“Dude. What happened?” I remove myself from my shallow moving meditation, “What?” “Look at your leg!” And so I do: Starting from mid-thigh, it looks like I’ve managed to scrape a four inch wide section of my skin until the top of my ankle. Road rash par-excellence.
After crossing the finish line, letting out a long slow exhale, a big smile – and then a little cry to myself in the corner of the parking lot: my 2015 Dirty 30 was in the bag @ 5:50:33. Relief. The days leading up to the race were a little less than ideal: I caught a Continue reading…