Everything ached as I threw one leg after the other in front of me in a lopsided shuffle-run. "Monica, the faster you run this, the faster you can take a nap at the end," I told myself. I sped up, despite the forty-five degree angle of the hill. Then I stopped, gasping, and walk lopingly up the remainder of the hill. I had lost my fellow Rec Hall Regular, Jim, on the first painful 1,200 foot climb at the beginning of the race, and Meira Minard, reigning champion of Rothrock Challenges, was already in the lead, so I found myself in a pack of random runners. I imagined Jim and Meira soaring ahead of me and I felt like crying with frustration. The alternate joy of knowing I was doing my best and anguish of knowing that my best wasn't going to win me a medal today was messing with my head. I hate not winning. I had entered this race hoping to win at least something, but exhaustion from jet lag had worn me out. At least that's what I told myself. I jogged along, making a thousand excuses for my poor performance. I didn't get any coffee this morning. I hadn't carb loaded. I was wearing the wrong shoes (I'm not even sure what the right shoes for a race like that are). I hadn't trained. Wait, that's not an excuse. I could have trained. As my mind wandered I began to mentally make up a training program. I realized that running was fifth on my list of priorities. No wonder I hadn't trained. I need to put running and sleeping enough at the top of my priority list. I know, I will cancel all of my dates, tell my friends I don't have time to see them, and run twelve miles a day every day...
Suddenly I soared into a patch of sunlight which glinted off the wet leaves of the mountain laurel. The sunlight brought me back to the present, to the beautiful day, and to the soreness in my feet. The weather was as bipolar as my mood. A hard rain last night had left the course slippery. I had already passed through waist deep water in one part of the course. The worst spots were the technical spots right after the creek, when my shoes were full of water and slippery and I had trouble balancing as I leapt from rock to rock. And yet, I love technical. I love the absolute focus that it requires. My mind goes completely blank as I focus on finding the next best foothold for my airborne feet.
It was humid. At each water station I dumped a cup of water over my head. A couple of times I found myself running completely alone, the ferns brushing gently against my legs. I got lost twice. At the last water station, the lady told me "you're at mile twelve," but I knew she was lying when, three miles in, a man on a bike called out "only five and a half more miles to go!" There were two more climbs and descents in those last five miles. Another woman passed me and I felt frustration again. The man ahead of me had perfect balance and owned the technical, but his love handles suggested that he wasn't a regular runner. I felt angry about being behind him and not being in the lead. Then suddenly, I noticed the view and realized that I was running in a beautiful forest on a beautiful day and I smiled a huge smile and just ran for the pleasure of running. I realized that it didn't matter that I wasn't winning - being out there, running my best and being humbled by this terrain were the point.
I flew down the last hill like only a skier can run, passing a dozen runners on my way down. The last runner I passed was a guy who I'd been playing leapfrog with all day, and as I pulled away from him he yelled at me "Nice job! You're awesome by the way!!" That was the only push I needed to finish the race running. The rest of the way was mostly downhill. The final half mile was the one stretch of pavement. I closed my eyes and felt thankful for having the life to run and feel this pain and joy. I passed the finish line at 4:11 and ran straight to the pond to jump in. Jim was there with his hand out to give me a high five. So was Tom Cali, who had run part of the race to help encourage Meira. I was 10th woman overall. No, I'm not happy with my place. But I know that I will train harder from now on. Also, never run a race when jet-lagged. Unless it's reverse jet lag. My next race will have to be in Hawaii...