As I sit in on the plane back to Vermont, I take a momentand reflect upon the last not even 48 hours. As race weekends are always a blurof old friends, new friends, small chitchat, race day stress, the agony of defeat coupled with the glory of victory. For truly all of these things happen sometimes simultaneously on race day. I start as I have done in the past at the beginning.
 

Friday morning, I got up knowing it was time; time to be a competitor once again. As I pulled away from Killington, I knew the task I had before me. I slipped out quietly, only passing one co-worker on my way out the door. A simple good luck was all I was given. For unless you are in the world of Obstacle Racing it is hard to truly understand what exactly I was setting off to do. Yes, there was the money, but this race as many others were more than simply a race.
 

After a day traveling anonymously among thousands others,each in our own little worlds off stuck in the limbo of travel. I happened to sit on one of my flights next to a man who had done a Tough Mudder. I put my recent discontent aside and this “single serving friend” told me about his experiences in obstacle racing. We for a moment on the plane connected, brought together by this singular unique sport. I find many are scattered around uponly a few dare to call this our sport.
 

As I arrived to my hotel not knowing where I was in the world. For it was dark, yes I was in Texas but where I had no idea. The town Glen Rose meant nothing. I could have been in any town, in any state at that moment. The location did not matter. All that mattered was finding pizza, hydrating, and getting a good nights sleep. As I drifted off to sleep my mind was blank. All the emotions leading up to this point had been played out. All I had left ahead of me was one objective, the sole reason I traveled half way across the country, compete.