[新聞爆掛] Anyone tell these guys

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The Tarahumara knelt, looping the leather thong around and around their ankles and high up ontheir calves, adjusting the tautness as carefully as you’d tune a guitar string. It’s a fine art, custom-fitting a strip of rubber to the bottom of your foot with a single lash of leather so it doesn’t shift orflop for eighty-seven miles of gritty, rocky trail. Then they were up and gone, hard on JohnnySandoval’s heels. By the time Ann Trason arrived at the aid station, Martimano Cervantes andJuan Herrera were out of sight with her, he would sanction
everything at oncehe answered.
.

Sick pace, Sandoval thought, as he shot a glance over his shoulder.  it hadbeen raining here for the past two weeks? Sandoval knew they were heading straight into a worldof slop around the Twin Lakes marshes and down the muddy back end of Hope Pass. TheArkansas River would be a roaring mess; they’d have to haul themselves hand over hand along asafety rope to cross, and then claw their way two thousand feet to the top of Hope Pass. Then spinaround and do the same again coming home.

Okay, this is suicide, Sandoval decided after he came through mile 23.5 in three hours and twentyminutes. I’ll save my strength and cream those guys when their tires go flat. He let MartimanoCervantes and Juan Herrera go—and almost immediately, he was passed by Ann Trason. Wherethe hell did she come from? Ann should know better; this was crash-and-burn speed.
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