It was supposed to be low key. A fun run. With the option to dress for the occasion. The Spooky 12K. Off road, local and inexpensive. No race clock, one aid station, T-Shirts extra.
One of the many reasons I love racing so much is that regardless of the distance, discipline or demands, one can enter a special space while undertaking the event. One can witness first-hand the power and value of that place known affectionately as 'The Zone'. Yesterday, although I downplayed the speed-time aspect prior to the start and for the fist ten minutes, by the time we finished the single track into the woods section and hit the fire trail road, all doubt as to the purpose of the run had been completely removed. It was now a foot race, full on. Rod Serling commentating.
And for 50 minutes and a relentless series of climbs, switchbacks and hardscrabble descents, it was me against my heart rate, whining hip flexors and ability to transport oxygen to faltering big muscle groups. The old me vs me all over again. What have I learned? How have I improved? How can I put into play the myriad lessons gleaned from months of training, testing, resting and recovering? Can I sustain this output? Am I doing EVERYTHING right now to positively impact my performance?
I love the paradox. I love the cosmic. I love the humor and I love the challenge. Those in the know simply smile with the empirical understanding of what is taking place. They know the feeling. There is great empathy among participants. If I go my best I can help you get to yours. You being faster makes me better. The race is on and it has absolutely nothing to do with time. Time is suspended when you enter the max zone. There is only now. THIS breath, THIS footstrike and THIS heartbeat.
As a result of my choosing trail shoes instead of running shoes, I had to stop five times to re-tie laces in the last 2.5 miles. I was being stalked. Each time I begrudgingly knelt to secure the laces she gained on me. I could hear her footsteps from behind keeping syncopated time with mine. I remember thinking that this might conjure some suffering I haven't felt in a while when running. Because now the focus had shifted from me vs me, to me vs her.
And I vowed to not allow her to pass me with anything but her best effort. Which, of course, would require mine. This for another uphill mile or seven minutes, whichever would come first.
I tied my left lace again, gave it all the foot pounds I could muster as efficiently as I could secure the butterfly, took a deep breath and heard her about to draw even as I rose for the final approach. She was wearing ear-buds so I am not sure she heard my compliment on her closing speed. Maybe my 'way-to-go' was muted by Maroon Five or Jay-Z, but it was as blatant as it was obvious, that she was in she vs me mode and we had precious little real estate to play it out.
Aight, let's do this.
Off we go. Shoulder to shoulder and stride for stride. There is no doubt in the entire universe at this moment. EVERYTHING is perfect. No questions, no doubts, no fear, no distraction. Our movement through space and time defines us. I am smiling, out of myself, watching in 3D, one with the moment. I become aware of my breaths and try to ease the impact as I reach down and shift to closing gear. End game overdrive. There is one hill between where we run and the gathered crowd at the finish line. Maybe 500 yards.
My hip flexors and left piriformis feel like flaming kabobs right out of the fire. By habit I reach to adjust my race number despite the reality that there is no announcer. I glance at my watch and shrug with the reality that a sub 60 is now impossible. It's OK I say, probably aloud.
As a volunteer tears the finishing strip from my tyvek number I look back and see no-one.
Spooky.
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