Derp and also duh.

Firstly, I found out there was one other strong single speeder in front of me when I quit, so had I went on and finished, best case scenario... prolly fourth.

Quitting pays.

Secondly...

Mild hypothermia:

High blood pressure, shivering, rapid breathing and heart rate, constricted blood vessels, apathy and fatigue, impaired judgment, and lack of coordination.

photo cred: Steve B/Icon Media Asheville

I can for sure say that there's not a whole lot that's "mild" about mild hypothermia.  I mean, obviously moderate and sever hypothermia would be worse, but if mild is the starting point, it's the medium fries at McDonald's with no logical smaller option. 

I've been mild hypothermia positive a few times before this past weekend's Bootlegger 100.  I can remember a solo 24 hour race at Snowshoe when I found a fleece jacket in the mud, slipped it on, trudged onward, and stayed at the halfway point next to a kerosene stove until I stopped shaking.  For sure, the Double Dare weekend when Captain Morgan and I went a little too deep into the night, and after crossing South Mills River a thousand times, we paid for it coming all the way down Clawhammer soaked to the bone on fixed gears around midnight.

You wanna talk about "impaired judgment" and "lack of coordination?"  Shit, we started our twelve hour (and ten minute) day that way.

It crossed my mind that normal people just don't find themselves in this situation that often.  I mean, ask your "normal" coworker how many concussions they've had in their lives...

Normal people have "allergies" and "carpal tunnel" and "texting neck."

On the ride back to Lenoir in the van, there was way more happiness than shame regarding our collective decision to quit.  We all agreed we'd suffered worst in the past (one of us had battled cancer, so...), but mebbe that kinda suffering isn't gonna be the reward we're looking for now.  I still wanna do hard things, but also enjoy my time on the bike, not take unnecessary risks, and still get to see my little friends.  I certainly don't want The Pie or Eric "PMBAR Honcho" Wever getting the call that they found my frozen little body knocked the fuck out in a ditch on Pineola Road.

Because that thought went through my head multiple times as I bobbled all over the place like a two week old baby had VNC'ed into my cerebral cortex and decided to take my adult body for a ride.

photo cred: Steve B/Icon Media Asheville

The funny (or not) thing about all this was that when I decided to go ahead and stay on the hundred mile route, I thought the quitting option was off the table.  I'd have no idea how to get back to Lenoir on my own.  My phone was back in my car, so there would be no way to navigate a route.  I did that on purpose, BTW.  I wanted to finish this race.  Both Watts and Garth had told me how terribly difficult it is, but also what an incredible time they've had doing it these last couple years.  Strange that I end up in the van with them... and they both said they felt bad that this was my first taste of the Bootlegger.

Once again, oh well.

Better to have loved and lost or some other quip about not sitting on the couch watching whatever is on television on a Saturday morning.