Hi ST! Back with another race report, this time from the Wissahickon Trail Classic. Wacky hijinks ensue. Check out the blog sometime, if you are so inclined. Hope things are awesome!
Overall:
5th/650 entrants. I am simply thrilled that I finished! The road to recovery from the collarbone injury of 3 weeks ago has been littered with roadblocks, roadkill, and copies of Jack Keroac’s On the Road (to indicate the aimless nature of my travels). Surprisingly, there are no copies of The Road by Cormac McCarthy, most likely because the post-apocalyptic hellscape in the book feels diminished by the epic disasters that were my attempts to run/bike. My time was much slower than last year, but that is to be expected with the protruding bone. Perhaps I should have rubbed more Vagisil on it during the pre-race warm-up… Anyway, 30 seconds ahead at the finish were 3 runners—a sub-50 10-mile guy, a 2:32 marathoner, and a 14:30 5k’er. The winner was a guy I beat by 90 seconds last year. In other words, HYPOTHETICAL HEALTHY ME OWNED THEIR S***. Hypothetical Dave also is charismatic with the ladies and knows how to use chopsticks, so take that statement for what it’s worth.
Pre-Race:
Did a heavy training week leading up to the race, in the hopes of purging the epic fail of a DNF in the 10-miler from my body. I think it worked, for the most part. SEE KIDS, PURGING IS ALWAYS A GOOD THING. Gosh, I should be a dietitian. Woke up feeling great, and arrived at the race like a horse at the starting gate. Unfortunately, that analogy only applies to my face.
Lined up after a hard warm-up to hear that the race was delayed 10 minutes. That’s cool, but 650 trail runners in a small space leads to BO that could fell a herd of elephants. Are all trail racers hippies that don’t wear deodorant? YOUR BO HAS DISGRACED THE INITIALS OF OUR PRESIDENT, YOU DIRTY PATCHOULI-WEARING VEGANS. I assume they were all wearing tie-dye hemp-singlets. 10 extra minutes of olfactory exertion, AND THEY’RE OFF!!!
Race:
The Trail Classic is a 10.5k over surprisingly rugged trails, with steep climbs and rocky descents. After a flat first half-mile, the trail turns up a path called “Pain Hill”. I told myself it was named for hip-hop artist T-Pain, and not the severe pain induced from the steepness of the trail. Sadly, that reminded me that it was currently as hot as DA CLUB when one of his songs comes on. Granted, I’m not sure what type of “club” this was, because from my perspective there were only a bunch of shirtless dudes grunting loudly.
After that half-mile delusion, I found myself in 10th place or so. The single-track trail then wound around an exposed valley on the ridge, and I began to feel some discomfort. By the end of the mile in the sun, my ears were ringing and brain was screaming for mercy. So basically EXACTLY what happens if you listen to Rush Limbaugh, but without the strikingly depressing fear for humanity’s future. My future, however, was in doubt until we hit the descent. My climbing may suck right now, but even when out of race shape I can go down. THIS TRACTOR TRAILER AIN’T GOT NO BRAKES (Come to think about it, I wouldn’t be surprised if that was the title of an actual country song…the South—responsible for shitty music, segregation, and delicious biscuits since 1860). 8 runners were passed on the downhill! Disconcertingly, it was about to go up again.
When the course profile looks like a serrated knife up to the standards of Jeffrey Dahmer, you know you’re in trouble. So began a see-sawing of places, where I would blow by some guys on descents, and I would be passed on the ascents. Notably, my mind was sending out discouraging thoughts this entire time. It was strange—that has never been a problem in the past. Asking for a certain level of performance, then receiving something inferior to what you feel you are capable of—is a uniquely dispiriting feeling.
Most importantly though, I kept going. After the bike accident, I really needed EXACTLY this race, a race where my legs hurt, my lungs seared, and every neuron was firing images of a red octagon. On the final climb, a mile from the finish, I was able to muster an assault that earned me an extra place, and really was indicative of a meaningful growing experience. To be honest, I haven’t faced much adversity as an athlete. Crossing the line in 5th, I realized that the last 40 minutes were much more important than any win----the time provided a bit of self-realization that I will always be able to return to in times of struggle.
In other words, I ADDED A POCKET TO MY MAN-PURSE OF COURAGE. That’s room for like, at least 10 extra tampons.
Post-script:
If you got this far, I figured you might have a high tolerance for pain. In that vein, here is a serious post that means a lot more to me than the bad-joke parade above:
http://beautyandchange.blogspot.com/2010/06/hope.html
Thanks for everything!
