Once we had settled down from the high of crossing the finish line, the joy didn't wear off. It may have been a delirious, nearly stuporous joy, but man. It felt good. We dropped our bikes in the bushes and walked inside the dorm to the awaiting smorgasbord of burrito deliciousness provided by Rootstock and one of the loveliest volunteers we had had the pleasure to cross paths with out on the course. We stuffed our bellies for the next hour, sprawled out on the lounge chairs and couches of the dorm. I felt the slightest bit of guilt sitting on "indoor furniture" in my current state of filth, but I figured the nonporous vinyl could be easily wiped down.
We sat and swam in the tales of adventure all the teams around us were pouring out while we also regaled them with some of our own. It was the definition of gezellig. (That's a Dutch word that really has no English translation, but it fits the mood of our time spent on those couches. Look it up.)
Soon enough we started the process of getting our gear under control. Becky and I went back out to the bikes and hauled them, one last time, over to our cars and loaded them up. We found our gear bins and did the same. While we were waiting for the bike boxes to get unloaded and sorted, we stopped to talk with Abby for just a few minutes. She really is a pillar of inspiration and encouragement. We know we didn't do all that amazing on the score sheet. If we weren't in dead last place we would have been shocked (spoiler, we were shocked) But Abby poured out congratulations on us and wanted to hear a few of our tales from the race. She tested the waters to see if we had had an experience that we would maybe someday repeat. While I couldn't with any confidence say that an exact repeat of our team would race together again, I assured her that Becky and I had all the motivation and plans to do this whole expedition race thing together again. Abby hinted that all female teams were pretty awesome. I had to agree. Every time I've raced on an all-female squad it has been phenomenal.
Once we were able to grab our boxes ,we lined them up and hauled them up to the gear room along with the paddle and packraft bags. I figured I needed to capitalize on the uncanny energy that I had at the time, so we sorted all the gear, broke down the bike box I had borrowed from Dan, and had everything completely prepped to be brought down to the cars before we ever sat down. I knew once I stopped moving I was done for. I decided to load up my car before I got my ever so coveted post-race shower for fear that my gear would foul me up again should I touch it after being bathed.
So there. Everything that could be done was done. Now to strip myself of the 5 days of filth. What an experience a shower is after an expedition race. I timed my bathing perfectly and was able to use the handicap private bathroom closest to our room. Thank the Lord. Because I used up every inch of that huge bathroom all to myself. I peeled my layers of clothing off and just plopped them on the floor. I surgically removed the wrapping from my toes and pulled the leukotape from my heels. Once my braids were unwound and the tree trash was picked from my hair, I stood facing the mirror. That body that I sometimes think is so far from perfect, and in need of so much work, had done some amazing things for me. I always give myself grace in certain areas of critique, because carrying five babies, delivering them, and feeding them required a lot from my body, but now I felt like I could demand a little more forgiveness from my hardest critic; me. That body in the mirror was strong, resilient, and capable. You go girl.
I gasped, sighed, and nearly wept as the hot, cleansing water covered me. What a treat to be clean. I knew many other racers were crossing that finish line and would also be in desperate need of a shower soon, so I tried not to linger under the life-giving spray of indoor delightfulness for too long. Though it was probably at least a 20-minute shower, it felt like I was as fast moving as I could possibly be.
Once I was moisturized, untangled, and dressed, I shuffled back to our room. Dan was already well into a good slumber, and Becky was puttering around for just a few more minutes. I tried to call my family, but none of them are exactly morning people, so I left messages that I would call them all back after my well-earned nap. And then, I crashed. Like I don't remember hitting the pillow, I kinda don't even recall laying down. I just crashed. No dreaming, no rolling over, no checking the clock. Just a deep, deep sleep.
The Post race dinner was perfect. The whole field of racers, hobbling around in open toed shoes, loose fitting clothing, and fresh-ish, clean faces, drinking ciders, beers, and lots and lots of water. The meal was devoured like only a flock of calorie depleted racers can. We shared a table with our tag-team B&Z and Jim even came and pulled up a chair with us. It was a heartily enjoyed meal with some of my favorite people from the race. I only wish we had more mobility and energy to mingle with all the other teams that we shared a moment or two with out on the course. Awards were handed out, and congratulations and thanks were poured onto all teams.
We didn't win anything. Well, I won a drawing for a Women of AR beanie, which I love! But Irritatingly Optimistic did not podium. Nine teams were either non-competitive or DNF'd. Later we found out we got 31st out of 34 official finishing teams. I'm still having a hard time even laying claim on that standing. Becky and I worked hard for all the points we punched, but our team as a whole cannot honestly say we visited every CP together. If that strips us of our placement, I'm totally ok with it. Because even if we came in dead last, I wouldn't have done anything different in the situations we were in. You just have to do your very best with what you have to work with.
If I hadn't enjoyed that second (or was it third?) cider, I probably would have attempted to drive home that night. With the race being officially over and sleeping one more night the only thing left to do, the draw of my real life and family began to take over. When we returned to the dorm, I excused myself and walked down to the courtyard to go make all the phone calls I had been putting off. My husband put me on speaker phone in the middle of the dinner table while he and the boys chowed down. They asked all the questions and I told all the stories for about a half hour. It made me miss them all the more. I then called Annika, my daughter who is working at a summer camp, and was able to chat with her for about an hour. I would see her the next day on my way home.
While I was conversing with my loved ones, Dan sent a message to the group that he was heading out to grab his victory bottle of whiskey that he always purchases, but never drinks, after a race. I didn't feel the need to tag along on that adventure. I don't think Becky was able to pull herself away from talking with her family either. I walked back to the dorm slowly, admiring just how swollen and puffy my lower extremities had become. It was impressive!
I planned to leave the college before the sun came up, so before laying down that night I said my goodbyes to my teammates. We had done what we had set out to do. Mission accomplished. There wasn't an emotional or deeply meaningful conversation. Just a quick hug, thanks for the experience, and hop into bed. The next morning I was on the road by 4:30am and sat outside a gas station for a few minutes waiting for them to open at 5 so I could grab a lifegiving cup of coffee. A slightly spastic gentleman was also waiting and asked about my bike on the back of my car, so I chatted with him for a few minutes and gave him a crash course in Adventure racing. I don't know if he absorbed anything I said, but he said he was going to give the sport a try the very next weekend.
The ride home was long and uncomfortable, but soothing. I'm really starting to think I may have more introverted tendencies than I had thought. Arriving in Bernville PA, I spent a few hours with Annika, going out to lunch at a cute little American Diner and swinging in the hammocks on top of Calvary Hill. I then continued on to lower Delaware and 4 hours later pulled into our driveway to my flock of sons, all scurrying out to greet me. I had been itching for those adoring hugs for a while. They helped me to unload my packed car and within an hour most of my gear was either laid out to air out or already put away. I decided to just dump all my gross, gross, GROSS clothing and shoes into an empty bin, fill it with water from the hose and add my strongest detergent. My youngest, Calvin, stirred the vat of ungodliness with a huge stick like a sorcerer stirring a poisonous brew. We put the lid on it and called it a day.
The next few days consisted of recovery, eating, watching the swelling in my legs slowly go down (I had gained and lost over 12 pounds of fluid!!) and swinging in to see my PCP. Remember that nasty fall I had had on stage C? It wasn't feeling much better by two days out, so just to be safe I had a visit to my primary, who ordered a x-ray and antibiotics. No fracture, though!! But I'll certainly have a pretty triangular scar on that shin for many years to come.
If you've stuck with me through this entire race report, I'm honored. It's such a blessing to do these crazy races, and I never want to forget the tiny details and feelings I have when I'm out on the course. I know some things may have seemed pointless to include, and there may have been times when you thought "wait! what happened then?!" But overall, I think you've gotten an idea of how the race went for me. I have to apologize for a few of the earlier stage reports. I've gone back and edited some sections, so if you read them hot off the press, you were privy to a bit more emotion than necessary. My goal of these write ups isn't to bash anyone and certainly not to be a negative Nancy. Honesty is one thing, bad mouthing in another. Lo siento.
If you were race staff, I can't thank you enough. The uplifting and encouraging words you gave us over and over really helped us. Home is a loose term sometimes, but you guys made every TA feel like home. Sometimes a wet, muddy, and loud home, but still a place of reprieve, nonetheless! Brent and Abby, you guys are something special. Your races both terrify me and excite me like none other. From my very first AR at Two Rivers in 2021, to this monster I just endured, your courses have led me into becoming something I never knew I had in me. Who knew the girl who couldn't navigate her way home without calling her dad for directions would someday co-navigate nearly 300 miles with a map and compass? Crazy.
If you're a fellow racer, I saw you. Whether you were front of the pack, mid pack, or tagging along, bringing up the rear with us, I saw you. You made me smile, made me feel validated, and made me proud. We are a special breed, and our solidarity and shared enjoyment of suffering makes us more alike than different. I don't know many of you outside of this sport, but what I do know of you makes me feel a kinship with you that is hard to replicate in any other area of my life. Thank you for letting me be a part of something so grounding. humbling, and strengthening. If we gave you a nickname, just know that even if I learn your name at some point, I'm still going to call you your nickname forever and always. It's now a term of endearment.
If you were my teammate, holy cow. What an experience we shared. Dan, thank you. You might not realize it, but you helped me more than I could ever have helped you. Your knowledge of logistics and pacing opened the door to expedition racing for me. I like to jump into things a little too fast sometimes, often without thinking. Thank you for doing all the thinking for me. You taught me that not only am I so much stronger than I thought I was, but that I need to work on a few areas of my interpersonal skills. A lot. Becky, where do I start? I have never had a teammate I felt more in line with out on the course. We complimented each other's abilities so dang well. I never felt like I wasn't able to be myself, and I never once felt like my contribution wasn't appreciated or valued. Please know I valued you every step of the way. We can celebrate our little victories and the overwhelming amount of learning we did out there. I absolutely cannot wait to see where we go from here!
If you are family or friends at home, thank you. Thank you for listening to my plotting, whining, dreaming, and scheming. Thank you for at least smiling and nodding when I start to go down a rabbit hole about racing. I know me doing these races puts a toll on you all. From rearranging schedules, to entertaining bored boys, to worrying about me dying out there, your sacrifices and encouragement are valued and deeply appreciated. I know some of you still think I'm off my rocker, but if I haven't convinced you to try an expedition race by now, I'm probably still thinking of how best to word my encouragement that you try it.
And if you're 75-year-old Elke, I pray that you're still doing the things. It might not be 5-day expedition races, but I hope you're still doing things that scare you and excite you and stretch you. I hope you can read these posts and remember how it felt to be in those moments and experiencing those emotions. Racing wasn't (or hopefully isn't) the best part of your life. Nothing is above God or your family, but some things add to who you are as a person. Being out in nature and seeing the glory of His creation and using the body He has given you to do things He has already planned for you is a blessing I hope you have never taken for granted. Give all the family you have a tight squeezy hug from 43-year-old Elke. She's still out here making as many memories as possible and hoping she's made you proud and thankful for all our blessings. Now go and read the stories from all the other expedition races we've hopefully done since this first one.
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