Cool air, no breeze, a cloudy pink and blue sunrise and I was running down the Arizona trail on the continental divide. Glee. That’s about the only word I can use to describe the fullness of heart and the smile on my face. I was gleeful.
The start had seemed to be stretched out and compressed all at once. A blur of motion and emotion too quick to register that snapped to reality with the (gun? Whistle? Horn?) that went off at “3” instead of after “1”.
But now, I thought, there’s plenty of time to look around and look inside. It’s all I’ve got for the next 12 hours. Over two hours in, we climb up to Gunsight pass. In the panoramic view, you could see what must have been Tucson in the distance. I was looking forward to bombing down from Gunsight Pass, and was stymied by the footing. It may have been a jeep road once, but the rocks, boulders and ruts had long ago claimed it for their own. We were finally let out on a slight downhill plain facing a snow-covered mountain.
This would be the last expansive view for awhile. Although I was moving conservatively (ok, let’s just call a spade a spade, I was moving slowly) the miles and time seemed to be flying by. What I thought was a ½ full hydration pack turned up empty at mile 36 with 4.5 miles to the next aid station. And no one around. The dozens of stream crossings tempted me, but I resisted drinking and waded through, cooling my feet instead. A kind runner gave me the last three swallows of water he had just ½ mile before the aid station – salvation. The volunteer at 40 asked how I was, and held out his hand and pulled me out of the stream crossing. Then he yelled up the embankment – “this young lady would like a drink!” Yes, I would. Maybe two.
Rehydrating, and back on the jeep road, I still felt great. At mile 43, my watch said I was averaging 12:40 miles, and I felt awesome. Only at this point did I really hold the whole distance in my mind and I felt so grateful, and still a little gleeful to be able to do this. There is no place on earth I would have rather been. Back to the Arizona trail for awhile, we ran through more streams and followed the curves of the hills to the last aid station. In and out, I’d found a groove and wanted to get right back to it. After ~1.5 miles, we’re back on a jeep road, and I’m running with Bob. We chat, and I look at my watch and think, “I can get under 11 hours. I feel great! Run!” And I did. I leave Bob and Annette behind. Down, down down the road. I see the meadows that Andrea told me about. Where’s the short uphill before the finish? Was that it? Ok, I’m at 50.9 miles. The finish should be right here! And my watch reads 10:30! Go ….
A horn sounds behind me. I wave, thinking about how awesome I feel. They pull up alongside, driver hanging out of her window. “You’re off course! You have to go back. About 3 miles, the trail heads off the road to the right up a hill!”
“#$&*%^#%*;^#**.“ deep breath. “Ok, thanks. I’m sorry. Thank you. Oh boy. Ok.”
The wind left my sails. I hate to admit it, but despair kept me company while I walked for a couple miles. Strangely, the thought that I’ll have done 56 or 57 miles when I finish is what pulls me through. That’s an accomplishment. Farther than I ever anticipated going on this day, when I wasn’t sure how 50 miles would go. And it’s been awesome. I’ve FELT awesome. I get back to the trail, and see the markers (plain as the nose on my face). I start running again, and now my only regret was that I let myself walk so much, that now I won’t break 12 hours. That’s what pouting will get you. The trail here is buttery smooth single track, the kind of trail that just begs you to move forward and gracefully takes in a bad step here or there without punishing you for it. The sun is setting, and I’m running through my favorite time of day – the golden hour where light and matter take on new characteristics, glowing and welcoming. Now I am running through gorgeous mountain meadows. And pretty quickly, there’s a building peeking out through the trees at the edge of the meadow. A few cheers, and then as I top the hill, more cheers, and I’m done. The group, who all finished long ago, listen to my story and are glad to see me. Smiling.
No matter the things that happened out on the trail, the feelings that stick are the ones of glee. And that’s the way I want it.
1 comment:
You are my hero today Margaret..you did great...Leadville here you come!
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