I had serious doubts about doing a fifteen mile trail race. I like to push myself physically, but what is that limit anymore? It used to be easier to assume that I had the stamina and ability to do just about anything. Now, I don’t know. My energy level could range from functional to dead tired with no consistency. Would I injure myself by spacing out, resulting in a fall that would render my knee into a bloody pulp? Get exhausted and walk the whole way?
At least I knew what the course was like, having ridden it by mountain bike many times. It had some nasty rock strewn sections. Once to the seven mile point, it got easier and downhill. Still it was a long way. My goal was simply to finish in one piece.
At the start, everyone took off, leaving me mostly alone. This is a common event for me. I figured that I would catch some of them later. My arm and knee still hurt from a bad fall the week before, so I started slow
After two miles was where all the rocks started. This was a tough part and went uphill. One time I fell lightly on my hands. Most of the time my toe would hit a rock with no loss of balance. I kept up with an older man, but passed him eventually. It was slow going. I wasn’t worried about time, just completion of the distance.
The older man picked his way carefully among the rocks. Maybe this was how he avoided injury. Is frequent tripping an old person thing? At one point, I saw that he took a wrong turn and yelled at him. It was my good deed for the day. I lost him and didn’t see him after that.
Occasionally, I could look at the desert vistas instead of staring at the ground hazards. Four Peaks mountains still had snow in the crevices. The park stretched on into the horizon. Trail running is certainly more scenic that the boring streets of road racing. Saguaros beat shopping malls anytime.
My gurgling insides finally forced me to stop and find a bush. Luckily, no one was around. This is an advantage to trail running–being able to use a bush rather than carrying a load around. It was a long way to a restroom. I cursed inwardly my colon, which wouldn’t behave itself.
Running this route verses mountain biking was definitely different . The distances that would by pass quickly with a bike stretched out with running. I can coast on a mountain bike. I can climb rocks without falling. It seemed like I was going nowhere slowly and sometimes the anxiety of wondering where the hell I was and if I was lost took over. I had done this trail many times on a bike, but it was more desolate and vulnerable on foot. I overtook people sometimes and wondered why the hell would they be lagging back there with me.
I knew that the endpoint of the climbing was the shelter with the skeleton dressed in a serape, but I thought I was lost in the endless twists and turns of a trail that went nowhere. I was happy to see my boney friend.
 |
| My friend with a different costume. |
The next aid station had coke! Coke has saved me on long endurance events when my energy was flagging. I drank some and continued. My slogging pace picked up. I think that a 50k runner lapped me because he was moving much faster . I was on the downside slope, with some rough, rocky patches that were not as bad as the first stretch. I shuddered to think what negotiated that when I was tired would be like. The miles seemed longer and longer.
I passed another runner who was walking fast. Being polite or annoyed, she let me pass. I moved faster.
I crossed the park road, hoping that it wouldn’t be much longer, but it was. Would this trail ever end? Four miles to go and it was easier to run. The ground was smooth and the coke had kicked in. Where did this energy come from? Too bad it didn’t come sooner. The trail twisted and turned and I hoped to see some evidence of the parking lot, but nothing appeared. Then the restroom structure loomed in the distance. I kept running hard just to get the damn race over with. I was under my modest goal of 3:45.
Finally, the race ended at the humble finish line. Total time was 3:41. The skin of my knees and hands was still intact and I had mostly stayed upright.
This was a really low key race, so no medals, announcers or timing system, except someone writing the time on paper. This didn’t matter to me, but I wondered what was the point of running trail for fifteen miles. Running verses biking the trail was one of the draws to see the difference. I had only run a tougher half marathon trail in Page, but two miles more wasn’t that significant. Maybe it was to prove to myself that I could do a long run after a pandemic, cancer treatment and being older. I hadn’t even done a road half marathon since 2019.
We like to think that we are in control of our destiny. Doing crazy things gives me the illusion that I can defy age, expectations and physical limitations. If I can run fifteen miles, maybe that will hold off infirmity, fat and appease the joints that hate me. No one expects people my age to be doing such activity, but why should years dictate the end? I won’t live forever, or may even die next year, so why not do it now when I am able?
Or maybe it was just to feel just a bit like my old normal self again, rather than a depressed, achy, tired cancer survivor. I didn’t get my usual race high, but still could claim victory.
