Old Pueblo, by the numbers. (Race Report)

Fe-Lady was accomodating enough to let us crash in her guest house.  She has a great house, very Tucson.  I felt pretty pampered!  The guest house was super, with a brand new mattress on the bed, a sink, fridge, and bathroom.  I wish I could have stayed longer to enjoy it more.  This time of year, Tucson is pretty nice.

It was pretty great not having to worry about random hotel stuff.

Saturday morning we got up about 3:30, and dressed and headed out, so that we could drop off our drop bags and check in.  We got long-sleeved techno shirts, and a copy of the map in a protective sleeve.

Sadly, we drove to the race without the camera, so, no pictures.  Oops.

So now, I present: Old Pueblo by the numbers.

50: How many miles that course was supposed to be.

51-point-something - how far we actually went

2: How many of the downhills weren't covered by a thick layer of soft-ball to apple-size angular rocks.

1/3 - how many miles we got off course before heard someone calling to us, to warn us that we were off course (whew!)

10: The number of pounds I've lost since Ghost Town, and that I didn't have to haul around the course.

"About 7" How many stream crossings a well-intentioned volunteer told us we were be facing.

at least 15: How many stream crossings there actually were. At the beginning of the race I was all what a happy little mountain stream!
By the end of the race, I was shouting, I'm pretty $#@&ing sick of this $#@&ing stream!

And I'm not even counting the parts of course that WERE the stream.

42.5: The mile at which Sweet Baboo actually hoisted my 160-something pounds across a stream.  These weren't streams you could just hop across.  They were 8 to 12 feet wide, and up to about a foot or two deep, and my feet already had duct tape wrapped around them because of developing hot spots and blisters.

4: Number of times Sweet Baboo carried me across streams.

18.5: The number of hours it took me to finish the Rocky Racoon 50-miler in 2009, which was pancake flat.

16.5: The number of hours it took us to finish this, most unflat run.

Between 33 and 40: The mile markers between which I seriously bonked.  I didn't know what was wrong; I thought it was dehydration, so I drank; then I thought it was electrolytes, so I took a couple of E-caps; I was staggering and hearing things.  Finally figured out it was food.  I ate some.  I felt better.  Perked up.
Started doing some more power-walking, because after mile 40, running was gone, y'all.

33: The mile marker where I was hoping we would get pulled. I was exhausted, felt like crap, and couldn't conceive going another 17 miles.  They waived us on.

40: The next aid station were I was hoping we'd be pulled.
They waived us on.

46: The aid station where I had decided I was going to finish this thing.

20: The number of miles the last 4 miles felt like.

2: The number of times I rolled each ankle, but just enough to scare me and make me swear.

0: Number of times I fell.

6: The number of blisters I thought I had on my feet.

1: The number of blisters I actually had (the rest were just hot spots)

2: Number of toenails I may lose.

7: time in the evening that my phone apparently went dead, because I left it on to search fruitlessly for a signal (Sorry Pirate.  I couldn't answer you back.)

~12: Number of time I nodded off uncontrollably on the way home today.

0: Number of times Baboo nodded off, since he was driving.

4: Number of egg McMuffins & hash brown patties Sweet Baboo ate on the way home today.

2: Number I ate.

2: Number of happy doggies who leapt all over us when we got home.

2: Number of kitties who ignored us when we got home (but we know that they were happy by the way they ignored us)

1: Number of pints of Haagen-Daz Dulce De Leche ice cream I think I've earned.

0: Number of times I'll wake Baboo when he nods off at home.  And the number of 50-milers I want to do in the next couple months.

Thud.
Zzzzzzzzzzzz.............
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