saturday night scaries

the long-awaited 24HOP story

White outside, light fading, it’s snowing, again. I love it. Maybe come June when the singletrack is still buried, I will resent it, but it’s only March, and all these storms broken up by some short sweet days of sunshine still have me firmly in their romantic grip. It’s been a few weeks since I wrote anything. I spent last week feeling guilty about it before reminding myself this is my own project, for you but also, importantly, for me, and I was in no place to write.  Maybe that’s when I need to write the most, but I’m too stubborn, and entirely too wrapped up in my feelings. If I sent out an update immediately post-24, which I imagine is what everyone wanted, it would have been short and depressing. The longer the race, the longer it takes to process— highs, lows, reckonings, life lessons—  and while I DNF’ed, DNF-ing still involved 160 hard miles which is pretty dang far.

I’m gonna talk about it, but I’m gonna be brief. Dominique came out to photograph it all and her pictures tell more of a story than I can, so here’s a synopsis, followed by some absolute ~bangers~ from D-Pow.

I felt fucking amazing for 5 laps. Perfect start, fastest woman through the first lap. Legs as good as they’ve ever been, everything under control, everything according to plan. Lap 2, brilliant. It’s hot, hotter than it’s been the last few days of pre-riding, hotter than I’ve ridden in since probably October. I’m drinking more than usual. Lap 3, 4, 5, the sun is inching towards the horizon and every lap I’m riding a little more efficiently, using my brakes less, sitting confidently into the turns, weaving around other riders like it is nothing. Lap 6, I feel some nausea rise up in my throat, and the temperature dips. I do my best to ignore the unease— I’ve been nauseous during races more times than not; it’s typically a sort of wave that comes over me and, an hour or two and some dutiful hydrating later, it passes. I am not worried. Lap 7, I can’t eat. It’s fine, it’s a long race and I can eat at my support tent post-lap. Lap 8, I can’t eat or drink. I’m fucking freezing and my brain starts to fall off, probably dehydration. Lap 9 I’m throwing up, still riding, it’s on my top tube and my left thigh, but I’m still moving. It’ll pass. I’m still fucking freezing despite putting on my warmest layer at transition. I start Lap 10 and realize I did none of the things I planned to do post-Lap 9. I can barely string a complete thought together, or make sense of my surroundings. Somewhere on Rattlesnake trail I pull over, retch 10 times, and leave everything I’ve put in my body that day on the side of the trail. My throat burns from the stomach acid, already raw from breathing desert dust for 12 hours. I cry a little bit, vaguely remember crying the lap before as well. The night closes in around me, I pull off course, text my crew.

Tryndon is the fucking best.

I guess it was the smart thing to do. Part of me still thinks I should have gone back to camp and tried to sleep it off and continue. All I really know at this point is I’ll be there next year, redemption pushing me through the second half. I have more to give.

Here’s what it felt like—

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Otherwise, it’s been a weird couple of weeks. I spent the week immediately post-race wallowing in a veritable pit of despair, as per usual post long event, beating myself up for talking too much shit beforehand and for quitting, despite really having no other choice. 6 feet of snow the weekend after kept me inside beyond when I would have gotten back after it, followed closely by some poorly-timed PMSing the week after. I’ve spent all too much time on my phone, and all too little time taking care of myself. There have been good little windows though, I made steel cut oats in my rice cooker and they were the best oats I’ve ever had. The leftovers were integrated into a sourdough porridge loaf which also turned out brilliantly despite measuring absolutely nothing. I studded an old pair of running shoes and went for a sunset run around the lake and for those 40 minutes nobody could touch me. I skied with Caro, and felt like dying but in the kind of way that makes you feel really alive. I’m on an upswing, and just in time for MidSouth, a race I hate to love, or love to hate, I am never sure.

One thing I want to remember from this time is how friendly a town this is. How one person going out of their way to be nice can completely change things. It’s silly, but it is hard to live here, like physically hard; I have cleared so much snow in the last ten days that I don’t know how my arms are still attached to my body, but I’ve had two different neighbors now see me out there and pitch in to help, I’ve had such lovely interactions with the lady at the hardware store and the lady at my natural grocery, I’ve run into people I barely know who say hi to me as if we’re old friends. It seems every time I leave my house here I’m met with warmth, and I’m certain it’s not because of any good energy I’m managing to put out there. Even the guy that came to fix my internet, he told me it was his first day quitting cigarettes, and we small-talked our way through his visit, something I never do. Apparently the last storm ripped clean the cable from my house. He told my service provider it was their fault.

There’s a part of 24HOP that I haven't mentioned. There are lasting friendships borne from it, from the wonderful people who made the entire experience so much easier, wrapped me in generosity and support and connection on a level I so generally run from. It’s more than I can fully understand or talk about in a way that makes much sense right now, but they are why I’m so bent on going back, at least as much as proving my own physical and mental capabilities, it’s about making good on an unspoken promise to them.

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a WIDE assortment of things I’ve been listening to lately. please note this is not a playlist, it is truly random but hopefully there’s something for everyone here.

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for our “recipe” section I don’t have much— I eat terribly when I’m sad, mostly toast and coffee. I’m going to tell you about something that’s gonna sound questionable but trust me. I let Dominique in on it a few years ago and she can vouch.

Back when I was struggling for money, like pretty bad, minimum-wage barista days, borrowing $30 from my little sister on the 31st just to make rent days, I discovered this, a desperation-breeds-innovation victory. I had a container of plain Greek yogurt in my fridge and not much else, and to prolong it, I mixed in some water— only to find out that slowly incorporating a little water, or better, milk, into Greek yogurt turns it into the fluffiest whipped texture. And if you’re like, Amity, why are you watering down Greek yogurt when you can be less of a weirdo and buy normal yogurt, it is not the same! It is fluffy!! Just add a few tablespoons of milk or alt-milk or water to a serving, and whisk it in until it all transforms.

Disclaimer I have not tried it with nonfat since I don’t buy that, but it works great with the classic 2% Fage or whole. It also works fantastic with other Greek brands and with Skyr if you’ve seen that. Anyway just trust me on this. I always hated the mouth-sticking texture of Greek yogurt and now, whipped with a little milk and some maple syrup over the top, it’s something I eat nearly every day.

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ttfn ◡̈

p.s. I love when u guys comment ◡̈