Wilderness Park Trail Marathon - 3/20/2011

On Saturday, the day before race day, I run with Kathy and Angie at Lake Zorinsky beginning at 7am. I consider running earlier, to increase recovery time between back-to-back long runs, but the idea of running solo from 3-7 is even too nutty for me. The truth of the matter is that my bond with these two amazing women is something irreplaceable, and the time we spend running together cannot be duplicated anywhere else. I enjoy running as part of their gang of running moms; their enthusiasm and achievements while training for their first full marathon is inspiring and drives me to keep moving as though I am immune to pain. I don't care when or where they go, but it's always a treat to be included. We listen to our Garmins beep, calculate the miles (done and more-to-go), we spend hours on foot with open hearts and lots of laughter. On this day, Kathy and Angie run 21 and 22 miles, respectively, and they are delighted that: 1) they each hit a distance PR, and 2) they're running longer and further than anyone else they know (I only ran 20).  

After my run, I am on post-recovery regime like no other (for once). I take an ice bath, repeatedly foam-roll my lower body, awkwardly squeeze into my "waffle thighs" aka Sport Recovery Socks, and knock back a couple ibuprofen. I do my best to prepare for the next long run, which is less than 24h away. I am hurting unit from this recent run and from Wednesday's track workout, which was a terrible judgement call. Sunday's forecast calls for thunderstorms and rain all week, and Lauren decides to go home to Grant instead of run the trail marathon. My goal for the rest of the day is to hang out Taia and rehab the best I can so I can make it to the start line the following day. 

Race day comes painfully fast and with little sleep, but that's how we run. I am up at 6, drinking coffee and savoring my steel-cut oatmeal with walnuts & honey. I'm packing a cooler full of liquids of different sorts in various-sized containers. I'm throwing gels, bars, and peanut butter sandwiches together. I leave the house without waking anyone up. I decide not to wake Rodney, in fear that he finds a way to talk me out of what I am about to do.

I'm on the road by 7. I am slightly apprehensive, but always prepared for the unexpected. I believe this is another step in my quest for mental toughness. It's okay that I don't know anyone; I will meet people. It's okay that I am not an experienced trail runner; there's no better time to learn. It's okay that I have tired legs; hello, when's the last time they weren't tired? It's okay that my butt/piriformis hurts; I won't be sitting anyway, and that 's when it aches the most. Rain is also okay; what's a little water? It's okay that nobody knows where I am; I'm wearing my Road ID so they can identify my body and know who to call. Today's goal is simply: SURVIVE.

I check the Weather Channel on the iphone around 7:30 and magically the forecast changes from thunderstorms to mostly sunny. It is to be the most beautiful morning. I take my pants and jacket off while cruising down I-80. I’m not sure why I feel the need to unclothe right then and there, but the relief of cooperating weather both excites and calms me.

The parking lot is small and full of cars just before 8. I send a text to Rodney: “Don’t know where I am or what I am doing. But I love u both more than anything in the world”. He texts back: “Does that mean you can’t find the place or you’re just starting the race and realizing how coo-coo you are? Run for me dearest. We love you”.

I get my bib number and meet the two most important people, Rosina (Friends of Wilderness Park) and Jim (Angry Cow Adventures), who are responsible for the planning and execution of the event.They know me now; they've seen my face; they won't let anything happen to me out there, right?  I also meet Larry Macon, a 66-year old runner from San Antonio who holds the Guinness World Record for the most marathons (106) run in a single year (2010). The only advice I get is "Watch where you put your feet". There is a course map, but it's drawn on a white board and it doesn't help one bit. I'll just follow the people in front me and keep my eyes peeled for orange markers.

The mentality of trail runners is to respect nature and enjoy the run. It's less based on pace, exact distances, tangents, and stylish, functional, matching outfits. These thoughts comfort me as I am wearing my oldest pair of North Face shorts, brand new green-blue, out-of-the-box Brooks Cascadia trail shoes, blue Ragnar Relay race shirt, yellow running room cap and dollar store gloves. It's not a ridiculous fashion show or costume-type race like the recent St. Patty's Day runs and I feel as though I could embrace this simple life. I pass on wearing the fuel belt and go for the handheld bottle with Heed mixture (great place to clip my car key). I also stash four Hammer Gels in the pouch around my waist. My plan is to switch hands each mile, take a gel every 6 miles, and fill up water whenever water was available. All my runs are about learning something, about myself, what works, and more importantly, what doesn't. All experiences lead to surviving Leadville and it's never to early to practice endurance nutrition.

Jim does the announcements and start time is T minus five minutes. I feel the urgent need to pee, and I don't want to practice peeing in the woods at this moment with the bare trees and open spaces. I run back to the oldest porta-potty in the universe, back in the woods that I had used minutes prior. Turns out to be one of the best decisions of the day. I hear Jim talking again and I bust out of the porta-potty running. Step to the middleish-back of the pack and begin to run real slow, reminding myself that a marathon is no joke.

We start on paved 1st Street and hook up and around to the gravel Jamaica Trail before heading into woods of Wilderness Park. There's a good group of us, which include 6-milers, half marathoners, and marathoners. I do my best to stick within my own head and just let everything and everyone do their thing. Twenty minutes after the start, I see no other runners in front of me. I have no idea where I am in the pack or if I'm even on the right track. The course here is single track on leaf-covered dirt trails. I imagine in the late spring and summer, it would be a beautiful, shaded trail. I cross a couple newly-constructed, wooden bridges high above the creek and remember to lift my feet as it bounces and shakes beneath me. Many of the bridges were deemed unsafe and are closed; Jim is donating the proceeds from the race (and other events) to help rebuild the bridges in Wilderness Park.

An hour in, half marathoners run toward me. One guy shouts, “Turn around is close!” I chucked to myself but thank him anyway. At an aid station where I fill my bottle, boy scouts have a spread of jelly beans, bananas, orange wedges, and muffins. I grab a few things and thank the kids who gave up their sunny Sunday morning to help out. Volunteers guide me across a busy highway, where the Channel 8 News lady set her camera on the ground. She films my backside while I run by, returning to a single-track trail just before ducking back into the woods. I wonder if my ginormous calves will make the news, and decide not to charge her for the footage...

The portion of the run is peaceful. I hear birds chirping and woodpeckers pecking. I see the tail-end of a deer running. It is grassy, flat and though the trail is windy, it's easy to pick up the pace. After a while, marathoners run toward me and the lead guy is familiar and encouraging. It's ultramarathoner and Team Nebraska athlete, Todd Nott. There are a bunch of guys behind him and I just do my best to get out of the way. The markers lead me to a trail that is covered in broken pieces of brick and there is no way around this nasty surface. It's hard on the feet and legs. It throws me onto the gravel trail and for a split second I'm disoriented. I figure out which way is south and again, pick up the pace. It's a long stretch and it's flat. I'm a road runner...I can do this! Two people are running toward me; the first is a short, burly, barefoot runner guy and next, a tall woman. They're both wearing Camelbaks. I smile at both of them and think nothing of it as I am stopped by a man who tells me to turn around. I'm shocked because I know in my head (and legs) that this is not half way. As I'm filling up my water bootle he says, "You’re the second female. See that girl? She’s first - you can catch her.” I laugh out loud and share my goal of survival. I'm not in it to win it. I'm in it to finish, regardless of how long this mystery run ends up being.

I make up tons of time on the gravel path back to the bricks and the poor guy without shoes is suffering. As I pass him, I tell him I'd piggy back him, but it wouldn't be any faster. He tells me that he wouldn't have signed up for the race had he known about the bricks. I look up and Tall Girl's back is visible through the trees. Part of my brain wonders if the course is short, but I choose not to believe it. I figure there will be an additional 5-mile loop at the end. Run smart and conserve. Don't think about the end. There is only now.

After breathing on Tall Girl for 2-3 miles, and as I'm just about to pass her, she stops to see her husband and pet her dog (a beautiful vizsla). He's standing exactly where the Channel 8 girl was set up and I cross the road to the aid station to see the boy scouts. I grab two more jelly beans, fill my water and I know that so long as I don't stop, there is no way Tall Girl can catch me - I'm just a faster runner.

Back into the woods I fly and I feel great. I'm dripping with sweat but things are going too smoothly to stop and adjust anything. Even though I know I've been here before, it's all new and I'm just running. I'm on my own again, but I know where I am mentally and I feel free, like a wild animal. I'm running at a happy pace in my happy place. I'm aware that I'm having fun. I am alive.

There is a rough time when I snag my sock on a branch and drag it with me for a while. I stop to pull out a thread. I force myself to pull in my the reigns when I trip on a root. Luckily I don't fall, but I need some serious practice on "floating" during downhills, as I'm as graceful as an elephant. 

There are a few moments when I think I could use some help, some friends, some inspiration. I say to myself, "Remember Taia”. There are so many intense emotions that arise when I think about my child, both good and bad. Regardless, the message that lingers is courage. I think of my friends, Angie and Kathy. I just keep running. I run out of the woods and hit the gravel home stretch. I'm still weary of another possible five or so miles beyond the point where I can see. It's now about 70F and the sun is full and bright. It's a reflection of me. I'm warm and my smile is as big as the sun.

I run and run until Rosina yells, "STOP!! - You’re the WINNER - 3:06!”

This is the same time it took me to run 20 miles the day prior. Through my own calculations, the fastest time I could hope to run a trail marathon is 4:10. It occurs to me that I may have missed a bunch of turns and/or suck follow flags.

The first words out of my mouth, “I think I cheated”. I smile and the camera catches me.

Rosina laughs and pats me on the back. Tells me that the course is short and then says something about Jim deciding not to send us through the deep woods through a really tough and muddy section. There are no complaints from me or my body. I know I am strong enough to go another five, in any terrain, but I have nothing to prove. 

At the car I text Kathy and Rodney and then change into dry clothes. While I'm still at my car grabbing water, I hear Rosina announcing the winners. I hear my name and run over. When I get to the small crowd Tall Girl is wearing a crown of fake flowers and holding an envelope (the prize). She's acting like the winner and I am an enabler because I say nothing and let her go on believing her own delusions. When Rosina walks away from the spotlight, I apologize for not being there, and tell her nonchalantly that I am still present. She corrects herself, announcing, “I made a mistake, Jody Green is the winner!” Tall Girl doesn't budge. She doesn't hand the crown or envelope over. Rosina ends up giving me Todd's crown and hand writes certificates for free entries into two future Angry Cow Adventures events. I really didn't think it was weird and awkward until later; at the time, I was just too happy to care. 

The real prize was getting some ART done on my sore butt. If I had a million dollars, I'd get my ass painfully worked on each day by these people. I actually felt better after Sunday's race than I did after Saturday's run. When I get home, I email Rosina and Jim. Jim's response is short and sweet, “Great job Jody. You looked strong. Thanks for coming out”.

All I really wanted to do was survive the day, and I accomplished so much more. I want to be strong. I want to be tough. I want to do the best I can with what I've got. 

I guess I have more than I thought.