It was an exceptional morning, clear as a bell and cold as a brass one in January. After standing around by a roaring fire, the race was off! After 40plus minutes of jostling for position, elbowing, and general underhandedness, I manage to claim sole possession of last place.
I now had the field where I wanted them. All of them.
I was cruising along having a good ole time when I stumbled. This made me only a little nervous causing me to remember my doctors (more than) iterative words "If you were to bump your head, you could have a serious problem."
Having survived a heart attack, back surgery, and being old and ugly, I was NOT daunted by my latest malady, a pulmonary embolism (long word for blood clot). But, now I was thinking about it. Hmmm, better not stumble anymore.
Ooops, stumble two. Not to worry, its only an hour in, and I'm to tired to go fast enough to hurt myself if I fall, anyway.
Whoompf!! "Yikes" I thought as I struggled with the pain. "What the ????". As I struggled to my feet, the slow-mo-replay showed me that I had tripped, launched into the air, and landed very hard and very awkwardly in the sandstone gully. Wobbly for the sudden change of directions (vertical to horizontal, with 3 full forward flips and a 3/4 twist), I tried to assess the situation. First thought was "what the hell am I doing out here, you wanna die, asshole?" The answer was NO. So, trying to rationalize my best course of action, I came to the conclusion that a hasty retreat was my best plan.
Turned out to be a good decision. Knowing the course, I followed the inbound ribbons, crossing the beaver dam and getting to the Wild Horse Canyon parking lot in about 30 minutes, another 30, and I was back at the shelter. I let Stacey know I was off the course. She was in the supply truck with her back to me and said "Is that Ed?". I wonder how she knew it was me??? Whatever. I got in my truck, went back to the trailer, where I retreived 2 of my prized beers and left them at what I hoped was Ben Holmes camp.
Today, (Monday), I'm a little sore, and a lot older than I was on Saturday, since my birthday was Sunday. But, the older, wiser me has concluded that I probably shouldn't be out trail running anymore, as long as I'm taking anti-clot meds. So, I have retired from trailrunning, though I haven't figured out yet, what I will do about Leadville since I have already entered. I hafta check in with the Doc every week or two to monitor the meds, will talk with him later today. I'll hafta fess up to doing stupid stuff because I have either a deep bruise in my chest or a cracked rib where I landed very unceremoniously in the sandstone. I really hate this cuz my doctor (former vet, and doctor to the late Rodney Dangerfield, Dr. Vinnie Boombatz!) will give me a ton of grief about the hazzards of "whatever-the-malady-du-jour". . .
Ed