4th time is no walk in the park

I didn’t set out with great expectations, I swear. But at one point, I turned to Bones and said, “This is not how I expected this to go.”  And yet, the Run the Caldera Marathon 2010 may have been one of the best learning opportunities to date for me.

I anticipated finishing in about 5 hours, give or take, after running conservatively and easily, just letting my legs cover the distance. I love the locale of the race, so I was looking forward to seeing the meadow, and the wildflowers, hearing the streams. I was looking forward to being happy out there.

I did not get what I wanted. I guess we’ll see if I got what I needed.

We had to wait at the start for about 45 minutes, as lightning from a brief passing storm had started a small fire. The volunteer fire dept (THANK YOU VOLUNTEERS!) contained it quickly and we started.
My first thought: Wow, my legs are heavy.
Second thought: really really heavy.
Third: I’ve never felt my legs like this. Not even last week after running long with S. Baboo and then running longish with Kenbot the next day.  Not even close.

Were small children hanging on to my legs and dragging their weight behind me? No. Had someone inserted lead into my shoes? Doubtful.

Am I really this tired? Huh. Guess so.

I plodded along, feeling like I had already run 20 or 30 miles even though we had just started. I hoped my legs would warm up and return to their normal peppy state…. But it was clear by mile 3 that I was hoping in vain. Lucky for me, Bones was running nearby, and selflessly decided to stay with me.

Normally, chatting or being chatted to while running tires me out. It can make me feel worse about how I’m  doing even if I’m doing well, and can make me feel worse – even guilty – if I’m feeling bad. I’m not sure why. Maybe I assume that the person with me is having an easier time of it than I. Maybe it’s the difference between having to work to listen and understand someone, and being alone with my own thoughts. Which, while running I think about nothing in particular. Maybe it’s about having a witness, a fear of being judged.

But, that day, my head wasn’t a great place to be. It wasn’t happy, and it wasn’t thinking about nothing in particular. It was thinking that “I suck” and “At this rate, you’ll be out here all day” and “nobody else feels as bad as you do.” Chatting with Bones was enjoyable and a relief.

Lots of people passed us on the first climb that goes from 8000 to 10,000 ft. We walked just about the whole thing, except for one or two flatter spots. We did not pass a single person. We saw my friend Barry rejoin the trail – he had taken a wrong turn for an extra 2 miles. I thought that since I was going so slowly, I had an excellent opportunity to try taking in 2 gels an hour – in an attempt to get more calories. After gel #3, I abandoned that plan. No matter that I was walking, it was too much. Back to the drawing board on that one.

Got to the top (9.4 miles) in 1:54. “Waaaaait just a second here. That’s not really so bad. Do I still feel horrible?”
 Yep. 
"Huh.”

I couldn’t help but compare it to my times and splits from previous years:
    Top of climb    finish
2009    1:46        4:54
2008    1:55        5:13
2007    2:04        5:45

So it would seem like I was on track to ~5:13 finish. “No way. You’re too slow, it’ll be 6 hours.” We headed down the long descent. I couldn’t really relax into it, and my brain was definitely trying to convince me to walk.

“Ooo, that step kinda hurt. Don’t you think you should walk awhile? You know, just til it stops hurting? No?
...
How about we walk this little flattish spot. You can run when it gets steeper again. No?
...
Here’s an aid station. I know you’re wearing your hydration pack, but how about you stop for a coke. Some ginger ale?
...

Ah, the watch timer went off. Why not walk while you take your salt tab? You wouldn’t want to choke on it. Just a few steps…”

And on it went. I caved a few times. Especially when it came to the coke at the aid station. :0 After noting the time at the top, I checked our pace – my pace – as we went down and as we crossed the meadow of the caldera. Some 8:10s, 8:20s, 8:30s, 9s. Finally, I stopped looking at my watch – I just couldn’t stand the contradiction. I was feeling so awful, but the pace wasn’t reflecting just how awful I felt. Maybe the battery was dying. Whatever was going on, dwelling on it, trying to reason through it was frustrating. Better just to keep running, and walking the uphills. Forget the watch.

I checked with Bones a few times when I couldn’t stand it any longer, and he’d confirm that we were bound to finish just after 5, maybe 5:15 or 5:20. I couldn’t believe it. But mostly we talked about the Turkey factoid mile markers, the flowers, our training, Leadville, life. I knew I was slowing him down quite a bit. I offered him the chance to leave several times, but he declined. This is antithetical to me – I can definitely learn this generosity of spirit from Bones. For me, a race = goals. So it’s a big leap for me to see the value in setting aside any goals, and just keeping someone company that would appreciate it.

There weren’t any elk in the meadow as we passed through, just some cattle and horses in the distance. This year, the wind was blowing too much for the grasshoppers to be popping up from the ground like popcorn. It was so dry, the soil – aka volcanic ash – coated our legs. Bones made “poof-poof-poof” noises as sound effects as we stirred up clouds of dust with each step. I know the course pretty well, this being my fourth time, so I could tell Bones what was coming up. We had fun.

I felt no different at the end than I did at the start. Tired legs and achy feet. We crossed the line in 5:08, way faster than I had expected. Way happier with my day than I had expected, too. So I guess this serves as lesson 1 on how to run on tired legs. And lesson 1 on how to avoid the pit of despair in your own head. And maybe the preliminary lesson on how to run with friends.