Race Report Part II

Where were we? Oh yes, downward…for a very long time. Down through beautiful old growth forest, past enormous ferns, down through peaceful arches created by ancient trees. Down, down, down, it seemed we would never reach the bottom of the trail. In fact I think we went below sea level, underground, I’m sure I passed a school of fish and a mermaid or two. When we were almost at the exact center of the earth, it was time to climb again.

The beauty of trail runners, which I know I have mentioned before, is the value they place on food and drink. Before this second climb, we took time to refuel. I enjoyed copious amounts of M&Ms and almonds. Frankly, I have no idea what Alexa, Cassie and Richard ate, as I was having an angels-singing moment with my M&Ms. Never before and never again have M&Ms taste so good.  I’ve eaten plenty since, and I just can’t recreate that flavor, no worries, I’ll keep trying.

This next climb involved switchbacks, which I thought would make things easier. There are actually a lot of optical illusions and unhappy misreads that happen with switchbacks. First of all, depending on the angle, there is a good chance they do not look nearly as steep as they are. It’s not until you actually turn the corner and see what the trail is expecting of you, that you know the truth. Second of all, even with that knowledge there is always the naive hope that the next slope isn’t as steep. It always is. If that is not defeating enough as you are going up, if you stop and look up you see people above you and then people above them, and then people above them, until all you can see are clouds and perhaps the castle of the Giant from Jack and the Beanstalk. One of my strongest memories from that climb is of Cassie. Every time she turned a corner of the switchback, she’d stop, put her hands on her hips, assess and then heave a deep sigh and head on up. I don’t even know if she realized she did it, but I found it endearing and strangely comforting.

At some point we finally reached the top.  I still don’t know if the effort and struggle had an impact on my perception or not, but I am pretty sure that the summit was the most beautiful place I had ever been. If heaven is a place, I caught a glimpse of it. The day was sunny and perfectly clear. From the overlook there was a beautiful view of the beautiful snow-covered dormant volcano- Mt. Baker. There were low hanging clouds that seemed to embrace the mountain.  Next there was a layer of clear blue sky and another layer of puffy clouds hanging in perfect patches above the Strait of Juan de Fuca and the Pacific Ocean. As if being at the top of this beautiful mountain with a bird’s eye view of this beautiful planet wasn’t enough, there were friends everywhere. People were calling to each other, shrieking to each other, everyone was snapping photos, and I was constantly being wrapped in (sweaty) hugs. Nancy, Lori and Lori each hugged me as if it had been years, not hours since we last saw each other.  There were people waiting on us-“can I fill your camelback? Can I pour you a drink?” More food, more friends, laughter and reunions. Euphoria defined.  The atmosphere was filled with beauty, love and accomplishment, but we weren’t done. Not at all.

Cassie, Alexa, Richard and I regrouped and we were off. We each had moments of connection and of being in our own heads.  I was a little apprehensive, as I knew we had about five miles to go and they were almost all downhill. I didn’t know what that would look like, but I did know a few things. The weather was ideal, the ground was dry, I had friends with me who knew my fears, and frankly, Alexa had so much faith in me, I felt completely safe. Yes, I was uneasy, but I wasn’t truly afraid. And, if you have been following this journey of mine, you know this is an accomplishment!

We had a lot of fun and a lot of laughs. We were totally goofy at times and serious at others. Cassie had a big fall and hurt her ankle. A little while later she wobbled it again. Man, that girl was tough. She ran cautiously, but never complained. [The next day we saw her on the ferry. Her ankle was five times its normal size. It was black, blue and every known shade of purple]. Alexa, who is a nurturer re-tied Cassie shoes to give more support. I remember this moment so clearly. Alexa and Richard were both gathered around Cassie while they tended to her, I noticed this patch of green grass with a hot yellow sun shining on it. I was so drawn to it and even though I don’t tend to lie down in the middle of a race, I went over and stretched out like a cat and just soaked it in. It was January, but it felt like May. The day, the race, the conversations, the sun, the accomplishments, the knowledge that the end couldn’t be that far away-soak, soak, soak. And then (dang it) Cassie’s shoes were secured and we were off again.

My memories are a bit scrambled, my chronology not quite right, but I know that at some point between the summit and the finish I had one opportunity for a meltdown. My camelback had a very short straw and I spent a great deal of my run hunching over and struggling to get the right amount of water. I dealt with it for so long and for so many miles and just like that, it suddenly became too much to bear. I know this sounds dramatic, but when you have miles and hours behind you and you are tired (and don’t forget) fighting a fever some things become overwhelming. Alexa discovered that the straw was zip tied to the pack. Cassie grabbed her pocketknife and sawed away at that zip tie. The fact that she was holding a sharp knife quite close to some sensitive body parts did not faze me. And though so simple a fix, it seemed life changing. I think I talked about what a difference it made for a very long time. And, Cassie was so excited to use her new (pink) pocketknife! Everyone was happy. (except maybe Richard, who just thought his three girl companions were a little weird).

Ask someone about the Orcas course and they might tell you that the end of the race was the worst part of all. I can’t agree, but I understand where this comes from. At some point, maybe a mile or so before the finish, the trail ends (or so it seems) and you can see the main road of the state park. It looks like you can just run across the road and you will be at the finish, but instead of going across the road, you go left, back into the woods and-as if you haven’t climbed enough, you have to go uphill again. And you know the finish is right there, but it won’t show itself. You just keep going up and up. Finally you get to a point where you wrap back around to the main road, cross the road and-wait for it, wait for it-go up ANOTHER hill turn left and then finally finish.  These last few hills are torturous and, let’s just say it, a little mean on the race director’s part. But as soon as you make that turn from the last hill onto the grassy area that houses the finish, every bit of pain and struggle is erased. And so I found myself running through the finish, hand in hand with my good friend Alexa. I was high fived by James, the race director, who incidentally high-fives every single person to cross the finish. There was a cheering section waiting for us, Nancy, Lori and Lori, David and Kelly, Karen and a tearful eyed Susan.

Race reports have never been my specialty. It’s hard to convey the accomplishment, the beauty and the camaraderie. I’ve tried my best. It was so challenging, so breathtakingly beautiful and such a triumph. Orcas 2015? Bring it!