City Limits

A few days ago I was standing next to a firehouse in Liberty Hill, Texas, looking for a place to stay for the night -- exhausted, a little frustrated, and a long way from Lubbock. As a media stop, Austin had been sort of a bust. Still, I got to spend time with friends and family, so I couldn't complain.

In my last blog I mentioned being content in the ability to continue hiking -- that as long as that remained, I was fine. This is still true, but to a point. I've been on the road since August 15th, and have spent most of that time with a massive and heavy pack on my back, half of which was also spent in running shoes rather than hiking shoes. I'm not tooting my own horn, but that was a hell of a journey, and it's not been easy. I've had the flu twice, passed out on the side of the highway once, have had plenty of close calls with large vehicles on narrow highway shoulders, have dealt with foot infections, barbed wire cuts -- you get the idea. These are things tha happen on the highway, away from support, alone in the middle of nowhere.

It's been an adventure. I wouldn't change a thing about it. Most of these experiences have been once in a lifetime. That said -- my body, it's worn out. I can and have taken a lot of punishment, all totally worth it, but my body is now reminding me that I'm almost thirty -- and have been a long way from eighteen for a while. 

When I was hiking through Liberty Hill, I'd been off the road for four days previous to that, and still felt like I'd been on the road for a week only six hours into the hike. Something had to give -- I had to follow any opportunity for support. Said opportunity came from San Angelo, three hours away. There, I had access to a media market that seemed interested in my journey, and had the prospect of a run crew. This all ended up being true. I arrived in San Angelo, participated in one television interview, and three radio spots.

The word was put out. e-mails were sent, and tentative interest was shown by folks locally. Fortunately, I had picked up a temporary run crew from Lubbock, which would have provided for a weekend of running -- twenty miles for Saturday, and forty for Sunday, if my body would cooperate. What I mean is, when I did have a run crew through the final miles of New Mexico into Texas, it took three days to get my running legs back and start putting in those kind of miles. I'm assuming this is going to be the case from here on out.

I can run everyday for a month, but I cannot hike for much more than a day or two at this point without needing at least three days of rest to recover from it. That's where I am -- that's what I've had to accept as a physical limitation at this point. When my Lubbock support came to pick me up, the reality of this really set in. I'd be sixty miles down the road, and once again -- it would be me and the pack.

So...city limits? When you see the GPS activated next, it will be directly outside of Lubbock -- and will be so for the next two weeks or so. After talking with my publicity agent, talking to family, talking to myself (I seem to be doing entirely too much of that these days -- out loud), I decided the best way to finish this journey was to do so as close to constant support as was possible. My family is in Lubbock, the media is in Lubbock, and my final destination is here. I'll get my miles in, and finish this as close to the way I wanted as is possible at this point. Frankly -- I'm worn out, but I have enough in the engine to finish this the way I am doing so now.

If you're in Lubbock, feel free to say hello -- I'll be nearby, circling the city, likely with the pack still on until I pull together some local support. I can handle the pack for a little while longer -- but running is how I started this adventure, and running is how I'd like to finish it.

I've appreciated the kind and motivating words. It's meant a lot, and I remember everyone that has met me along the way that sent me a hello. Hopefully, this final stretch will be as memorable as the rest. I'm certain it will be.

All the best.

-Dustin