The race cut-off time wasn’t far behind me, either. Underprepared and undertrained, I was staring down defeat.

Then, in came two runners. One, weathered with years, knees and elbows bloody from a nasty fall. The other, young and sporting a nasty black eye, another tree root victim. Yet, neither was done.

A few minutes of shared misery, and equally encouraging words, it hit me – I couldn’t give up. Not here, not when these long-distance warriors were pushing on. “Shall we?” the older runner asked. And we did.

Andy Jones-Wilkins and his post “Running For Different Goals” triggered this memory for me. Yes, aid stations can be those little oases of snacks and chatter in the middle of a punishingly long race. Why do we linger? It’s a fair question.

Like he discovered – we’re all out there at different ages, for different reasons, but we all share one thing – the grit to finish.

That day in the mountains outside of Santa Cruz, no words were spoken about why we were running, but in that moment we all shared a silent pact.

Their bloodied determination ignited mine, and we slogged through the race’s final 10K and crossed that finish line together.

Do you have any formative race memories? If so, hit reply and share. Hearing other’s running stories is always inspiring.

Until next time.

Your partner on the run,

Rob Huff

P.S. I would find out later that during my race at the finish line, my dad had asked the race director if he should be worried. To that, the response was a chuckle and that no, all racers were accounted for and I was on my way. It is nice to have the support and confidence of my family 😂