Before March 2000, I’d never run a mile in my life. I was the girl in middle school and high school that hung out in the back of P.E. class and chatted my way around the track.
one mile
I began running somewhat unintentionally. In an attempt to “warm up” for five minutes before a swim, I got on the treadmill for five minutes. After five minutes, I was curious to see if I could keep going and hit the 1/2 mile mark. Then I decided to go for a mile. Twelve minutes later, I experienced my first-ever consistent mile run.
It must be stated that I was never considered an athletic person (or considered myself athletic). I enjoyed snowboarding and hiking, but never went beyond the mild blue runs and hiked relatively conservatively, preferring to capture images of the wildflowers over gaining a summit. Stopping to rest every five minutes wasn’t uncommon. Growing up, I was interested in dance, singing and playing the violin. I liked the outdoors, but it wasn’t easily accessible in suburban Maryland, so my experiences were somewhat limited.
training begins and a habit forms
After running that first mile, something clicked. I’m not sure exactly what it was… a new challenge presented? a chemical reaction in the body? A sense of new-found pride and excitement at what I might be able to do? I don’t know the exact answer but I do know that things began to change.
I picked out two races with a good friend and began training. My first was a 5K run, the second was a sprint-distance triathlon. At the end of that summer, I found I really enjoyed triathlon. I loved the variety each discipline offered. And I was a somewhat better swimmer and cyclist than runner.
Training for these events didn’t come easily for me. I was used to catching onto things pretty quickly. But this was hard—and humbling. I was getting lapped in the pool by women 40 years my senior; I finished a popular triathlon in the bottom 20% of racers; and I continually placed in the 50th percentile of any and all races I entered. I was average. I was definitely humbled, but more importantly, and maybe counter intuitively, I was inspired and encouraged.
I was changing: physically (toner and more muscular), mentally (stronger, more confident) and emotionally (more focused and happier). I wasn’t fast, but I was having fun and feeling good.
a new goal
After a few years, I realized that time goals weren’t that important to me. I didn’t care if I shaved a minute off my 5K time. Or seconds off my transitions. Since running was my weakest of the three triathlon disciplines, I decided to focus some extra time on it. I figured that if I got better at running, I’d enjoy all aspects of triathlon, instead of just 2/3 of it.
I set two goals for myself that year:
- to feel that a 5-mile run was ‘short’
- to fall in love with running
After training for, and completing my first half and full marathon (Boulder Backroads, 2004; and the Freescale in Austin, TX, 2005), I realized that I’d achieved the first goal. Running five miles wasn’t so foreign anymore. However, the second goal proved more elusive. I liked running a little more, but I wasn’t jumping out of bed to run in 6º weather, either.
something different
I had attempted two trail races in 2004 and felt pretty discouraged. I came in dead last in my age group in the first race, and finished near the very last (overall) on the next one. I stuck to the roads for awhile longer.
After dealing with a foot injury for most of 2005, I came to the realization that I missed running.
What? I missed it? How can you miss something you dread?
I no longer dreaded running, and more importantly, I realized I’d been taking my ability to run for granted. I was itching to get out. I signed up for the 2006 Pike’s Peak Marathon, facing my fears of the trail, and began training on the trails in and around foothills of Denver and Boulder.
Running on trails is different than road—or even flat dirt roads. The single tracks of the foothills are inspiring. I’m constantly paying attention to my surroundings… looking out for deer rather than cars. And making sure I don’t trip on the rocks or roots. Time disappears beneath my feet.
On a treadmill or road, I am constantly looking at my watch. Ten minutes. Thirteen minutes. Sixteen minutes. Even short runs feel interminable.
Yet the first time I usually check the time on a trail is over a half hour into my run. I find myself reluctant to turn around when I need to. I want to continue. There’s something magical about smelling the evergreen, navigating the rocks beneath you and watching your progress as you realize you’ve run up an incline you weren’t able to do just a short while ago.
Over the spring and summer months of 2006 leading up to the August race, I realized I had finally achieved my goal: I’d fallen in love with running. My first Pike’s Peak marathon was painful. I suffered a pulled muscle and was again sidelined from running for awhile. I’d loved the race. Loved finishing and was more determined than ever to keep at it.
distance explored
I’d fallen in love and didn’t want to stop. Triathlons took a backseat (and continue to wait patiently today) while I explored the limits of my body and mind on the trails. I wasn’t fast, but I was fascinated—and still am—by the boundaries I was pushing. How far could I go? How hard could I push? Where was my limit?
I ran Pike’s Peak again in 2007 and felt stronger and more efficient (and injury-free!). I’d fully enjoyed the run and the overall experience. And I wanted more.
I began looking for new races and new challenges. Living in a community that welcomes the extreme in athletics, ultra running can sometimes feel “normal.” Running long distances seems possible here. I was intrigued by the challenge and encouragement I felt surrounding me.
In early 2008 I ran the Mt. Mitchell Challenge with Bracken. It’s a 40-mile run to the summit of Mt. Mitchell in NC (the tallest peak east of the Mississippi, at 6,684 ft). We trained that winter through ice and snow. After spending most of our weekends running 4-6 hours, I decided I wanted a break from racing and embarked on a “year of fun.”
Although I loved running, it was still hard for me to motivate if there wasn’t a race on the horizon. So I ran for the joy of it. It was liberating. And at the end of 2008, I was ready to push a little more.
I’d heard about the Collegiate Peaks Trail Run, but hadn’t found the nerve to sign up until this year. I felt ready. In January 2009, I signed up for the 50 mile run.
50 miles
I ran across the finish line a week ago: May 2, 2009. I’d done it. Ten hours, fifty-five minute, twenty-one seconds. As the miles disappeared beneath my feet, I thought about the girl nine years ago running her first mile on the treadmill. I smiled and put one foot in front of the other—a steady rhythm beneath my feet—moving forward.
what’s next?
I’m not sure what’s next, but I do know one thing: never say never. Another 50? 100 miles? The Badwater? I don’t know where my search for new challenges will take me, but I’m looking forward to the future and stand open to whatever it presents.
