Queen of the mountain

Many moons ago — or maybe like a month; time is flexible — Rob IM’d me and Nina and said, “Laura and I are going to be camping near Pacifica the weekend of the Pacifica run. I’m going to do it. You two in?”

“But Rob, that run is just a week after Angel Island!”

“Your point?”

Nina and I conferred amongst ourselves — we couldn’t get a chat room to work, so the three of us had six IM windows open for this discussion — and decided, What the heck, why not.

This morning I woke up and got on iChat to check on my fellow runners. Rob was there and stayed long enough to say, “I’m sick. I should not be out there today.” He’s been coming down with something since the Angel Island run and evidently it blossomed when he decided to have a small vacation.

Nina and I agreed we were going anyway.

The forecast called for partly cloudy. The coast turned out to be completely cloudy and somewhat foggy. At one point while driving over Highway 1 to Pacifica visibility got very, very poor. “We’re going to be running in this?” we asked, wondering if there was going to be a whole new dimension to one of these runs. The fog lifted at lower elevations, however, so that turned out not to be an issue. There was also a wee misting of rain, but we laugh at rain; rain would be no problem.

We had signed up for the 21 kilometer run, which would be the longest confirmed run either of us had ever done, flat or hilly. 21 kilometers is slightly longer than 13 miles. We would start with a 9K loop that had two hills in it, followed by the 12K loop that went up a much steeper mountain.

Midway through the 9K loop I realized I had nuthin’. I was continuing to run up this trail by sheer force of orneriness and not from any internal spark. How not into this was I? I had tied my hoodie around my waist and the pressure of the knot against my stomach made me retch. I figured when we got back to the parking lot, before we started up the 12K loop, I would tell Nina I was bagging the rest of the race. She would either continue without me or we’d call it a day at 9K.

We stopped in the restroom and I told her I was considering bagging the race.

She didn’t respond. She did not acknowledge my sentiment in any way. Instead, we went over to the runners’ food table and had a mango-flavored Gu. And then we headed up the 12K trail.

She told me later that if I had said a second time that I wanted to stop, she would have stopped, because she’d been thinking about calling it quits too. But she figured if she continued on, I’d continue on, and we’d do the run whether we wanted to or not. Smart chick.

The 12K loop was so unbelievably hard that as I sit here and think about it I cannot believe I actually did it. There were three sections: a longish foresty hiking trail that switchbacked up the hill; a rocky section lined up the center by a giant fissure; and a yellow rock fire road that led up to the North Peak. We made it up the first section by doing the “Grandma shuffle.” We made it up the rocky part by going slowly, looking carefully for somewhere to put our feet, and getting out of the way of the harder-core runners who were barreling down the hill at top speed. And we went up the yellow rock road as best we could: sometimes we shuffled, and sometimes we walked as fast as we could.

The rain started coming down in noticeable amounts during this last section and this was no “wee misting” any longer. I was completely soaked through and my hair zinged out in the full ‘fro. I had left my hoodie down at the starting line when we’d stopped between loops, so I had no second layer and no hood for my head. That kinda sucked. But now I’ve really run in the rain. I’m not sure I want to try running in the snow.

Much of the way through the 9K and 12K loops we kept running into this guy from Arizona doing the 50K route. He’d driven in from Arizona for this race. Nina and I were amazed. We have trouble enough imagining driving to Marin County for a race, and this guy went 700 miles for one. He asked us whether we’d done other mountain races around the country and we had to say, “Uh, no.”

On the way down (which always takes so much less time than the way up; it’s just not fair) I stopped us in the middle of the rocky section. “Okay, time to enjoy the view.” Because we certainly couldn’t enjoy the view for a second when we were moving; one false step and wham! : twisted ankle. Hell, we came close enough to twisted ankle watching every step we took. We enjoyed the view for 10 seconds, and then we continued on down the hill.

When we hit the forest trail part my body just moved into high gear. We had been moving for so long at that point that I felt as though I could run forever. (I wonder if that’s the fabled Runner’s High.) There were a couple of muddy spots where I nearly slipped and fell, but it was so easy just to keep going. That kind of flying feeling is definitely one of the best things about these runs for me.

We talked about how having trail running shoes on the sort of muddy, slippery terrain we’ve been running on would be a boon. Yes, we’ve spent money on road running shoes, but we’d actually use the trail shoes. Trail shoes have deeper notches than regular shoes do — no use for road running, but they might make hitting this mud a little less scary. We agreed that It Was Time to take the plunge and increase our athletic wardrobes.

At the end we sprinted the last hundred feet to the finish line and cheered as we crossed the banner. We told Wendell and Sarah (the couple who run Pacific Coast Trail Runs) that we had just done the longest distance we’d ever completed, flat or hilly. I was completely elated and glad as hell that Nina had taken the lead and had us finish the race.

We immediately went to the refreshments table — in my opinion, the entire point of doing these runs is to eat Pop Tarts — and we were talking about the run when Wendell and Sarah came up to us. “In honor of your achievement today, particularly on such a hard course, we’d like to give you this award,” they said, and they handed us each a coupon for free trail shoes!

I squealed. Nina squealed. I may have jumped up and down. We thanked them profusely. If this wasn’t a sign that getting trail shoes was the Right Idea, I don’t know what would be. I managed to get my sheet completely wet by holding it against my shirt, but it dried out again in the back of my car. Sometime soon it’s off to REI to try on the various available models!

We were aching and tired as we limped off to my car and prepared ourselves for getting in. Since this was Darin’s car, which he keeps very clean, we sat on towels and had plastic bags on the floor for our muddy shoes. Then we drove to Starbucks to get our celebratory, and necessary, cup of coffee before driving back to the South Bay. The barista asked if we’d just run a race. Then someone else asked if we’d been out running in that terrible weather. I couldn’t figure out how everyone knew we’d just come from a race until I got back to the car and looked down — maybe the big number on my chest might have given it away. It’s amazing how zoned out I can get after a run. And yes, I operated a motorized vehicle nevertheless.

Now I’m lying on the couch completely achy and sore but feeling great. Usually I get an all-over tired when I’m running but my legs don’t feel especially exhausted. Not today: that 12K loop did my legs in and I’m going to feel it in the morning, no question. I’m not sure doing two trail runs in two weekends is such a smart idea, but I don’t care. I am having the best time doing these things. These are way more fun than any road race I’ve ever done, even if I get the humiliation of a 9-year-old running in front of me for the first 9K (which happened). But you know: some 9-year-olds are in very good shape, and good on her anyhow.