Race Day
In early August, a week after returning from a hiking trip in Newfoundland, I did a 50K running race on the trails of Park City’s Mid Mountain. Spoiler alert: I finished.
When I wrote this, that wasn’t so certain.
Here are a few thoughts from the day before.
Tomorrow I will attempt to run the furthest I’ve ever gone on my own two feet at one time: 50 kilometers, thirty one-ish miles. It’s on my home turf and one of my favorite trails since it crosses most of mountain range visible from my back window.
After four months of pretty intense trail running training, and year-round outdoor activities, I’m the fittest I’ve ever been. That has not stopped the fear about this race from blooming.
But I’m not calling it a race because for me, that’s not what it is. It’s an attempt. It’s a “can-I-do-it?” It’s a big hairy adventure.
I have four goals, which are similar to the ones from last summer’s three-day, 60 miles in the Colorado alpine event:
Stay healthy
Start
Finish
Feel strong - at least once per mile
The last one is new for this year. There are a whole lot of things I say to myself on the trail when the legs and stomach and mind go sour, but the fourth is the most powerful. If I can feel strong even for a few steps, it keeps me going better than any thumping beat or atta girl by fellow trailgoers (although those are amazing and if you’re the giver of one, thank you).
But feeling strong is a little dicey sometimes. When I feel good, there’s a voice that says it’s because I’m not working enough, like it needs to be super hard for it to “count” - for what, heaven knows.
But the thing about going this kind of distance: it can be enough to just cover the miles. I’m guessing this event will take me between six and eight hours and I can’t carry the weight of both distance and difficulty. I need to feel those strong times long enough to remember them for when the pain cave invites me in.
So: revel in strength. Part of which is the clarity of race day. Amidst the jangle of nerves (plenty of them), there is singularity: I have one job and it is to run. By run, I mean move forward on the trail at whatever darn pace I want to. I am not a mother or a friend or an employee or a wife or an artist or a writer or a volunteer or anything other than a human lucky enough to possess a functional body. My only focus is using that body to move forward.
It will be simple. It will not be easy.
I will feel strong, I know that. I will feel weak and sick and like I want to stop, I know that too. But I will be clear on what needs to be done, and I will do it to the best of my ability for as long as I can.
