"We're at about 12.8 miles," Carrie called out from behind me. "That's about one lap around a track that we have left. A hilly, stump-infested track."
12.8 miles prior, Carrie, Erin (a.k.a. Wheelz), and I were standing at the start line of the Dances With Dirt Devil's Lake trail run, which features a 10K, a half-marathon, marathon, 50K, and a 50 mile run. Clad in our running gear, complete with fuel belts, we lined up with the nine-minute mile group, ready to get on with our half-marathon. Prior to the run, we agreed to stick together with the understanding that if one of us wanted to run ahead, that would be fine. While each of us are runners, we have had varying degrees of training for this race. Carrie signed up for the race just the Monday before, having had very few distance runs in the past few months. As a mother of two children, most of her workouts happen sporadically, though she is naturally athletic and has done a trail race before. Wheelz is an avid distance runner, with most of her training being on the road. I am a recovering sporadic runner. I did a half-marathon three years ago as a way to break myself of the bad habit of running like crazy for three straight months only to completely cease running for about the same period of time. It worked, but it has taken discipline to keep my miles up and not slack. My biggest handicap is living in the Fox Valley, where hills are minimal.
The nine-minute mile tape came down, signaling the start of our wave. Slick, dewy, trampled grass underfoot quickly gave way to an uneven, sandy path. After just a few hundred yards, we were under the cover of the forest and onto a single track trail--and starting to climb the first, obstacle-ridden hill. Carrie, who has done a trail race before, checked in on our pace and sagely advised to slow down and conserve our energy for later.
After leveling out for a short stretch, we climbed again. And again. And...again. Muscles in my legs that have not been activated in a long time were coming alive, much to my chagrin. My breathing amped up, and, despite the cool start, sweat was pouring from my body. It was these first few hills that set the tone for the race, and people in waves ahead of us were slowing down their paces, with some already resorting to walking. Walking up the hills was sometimes more efficient as the pace of jogging was slow. Secretly, I was relieved when the hills bottlenecked, forcing me to lay off my pace a bit.
Then, there were rocks. Lots of rocks. Uphill and downhill. Wheelz, as her nickname implies, is a fast and talented runner. These rocks even tested her, and we made the decision to walk the rocky sections. There was no need to twist an ankle, or worse, before even arriving at the first water station. It was at this point that the sounds of sneakers encountering rocks and roots amplified from both in front of us and behind us. This is a sound we would become used to throughout the rest of the run, along with the site of fellow participants stumbling and tumbling when they lost the fight with the obstacles. The big toes on my feet were starting to throb after they both found rocks and roots to tangle with. Luckily, I was able to recover and stay on my feet. (After sliding down a hill trying to access the port-o-potties prior to starting the race, I figured I didn't need to fall during the race, too.)
As we crossed a road and approached a water station, I noticed that my labored breathing had eased and the run was feeling easier. I remembered that the course map showed that most of the heavy climbing came in the first four miles of the run and we had just passed the four mile mark. As we trotted down a flat trail, we came across the 50K and 50 mile runners heading in the opposite direction. For me, running a half-marathon involved training and discipline. Being in the midst of this caliber of runners made me feel this big. Despite their much earlier start and grueling day ahead of them, they still offered us words of encouragement and praise.
With the distance runners out of sight, the elation of being on a flat trail faded as we came upon what seemed like a never ending gravel hill. When we reached what we thought was the top, a man in a pickup truck waved us to turn right and told us "You're almost up the hill!" Almost? We thought we were up the hill. Oh well, he told us we were almost up the hill, so what's a little more? As we continued on our ascent, we started to question aloud what he meant by almost.
With the grueling, long climb behind us, we were greeted with a spectacular view from the top of a bluff. The suggestions for what to bring during the race included a camera, and it's this scenery that prompted the recommendation. We stopped for a few quick photo opportunities and continued on with the run.
Descending was not easy--rocks strewn across the trail made for slow progress, and we still had to face a few more climbs. As we continued on, our running forms got sloppier and our feet started to drag, making our encounters with roots and rocks more frequent. The trail suddenly looked familiar, and we realized with elated trepidation that the first four miles we had spent running uphill would also be our last four miles downhill. Running uphill is a challenge. It tests your endurance, strength, and ability to persevere. Running downhill on a trail, on the other hand, may be less heart-pounding, but requires focus and agility. The focus and agility were becoming increasingly difficult as our muscles felt the impact from the previous nine miles. Additionally, slight decreases in elevation that we didn't notice during the first four miles became slight and noticeable increases in elevation on the way back.
At one point in the final mile, we slowed our pace significantly as roots and rocks presented significant obstacles to traversing safely down the trail. What sounded like a stampede came from behind us as about ten runners came sprinting down the very hill that we were tiptoeing around. We figured many of these runners were doing the 10K and had more energy and less foot drag at this point, making them feel more secure on these downhill portions. Another possible theory is that this group of runners was much more versed in trail running than we had been.
Our memory from the beginning of the run was fuzzy and although part of the trails were familiar, we couldn't remember what came after them nor how far they were from the starting line. Carrie's watch was also off in distance and what should have been the finish line according to the watch was part of a paved trail. Turning off the paved trail, we could hear music and an announcer, making us just a few hundred yards from the finish line. With the finish line in clear sight, and Wheez's husband running in with us, we kicked it in high gear and finished the race strong, all in line and all together.
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Below are a few pictures of a post-run hike at Devil's Lake State Park. Clearly, we probably had enough steam to run a little harder :)
