Date: Thu, 13 Aug 1998 02:43:45, -0500
Subject: Saga of Cold Miner Dick at LT100, Pt. 1

Ah, Colorado!

Ah, Leadville!

Ahhhhh-CHOOOOOOOOOO!!!
(Sorry for the sneeze.  Mosquito.  Inhaled with the first sigh.)

Lots of mosquitoes at Leadville, I'll bet.

It dawned on me today, at the water cooler at work, that the Hinckley &
Schmidt guy hasn't been around for awhile.  No, that I'm supposed to be
preparing to run one hundred miles at Leadville, Colorado--and neighboring
counties, reservations, territories, states, and provinces--in just about a
week and a half and, well, I'm not there yet!  I'm standing at the water
cooler in FLAT sea-level Illinois, when all the apprenticed wisened sages,
up to whom I sheepish look, have long ago advised that, by this time, I'd
best be acclimating.

So, well, I did the next best thing.  I took an empty jug, stuck my head
inside, and started practice breathing in a vacuum.

Imagine the terror on the faces of my co-workers when I eventually came out
of the lunchroom.

There are always ways around things, if you take the time to look around.
Besides I can't imagine ever being in a position to practice with the type
of iron-lung vacuum breathing device rapped about so recently on this very
list.  Sure, that too is a way around the fact that, to date, ain't none of
us flatlanders right here able to acclimate very well. (Although I recently
relocated to the third floor.  Does that help?)

(Ever so microscopically, I should imagine.)

Tall buildings!  Heck, tomorrow I could go downtown and take the tour to
the top of the Sears Tower.  Better yet:  skip the lift an' hoof it.
Whuddaya tink?  Coupla stair intervals at 110 stories each?  May not do
much for me at Leadville, but it'd sure impress people around the water cooler.

"Loogguh deeze calves!" I'll say, rolling up my trouser legs.

"No thanks," Tammy'll say.  "Not interested.  They're not shaved."

Actually, of course, (you know me by now, right?) none of this happened.  I
really DIDN'T squeeze my head inside an empty Hinckley & Schmidt jug--did
you think I could?

No, I was just warming up the crowd.  Working the room, as it were.
Preparing you (friends and apprenticed unwisened critics alike:  roll up
your sleeves, er, trouser legs) for yet another long-winded saga about
yours truly's weird experiences running ultras.  Big, important ultras.
The kinds of ultras that most super-runners take very, very seriously; and
none but the perfect fools laugh at.  (What's THAT say?)  Heck, even I've
noticed that NOBODY's laughin' out there.  Which is why, of course, I do it
here.

IN here.

Here in my little chickenshit lil' heart that nobody else (including me)
can possibly see.  An' I ain't showin' to y'all when I'm out there neither!

I just thought this time I'd get an earlier start, is all.  Maybe shed some
clothes, er, light on my preparations (haven't done any), on all my
precautions (remember to pack socks), all my practices (a few little jogs
on the bike path), all my proclivities (hooked on swiss cheese), and all my
predictions (yes, just like they have a Fourth of July in Canada, there
will also be an August 22nd in Colorado).

I thought I'd marvel for a moment on this upcoming momentous and marvelous
event.  Look at all the preparations of everybody else!  My goodness!  Iron
lungs to practice gagging with.  Weird vaulted walking poles to practice
pole vaulting with.  Shavers to practice shaving with.  Spare airsick bags
to practice puking with.

We have established separate and distinct splinter listserv groups.
"Reformed" groupings of newly apprenticed wisened sages.  The just-nailed
"13 Theses" on the clinic door demanding to check academic references about
blood doping, HRMs, VO2 maxes, pulse rate mins, extreme edema, lactic
thresholds, lactose intolerances, and how come Karl's Kaps all stick
together like Gummy Bears.  (Is this the Diet--or was it the Cathedral--of
Worms?  Where IS the good Dr. Martin Luther when you need him?  Marching,
no doubt.  Up the sides of Swiss Alps.  Or, Colorado Rockies.  Am I getting
more and more abstruse here?  Are you believing yet what a fan of "Ron" I
am?  Hey!  Mine IS pointing to my new hat, Ron!!!)

:-)

But (the story of my life) SHE's more interested in the shoes.

:-(

Yes, I only thought to get a thing-in-advance going here.  About Leadville,
I mean.  I'm all excited.  I'm barking at the door.  No, oh.  Huh?  Oh,
that must be the dog.  I'm barking at the Windows.  (Version 3.1.  What am
I, about five generations behind?)  Anyway, I'm ready to go.  Nothing's
packed.  But, then again, nothing ever is until five minutes before the
ride to the airport.  The dog keeps getting in the way.  Actually, no.  I
just can't ever seem to close the Windows.

You've noticed, I'm sure.

(And actually, I don't have a dog.)

But actually, there IS method to my madness.  (Somewhat less noticeable,
you're sure.  Right?)

My mission right now is to demonstrate how horribly unprepared I am for
this mission, so that...when it's all over...and I've used all my airsick
bags...you will be edified and amazed at my ability to not die.  Because,
of course, you will have to read...and read...and read...and read all about
ALL of it when I return in a couple of weeks.

Or, do like my lovely growing critics do...delete...delete...delete.
Which, if you haven't done it by now, you just might not be half the critic
you think you are.  Which means, of course, that you can't be growing--you
must be shrinking!  (Great way to lose weight, yes?)

Now you know the REAL reason why I run ultras.  To "torture" you when I get
back!

Tonight's just a little preview, is all.  A preview of:

"The Saga of Cold Miner Dick--Who Only Wants, Once, Just To Throw A Pickax
Like Mr. Presnell Did In 'The Unsinkable Molly Brown' And Strike A Vein Of
Leadville Gold, In Mid-Song No Less, And Walk Away A Very "Rich" Man From,
Or--At The Leadville Trail 100 Mile Run For 1998."

And then, of course, marry Molly.  And put her on that ship...

Ah, but NOT before she helps me with my blisters!

Just call me "The Unblisterable Johnny Brown."

Or, of course, you could call me by my right name--the only completely true
statement in this entire episode--

Rich Limacher
THE ULTRA NUTTY TROUBADOUR
RDJT76A@prodigy.com