2019’s first marathon was auspiciously inauspicious… or maybe it was inauspiciously auspicious-ish.
The Swamp Forest Trail Marathon actually offered a number of distances depending on the number of loops of the course one did. There was a 10K(-ish) for one loop, a half(-ish) for two loops, a marathon-ish at 4 loops, and a 50K(-ish) if you did 4 loops and a 4 mile bonus segment. I say -ish because the race director warned us all that each loop was longer than 6.55 miles… it was approximately 6.8 miles based on a few different Garmin readings but he said before the race, “I don’t know how long it is. It’ll be longer than you need.”
Okay, then.
People were saying last year it was 28 degrees at the start with a 20 mph gusty wind. So at least the 48 degrees and calm conditions were better today. Still, they ran into a bit of trouble getting the firepit going before the start:
I had forgotten though how tough trail runs are on me. I tend to try and watch my feet, hoping to avoid tripping on tree roots or slipping on the “brown ice” of wet leaves. And even so, I still tend to trip on tree roots and slip on “brown ice.” I was slower than I wanted to be, trying to move as fast as I could while still being cautious in my footfalls. It was an exercise in futility. My toes got caught on the forest’s detritus, sticks and stones not necessarily breaking my toes but certainly sending my little piggies “wee-wee-wee”ing all the way home. Having caught my toenails et al on the edge of every conceivable nook and cranny over the course of four loops, this morning my feet are black and blue and hurting all over. I’m sure they didn’t take anywhere near the abuse of say Savion Glover‘s tootsies, but then again I’m no Savion Glover.
It has been said by somebody or other… I’m too lazy to google it… but it’s been said that running a marathon reveals your character. Sometimes it reveals the best parts of you… and sometimes it reveals your worst. As I looped around the trails, ducking, weaving, flailing, falling, I found the worst parts of me coming to the forefront. Somewhere in the second loop I tripped and fell into the cold, muddy swamp water. I suppose that was preferable to landing face first into a rocky outcropping and splitting my head open.
But it really broke my spirit, even more than the steady dull pain in my left leg, even more than the decisively slow pace I found myself needing to get round in the first place. There wold be no style points for the day… nor would there be much in the way of motivation. I found myself wallowing in that mud in a defeatist, negative, whiny woe. And as I picked myself up and ran my grimy hands over my shirt trying to assess the damage done, that mindset took over. I still had 2 and a half (ish) loops to go… and it was going to take more and more time to do so. I was a dazed and grouchy “runner” and I cursed and grumbled and was the anti-Emily Post. I was pretty ashamed of myself, unhappy with my performance, unhappy with being out and about in this trail morass, and for the majority of the race alone on the course.
I would occasionally see people, a few at minimally staffed aid stations, a few runenrs who would pass me as I slogged along. I tried to be positive to them, tried not to infect them with my grousing. But I was pretty miserable. And each time I’d come back to the point I’d falled face-first into the muck and mud of the swamp forest, I slowed to a near-crawl. I didn’t actually crawl through the mud, just gingerly picked my way along, water and mud seeping into my shoes and soul… but at least I stayed mostly upright. So I slowed to a near-crawl-ish. You’d think there’d be a sense of accomplishment and success at passing the place of falling in ensuing loops, a feeling that I had learned my lesson and overcome an obstacle. Instead on the third loop there was just the realization that I still had one more loop to face that bog and on the fourth loop there was just a knuckle dragging, reticent, temper-tantrum-throwing-child meltdown.
I rued the day I signed up. I cursed myself for getting up at 2 AM to make the four hour-ish drive out to Tallahassee to run this thing. I dreaded the 4 hour drive back home after I hoped to eventually finish this race. I really did feel ashamed of myself, felt a failure, felt I had wasted the day and maybe screwed up my toes forever as I once again caught them on a disguised, slumbering log amongst the wet leaves of the forest floor. As I jogged the final bit over the grassy knoll to the finish line, I shook my head in dismay… and in pain.
And then they told me I was the first marathoner. That seemed impossible given that I was passed multiple times. Those folks must have decided the marathon-ish distance was for the slowpokes. I suppose if the field is small enough and the gazelles all opt to do the 50K, one can still pick up an award. I’m astonished even now as I type this as I really thought I had run terribly, had shown my true colors, embodying Complaining McComplainerson, a person nobody should want to be around.
It was a long drive home but I found my mood lightened somewhat. Thought I was mostly ashamed of myself, In some small part of me, I was proud-ish of the day.
