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| 50 & done! |
Saturday morning as I took my place near the inflatable red arch, I was more nervous than usual. Because of an unpredictable day at work, I left later than I wanted. The drive, normally two hours now stretched out even longer and I arrived at the store with less than ten minutes before pack pick up closed. Dinner was a necessity, but taking the time for a decent meal also meant by the time I checked into my hotel it was after 8:30. The race start was 5 am, my hotel was a half hour away from the start line, and I still needed to organize my gear and supplies for morning. Every few minutes I found myself obsessively recalculating how much sleep I was going to get. My heart rate hit the red zone every time I did the math as the hour got later. My mental checklist of race morning racing through my head, I realized I had forgotten one of my bags at home. A quick trip to Target just as they closed would have to do, and I said a quick prayer that I didn’t need anything else from the bag, still hanging on the back of my dining room chair.
And that is how I arrived at the start line. Less than four hours sleep, stressed, wanting to be a runner and afraid I wasn’t. Pulling in to the park, the glow of the official start line barely visible through the hazy darkness it was impossible to get my bearings. Feeling lost, the dark and fog wrapped around me, adding to my apprehension. The air was so wet that despite my layers I was chilled and the dampness settled heavy in my lungs, my chest thick. Making my way through the wet grass I could hear the announcer’s overly- caffeinated voice yelling we had 7 minutes before go time. Ok, so much for warming up or one last bathroom stop. Choking down a bowl of oatmeal during the thirty minute drive, it now sat heavy on my stomach, alongside the fluttering.
I reached up to touch my headlamp several times to make sure it was there. I was reassuring myself as I fumbled with my gloves and watch, but also because it had been underlined and bolded in the course guide, not having one was immediate disqualification. The open area, lit for the countdown was fairly crowded by ultra standards. A few minutes later the voice from the mic counted back from 10 and we were off. The sounds of heavy breathing, footsteps and random conversations mingled together creating an odd mixture with the silent blackness of the trail. With a couple hundred headlamps the path was easily visible and the occasional flash of a photographer’s camera was blinding at times. It didn’t take long before I found myself between groups of runners. Despite the early hour being alone is normally fine with me and most often I prefer it. This time though, I found something else as I separated from those in front of and behind me. The trail seemed darker than it should be and I chalked it up to my one light versus the light of a pack. It didn’t take long to realize my light was not so light. In my haste to get everything ready and hoard a few extra minutes of sleep, I had not checked the batteries. Now I was in between groups of other runners, wanting to catch the group in front of me but not willing to slow down to wait. Officially daybreak was 6:15 am but in the middle of the woods it arrives a bit later. Forced to slow my pace, and frustrated knowing it would be a while before daylight, I adjusted felt my way through the darkness. Although falling was a concern, I was more worried about a race official. I didn’t want to get pulled from the day without getting a chance to really be in it. Trying t blend with other runners, I stumbled once, coming down partially but catching myself quickly and without any damage. Later on I wouldn’t be so lucky.
Just short of the aid station at mile 11 I went down hard. I thought I went down knees first, but later, tracing the trail of bruises from my chest bone to my knees to my ankles I realized I had belly flopped, hitting all parts equally. I wish knew what I tripped on, but one minute I was running and the next I was face down in the dirt pain shooting through every cell of my body. I laid there, every part of me hurting, tears trickling down my face and I thought about just quitting. For a brief moment I fantasized about being done and going home. Another runner came up behind me, because in the twisted law of running karma , it’s important when you are face down and chewing dirt that at least one person witnesses it.
“You okay?”
Where I got the strength to jump to my feet I will never know, but pride is a powerful thing. “Yep, I’m good”.
From somewhere in my brain I could hear “Liar” being screamed. “Your knees are bleeding, you can’t breathe and your arm feels broken. You want to cry like a baby and call for your mommy, you are NOT ok” .
Being very careful to disguise any limp while the other runner, who was clearly not believing my springy “ok” was still there, I dusted myself off. “You sure?” he was still doubtful.
My brain and my mouth were now on the verge of snarling “Get the hell out of here so I can stop pretending . Shoving back the feral instinct, I smiled and making sure my voice was steady, assured him I was fine. He finally moved on still not appearing to believe me, but thankfully he was moving faster than me at that point, which meant I could slow down a bit once he was out of sight. Holy Mother of Pearl, I felt like I had been hit by a truck. I wanted to look at my knees but was afraid seeing them would trick my brain into thinking I needed to quit. And so as long as I could keep running, I was going to keep moving forward. Running was a relative term at that point, but self-perception can be a delusional partner.
Downhill’s are one of my strengths as a runner. I usually make up quite a bit of time, not afraid of picking up speed and rolling with gravity. I quickly realized I needed to readjust my strategy. My knees felt as though they had balloons in them, and screamed in protest as I tried to use momentum heading down a hill. For the next forty miles I proceeded to toe pick my way downhill every time I hit a decent.
Frustrated with Murphy ’s Law kicking my butt all day I could have found reasons to quit. I hurt, I was frustrated and there was no chance of hitting my goal time. I was struggling. It is these moments that I ask myself the same question so many have asked me “ why am I doing this? “
Running is such a paradox, given how much of life is spent trying to achieve certainty and security. Most of us spend large parts of our life trying to achieve a state of balance and stability. We work to buy things that make us feel secure and successful. We avoid pain and spend time altering our emotional states with food, alcohol, caffeine, other drugs, work, shopping, internet and many more things. The list of ways to avoid pain, to distract from our discomfort. Ironically, we often create more discomfort trying to avoid the pain of uncertainty. Running is really about pushing yourself headlong into the unpredictable and the pain.
I remind myself often that discomfort is a teacher and the lesson is found only if I stay with the experience. I don’t believe in self-punishment but sometimes if we just sit with the moment, we learn the most from those particular moments.
Running requires a tolerance for instability, flexibility and withstanding the mental and physical tug of war. The discomfort has to be tolerated and at times even embraced or none of us would ever get to the start line. Every run is different and some days everything feels great and other days for no good reason it’s all wrong. “Is it really worth it?” is one of the questions I am asked most often and I have yet to come up with a simple answer. I have lots of answers, all true though.
My list so far:
• Because once I couldn’t.
• Because I can.
• Because I get to.
• Because I am grateful.
• Because I love it.
• Because it keeps me sane.
• Because I love losing myself on the trails for hours with my dogs.
• Because I feel strong.
• Because it gives me a sense of power and certainty in all itss uncertainty.
• Because once someone said I couldn’t.
• Because it is better than drinking, smoking, shopping, gambling, (fill in the blank with anything else).
• Because it reinvents me each and every time.
• Because when I am running I can’t feel worthless or weak, those thoughts can’t exist together.
• Because it is one of the few ways I can relax into not knowing if I am ok, if the world is ok, or what the hell will come my way later in the day or week, but for the moment I get to breathe in the moment and not care.
• Because in those moments I am authentically me and that is all I care about.
• Because after a couple of hours of running, the only thing I have energy to do is to experience the one moment I am in, one foot in front of another. It’s the closest to Zen I will ever get.
• Because out there no matter what happens I can’t cling to a plan, I have to be flexible and roll with what happens and change my plan and adapt moment to moment.
• Because we get one life to live, the minutes are ours to spend and I have never ever regretted the minutes I spent running.
It’s a lot like everyday life. Running reminds me that when I resist all the things which are beyond my control, I feel more afraid. When I let go and relax I move smoother and the whole world seems to have less resistance. When I lean in to all those variable hurtling my way, my life and my running flows. Despite all the moments we spend attempting to predict and manage the world around us, life is hardest and best when we are facing our fears and letting go.
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