The results are finally in. All those pre-dawn training runs paid off. I took second in my age group (women under 30) at the Shadow of the Giants 50K.

(The first place under-30 woman beat me by just 11 minutes, and don't think that isn't killing me. Eleven minutes. Dammit. Must...train...harder.)

Nonetheless, I shaved two hours off my finishing time since my last 50K four and a half months ago, despite this race actually being 55K or about 33.5 miles. Faithful readers may remember the previous race was 32 miles, while 50 kilometers is actually supposed to be 31 miles. (I know I can't keep it straight either.)

Pictures, in case you missed them in the previous post: http://www.flickr.com/photos/ahream

And some official pictures, too: http://www.shadowofthegiants50k.com/photos/08photos/index.html

There were 94 finishers huddled at the start in near perfect weather listening to Baz, the race director, bark out last minute instructions. It's very important to listen to Baz because if you don't he'll yell at you. The man uses "fuck" and "shit" like most people use conjunctions, but when you're almost 70, look like Santa Claus on a diet and have the most fantastic British-by-way-of-Australia accent, you can say anything. Really. Nobody minds. It also helps that he hugs all the ladies. A lot. I showed up the night before to get my race number, and he ran over calling, "There's my girl!" and threw his arms around me. Never seen the man before in my life, but I appreciate the enthusiasm.

Enthusiasm is important when running 33.5 miles. It helps when, for example, a giant tree is felled across the trail, the trunk nearly five feet high, and you have to find a way over it. It's one thing at mile 5...and a whole other one on the way back at mile 28. (See official pictures for a good perspective.)

Enthusiasm also helps when crossing a patch of icy snow. And trying to skirt the edge of the enormous muddy pond pretending to be trail. And when you wade through an icy mountain stream with a swift current and slippery rocks that numbs your feet for a good mile and a half. Or when you discover the gradual hill you're facing is indeed gradual, but it lasts for eleven miles.

All of which sounds horrible but makes for the best memories. Well, best except for the Shadow of the Giants loop for which the race is named. A one mile curlicue in the middle of the race that takes you through one of only five or so Giant Sequoia groves in the whole world. Trees 3,000-years-old and so big it would take five people to wrap their arms around them.

There was shade and cool weather nearly the whole 33 miles. It was perfection. It was enough to make you giddy. Maybe even a little high. Although it's important to remember when cruising into the 23-mile aid station with enough endorphins coursing through your system to down a grown bear, that not everyone may be feeling the same way.

When a fellow runner, perhaps a bit worse for wear, asked if I was still having fun, I may have shouted, "Yes! Yes! Isn't it great!" Which, as it turned out, scared him.

Sorry, dude.

It's hard not to be enthusiastic when you're having one of the best races of your life. Perfect course. Perfect weather. Strong legs and the time clock on your side. You spend the rest of your life chasing that same high.

As Baz might say, "It's fucking magic."