I'm filling out this race report almost as expeditiously as I ran it--which was, I guess, infinitely not-expeditiously. The sad story begins with Chapter Four of my dissertation. Moab was always going to be the last hurrah before really buckling down to crank the damn thing out, but I thought I'd exploit it further and try to use it as motivation to get the chapter done. So it's 2 am on the night before, and clearly not going to happen. Finally that fact dawns on me (so to speak), so I stack everything in a pile, throw some clothes in a bag and call it a night, setting my alarm for six. Wake up less than refreshed, call a cab to the airport, don't have time or energy for the shuttle. Am on the plane to SLC by 7:15. Cody is very kindly picking me up, and we have a plan.
We taxi out to the runway, and hang out there for an unusually long time. Finally the captain gets over the loudspeaker. "Excuse me, folks," he drawls Midwesternishly, "but we're getting a strange smell from the air conditioner" ("Changed your underwear lately?" my seatmate mutters). Continuing: "We're going to have to pull back to the terminal and get it checked out."
The story after that kind of melts into the crowd. There were lines, lines, and more lines. They kept on trying to jolly us along, and finally I call Cody up and tell him to leave for Moab without me. He gives me Walter's number, and Walter very kindly sets it up with his family so there's room for me in the car, but I got no word from Delta and they won't arrange an alternate flight until their maintenance crew renders a decision on the plane. Finally at 11:30 the word comes down, they're sending up a new one from Portland. By this time, too late for Walter. I'm sure I could have got them to spring for a rental car, but the thought of driving three hours wasn't too appealing at that stage, so I just bagged it. Thanks to David and crew for setting it up, hope you guys had a good time, sorry I couldn't make it.
Anyway, I've been at 30-40 miles a week this month, just trying to maintain a minimum level of performance until the madness is all over.