Wildflower
April, 2013
The much dreaded, and greatly anticipated, Wildflower race day is less than one month away.
But first, a trip down memory lane…
The memories of last year and ‘bonking’ at mile 20 of the bike ride are still and raw in my mind. From mile 20, only 36 miles, and thousands of feet of elevation gain, ahead on the bike. Oh, not to mention 13.1 miles of trails awaiting on the run when (and more importantly IF) I survived the bike ride. I have haunting memories of miles 20-30, putting one pedal in front of the next and trudging on as I was passed by flocks of cyclists. Cyclists who, no joke, were well into the second half of this decade. Some in the final third of it. Grandparents cruising past me, effortlessly.
Why the lack of energy just a few hours into the race following a great swim and the beginning of the ride? I will pass that off on poor training, poor pre-race day nutrition, and as I mentioned in “The Box Jump”, the fact I am not predisposed to natural athletic talent. Thanks mom and dad. I had been warned by my old boss, Scott, as well as the spin teacher whose class I went to once a week that this course was “brutal”. Independent of each other, they each used the word “brutal”. The one hour a week spin class was my bike training, aside from three 24 mile rides on the lovely Cherry Creek Bike Trail I completed that spring. Elevation: 10 ft.
So when I came to the greatly dreaded, feared, and anticipated Nasty Grade, I was overcome by emotion.
First: Happiness! I had ridden 40 miles! Aside from the Boulder 70.3 the previous summer, 40 miles was by far the farthest I had ridden since May 26, 2009. WOW! Only 16 to go. I think I can finish this ride!
Second: Reality & Fear: I have 16 miles left of this ride! With a gigantic climb! Can I? Does Uber Cabs pick up out here?
Leading to thought #3. Giving up. When (and if) I survive Nasty Grade (the 1000 foot 5 mile climb at mile 40), I have done enough. I have flown to California, gone for a swim and a bike ride, and given it my all. I am not properly trained, and so at least I tried. Blah blah blah. The rational for quitting at the end of the ride played through as a speech in my mind, and by the top of Nasty Grade I am anxious to get back to the transition area, hang up my bike, eat as much food as I can locate, and forget this whole Wildflower experience ever happened. Never to speak of the race again, and to remember my California trip more as one of a camping adventure and time spent with a dear friend, Hallie Preston, who was probably done with the entire race by now.
But up Nasty Grade I climb. To what I think is the top. Then I climb some more. F! Finally, the climb gives way to a big downhill. Normally one who is fearful of the downhills, I pedal as hard as possible to be done with it all and to begin the forgetting process. The rest of the ride is rolling hills, until a big downhill to the end at Mile 26. As I ride to the transition area, I pass runners who are completing the entire race. I have been lapped by hours and hours!
There it is. The mecca. The transition area. I am DONE and I DO NOT CARE that I have just DNF’d. I am home.
BUT WAIT!
I rack my bike, throw on my running sneakers, down an entire Clif Bar (the first thing I have eaten since breakfast), chug an entire water bottle (the first thing I have drunk since breakfast), and set out.
But Claire...this wasn’t the plan...?
I start off strong. I run frequently, and this feels good. But then we head uphill (something that is also not present on my Denver training runs at the perfectly flat Washington Park) a hill that never seems to end. And the running turns to walking, and now the thoughts turn back to the promiseland of the transition area and heading back to my campsite. Would it be that awkward to give up and run back, against the traffic of whatever other runners somehow ended up behind me, the wrong way? I continue on. At mile 3 there is a rattle snake on the trail, and I would be lying to say I didn’t think about standing in its path. Death by poisonous venom or death by 10 more endless miles? The snake would be faster!
I carry on.
Next we face a hill that basically rivals Mt. Shasta in height, and at mile 5, I have given up. I am heading back. I don’t care who I pass going the wrong way or what they think.
But if I head back now, that will be a run of 10 miles, which is nearly the same distance as the entire half marathon. And so, I continue on. Slowly. One foot in front of the next. Conversations with those around me, cheering, encouragement, commiserating, even a few laughs! Mile 9 we hit what is called the “pit”- a mile out down a long road to mile 10, and then miles 10-11 we run back up that hill. Yes, I said “run”. I am running now. The mile markers rejuvenate me, energize me, and remind me that 13 is not too much farther. The final mile, 12-13.1, is downhill, and I have the first bit of energy I have had since mile 19 on the bike, what feels like days ago. And finally, finally, finally, there it is. The finish line. One foot in front of the next...I am running through the chute...my name is announced...I cross the finish. I have finished it. Finished it all.
I did it.
Wow. One of those moments in life where you are truly proud of yourself. Truly amazed by what you have the ability to overcome and endure. I am not at all referring to 70.3 hilly miles of swimming, biking, and running. I am talking about 70.3 miles (and over seven and a half hours) of wanting to give in, quit, and take the easy route. Of standing up to the voices in my head who beckon me to quit, and having the courage to keep moving. One foot in front of the next.
So yeah, Wildflower is three weeks and six days away.
Will this year be different? I hope so! Will I want to quit? Of course. Will I carry on, looking back to last year for strength and courage in the face of this challenge?
Absolutely.