The 50K runners can afford to be reckless for a while, and they’re not my concern - but I’ll blow by every one of the 100-mile runners and 50-mile runners passing me in these first few miles. As much as I don’t like to let myself think so, I know what I’m doing. ![]() I need to accept the fact that I’m not new to the ultra scene. This stretch of pavement was the first part, the last part, and the worst part. Maybe some of these people know each other, but most of it is in passing at races in this region. ![]() Maybe tribe is the right word - but in order for a tribe to function, its members need to have had enough intimacy to know each other’s distinct behaviors. They’re collecting in front of me, collected as a herd. Let them pass, sputter, and slow to a walk. I’m not setting any land-speed records today. Nothing lives on this oblivion of salt, and no rocket-ship of a car is going to plow into an antelope. ![]() I guess if people are going to screw around and waste resources, this place is where to do it. Runners of all three distances - the 100-Mile, the 50-Mile, and the 50K - just started the Salt Flats Endurance Run and we’re still on the starting stretch, the Bonneville Salt Flats Speedway, where ambitious inventors try to set land-speed records. It’s the pitter-patter of another runner passing me. Here comes another one, breathing down my neck. Here is the strange act of a contemplative gaze into the distance while also taking a selfie
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