Not many would call me country, but what transpired in the deep woods of Tennessee yesterday will soon have dozens of Crushing Iron readers calling me a nature boy. The Dry Creek Marathon (and half) was another spectacular example in the long list of contributions Nashville Running Company has delivered to a growing, and wildly masochistic, running community.
I woke at 5:30 am, walked the dog, then followed my printed Mapquest directions to the covert Dry Creek Race Headquarters. I shared war stories with Corey, Wasky, and Jim, then dug into my pre-packed race bag. First thing I noticed was (even with the uncanny day-before-planning) I forgot my Swiftwick’s. Luckily I was wearing a pair of Timberland over-the-ankle-hikers, but this adds to my increasingly controversial history with socks.