"She just doesn't know when to quit." I hear my mom in my head every single time I find myself in yet another stupid situation I've dug myself into. This time was no different. I had a quick flashback of 16-year-old me snorting another huge line of meth, knowing I'd likely just stepped into territory I couldn't come back from, but not caring one bit. "She's right. Why is she always right." I cursed myself as I dug into my pack for my phone. I was sixty some odd miles into my latest 100 mile effort. It was pitch black. My headlamp battery had died, my charger wasn't working, and I was fumbling trying to find a light--desperate for anything to help me navigate the rocky technical terrain in this section of the Pinhoti Trail. The next aid station was four miles away. Rookie mistake.
Ten and Time
