Ouachita Trail 50K

These ultra runs can be so hard for me, particularly when I'm unfit, and it's too hot or cold for my glucometer to work. Those were my excuses today. I got to Turd's aid station at 19 miles and realized that I could no longer measure my blood sugar. I was feeling kind of shaky, and had fallen very hard on my left shoulder about two miles earlier. It was hot. Turd encouraged me to try to make the next aid station. Two miles later, nearing the scenic vista, I was stumbling around like a drunk. I asked Ron to tell the crew ahead that I had dropped, and turned to walk back to Turd's. Here's the new experience that confused me. I did my typical series of mental tests: naming presidents backwards to McKinley, doing simple one-digit-by-two digit multiplication. I even did the ol', How old was Erin Vratil in (name the year). No problem, which worried me a little, as if perhaps I were in some sort of physical jeopardy unrelated to hypoglycemia. I ate two tubes of Peach Cobbler flavored Gu spinoff someone gave me, and ten minutes later felt great and was walking strongly. Fuck. I debated turning back toward the finish. But, I was twenty minute's from Turd's and a bunch of cold beer. I had one tube of gel left, and no water, and chose the beer. Counting that last four miles on the course, plus two roundtrips between the aid station and Turd's house, I covered approximately 25 miles in a total of 7:40:57. I think I'll call it the first training run of my 13-week, Midnight 50K program. I declared today that I'm quitting these races unless I finish somewhat like a normal motherfucker in July. We'll see. I wonder how badly my shoulder will hurt in the morning. I realized when I was at the grocery store a few minutes ago that my left. jaw also took a pretty solid shot (and also that my wallet was in the console of the car in my driveway). On top of all that, I haven't seen Ruth since Wednesday.