Friday, January 18, 2013

Bandera

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...

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