I've been trail running for about a year. I can't remember exactly when I said "yeah, sure, I'll do Bandera." Seems like a long time ago. Seems like I spent a lot of Saturdays out at the Greenbelt or Bastrop SP, training. It started to seem unreal, like it wasn't ever really going to happen. The day after Thanksgiving we drove down to Bandera so I could get a look at it and a feel for the terrain, so I wouldn't be totally freaked race day. I finally got on line and signed up for the 25K. Then, suddenly, it was Christmas…and New Year's…and yipes! It was right there!

We (my beloved Polar Bear and I) drove down to Bandera on Friday afternoon, checked into our motel, unloaded all our gear (seemed like tons of it) and went out to the race site to say hello. Came back and messed around with our gear some more, and then back out to the race site for pre-race dinner and orientation. Driving out there, we were headed due West and into a glorious sunset. Looked like a painting. Long flat fingers of deep rose and molten pink shooting outward from the setting sun, with streaks of purple and grey in between. The setting sun was crowned with a whipped froth of gold and rose clouds. Dinner was great, and I started to feel my nervousness turn into excitement. We were fortunate to have some local riders volunteer to ride the trails during the race and keep an eye on us and their chief, Lewis, told us they would be out there in pairs for the entire duration of the race, which was comforting to know. When we left the orientation, it was pitch dark and the sky was magnificent. Very clear, and stars studded the sky. It was so clear that not only were the constellations perfectly easy to see, you could see the Milky Way too, a blur of starlight far, far away.

I actually was able to go to sleep but woke up early, and after we had our smoothies and peanut butter sandwiches, we got dressed, loaded our gear and got ready to leave. On one wrist I wrote a line from a D.H. Lawrence poem: "I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself," and on the other wrist, "Bub." And we were back out there a little after six. Some kind soul provided hot coffee, which was much appreciated because it was freezing. Literally. Maybe even colder. The only thing that seemed like any other race I'd done were the lines at the Port-a-Potty. Other than that, it was just people standing around talking and drinking coffee, trying to stay warm. No National Anthem, no starting gun….just all of a sudden people were running past the tent. Someone had apparently said, "Go!" We coffee drinkers scrambled out the door and joined the thundering herd. I waved bye-bye to Polar Bear and then, there I was, my first trail race….by myself. No Polar Bear, no partner…just me, with 15.5 miles of steep, rocky terrain ahead of me. I was kind of hooked up with Fivels from Arlington for quite a ways. I reminded myself to look around enough to enjoy the beauty. As we scrambled up Big Nasty, the sun was coming up and we took a few seconds to admire the sight. Then we scampered off, up what seemed to be an endless succession of smallish hills to Ice Cream Hill.

I very quickly got warm and took off my jacket and gloves. Up one hill and down another…over and over. A couple of times I abandoned my pride and, Gollum-like, scrambled up on all fours. At the top of one particularly beautiful ridge, Fivels and I were running through hip-high sotol cactus and I told her I felt like we were in a North Face commercial. We could look at the hill ahead of us and the one behind and see other runners, people spread out for miles.

Ah, sotol cactus. Picture an enormous bright green pincushion bristling with long pins. The blades or straps or whatever you call them are flexible so it's easy to run through them, but they are studded with tiny little claws. They don't shred or gouge you, but they leave hundreds of tiny little, almost invisible tears on your skin, if you're wearing shorts. I chose long pants.

Now, this is my first trail race, so I had never experienced aid stations. On long training runs I just subsisted on the GU and HammerGel I could carry, with maybe a Clif Bar or half a PB&J. So, we're pattering along the first extremely rugged 6-mile section, seemingly forever, and Fivels said "Hear that?" What, my heart pounding? Is it that loud?? No, it was….music! The first aid station! What a treat! People welcoming us, someone taking my Camelback off and filling it, and a whole table full of food. And someone had brownies!! Oh, what a delight. It should be a rule that aid stations have brownies. No time to hang around, though, and off we went again, toward Bar-O, where I received an encouraging message from my sweetie, courtesy of one of the volunteers who passed it along, and I was able to stow my jacket and gloves. So sick of having them tied around my waist by then. Then we started up the first of the Three Sisters. It was hot by then, hotter than predicted, I think. I wanted to take my long pants off but the sotol had already snagged and pulled them so badly that I didn't want to think what it would do to my legs so I left them on. Although the first 6-mile section was supposedly the hardest, the Sisters weren't much easier. It was hot. And I was getting tired. I finally realized I couldn't keep up with Fivels any longer and I had my one and only down moment. Then I reminded myself of what Polar Bear told me repeatedly, and what Porcupine John also said: "run your own race." I gratefully fell back and stopped, took off my shirt and tied it around my waist, and immediately felt better with a little air on my overheated skin. At that point I preferred sunburn to slowly cooking inside that long sleeve shirt. Took a couple of photos, looked around, said hello to some other runners who were passing me (something I'm used to) and then cowboy'd up and remembered the immortal words of MXC's Captain Tenneal: "get it on!" Puffing up one hill, I looked up and thought "oh nuts!" - there was a photographer up there. I stopped behind a shrub to catch my breath and then when I got near him I began to run again. If you've still got pride, you're a long way from dead! Later I went past a pair of the cowboys (that was nice, to see someone when I was all by myself) and then suddenly realized that I was on the last descent of the Sisters and, wonder of wonders, I could see Crossroads Aid Station about a mile away! Sweeeet! I trotted along as fast as my little legs could carry me because I knew, once I left Crossroads, it was but a hop, skip and jump to the finish line.

I pulled into Crossroads to see Leadfoot's smiling face and she said 'I have a message from your man!" My sweetie had left me another encouraging message. Joe took my Camelback to fill and chatted with me while I changed shoes (in retrospect, I was better off with the Trail Response I was wearing but I had planned to change shoes there and so I did - probably not thinking too clearly.) I hit the food table again, freaked out a bit because the bees were also enjoying the food and the last thing I needed was a damned bee sting. Then I was off down the road on the last leg. This was pretty flat, a narrow winding trail sometimes next to water and under trees. Big departure from the steep climbs and descents and blistering sun I'd been in. Gabe ran past me and we chatted for a few seconds. Then I was alone again.

Polar Bear has been trying for some time to teach me about terrain. I wasn't really getting it. But when we were in Bandera in November, at the top of a ridge, it suddenly all made sense, because there it all was, spread out below me: spurs, draws, ridges, saddles and hilltops. Consciously or subconsciously I must have been noting terrain all day because, as I was trotting along, the song "Ghost Riders in the Sky" popped into my mind: "An old cowpoke went riding out one dark and windy day. Upon a ridge he rested as he went along his way. Then all at once a mighty herd of red-eyed cows he saw, plowing through the ragged sky and up a cloudy draw." I could picture it so clearly in my mind, taking place right where I'd been running. I started singing it and came around a corner to see a runner sitting on a rock ledge. Hadn't seen anyone sitting down all day so I stopped to see if she was OK. She said yes, just resting her back. She said, "I heard you singing. It made me smile." We started off together and, in one of those odd little vignette that happen now and then, as we talked, she said she was from New Hampshire. I said I had been born there. In just a few sentences, I had told her I had dedicated this race to my friend Bub and why, and she said that her dad had had ALS. She asked me to tell Bub she sent a hug and prayer to him. Then we came to the 25K/50K split and off she went one way and me the other. A volunteer was standing there to make sure tired runners didn't get confused and go the wrong way, and he said I had about a quarter mile to go. I began to trot along as fast as I could, and then suddenly I was under the finish line and checking in at the table. Five hours thirty-five minutes. I had wanted to do it in less than five, and I could have, if I had hustled a little more. But not knowing what was ahead of me, I wanted to keep something in reserve for the end.

There was remarkably little fanfare for the 25K runners at the finish, because we came in "the back way" and just kind of suddenly appeared around the corner of the tent. The 50 and 100K runners got the applause. I don't care, I applauded myself, got something to drink, called my sisters to tell them I was alive and well, and then settled down to wait for PB. Chatted with Fivels and Celeste, Katherine and John, Joyce, a couple of other people, ate a bit (not much left from lunch by that time) and waited some more. I finally got up and walked a mile or so up the trail, thinking I would meet Polar Bear up on the trail. Turned around and came back and waited some more. He finally showed up and I dashed out to meet him, then helped him with shoes, food, gear changes, all that necessary stuff. Told him he was crusted with salt (sweating a lot.) Took a photo and then he was ready to leave, so I walked out with him for a half mile or so before I turned back.

Coming back into the finish area, I realized how cruddy I was so I left and went back to the motel. Fed/walked the dog and took a long hot shower, scrubbing myself well, in spite of quite a sunburn. After a while I was able to fall asleep, only to be jerked awake by the phone about 10 p.m. It was Jan, Gabe's wife, telling me that Polar Bear had quit due to uncontrollable vomiting. She hastened to assure me that he was not injured and told me to take it easy coming out there. I threw some water on my face, got dressed, reheated some coffee from the morning (nasty, but hot), loaded up the dog and drove out to get him. Driving by Crossroads, I could see it all lit up with Christmas lights and hear music. Thought briefly it would be fun to be a 100K runner and come into that at night. Got to the lodge and went to the nurse's station. He looked miserable - shivering and kind of stunned. The nurse said he was OK and not vomiting anymore, so I helped him to the van. Joe and Joyce loaded our start/finish stuff into the van and we went back to the motel. I felt so bad for him. All my joy at my own race seemed to evaporate in the face of his misery and distress. We slept some, not much, and by 6 I was up and packing. We drove out to get the rest of our gear. They were serving a big breakfast and I was starving so we stayed to eat and talk to people, but Polar Bear really didn't want to be there. Trailrunner, who had also been forced to quit at mile 53, didn't show for breakfast. She didn't want to see anyone. We left before the awards.

It was a long ride home, I was driving and was tired. In spite of his disappointment Polar Bear generously congratulated me on my race and said how proud he was of me and how happy for me. And he'll try Bandera again next year - third time's the charm.

As for me, I kind of still can't believe I did it, especially when I think back at how incredibly rough that terrain is. But Fivels has already suggested that she and I do the 50K next year and I'm thinking about it…..

Lee