The weeks of rain leading up to this year’s Dirty Kanza had left the Emporia-area rivers at flood stage and dirt roads a muddy mess. Despite a spring of strong training and good results, I lined up on race morning harbors get serious doubts that I’d beat the cut-off to the first checkpoint, 77 miles into the race. But there’s nothing new about doubts. The end of a 200-mile race always hides behind a gigantic question mark.
And then we were off.
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