A beautiful blinding white mosaic of winter's frost covers the ground. It's flat surface coated with ice, a pond lies quiet and still. Alive with energy, steam rising from its surface, a creek snakes through the trees and sprints across a field, moving too fast for the ice. From horizon above to reflection below, the rising sun scrunches my face into a squint, blinding me. White glare and fragments of landscape are all that are visible. Frozen in place, the uneven muddy path crunches as I move across it. Turning to steam as it leaves my mouth, warm breath collides with frigid air. I pull my hat down low and attempt to find my way.

One of the toughest courses in Central Texas when the heat us up, it's a bit more fun with the creeks full and flowing, even with temps in the 20s. Our route will lead us through the ice cold water early and often, so there will be no easing into this beast, and no easing off either. Joyce has a circulatory problem in her hands and feet, so she cannot get her hands or feet wet in these frigid waters. If she does, it'll hurt her pretty bad and might put her in danger. Carefully balancing my weight with Joyce on my back, I step in. It's only a few yards across, and the water only rises half way up my shins. My feet and legs tingle from the cold, but it feels good. This is just a fun run. With no awards, trophies or shirts, yet Joyce feels bad about me carrying her over the water. We cross two more times like before, and she tells me that she feels like she's cheating. She doesn't want anyone to think badly of her. I know right now that she's going to pull herself out short of the finish.

Archie and I climb the single-track trail through rocks and scrub. Rising quickly, and leveling off we pick up speed. Sweating though my shirt, I unzip my jacket, and remove my hat and gloves. The tingling from the creek only minutes ago are all but forgotten. I begin to wonder if my single water bottle will be enough for this 10mile section. Speeding around a corner, two others are sprinting back towards us. The two leaders are lost, and so are we! They think we missed the turn, but I'm not certain, so I continue for another ten minutes, and they follow me. No plates, ribbons, or markers are found, so we decide to turn around and head back. We never do find the turnaround marker, but we find a likely spot and everyone behind us has already started back.

My awareness is peaked, watching for a hundred things at once. While making high-speed descents, I search for the next two moves before I even make the first one. All those years of chess pay off in successful high-speed negotiations down these minefields littered with rocks and cactus. After years of crawling, I'm getting much better on the climbs. I've acquired a sliding shuffle that helps to keep me moving without losing too much energy. The best plan for any climb, keep moving until you summit. It's more difficult to avoid the stinging and cutting plants while moving uphill. The bayonet cactus stabs if I lean into it, and the serrated edges will saw through clothes or skin if I just get close. The short stunted Mesquite trees with their rich pungent aroma reach out and grab at my clothes as I run by, and prickly pear thorns hurt just to look at with their long yellow thorns lethal at two to three inches. I've seen a few bloody legs after this run.

Back from loop one, I dump most of my winter wear, as well as the rocks and sand from my shoes. Refuel comes in a can of Ensure and a PB&J wedge. I'm much warmer now, but everyone standing around the aid station has coats and gloves on. Must be me. I'm cookin' now. Going out for the 2nd loop, I pass Joyce coming in. She missed a turn also, so we must be even now on total distance. She connects with Mike & Sid while I run within sight of Archie.

This 10mile section is tough and very fun, loaded with twists and turns, a wonderful collection of large rocks to climb up or down, screaming descents, followed by long slow climbs. A triple-decker set of hills complete with matching panoramic views falls down to a dirt road, and a final winding path that wanders back and forth through another ice cold creek. I love this route and find myself getting caught up in it, picking up speed just to go faster on the downhills, and occasionally using the momentum to get me all the way up the next climb. If and only if this happens, the next downhill is even faster, and so on, until I'm completely out of control and flirting with disaster. Usually, my instincts are on autopilot and not much real thinking is being done. Reminds me when I played shortstop. After a dozen years, everything becomes automatic. Every time I start to think, I start making mistakes. Same thing here. So I do what I like to preach, ‘Just shut up and run!’ I smile like a Cheshire cat, run like a crazy man, and scare the heck out of a hiker I fly by. Trying to climb a rock ledge, my foot slips, and I crash all my bodyweight down on top of the water bottle in hand. The top shoots off and most of the water with it. With a few miles to go, I’m suddenly out of water. This should add some drama. From the top of the triple-decker, I can see quite a few of the trails below me, and it looks like the entire field of runners is right behind me. But with the trails going every which way, there is no way to know if they’re in front or behind, near or far. It’s obvious that the shortest distance between two points is not following the trail. It rather seems the opposite. The trail appears to follow the longest and most difficult route between points. Maybe that’s why I like it so much. I finish this loop alone. Obviously avoided by all the others for good reason. Can I have so much fun that I become insane?

My shoes and socks are saturated with sand, so I change them both. I roll up my tights to air out my shins, roll up my sleeves, and find my dirty old baseball hat to shade my eyes again. With visor rolled down on each side, it fits right and looks right. Another Ensure followed by a cold coke tunes me for the final 7mile loop. This section is tame and a bit boring compared to the last 21miles. Rolling hills, mostly, seasoned with cactus beds and rock gardens. Exiting a field of prickly pear through a broken down gate, I start up an undulating road easy enough to put me to sleep. Feed stations, horse troughs, a smooth dirt road with plenty of sky, and not a soul in sight. It’s all so pristine and quiet. I start well, but find myself slowing down. Am I tired or bored? What’s the difference? Onto a well-worn road for just a hundred yards, I escape the road onto a horse path alongside a creek. In the deep shadows behind the thicker pines, frost is still on the ground. Not much, but it’s past noon and surprises me. The path follows a fenceline and it’s rather choppy. No longer frozen, my feet sink more than they did earlier. Eyes ahead, skirting a large rock, I feel it move. Tripping and landing hard, I watch the rock shape-shift into a rather large grandfather armadillo, on his way to more privacy in the underbrush.

These things usually happen for a reason. It changes my perspective, my focus. I wake up with a laugh, and really start moving again. I must have been asleep, in a dead zone, but no more. I find another gate and a jeep road. This leads me to a muddy track around a field, chopped up by horse hooves. Crossing an unpaved road, and another creek, there is less than a mile to go. I get going even faster, pushing it on down the trail, through the final gate, and into the finish area. Joyce is waiting for me, having stopped after the 2nd loop, skipping the final easy 7miles. We wait around until all of our friends finish and then retire to Bandera proper for hamburgers, lemonade, and some tall, tall tales.

joe prusaitis