Holy. Crap. 13 miles is a long way. Crazy Ass, Tortlette 1 and I rode up a winding road in the Colorado River canyon. The odometer on the car read 11 miles and already it felt like we had been driving and driving and driving some more.
"Um... so, we're going to run this tomorrow, huh?" Tortlette 1 asked. We were all silent. I ignored the giant pit in my stomach and smiled "Isn't this canyon gorgeous?" I made mental notes each time we went downhill, knowing that as we ran down this canyon in the morning, these would be uphill for us.
We finally arrived at what we assumed would be the starting line the next day, as the odometer read 13.1. Porta potties lined the road, the only sign of what was to take place here the next day. I tried to imagine the place packed with runners, warming up at the starting line. My imagination failed me. I truly could not fathom what I was in for the next day.
Later that evening, after checking my alarm clock for the 12th time, I forced my eyes shut. I had laid out all my clothes for the next day, planned out a bagel breakfast and put the chip onto my shoe. Two hours later, I opened an eye to peak at the clock. Midnight. Ugh, why can't I just sleep? I awoke again at 2am. And 3:30. Finally, the alarm went off at 5am...
By the time we reached the starting line, we had half frozen our buns off at the shuttle pickup, and we proceeded to freeze off the other half as we stretched with the 10-minute runners. Somehow Crazy Ass saw no issue with us joining the 10 minute pace group, although our fastest pace yet was around 12 minutes. Tortlette 1, being the manly-man that he is, had already shed his jacket, while Crazy Ass and I jumped up and down to keep warm. I had a fleece jacket on over my running shirt, which I was not about to give up. Moab in March is the Jeckyl and Hyde of weather, with frigid temperatures at night and early morning, followed by scorching sun by mid-day.
"I'm still not feeling so well," Tortlette 1 informed us. He had woken up with a stomach ache. I was hoping it was just nerves, but since he brought it up again, I was pretty sure this was something more serious.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" I asked.
"Yeah, I think so," he replied.
"Ok, there is supposed to be a sag wagon coming through. They should be picking up people who need help. If it gets bad, I guess you can just hop on that, ok?" I replied. I trusted that race coordinators would never let a kid struggle. I looked around at some of the aging runners who were around us. Surely, other people might need a bail out along the way, right? This is something they must plan for when they a race like this.
The race finally began. We ran right along-side the 10 minute pacers. Adrenaline took over as we trotted down a long hill at the beginning of the course. As the course flattened out, I started to worry we couldn't keep up the pace and I slowed us down.
Tortlette 1: "Are we really going to run this slow?"
Me: "Yeah. We want to be able to finish the race right?"
Tortlette 1: (rolls eyes) "Uh, ok."
About two miles in, we lost Tortlette 1. "I can't run any more. You guys go ahead."
Crazy Ass and I carried on. By this point, we had solidified our back of the pack status, but we were still running. I was filled with guilt as we left my baby behind.
"He'll be ok, right?" I asked.
"Look, we can still see him," Crazy Ass said, looking behind us. "I have my cell phone so we can keep in touch with him and make sure he's alright."
We kept running. I was determined to to keep up with an adorable 65 year old in a purple sports bra. We eventually passed her, and I thought, "Wow, she is amazing. I can only dream of being that fit at her age." We played leap frog with her and an overweight guy wearing a camelbak over the next several miles. After the third or fourth time we passed Chubby, I waved to him and smiled, "How's it going?"
"Wow, I thought I'd at least be able to keep up with you guys," he replied.
Once he was out of earshot, I turned to Crazy Ass, "Do we really look that bad? This guy's disappointed he can't keep up with us?" I thought of the woman in the purple bra and my assumption that we'd finish the race before her and realized Chubby felt the same way about us.
Running is a humbling experience.
By mile seven, we'd had two porta potty stops and made several attempts to reach Tortlette 1 by cell phone. We hadn't seen him since Mile 4. I was really starting to worry, as I had yet to see a "sag wagon" and we were definitely far enough back amongst the runners where they might think we were candidates for one. But we continued to run. We had passed Purple Bra several miles back. I had no idea where Chubby was. I think we passed him, too.
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. My femur stabbed into my pelvis with each step I took. By Mile 12, I could run at most a quarter mile and then I had to stop and walk. We still hadn't gotten in touch with Tortlette 1 and I was desperate to know what was going on. A porta potty greeted us as the start of Mile 13, and I decided to use it as one final attempt to allow Tortlette 1 to catch up with us. An exasperated Crazy Ass said, "I'm going to keep running, ok? I'll see you at the finish."
"Ok," I said. "Good luck!"
Still unable to see Tortlette 1, I ran as much of Mile 13 as I could, stopping periodically and then jogging once again. My camelback was nearly empty and the fleece jacket hung around my waste, two unnecessary burdens that at this point were only making me sweat even more under the hot Moab sun. I passed a house with a sprinkler going, like this was some typical spring day. And then I saw her. Just up ahead was Purple Bra. "You again," I thought. "You're going down."
I increased my pace enough to begin closing the distance between us. Ever so slowly, the color purple grew closer and closer. As we turned a corner and the finish line was in sight, Purple Bra fell behind. Her adorable Grandma face was just a blur, but the finish banner was a clear as day, though 200 yards down the road. I kept running, knowing I couldn't stop now. Not with Purple Bra right behind me. Step after painful step, I ran until I passed the finish timer: 3:02.
Three minutes later, Tortlette 1 crossed the finish line. He was running. "Wow, he was right there all along," I thought to myself.
"Great job!" I yelled. "Are you ok? I was so worried."
"Yeah, Mom. I'm fine. I pretty much walked the whole thing."
He walked the whole thing. And finished right behind us. Running is a humbling experience.
On the way out of town, Crazy Ass and I stopped at the main office of our hotel and booked a stay the next Fall for the Other Half Marathon, 2009. Humbling as it was, we were hooked.
"Um... so, we're going to run this tomorrow, huh?" Tortlette 1 asked. We were all silent. I ignored the giant pit in my stomach and smiled "Isn't this canyon gorgeous?" I made mental notes each time we went downhill, knowing that as we ran down this canyon in the morning, these would be uphill for us.
We finally arrived at what we assumed would be the starting line the next day, as the odometer read 13.1. Porta potties lined the road, the only sign of what was to take place here the next day. I tried to imagine the place packed with runners, warming up at the starting line. My imagination failed me. I truly could not fathom what I was in for the next day.
Later that evening, after checking my alarm clock for the 12th time, I forced my eyes shut. I had laid out all my clothes for the next day, planned out a bagel breakfast and put the chip onto my shoe. Two hours later, I opened an eye to peak at the clock. Midnight. Ugh, why can't I just sleep? I awoke again at 2am. And 3:30. Finally, the alarm went off at 5am...
By the time we reached the starting line, we had half frozen our buns off at the shuttle pickup, and we proceeded to freeze off the other half as we stretched with the 10-minute runners. Somehow Crazy Ass saw no issue with us joining the 10 minute pace group, although our fastest pace yet was around 12 minutes. Tortlette 1, being the manly-man that he is, had already shed his jacket, while Crazy Ass and I jumped up and down to keep warm. I had a fleece jacket on over my running shirt, which I was not about to give up. Moab in March is the Jeckyl and Hyde of weather, with frigid temperatures at night and early morning, followed by scorching sun by mid-day.
"I'm still not feeling so well," Tortlette 1 informed us. He had woken up with a stomach ache. I was hoping it was just nerves, but since he brought it up again, I was pretty sure this was something more serious.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" I asked.
"Yeah, I think so," he replied.
"Ok, there is supposed to be a sag wagon coming through. They should be picking up people who need help. If it gets bad, I guess you can just hop on that, ok?" I replied. I trusted that race coordinators would never let a kid struggle. I looked around at some of the aging runners who were around us. Surely, other people might need a bail out along the way, right? This is something they must plan for when they a race like this.
The race finally began. We ran right along-side the 10 minute pacers. Adrenaline took over as we trotted down a long hill at the beginning of the course. As the course flattened out, I started to worry we couldn't keep up the pace and I slowed us down.
Tortlette 1: "Are we really going to run this slow?"
Me: "Yeah. We want to be able to finish the race right?"
Tortlette 1: (rolls eyes) "Uh, ok."
About two miles in, we lost Tortlette 1. "I can't run any more. You guys go ahead."
Crazy Ass and I carried on. By this point, we had solidified our back of the pack status, but we were still running. I was filled with guilt as we left my baby behind.
"He'll be ok, right?" I asked.
"Look, we can still see him," Crazy Ass said, looking behind us. "I have my cell phone so we can keep in touch with him and make sure he's alright."
We kept running. I was determined to to keep up with an adorable 65 year old in a purple sports bra. We eventually passed her, and I thought, "Wow, she is amazing. I can only dream of being that fit at her age." We played leap frog with her and an overweight guy wearing a camelbak over the next several miles. After the third or fourth time we passed Chubby, I waved to him and smiled, "How's it going?"
"Wow, I thought I'd at least be able to keep up with you guys," he replied.
Once he was out of earshot, I turned to Crazy Ass, "Do we really look that bad? This guy's disappointed he can't keep up with us?" I thought of the woman in the purple bra and my assumption that we'd finish the race before her and realized Chubby felt the same way about us.
Running is a humbling experience.
By mile seven, we'd had two porta potty stops and made several attempts to reach Tortlette 1 by cell phone. We hadn't seen him since Mile 4. I was really starting to worry, as I had yet to see a "sag wagon" and we were definitely far enough back amongst the runners where they might think we were candidates for one. But we continued to run. We had passed Purple Bra several miles back. I had no idea where Chubby was. I think we passed him, too.
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. My femur stabbed into my pelvis with each step I took. By Mile 12, I could run at most a quarter mile and then I had to stop and walk. We still hadn't gotten in touch with Tortlette 1 and I was desperate to know what was going on. A porta potty greeted us as the start of Mile 13, and I decided to use it as one final attempt to allow Tortlette 1 to catch up with us. An exasperated Crazy Ass said, "I'm going to keep running, ok? I'll see you at the finish."
"Ok," I said. "Good luck!"
Still unable to see Tortlette 1, I ran as much of Mile 13 as I could, stopping periodically and then jogging once again. My camelback was nearly empty and the fleece jacket hung around my waste, two unnecessary burdens that at this point were only making me sweat even more under the hot Moab sun. I passed a house with a sprinkler going, like this was some typical spring day. And then I saw her. Just up ahead was Purple Bra. "You again," I thought. "You're going down."
I increased my pace enough to begin closing the distance between us. Ever so slowly, the color purple grew closer and closer. As we turned a corner and the finish line was in sight, Purple Bra fell behind. Her adorable Grandma face was just a blur, but the finish banner was a clear as day, though 200 yards down the road. I kept running, knowing I couldn't stop now. Not with Purple Bra right behind me. Step after painful step, I ran until I passed the finish timer: 3:02.
Three minutes later, Tortlette 1 crossed the finish line. He was running. "Wow, he was right there all along," I thought to myself.
"Great job!" I yelled. "Are you ok? I was so worried."
"Yeah, Mom. I'm fine. I pretty much walked the whole thing."
He walked the whole thing. And finished right behind us. Running is a humbling experience.
On the way out of town, Crazy Ass and I stopped at the main office of our hotel and booked a stay the next Fall for the Other Half Marathon, 2009. Humbling as it was, we were hooked.
1 comment:
How do you like the new design?
Post a Comment
I love comments! The easiest way to comment is to choose the Name/URL option and just type in your name.