as new!” I had to give it to him, they did almost look like they hadn’t spent the last 20 hours soaking in water.

Twenty-nine miles left. Easy-peasy. I gather my new gear, scarf another half a hamburger. During my downtime, I’ve managed to slip to tenth place. I’m just happy to be alive, so I take my sweet-ass time.

Finally, I’m ready. Peter’s ready. We wave a merry goodbye to everyone, and we’re off.

It’s a 2.7-mile trek back to the main Klickitat Trail, all uphill. I run it. I don’t just feel good. I feel great. Holy shit, I think. We cross paths with a few runners coming downhill to the aid, and I cheerily say hello. I even start to drop Peter a little. Maybe it’s because of my 180-mile warmup. Either way, we top out much more quickly than I expect.

Back up top, we fly down the trail, catching up about everything that’s transpired in the last 20 hours or so. The night is cool—not cold—and we soon feel pleasantly warm inside our clothes. After a few miles, we hit the short out and back to Pompey Peak. We climb the switchbacks up to the bald rock peak. Everywhere around us, we can sense the mountains and the tree, and we joke that it might be a lovely view. But in truth, it is. The sky is an explosion of stars above us. We linger a moment, savoring the rewards of our deep labor.

Another runner takes in the night sky on top of Pompey. (Scott Rokis)

“It’s all downhill from here,” I tell Peter as we drop off the top. And it’s true. The trail eventually turns downward, and we begin descending quickly. Just as I feel like maybe I’m home free, we come to a massive downed tree laying across the trail. I groan with annoyance, but in the grand scheme, it’s not so bad.

I detach my/Marc’s Leki poles, pull myself up and top, reattach the poles and then use them to hop down on the other side. We continue on. A minute later, we come to another tree. Argh. I do it again.

This time, when I clear the tree, I see another one just a dozen feet again. And then there’s another. And another. It’s an absolute mess out here. Fallen trees everywhere. Fallen trees that fell over more fallen trees. Each time, I have to detach my poles to free my hands to climb over. Each time, I grunt. Each time, it sucks more and more.

I don’t remember anything about this in the course description, I tell Peter. But here we are.

“I didn’t really expect to be doing fucking parkour at mile 185.”

Any happiness that I was riding before has been totally sucked out of me. I’m annoyed and miserable again. Then, I realize that I’m annoyed and miserable. I pull out of myself to see what’s happening. I remember my revelation from earlier. The moment you feel good out here, the race punches you in the face. No, I think. I’m not going to give in. I fight against the anger—not super convincingly—but I fight nonetheless. I don’t let it take hold.

It lasts for maybe a mile and a half. (It’s hard to have any objective understanding of distance at this point.) It’s awful. But I don’t give in to the anger. What’s the Yoda quote? “Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering.” Well, I was already suffering so no point in throwing the other three in, right?

Eventually, the trees thin out and the trail flattens. We emerge from the forest into… green. Just all green.

We’re in a green tunnel. Green grass underneath, overgrown green grass to our left and right, green trees beyond that. We’re on what appears to be an old road, now reclaimed by nature. There’s a slight downhill grade so we just roll with it. It’s nice to be getting easy miles in again. It’s also, just really… green. It’s all we can talk about. Our headlamps enhance the strange tunnel-ness of it all. I use it as fuel, ticking my speed upwards. Time to get this shit done.

The green tunnel seems to last forever. I’m running my face off. After a while, the monotony of the speed and vegetation creates mental drag. I occasionally stop to walk for a minute or two before picking the pace up again.

After an hour(?), we see something in the distance. Something manmade. It must be the aid station. As we near it, it gets smaller and smaller. Once we’re finally on it, I realize it’s a table stocked with bottles upon bottles of tequila. Gag. “Oh, this is the surprise that Candice promised out here.” I think back to the pre-race briefing where the RD hinted that she might have a surprise out here for us. For some reason, I figured it’d be someone in a bigfoot suit to scare us. I’m momentarily grateful because I don’t think I could handle that shit right now. Either way, there are a lot of nonsensical things about this sport, but ultrarunners’ fascination with taking a shot of tequila late in the race I will never understand. Needless to say, we do not partake.

On the upside, I assume this is a sign that the aid station is close. Ten more green minutes later, we round a bend, and the Owen’s Creek Aid Station (193.5 miles) comes into view. It’s all flood lights, heat lamps, and sizzling bacon. There’s also another—shall I say, “difficult”—runner already there. His family stands around him, trying to appease his whims. He snaps at them, complaining about stuff. I’m just happy that it looks like I’ll be moving up a place.

I want to get out there fast. I grab a plate of eggs and bacon—because, fuck it—and coffee—because, also fuck it. I finish half of everything and then declare it’s time to go.

The End

Thirteen miles to the finish. I check my watch again. It’s around 4:30 in the morning. All day my goals have been slipping. From CR to winning to sub-60 to just staying alive. But now with 7:00am on the horizon—meaning a 70-hour finish—I have a something to shoot for again. It’s going to be close though. I check my race plan, just 385 feet of elevation gain. Hell yeah.

Peter and I barrel down the gravel-and-rock road. It’s two miles to the paved road and the final leg of my journey. We make it to the road and turn left. Pavement. Civilization. Weird again.

As we pound the road, we can feel the earth starting to slowly awaken. Sunlight yawns and gently shakes the slumber from its eyes. Clouds of mist billow and rise from meadows next to us. Sleepy cows stare back at us, suspiciously. I feel alive myself.

The road is remote and desolate. There’s no shoulder whatsoever, so we find ourselves hugging the sides, hoping no one comes barreling around a curve. It’s Monday morning, after all, I think to myself. What will someone on their way to work think if they see my bag of bones shambling along the road? And then I think, Holy shit. Monday morning. People are going to work.

But I have a deadline to hit. I can smell the barn. I’m cranking. In fact, I start to pick up speed. I feel like I’m flying. I feel like I’m running faster than anyone’s ever run before. I’m in a full-out sprint.

Just then, I realize there are mile markers along the roadside. Great. I can see just how fast I’m going. I hit a mile marker and note the time. A few minutes later, I see the next one. I check my watch again. Well that can’t be right. Ten and a half minutes? I note the time again. The next mile marker comes. Eleven minutes?? I feel like I’m running faster than I’ve ever run in my life. Really, I’m running 11-minute miles. Cool.

All things considered, it’s still pretty fast. I guess.

And it was because a few minutes later, we come upon another figure gimping along ahead of us. He’s listing ever-so-slightly to his right side, as all ultrarunners like to do at the end of a race. And he’s alone. Ouch.

“Hey.” He greets us. “Hey. Are we on the right side of the river?” Oh boy.

“Yeah. This is right.”

“Oh, ‘cuz I thought we were supposed to be over on that side.” He points across to the opposite bank, far away, which has just disappeared from view in a jumble of forest.

“Well, that’s where we’re going. But we’re going to get up to another road and then turn to take a bridge over it.” I can’t believe I can recall all the details of the course three days in. Wish I had remembered something about all those downed trees…

Our friend is still confused, but at least he’s moving. So we bid him adieu and press on. Eighth place.

I like the number eight. That sounds good to me.

We pick our speed up again and start flying (relatively speaking). Eventually, the road passes a cluster of house, barns, and garages. More civilization. A good sign.

We turn onto a more major road. Another good sign. I can see the map in my head. I’m so close. So close. Holy shit I’m close.

At some point, Peter tells me he has to stop to take care of “some business” but tells me to keep going, and he’ll catch up.

Suddenly I’m alone again.

But it’s a good alone. Just me and the countryside. I pass more houses. Front yard set up in permanent yard sales. A sign for a farmer’s market. Tractors. A truck rumbles past.

Finally, I see a bridge. I know this bridge. I saw this bridge three days ago. I’m close.

I cross the bridge and the river below. I’m close.

A few hundred more feet, and I’m at an intersection. Of a highway. With gas stations and cars and stuff. More civilization. It’s all surreal.

I cross the highway and follow the flags onto a smaller backroad than curves to parallel the highway.

This is it. The home stretch. All alone, I think back over the last few days. How many has it been? What is today? I think back over everything that’s transpired. The moments of despair. The moments of elation. My crew. The mountains. The out-there-ness. The volcano. The forests. The hypothermia. The doubt. The quesadillas. (Oh, the quesadillas.) The shoes. The changes within myself. The miles. How many has it been?

I savor every step now. I will not be back here again soon.

There’s a gentle curve in the road, and the high school comes into view. A minute later, I find myself passing through its fence, into the parking lot. I see cars and trucks and piles of gear scattered everywhere and being sorted. It hit me how much goes into this. Not just my journey but everyone’s.

I follow a small sidewalk, through a short chain-link fence, and suddenly I’m on the track. It’s soft underfoot. Almost disarmingly so. It’s black. It has long white lines that I follow. I hear people cheer from the shanty town of awnings across the field, at the finish line. The finish line.

I take in everything. The pine trees. The brown, parched grass on the infield. The sky. The electrical wires. A pair of crows perched above. My mind floats inside my skull.

Smelling the bar, hard. (Scott Rokis)

Moments away. (Marc Laveson)

I turn the final corner and look down the barrel of the finish, now populated with the screaming skeleton crew of a crowd.

There’s nothing left inside me except joy. Pure, vibrating joy. I’m swimming through it. My face already hurts from grinning.

And then, I’m done. I cross the finish line. It’s been 69 hours, 29 minutes, and 5 seconds. 206.5 miles—call it 208 with the sabotage. I’m done. It’s done.

Done. (Scott Rokis)

Like, really done. (Scott Rokis)

What running 208 miles feels like looks like. (Scott Rokis)

After The Party, It’s The After-Party

I lean over my poles as people swoop in to congratulate me. Candice is there. We exchange a few blurry impressions of the course. I tell her it’s the most beautiful course I’ve ever been on. Someone else asks if I want to eat anything. I never want to eat anything right after a race. I decline. “Maybe a grilled cheese?” she offers. “That sounds suspiciously like a quesadilla,” I shoot back. Everyone laughs. I laugh because I’ll never eat another quesadilla again in my entire life.

They sit me down in a camping chair and cover me with a blanket. I suddenly become acutely aware of how badly I stink.

What the feeling of three days of running looks like.

Fat feet. (Toenails previously removed.)

Our listing, confused road friend appears a short time later. After lingering at the finish line the requisite amount, I’m ready to get into a hotel room and shower. We pile into the massive Suburban. With the enclosed space, I once again become acutely aware of how badly I smell. I apologize to my crew. I’ve put them through enough already.

The sun is fully up now. It’s warm and aggressive. I’m standing in the parking lot of a hotel I booked months ago. I get in the room throw my bags down and slump into the shower. After 20 minutes(?)—time is meaningless—I get out, throw on clothes, and check my phone. There’s a message from Ethan Newberry on it. “Dude, congrats on the finish!!! Do you want to be on Ginger Runner Live tonight?” Sure, that sounds like an intense way to end this whole thing.

I exit my room out into the harshness of the late morning sun. I need food now. In cut-off shorts and flip-flops, I stagger down to the highway and follow it for a half mile until I come to Packwood, Washington’s finest—and also only—grocery store. Inside I proceed to buy the most insane things I can find. A platter of bright red colored Chinese pork of some sort. A bag of spicy pickles. Cheese sticks. A bag of cheese-flavored potato chips. A pint of cookie dough ice cream. A six pack of some local IPA. My only solace is that I’m probably not the strangest thing to blow through this roadside grocery store.

This is the kind of quality advertising the have in Packwood. A picture of elk fighting with a Mountain Dew logo over it and a picture of another elk with a Pepsi logo over it with the tagline “Delivering the fun.”

As I get to the register to check out, the cashier asks me how I’m doing. As I go to answer, I simply croak. A “…” Nothing comes out. A weak noise escapes my mouth, like a squeaking, frightened animal. I try again. Again, nothing comes out. I smile. She smiles back at me. It’s awkward.

The cold I’d been experiencing all race has finally fully manifested itself. Somehow between the stress of the miles and the illness, my vocal cords have packed up and gone home. I’m totally incapable of any sort of speech. I simply croak a “thanks” and retreat back to the hotel, where I proceed to feast and take a second bath again because, hey, I earned it.

The hotel after every 100-miler or more is always a blur. This is no exception. I knock back a beer and turn the Discovery Channel on. At some point, the Deadliest Catch lulls me to sleep.

I wake two hours later. The pain in my legs is all-consuming. I test my voice again. Nothing. I have to be on Ginger Runner Live in three hours. I brew some tea in the hotel coffee maker and add some lemon and honey that I’ve procured somewhere.

After two cups of tea, I venture out of my room. I hate sleeping.

It’s mid-afternoon now. I hobble down to the Blue Spruce Saloon. Anything called a saloon automatically has my vote. The enter and find a vast expanse of a place. But everyone is huddled around the curved bar at the front. Who patronizes the Blue Spruce Saloon in Packwood, Washington, at 3:00 in the afternoon on a Monday? Old people. RV types. Locals too. They’re all in there getting hammered off $3 Coors Lights. It’s fascinating.

I try to order a Stardust IPA—the most expensive and obviously douchiest—thing on the menu. The woman working the bar can’t understand a word I say. Mostly because I’m not really saying words. Just sounds. It’s instantly embarrassing again. I feel like the weirdo in a bar of retirees getting schlitzed at 3:00 in the afternoon. To be fair, I guess I am the weirdo who just ran 208 miles.

I enjoy my beer and the general feeling of not-running before hobbling back to the hotel.

At around 6:00 we start Ginger Runner Live. I’ve now slept a collective 3.5 hours in 3.5 days. Groovy.

I always love talking to Ethan and Kim, and it’s fun to be able to talk about the race with such fresh, raw emotions. At one point, Ethan turning to Kim and says, “I don’t think we’ve ever had someone on the show who just finished a race while the race was still going on.” It’s true. People are still out there running. God bless them. I’m not.

A few times, my voice goes out entirely and is replaced by what can only be described as a death rasp. At least it adds to the drama of the whole thing, I think.

But I make it through. After a really fun interview, I sign off. Now there is nothing left to do but let the sounds of the Discovery Channel lull me to sleep once more.

Now, I am finally, officially done.

I ate so many bowls of free Fruit Loops at breakfast the next morning.

And I enjoyed a Bigfoot beer beneath Mt Rainer.

Looking Back

Running 200+ miles is, without a doubt, the hardest thing I’ve ever done. It broke me down. It made me dig deeper than I’ve ever had to. It asked everything of me.

I got exactly what I wanted out of it. It scared me. Not just “scared” me. It scared me on a deep, animal level.

When I finished I said I would never do that again. In fact, I said no human being should ever do that. It was dreadful.

But it was also unimaginable. Unimaginably beautiful. Unimaginably remote. Unimaginably brutal. Unimaginably whole.

I came closer to understanding own mortality and my own immortality in a single event. I came closer to touching the universe and everything in it.

The more time I have to reflect back on my experience, the more deeply affecting I realize it was.

I believe.

[cosmictulips]

I was this close 👌 to miss the game cause I wasn't even aware you were closing your giveaway 🙃 seems like people just don't know how to read man.

Anyways, i love to join the game if possible 😊🤍.

I'd like to know about how am I going to do this year in school. I'm just adapting to college and young adult life and I'm nervous about not doing very well on my classes and exams.

I also wanted to ask about my love/dating life this year lol but don't exactly know how to formulate the question. So anything you can tell me about the matter is appreciated♥️

Hope this makes sense lol. My initials are mfh, i just can't come up with a name right now :). Thank you so much in advanced 🌷🖤

Also, I did leave feedback for the last reading you did for me as a reblog bc you closed your asks and i just wanted to know if you received it :) I'm very uncomfortable asking for readings when I didn't leave feedback before lmao.

I probably did see it lol. I see your name enough so I'm sure I did at some point lolol

Hello friend =D thanks for being here uwu listen, people are still saying it's a game. so like... remember when everyone knew what a giveway was compared to a game lolol. what a wild time last year was.

so let's see ::

as for your first question :: I think you're going to do quite fine. I think you're going to find a lot of freedom and some new things that you'll love -maybe even love because the loversssss jumpeddd outttt-. I'm seeing you being anxious, and something not working out well.

SO, I have a studyblr which ironically I can't remember the name even though I post on it all the time lmao. but anyway on that blog, I talk about my adventures with college. I've...almost been in college for 8 years now. and... I learned a lot lol.

I learned that ... what i thought I wanted wasn't...what I thought it would be lol. I learned that I jumped in way too soon. I still had so much to learn and I just... I wish I had help.

I didn't have the help I needed like I kind of do now. and that ... made me guilty for years. I thought I wasn't good enough to reach my dream. i thought I was never going to do anything in my life because it wasn't what I originally had planned.

but I found something so much better. I found what I wanted to do. what I was good at. and... not to say you'll go through anything that dramatic. but like, be open to the changes. if you fail a class, it's okay. it's really not the end of the world. if you're struggling, ask for help.

I think you're going to take on a lot this year. but make sure you are taking care of yourself, okay?

Now as for love hohohohohon

I think there may be a few people who catch your eye but nothing really solid. I see a lot of fear in this area currently. perhaps it's trying to balance that with your school life.

Don't worry too much on romance and that kind of stuff. it's easy to say that but I think the thing is... worrying is only going to make it worse. if someone comes in to flirt with you, let them lol. it's nothing serious and i don't see things going anywhere. I think this is going to be a good time for exploration.

that being said.... there mightttt be someone coming in later down the line. they may not be open to the idea of a relationship right now. they're also a student from my understanding. I think there could be something there.

but I'm just seeing a lot of anxiety. relax. it's going to be okay ;)

[pumped---up---kicks]

Update time

So the last time I did one of these was last year. Around a similar time just outlining my thoughts of the year and what I wanted going into 2020. What a bloody year it’s been. Not just for me but for everyone. The world went into lockdown and I spent 3 months alone which I thought would be pretty difficult but turns out I love my own company and I really didn’t mind it so much. Spent 6 weeks in the office with my new job and then started working from home and now we’re in November and still haven’t returned. I really wanted to throw myself into this year, in every aspect. Like, work, friendships, dating and just really wanted to give London a chance properly and that’s kindaaa been snatched away. Whilst this isn’t my yearly round up post I do want to outline the high’s, low’s and just where I’m at currently.

Highs:

- Being alone: sounds like a weird one but I really began to love my own company. After spending half a year travelling last year and spending so much time with people it was actually nice to get to know myself again and find hobbies that I love for myself with nothing else swaying my decisions.

- Friendships: with basically nothing to do for a year, it becomes really easy to weed out the people you need in your life and love having their and the ones you really aren’t bothered about. Lucky for me I’ve had many more of the formers

- Personal improvement: for the duration of lockdown I stopped drinking, starting exercising consistently and for the most part felt great about it. Lost a fair bit of weight and felt so much better about myself. 

- Job: actually managed to get a job in the industry I wanted which given how difficult employment for many has been this year was so lucky!

Lows:

- Being alone: kinda goes without saying but this one was a double edged sword for sure - good at times and other times was really really miserable. As much as a love my own company I really began feeling like the whole year was just passing me and I had nothing to show for it

- Family: this is a tough one. My dad died this year and whilst I didn’t have a relationship with him, it’s forced me to grapple with parts of my life I didn’t think I’d have to. Watching family tensions and difficulties and feeling a bit trapped in the middle was tough. I kinda always felt a little bit like a punching bag for my family and with the news of my dad dying I actively chose to take a step back. I hope I don’t regret this years’ down the line but I feel worlds away from them sometimes and I decided to do this actively for myself.

And finally where I’m at now. Whilst life still feels very uncertain at the moment and I have no idea what will happen it feels actually good at the moment. I’m seeing this guy...well he’s not just a guy, he’s my bestest friend and it’s quite exciting to think something could come from it. I have absolutely no idea what or where his head is at really and part of me is scared this has just come from lack of the outside world this year but either way I care about him more than most and I trust him. Working out how to drop my guard is gonna be really difficult but I hope he knows how much I like him. It’s been so long since I’ve had anything like this with a guy so I’m just trying so hard to not get in my head and ruin it

On all of the above, we’ll see where it goes but for now over n outttt.

[izzybizzylize]

I was bored

1. You woke up naked next to the last person you texted, what would you say?

Ahaha it’s syd soo a little weird but like probably drunk reasons 

2. What’s going on between you and the last person you kissed?

Tbh I barely remember the last person I kissed. I think it was Luke’s friend haha so nothing 

3. If your boyfriend or girlfriend was into drugs, would you care?

Depends what kind ... weed is fine 

4. Is your last name longer than six letters?

Nah exactly 6 

5. Was your last kiss drunk or sober?

DRUNK lols 

6. Have you ever wanted to have someone but you messed it up?

eh not really I mean it takes two people to mess up a relationship for the most part 

7. What does your last received text say?

Dang it 

8. How many times have you kissed the last person you kissed?

Uhhhh once before last weekend 

9. Where was your last kiss at?

....my bed oops 

10. When is the last time you saw your sister?

Spring breakk 

11. What do you drink in the morning?

coffee and water 

12. Where did you sleep last night?

my comfy ass bed 

13. Do you think relationships are hard?

Can be but they don;t have to be 

14. If you could go back and change something in the past 5 months, would you?

Ummmm nah not really 

15. You’re locked in a room with the last person you kissed, any problems?

What is up with so many kissing questions but nah he was a cool guy 

16. Would you rather it be sunny or rainy?

Sunnyyyyy but I like to fall asleep to rain 

17. Do you know anyone with the same middle name as you?

AHAHA yeah a boy 

18. Are you wearing jeans,sweatpants,or pajama pants?

leggingssss 

19. Do you think you will be in a relationship 3 years from now?

Maybe ? Hopefully I’ll have a real ex boyfriend by then haha 

20. Does anyone like you?

I think they like the idea of me 

21. Have you ever kissed someone with a name that starts with an S?

Probably ... yeah haha shelly but I’m sure many frat boys were named Sam or something 

22. Is the last person you kissed gay?

Nah 

23. Is there a person you CANNOT stand?

I guess no one comes to mind right away tho 

24. Have you ever considered getting a tattoo?

Eh not really 

25. In the past week have you cried?

nahhh 

26. What breed was the last dog you saw?

omg it looked like a lab but it was smaller and fatter ahaha 

27. Do you dry off in the shower or out of the shower?

outttt 

28. Have you ever kissed a football player?

Maybe? I think so or at least I believed them if they said they were 

29. Do you think you’re old?

eh kinda but not really 

30. Do you like text messaging?

sometimes 

31. What type of day are you having?

Normal sunday sooo lazy and filled with schoolwork I should be doing haha 

32. Have you ever thought about getting your nose pierced?

yeahhh 

33. Do you prefer warm or cold weather?

WARM OBVIOUSLY 

34. Is there a person of the opposite sex who means a lot to you?

yeah like my brother haha but friend wise I guess maybe one or two 

35. Would you prefer a relationship or a fling?

Both haha 

36. Are you a simple or complicated person?

A bit of both I guess 

37. What song are you listening to?

Nothing but I need to listen to Jermaine Cole 

38. When you say you’re sorry do you mean it?

Most of the time  39. Is there a girl that knows everything or almost everything about you?

uh my sister but even then everyone has their own thoughts and such  40. What made you start liking the person you like now?

haha there’s no one really I like except that beautiful man at the gym with green eyes haha  41. When did you last receive a text message?

Today  42. What is wrong with you right now?

I ate too much haha and I’m broke  43. How well do you know the last female you texted?

We’re Bff’s  44. Does anyone disgust you?

Um probably Donald Trump haha and Rapists  45. Would you date someone right now if they asked?

Nah but give it some time then ya 46. Are you in a good mood right now?

Content chillin chillin 47. Who was the last person you talked to in person?

Kirstennn  48. What color shirt are you wearing?

White  49. Has someone recently told you something you didn’t want to hear?

nah  50. Anyone you’re giving up on?

no I don’t really give up on anyone tbh  51. Do you hate the person you fell hardest for?

AHAHAA um .... no just confused 

52. Have you ever thought about giving up on someone but couldn’t?

mmmm not really  53. Do you like rain?

Yessir! 54. Do you care if your boyfriend/girlfriend drinks?

Nope as long as it’s not an addiction  55. Have you ever liked somebody and never told them?

Prob  56. Do you like to cuddle?

Hell yeahhhh  57. Are you shy?

Can be  58. Do you get along with girls?

Yaaa I think so!  59. Have you dated the person you texted last?

No haha  60. What do you carry with you at all times?

My phone which is kind of annoying tbh  61. If you were paid 1 million dollars to spend the night in a supposed haunted house, would you?

Not alone haha  62. Do you think you can last in a relationship for five months?

Yeah ... have I .... ahah no  63. Think back to October, were you in a relationship?

NA I’M A LONELY BITCH  64. The person you like kisses you on the forehead, do you find this cute?

Yeah that’s pretty cute tbh  65. Did anything “cute” happen in the last week?

Probably I can’t remember tho .. probably something my students said  

66. How old are the last three people you kissed?

ummmmm like 21-23

67. Would you rather pay to get your nails done or do them yourself?    

Id rather get them done haha I’m so bad at doing my own  68. Which do you like better- Zebra print or leopard print?    

uhhhh leopard I guess  69. Do you have any stickers on your car?    

Nah I need to put a Dewey Beach one on tho  70. Would you rather listen to Luke Bryan or Lil Wayne? 

Old lil wayne haha     71. Blackberry, Anroid, or iPhone?   

iPhone   72. When’s the last time you had pizza from Pizza Hut? 

Ummm maybe last year ? or during camp this summer     73. Do you like diet soda?    

It’s okay like diet coke and rum is good haha  74. What color are the walls in your room?  

White my old room I used to have pink and turquoise haha    75. Are you 16 or older?    

Yeah  76. Do you watch Pretty Little Liars?  

Nah   77. Do you have a job?    

About to start a summer one and babysitting if that counts haha    78. What are your initials?    

E.V.B 79. Did you ever have braces?   

Yeah my teeth were fucked up   80. Are you from the south?    

Nope 

81. What does your last status on facebook say?   

I haven’t made a status in like a year ... I have no idea I’m just there for the memes tbh  82. Do you still talk to the first person you ever kissed?    

A little bit 83. Are you closer to your mom or your dad?   

Daddddd   84. Have you ever done cheerleading or gymnastics?    

Both but only a gymnastics camp so idk if that counts haha  85. What’s the last movie you saw in theaters?    

uhhhh I think it was in the summer I think it was Aloha  86. Do you smoke?    

Not usually but I will every now and then I want to get high soon haha  87. Would you rather wear heels or flip flops?    

Depends on the day ... wedges lol it’s the best of both  88. Is your phone touch screen?   

Yah   89. Do you normally wear your hair straight or curly? 

Straightish      90. Have you ever snuck out of your house?   

Not really   91. Would you rather swim in a river, lake, or pool?  

Depends! All three haha    92. Have you ever made out in a car? 

Yeahhhhhh mannnn     93. …Had sex in a car?     Yes. But not in a while. I actually quite like it haha  94. Are you single or in a relationship?    

Singleeeee  95. What were you doing last night at midnight?    

Being drunk at grottos  96. When’s the last time you saw fireworks?  

Summer July 4th    97. Do you like the camera on your phone?    

It’s okay could be clearer  98. Have you ever had a friend with benefits?    

Yeahhh like all my relationships  99. Have you ever passed out from drinking?    

Not really. I’ve been like super tired and drinking made it worse haha  100. Are you friends with people on facebook that you actually hate?   

Nah people I don’t really care about yes but not hate   101. Have you ever had a pregnancy scare?    

ahaha yes  102. Name your favorite Kesha song:    

ALL but We R who We R is a must  103. Do you have any tan lines right now?    

Not really .... I need to get tanner haha  104. Would you ever wear cowboy boots with shorts?  

Yes! Halloween, country concert, etc... 

[dogon779-blog]

See you soon

Today is the day, the day when I finally get my surgery. I been waiting months for this so much pain has been built up I'm ready to be free of pain. Me and my girlfriend Ash talked about this day and thought how good life was gonna be. So May 4th I went in for my surgery, I was ready but I also was terrified but it seems like I wasn't alone as my parents and Ash were crying too. “You guys are such cry baby jezz” Said quietly with a chuckle but without knowing a tear was going down my face. Dam I was trying to keep my tears in, I didn't want them to worry about me. “Says you” My dad jokingly said, I'm just glad I'm not the only jokester. (Wooo) the door opens suddenly and the smell of a hospital floods the room like a storm. “Hey parents and mr and Ms” He laughed but his smile left fast as it came. Things got surios he went on and on about doctor talk, It only made things more scary. *Knock knock* ”Bradleigh are you ready to go?” A nurse asked. My mind went crazy I still had so much to say and so much to do all my emotions came out at once and I didn't know what do you. “Okay say your goodbyes and follow me please, Father you can come too” I followed quietly behind her not knowing where to go, Then she turned into a room *prep room* “Okay if you may just lay down on the bed for me please” she said so openly like this was the best bed in the world!? More doctors came in, I felt overwhelmed and started to panic but got myself in control. “Ok we willl put a mask on you which will make you sleepy” One of the doctors said. “ Take big breaths in and outttt, there you go just like that” “Hey can I get a bucket of chicken after this” The room filled with laughter……. *12 hours later* I was still under in drug indouced sleep I don't know how long I been sleeping but it felt like forever. My eyes creeked open very slower I must have fell back to sleep 20 times. I finally got the strength to move my head to my right and I seen my mother. “Ahinruoebeijsh” I tried to speak but I was still to sleepy to speak clearly. My mom laughed at me then I started to cry not because I wanted to just because I did. It's like a baby being born if they don't cry then something is wrong so it's a good thing I was crying it ment I still felt my back and pain. But of course my mom freaked out and ran and got a nurse, His name was Tyrone. He put medication in my iv to help the pain but before I knew it I was back asleep again. I didn't wake up until tomorrow morning but that's only because they woke me up and aslo I smelled bacon so I was ready to wake up lol. The breakfast cart was coming out and giving out breakfast, I got well my dad got me bacon, eggs and sausage. But little did I know how hard it would be to eat snice my whole Spain is in allot of pain and sensitive. So I got like 25% of one piece of bacon down before I quit. Then before knowing it I was asleep again all the way until 12 tomorrow. Let me just say these medications are very strong and they kick my ass like a kid playing kickball. So another day where I still don't know what's going to happen. But I was awoken by two lovely nurses, Jae and rox. Apptly they want to move me from my bed to a chair but remember I can barley move as is. “Okay bradleigh we are going to lift you up slowly, tell us if it hurts.” I was about to scream before they even moved me just because I was scarred. But secretly they amped up my meds just for this moment, So they started to move and I didn't even feel a thing thankfully. So eventually the nurses got me into the chair. Lucky me there was fooodddd!!!!! So in the end I was happy. But little did I know it would be my last day at that hospital before I got transferred to a rehab hospital. This is when everything went downhill, after eating and getting back into my bed. I finally decided to ask where Ash has went? My mom replied “She left shortly after you went in” I was confused because she said she would spend the whole weekend with me so why isn't she here. So I asked for my phone back and it's my first time using it snice the surgery. *Samsung startup screen* I waited for it to start then boom it's up, I was expecting a message or a missed call but there was nothing. So I was gonna sen*Knock knock* “Coming in bradleigh, Sorry for the interpurten but we moved your transfer from tomorrow to today within two hours” I didn't want to leave or move yet but I couldn't do anything about it. So my mom packed my bags and they took me to the ambulance for transferring. To be honest I was nervous again but I didn't have anyone there to support me. After a long 20min ride that felt like a lifetime we finally arrived to the rehab hospital. The doors on the ambulance opened them soon after my cart start to move. They are moving me to my new room. Where I found out I had a room mate, His name was hybob he was a Indian kid probably 9 years old but I couldn't tell why he was there, no real obvious reasons. Little later we were all set in my new “Room”. I was too tired to do anything, that trip from hospital to hospital had wore me down. So I went to sleep once again not knowing what to expect when I wake up.i slept until 5 in the morning I wanted to flip to my other side but I physically can't sense my Spain. So I lied there for about 2 hours before my dad woke up which then he called the nurse to flip me. But then they also start giving me self indouced medication instead of iv. It's so dam nasty like I wanna throw up it turns my stomach so bad. I couldn't eat because of it. So when I did eat I would eat a salad, Which is healthy but for me I don't need healthy rn. So day by day my stomach was getting worse and I ate less but I tried my best to make sure no one knew. To make everything worse my girlfriend wasn't answer, But to be honest no one was answering not even my best friend. I just needed someone to be there for me, I was struggling my mind was getting to me. I left voicemails waiting for a reply which never came, Until the very next day when my girlfriend finally called back. “Hey baby, Everything okay I haven't heard from you in a while” I said sadly “Oh sorry I didn't notice, I was busy….*in a faint voice which grew louder then boom laughter* (Male voice)” Haha I gotcha now” “Um I got to go bye” she hung up before I got the chance to even say anything. Who was that? I feel like I know that voice, Just shut up don't worry everything well be fine, i thought to myself. It was time for therapy anyways so I had to focus on getting better, We we're working out for about an hour before he let me go back to my room. As I was wheelchairing myself into my room I heard my ringtone, maybe that's my girlfriend calling back but soonly realized it wasn't a call it was a notification from Instagram. Someone sent me a video, I heard of this kid before but never really talked. So I clicked on the video and my heart stopped I couldn't believe what I was seeing. My girlfriend was making out with my best friend…. How could they, I trusted them why me, why now, just why. Its my fault I'm in this hospital, It's my fault I had to get this surgery, All of this is my fault. If I wasn't here then none of this happened but now it's to late *Grabs the iv bag line and wraps it around my neck* No one will get tthe chance to hurt me again *Wraps it tighter and throws myself off the bed making the iv choke me* I don't wanna live to tomorrow I wanna die Fuck tomorrow, I'm dieing tonight, My own life is like my kryptonite, I know this isn't right, but I lost this fight, So fuck today I'm not living tonight. No time to ask if I'm alright so just goodbye and goodnight…. *Beeeeeeeep*”Nurses to b11 we've a 212” The nurses come in and are shocked to there soul, They never ever seen something like this “Check his pulse”......”Hes gone, Wait what are these?” “ They look like cuts, Go check his file and see if he has any mental health issues” *2 mins later* “Been struggling with depression for then yeah*Ringtone blares* It was his girlfriend calling, one of the nurses pick it up “Hello?” The nurse cationly said “Umm is Kenny there? I need to talk to him” she said but Kenny isn't alive anymore, The nurse didn't know how to tell her other then just coming out “Ma'am I don't know how to tell you this but, Kenny took his own life today” The nurse mumbled. It was complete slience “Hey baby hurry up the movie is starting” Came from the background of her phone “um I will call back later” she said. The nurse yelled “Fucking hell because of you he's dead, All he needed was a friend but instead of being there for him you decided to cheat on him with his best friend” Then the nurse hung up but then suddenly “Kenny I'm here” a girl named McKenzie showed up holding flowers with such a beautiful smile which disappeared and quickly was joined with tears flowing down her face. She ran towards Kenny until one of the nurses grabbed her “KENNY NO PLEASE NO” McKenzie screamed. She was escorted out the room and taken to the waiting room. Little did Kenny know McKenzie saved up money to buy flowers and a taxi ride to get all the way there to spend a whole week with him. Now it's to late for that, He's gone forever now. *A week later at Kenny's funeral* “Kenny was a light hearted funny person, He never wanted to hurt anyone but only to help. So to see someone go through so much pain just to make other people happy, Makes me proud of him but also sad that no one wanted to make him happy. Today I wish he was here just to here his corny jokes, Knowing him he would have climbed into the casket and said “Well it's nap time see you tomorrow” *Laughter* But today is yesterdays tomorrow and he isn't here. So let's not forget him ever because he never got a tomorrow.” Kenny's dad said. “Hey Kenny's dad” McKenzie said “ Oh hey what a nice surprise, McKenzie right?” “Yeah but how did you know?” “Well Kenny talked about you and always told us stories about yall. He was grateful to call you his friend” “Aww I didn't know that, But should've knew he always liked talking”.... *Funeral ended* McKenzie stayed behind to say her final goodbyes at his grave, She talked and talked about there life and what they've done. But it ended in tears. “ Well the sun is going down so I should go home, See you soon kenny” McKenzie said. Later that week her mom went into McKenzie room but couldn't find her but noticed a letter to Kenny on her desk. Which read out “Dear Kenny I can't believe your gone, I wake everyday excepting your good morning text with a light but generous conversation. I go to school and walk the halls waiting to see your face or hear your voice but all I get is a emptiness slience. Everywhere I go and everything I do, I think about you and think how we used to do stuff. It's really hard to see everyone act like life is normal and nothing happen, But to me life will never be normal again. I still have so much to say to you but I won't get the chance too. So I will put everything in this letter.. Kenny you showed me so many beautiful things in life and gave me unforgettable memories which I will hold close forever. I always had a crush on you but you were dating Ash so i just kept it in. All I wanted is for you to be happy and if it meant letting you date Ash then let it be. So I tried my best everyday to make you smile because little to be known you had such a amazing smile which complemented your blue eyes.. God your eyes there were so filled with love and life I never get tired of them. Damnit Kenny I loved you and always wanted to tell you but I was sacred now I regret not telling you. Now I have to live with knowing I won't ever get the chance to… You were the best thing in life I had and it got taken away, I really miss you Kenny and I'll see you soon I promise” ~Mckenzie Her mom was crying by the end of the letter but wondered where she was *Woolsh* a cold breeze flew by her neck. She looked behind her and seen a open window, Her heart sunk. It took everything to walk to the window and look down to see her precious daughter laying completely face first 27 floors down on the road. McKenzie took her life at age 16…. The end