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April 2008
4/12/08
4/12/08
Todd's journey to the temple of learning....
Saturday, April 12, 2008
It hasn't taken me quite as long to provide reactions to my first (attempt at a) trail race. Documentation of the carnage is attached for your viewing pleasure. These were taken Mon. evening (two days +). I saw my GP Mon. morning, got xrays later in the morning, spoke with my GP in the afternoon and have an appointment Wed. with a rehab. therapist who specializes in working with athletes. Fortunately, there is no fracture, although there is a chip on the inside of my ankle from an old injury I remember nothing about. As the sordid story unravels, you should probably know that this was my good ankle during all of last year's mountainous festivities.
On last Thursday, Friday and Saturday morning, I was a bundle of coiled anxiety. It's been years since I've been so nervous. It was like asking out that crush in junior high school. I wasn't really nervous about what I would encounter (it was exactly what you described/very beautiful terrain/at least 5/8 of it). I was nervous about succeeding. I hadn't slept well, was coming off of being sick and knew I wasn't as ready as I wanted to be. But I was still excited to learn, learn, learn, use the race as a stepping stone and qualify for the marathon. It never even occurred to me that I wouldn’t finish. Injury wasn’t on my radar.
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Todd's journey to the temple of learning....
On last Thursday, Friday and Saturday morning, I was a bundle of coiled anxiety. It's been years since I've been so nervous. It was like asking out that crush in junior high school. I wasn't really nervous about what I would encounter (it was exactly what you described/very beautiful terrain/at least 5/8 of it). I was nervous about succeeding. I hadn't slept well, was coming off of being sick and knew I wasn't as ready as I wanted to be. But I was still excited to learn, learn, learn, use the race as a stepping stone and qualify for the marathon. It never even occurred to me that I wouldn’t finish. Injury wasn’t on my radar.
I was anxious to join a group. A group that you guys invited me to join. A group who could say they did it. A group (I have learned) that no one outside of the group really understands. I learned on Sat. that this group is represented by very cool people that I got to meet in unique ways.
Even though my courtship was brief, I went to the temple of learning on Saturday. I made three mistakes. All of them correctable. The first – I arrived on-site too late. I never was able to organize myself. I'll know better next time. My second was to overdress up top. I was very glad for the tights, but I chose to be warm on top. Didn't need to be that warm, though. But this was correctable as I had come prepared withdifferent shirts and expected to see Sara at the 4 mile for a quick change. My third mistake was an equipment problem. I lost touch with Ronnie when my water bottle dropped out of my waist belt. It fell out twice more. Never again. The hand bottle would be fine – maybe with a belt for food, but I lean more and more to the Ronnie/Camelback approach. Easy sipping throughout and room to carry whatever I would need (this would have become a critical problem had I been able to continue).
You guys had prepared me for the start. I loved the informality. Ronnie, the accordian was a perfect description. My impression (confirmed later by you) was that the accordian went out fast. At about mile one, my water bottle fell out. It was on the waist belt behind me and I didn’t know. This cool dude picked it up and ran it up to me. When I stopped to stash it, etc., that's when I lost touch with Ronnie. For the next mile, I could feel a surge behind me. It pushed me for awhile, but I knew it wasn't my pace forever. So slowly, the pack reshuffled and I slipped backwards. At first, I was pissed at myself. But I recalled the biggest lesson you guys taught me - find your pace. So I did. I settled in with one guy just ahead who seemed to match me well. He was a little stronger going up, but I was much faster going down. It always evened out. At about two and a half miles, on a very slight down grade, I was cruising along and suddenly blew out the ankle. No rock, no root, just a depression filled with leaves. I was route finding and watched it happen. Complete right angle. I didn't go down, but stumbled. The pain was excruciating. I continued “running”, thinking that it would work itself out as it always did last year when I was hiking. But it never really recovered. I kept going as fast as I felt comfortable. People started whizzing by. Most with a “are you ok?”. The next mile and a half is somewhat foggy in my mind. I blew it out at least twice more, fell both times, but kept going. More people checking up on me and giving me encouragement. I do recall that my ankle started pushing hard against my shoe. I stopped to look and my heart sank. Big balloon old lady ankle. I do recall crossing a deeper stream and how great the cold water felt, then the trail came out onto the side of a large brook to the right. I remember how beautiful it was. I also remember thinking if my ankle goes now, I’ll be in the middle of a rather fast moving stream. This was just before coming over the guard rail to the road and the four mile water stop.
Even though my courtship was brief, I went to the temple of learning on Saturday. I made three mistakes. All of them correctable. The first – I arrived on-site too late. I never was able to organize myself. I'll know better next time. My second was to overdress up top. I was very glad for the tights, but I chose to be warm on top. Didn't need to be that warm, though. But this was correctable as I had come prepared withdifferent shirts and expected to see Sara at the 4 mile for a quick change. My third mistake was an equipment problem. I lost touch with Ronnie when my water bottle dropped out of my waist belt. It fell out twice more. Never again. The hand bottle would be fine – maybe with a belt for food, but I lean more and more to the Ronnie/Camelback approach. Easy sipping throughout and room to carry whatever I would need (this would have become a critical problem had I been able to continue).
You guys had prepared me for the start. I loved the informality. Ronnie, the accordian was a perfect description. My impression (confirmed later by you) was that the accordian went out fast. At about mile one, my water bottle fell out. It was on the waist belt behind me and I didn’t know. This cool dude picked it up and ran it up to me. When I stopped to stash it, etc., that's when I lost touch with Ronnie. For the next mile, I could feel a surge behind me. It pushed me for awhile, but I knew it wasn't my pace forever. So slowly, the pack reshuffled and I slipped backwards. At first, I was pissed at myself. But I recalled the biggest lesson you guys taught me - find your pace. So I did. I settled in with one guy just ahead who seemed to match me well. He was a little stronger going up, but I was much faster going down. It always evened out. At about two and a half miles, on a very slight down grade, I was cruising along and suddenly blew out the ankle. No rock, no root, just a depression filled with leaves. I was route finding and watched it happen. Complete right angle. I didn't go down, but stumbled. The pain was excruciating. I continued “running”, thinking that it would work itself out as it always did last year when I was hiking. But it never really recovered. I kept going as fast as I felt comfortable. People started whizzing by. Most with a “are you ok?”. The next mile and a half is somewhat foggy in my mind. I blew it out at least twice more, fell both times, but kept going. More people checking up on me and giving me encouragement. I do recall that my ankle started pushing hard against my shoe. I stopped to look and my heart sank. Big balloon old lady ankle. I do recall crossing a deeper stream and how great the cold water felt, then the trail came out onto the side of a large brook to the right. I remember how beautiful it was. I also remember thinking if my ankle goes now, I’ll be in the middle of a rather fast moving stream. This was just before coming over the guard rail to the road and the four mile water stop.
My first reaction as I jumped the fence was where the fuck are Sara and my Dad? I was on my own. This is when Ronnie’s advice became sage. No shirt change, no Gu and at that point, no frendly voice to discuss my situation. I got to the water station and talked to the guy there. He offered no advice, but pointed to the brook behind him. I dunked my foot and it felt wonderful. I came out and lingered at the table, fueling up. Then I decided to continue. Wise? Foolish? Whatever. I came to finish, so kept trying. The first part after the 4 mile is a big up I am assuming most everybody had to walk. I could still sort of do that, so I climbed. At the top, I started catching up to a woman. I started to run again and then went down with a loud scream. I was done. The woman actually came back to check on me. How cool was that? Then three guys came by and stopped. One guy suggested I walk back down to the 4 mile and even offered to go with me to make sure I made it. How cool was that? I assured him I would be ok and wished them good luck. Then I worked my way back down the hill. As each person passed me, they wished me luck.
Still no Sara or Dad at the checkpoint. I took off my shoe and sock, lingered in the brook and began to ponder my options. I walked back to the guard rail and sat there for a long while. The sun disappeared, it got breezy and I got cold. Soon enough, the lead runner came cruising by (1 hour, 31 minutes at 12 miles by my watch). I told him he was awesome. He didn’t even acknowledge me. Then a woman spectator came over and we talked for awhile. Her husband, brother and father were running (her brother came through in about tenth place). Turns out she ran Jay last year.
A few minutes later, I saw a little white dog walking Sara from the other direction. Turns out at the starting line that the guy running the 4/12 station yelled, “anyone who wants to follow me, let’s go now” (his vehicle was at the end of the park road near the street, everyone else was parked down the road). The guy disappeared. There were no maps, so no one knew where to go. Sara asked around and found out that the 8 mile was on Boston Hollow Road, drove down to Ashford and started asking around until she got directions to Boston Hollow. She was waitng for me there. Dad and Anne stayed at the park.
Eventually, Sara went looking for me (the 4 mile and 8 mile are only 1 ½ miles apart by car). We stayed at the 4 mile and cheered evryone coming back through. They were great. Our encouragement was rewarded with peace signs, war whoops, smiles and quick nods. We waited to cheer for Ronnie because I knew he would be wondering why he hadn’t passed my raggedy ass. After checking in with a very strong looking Ronnie, we headed back to the park via the 8 mile checkpoint. As we pulled up to the checkpoint, there were two ambulances in the middle of the road and about ten guys (including runners) handing a woman down the big hill on a stretcher. I was in no shape to get out, but still wonder if it was the woman that came back to check on me. The timing would have been about right. I heard that she blew out her ankle. The guys helping were probably the same ones who offered to help me. We got back to the finish, and watched Ronnie finish very fast (great race, dude!).
As for the rest of the story. It’s still too raw to sort out.
I failed. I tried.
I ran just enough to understand the unique physical demands, but not long enough to experience them.
No cherry poppin’ tunes for me this time.
Here’s what I know. I would like to be part of that group someday, if they will have me. The group contains very special, cool people.
Peace out.
Todd
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