They laughed when I said I was woefully unprepared, but who’s laughing now, huh? Just who is laughing now? I was not laughing at 8:00 on Saturday morning when the mercury hovered right above the freezing point. (Does anyone still use mercury thermometers? We have one. It’s an oral thermometer. At least, I hope it’s an oral thermometer because that thing has been in my mouth. Well anyway) it was cold outside and I could not for sure decide how much clothing to have on. This is one of the side effects of not having run enough: not being in tune with how my body reacts to the temperature.
Fortunately, the Crime Dog and the Knob talked me into stripping down to my shorts and monkey shirt. 3 minutes into the run, I knew they were right. I also knew, or believed, that I would be seeing a lot of these people again. They were passing me like a kernel of sweet corn but this is a sensation I’m used to. Having gone out too hard too often, I’m used to holding what feels like a ridiculously slow pace for the first couple of miles.
It was worth it as I hit the hills on the first half of the Shut-In trail. As we shall see, the real carnage begins in the second half, but there are some very real hills in the early sections. I managed them well enough to actually enjoy some of the most beautiful sections of the trail. Chestnut Gap is a glorious place, and the trees, hills, and trail were all covered with golden leaves which is cool but also somewhat vertigo-inspiring. “No, no thanks. I don’t think I need to pass you right now.”
And, as advertised, the real challenge is after Bent Creek Gap, starting right off the bat with Ferrin Knob. Getting over this in one piece seemed like an important milestone, so even when it seemed like “I could ‘probably’ run this section” discretion seemed the better part of valor. There would be more trail after this climb. Things started to level out, and the relief of having finished the ascent started to wash over me. Then there was the switchback, which made me laugh. I could distinctly remember running this piece in training and thinking “Boy, you’d think your done and then the trail after this switchback would come up and kick your ass.” There is really nothing else to do but laugh.
And walk, of course. I did a lot of walking up Ferrin Knob. Which is fine, because I was still thinking coherently on the descent. The ability to put together complete sentences was a good sign, and I passed through the 3/4 mark right at three hours. Perfect pace in which to make it to the finish in 4. That is, if I had anything left in my legs. I did not, of course, have anything left in my legs.
That’s the point, you see, of all of those long runs which I did not run. To get to mile 12 or 13 and have enough mojo built up in the legs to make it another 5 or 6. I knew that no amount of will power can take those long runs retroactively. Time instead to do as much as I could and be happy to be upright in the woods on such a beautiful day. Walk the climbs, no matter how slightly inclined, and “run” whatever little downhill you get. I emerged at the base of the final push at 3:40. Sure, it was only 1.8 miles to the finish, but with somewhere between 800 and 1,000 feet to climb, I was clearly not hitting 4:00. There was not even hope of limiting the carnage.
But why should I want to? I knew at this point that I would finish. I would wear the shirt that proclaimed my a runner. A real runner in these parts. Ok, maybe I was already but I was reconfirmed in the fellowship of the harriers. All that we get for our efforts is a stinking t-shirt and a far off stare. What are we looking at anyway? That. Over there. That trail. What would it be like to run there?