I slept like a baby last night; I woke up screaming every two hours. Apparently my blow-up mattress just wasn't willing to keep up the good fight for one more night. Thankfully that was no reflection of the generosity of our gracious hosts who provided the warm spot to sleep for the night (Thanks Robin and Carol).

Then again, it could have been my nerves talking to me in my fitfulness asking whether I brought the right gloves for the cold. Did I have enough HEED? Would I be able to digest the food I brought without vomiting? Could I physically keep up with my experienced racing partner? Would that numb feeling in my toes go away? Is that lump in my stomach the caterpillars waiting to blossom into butterflies? Ah...Sunday means football...I wonder who's playing on TV...will the Eagles do well...feeling sleepy...very sleepy...

What do you mean it's time to get up? Yeah, yeah...I'm awake. Thanks for the coffee.

The morning was a blur. I remember trying not to be nervous. I had taken this challenge on four weeks notice and trained sporadically for it. I bought a new bike, a few odds and ends, and placed them into a tub just like I would imagine Nathan doing so for PQ, Eco, or some other far-flung expedition race. I took a couple of practice rides with Shane; just enough to show him I knew how to ride a bike that wasn't powered by profanity. I even brought my own cheering section...my wonderfully supportive, frosty-nosed, frosty-toed girl Shelly.

I honestly didn't pay much attention to the pre-race details only because I found a butterfly wing in my teeth and it needed to be dealt with. I don't know when it happened, but those little bastards hatched somewhere between my McDonald's breakfast, my second cup of coffee, and my third trip to the bathroom.

What do you mean I have to start the day running?!?!?! You know I only run when I am chased and it is hard to justify being chased when you are the last one in the pack. Not much motivation there. Regardless of my running prowess, one positive thing I bring to this team is a rapid appreciation for anagrams (MAP AND COMPASS!). One negative is being able to keep my mouth shut about race clues, checkpoint locations, and trivia answers. It would be a theme that would require several (sometimes) polite reminders from my race partner.

Careful ice crossings, superior navigation, pure adrenaline, and a strong familial penchant for competition brought us safely to the TA where only a few bikes where lying about. GREAT volunteers encouraged us the whole way. Even though I remember having to pee at this point, I was too fired up to walk to extra few yards across the parking lot to do so. I figured that if I was going to be the excess baggage on the team, the one place for a rookie to make up time was during the transition. Little did I know that the words, "Quit your yakking and get to packing!" would ever come out of my mouth. Shane took it all in stride.

As the "ants were marching" and the "bottles of beer" fell off the wall, our trek through the woods was uneventful. Only the sound of teams "WHOOSHING" by broke our jovial attitude and conversation. For some reason, I had to explain to my race partner how an extra inch of in-seam translates to a few extra feet of travel as I had trotted to keep up with him. No worries...I had a supportive motivator with me who would not let me lag behind.

As we went back to the bikes, I had a few questions for myself: Where did that cramp come from? Why was my right leg not cooperating? Who put that stick in the trail? Why am I flying through the air? Why is my bike behind me? Why isn't anyone laughing harder? I must say that my first endo on my new bike was a slow-motion masterpiece. The first words that came from my audience were, "IMPRESSIVE". Honestly, I felt better knowing I could impress someone during this foray. Either way, I jumped back on the bike and acted like nothing happened.

From this point on is where things began to blur for me. What you may not know is that I have asthma in a very, very unfortunate way. I have had it since I was a kid and have suffered many attacks that have left a horrible physical and emotional scar on my body. Cold weather aggravates it. Exertion aggravates it. The two combined are definitely a dangerous force to be reckoned with. The medicine I brought with me started to lose its efficacy even as my emotional resolve strengthened. My lungs tightened just as my legs did. The only thing that did not give out or give up was my willingness to finish what I started and my race partner's belief in me. We both knew I could accomplish what I came to do: finish my first adventure race.

I have a vague recollection of the orienteering course. Thinking back now, all I remember was Shane's feet and his voice pushing me forward.

Coming out of the last stand of trees, I remember seeing my girl, Shelly, waiting for me. I remember Kathleen's cheering voice, and I remember seeing the two poles in the ground that signified my finish. I remember looking at Shane and saying, "Well, let's finish strong" as I began to finish the race as I started: running. Well, maybe not a true run, but a quickening of my stride that looked like a run (I have the pictures to prove it!). Either way, I did it. I finished my first adventure race.

There is no way I could have done it without the unrelenting patience and support of my race partner, Shane, the unconditional support from his wife, Kathleen, and the love of a great woman, Shelly. I've been told that in adventure racing, as in life, your successes are measured by the strength of your teammates.

I couldn't agree more.