I want to remember how miserable I feel at the end of a race.
It's been well over three weeks since the Backcountry Wilderness Half Marathon, a 100% runnable trail race; much more gentle terrain than the Black Hawk race at the end of July, and my time showed that: just over 2 hours. Second best half marathon and my PR was set on an extremely flat course. This wasn't crazy, some 1100' of climbing, certainly nothing to sneeze at.
It was an interesting course. Once outside of the concrete path connecting a park and rec center to the ritzy Highlands Ranch homes built tall and feet from each other's walls to fit in all their excess space, it followed what seemed like road along the edge of pasture: Two parallel tire ruts worn into the wild grasses, pocked with prairie dog holes. The climbs were gentle and the downhills were perfect for making up time. I'd seen it pointed out that the trails were probably made more with mountain bikes in mind than for hiking or running. For 8 miles they went, wide and rolling and smooth, then things switched up. We were treated to a single track: rocky and rooty, just when you're comfortable and maybe feeling a little lackadaisical about picking up your feet. And it started with a good downhill section with no room to pass those who may not have the same confidence. I knew that steady descent meant that we'd have to soon go back up, and that's were it started to get hard. That's what I want to remember.
There's a lot of good in making the best of things. That's not something many people who've known me would expect that I'd be good at, but it something that I've really gotten in the habit of. Even things that would often try my last nerve have become things that I almost enjoy ( like work.) It's running that has precipitated this obnoxious positivity. It's the trials of racing to that finish line, that is where you find the strength. I feel like in the minutes and the hours after crossing that line and I've had a bunch of water and a little food and I've caught my breathe, I so quickly forget how miserable those last miles were. I downplay that conversation those parts of my mind were having while assessing the pain and the weakness and the distance still to go and the fight to determine how much I would give it and how much I would give in. When I'm back home and posting the finished info to Strava and the pictures of my smile and medal to Instagram, even I am already not appreciating what I went through.
This time I want to make myself remember because I started so strong, but the last 2 miles felt so long, and I know I could have probably given a little more, but what I gave at the time felt like the bottom of the tank. I want to remember how awful the race in Black Hawk was, at the first half, because I was hungover and need to shit during a race that would be tough in the best conditions. I want to remember the time lost in Longmont with less than a mile left when the weaker part of my will won the argument and I slowed to a walk to get my legs back under me, I damn well could have waited five more minutes til I was finished to do that. I want to remember that feeling at the Dizzy Goat of that 9th lap that the gals at the scoring table were surprised I wanted to do, and the pain of getting up that hill, of falling, of grasping at the waistline of my sagging, sweat-soaked shorts as I pushed through to the finish a final time. I look at the photo of my face as I did that. It's tough to remember the feeling, though.
I want to remember looking back so that next time I can remember that I've been there before, I've faced it, I reacted either with perseverance or not and to know that I can do it again, better, stronger. These trials I'm putting myself through by choice, because the reward in the end is so great: confidence and strength and joy -- fucking joy!
It is a privilege to run and a privilege to choose your trials. I've taken it so for granted for so long, but now I recognize it. I'm grateful for it. I want to remember the hard times I choose to face because I've long attempted to avoid hard times in reality, but that's where the measure of yourself is found and forged.
