In this week’s episode: Dancing Queen runs a race! How? What? WHY? Those answers are still not clear, but I will tell you about it anyway.
I needed a new six week training goal, I told my trainer one day. How about you run this trail race with me, he said excitedly (that’ll teach me to open my fat mouth). Not being 1) a runner or 2) a racer, I told him I would think about it. Then began the four day a week inquiry: Did you register for the race yet? Needless to say, I exercised my side-eye as much as my biceps. However, as the race drew nearer, in a moment of weakness, I committed and registered. Delivering this news to my trainer rendered him like a kid learning that Santa was coming to town. “CALM DOWN, EXTREMIST,” I said to myself.
It wasn’t until a day before the race, when I was eating Mexican food and ice cream, that it struck me that I had never, ever, walked nor hiked, much less ran more than four miles in my life. I am a sprinter. I am a hurdler. When my track coach told me in high school that I would have to run a mile to a mountain, and then do sprints up said mountain as part of my training, I turned in my track shoes.
Though I’m hitting that age where people find the need to put “run a marathon” on their bucket list, I have never had the desire to “just see if I can” complete a marathon, a half marathon, or anything more than a “fun run” for bewb cancer. On one occasion when I did the bewbie run, I watched an 80 year old survivor pass me as we neared the finish line. It was not out of the goodness of my heart that this happened.
The morning of the race, I woke up before dawn to meet my trainer, his girlfriend, and another misguided soul. There were two races, an 8k and 20k (5 and 12 miles respectively for those who refuse to use the metric system). The trainer and his girlfriend were running the 20k, and I was hoping to finish my race before them. As we drove the 45 minutes out to the race location, we talked about training for the run. “Did you do some practice runs?” someone asked me. Uh, no. I didn’t want to tire myself out, or get my shins splints flared up before the run (duh). Nervous laughter followed my response.
We arrived at the race site while it was still dark. I was in line for the Port-a-Johns as the sun rose over the cool desert. I thought I had a healthy fear of this race. When someone remarked about my brightly colored outfit, I told them that it was so that the rescue helicopter could easily spot me. I had visions of me not finishing the five miles within the four hours allotted to complete the race, and everyone packing up and leaving before I crossed the finish line. It was these visions that overtook my thoughts as we gathered for the start. Now, I’m no racing pro, but I’m fairly certain that imagining your failure is not the recommended way to kick things off. So, I situated myself near the back, and off we went.
I passed a few people at first (yay, me!). I spotted my marks, i.e., the people I would try to pass or at least keep up with. As we got to the first mile marker, there were still plenty of people behind me. I heard a couple of them remark that they had varying distances of 1.3 and 1.8. WHAT A RELIEF, I thought to myself. We’d actually gone farther than one single solitary mile. I soon learned that those were LIES.
The second mile was full of rocky, uneven dips and rises of loose rock, bordered with cholla cactus. I came up on a woman who was wheezing, but still moving forward. As I passed her, I asked if she was okay, and she said she was, that she just had asthma. I would occasionally look behind me to be sure I wasn’t last. If I tried to take in the scenery of saguaro cacti and rolling rocky hills, I would catch my foot on a rock and stumble, expending energy reserves that I desperately needed. I began…to walk. The steep inclines, while brief, were kicking my butt. I didn’t want to tear my Achilles either and have to be rescued (at least not at mile two, I didn’t).
Mile three is where things took a turn for the worse. It was dastardly bastard. The last major incline before the winding path for the finish line was steep. The Wheezing Woman passed me. A woman who must have been in her 70s and was taking such small steps that I couldn’t figure out how she was still gaining ground sneaked up behind me…and passed me. I wanted to at least keep up with her! I was in shape! I worked out! So it was with the voice of Mother Superior singing “Climb Ev’ry Mountain” that I continued trudging on. I did notice, however, that I was fairly alone.
As I looked down on the race route from the crest, I noticed the pack of what must have been kindergartners in bright red, making them easily spotted. I swore that if I could pass just one in the final stretch, that I would be satisfied. This proved a more elusive goal than my brain had considered. They kept disappearing behind turns and bushes. Ugh. SLOW DOWN, TWERPS!, I was thinking.
I finally caught up to one of them who had fallen back in the herd. When I came upon her and her coach, I heard him yell: “OH NO! Here’s comes the lady in pink!” GREAT! They had me pegged as the last person on the trail and now I was THERE. The child and I chatted and we learned that we shared the same name. Bonding! Too bad I was going to smoke her little butt at the end of the race. She ate my dust as I took off.
The last mile was all downhill, literally. As I neared the finish line, I heard footsteps behind me. It seemed that others had the same idea I had which was to make up time by running downhill and finishing strong. I was NOT going to let someone edge me out in the last 100 meters. I went for it. I sprinted to the end, swearing that someone was right on my heels. I crossed that finish line like Allyson Felix in the 200 meter Olympic race! As it turns out, no one was near me. I was hearing my own footsteps. Delirium had set in. I needed an orange slice and half a banana – STAT!
I got my swag bag, and cheered on the 20k racers as they finished. My proud trainer was beaming not only at his own great finish but at mine. We went and ate an indulgent breakfast which contained probably more calories than I burned but hey, YOLO. There are three more races as part of this series. The trainer has already started in on me about doing them. IF I run one or all of them, my goal will be simple: to best Wheezing Woman and the septuagenarian. I will leave the children alone.