Lordy! Two weeks in Wyoming and I have made it home safely, with Wind River granite in my shoes, a ton of blisters and a very strange tan. I AM A MOUNTAIN MAN. Not once did I hook myself in the back of the head with a fly or have to cut myself out from under a boulder with my Swiss Army Knife. I did, however, contract some kind of terrible Rocky Mountain-strength flu on my backpacking trip, which sent me to the trailhead two days early. Thinking I might be completely over it, but maybe not, I pulled up to RunTex on Monday for my first Gazelle-day back with trepidation.
I jump in with the usual suspects for the 10-mile pace run—first three easy and seven at MGP. We stumble into the darkness, following our best guess at the trail. We chat, catch up, talk about Mediterranean food. Then, gradually, it starts to hit people, their voices rising from the group.
“I feel something strange. It’s cold.”
“I feel it too. It’s dry.”
“That’s the wind. It’s coming from the North,” I explain.
“Hey guys, I’m sweating, but . . . it’s evaporating?!”
“I have . . . . more energy!”
“What is happening?!”
I try to quell the furor. “Guys, I believe this is called a cold front.”
“A . . . cold front? What is that?”
“It’s a weather pattern defined by cooler, drier air. We had one in Austin a few years ago.“
“What do we do?!”
“I'm . . . scared.”
“Robert, hold me.”
“Don’t panic, dudes, we’re fine," I assure in low, hushed tones. "People outside of Texas actually run in these conditions. We should see an improvement in our times. “
“Cool . . . and dry. . . so weird!”
We approach the end of our slow three and rev ourselves up for the pace run proper. I’m totally confused about how to do this. Since my GPS broke (I’m talking to you, Garmin), I’ve had a terrible time running precisely at different paces. I’ve tried to use the 1/4 mile markers on the trail, but in the dark I tend to get them confused with, I don’t know, rocks. On top of that, we’ve all formulated incredibly specific MGP’s. “Who’s running a 7:24?” I ask to silence. Dan and Yetik decide on 7:38. So my plan—to get about 50 yards further ahead of them for every mile they run. Running ahead of them, in the dark. Of course that will work.
We get to the foot of Longhorn Dam and start kicking. A hill in the first five yards, nice. It is obvious that I don’t have enough of my faculties at 6am to navigate the Holly St. Power Plant and at one point begin running down Canterbury. Yetik, saving me repeatedly, calls ahead, “Make a left. Now right. What are you doing??”
Along Fiesta Gardens I surge and begin my 50 yards per mile plan. Except I don’t know where one mile is. And I can’t see Dan and Yetik behind me in the dark. Brilliant.
Not able to find the water Gilbert left for us under I-35 (or did he? maybe this was a test!), I panic and keep going. Abandoning my ridiculous attempt to hone in on 7:24, I adopt the time-honored strategy of “running really fast.” Things are working out surprisingly well, I’m strong and in control with no sign of the others. At the MoPac Bridge I head for the water station but then GO CRAZY and think, it’s just two more miles, screw the water, I’m bringing this baby home! I charge across the bridge with mad defiance and a Tony Robbins glow of self-empowerment. Soon, I become delusional and start thinking I’m running the fastest I have ever run in my life. This is incredible, I am REDEFINING THE PACE RUN. Then some Gazelle vets on their “easy run” pass me. Thanks for raining on my parade you . . . . people who are faster than me.
Still, I stay strong and controlled, on the edge of a tempo run but not, and cross the 0 mile marker, the only one I can ever find ever, with gallons, GALLONS in the tank. The simple math in my head adds up a 7:11 pace. Dude. Threw DOWN. But before I could even reset my watch, Dan and Yetik go scorching by, coating all in their midst with a layer of dust and smoke.
“Wow, dudes, what was that for you?” I ask Dan.
“7:16 mile” Dan replies, doing sit-ups on the rock wall.
“Man, we blew through this pace run. We should go tell Gilbert,” I say as I start the walk to RunTex.
Yetik calls after me, “No don’t worry about it. He knows.”
We all look at each other.
Then we look around the trail, Auditorium Shores, the parking lot.
“Yeah, he knows.”
We all nod.
“He KNOWS.”
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
4 comments:
Great to see you back on the blog, Robert! Keep up the good work.
Love,
Lisa
You blogged on my birthday and it was the best gift EVER! :) thanks for always making me look like a fool at work by laughing hysterically at my computer screen.
and yes, Gilbert ALWAYS knows....
Allison (Tue/Thurs. afternoon group)
welcome back. i have a question though, as someone who doesn't do this silly marathon training stuff: how did you only have two miles left when you went under 35 if you started at runtex?
oh, nevermind, i just reread and it was 2 miles left at mopac. nice run by the way.
Post a Comment