 |
| (Van #2 ladies) |
The idea of this running adventure had me nervous for months. Not for the running. Not for the lack of sleep. Not for the endless hours spent in a van.
No. The idea of being with 5 other ladies, all dealing with the same hard realities, made me shake in my boots.
My worries should not have been.
Our 12-person trip began with a long drive to Brian Head. The 5 gals I would be specifically running with, and myself, rode in our rented Suburban. Immediately, fun swirled in the air and our cup-holders were overflowing with giggles.
Our 1st stop was to check in and enjoy the evening festivities. We ate dinner outdoors and watched as everyone who would be running came through the food lines. Laughing at other people isn't always wrong, is it? Because, we did. A lot.
We also all splurged and bought matching hoodies. My 1st hoody. And, for all the months of training I had done to earn that hoody, it may be my most expensive ever.
Next we made our way to our hotel and checked in. Some room swapping, late night gabbing, and nervous preparations were made. Sisi, my roomie, and I turned out our lights somewhere near mid-night.
By 5:50 we were up and moving, restuffing our backpacks and getting our running shoes on.
I will skip a bit and get to the runs now . . .
Our 1st runs (12-6ish p.m.) should have been "easy," as we had all let our bodies rest for several days.
They weren't.
We were at 10,000 feet altitude. Timp is 11,000 feet. That is high. One gal even shed some tears and gasped for air it was so difficult. I was able to keep going through mine, but barely (and slowly). The lack of oxygen was felt through every part of me. If I never have to run at that altitude again it will be too soon.
Our next runs we were excited for. The night runs.
We started at 11 P.M. something. In the boonies. In the dark of night.
Our 1st runner got ahead of our van a bit too far, and, being that the teams were very spread out by now, she was completely alone. A truck with 2 cowboys pulled up next to her and were attempting to talk/laugh/etc. with her. She was overcome with the feeling of fear. It was not a good situation. She instantly prayed for help, as she had no where to run in the pitch black of night. Out of nowhere another runner appeared just feet in front of her. A big, hefty, guy runner. She swears he was not there before. She sprinted up to him and with shaky hands reached out to him and explained that she was afraid and asked to run with him.
His response, "of course, I will even share my light with you."
Our van caught up with her shortly after. She said her goodbyes to the man and sprinted to us. Glancing back, the big man was gone.
Was she looked after? I think so.
We never again were out of sight of any of our runners (well, except for one eensy mistake).
When my turn came around I was excited. I know the power of the night run.
My run was to be a short 4-miles. The hard part was that it was a constant up-hill. CONSTANT. With the hand-off I jetted quickly into the darkness. My van followed shortly after and passed me within a minute or two. Unfortunately, a block later, they missed the 'turn-here' sign and lost me.
Nearly 10 minutes later they realized their mistake and located me again. My legs had warmed and I had found my stride. THIS run is going down in my book as my most powerful and satisfying run to date. Wow, it was good.
We finished up our 2nd runs around 3:30 A.M. and headed to a condo to get 2 hours of sleep and showers.
By the time our 3rd runs began we were for the most part refreshed. As refreshed as 2 hours of sleep can give anyway.
It was beginning to heat up, and with that, our nerves began to rise. Running in the heat is awful. Just, awful.
Our 1st and 2nd runners both struggled immensely with the heat. The 2nd runner finished with some heat stroke (pounding head, dizzy, emotional, and nauseous). She laid down in the back seat and fought back the urge to up-chuck.
I was next.
My worry level was high. It was in the mid-90's? I ran, wanting to get it over with. It was a 5-mile run, which, SHOULD HAVE BEEN FINE. No. It wasn't. By mile 3 I was dieing. A little running followed by a little walking was all I had for mile 4. The last mile contained no shade, traffic, and thick thick heat.
I have heard the term "hitting the wall," many times, but have never really, really, hit a wall before. Oh yeah, on this last mile, I found it. I walked. My head was saying "walk fast!," but my legs wouldn't. They would not. It was nuts. Walking at a medium pace was all they would give.
I found it in me to run the last block. Then, the words "never again!" may have escaped my lips.
The next runner after me had watched us each struggle and was smart. SHE WALKED! The last 3 miles of her run were downhill, so she survived, but the sun had obviously sucked the life out of her also.
The runner after her has the endurance of a train. She does not know the meaning of "walk." She ran, and ran, and ran. Towards the end of her run (pale faced, sick looking, dizzy, nauseous, and weak), it was quite clear that she was not well. We laid her down with an up-chuck bag in the back seat and tried to hydrate her. After a bit, she explained that she had been bothered that her husband had been riding his bike near her and had not stopped for her. Yes. She was hallucinating. It was bad.
One runner to go. We begged her to walk. She was stubborn too. She ran. If the heat effected her, she did not let it show. She pulled us to the finish line.
We owe her big time.
The other van of ladies was waiting for us. Running as a team across the finish was the goal. It didn't happen. We let the other 6 ladies on our team run across. And it was fine.
We headed for home.
And, we giggled the entire way. Well, except the passed out girl in the 3rd row:)
I can't wait to do it all again.
