I am not where I should be, and five others, assuming I know what I’m doing, have followed me. I see the flags. The way they’re laid out, in both directions, are enough for me to realize I’m lost. I’ve missed a turn and we’re all off course. So I stop! They all stop! And then they realize it also. We turn back and search around the pond where I think we missed the split, but no such luck. We see a runner, the leader, on the opposite hill. I wave at him, “which way?” He slows for an instant, grunts something unintelligible, and then resumes his pace, moving away from us. We see some others on another hill in the opposite direction. Totally confused, we go further back until we finally find the missed turn. I don’t know how we missed it. It’s well marked. Just not paying attention.

Feels good to be back on course again. All the slow-moving tortoises are now in front of us. “You’re too soon”, they say as we hop past them, thinking that we’ve lapped them already. They laugh when I entertain them with my navigational ineptitude. Following the trail more attentively, we’re surprised and delighted by the view atop Twin Peaks. Splashes of deep green and eye grabbing purple dot the desert brown landscape. It’s quite a site!

You ever have one of those days where everything seems to go wrong, and yet everything works out right? This is one of those days. We woke early with plenty of time to drive to Bandera from Austin, but a big gullywasher of a rainstorm blew in. We’re soaking wet by the time we finish loading the truck, the roads are wet, visibility’s bad, and we detour around three accidents on the highway. Joyce and I know there’s no way we’re going to make it in time for the start, so we talk it out and reason that it’s just good to get away for a long run together. We enjoy the drive as much as we can while we splash down the highway through the middle of the storm. Fifteen minutes late, we roll out of the hail and lightning and into Hill Country State Park... and everybody’s standing right there in the middle of the road.

“You think they’re waiting for us?” “Don’t bet on it!” There’s only twenty runners and they’re standing in the road ready to start. “You ready?”, Bill asks. I tell him, “go ahead and start. Don’t wait on us.” Bill sets ‘em loose while Joyce & I quickly throw our gear together. All the rain we drove through to get here and it’s dry as a bone. Discarding all our wet rain gear, we switch to summer wear. Losing only a few minutes on the herd, we follow and catch the back of the pack just prior to the first hills. Interesting looking paths lead off in all sorts of directions, but we follow the flags and arrows that mark the course. Joyce and I fall in with Mark Henderson, who actually talks more than I do. Joyce is amused by this and tells me so. Shaun also clicks in with us, saying little, either by inclination or by lack of opportunity.

The wind’s blowing pretty hard and the clouds hang angrily over our heads, but the rain’s gone. We turn off the flat jeep road into the hills and begin to climb. The single-track trail undulates through trees, scrub, cactus, and rocks until 8.3 miles later, where we fall back into the starting point and main way station in 1:55. I ran this same course last year and know about how long it’s going to take for each loop. I carried only a single water bottle for the first loop, but plan to carry more later. It’s going to get hot today, but we’re dressed for it, and our gear is planned around it. We have plenty of salt caps and a cooler full of ice and cold drinks. If you’ve never been to Bandera or the central Texas Hill Country, the size of the hills will surprise you. One of the steepest climbs reminds me of Chinscraper at Wasatch, and of course our route takes us directly up it. We have to pay attention to the Bayonet Cactus while we climb or we will most certainly get cut. The entire hillside is liberally seasoned with these silent cutthroats. Once on top, the descent is a bit uncertain, so we follow the most direct path, dropping from ledge to ledge. Sections of the course are worn smooth single-track, but mostly we’re running on rocks. Big ones, little ones, barn door size, and baseball size quad-killers that roll out from under your feet.

Returning to the truck from our hike in the country, we top off our water and head out on the short 4.1-mile loop in the opposite direction. Mark heads out with Shaun, while Joyce and I take a bit longer to get ready. This loop is much less hilly, but has even more rocks than the big loop. We follow a wandering path through the woods on Caesar’s Texas extension of the Holy Roman Empire. No more than a road of rocks, it must be ancient. There are too many to dodge, so we jump from one to the next, hoping to avoid the unstable ones without much luck. The hard-rock obstacle course leads us up and down a power line cut and quits in a large cactus garden surrounding a weathered and worn horse shed and watering trough. If they ever did see a coat of paint, it has been long gone. We pass through a break in the fence that might have been a gate onto a rutted winding jeep road. Following the road for awhile leads us to a more traveled dirt road, across West Verde Creek, and back up another single-track horse trail.

Our second water station is a couple of Dr. Pepper liter bottles filled with water laid out next to a tree in a dark shady grove. From here, we roll through a variety of scenic landscapes: open fields, single track horse trails, jeep roads, creek beds, fence lines, and what looks like a tractor path. My senses are alive with sounds, scents, colors, and movement: the cactus scrapes sting and itch, the scent from the scrub is rich and fragrant, the blossoms are bright deep purple, lizards scatter under rock and foot. All my senses are hummin’ in full data collection mode. It’s hard to sort it all out as I move through quickly, rotating in and out of each setting a couple of times. Fortunately, Bill doesn’t run us through the rough country cactus scrub like he did last year. We cross the creek over some well placed rocks and back up another jeep road and into the main station. 3:15 for 20k.

We take our time getting ready and begin the second 20k as the clouds clear and the sun starts to beat down. Its gonna get hot. I can feel the skin on my neck and legs warming up. It’s Oakley time. We went out easy to conserve energy, but our tact was fruitless, as we both now began to struggle. We take more time to make the climbs, longer breaks, and even the downhills start to be a struggle as we become more lethargic. We make it through as best we can, but it’s not easy, taking us way too long. Joyce says her knee and ankle are aching and she feels it’s wise for her to stop when she finishes this loop. Bill has given us options to do 60, 80, or 100k, and I figure it will be dark by mid-4th loop so I’ll stop after three. I already got lost once in the daylight and can’t imagine finding my way in the dark without glow sticks, even with a good flashlight. So we decide that three loops and 60k should work just fine for me. I make the mental adjustments and start thinking of three loops instead of five. I quit trying to picture what some of the confusing sections will look like in the dark. We finish the loop in 2:08 and Joyce calls it a day.

I go out alone for the second part of the second loop, carrying a cold water bottle and a juicy tomato. Still moving rather slowly, I take my time and enjoy the scenery. At the Dr. Pepper aid tree, I kneel down to get one of the water jugs, take my sunglasses off, set them down on the trail behind me, and wash my face and neck. It sure feels good on my skin. Refreshed, I stand up and begin again, running up the trail. I’m just about to the dry pond, filled with starch-white rocks floating on bright green grass, when I realize that something’s missing. My sunglasses are back on the trail! I forgot them. I start back, and see some horses coming up the trail. I know they’re going to get scrunched if the horses get there before I do. I sprint! The riders see me coming at them and stop their steeds. I brake just in front of them and retrieve the wayward Oakleys. Then I turn and head back the way I had come, with the glasses back in place on my nose. Wow, that was a rush! The rest of this loop’s uneventful in comparison. I complete the 20k loop in 3:45 for my slowest time today. What else can I find to delay me? I’m sure something will surface.

I take my time to slurp two 16-oz cokes and a trio of Advils, refill my water, and take a 20oz Gatorade as I prepare to leave. But what’s this? Diarrhea! I slide over to the outhouse to clean up and change. Gross! Clean and full of fluids, I restart the third and final 20k. I also remember to take my camera this time. Amazingly, my zip and zing has returned and I’m able to push the pace again, so I do. I stop a few times to guzzle the Gatorade and take some pictures, but my running has definitely picked up steam. My momentum carries me all the way to the base of Ice Cream Hill, where I catch Shaun. We crawl up together on all fours while we talk and take a few pictures. Once on top, I bound down the backside like a mountain goat heading for home. I roll on and on, never seeing another runner, but plenty of horses and riders.

I can feel the cactus cuts on my ankles, my burnt skin, swollen hands, and parched lips, while my hams and quads are hummin' the blues... but I feel good. And I mean REAL GOOD! I feel unbelievably wonderful just to be kickin' rocks, right here, right now. No cars, buildings, noise, or congestion. Just blue sky and plenty of time. I smile and pick up the pace even more. My mental energy has transferred to my body. I’m moving faster. It always amazes me how quickly my energy level goes from O-zone to Da-Zone, and reverse. Sure does feel good to be runnin' like this again. I skim through the station just long enough for another coke. My 20k-loop time is a much improved 2:05.

I dump the used up camera, top-off my water, and grab another Gatorade. I realize I haven’t tripped or fallen once today and become so conscious of it that I’m certain I'll trip for sure now. Lizards scatter as I pound the rocks with my 185lb body. I glimpse a horny toad. Wow! Don’t see many of those anymore. I rock n roll on the rocks that roll, but fail to see the tree... as it hits me... between the eyes! My eyes tear up, but I stay up! Well, that got my attention. But I keep on going. Not a hitch, not a glitch, even with the moanin' bones, my body moves fluidly, evenly across rock and root. Sometimes, it just all comes together like poetry. If I could sing, I'd find a rhyme for this rhythm. And then I see Joyce. She has come out to run me in the last mile. I stop to kiss her, and then we’re off. We cross a creek and float for the last mile back into the finish. Viola! It is done. A 3:10 last loop for a 10:08 total. My third loop is definitely my fastest. I had a great run and a wonderful time. Bandera is one rough and rugged place to run, but it’s beautiful and we enjoy it so much.

Mark has gone on, into his 4th loop. He plans to do the 100k and needs two more loops. Joyce & I visit with Wild Bill and Brett's Mom for a bit, then we leave with Shaun and his girlfriend for dinner in downtown Bandera. I’m not sure, but I think I was fifth out of the twenty starters in the 60k. Shaun was right behind me. Only two went on to finish the 100k, one of them being Mark. It amazes me how everything can go so wrong and yet everything comes out so right, how I could feel so bad and feel so good! Today, I ran without thinking. I ran with feeling!