The rain waited until the starting horn blew, and then on it came. But I had warmed up well before the race, and was starting warm and dry, so a little, or a lot, of rain was no big deal. The setting was picture perfect 1500 feet up into the foothills of the Cascades, shaggy forest giants garbed in brilliant green moss, the storm from the night before had littered the ground with leaves and branches but had left everything sparkling clean. As with all forests, the air was rich and scented with fir, humus and the vigor of life.
The run started easily enough with a gentle upgrade, an easy pace as we ran in a pack. I was near the back of the pack, knowing my speed would not match the eager young gazelles I had spotted leaping about trailhead. On we ran, easily, relaxed, I was feeling graceful, agile and my breathing was easy. I long gently uphill. Quickly enough the trail changed to a single track and a long series of switchbacks wending down the face of the slope. The problem with long downhills? They have to be balanced by a long uphill. I thought I knew what was coming. I fell in behind a couple of women, letting them set the pace, allowing myself the brief luxury of the ease of the run. Of course, as I knew it would, before long we were faced with steps leading up, and up, then the trail continuing to climb. Most of us walked the steep incline, and it was steep. But soon we came to Shellburg Falls, a hidden gem in the middle of nowhere, with a trail curving behind the silver veil of roaring water. And then more climbing. My arch nemesis raised its head, asthma, sucking the air from my body and oxygen from my blood. I had to stop and take a quick shot of albuterol to relieve the constriction in my throat and chest. It made me lose a few minutes, as I slowed my breathing. Then onward again.
Then came The Hill. Or should I give it the respect it is due and say, "The Hill," followed by appropriately ominous music. A one mile stretch of trail that climbed 1000 feet in elevation, was a mudslide waiting to happen, and had sections so steep and slick we resorted to using hands and feet, and grabbing whatever meager handhold was available to keep from sliding back into the racer behind. Being familiar with hiking steep, muddy trails, I knew to keep to the far outside edge of these treacherous spots, and managed to make my way up the hill with only one mis-step at the very beginning. I found out later that several people behind me used me as their guide and inspiration to keep chugging up the hill. So, up we climbed. Amazingly, as soon as I stepped foot on this slope, the rain stopped and the sun came out and shone gloriously the entire way up.
Finally we crested the top, the trail leveled out and was cushioned with fir needles. I ran, feeling marvelous. I passed a few fellow racers and was happily leaping along the trail. So happily that I missed a trail marker and ran 50 yards down the wrong path before catching myself and heading back. I was back behind the people I had just passed. Oh well. I ran on. Soon enough I came to more steep, slick slopes. Down I went feeling nimble, but placing my feet carefully and keeping my speed in check. Despite this, I managed to pull my right calf muscle with about 2 miles left in the run. It was remarkably painful, but no less painful when I walked, so I kept on running.
Off of the narrow, boggy trail and onto gravel logging roads. Not my favorite surface and I was beginning to feel a little footsore. My asthma was nagging at me, making me walk the up hills. I hit a bit of a wall, but kept moving forward, power-walking, and telling asthma and calf muscle to STFU. I got past the wall and went into my slow and steady Penguin pace. Feeling pretty damned fine. A woman appeared, walking towards us, "Good work, keep going, your almost at the finish." And it was true. I wanted to sprint for the line, but asthma decided now was a good time to grab me hard by the throat and throttle the breath from me. I had to take two quick shots of albuterol before I could make the final 50 yards. But I made it and was feeling great as I crossed the line. Sure, there were a few parts of my anatomy complaining, but I was ignoring them and already planning ahead to next year. I looked down at the mud on my shoes and ankles, the smudges up mud on my legs and on my race number. It was a fantastic way to spend a saturday morning. I can't wait for next year.
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