It
started with a text message. I hadn't planned to run at the Bandera
Trail Race. I wanted my first official trail race to be “easy”
with minimal bloodshed. From what I had read and heard, Bandera was
not “easy.” But, when I received the text message asking if I
wanted to run do the 25K in Bandera, I was intrigued. I was craving
a spontaneous adventure and this could satisfy it. I asked Shelly if
he had run it. He had and quickly added that he had gotten hurt
there. I gasped: maybe this wasn't such a good idea. I contemplated
the possibility over a cocktail. During dinner, I asked Shelly if he
thought I should do it – was it a bad idea? He said, “do it, just
don't fall!” The way he said made it sound so easy. The decision
was made – bring on Bandera!
On
Friday afternoon, I spent half an hour frantically packing an
overnight bag with anything I thought I might need before, during,
and after the race – running clothes, trail shoes, GPS watch, warm
post-run clothes, gu, snacks, water bottle for the run, and Nuun.
This was not a systematic process and I was certain I was forgetting
something. By 5:30 pm, we heading south on I35! On the way, I texted
a friend who had run the 50K last year for some advice. She said,
“Have fun with those nasty rocky hills. You'll fall. But, your
young and in good shape – you'll bounce right back up!” I had
visions of me in my favorite pink tank top tumbling down hill and
bouncing off rocks and cacti. There would definitely be bloodshed. I
nervously chugged Nuun wishing it were spiked with some form of
liquid courage.
We
stopped for dinner along the way and arrived at our Guest Ranch
rather late. A genuine cowboy clad in Wranglers, Cowboy hat, boots
and a belt buckle the size of my fist greeted us. Evidently he'd been
out two-stepping all night. The room was spacious with several beds
from which to choose. I tried them all – but only the King bed was
remotely comfortable. So my friend and I got cozy in the King. I
slept soundly to the hum of the heater.
We woke
early the next morning to discover it was had rained over night and
was still drizzling. This was not good. But, there was no turning
back. I got dressed and went to the dining hall to grab a banana and
tea. Since the park was only 15 minutes away, we left at 6:15 to give
ourselves plenty of time. However, there was a traffic jam on the
road into the park and race area. Its the one time of year in Bandera
when there is a traffic jam that necessitates the help of the state
police. The race started at 7:30 and it was 7:10 when we finally
parked, 1/4 mile from the start area. I sprinted gingerly through the
mud and rain to the registration tent. I had 15 minutes to register,
and organize myself before the start. I told the registration man
that I wanted to run the 25K and thrust my credit card at him. He
stared at me and curtly stated that they only accepted cash, because
he didn't have the equipment to take credit cards. I fumbled through
my wallet and realized that I only had $37 in cash. I panicked at the
thought of coming all this way and not being able to run. Thankfully,
my friend had plenty of cash and lent me enough to register. I now
had 10 minutes to pin my bib on, change into my trial shoes, secure
my gu, and take a deep breath – in the rain. There were three races
that morning and they all started around the same time, from
different points. I had no idea where I was supposed to be. I asked a
couple of people and they pointed in general directions. Finding
the start area was like playing the kid's game “hot and cold.”
At
7:40, a booming voice proclaimed that the 25K was about to start (a
little later than scheduled due to the clouds and rain). Two minutes
later, a gun went off and the same man shouted “Go!” I got caught
in the stampede through the start. The trail quickly narrowed into a
single track. You have no choice but to keep the pace of the group. I
weaved around a couple people at some the wider, passable spots. I
passed a couple small kids who were wearing bibs and clearly intent
on running the entire 25k. I was flabbergasted that little kids could
do this (the safety and well-being of the children had not crossed my
mind until I was discussing it with other parents of small children
later). The first couple miles were fairly smooth rolling hills –
nothing shocking or treacherous. Then, I came around a turn and
smacked into a huge, rocky hill. It was simply impossible to run up!
Everyone was walking up. I hiked to the top and broke into a run when
the trail flattened. At mile 4, it got muddy. I lost traction and
slid five feet through thick clay mud on my stomach. I stood up and
giggled – it was like being on a slip and slide. I was covered in
mud, but there was no blood. I checked to make sure I hadn't lost any
gu packets and ran on, a little more carefully.
There
were several more steep ascents before I came to the first big
descent. I stood briefly at the top and looked down in fear. It
dropped steeply and was covered in loose rocks. I almost peed in my
pants. While I took baby steps down, more experience mountain goat
runners bounded down, ricocheting off large rocks. At the bottom of
the hill, I broke into a fast run and eventually caught the mountain
goats! We formed a little running train, with me in the caboose. If I
fell, at least the people in front would cushion my fall. I continued
along comfortably with the little train for a couple miles, up and
over some nasty hills. My legs were scratched by the Sotol cactus
that lined the trail. Some drew blood. On a steep down hill, I
stepped on an unstable rock and fell. As my friend had said, I
bounced back up! My knee, and ego, were a bit bruised and scraped by
the fall. I lost the group and continued on alone at a slower pace. I
changed my strategy and walked up and down steep hills.
The
allure of trail running is the beauty of trail. I have lived in Texas
for five years and have never appreciated the hill country's rugged
beauty – and BIG hills. Because it had rained heavily the week
before, the trees were a lush green and the air smelled earthy and
clean. The earthy scent may have been the mud that was caked all over
me. The low clouds and fog added a sense of remoteness and isolation.
When I didn't see or hear another runner for more than 15 minutes, I
worried that I had lost the trail and would get lost in the Texas
hills never be found! Large vultures birds circled above and were
probably eying me for lunch. Those birds made me a little nervous so
I picked up the pace through a flat area.
Around
mile 10, I saw the brightly colored flags of the big Cross Roads aid
station. I went into the tent in search of Gatorade. To my delight,
there was a buffet of snacks – m&ms, jelly beans, pretzels,
peanut butter sandwiches and fruit! Since this was a training run for
a 50K that I am planning to do in March, I decided that I needed to
practice eating. I took a dixie cup of m&ms and ate a dozen. M&Ms
have never tasted so good! I was tempted to linger and eat more, but
I had five more miles to run. The sugar coursing through my veins put
a bit of a pep in my step, I took off.
The
next several miles were muddy and flat. Under drier conditions, one
could pick up the pace and may be even drop the bomb. But not today.
The clay mud caked to my shoes adding at least two pounds to each. My
hip flexors and quads were burning with each step from the extra
weight. I had to stop every quarter mile to take handfuls of mud off
the bottom of my shoes. The miles that were supposed to be the
easiest were turning out to be the most difficult. I mumbled
obscenities about Texas and had decided that I was a “pretty”
runner that didn't belong in the mud and ought to stick to the clean
streets! I was getting frustrated and dangerously close to throwing a
temper tantrum in the middle of the woods. I was trudging along when
I saw a random spectator who proclaimed that I was less than a mile
from the finish! I had lost a GPS signal on my watch and had no idea
where I was in the course. I gave up trying to take the mud off my
shoes and ran as “fast” as I could to the finish. I crossed the
finish to the applause and cheers of a handful of spectators.
Someone
said that I looked like I had a lot of fun in the mud. My hip flexors
and quads disagreed. Some miles were delightful and others were muddy
misery. It was definitely an “adventure” and a unique running
experience. When asked if I would do it again, my quads say “hell
no!” However, I have a feeling that I might try a couple more trail
runs...
