I reached the last aid station. A volunteer greeted me and smiled, “You’re almost finished.”

I smiled back, “Thank you. I rolled my ankle pretty good and will be happy to cross the finish.”

She nodded. “I give you all a lot of credit for running these trails. I hike them, and that’s enough. There are so many roots and rocks.”

I laughed. “There sure are. I had no idea.”

I grabbed a handful of potato chips and said, “Thank you,” as I popped one into my mouth. The salty, crunchy chip tasted so good.

She called, “Good luck.”

The last five miles were flat, if my memory is correct. It was the perfect time to pick up the pace, but my ankle pushed back. Please cooperate. I was trying not to get upset. I could really fly now, but pain was holding me back, and then there was a stretch of road covered with giant rocks, and man, that hurt. My ankle and foot rebelled. I sped up as much as I could to get off that section, grimacing with each step. With about three miles remaining, I heard footsteps behind me. Oh, good, another runner is coming. He passed me like I was standing still. I tried to keep up, but my ankle protested.

I’m almost at the finish. I’m almost done. I’ll take care of my foot—ice and rest. I promise. Enjoy the forest. I laughed to myself. It sounded ridiculous given my situation, yet I remembered that most things don’t go as planned—this was good practice. I was grateful my body was still upright and I’d be able to finish. When I left the trail onto the gravel road, a sign with the words “turn right to the finish” appeared before me. That’s the parking lot. The finish is just ahead!

I picked up the pace, hoping to make it under six hours. I felt like I was sprinting—I assure you, I was not. I heard the ring of the cowbell and cheers as I got closer. I pumped my arms and saw the inflatable finish arch. I smiled and finished strong. I ended up running a 5:28:00! Considering my rolled ankle and hard fall during the race, I was thrilled with this time. What could I have run without that ankle roll? What if? I stopped myself from dwelling on the pain of what-ifs. I ran my best, had fun, and finished under 6 hours. Victory.

Once I crossed the finish line, my steps immediately turned into a limp as the pain hit. Oh, right. I didn’t forget you, ankle. I was hobbling, searching for a seat. My friend Felicia congratulated me and led me to a rock to rest. I sat down and was handed a Ziploc bag of ice. I removed my sneaker and sock; there was no bruising, just mild swelling, which was reassuring. I placed my bare foot inside. The ice cubes surrounded my foot, and I exhaled with relief as I cheered on the runners finishing.

After 10 minutes, I decided I should get up, move around, and clean myself up as I looked down at the dried blood on my right hand. Did I put my sock back on? I don’t remember, but I do recall how difficult it was to get my sneaker back on and the discomfort of standing up again. My right foot was not happy, and I paused for a moment to decide what to do. I had trouble putting weight on my foot and couldn’t believe it. I limped to my car, wondering if I could drive home.

To be continued….

The link for Monday’s writing community at 11 am (EST)

Halloween Edition of the Move. Write. Connect. Group! It was the perfect way to end the fall session. Thank you so much for creating with me, and I look forward to our next group in Winter 2026! Stay tuned for more details.