After racing up and down 3,022 feet, with 300 other women, on the 4th of July, before 1,000's of cheering fans, my children still expect me to be at their beck and call. Thank god for Nick who keeps saying, "Just let your Mom rest. She just ran up a mountain."
The women's race didn't begin until 2:30 p.m., which made a long day of waiting, wondering what I was getting myself into by committing to this crazy event, a mountain race without an official trail, with cliffs and scree and snow, competitors kicking rocks loose, well-documented injuries, even a death, a history of grit and lore, the second oldest footrace in the United States, that legend says began with a bar bet, one drunk friend boasting to another: 'I bet I can run up and down that thar mountain in under an hour."
Even before the official race began, over a hundred years ago, Sewardites ran up Mt Marathon to scout for incoming ships, racing each other down to be the first to bring the news to town. A ship is coming, a ship is coming...
Nowadays, we run the mountain for fun, or so I had to remind myself, partway up the 34 degree slope, on a humid day, stuck in a line of women, all sweating and breathing hard, hands on our knees, heads bowed. I chose to do this, I repeated, as I started to think: What the fuck am I doing to myself, I'll never do this stupid race again.
Self-torture on a mountain side.
Thank god for the spectators with water bottles who camped along the so-called-trail. I can't tell you what any of them looked like, but I graciously accepted their offerings, barely getting the magic words out as I trudged onwards, ever up.
When we broke tree-line, and the halfway mark, and I could feel a breeze coming off the bay, and my legs stopped screaming at me, I finally really did start having fun, finding off-paths to pass, a few women at a time, catching up to the first wave that started five-minuted before us, muscle memory putting one foot in front of another, years of hockey and soccer preparing me to push beyond comfort, to dig into my reserve energy, to leave nothing on the field of scree and stones.
"What's your name?" a woman in front of me asked.
"Christy."
When I passed her a few minutes later, she said to my back, "You go Christy, go get em."
Before I reached Race Point, the peak of our climb, I heard the wave of cheers from almost 3,000 feet below, tens of thousands strong, for the front runners who had already scaled up and down Mt. Marathon and were running the half mile-through town to the finish line on 4th Avenue.
Holy shit, they're already done, I thought as I gave everything I had to the mountainside, climbing hands and feet towards the peak, 3,022 feet from the street, to the rock I would run around before turning to run back down.
The descent begins with a long snow field, which I fell into and slid on my ass, slowing myself with my right heel so I didn't hit the woman in front of me who rode with more apprehension than me, thanks to my friend Mary Beth, a seventeen-time finisher, who showed me how to ride the snow and gave me tips on different routes, teaching me about a diagonal crack along the cliffs at the base of the mountain, that I selected as my way up, reaching the base within the top ten of my second wave, after sprinting the half-mile up the street so I didn't have to wait in a line of women to ascend, already tired and winded, wondering how the hell I was going to climb a mountain after running that hard on the road--but I did, and now I was on my way down, off the crunchy snowfield and onto the scree, broken up and soft from the men racing before us, ski-running, side to side down the steep slope, going as fast as I felt safe to travel on my 43-year-old knees; when a few 20-somethings from my wave passed me easily I wondered for a moment if I could go any faster down the slope to the cheering crowd below, and decided just as quickly: No.
My family's down there, I repeated, I want to reach them in one piece. My family's down there, waiting for me...
After the scree comes the stream bed, the most technical part of the descent, with small waterfalls to jump or in my case slide down, wet rocks and mud, all at a steep pitch, that leads back to the cliffs, where with tired legs I again traversed the crack, hoping the rock holds as I made my way down to the claps of the safety crew waiting at the bottom.
"Thanks for clapping," I managed to say after I made it down the hardest part.
"Thanks for racing," one of them said.
"Its my first time."
"Well enjoy, you're almost there, watch your step down the last bit of rocks and then you're on the street."
And I turned the corner to see hundreds of folks at the base of the mountain, with thousands more waiting along Jefferson and 4th Ave, and my old sprinter legs kicked in and I'm racing down the road, smiling, even high-fiving kids with arms reached out. I lost steam halfway there, as I did on the uphill, 400 meters my race back in the day, not the 800 as I struggled through now, after a mountain climb, but the cheers of the crowd kept me going, and when I was close enough to the finish line and could see the clock, I pushed with all I had, totally missing the smiling faces of my family and friends who cheered my name, but crossing that coveted line in one hour, fourteen minutes and 58 seconds.
I finished 84th out of the 282 women that actually finished the race, 16th in my age group, and if you ask me if I'll race Mt. Marathon again next year my answer is: "Hell, yeah!"
Its just good you didn't ask during the first half of the climb, when I questioned my sanity for imposing such a physically grueling task on myself, I mean, isn't my life hard enough without racing up a mountain on top of it all?
Oh, but how much harder it would be without mountains to climb, without opportunities to beat up this body of mine, to feel both weak and strong in the same hour, to sweat and bleed, strain to breathe, and come through it all, a little more alive than yesterday.
Hooray!!!!!!!
Posted by: Ginna | 07/06/2016 at 01:48 PM
What an inspirational, awe-inspiring feat! Thank you for writing about it!
Posted by: Kristen H | 07/06/2016 at 01:57 PM
WAY TO GO CHRISTY- you needed this- something that you could conquer on your own- well with Nick's help. You especially needed this after that last hard blog with Elias.
We are so proud of you Cousin!!!!!
Posted by: Noel G Dennehy | 07/06/2016 at 02:13 PM
I ❤️ The way you push your physical body - like the way you pushed your emotional self these last bunches of years as a school counselor. You give it all, no matter what. I also love what Nick said to the kids... "Let your mom rest." He's a good fellah. Love you all!
Posted by: Cheryl Childers | 07/06/2016 at 04:04 PM
You go Christy! That was awesome and inspiring!!!! Hope you left it all on the mountain.
Posted by: Kate Faber | 07/06/2016 at 04:40 PM
Smiling and choked up as I read. You are such an inspiration to us all. Congrats!
Posted by: Dorissa Martin | 07/06/2016 at 04:54 PM
Woo Hoo !! Way to go Christy! Of course you crushed that mountain!!
Posted by: Heather | 07/06/2016 at 05:59 PM
fantastic!!!! way to beat the wall!! xo
Posted by: ebeth | 07/06/2016 at 07:22 PM
Way to Go Christy!
I'm out of breath after just reading this.
Posted by: Richard Everett | 07/06/2016 at 10:18 PM
Ah, I love you all, thanks for your words of support. Still riding the high though I don't think I can use the "I just climbed a mountain" excuse for much longer:)
Posted by: Christy | 07/08/2016 at 11:42 AM