the penny pincher's protien shake

mention that you are wanting to add more protien to your diet and people will give you a number of suggestions. there are many options out there, from protien powders to protien shakes. of course, you could always go the old fashioned way and just add more chicken and steak to your diet. for those like me, however, who dread the thought of using anything in the kitchen other than the microwave or toaster, i have found something that makes adding some extra protien to my day much easier and thought i would share my secret with you. don't you feel lucky?

many protien supplements on the market are expensive. if you don't believe me, just make a trip to your local GNC and see what the price range is for the supplements they carry. Most range from $35.00 to $75.00 per container and since you will be recommended to take several scoops of the supplement multiple times a day, you may go through even their largest container quicker than you would think.

so, whenever i started asking around about protien supplements, i was informed by a friend at the gym that i could try a brand of high protien supplements called EAS for free. i liked the sound of that. after spending several minutes researching the brands products and ingredients on their website, i decided to give it a try. why not, right?

in the world of protien supplements, free samples are not very popular. my personal thoughts on this is because most of these companies know that if you let someone try their supplement product before they spend $60.00 on it, they more than likely won't buy it, because, let's face it, a lot of the shakes, powders, and bars taste like something you might find in a second grade classroom, you know, chalk, paper, cardboard, things like that.

i mention all of this to illustrate how shocked i was to read that my free sample was not going to be some one ounce, trial size package mailed to me within the next four to six weeks, but rather a coupon i could print straight from my computer and take to any store which carried the EAS products and use to obtain my choice of protien shake or bar.

so i printed my coupon and headed out to the grocerey store. the local stores here carry a four pack of EAS Protien Shakes for around $4.50 - $5.00. and being the penny pincher that my mother raised me to be, i thought the price was a little high. nevertheless, i walked up to the counter, coupon in hand, and recieved my first package of EAS Protien Shakes at no cost to me.

while driving home, i crunched the numbers in my head and was dismayed at the thought of spending almost $50.00 a month on a protien shake. i mean, people pay less for gym memberships. then it hit me. i could use half of a shake and add skim milk, which is a natural source of protien, to make my own protien shake at half of the cost.

needless to say, as soon as the groceries were unpacked that afternoon, i headed right over to the blender, a gallon of skim milk in one hand and a protien shake in the other. i poured about half of the shake into the blender and added about the same amount of skim milk. it smelled fantastic, but something was not right. the shake was still warm from sitting on the shelves at the grocerey store and the skim milk only made the drink slightly chilled. i dumped a handfull of ice cubes into the blender and turned it on.

and voilà! a penny pincher's protien shake.

so, if you are interested, i encourage you to try it for yourself!

first, get your free coupon from https://eas.com/freesample

to make one serving:
1/2 Serving (about 5.5 ounces) EAS AdvantEDGE Carb Control protien shake (i use the chocolate fudge, but they have several other flavors, including vanilla which you could also add fresh strawberries or natural peanut butter to)
1/2 Serving (about 4 ounces) Skim Milk
1 Generous Handful of Ice Cubes

blend well, refrigerate the other half of your EAS Protien Shake, and enjoy!

nutritional facts for one serving

1oo calories
12.5 grams protien
9.5 grams carbs
1.5 grams fat
6 grams sugar
1.5 grams fiber (if you would like to add more fiber, sprinkle a tablespoon of flaxseed into the blender as well, this will only add about 30 calories!)

gone for a run

i want to be an athlete. i want to be fast. i want to be lean.

my genetics, however, always seem to have something else in mind.

i am not built to be a runner. i have hips and thighs. my feet are flat and my stride is short. but, more than anything else, i want to run.

almost two years ago, i decided to shape up - you know, adjust the diet, move around some more, the usual - no specific goal in mind, just loose some weight and see what would happen.

and what happened?

even i am not sure. a lot, i suppose. from short races to endurance distance running, my capacity for running and fitness as a whole has grown.

i am never satiated, however, and i find myself, once again, facing a desire, a decision.

right now, i do what is safe. what is comfortable. i am proud of myself for all that i have done during the last two years. never would i have imagined that i would find myself where i am today. i am so thankful for the people who have supported me along the way, the experiences we have shared, and the growth i have felt.

i am not finished, however, not even close, and i still have a lot of work to do. i am ready to develop a new training plan and stick to an educated diet. i want to learn the ways of an athlete. i want to become leaner. i want to become faster. i want to be able to run longer without feeling fatigued.

i have goals that i want to accomplish, dreams that i want to see through.

but i cannot do it alone.

"it is not the mountain that we conquer, but ourselves." - sir edmund hillary

The Lean Horse Ultra Marathon

“How about this one?” my husband asked, waving a paperback book in his hand. I took the book from him and glanced at the title. “Ultra Marathon Man” I muttered to myself while looking over the cover and almost immediately placed it back on the shelf. The book looked anything but promising. Not only was it discounted remarkably, but it was also surrounded by at least ten other copies of the same title. Obviously, these books were going nowhere fast. Despite these facts, I stared at the price tag for a moment and considered the long plane ride back to South Dakota. “Sure, why not?” I finally mumbled and pulled the book back off of the shelf.

“Unbelievable!” I exclaimed, lifting my head from the pages of my discounted treasure. “This man runs…” I paused trying to find the right words, “A LOT!” For those who, like myself, had never before been introduced to Dean Karnazes or the world of Ultra Running, I was immediately smitten. For months I had been comfortably gloating in my routine of running three or four miles a day and still riding the high of completing my first marathon earlier that year. I thought I had reached the pinnacle of the sport. I was a marathon runner. I was elite. And, man, did I have the rug pulled out from under me on that one.

“I am going to do that someday!” I thought to myself. Or did I? Everyone stared back at me and I immediately wondered how I managed to let that internal thought slip through my lips. What did it matter? There was no going back now. My mother, father, and husband each had the same look on their face as they stared at me across the kitchen table. It was not the kind of look that made me feel as though they did not believe that I could finish an ultra marathon. It was just more of a look that made me feel they unanimously thought I could be right at home in an asylum. “I am going to do that someday…” My thoughts trailed off again, only they went more silently this time.

There are only two types of people in the world: those who choose to run and those who do not. Well, all right, it is obvious that there are many other types of people in the world, but what I am suggesting is that it is difficult to describe the passion of a runner to those who have never jogged off further than their own mailbox. If you are thinking to yourself that you could never accomplish a marathon, I want to stop you there and share with you personal thought. Until recently, I was someone who thought that four laps around the track was the approximate distance between me and cardiac arrest.

As far as shopping, dining, nightlife, and culture goes, South Dakota is definitely lacking. One area which I cannot say the same for, however, is the states abundance in recreational opportunities. If you are one of those peculiar people who spend the same amount of time on Running in the USA’s website as you spend on Facebook, then you might know that in comparison to similar states like North Dakota, Wyoming, and Montana, South Dakota essentially has a decent amount of running events.

It should have come as no surprise to me, then, when I discovered that South Dakota was home to the Lean Horse Ultra Marathon. The event has been held annually for five years now and the race is organized by the same race director who is in charge of the Deadwood Mickelson Trail Marathon, as well as this year’s inaugural Crazy Horse Marathon. Nevertheless, I had to fetch my jaw from off of the floor whenever I realized that endurance running was not as unheard of as I had once thought, one just had to be looking for it. I turned on the printer.

“So…” I paused; my wide, star-crossed eyes still gazing at the computer screen. “Should I sign up?” I had, of course, already printed and completed the registration form, written the check, and fished out an envelope and book of stamps, but I had to do the right thing and ask the man of the house before committing completely. After all, there was no way I could manage an ultra marathon without a crew and I seriously doubted I could convince anyone other than my legally bonded husband to stay in a car for twelve hours preparing endless amounts of electrolyte drinks while I ran carelessly up and down the hills of Hot Springs, South Dakota.

I sat in the passenger seat of the car feeling as blissful as a dog in a sidecar while my husband drove us around the small town of Hot Springs, South Dakota. More than five months had passed since I had registered for the event and I was wound up with anticipation. It was barely mid-morning and it was already warm. “So, where is this place?” he asked as he pulled the car over into a large, empty parking lot. I wanted to apologize that I had forgotten to bring directions, but nothing, not even the look on his face, could bring me to feel anything but contentment. “I don’t know.” The car hummed to a start again, and I swear I heard his eyes roll. We did another loop around the small town.

“There! Over there!” I sat up in my seat and pointed eagerly at the large white sign just outside of the Mueller Center. “Welcome Lean Horse!” I read the sign aloud, almost too eagerly, and bounded out of the car as soon as it was parked. “Take my picture by the sign!” I pleaded while Corey rummaged through the trunk. “Why are we here so early?” he asked again, just as he had several times already. He had just cause, however, as it was only several minutes after ten and the seminar did not start until three in the afternoon. “Cause.” I retorted and smiled wildly at the camera.

“What are you running tomorrow?” A short, stout woman looked up from her stack of papers and smiled at Corey. “The half hundred” I interjected. She shot a curious look at me, then to Corey, then back at me. “Oh, okay, yes.” Her fingers fumbled over a stack of papers on the table. “And your name, dear?” she cooed sweetly.

Not a minute later, Corey and I were hauling two large white bags over to an empty table to rummage through the swag I had just received from the people at the packet pick up. I reached into the first bag and pulled out a small tan sweatshirt. I found it strange that instead of receiving a traditional finisher’s shirt, all the participants were receiving sweatshirts. Then again, I had also learned that a majority of ultra marathons, including the Lean Horse Ultra Marathon, do not award each of their finishers with a medal like nearly all other long distance races do, regardless of their race time.

Instead, the common practice among ultra marathon events is to award runners who finish fifty miles in less than twelve hours with key chains and award belt buckles to those who complete one hundred miles in less than twenty-four hours. Unsure as to whether I would finish in time to receive hardware, I tried to look on the positive side and smiled as I imagined myself training during the long winter months bundled warmly in my sweatshirt. My imagination got the better of me, however.

It reminded me of something one could find in a thrift store, no pockets, no hood, just an ugly tan sweatshirt with the words “Lean Horse 50” embroidered in the upper corner. I mulled over the cost of the entry fee for a moment and wondered what percentage of that money went towards producing these awful sweatshirts. Five percent, maybe? Probably not even that.

In order to make myself feel somewhat better about the irrational amount of money I paid to run fifty miles on public property, I snatched a handful of trial sized deodorants, toothpaste, and lotion and chucked them into the second bag. I made a mental list of all the things I would need to pack for the race while I browsed through the small expo some vendors had assembled in the center of the auditorium. Meanwhile, Corey checked the time on his cell phone and looked sourly at me. Hot Springs only had a small number of options when lunch time finally came around. My husband and I decided to have Subway, as did many of the other race participants and their families who were in town for the weekend. We spent the rest of the afternoon walking around the town and eventually made our way back to the Mueller Center to attend the seminar.

Sleep is often hard to come by the night before a race. That night, it was near impossible. Even with everything sorted and packed, my thoughts were racing as I turned over in the bed. I knew something had been forgotten but as my mind scanned over the mental checklist I had composed earlier, I came up with nothing. My alarm buzzed to life several hours later and I bounded from the bed like a child on Christmas morning. I quickly switched on all of the downstairs lights and I heard my husband let out a deep groan. He was awake. Well, the most difficult part of the day was over. I chuckled and bounced gleefully up the stairs.

The morning was colder than I had expected. We reached Hot Springs about two hours before the race began. I assumed we would be the one of the first people to arrive but the Mueller Center was open and the auditorium was humming. Volunteers were helping race participants check in and offered directions and maps to crew members. I spotted the race director, Jerry Dunn, as he loaded aid station supplies and drop bags into a large vehicle. Corey looked over the course map a final time while I fastened my bib to the side of my shorts.

At the CASA Spearfish Canyon Half Marathon in July, I wore a pair of spandex running shorts that I had spent some time cross training in. Unfortunately, I had never worn these shorts on a long run before. When I approached mile ten, my inner thighs were beginning to burn from the friction and I could tell things were going to get ugly. By the time I crossed the finish line a bleeding skin rash had developed on both legs. Because of the experience, I spent a great deal of time considering what I would wear during the ultra marathon. I ultimately decided on a comfortable pair of running shorts and sports bra. I had stored several changes of clothing in the car should anything become uncomfortable or there was a change in the weather, which was to be expected in South Dakota.

About ten minutes before the race started, Jerry Dunn and the volunteers began asking everyone to make their way out to the large concrete area behind the Mueller Center that would serve as both the start and finish area for the Lean Horse Ultra Marathon. It seemed as though Corey and I had only been outside for a minute when a slow, steady murmur of voices rose through the cool morning air. The voices were chanting something. No wait, counting. Backwards. Crammed into those ten short seconds was five months of doubt and anxiety. I felt instantly overwhelmed. I could sense my pulse racing higher as the numbers were being counted down. THREE. Corey held the camera up and began to film. TWO. The crowd around me roared to life. ONE. I turned on my IPod and started to run.

The first mile of the race was crowded. Normally, the congestion would have bothered me but I welcomed the leisurely pace at which we meandered through the sleepy town of Hot Springs. There was a fair amount of traffic on the road, most of which I assumed were support vehicles in route to the first crew checkpoint near mile sixteen. The night before the race, Corey and I purchased a clever device from Wal-Mart that converted your car’s cigarette lighter into an outlet. Corey had packed his laptop and some movies, and was, with the help of that neat little gadget, guaranteed hours of entertainment while he waited for me. I had a silent suspicion, however, that he would spend several of those first hours asleep.

We were off of the walking path within minutes and started to spread out over the two lane road. Runners were now able to regulate their pace and I watched as many began to weave their way through the crowd while others maintained a casual pace, some even walking. I checked my watch and was satisfied with my pace. Once I was running, it was only a matter of time before my muscles warmed up and I was thankful I had decided to start the race without a jacket. The course passed through a small neighborhood and eventually led out to a sandy gravel road.

As I approached the dusty road, my mind recalled something I had heard the previous afternoon. “There is the real roller coaster ride, right there.” A middle aged man had mumbled to us as we lingered around the auditorium before the seminar. Corey and I scrutinized where his finger was touching the map. He moved his hands to reveal a zigzag line that represented the first sixteen miles of the course.

I felt my pace slow down to adjust to the incline of the first hill and observed as many others changed their paces as well. The Lean Horse Ultra Marathon claims to have one of the easiest courses in all of ultra running. The race director explained that people from all over the world choose to run the course as their first ultra marathon or participate in order to set a personal record. On the opposite side of the spectrum is the Western States One Hundred. The course is considered by many to be the Boston Marathon of ultra running. I first learned about the Western States while reading Ultra Marathon Man by Dean Karnazes. I remembered reading about the lofty mountain ranges the author scaled while running the course. “What an animal!” I chuckled to myself and continued to struggle up the little hill in front of me.

The first aid station at the Coldbrook Campground was situated just before the five mile marker and I was exuberant to reach it. I took off my CamelBak and removed the cap before handing it over to a volunteer, who filled it to the top with fresh water. When I was in high school, I never drank water. I almost certainly poured as much money into the vending machines at school as my parents did into my tuition expenses. These days, things are different. Things are very different and I am very happy that they are. I left the aid station with a pack of peanut butter and cheese crackers in my hand and a lot of water.

I tried to focus on something other than my pace for the next several miles. All of the participants were required to wear a bib with their number on it. I had decided to wear mine on the right leg of my shorts. I noticed many others had chosen to wear their bib on their shirt, sleeve, belt, or even on the brim of their hat. The background of each bib was colored in order to indicate the race in which the runner was participating in. The bib which the 50K runners wore had a light red background. The 50 Mile bib was colored blue and the 100 Mile bib was left white. Some of the 100 Mile participants had a large green sticker on their bib, which indicated that this was their first time participating in the Lean Horse Ultra Marathon. I glanced up from the pavement and saw that there were a number of runners around me, some wore red bibs, some wore blue bibs, and others wore white bibs. We all had different paces, different techniques, different training schedules, and different reasons for running - but we all shared one common goal - to finish, and to finish well. It reminded me of life. I felt a warm smile spread over my face and I continued down the road.

I was just as thrilled to reach Morph, the second aid station, as I had been when I reached Coldbrook. My CamelBak was empty again and I handed it over to a volunteer as I packed my mouth full of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. A wasp circled above me and I swatted at it already looking half-drunk. Another runner at the aid station shared a brief laugh with me as I replaced the lid on my CamelBak and headed back out on the course. The weather was perfect and I was feeling great as I passed the ten mile marker leaving the Morph Aid Station behind me. I felt even better by the time I caught a glimpse of the fifteen mile marker.

We were able to meet up with our crew members about a mile after the fifteen mile marker at the Argyle Road Aid Station. Corey handed me a Gatorade with a bag of pretzel rods and, although I would have liked to sit down and catch up on things, I continued to run. I rounded a corner and the aid station was buzzing with activity. Two large campers were parked, one on either side of the path, with a large canopy draped between the two, creating an oasis out of the sun. I realized then that I had not used the restroom for over two hours and politely, yet desperately, asked one of the volunteers if I could use one of their restrooms.

It was a relief to be off of the dusty gravel road and I welcomed the change of scenery. Here the course left the road and transitioned onto the Mickelson Trail, which we, the 50 Mile group, would run on for about nine more miles until the turnaround at Pringle. The 50K group would keep running several miles past the turnaround and then be bussed back to the Mueller Center from their finish line around the thirty mile marker. The 100 Mile group were to keep running on the trail an additional twenty five miles past Pringle to their fifty mile turnaround in the town of Custer.

The next five miles were relatively flat and easy. There was a decent amount of shade along the Mickelson Trail and I was thankful for it. The Mickelson Trail, previously a railroad before it was converted into a recreational path through the Track to Trails program, runs through more than one hundred miles of the Black Hills from Edgemont to Deadwood, which is the home of the Deadwood Mickelson Trail Marathon. I met up with several runners who had done the course before and was thrilled to learn that the next aid station was less than a mile away.

Corey was waiting for me with another Gatorade and bag of pretzel rods. He had several bagels, sandwiches, and other snacks in the cooler with him; however, my appetite was almost non-existent. While Corey refilled my CamelBak for me, I listed several of the things I would need him to have ready for me at the Pringle Aid Station just before the turnaround. Race directors are able to make running without a crew possible by providing well stocked aid stations at appropriate distances and allowing for runners to prepare drop bags ahead of time. Personally, however, I cannot imagine doing a long distance run without the support of a crew. Many runners had made the weekend a family event and recruited their spouse, children, and sometimes even the family dog, to come out to support them while they ran.

The course continued along the Mickelson Trail and, although it was a subtle incline, we began to gain some elevation. Like almost all of the runners around me, I continued to alternate between walking and running. Several of the 50 Mile participants had already reached the turnaround and were making their way back along the trail. A majority of the events I had participated in over the past two years had been point to point, in which participants are bused to their start line. Never before had I retraced my steps as we would during an out-and-back event like the Lean Horse Ultra Marathon. As I progressed closer to the turnaround, my mind returned to the course I had been running all morning. All of the hills I had walked up, I would soon be running down. I smiled. On the other hand, however, all of the hills I had been able to run down earlier this morning I would soon be crawling back up.

By the time I reached the Pringle Aid Station, I had been running for a little over five hours. I was satisfied with my pace and determined that I would be finishing around my goal time of twelve hours. The turnaround was about half of a mile away from the aid station and I passed it without stopping. The town of Pringle was even smaller than the town of Hot Springs. It was simple and charming, pleasant to run through but almost impossible to imagine living in. I continued at a steady pace and soon was within sight of the turnaround. I reached the large white sign and turned around with several other runners beside me.

As I made my way back to the nearby aid station, I watched the runners approaching me, making their way down the course to the turnaround. Some of them would be turning around as I had just done moments ago and beginning the second leg of their journey. Most, however, would continue down the trail another twenty five miles before they would reach their turn around. I looked at the approaching runners with admiration. It takes an inexpressible amount of dedication to train for a marathon. Many people never attempt the demanding 26.2 mile endeavor that is the marathon. It takes a whole other level of devotion and commitment to train for an ultra marathon, however. Each and every runner on the course that day was a hero to me. And the 100 Mile runners, well, they were my super heroes.

Corey was waiting for me on the side of the path as I made my way back to the Pringle Aid Station. I decided to spend a couple of minutes with him here at the halfway point and sat down on the cooler. Corey refilled my CamelBak for me as I munched on yet another bag of pretzel rods. Other runners were mingling with their families and everyone seemed to be in high spirits. If there is one thing that I have learned since I have taken up long distance running is that runners are some of the most pleasant people in the world. Arguably, they have some of the best stories and many have traveled all over the country to participate in marathons. Not only are they willing to share an endless amount of advice, support, and encouragement, but a majority would give you the shoes off their feet if they felt you needed them more than they did.

Just before I left the Pringle Aid Station to start tracing my way back to the Mueller Center, I managed to get down some pretzels and a Five Hour Energy Drink. Not long after I rejoined the path, a crew member for the Hawaiian Ultra Running Team ran with me for a couple minutes as he waited for his team to reach the Pringle Aid station. We chatted about the race, the weather, and, of course, home. I had met several of the “H.U.R.T.” runners at the seminar the afternoon before the race and had mentioned that I was also from the islands. The team was running the 100 Mile event and I noticed that each had pinned a small Hawaiian flag to their CamelBak.

I was in a state of runner’s high. I am still not certain whether it was the energy drink that had me pumped or if it was because the course was either downhill or flat for the next ten miles. Regardless, the distance between the Pringle Aid Station and the Argyle Road Aid Station blurred together and I soon found myself eating a handful of strawberries while standing under the shade of the large canopy draped between the two large campers. I used the restroom again and hurried around the corner to meet Corey, who was waiting diligently with more water, Gatorade, and pretzel rods. When I reached him at the car I had almost completed thirty five miles. Overall, I was satisfied with the way my body was handling the race and I was amazed how well my knee was holding up despite the miles. I headed off of the Mickelson Trail and back onto the dusty gravel road, trying my hardest not to think about the roller coaster ride that awaited me during those last fifteen miles.

By the time I reached the forty mile marker I was in hell, both mentally and physically. The runner’s high which had carried me through the last ten miles was long gone. I had hit the wall. Hard. The five miles between the Morph Aid Station and the Coldbrook Campground felt like ten. Blisters had formed on the ball of each foot and my range of motion had become rather limited. My CamelBak had been empty for about thirty minutes and, in the afternoon heat, I could tell this was going to be a problem.

Around four in the afternoon, another runner passed me. I recognized him from one of the previous aid stations. He looked concerned for me and asked if there was anything he could do for me. I told him my name then asked him to find my husband at the next aid station and have him come pick me up. He nodded reluctantly, a concerned look on his face. He continued over the crest of the hill and, within moments, was out of sight.

I stumbled along the road for another ten minutes before I noticed a man approaching me from further down the road. It was Corey. I was infuriated to see him on two legs. Where was the car? No! This is not what I had asked for! He was supposed to pick me up in the car and take me home so that I could go to sleep and forget that any of this had ever happened. I blinked, thinking, almost wishing, that I had gone mad from the heat or exhaustion. When I opened my eyes, however, he was closer to me. I could feel my face turn red and I must have looked like a child about to throw a tantrum.

“I want to drop out.” I told him when he reached my side. As if he had not heard me, he informed me that the car was just over the hill and that the next aid station was not much further. I agreed to at least walk to the car with him, what other option was there? I mentioned that my CamelBak had been empty for some time now and he apologized, explaining that I had already gone through all of the water we had packed and I would have to refill it once I reached the aid station. The car was parked at the bottom of the hill, just as he had promised, and as we approached it, I noticed he had parked beside the mile five marker.

I spent another ten minutes with Corey at the car and departed with a cranberry bagel from B & L Bagels, a local bagel shop in Rapid City, an empty CamelBak, and my cell phone. I wanted to talk to my mom. Another vehicle was parked not far from Corey and I assumed by the amount of food and water he had stocked in the rear of his truck that he was part of a crew. As if he was able to read my mind, the man pulled a Gatorade from one of his large coolers as I passed his truck and asked if I could use one. Needless to say, I gratefully accepted the offer and continued onto the course.

“Four more miles, mom” I shouted into the phone once I was able to receive reception. I could hear my parents on the other end of the phone trying to break down what I had just said. “So…that means you have already ran…forty six miles?” my mother responded. I had been trying to hold myself together for them, but the next sentence came out in tears. “It is so hard, mom, so hard.” I spent the next fifteen minutes on the phone with my mother and, as I ran, she encouraged me. I was immediately thankful that I had been able to call her and reached the Coldbrook Aid Station just before we said goodbye. I called Corey soon after and asked him to finish with me. He agreed to meet me once I was in town.

If the previous five miles had felt like ten, those final five miles felt like twenty. I ran, jogged, walked, and hobbled up and down the last of the hills and eventually made it back into Hot Springs. When Corey reached me just outside of Evan’s Plunge, I was irritable and only someone who really loved me would have put up with the way I was behaving then. “I will never do this again.” I griped as he approached me. I could feel the sun burning my skin as we walked together. He held out his arm and I leaned on him as I walked.

I looked at my watch and saw that I was nearing twelve hours on the course. Corey encouraged me as I tried to pick up my pace, but it seemed pointless. My feet would have no more of it. They had been through enough. I swallowed any pride I had left and continued to walk through the town. We reached the Dairy Queen just around the corner from the Mueller Center at about 6:00 P.M. and I watched as Corey ran ahead of me to ensure that he could get a picture of me crossing the finish line.

I had hoped to store up enough energy to sprint through the finish line, but rather, I could only manage to walk up to the finish line and duck under the banner. I checked in with the volunteers at the finish line. I gave them my name, bib number, and age, then handed myself over to the Hot Springs Emergency Medical Services. I sat in the grass alongside several other runners and tried to pay attention to the technician as he explained what he was doing, but it was no use. I felt as though I was having some sort of out of body experience as he took my pulse and later asked me to lie down in the grass. Another runner who had finished an hour or so before came over to see how I was holding up. She graciously offered me the rest of her electrolyte pills and, after Corey explained that I had trouble taking pills, she crushed them up and poured them into what remained of my Gatorade.

As I rested in the grass, my heart rate slowed and I was eventually aware of everything going on around me. I wish I could tell you that I looked as amazing as I felt, but there is little glamour in running. My entire body reeked and I had dirt crevassed between each of my toes. A large woman stood above me, holding a trophy in her hand. I could hear her asking Corey if he would present it to me and I smiled as he leaned down to hand me the trophy. When I had signed up for the race, I was unsure I would be able to complete it, let alone place.

Although I had missed the twelve hour cut off by ten minutes, the volunteers handed me a gold key chain along with the trophy. Corey and I remained outside for several more minutes talking with other runners and their families when a light rain began to fall over the town. We left Hot Springs shortly after seven and I fell asleep only minutes after we were on the road.

My mobility came back to me slowly over the next several days and, other than the blisters on the bottom of my feet, nothing was out of the ordinary. Several veteran runners had recommended that I spend a fair amount of time walking the morning after the race, so I had an excuse to meander around the mall for several hours. The appetite that was so non-existent the day of the race struck me hard the day after and I feasted like a king at the Olive Garden, laughing all the while as Corey did the same. He had a demanding weekend also, you know.

I wish I could have had the time to learn the names of everyone had who had made it possible for me to finish. Many who owed me nothing offered me more than I deserved that day. With the support of my husband, my parents, and the generosity of the volunteers and the other runners on the course, I was able to push beyond the wall.

Although the Lean Horse Ultra Marathon was, by far, the most difficult challenge I have faced, as I write this, I am sure that it will only be a matter of time before I will run another fifty miles…or further.