Clea and I are training for Miwok in May. After reading about Miwok and reviewing the elevation map, we decided that two things were in order: (i) some serious hill training, and (ii) more long runs on the trail. The inaugural Waco Five-O offered both, so we packed up the car on Friday after work and headed north. Liz, a new member of the Hill Country Trail Runners, joined us. Although the drive to Waco took an unusually long 4 hours (horrible Spring Break traffic), we passed the time by getting to know Liz and learning about her recent move here from Colorado.
Friday morning we checked out of the hotel and drove to Cameron Park. We pulled into the parking lot with plenty of time to spare and were personally greeted at the check-in table by the race director, Tim Necker. We were happy to see a few other familiar faces, including Joe P. and Pat. All agreed that it was going to be a warm day for running.
Before the race started, Tim gave us a briefing on the course – “It’s flat for the first mile,” he said, “but then the course runs up every hill I could find.” Tim found a lot of hills . . . . .
True to Tim’s promise, the first mile of the race was flat. We ran along the banks of the Mighty Brazos River. Due to some work being completed on a downstream dam, however, the Might Brazos River now looks more like the Mighty Brazos Mud Puddle. Oh well, we didn’t come for the scenery. We came to run.
The course is three “ten” mile loops, with aid stations at mile zero, mile three and mile seven. Between the start and the first aid station were some pretty rough climbs. On our first lap, we got caught up in a pack of other runners on the single-tracks. This pack running felt a little closterphobic and it seemed to take forever to get to the first aid station, but once there, we broke away and things got better. It was just after the first aid station that we met a very nice fellow named Rick. We passed much of the rest of the first loop getting to know Rick and learning about his work in Houston and his recent Sunmart adventure. We finished the first loop in just under two hours, still in good spirits and with plenty of energy remaining. Good thing—we were going to need every bit of it.
Before we started the second loop, I shed my top shirt and plugged my iPod into one ear. With one ear still unplugged, I could maintain conversation with Clea and Rick, but the background music kept a spring in my step. The stretch to the first aid station on this second loop seemed shorter than the first time. But by the time we reached the second aid station, I was beginning feel the heat. Solution —it was time to get wet. Now the game plan was to drink a bottle of fluid between each station and, at each station, to pour two cups of ice water over my head for every one that went down my throat. When ice was offered, I put it in my cap or in the back of my shirt. Rick stuck with us to the end of lap two (another steady two-hour loop), but once there, he told us to go on ahead. Good luck Rick! And we started loop three.
I could tell when we started loop three that Clea was entering her “focusing” stage. She had plugged her iPod into both ears and was no longer talking. I decided to do the same and just tried to keep my mind off the two deadly topics—(i) how many more miles to go; and (ii) just how tired I really was. Instead, as we ran along the banks of the Mighty Brazos Mud Puddle for the third time, I looked across at the apartment complex on the far bank. I imagined a 19 year old me standing there looking back. You see, that very apartment complex was my home back then. Greg and I lived there for two years after that surrealistic day when I announced to my parents, “I love him. He’s got a great job at Radio Shack. Of course we have a plan, we’re going to get married and move to Waco!” And we had done just that. Had it really been 12 years? Sure doesn’t seem like it.
As Clea and I turned off the riverbank to start the hills, I thought about how many evenings I had sat on the back porch of that little one-bedroom, looking across the water at this very trail. I wondered if the 19 year old Steph would have ever guessed how the 32 year old Steph was going to turn out. It occurred to me that the path Greg and I have followed has been a lot like this trail. Sometimes it’s uphill. Sometimes it’s downhill. Unexpected turns and switchbacks—there are too many to count. But we gain strength and experience with every step. The steps become miles and, in the end, we have fun and worthwhile adventures. Indeed, an appropriate analogy. Maybe, just maybe, I decided, if the 19 year Steph could meet the 32 year old Steph, she wouldn’t be too disappointed.
Memory lane and Clea’s steady pace carried me along to the first aid station without too much difficulty. We were still running all of the downhills and “flats.” We walked up the steepest hills, and I remember thinking that they felt markedly steeper than they had the first two times around. It was hot. I was tired and dirty. More ice. More water.
Clea was so deep in her focusing stage that she stopped even acknowledging my existence by the second aid station. That was okay though. She was still putting up with me and letting me follow along in her footsteps. For that, I was extremely grateful.
As we started into the “home stretch,” I thought about the time that Greg and I went to purchase my last vehicle. Greg let me pick the model, but he insisted on choosing the color—it’s bright orange. No, I’m not a die-hard UT fanatic. The orange is for safety. You see, I have this habit of “focusing inward.” When I’m thinking through a problem or listening to something intently, I don’t pay sufficient attention to the goings on around me. Greg’s reasoning for the orange vehicle—“If you are not going to notice other drivers, I want to make sure they notice you.”
I have the same problem when I run. Inevitably (although unintentionally), at some point in the race I find myself inward focusing. Inevitably (although unintentionally) this will happen at a critical trail juncture and, no matter how clearly the turn is marked, I will miss it. This is why I so appreciate Clea. She never misses a turn, and as long as I can manage to keep up with her, I don’t miss them either.
Clea and I made a strong effort on the last stretch. We ran more of the uphills in those last three miles than we walked. We crossed the finish line in just over six hours and were pleased to see that we had only slowed by 4 minutes on that last loop. We cleaned up, grabbed delicious fajitas and some sodas and enjoyed cheering and visiting with friends (both new and old) after the race.
All in all, it was a hard run, but it was worthwhile. I think we are better prepared for Miwok as a result of today’s efforts. A big CONGRATS and THANKS to Tim Necker and family for a well organized and pleasant event. I hope we will have the opportunity to come back next year.