Brazos Bend 100: a Note on Not Finishing
The cold sat in my ribcage, aggravated with my heavy breaths. Smoke billowed from my mouth and nostrils as I sucked in and blew out the cold and damaging air. My right foot drug. I would push it ahead with my right hand to slightly in front of my center of gravity, then push off of my left foot to pivot forward. Every once in a while I would hit a rock and cry out in pain or become frustrated reaching even a small incline, as it made the laborious process that much more challenging. When I would cry out from the pain, Jessy would stop and turn. While I would be doubled over and catching my breath, she would count to ten. At ten, I would straighten up and we would continue forward. This awkward and painful march took us over the final seven miles of my fourth of six loops at the Brazos Bend 100. I signed up for this December race one night this past summer. I was sitting in a camping chair in my kitchen looking at races and drinking a margarita while Jessy stirred vegeta