As I run down the side of Mt. Marathan-- so steep my heels didn't touch the ground on the way up, my calves screaming at me--I try to find that fine edge between caution and speed.
That line where I let my body go, while remaining in control.
Ready to react when the surface beneath my feet shifts from rock to sand, dry to wet, soft to hard, adjusting the way I bend so I don't break.
And then there's the visual dance of looking somewhere between the distant and the near, finding that sweet spot where I see both the path as my feet touch the ground as well as the trail to come.
My shoes fill with small pieces of scree and I understand why the racers duct tape around their shoes or wear gators to keep the rocks out. I'll be one of those racers next month, so I'm here trying to learn the mountain.
Three miles, 3,000 feet up with an average slope of 34 degrees, there is nothing easy about this race, the second oldest footrace in the United States, that according to Seward lore began with a bet in a bar.
(I bet I can run up and down Mt Marathan in less than an hour...)
The first time I watched the women's race, standing on the sidelines among thousands of cheering fans near the finish line on 4th Avenue, I thought: I want to do that someday. What I saw were sweaty, dirty, women, some bleeding, some grimacing, many smiling, making their way down the paved road after running up and down Mt. Marathon. I didn't actually see them on the mountain, just the glory of the finish.
As I make my way down, I worry about my knees and ankles as I not so gracefully head towards the shoot where the "trail" becomes a creek bed with wet rocks and mud. Not quite running now, more of a fast scramble I try to push myself, but not too much.
"I don't like you doing that race, " my Mom said to me earlier. "Remember you are a mom and a wife and a daughter..."
And an aging athlete who still needs to push myself to feel alive.
Who is a better mother, wife, and yes, daughter, because I do crazy things like attempting to run down a stream bed on the side of a mountain.
As I started down from the top, I passed a couple working their way up, intent faces, hands on their thighs as they pushed their legs up the steep slope. They'll probably pass me on the way down, I thought, they look like real mountain racers.
And sure enough, as I cautiously climb down a small waterfall, they literally leap past me and disappear around the bend.
They must not have kids, I think, humbled by their speed.
And yet there was the woman who I saw at midway, who asked me if I made it to the top.
"I did. Its foggy but there's no wind at the top, so its actually warm up there. Its pretty cool."
"Of course," she says. "I just got a text that my daughter is sick, so I need to head down."
"Oh, I'm sorry."
This exchange took place as she rested at the halfway point, where the junior racers turn around, and I worked my way down the scree slope.
She soon was on my heals and apologized as I stepped aside to let her pass.
"No worries, you have a sick daughter to get home to."
"Yeah, maybe my down time will be faster," she said, as she put distance between us with her long legs and sure footing.
So maybe the key to running fast down the side of a mountain is either not having kids or needing to respond to the needs of your kids. Having nothing to lose or everything to lose--or maybe, the folks who passed me are just superior mountain runners and it has nothing to do with children.
For as I slide down a boulder, its just me, in this body of mine, hoping I land alright.
When I finally reach the parking lot, and dump all the rocks out of my shoes, I fall into conversation with an older man, a first time racer as well, and that couple that bolted past me, jogs by as they get ready to climb the mountain again.
Again!?
"Do you know who they are?" he asks.
"No, but they were like gazelles on the mountain," I say.
"That's Eric Strabel and Denali Foldager, two of the top competitors in the race."
I recognize the names and smile, of course they should fly past me on the chute. This is what they do: run mountains.
I'm a mom and a writer and an athlete who's name just happened to be picked in the lottery and so I have the honor of giving Mt. Marathon a try.
My strength lies in the uphill climb, years of soccer and hockey have gifted me thick solid legs and an ability to push myself even when tired.
I know I can keep putting one foot in front of another, even when its hard to breathe. Its what I do as an athlete, as a mom, and even as a writer.
Just keep going, even when its hard, especially then.
Its the downhill that I struggle with, finding the balance between moving unleashed and the restraint needed to keep from falling. Letting go and holding on as my feet slide over loose gravel and sharp rocks, slippery boulders and mud banks, this push and pull on that wire ridge of control.
A familiar uncomfortable challenge in this unexpected life of mine.
I'm impressed!!!
Posted by: tonikayerieger | 06/10/2016 at 03:39 PM
How brave of you Christy to take on the mountain! The extent of my running is the local park. The view looked amazing though - thanks for sharing that experience with us and good tip regarding the duct tape :)
Claire
Posted by: treadmill reviews | 08/07/2016 at 12:56 PM