In August 2017, I ran the Burning Man Ultramarathon in the Blackrock Desert. The 50 kilometer race was my first ultra, and I finished in a satisfying 17th place out of around 300 people.
To train for the race, I ran 13 to 26 miles twice a week for a few months leading up to the event.
The race course was four laps around the public area of the Burning Man event, each about 7.5 miles, plus a roughly two-mile out-and-back after the last lap.
The first lap started in the darkness at 5am. Parties still raged across the desert. After the start, I ran passed people dancing, people having sex on the ground, and drunken wanderers.
The sun rose during the second lap. The desert quieted. Fewer people roamed and danced. The silence was serene. I felt a power solidify within me that continued for the whole of the lap and the next; like a predator I chased prey across the plain. I passed someone, then someone else, then someone else. I kept passing people. I felt unleashed.
The sun was in the sky by the third lap, but clouds blocked the light and the air was still cool. People had started their mornings. Someone rode their bike next to me as I ran, and in Spanish we talked about finding and losing love.
It was hot by the fourth lap, and my legs were tired. This was the hottest of the three Burns I'd attended; it might have been over 100 degrees that day. I slowed down, and someone passed me. I finished the fourth lap and started the out-and-back. My legs and feet were exhausted and I slowed the pace. I ran to the rainbow unicorn statue that marked the turnaround, touched it, then turned to the finish.
I passed the finish line after just under five hours of running. I was given a medal, sat on a couch, and drank gallon of water, drained.
