The sun was starting to rise, serving as a peace offering after hours of disorienting darkness, uneven terrain and relentless winds. As daylight broke, a blanket of gold light dripped over the mountain tops, casting a calming hue over the otherwise barren desert. It was a new day and there I was, standing in the parking lot of an ARCO gas station in Baker, California — sobbing. 

I had just completed 7.5 miles of running in total darkness. When I set out, I knew I would have to confront some innate fears: fears of being alone, fears of the unknown and a fear of the dark. 

I knew it would be hard, but I didn’t know to what extent.

The first mile was challenging. I was tired and wobbly in a way that made me distrusting of each step. A mile later, my heart started racing as car lights appeared behind me, casting two elongated shadows across the rocky terrain — another runner was approaching. 

She told me her name, which i instantly forgot as i tried to make sense of our shared surroundings — I was just glad to have company. As we progressed along the obscure path, we exchanged bits of information — where we were from, our team names, the number of times we had done TSP. I noticed myself trying to make her face out, imagining the color of her hair and shape of her nose based on the sound of her voice and the cadence of her stride. I repeated this exercise each time they swapped out a runner. 

Next up was Eva, a rather cheery girl from London. She first commented on our matching shoes, creating an instant, albeit superficial, connection. Not far into our running together, we fell into a comfortable silence — a mutual understanding of each other’s suffering after more than 24 hours of racing on little-to-no sleep. This went on for another mile or so before their third and final runner tapped in. His name was Jason. 

Jason was the definition of keen. The kind of person who seems unfazed by the challenges of life and is genuinely happy to be here. Here being anywhere, but in this case, running alongside an abandoned stranger in the desert, the distant sound of cars speeding down the Mojave freeway. 

We covered a lot of ground. He told me about his team, THRSHLD, how he got into running and why he loved it so much — he just liked to push himself, he said, and it made him happy. I desperately tried to match his energy, but struggled to maintain the pace and, even worse, the same level of excitement about running. I was spent.

When I encouraged their team to go ahead without me, they refused. Under no circumstances were they going to leave me they said. Instead, they gave me fuel, offered me water and continued to light the path forward, providing encouragement every step of the way.

I didn’t realize this at the time, but this team saved me. If they hadn’t found me trotting along, I would have completely panicked. Without knowing it, I had bit off more than I could chew and I needed help making my way.

When we finally arrived at the ARCO gas station, i saw my team. At first i felt anger and then pain and sadness. How could they leave me alone? What made them so sure I’d be ok? 

The truth is, I wasn’t ok. I got lucky out there and I’m so grateful to the team that carried me through my darkest hours and to my team who picked me up when I arrived in pieces.

Stephanie Cook