I felt like I was born a Wildman, and now, 24.3 years later, I am officially entitled to the moniker. But I promise you, I'll never do another bike race with that old dog "SportRock", of mine again. All those uphill miles had me praying for mercy from upstairs. And, by some miracle, I survived. Note that about 50 wildmen/wildwomen passed me during the bike leg… Regardless, it was a personal triumph! It was about the most intense and thrilling 3.5hrs of my life. No doubt.
It wasn't about competition anymore. It was meticulous countryside. It was overweening pride mixed with awe-inspiring determination and communal revelry. Something like 20 miles of looping around the base (with plenty of hills mind you), and then, then the real fun begins. 4000 feet of elevation! And go wildly! My friends, I promise you, as depleted as I was, I still gave my best rebel yell, setting out on the Wildcat hill climb! I didn't see the bull moose on the trail, but I did see a 70-year-old man come trucking by me during the final quarter mile of the entire biathlon. Now, that is awe-inspiring!