Free Ultramarathon Man by DEAN KARNAZES Page B

body into a different position, the rigor mortis might be broken. With a few spasmodic jerks, I dislodged my left arm from the armrest. It fell to the floorboard like a piece of limp rubber, my hand flopping numbly to the plush carpet. Slowly walking my fingers back, I located the seat-adjustment buttons. The first button I pushed moved the seat forward, cramming my outstretched legs farther into the floorboard. This action sent a bolt of pain shooting up my body like an electrical shock. Not good. I quickly retracted my finger, and then moved it to the next button back. This lowered the headrest and began squashing my skull like a melon. By the time I was able to release the control, my head was wedged below the headrest and the seat back and I was feeling faint. Really not good.
    With the third button, my upper body began to recline. Weird creaking and crackling noises resonated from my torso as I slid backward. As I approached horizontal, the pain began to ease. When the seat was fully reclined, I took my finger off the control and lay there motionless.
    Now that I was in less agony, I could begin to assess the situation. Partially digested chunks of cantaloupe dripped from the steering column. I could sense dampness on my legs, but my entire lower torso was completely numb, so I really wasn’t sure what was going on down there. I knew my next step was to get out of the car. Reaching up, I tugged on the door handle. At first it wouldn’t yield, but with a more forceful jerk the latch unexpectedly released and the door swung open.
    My upper body came flailing out of the car and my arms were too weak to buttress my fall, so I came crashing down face-first into the dirt. I lay splayed on the ground, half of my body outside of the car and my legs and feet still inside. My face rested in the dirt, and I watched little swirls of dust flowing out from under my nostrils with each exhalation. Though I must have looked utterly pathetic lying there, I could just as well have been standing on a podium having a medal placed over my head. After months of dedicated training and preparation, my goal had been achieved, my mission accomplished. It was a proud moment.
    Eventually I was able to drag the rest of my body out of the car. My face was covered in dust and my clothes were filthy. My pride was intact, though, as I piloted the Lexus home, utilizing the cruise control to regulate my speed, too petrified to push on the pedals for fear that my legs would cramp again and I’d crash.
    As for the car, it never was the same. But I began to appreciate the vehicle more now that it had been properly christened. We had lived through the worst, and our shared history brought us closer together. When my boss inquired about the rancid odor, I told him some fruit had rotted inside . . . which wasn’t far from the truth.
    Julie was thrilled to learn that I’d qualified for the Western States, although at first I didn’t tell her about the little post-race episode in the car. She asked about the difficulty of running fifty miles nonstop, and I told her it was the hardest thing I’d ever done, by far. That’s why I loved it.
    When I told my parents that I was going to attempt to run 100 miles, their response was amazement. “Can you do it?” my mom asked.
    â€œI’m not sure, that’s why I want to try,” I told her.
    They had all kinds of questions and we talked at length about running, and about life. It was our most spirited conversation in years. My newfound love of running seemed to awaken a sense of hope. There was something in our future to look forward to; something, perhaps, grand and monumental. Attempting to run 100 miles was a spectacular aspiration, and the pursuit of this dream seemed to transcend career goals and other ambitions. My parents could sense my enthusiasm, and I could sense theirs. A flame had been ignited.

Chapter 6
    Leaving Normal
    Two roads diverged in a wood, and I