Yes it's pushing 90 degrees, and it is still July, but don't let the temperatures and long days fool you.
Only 68 days until the line will be drawn in the sand behind Mojo.
You'll stand there looking around at your peers. Tires next to you, wondering just what the hell you'll be doing with them, and just why in the hell is it so important to have that Little Debbie treat stashed in your Camelbak?
Shivering as the dark encompasses you and makes you feel even more vulnerable, you'll receive the day's first instruction: Go.
You'll hear stories along the trail from the Dirty veterans as they try and compare one year's course to the other, and which parts we might include from previous years...but it is all speculation. They don't know any better than you.
You'll take whatever the day throws at you, but as the day progresses and the sun comes up, the little things won't be so easy to just roll through, because your feet will be tired and sore. Your MIND will be tired and sore.
As the mileage count gets higher, you might find yourself in the woods on a trail, scheming on how long you have left to suffer.
Once you've stepped from the trail and into the world of cars and trucks, you'll make eye contact with a driver of a minivan, cigarette in mouth and supersize big mac in hand. He'll look at you over his steering wheel which rubs against his gut, with a disapproving eye. You'll stare back in much the same way, and feel an overwhelming sense of pride of just how lucky you are to even know the kind of suffering the AD30 has brought you.
68 days.
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