I’m back, and I brought shingles along for ride. Let’s go all in and register for the 50K Rut

It’s the first Tuesday of January, Rut registration, and I’ve got postherpetic neuralgia (PHN)

First Tuesday in January. I’m in the car after dropping my son at school because The Rut sells out and I don’t want to miss my window. Another reason I’m hesitating: PHN. Stabbing, electric shots in my ribcage. Burning that lingers. Five weeks post‑shingles and the worst pain lives under my right upper ribcage—intercostals that light up whenever they feel like it. The rash is gone; the nerves didn’t get the memo. I turn 59 in February. I clicked “Register” for The Rut 50K anyway.

Two years since I’ve finished The Rut. I ran my first at 56. The last two tries didn’t happen—first a quad tear, then a tear to the soleus fascia. Not bumps, brakes. I told myself I was unlucky. Some days I was sloppy, some stubborn, many tired. I’m back to say it out loud.

Why The Rut 50K At 59

I’m 59 in February. Time feels tighter. If I miss this year again, what happens next year? “Get ’em next time” gets hard when you’re fighting time.

I’m not chasing speed; I’m trying to slow less. The Rut is a lot—four big climbs around 1,200 feet each, plus a 3,600‑foot grind up Lone Peak. It’s 11,105 feet of climbing, most of it on tired legs, on real mountain terrain in Big Sky, Montana. I could have picked a shorter distance. I could have said I’m too old, or I was never strong enough. One clean hard line to mark it: fuck shingles. I’m going anyway, and I’ll go smart. Running has been the one thing that seems to settle the PHN. I don’t know why —I’ll take it.

Shingles, PHN, And a PSA

Shingles was a humbling lesson. I kept putting off the vaccine, assuming it was just a rash. It started with chest tightness and shocks of pain. The rash showed up five days in, the morning of my appointment. Antivirals cleared the rash; the nerve pain—postherpetic neuralgia—stuck.

Burning, stabbing, shooting; sometimes a shirt feels like sandpaper. Mine sits under the right upper ribcage in the intercostals. The stinging I can live with; the stabbing is tough.

That stabbing… it’s not only the pain, it’s the torture of not knowing the frequency. Waiting—20 seconds, 2 minutes, 10 seconds—I’m mad at myself for playing odds I didn’t need to play. PSA: don’t be me. Get the shot. Lyrica helps me sleep. Days are better, still tiring. Get the damn shot.

What Comes Next

I’ll post short updates: what I change after the quad and soleus derails, how how the PHN is progressing and when, if, I can get off the Lyrica, how dad and husband of the house and trying to maintain a life play in all this. And why I’m still choosing the long course with its four big climbs and that 3,600‑foot push up Lone Peak. If you’re older, sore, a little angry at yourself, still hungry—pull up a chair.