Sunday morning, at 4:00 a.m., my alarm went off. I groaned and hit snooze. Then I startled awake. The Croom Zoom, my first 25k, started in 3 hours, and I had only a vague idea of how to get to the race site in the Withlacoochee State Forest (yes, that is totally a real place).
I scrambled into the kitchen to slurp down some coffee and eat a piece of peanut butter toast while I checked the weather forecast. In the low 30s for the first part of the race. Oh. my. Lord. I put on the warmest running gear I have (which isn’t really all that warm until about 5 miles in) and zipped out of the house for the hour ride up to Brooksville, Florida.
I have driven by Brooksville about a hundred times headed north on I-75. But when Google Maps told me to take a small highway road up to Brooksville instead, I just assumed the good folks at Google knew better than I did. So, at 5:00 a.m., I found myself driving in the pitch black through areas that looked like they might have been the inspiration for Deliverance. I had pre-race jitters; I had lost-in-the-middle-of-nowhere jitters. And I really had to pee. But there was nowhere to stop. And I do mean nowhere. All the gas stations were closed. Even the Wal-Mart had so few cars that I felt sketched out about swinging in for a potty break. And, remember, I had slurped down that coffee and a healthy amount of water before I left the house. So, I spent the last 20 minutes of the ride praying that I wouldn’t pee on myself before I got there.
I turned off of the little highway onto a littler county road that my map said would lead me straight into the park. I kept peering to the right and the left, into the pitch black, looking for a park sign. It was already 6:15. My race started at 7, and I couldn’t find the damn…
And, suddenly, I was on a dirt road.
I just kept driving, hoping I was headed in the right direction. My dot on Google Maps was still on course–but did I mention I was on a dirt road?!?
And then I saw him–the traffic directing guy. He was shivering in the cold. Uh… that didn’t seem like a good sign. I parked, opened my door… and shut it again. DANG. I steeled myself, opened the door again and hopped out just in time to be greeted by a string of profanity from the guy parked next to me… something about Florida…damn cold…someone’s mother…something, something. As interesting as his diatribe was, I needed to pick up my race packet, finally pee, and strip off my warm sweat pants and fleece and stand around in lycra running garb. And freeze.
I did all of those things. In that order. I have never wanted a race to begin so badly. I was so cold that I forgot to be nervous. No joke. And I am totally valedictorian of being nervous.
The airhorn went off, and all the 25k runners set off down a limestone road. We did 3.5 miles on that road. At mile 1.5, I realized that my hands were achingly cold. At mile 1.8, I felt like nails were being driven through my thumbnails, and I noticed–with great alarm–that it took tremendous effort to move my fingers. At mile 2.0, I began to seriously concern myself with frostbite. I thought for a few minutes about quitting then and there. No kidding. I don’t remember ever being in that much pain from the cold.
By mile 3, I didn’t remember that my hands had ever hurt at all. But I did realize that my Gu was too cold to be gooey. Instead, eating it was like breaking off pieces of chewing gum and swallowing them whole. Thank goodness I had plenty of water in my Camelback to negotiate that mess.
I finished my Gu just in time to turn onto the trail and realize that my shoes were tied too loosely for trail running. Oh, and I was running in my old running shoes that have next to no tread left on them. Awesome planning. I ran for a bit and found myself at the start point again, right before the start of the 10 mile trail loop, where I stopped to tie my shoes. I hate stopping while I am running, but the retying of the shoes seemed like a necessity, lest I fall and bust my booty on this run.
Which I did. At mile 7. I swear, I have no idea what happened. I was running; I must have drifted off into thought. Then I felt it… My feet tangled, and I knew I was going down. I had just enough time to think, “this is going to hurt,” before I hit the ground with a thud. The guy running behind me (he was a ways back when I fell) asked if I was okay. I hopped up to show him I was alright–I didn’t want him to break his stride too much for me–and took off running. Both my knees were super sore. I was dirty. But I knew I could keep going. Hey, it was either that or walk the last 8 miles. No one was going to carry me out of that forest.
I hadn’t set a goal time for the run. But I did promise myself I would run all 15 miles. And I did. I finished the race in 2:47:21 with a Gu wrapper stuck to my hand (since mile 10) feeling like a badass.
BAD.ASS.
I am more in love with running than ever before. Crazy, right? And I am totally hoping to fit in another trail run during this running season… but maybe in April when it is just a smidge warmer. I am totally a Florida girl, no matter how badass I am.
Pensive Pea 
Comments