what if he set up a race the Tarahumara way? It would be like an old-time guitar picker’s battle—a week of sparring, trading secrets, studying each other’s style and techniques. On the last day, all the runners would face off in a 50-mile clash of champions. It was a great idea—and a total joke, of course. No elite runner would take the risk; it wasn’t just career suicide, it was suicide suicide. Just to get to the starting line, they’d have to slip past bandits, hike through the badlands, keep an eagle eye on every sip of water and every bite of food. If they got hurt, they were dead; not
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