It seems that no matter how many races I do, each one is an exercise in, “Things I Will Do Differently NEXT Time.” Eat more before the race, eat less, drink more, drink less or at very least make sure to use the bathroom one MORE time before the start, carry a drink, don’t carry a drink, carry jelly beans, carry grapes, take a walk break, don’t take a walk break, wear a watch, don’t wear shorts that cause wedgies, ponytail, pigtails, SMILE for the camera, have a high caffeine drink before, have Gatorade before, wear lipstick, don’t wear eyeliner or you’ll look like Alice Cooper by the time you get to the finish line, etc.

Maybe some day, the stars will align and I’ll get it all right.

The stars did not align for Sunday’s trail run. The course looped around to pass by the starting point after about a mile and a half to two miles, and I was ready to quit then. I actually stopped to talk to Fritz, catch my breath, drink my Gatorade, and wait for my heart rate to get semi-normal… and have pretty much every runner get in front of me, before saying, “Oh, just SUCK IT UP already!” and getting back into it.

I'm airborne!

Holy crap. I love trail running, but I was NOT ready for this course. They called it a hill. I called it a frickin’ mountain. I live on a hill. I’m used to running hills. This was not a hill.

I figured my time would be around 45-55 minutes for a 5+ mile run. And all things considered (IE the MOUNTAIN I had to climb and the amount of walking I had to do) finishing the course in an hour and four minutes wasn’t all that bad. But any of the more challenging races (IE anything over a 5k)  are jam-packed full of elite runners, so I feel like a total scrub when I’m at the end of the pack. And then I get annoyed at myself for feeling like a scrub. So not only am I judging myself harshly, I’m double-dipping and judging myself for judging myself. Which makes me feel worse.

So… what did I learn this time?

My hydration belt looks like a cross between a diaper and a giant jock strap. Which kind of makes sense, because if I had the necessary plumbing for a jock strap, I would need a giant one. I'm just sayin'...

Wear the hydration belt. Doesn’t matter if it looks stupid. Wear it because you’ll want a drink and while a 20 ounce bottle isn’t heavy to carry, after a few miles, it affects my stride… I’m amazed at how much naturally swinging arms matter when it comes to running. And even though I consciously thought, “Switch arms,” at regular intervals, it always ended up in my right hand.

When someone offers to let you pass, pass. I was perfectly content to stick behind a nice older couple while hiking up the mountain trail, but on the way back down, there wasn’t quite room to pass. And their running pace was just barely faster than my fast walking pace. On the other hand… meh. It’s not like I was going to win anything. Another minute added to my time didn’t really matter.

But I love trail running. LOVE! The feeling when FINALLY you get to the top of the hill (*cough*mountain*cough*) and start to run down it, and you build up speed and have to scamper like a joyful little mountain goat… it’s exhilarating! It’s not even so much a run as a bouncing, bounding skip. It… it speaks to me. It feeds some kind of primitive, feral druid past in my bloodline. Love. Pure love.

Love, until I think, “Doing this is really stupid for someone who just got over a broken ankle.” Which brings me to…

I debated taking my phone with me. I should have. I could have snapped some pictures of some breathtaking views, and sent a text to Fritz letting him know I was on top of the world looking down on creation, which would not only songplant him with the Carpenters, but let him know that I hadn’t fallen to my death on the jagged rocks below.

Plus, it would have been nice to have some photos between this...

... And this.

Use the stick-type sunscreen on the face… the kind that looks like a giant tube of chapstick. Any other kind will merge with sweat and burns the hell out of my eyes. And make sure Fritz uses sunscreen, too.

Bug spray was a really good idea. I’ll have to remember that when I run trails near my house. On the other hand, one reason I don’t stop to walk when running my neighborhood trails is the swarm of bugs that insist on going in my eyes, ears and nose, so maybe I would have gone faster if I was being “bugged.”

Compared to other runners, I’m a Clydesdale. Well, maybe not quite a Clydesdale, but I’m more like a stocky, muscular Pitbull or Labrador, and the rest of them are sleek, lean Greyhounds.  And that’s probably why they’re so much faster than me. Not only are they carrying 10-25 pounds less than I am, but they have less wind resistance. Ha ha.

I’m okay with not being a Greyhound. But around mile four of that run on Sunday, I felt like a Pekingese. Useless little stubby legs, too much hair (my ponytail holders had snapped, so my hair was in full Heat-Miser mode), and I couldn’t breathe!