I carried a chip on my shoulder as we drove away from Rocky Hill Ranch after Hell's Hills last year. Granted, I hadn't been ready for the 50K distance last year. Truly, I had no business being out there. That being said, I wanted to show that course what I was made of and, coming off such an amazing experience at Nueces, I was ready to go head-to-head, again.
I mimiced my Nueces 50K training for Hell's Hills. My running remained strong and consistent. My long runs were easier, especially the twenty mile training run two weeks out. I knew I was ready, but I had reservations about the different terrain and the increasing heat. Again, I developed a plan for getting from aid station to aid station and ran the race in my head a number of times. One challenge I knew I'd have to overcome was the possibility of arrogance after Nueces. So, I reminded myself to respect the course and respect the distance. Take it mile by mile; run smart; fuel smart; and keep moving. Those were my rules. My goals? Finish in under 7 hours, without the aid of a walking stick, and strong.
At the last minute, we got a hotel room in Smithville so we could save an hour in the morning that we wouldn't have to spend driving. After another pre-race last meal at Whole Foods (garden vegetable soup, whole wheat roll, linguini with roasted tomatoes, and fresh fruit), we hit the road. The drive was short and easy and, before long, I was assessing Saturday's weather, setting out my race day clothes and equipment, and double-checking that I had my toaster, whole wheat bread, peanut butter, blackberry preserves, and, most importantly, my pack of tiny Diet Dr. Pepper cans. Everything was accounted for so, I did what any runner does the night before a race: I settled into bed and watched some mind numbing television.
Surprisingly, again, I was able to fall asleep fairly quickly. The AC unit in the hotel room wasn't great at circulating air throughout, so I was a bit warm throughout the night, but it wasn't too terrible. After a "I overslept!" dream, the alarm nonchalantly sounded at around 4:30 a.m. I promptly opened a can of Diet Dr. Pepper and began my ritual. I got dressed, double-checked all of my equipment (headlamp, batteries, water bottles, watch, hat, socks, and shoes), and made my peanut butter and jelly toast. After all the boxes were checked, we packed everything up and hit the road for the short drive to the race site.
My anxiety began to rise. I had something to prove today; I had to prove that I could do this course as well as I could Nueces. I had to prove that the last year had taken me far from the DFL category. I am very proud of my DFL at Hell's Hills last year; however, I am a much different runner than I was last year, and I'm equally proud of the strides I've made in that respect. I wanted that to shine through today, but I also knew anything could happen. I tried to swallow the anxiety and made my way to pick up my packet.
We set up my drop area: a reasonably uncomfortable chair, my equipment bag with easy access to new socks, a second pair of shoes, a change of running clothes, my Lara bars, peanut butter, and Diet Dr. Pepper. I started the next round of rituals: folding my bib number into a smaller rectangle, pinning it on, stretching, tensing up into a tight ball in the chair, and yawning nonchalantly, as if I wasn't about to set out on a thirty one mile jaunt. As usual, the start time was suddenly upon me.
For this race, both Ben and my mom were in attendance, and both were also running their own races. Ben was taking the opportunity to get his marathon training run in by running the 25K. My mom decided on the 10K, as she's coming back from a recent injury. I hugged, received by votes of confidence and well wishes, and slowly walked over to the start line. I was awfully sleepy and hadn't been able to shake into alertness quite yet. I distracted myself by catching up with some running buddies and suddenly found myself crossing the start line and onto the course. I reminded myself that the first two miles were climbing miles on an otherwise flat course. "Take it easy. This is going to be a warm and humid day. Don't give it all away for just these two miles."
There were so many runners out there. The start of the race was exceedingly frustrating as people paused, walked short and ridiculous "ascents," and generally slowed the entire line of runners down. It only takes one runner to slow the entire procession. I just hoped it wouldn't be like this for the entire race, otherwise I wouldn't be able to zero in on my focus. Finally, the trail opened up and allowed me to run around a small group of women runners who were well into a gossip fest. Not my cup of tea during an ultra; perhaps over brunch, but I needed to focus. Soon, they were well behind me and I couldn't even hear their chatter anymore. I focused on the rolling and twisting of the trail, instead.
In planning for the aid stations, I'd decided to eat a snack at the three-mile water only aid station. As the sun started rising, I thought the aid station should be coming up shortly. But I kept running, and it never appeared. My spirits started to lag. I was running, and quickly at that, but I felt like I wasn't getting anywhere, especially that water aid station. In fact, I was already feeling hungry and I hadn't even reached the three mile mark? I started to think about how long of a day this was going to be. Finally, the trail dropped me into the aid station. Relieved, I started to unzip the pouch on my water bottle for my Lara bar, since this was a water only station after all. Then I noticed a friend noshing on some peanut butter and jelly squares. "Isn't this a water only aid station? Where'd you get that?" Jeremy just laughed at me, pointed to his watch, and said, "You've run about six miles! We passed the water only station three miles ago!" In the darkness, or perhaps due to my own focus, I'd blown right past the three mile station! My spirits soared. I'd run six miles without even realizing it; my hunger was reasonable. I grabbed some peanut butter and jelly squares, filled my water bottle, and ran off yelling something about how excited I was to get to the field of flowers on this next section.
I fell into running with two older runners. We discussed the virtues of trail and ultra running and introduced ourselves to one another. We developed a nice cadence, challenging but still comfortable. The time passed reasonably quickly. Suddenly, we were seeing more wildflowers and I knew the best part of the course was about to open up to us: the field of flowers. Imagine the poppy field in the Wizard of Oz. Now, fill it with blue bonnets, Indian paintbrushes, and a medley of yellows, whites, and oranges. The field was blanketed with a beautiful mist, something you only see in animated films almost. It was idyllic and gorgeous. Because the trail was flat, smooth, and straight, I let myself take it all in; I also knew I could get distracted for a moment because the next aid station was about a quarter of a mile away. And there it was, the Tunnel of Pines aid station. As I ran up, I saw a familiar mint green Mercedes: Dave Silvestro would be there! Dave has become a good friend of mine, one of the closest members of my trail family. He is encouraging, but isn't afraid to let you know how you can improve. On top of that, he is one of the most unique individuals I've ever met. And finally, he has an adorable chocolate lab named Zeus, who I adore. As I glided into the aid station, I mustered all the nonchalance I could: "Morning, Dave!"
Dave was at Rocky Raccoon and witnessed my complete breakdown after the first loop. In fact, he washed my feet and ran through all of my ailments, pains, and thoughts as I decided to call the race an attempt rather than a finish. Dave knew these next races would be important ones, and I wanted him to see how different an experience they were already. I wanted him to see how strong I was this time around. I was rewarded with a great smile, a compliment on how I looked after 10 miles, and encouragement to keep it up. Another handful of peanut butter and jelly squares, some water, and I was off. "See you in a bit, Dave!"
The last 4.7 miles of the loop can be tough. It seems never ending and is littered with random rocky portions and some incredible drops and ascents. Unfortunately, this is when my IT band started to rear its ugly head. Knowing I could keep running through the pain without incurring more problems, I kept at it. I had my IT band strap at the start/finish and I knew I could alleviate the pain the sooner I got there. I won't lie: it hurt. At the same time, I knew I could run through it, so I did. I also knew I had to get out on the second loop so I could solidify my chances of finishing. So, I trudged along and came into the start/finish at three hours on the dot.
I grabbed some water and food, put on my IT band strap, and grabbed a Diet Dr. Pepper. I dropped my headlamp and sweater, and off I went. I needed to keep the focus and get to the first aid station. I was nervous about my IT band. I knew it could make this day much longer than I was hoping it would be. I took the first mile or so at a trot, as I knew the trail would flatten out shortly. I convinced myself to keep running, even if it wasn't as fast as I had during the first loop. Again, I dropped in with another set of runners, who thought I might be at the front of the pack for the women runners. I knew it was impossible, so I just put it in the back of my mind, but I did hang on to their comments about how "fresh" I looked. "A good game face," I thought. "I'm no stranger to acting." We kept going, chatting about running, the Olympic trials in Houston, and a number of other things I let glide through my ears as a simple distraction from this particular part of the course. I knew it would feel long again. Finally, we were back at the first aid station.
My IT band hadn't quieted. I tried stretching it out and downed a handful of salt pills to try to alleviate the muscle cramps I'd started to feel. The heat was setting in and I'd underestimated its affect on my running. I hadn't had muscle cramps since the Capt'n Karl's series. I'd forgotten how painful they are, almost crippling. I did remember, however, that the muscle cramps don't feel quite so bad as long as I keep running, distracting my legs from the cramps and focusing on the act of running. So, after fueling and refilling my bottles, I trotted off. I focused on the field of flowers to keep me moving; I craved the beautiful sight again.
The focus I had to harness on this next section was incredible. My energy levels were dropping faster than they had the first loop; the heat was setting in and taking its toll; I had to keep moving and get to the next station to have any chance of finishing in under seven hours. I peeled my eyes for "landmarks" on the trail. If I saw something familiar, I tried to place on the last loop and how I'd felt at the moment in a vain attempt to gauge where I was in relation to the field of flowers and the next aid station. I refused to look at my watch, as I didn't know what my pace was, so I could easily deceive myself into thinking I had less time to run to get to the next aid station than was really the case. Finally, I was at the field again. This time, however, the sun was unrelenting and led me to sweat bullets. I picked up the pace, taking advantage of the flat and smooth portion, passing runners I thought had gained at least miles on me. As I passed, friends commented, "looking good!" I kept my focus and threw them a nod and waive of appreciation. Coming into the aid station, I realized I was more dehydrated and in more of a calorie deficit than I originally thought. I was a touch woozy and couldn't quite focus on what, exactly, I needed. As a result, I had some peanut butter and jelly, some M&Ms, some Coca Cola, and Pringles dipped in mustard. I'd come to regret the mustard, but all's well that ends well. Off I went.
Knowing the last two miles would be tough on the IT band with the steep descents and ascents, I took advantage of the Tunnel of Pines and Avenue of Pines. I ran as comfortably and as quickly as I could. The heat and sunshine took more out of me. My energy levels were dropping. "Keep moving." I would run a bit, catching up to my power-walking friend Brian, then drop focus and reduce to a hike. Brian would quickly pull ahead of me and I would become frustrated again. Back to running. It became a cat-and-mouse game, which we both recognized. The miles leading up to the Grind and the Wall were long and unending. I knew that, once I got to the Grind and the Wall, both incredibly steep gulches in the trail, I was close to the finish and closer to some ice cold water. The sun set in deeper in my gut. Things easily could have turned very ugly, very quickly. I could feel my stomach churning, bubbling, and threatening to send everything right back from whence it came. "Keep moving."
Suddenly, I saw Steve Moore on the side of the trail. I imagine he was out there to encourage people, or perhaps waiting for particular runners to pat on the back. I glanced at him, "how much further?" He scrunched up his face a bit, "Umm...oh..." "Don't tell me. Don't tell me. Don't tell me," I blurted out, turning my face away and putting my hand up in the air. Thankfully, he didn't take offense. He knew what was going in my head and let me pass without a second thought.
The trail turned into a tropical-like environment, and I knew I was getting closer. Finally, the trail opened up to a Jeep-type road and my cadence quickened. "This was where I ditched my walking stick last year," I thought, smiling to myself. No walking stick this year! Finally, I saw the barn and tractors. I crossed a small clearing and up a short climb. At the top of the climb, there were the camp sites. I knew the parking area was just around the bend. My pace quickened yet again. The finish was right around the corner. My back instinctively straightened. My shoulders fell back and relaxed. My pace hit its stride and picked up considerably. I ignored the pain in my knee; it was almost over. I focused on the finish line, not hearing or seeing anyone on the side lines. Finally, I heard the ringing of the finisher's mat as I crossed the line. At the finish were Ben, my mom, and a handful of members of my trail family: Michael Sawyer, Brian Kuhn, David Jacobson, and Chris Haley. I took in the look on their faces. They weren't used to me finishing right behind them and it showed in their surprise! I knew I'd done well, but all I wanted to do was escape the heat. I doubled over in relief and wondered where two things were: (1) my finisher's medal, sans a DFL trophy, and (2) a cold bottle or cup of water.
Hell's Hills was more challenging than I anticipated, but it was a lesson in respecting all aspects of a race. Anyone can run the distance, but it takes a number of skills to balance the hydration, fueling, electrolyte balancing, and adjusting for rising or lowering temperatures. While I think I could've left more out on the course, I'm still proud of my finish. I don't think I gave it my all, for whatever reason. I just don't feel like I did, which will get me out there next year. That being said, I finished four hours faster than I did last year, of which I am very proud! But, I can do better. I know I can. And that is what keeps me going...
Hell's Hills 50K, Rocky Hill Ranch, Smithville, Texas
April 7, 2012
6:49:28
I mimiced my Nueces 50K training for Hell's Hills. My running remained strong and consistent. My long runs were easier, especially the twenty mile training run two weeks out. I knew I was ready, but I had reservations about the different terrain and the increasing heat. Again, I developed a plan for getting from aid station to aid station and ran the race in my head a number of times. One challenge I knew I'd have to overcome was the possibility of arrogance after Nueces. So, I reminded myself to respect the course and respect the distance. Take it mile by mile; run smart; fuel smart; and keep moving. Those were my rules. My goals? Finish in under 7 hours, without the aid of a walking stick, and strong.
At the last minute, we got a hotel room in Smithville so we could save an hour in the morning that we wouldn't have to spend driving. After another pre-race last meal at Whole Foods (garden vegetable soup, whole wheat roll, linguini with roasted tomatoes, and fresh fruit), we hit the road. The drive was short and easy and, before long, I was assessing Saturday's weather, setting out my race day clothes and equipment, and double-checking that I had my toaster, whole wheat bread, peanut butter, blackberry preserves, and, most importantly, my pack of tiny Diet Dr. Pepper cans. Everything was accounted for so, I did what any runner does the night before a race: I settled into bed and watched some mind numbing television.
Surprisingly, again, I was able to fall asleep fairly quickly. The AC unit in the hotel room wasn't great at circulating air throughout, so I was a bit warm throughout the night, but it wasn't too terrible. After a "I overslept!" dream, the alarm nonchalantly sounded at around 4:30 a.m. I promptly opened a can of Diet Dr. Pepper and began my ritual. I got dressed, double-checked all of my equipment (headlamp, batteries, water bottles, watch, hat, socks, and shoes), and made my peanut butter and jelly toast. After all the boxes were checked, we packed everything up and hit the road for the short drive to the race site.
My anxiety began to rise. I had something to prove today; I had to prove that I could do this course as well as I could Nueces. I had to prove that the last year had taken me far from the DFL category. I am very proud of my DFL at Hell's Hills last year; however, I am a much different runner than I was last year, and I'm equally proud of the strides I've made in that respect. I wanted that to shine through today, but I also knew anything could happen. I tried to swallow the anxiety and made my way to pick up my packet.
We set up my drop area: a reasonably uncomfortable chair, my equipment bag with easy access to new socks, a second pair of shoes, a change of running clothes, my Lara bars, peanut butter, and Diet Dr. Pepper. I started the next round of rituals: folding my bib number into a smaller rectangle, pinning it on, stretching, tensing up into a tight ball in the chair, and yawning nonchalantly, as if I wasn't about to set out on a thirty one mile jaunt. As usual, the start time was suddenly upon me.
For this race, both Ben and my mom were in attendance, and both were also running their own races. Ben was taking the opportunity to get his marathon training run in by running the 25K. My mom decided on the 10K, as she's coming back from a recent injury. I hugged, received by votes of confidence and well wishes, and slowly walked over to the start line. I was awfully sleepy and hadn't been able to shake into alertness quite yet. I distracted myself by catching up with some running buddies and suddenly found myself crossing the start line and onto the course. I reminded myself that the first two miles were climbing miles on an otherwise flat course. "Take it easy. This is going to be a warm and humid day. Don't give it all away for just these two miles."
There were so many runners out there. The start of the race was exceedingly frustrating as people paused, walked short and ridiculous "ascents," and generally slowed the entire line of runners down. It only takes one runner to slow the entire procession. I just hoped it wouldn't be like this for the entire race, otherwise I wouldn't be able to zero in on my focus. Finally, the trail opened up and allowed me to run around a small group of women runners who were well into a gossip fest. Not my cup of tea during an ultra; perhaps over brunch, but I needed to focus. Soon, they were well behind me and I couldn't even hear their chatter anymore. I focused on the rolling and twisting of the trail, instead.
In planning for the aid stations, I'd decided to eat a snack at the three-mile water only aid station. As the sun started rising, I thought the aid station should be coming up shortly. But I kept running, and it never appeared. My spirits started to lag. I was running, and quickly at that, but I felt like I wasn't getting anywhere, especially that water aid station. In fact, I was already feeling hungry and I hadn't even reached the three mile mark? I started to think about how long of a day this was going to be. Finally, the trail dropped me into the aid station. Relieved, I started to unzip the pouch on my water bottle for my Lara bar, since this was a water only station after all. Then I noticed a friend noshing on some peanut butter and jelly squares. "Isn't this a water only aid station? Where'd you get that?" Jeremy just laughed at me, pointed to his watch, and said, "You've run about six miles! We passed the water only station three miles ago!" In the darkness, or perhaps due to my own focus, I'd blown right past the three mile station! My spirits soared. I'd run six miles without even realizing it; my hunger was reasonable. I grabbed some peanut butter and jelly squares, filled my water bottle, and ran off yelling something about how excited I was to get to the field of flowers on this next section.
I fell into running with two older runners. We discussed the virtues of trail and ultra running and introduced ourselves to one another. We developed a nice cadence, challenging but still comfortable. The time passed reasonably quickly. Suddenly, we were seeing more wildflowers and I knew the best part of the course was about to open up to us: the field of flowers. Imagine the poppy field in the Wizard of Oz. Now, fill it with blue bonnets, Indian paintbrushes, and a medley of yellows, whites, and oranges. The field was blanketed with a beautiful mist, something you only see in animated films almost. It was idyllic and gorgeous. Because the trail was flat, smooth, and straight, I let myself take it all in; I also knew I could get distracted for a moment because the next aid station was about a quarter of a mile away. And there it was, the Tunnel of Pines aid station. As I ran up, I saw a familiar mint green Mercedes: Dave Silvestro would be there! Dave has become a good friend of mine, one of the closest members of my trail family. He is encouraging, but isn't afraid to let you know how you can improve. On top of that, he is one of the most unique individuals I've ever met. And finally, he has an adorable chocolate lab named Zeus, who I adore. As I glided into the aid station, I mustered all the nonchalance I could: "Morning, Dave!"
Dave was at Rocky Raccoon and witnessed my complete breakdown after the first loop. In fact, he washed my feet and ran through all of my ailments, pains, and thoughts as I decided to call the race an attempt rather than a finish. Dave knew these next races would be important ones, and I wanted him to see how different an experience they were already. I wanted him to see how strong I was this time around. I was rewarded with a great smile, a compliment on how I looked after 10 miles, and encouragement to keep it up. Another handful of peanut butter and jelly squares, some water, and I was off. "See you in a bit, Dave!"
The last 4.7 miles of the loop can be tough. It seems never ending and is littered with random rocky portions and some incredible drops and ascents. Unfortunately, this is when my IT band started to rear its ugly head. Knowing I could keep running through the pain without incurring more problems, I kept at it. I had my IT band strap at the start/finish and I knew I could alleviate the pain the sooner I got there. I won't lie: it hurt. At the same time, I knew I could run through it, so I did. I also knew I had to get out on the second loop so I could solidify my chances of finishing. So, I trudged along and came into the start/finish at three hours on the dot.
I grabbed some water and food, put on my IT band strap, and grabbed a Diet Dr. Pepper. I dropped my headlamp and sweater, and off I went. I needed to keep the focus and get to the first aid station. I was nervous about my IT band. I knew it could make this day much longer than I was hoping it would be. I took the first mile or so at a trot, as I knew the trail would flatten out shortly. I convinced myself to keep running, even if it wasn't as fast as I had during the first loop. Again, I dropped in with another set of runners, who thought I might be at the front of the pack for the women runners. I knew it was impossible, so I just put it in the back of my mind, but I did hang on to their comments about how "fresh" I looked. "A good game face," I thought. "I'm no stranger to acting." We kept going, chatting about running, the Olympic trials in Houston, and a number of other things I let glide through my ears as a simple distraction from this particular part of the course. I knew it would feel long again. Finally, we were back at the first aid station.
My IT band hadn't quieted. I tried stretching it out and downed a handful of salt pills to try to alleviate the muscle cramps I'd started to feel. The heat was setting in and I'd underestimated its affect on my running. I hadn't had muscle cramps since the Capt'n Karl's series. I'd forgotten how painful they are, almost crippling. I did remember, however, that the muscle cramps don't feel quite so bad as long as I keep running, distracting my legs from the cramps and focusing on the act of running. So, after fueling and refilling my bottles, I trotted off. I focused on the field of flowers to keep me moving; I craved the beautiful sight again.
The focus I had to harness on this next section was incredible. My energy levels were dropping faster than they had the first loop; the heat was setting in and taking its toll; I had to keep moving and get to the next station to have any chance of finishing in under seven hours. I peeled my eyes for "landmarks" on the trail. If I saw something familiar, I tried to place on the last loop and how I'd felt at the moment in a vain attempt to gauge where I was in relation to the field of flowers and the next aid station. I refused to look at my watch, as I didn't know what my pace was, so I could easily deceive myself into thinking I had less time to run to get to the next aid station than was really the case. Finally, I was at the field again. This time, however, the sun was unrelenting and led me to sweat bullets. I picked up the pace, taking advantage of the flat and smooth portion, passing runners I thought had gained at least miles on me. As I passed, friends commented, "looking good!" I kept my focus and threw them a nod and waive of appreciation. Coming into the aid station, I realized I was more dehydrated and in more of a calorie deficit than I originally thought. I was a touch woozy and couldn't quite focus on what, exactly, I needed. As a result, I had some peanut butter and jelly, some M&Ms, some Coca Cola, and Pringles dipped in mustard. I'd come to regret the mustard, but all's well that ends well. Off I went.
Knowing the last two miles would be tough on the IT band with the steep descents and ascents, I took advantage of the Tunnel of Pines and Avenue of Pines. I ran as comfortably and as quickly as I could. The heat and sunshine took more out of me. My energy levels were dropping. "Keep moving." I would run a bit, catching up to my power-walking friend Brian, then drop focus and reduce to a hike. Brian would quickly pull ahead of me and I would become frustrated again. Back to running. It became a cat-and-mouse game, which we both recognized. The miles leading up to the Grind and the Wall were long and unending. I knew that, once I got to the Grind and the Wall, both incredibly steep gulches in the trail, I was close to the finish and closer to some ice cold water. The sun set in deeper in my gut. Things easily could have turned very ugly, very quickly. I could feel my stomach churning, bubbling, and threatening to send everything right back from whence it came. "Keep moving."
Suddenly, I saw Steve Moore on the side of the trail. I imagine he was out there to encourage people, or perhaps waiting for particular runners to pat on the back. I glanced at him, "how much further?" He scrunched up his face a bit, "Umm...oh..." "Don't tell me. Don't tell me. Don't tell me," I blurted out, turning my face away and putting my hand up in the air. Thankfully, he didn't take offense. He knew what was going in my head and let me pass without a second thought.
The trail turned into a tropical-like environment, and I knew I was getting closer. Finally, the trail opened up to a Jeep-type road and my cadence quickened. "This was where I ditched my walking stick last year," I thought, smiling to myself. No walking stick this year! Finally, I saw the barn and tractors. I crossed a small clearing and up a short climb. At the top of the climb, there were the camp sites. I knew the parking area was just around the bend. My pace quickened yet again. The finish was right around the corner. My back instinctively straightened. My shoulders fell back and relaxed. My pace hit its stride and picked up considerably. I ignored the pain in my knee; it was almost over. I focused on the finish line, not hearing or seeing anyone on the side lines. Finally, I heard the ringing of the finisher's mat as I crossed the line. At the finish were Ben, my mom, and a handful of members of my trail family: Michael Sawyer, Brian Kuhn, David Jacobson, and Chris Haley. I took in the look on their faces. They weren't used to me finishing right behind them and it showed in their surprise! I knew I'd done well, but all I wanted to do was escape the heat. I doubled over in relief and wondered where two things were: (1) my finisher's medal, sans a DFL trophy, and (2) a cold bottle or cup of water.
Hell's Hills was more challenging than I anticipated, but it was a lesson in respecting all aspects of a race. Anyone can run the distance, but it takes a number of skills to balance the hydration, fueling, electrolyte balancing, and adjusting for rising or lowering temperatures. While I think I could've left more out on the course, I'm still proud of my finish. I don't think I gave it my all, for whatever reason. I just don't feel like I did, which will get me out there next year. That being said, I finished four hours faster than I did last year, of which I am very proud! But, I can do better. I know I can. And that is what keeps me going...
Hell's Hills 50K, Rocky Hill Ranch, Smithville, Texas
April 7, 2012
6:49:28
