Yesterday I ran the aptly-titled "Bear Creek 10k." I had done essentially the same race back at the end of January, the mudfest. Just as on that day, I started out horribly. My legs were heavy. My lungs were burning. But unlike in the wintertime, I also had heat to contend with (but fortunately the temperatures were nowhere near what they'd reach later in the day.)
Before the race began, I hung out in a shady area. Thankfully, I soon moved, for had I not, I would have been sprayed by reclaimed water sprinklers that came on shortly thereafter, causing runners to scatter and hold their noses. The stench was not pleasant. Fortunately, the race was only minutes away, so we were able to literally run away from the smell.
As the starting horn blared, someone next to me told her companion, "Just so you know, the first mile or so is a false-flat. It is definitely an incline, and it will tire you out fast."
So I had a reason for the first mile feeling cruddy, which was psychologically both good and bad news.
In my head, I replayed the race as it had happened back in January, so I expected a series of gradual hills (which turn into steeper hills quickly) right at the mile 1 mark, immediately after the 5k runners divert to a path that takes them essentially back to the start, but then into the woods for a spectacular shady single-track section that would be my last mile too. Instead, my route went off a different direction than I anticipated.
I realized I'd be doing the "original" course that had been re-routed back in winter because (as the race director put it) "one hill was literally impossible to scale in mud.")
Uh, oh.
The first part of that "new to me" section was flat, but the terrain was essentially dried mud with its half-sticky, half-crumby characteristics. Of course since I'm not "front of the pack," the dirt held plenty of potholes from the shoes of those who trod before me. I'm guessing this section was completely flooded back in January.
I was tired, and I hadn't even reached the mile 2 sign. I was hot, sweaty, and not looking forward to the inclines I knew were coming.
I seriously considered turning around and quitting.
Each step I took, I thought about whether it might just be "safer" for me to go back. I worried if given how winded and hot I felt now, perhaps later I'd actually be in trouble.
But I kept going.
The aid station at mile 2 was a welcome relief. It was situated at the base of a steep trail that I knew I had to climb. I drank some water, and realized that if I really had to, I could make my way back to their shady nook and pass out.
Buoyed by the tiny cup of water, and - as ridiculous as it seems - the knowledge that now I really would be handling tough terrain, (instead of just being a wimp on an essentially flat part) I started skip-run-walking up the hill, sometimes going backwards to stretch and compress different parts of my legs and back.
Mile 3 came surprisingly quickly, and with it, a familiar view: teeny tiny houses, and buildings down below. I could see for miles. (Photo at left is the one I took last winter.) I had made it up to the top, and had joined the trail where I had gone last January. Now I knew what lay ahead.
Relieved that the trail was now familiar, I smiled. What I didn't anticipate was that the downhill sections that were slippery in mud would be crumbling in the dry weather. I started to roll my ankle twice, but fortunately never put enough weight on it to injure it. (I suppose that is proof that my "stride" doesn't turn over as rapidly as it should, but in this case, I'm glad!)
At some point during an uphill section, I pulled a muscle or otherwise strained my groin. Thankfully, endorphins got me though the race, so it wasn't until I had returned home that I realized I couldn't walk without audibly yelping. (An ice-pack, long island iced tea, and some Excedrin - to conquer both a headache and the groin - was exactly what I needed.) Today I feel "tender" but not seriously injured, so thankfully this was a temporary thing.
Miles 4 and 5 were terrific - lots of short steep inclines, followed by dramatic drops that curved into flat pieces before the next incline. It was essentially a hike followed by flying: rinse and repeat. During the final steep decline, I almost slipped (I had slipped twice last winter) but knew the final mile was coming up.
The last mile is a shady, gorgeous mossy single-track. It has its own inclines and drops, as well as some logs that are too large to simply bound over, so must be hug-straddled while jumping. This portion is tantalizingly close to the finish line, so close that I could hear the announcer and the post-race party music. At the start of the single-track section, the finish line is down below the trail, but by the end of the single-track, the finish line is above the trail. It isn't until a series of uphill switchbacks that the finish line is actually right in front of the runner.
I remembered this false sense of "close to the finish" from winter, so wasn't fooled. I had also remembered a section where my back hurt like crazy. Thankfully, because of my knowledge that this final mile had the potential to be brutal, it ended up going by very quickly! (Does that mean I'll then be over-confident if I do this trail again? Hmmm.)
I finished strong.
I then felt the hurt. But, of course, it was worth it.
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Check out my Project 2010k Tally for my 2010 "race reports."
