More Adventures of the Comeback Trail

The Maze 4/22.  This falls into the ugly running category. I’m still trying to sort out exactly all that went wrong. The things that went right were 1) I finished and 2) I saw some wonderful old friends. There’s a lot of room between the two, and it’s all pretty negative. On the physical side, I had issues with my ankle, which decided I’d run enough about two miles into the third loop and forced me to walk the remainder of the 10K. My goal had been to have even (if slow) splits, so I’d finished the first loop feeling great at an extremely slow pace; the second loop was even slower, though this was due largely to aid station stops and not a real change in pace. The proverbial wheels came off in the third loop.  On the mental side, the issues were far, far greater and more crushing. It’s one thing to be slow; it’s another thing to be slow enough to be last (DFL–dead fucking last). While I intellectually embrace the concept that someone must be last (in fact, I often tell the story of one of my first 5Ks, where I was DFL to much hilarity), it was an emotional blow. It almost felt like the running gods chose to rub salt into my wound. It’s hard enough on the comeback trail. Isn’t it enough that I’m out of shape and struggling with distance? Don’t I get some extra bye for having to still work on the extra injury pounds that add to my struggles? The worst part was that the folks putting on/attending the Maze, with the exception of my wonderful friends, had packed it up and left. I made it to my car before I cried. And then I talked to some exceptional girlfriends. My comeback trail buddy Stacey reminded me that DFL is always better than DNF. And my friend Tracy reminded me that, not too long ago, if the running gods had said to me, “Look. We’re going to let you get up today and run on the trail. You’ll get 18.6 miles out at Walnut Creek. But the catch is, you’ll be last,” I’d have responded, “LET ME OUT THERE! Who cares about DFL?!?” And I’d have been happy and joyous the whole way. Both friends put me in the right frame of mind.

I made some adjustments over the next few weeks. I got new shoes, some with a bit more cushioning. I did some more cycling with a focus on turnover and less impact during the week. I got in several great long runs on the greenbelt, adding in repeats of Shan’s Hill and the long way down the HOL to help strengthen that ankle. I also made an attitude adjustment–I embraced the concept that I would be happy with EITHER a last place finish OR a DNF at Box of Rox just so long as I pushed my long run past 18.6 miles.

Pandora’s Box of Rox Trail Marathon 5/7. The second trail marathon I ever ran was Rocky Trails out at Inks Lake (I was actually the 10th woman overall, with a time of 6:13.45) and I loved it, so I was happy to see PBofR covered much of the same ground. It’s a more technical course in some ways, as runners head over large granite fields; however, there is quite a bit of very runnable single-track trail there. In hindsight, it has the potential to be a pretty fast course if one is well-trained. I decided (again) to be very conservative and aim for a successful long run. There was an eight-hour cutoff. Seemed like a finish was within reach, as long as my ankle cooperated.

The day turned hot, which only reinforced my conservative tactic. I do not function well in hot weather even when in tip-top shape, so my only chance of crossing the finish line involved keeping my heart rate down in the sun-baked portions of frying granite. I was firmly committed to my liquid nutrition (one bottle, every hour) and I’d worn 50-ounces of water in my pack. Two Salt Stick tablets every hour. The first loop went well, but it was the second loop that had me worried. Particularly around the 14-15 mile mark, which was where my ankle had rebelled during the Maze. I was pleased when the mark passed and I hit the granite expanses between the first and second aid stations on the loop.

By this time, I’d picked up a runner. She picked up behind me and ran on my heels; it was her first trail run and first marathon, and she was using me as a pacer/companion. I don’t mind this…when the person is positive and gives me a break by taking a turn leading. However, she was neither positive nor helpful.

The day only got hotter, and it was in the afternoon that trail experience helped. I’d paid attention during the first loop to where the sun and the shaded areas fell, and I knew that, once I got through the portion between the first and second aid station, I’d finished the vast majority of the absolutely baking portions. We came into the second aid station (approximately 18); the aid station volunteer said, “Only eight more miles” and the thought appeared in my brain, like a rising sun on a clear morning, that I had a real shot of finishing AND FEELING GOOD. It was fabulous! I got my ice in my bra and in my cap, had some Coke (nectar of the gods!), and took off…with Miss Whiner close behind. After about 20 minutes, we hit another bald, granite patch, and I stepped aside to let her go ahead, choosing to walk rather than run in the sun. As soon as I hit the wooded sections, I ran (mind you, there’s no speed happening but it’s a run, not a walk). I quickly caught Miss Whiner again. I tried to tune her out. We came into the third aid station, where volunteers were closely assessing runners for heat exhaustion. One said to Miss Whiner, “You’re not drinking enough; you’re not sweating,” to which she replied, “Oh, I know!” I cringed. I was assessed as well, and assured the volunteers that I was copiously sweating through my shorts (lovely!) and ran on, Miss Whiner hot on my heels. We had one hour to make it to the next aid station in order to make the cut-off and be allowed to finish. Game on!

This is where it gets a little uncomfortable for me. Not from a running standpoint; I was actually feeling better and stronger the closer I got the end. I’m very much a “nag into the barn” kind of racer, and I found myself moving far ahead of Miss Whiner. No–I was uncomfortable with dealing with an uneducated runner. In a trail race, especially one that’s wooded with single track trail, it’s quite possible to be mere seconds away from another runner yet feel totally alone. In a longer distance race, especially one where the loops are bigger or the course is point to point, everyone will be alone at some point. I’d moved far enough ahead of Miss Whiner that I could no longer see her. It had been maybe 20 minutes since we’d left the last aid station. And this is when she began yelling, “Is anybody out there? Where is the next aid station?” from somewhere behind me. I kept moving, wondering, “What does she expect to happen here? Does she expect me to go back?” She kept yelling every couple of minutes. Then she added, “Help!  I’m out of water.” Well, I had drunk all my handheld myself, and adding time in the heat was not an option for me; for my own wellbeing, I needed to proceed to the next aid station. Again, I wondered, “What does she expect to happen here?” Finally, I yelled as loud as I could, “Conserve your energy. I don’t know how far ahead the aid station is but just get there.” I kept running; she kept yelling. I tuned her out, with the idea that when I got to the aid station, I’d tell them to go back for her with water…and pull her off the course.

I passed another woman, who said she was not doing well and asked where the aid station was. I estimated it to be coming up at any moment, told her so, and kept on. Sure enough, within five minutes, it appeared on the horizon. I ran in as I looked at my watch, which read 1:03 as my split. Really? I had needed to get there in an hour. The guy working the station looked at me and said, “I’m sorry but I can’t let you go on.” Ah, well. I was only 1.7 miles from the finish–what do I need a medal for? I told him about Miss Whiner and he saddled up to go find her just as the other woman came in, who promptly announced she needed medical attention. I stripped off my pack and went to help her while Neil, the volunteer, ran off to find the other.

New woman (let’s call her Clueless) immediately began bitching that she had made the cut-off. I incredulously asked her, “Were you planning to go on? I thought you said your kidneys were failing.” She said no, she’d intended to stop, but that cut-off was at 2:30PM. If she were correct, I’d had at least six minutes before cut-off when I’d arrived at the aid station. I considered this and shrugged. Again, so what? I knew I’d have finished; I don’t need no stinkin’ medal/results. In the meantime, Clueless kept announcing, “Who DNFs a MARATHON? This is so embarrassing!” It was all I could do to not hit her. Several other people came in, and Neil returned with Miss Whiner and another gentleman, who truly was in need of medical attention (ironically, he was extremely quiet and non-complaining). When Clueless again expressed her disgust, “Who DNFs a MARATHON?” I did say to her, “All of us here just did. Let it go.” We all had some more misadventures at the aid station since we’d been asked to wait for a truck rather than proceed, though a friend, Jeff, and I would have been fine walking it on in. It was all for the good–I got a nice hug from a buddy along with a pep talk (thanks, Mike!) and a cold beer (thanks, Joe!!) along with the ride to the start/finish in the back of the pickup truck.

I spent 7:24 on my feet among the beautiful scenery at Reveille Ranch Park. I felt great when I finished, obviously managing my water/food/salt well on a day that soared into the 90s. I felt like I was among family when I returned (there were tons of people hanging out, chatting, welcoming runners back and soaking in the small pool under the covered awning). It was just a beautiful trail day.