Alright, So I now had both feet struggling with blisters, my arches were hurting, and my body was feeling all the distance. I was knocking on the door of the pain cave, and deeply frustrated that I had been feeling pain off an on since mile 7. That was not at all part of the plan, or the expectation, or the hope. I was mentally so strong and did not doubt my ability to complete the distance once during the trip, but the reality of how fast I was going to move and how much pain I was going to feel was definitely settling in. All the way up the North Rim Bob and I were in the middle of the pack, and I felt really strong and hopeful that I would not be the last one out of the canyon.
As we headed on the 7 mile trek to Phantom Ranch, the part of our group that was behind us came running past me at mile 35 and my pride took a hard, fast fall, right on its face. I wanted to admit that I felt as good as they did, I wanted to believe that I could run like they were, but alas....that was not reality. And guys.....I ugly cried right there on the trail. Ultra distance is HARD and the reality of a strong mind and terribly weak feet is honestly a pill I have not wanted to swallow in full. I did all of the training I could handle, and honestly, in that moment, was deeply disappointed that I didn't feel as good as everyone else. Even Bob, who is amazing and never left me, could have run and been faster. In that moment I was the weakest link, and I felt all of that negativity swirl in my head. And yes, I ugly cried right there on the trail.
But that is human experience and the part that I am actually proud of is what happened 3 minutes later. I took a big deep and cleansing breath, ate some food (always a good choice) and told myself 3 things:
1. Who cares if you are last? You are doing R2R2R! And you know you can walk that far.
2. Bethany its hot and sunny and every tear you cry just dehydrates you. Stop it right now.
3. It takes energy to be prideful, it takes energy to be angry, and it takes energy to be negative. And you don't have enough to throw a pity party AND walk out of this canyon. So again, stop it right now.
And I did. I shifted, and adjusted, and changed the expectations right there. I extended grace and praised myself for simply doing this thing. I thanked God for a husband who gave me space, but never left my side physically or emotionally in that little stretch of the canyon. Who was feeling his own stuff and never had a doubt that I would pull my sh!#$ together and finish what I started.
By the time we reached the Box again the sun was down past the mountain so the Box was shaded and cool, and amazing. It boosted my spirits and made me feel hopeful and purposeful again.
We saw a little snake and another deer, and we methodically made our way down this stretch of canyon and back into Phantom Ranch. I learned a hard lesson about GPS in the canyon. I had been watching my watch and mentally making notes on distances. But what I learned is that GPS in the canyon is unreliable at best. What took us 13 miles one way took us 15 miles the other. That's called canyon distance and you just shouldn't rely on your watch. Lesson learned.
We pulled into Phantom and the feeling I felt most was excitement. From this point, its 11 miles to the top. That's it. The final stretch.
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