At mile 55, for some reason I threw up under the dark and starless sky. I had never puked before, during, or after a run. I threw up my lemon-lime Gatorade. It glowed in the dark. Then I had to pee, so I pulled down my skort on the trail. Then I tripped over a tree root and fell twice. When you fall in these races, the pacer or the sweeper can’t touch you or pick you up. I dragged my ass up, got back on my feet and dusted myself off as Jon, the sweeper from hell, and a second sweeper watched.
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I made it to mile 50.7. A runner in front of me disqualified himself and said to the volunteer, "“the sweeper was terrible and that is no way to run a race.” I felt the same way. But I continued with Jon as my pacer. My body was battered and bruised. My mind was numb. I was on top of a mountain with only 11.3 more miles of steep technical downhill to the finish in the cold, dark night.
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My running shoes were wet, my blisters were stinging, and a fungal infection was simmering in my toes. I didn’t want to risk any type of injury tiptoeing and dragging my ass down the mountain. I had already fallen 5 times on slippery rocks and through flooded creeks, and had scraped my knees, elbows and wrists. At mile 56, I announced to the volunteer I was disqualifying myself.
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Jon and I were able to hitch a ride back to the start with one of the local residents from the woods in his pick-up truck filled with cabinets and tires.
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The bumpy ride down the steep rocking trail was the roller coaster ride from hell. I had to balance myself with my arms extended and my sore legs and beaten feet spread. We hit a lot of rocks, flooded roads, and huge craters! I bumped my body a few times and almost had my eyeballs, my only visibly working organ, stabbed by tree branches I couldn’t see in the dark. It took about 20 minutes to get down the mountain to the parking lot and the start/finish. It was a harrowing experience but we got to the finish in one piece. There were still runners coming in. By now it was 19 plus hours into the race. I was one of 71 starters but not one of the 29 finishers.
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Back at the hotel, I took a hot shower and washed my hair. While combing my wet hair, my fingers on my right hand began to painfully spasm, twitch, and lock. I yelled for Jon who had to physically separate my locked fingers.

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