Eat Drink Run Woman

It’s said bad things can happen to good people.  But why, oh why, did it have to happen to me?  After all, I consider myself an ambassador of the running community.  I train well, backing off when I’m on the verge of injury.  I serve as a mentor to new runners, encouraging them to challenge themselves and do their best.  I thank all the volunteers and spectators who come to cheer us on.  I discretely launch my snot rockets.  I don’t pee in people’s yards (okay, so just once).

So how could such tragedy befall me?

Oh, who am I kidding?  Even though I technically DNF’d from the Crescent Forest Marathon, I don’t consider it a “real” DNF.  It’s not like I had been training for this race for months; rather, I decided about three days prior I’d run it.  In addition, we didn’t shell out a ton in race fees — it was free, although we did pony up $20 as a donation.  But considering I started the race fully intent on finishing it, I suppose it counts.

Knowing I’d be in need of some serious recovery time after my Monster Month, I vowed not to run any marathons in July and August.  My resolve was short-lived, as I was soon signing up for the Wild Thing Summer Fling that required each participant to wear a dress on their first 2.6-mile lap around Lake Padden (extra points for wearing red lipstick).  Eager to run his first double, my darling signed up for Crescent Forest the day before.  While tempted to run the entire thing, I decided I’d run just a couple of laps (the course is four laps) and then cheer my darling on.  But as the weekend neared I began jonesing for another double (call me a masochist), so I emailed the race director to let him know I’d be joining in on the fun.

Despite starting in a residential area of Gig Harbor, the course is primarily on single-track trails.  As our group gathered at the start the RD warned us someone falls each year and seriously hurts themselves.  My darling immediately raised his hand, claiming that would be him.  Knowing his predilection for rolling his ankle, I quickly shushed him, fearing he was taunting the running gods.

From the get-go, I knew this race would be tougher than what I’m used to.  Although I lined up toward the back, I still had several runners nipping at my heels.  But fortunately the trail opened up after a half mile and I let all of them pass me.  While the weather threatened to get quite toasty, the trail was nicely covered by trees and the temp was perfect.  The trail itself wasn’t too terribly technical, but I knew if would take more effort to run than a road marathon.

Even though I was thoroughly enjoying the experience, a little over halfway through my first lap I started thinking about pulling out.  I had nothing to prove with this race, and I feared aggravating my my groin pain should I continue.  Knowing I’d be running this same course again in November, I at least wanted to run a couple of laps to familiarize myself with it.  It was actually quite liberating once I made my decision and I was able to pick up my pace.

However, once I reached the aid station at the start I heard a familiar voice — my darling’s.  I looked up the hill to see him limping toward me 🙁  Turns out his prediction came true — within the first mile.  He had been in the lead, but when he let the runner behind him pass he stepped on a root and rolled his ankle.  I thought about pulling out then, but he encouraged me to run on.  I begrudgingly ran another lap, for a total of just over 13 miles.

While disappointed about not finishing, I knew I made the right decision.  My legs and mind were fresh for the next day, and my darling didn’t have to sit around waiting for me.  Plus, I figured I’d appeased the running gods with a DNF (doesn’t everyone experience that some time in their running career?)  The only bummer was missing out on the medal, hand-made from one of the downed trees.

Well, turns out the running gods weren’t through with me yet.

Last weekend my darling signed up for yet another double — a couple of “fat ass” training runs along portions of the Cascade Crest Century course.  The first day was 28 miles along the Pacific Crest Trail; the second was a little over 30 up to Thorpe Mountain.  Again, I knew I wouldn’t be up for a double, but I decided I’d run the first day, which apparently was “easier.”  There also would be an option to drop out early, whereas on day 2 you’d be committed to the end.

As this would be my first “real” trail race, my anxiety grew as race day neared.  My darling’s ankle still wasn’t fully healed, so there was a chance he would have to bail.  We planned on running together the first day, but I also asked a fellow ultra-running Maniac if I could join her in case my darling couldn’t run.  She was planning on running the course in 6-7 hours, which was the pace I was hoping for.

In the week leading up to the race Seattle melted under the hottest temps ever recorded.  Some may call us weenies, but when it’s in the high 90s/low 100s, the air is stagnant and hardly anyone has air conditioning, it leads to some miserable days.  I managed to get in my runs in the early morning, but felt lethargic the entire week.  While the forecast called for “cooler” temperatures on the weekend, we’d still be dealing with temps in the high 80s/low 90s.  NOT my idea of fun running weather.

From the get-go I knew my goal of a 6-7 hour day would be ludicrous.  The trail started with a 3/4-mile uphill with more than 500 feet of elevation gain.  We basically hiked the uphills, but I found I could barely keep up even on the downhill portions.  I was tailed only by the “sweeper,” whose job was to ensure no one got behind him.  I was thrilled to see my darling was doing well, but I began sweating profusely and huffing & puffing.  Fortunately I was well-stocked with water (I carried a hydration pack with a 64-ounce bladder), plus I carried a hand-held bottle of Heed.  I also had several gels, Clif ShotBlocks and salt tabs.

After taking almost an hour to run the first three miles, I began to wonder if I’d be able to make the full 28.  Although there was some shade, many portions of the course were in open fields and the day would only get hotter.  By mile 6 I decided it would be best to bail at the aid station just past mile 10, where we’d be able to get a ride back to the finish.  I felt bad for my darling since I could tell he was eager to go on, but he too decided it would be best to stop.

As we neared the 10-mile mark we saw some folks picking blueberries, and they said the aid station was less than a half a mile away.  This news picked my spirits up and I started running again.  Then, WHAM!  I tripped on a root and took a header into the trail.  Fortunately I picked the softest spot to fall; my left knee got banged up a bit but nothing too major.  But that sealed the deal — there was no way I’d be continuing on.  When we got to the aid station the RD gave us the keys to his car and continued on with the sweeper.

Back at the finish we grabbed our sandwiches and beer and headed down to the creek to ice our legs.  It was pure heaven.  We figured the lead runners would be coming along soon, so we decided to hang out.  An hour went by and still no one.  Finally we saw a couple of runners making their way down the trail, more than six hours after the race started.  I thanked god I didn’t continue, since if it took these guys six hours to finish, I would have been looking at an 8 1/2 to 9-hour finish.

While it was disappointing to not finish either of these races, the experience merely showed me how much I have yet to learn about trail running.  But I’m now the proud owner of a pair of Brooks Cascadia trail running shoes, and am looking forward to getting more practice on the trails.