Until that moment, I’d considered 2007 to be my athletic peak. I was thirty-three years old back then and chewed up 100-mile races like Kit Kats, but I was not yet the mental beast I’d become at forty-five years old. My 2007 self was a hard-core savage in his athletic prime. That motherfucker would run through cinder block walls, but he was less flexible and aware, less strategic. I’m not sure my younger self would have even considered running 240 miles five days after having his knee drained.
