These pics said something like, hey family, I'm alive enough to use my fingers to operate a camera and mentally aware enough to switch my phone into airplane mode between aid stations to save battery juice and still crazy enough to be smiling even though my pinky toenail is slowly detaching itself from my left foot with each painful step.
I was sending texts from stops along the route because I never expected my family to try and meet me at aid stations or follow me around the course. Mostly because they had things to do, like watch Star Wars and swim at the hotel pool. Plus, I want my family to still love my running, and forcing them to stand around and wait three hours by an aid station in the woods to see me for ten seconds isn't the best way to inspire run love.
But even without being in the middle of the trail action that day, my kidlets took notice of what went down.
1. That their mom ran so much that she needed all hands on deck for feet and back massages (as long as they did not touch the toenails!).
2. And that running 50 miles takes All. Day. Long.
In the spirit of observing things, my son Creed used all of the wisdom he gleaned from Lookout Mountain 50 to calculate how long it's going to take me to run Vermont 100 this summer.
The accuracy. The emphatic hand. The addition. This kid is my hero.