Standing at 10,000 feet of elevation, I peered up at the mountains surrounding the town of Leadville. The rotten pit of dread from the previous evening had receded from my stomach a bit. I let the fear that I would be dealt a soul-crushing blow by this race wash over me. I pictured myself limping back to the starting line, weeping in frustration and cursing my IT band. Taking a deep breath, I tested my lungs. Feels ok, I thought. Giving a little stretch, I tested out my legs. Not too tight, I suppose.
Laura and myself at the start
Spying the bronzed and epically toned legs of the runners around me, I marveled at their bulging veins—a built-in cooling system granted to those who had paid homage to the running gods. I glanced down at my own legs and conservatively noted some muscle definition that certainly had not been present 6 months ago. I’m still getting used to the idea that I’m part of this group--united by a common compulsion and deficiency in sanity, self-preservation, or some other such nonsense.
My mind quieted. Well, let’s give it a go, I thought. There is no shame in trying.
15.4 miles. Peak elevation: 13,185. Out and back.
The gun fires. I jog slowly. I place my feet squarely and carefully, cognizant of keeping my left leg strong for as long as possible.
Mile 2. The sun feels closer than usual, and my sweat is already stinging my eyes. I giggle as I consider buying a hot pink sweat band for next time. Next time! I smile in earnest. Yes, next time. The dirt road has been steadily climbing since we left town, spiraling higher into the surrounding mountains. I feel…good!
At the first aid station, I gratefully accept a top-off. My hand-held bottle now contains an acrid combination of two different brands of electrolyte water, but I slurp it happily as the scenery begins to unfold in front of me.
After a brief downhill reprieve, the trail regains the lost elevation with a vengeance. I manage to run (ahem…shuffle) uphill longer than most, until I am slowed to a walk. I silently thank my dad for passing me the gift of a swift walking gait. I continue to pass people at a walk, and my confidence soars.
Maybe I won’t be the last ass over the pass, after all!
Mile 6.5. I am nearing the top of Mosquito pass. The mountains are awe-inspiring, and I congratulate myself on the foresight to attend veterinary school in such a state.
A sliver of hope. Maybe my IT band will hold up! I begin to bargain. Ok, legs. If you let me finish this race, I vow to give you a week of rest. No…2 weeks! I will be ever so nice to you…do my strengthening exercises religiously, make friends with the foam roller (even though I hate that SOB), and buy a new ice pack. I’ll even take you back to that nice physical therapist for some needle jabbing you strangely seem to like so much.
I marvel that the steepness of the trail is impeding my forward progress more than the elevation. Maybe I haven’t lost as much fitness as I had thought!
I snag a piece of watermelon from an aid station. Oh, heaven in my mouth! Sugar and water packed into a delicious slurp of satisfaction. Restraining myself from kissing the volunteer, I prepare for the final climb.
The trail gets progressively rockier, and the top runners have begun their descent. I count them to pass the time. 1st man, 2nd, 3rd, 4th. I begin to tire of my game, when I see the first women striding confidently down the rocky terrain, muscles pulsing rhythmically. There is something about a fit woman that makes their clothes seem superfluous, I thought as I choked on a latte flavored gel. For the first time I considered that running could be a sensual act. Sure, I noticed the toned, sweaty men passing me. But this woman looked so gorgeous in that moment that it was almost….obscene. I felt as if I were seeing her naked, but she didn’t mind. What triumph was held in her calm face!
After the turn around on top, I prepared myself for a brutal downhill beating. Picking my footing among the rocks was exhausting, and after a mile or so, I began to disregard them, tossing my feet out and recklessly trusting wherever they might land. Self-protection be damned! I felt weightless, even though I could feel the occasional jab of a rock through my practically new trail shoes. I was flying!
Mile 12. I went over a mental check-list of my physical condition as the trail began to climb for about a mile until the final descent. I had put some pretty good distance between myself and the nearest runners. I was alone for the first time in the race and concentrated on following the flagging marking the course. I estimated myself to be about the 20th woman. At the summit, I blew through the final aid station, and took a deep breath.
The first step I took downhill, I knew I was in trouble. That familiar tightness in my lateral thigh was ever-so-subtly present. I had a bit of time left before the pain, but it was coming, as surely as the ground gets wet when it rains.
Throwing caution completely out the window, I began to tear down the hill with reckless abandon. When it inevitably starts to hurt, there is no more running for me. There is probably not even walking. I glance at my watch. I am far ahead of my expected pace. I could hobble to the finish on one leg from here while still beating my goal. But the further I get before the pain arrives, the less terrible this will be.
Like an epileptic in the grasp of a seizure, the pain fires neurons all throughout my central nervous system, and makes my body instantly rigid. I nearly trip as my left leg goes so insistently straight that it cannot be carried down the hill. Halting, I frantically perform some stretches. There is nothing but my legs, and the blue sky, and the regularity of my breath. Shuffling a few hundred yards further, a second wave of pain overwhelms me.
I utter a few erudite words that belie my 7 years of college education. “Ow, ow, fucking ow!”
Now I can see Leadville. And I am pissed off. 4 women and 1 man pass me as I shuffle forward. Stopping yet again to stretch, I decide to make a final push. Walking does not relieve the pain, so I might as well run. I adopt a strange gait. Leaning forward and to the right, I could swing my traitorous leg, while keeping it as straight as possible. After half a mile, the extra strain on my right leg is beginning to demand attention, but I am afraid if I slow or stop, I may not start again. The homestretch through town feels like a lifetime. My teeth grind together, but I move decently. I cross the finish line 45 minutes sooner than I anticipated. 25th woman, 7th in the 20-29 age category. I share my personal victory with an older man sitting on the curb while I wait for Jason. As we both iced various parts of our bodies, I learned that he had run the Leadville 100 several times in the 90s. He proudly showed me the scar where he had received a new knee. A free bottle of muscle milk reminded me too much of a long-ago hospital visit until Jason arrived, surprised to see me already finished.
I immediately began jabbering excitedly about next year’s race.
