That's our girl, right in front. Because every good story is a long ass story... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . I think we were all plagued by dreams that we would be late in getting Maggie to the start line of her first 100. I'm not sure I could only allow myself 45 minutes to an hour to get ready on any race day let alone a hundred miler race day. Bad things tend to happen when I'm stressed and doing things last minute. But not Maggie. She prefers to sleep in as much as possible come race days or run days. I get that. Especially if you've been up late cramming for your hundo exam - jotting down notes about elevation charts, figuring out pace/time estimates and arrivals at aid stations, making sure everything is organized in the right bag for the crew. Really. Maggie was extra deliberate about making sure that the crew wasn't flailing about trying to find her shit when she needed it. In fact, she wanted to make sure we were comfortable, happy, and taken car...

Because every good story has a part abou t whiskey . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Destination Zion finally reached! Woohoo!! You just don't know how good it felt to have our tent set up and the miles (of car driving anyway) behind us. Since we had arrived somewhat late-ish we decided to grab a bite to eat at the Pizza and Noodle Restaurant. And since we traded having a campfire for food we were happy to see heaters on the patio. So, so happy. No really. So VERY happy. Heater Love. Don't ask. So with bellies full of grub we drove back to the campground to open the mystery box that was gifted to Maggie by our fellow Folsom Trail Runner and friend, Matt. Not only is Matt one of the coolest guys to hang out and run with, he was our official DirtyGirlZ crew member in spirit. Not being able to join us due to familial obligations (but really? What guy would be brave enough to join five crazy bitches to run stupid fucking miles in the desert - most of whom which were on, goi...