The first few miles were marked by hassles with my headlamp and I fell behind the group several times. I was just warming up to the idea of our weekly run when a canine encounter threw the run to bits and pieces.
First, let me say that I do not want to be plagued with fear. I believe myself to be a mostly rational individual and I know that several of my fears prevent me from being a better runner. That said I have had a growing fear of dogs that was exasperated last summer when my own beloved pet attacked our toddler in our own backyard. Our daughter bears the physical scars that remain from his attack, my body carries the mental anguish and mounting anxiety. If I could do something to lessen the memory of the horror that I witnessed, I would. Instead I bolt when I hear the bark of a dog. This has come to pass as a sort of running joke on Wednesday when we run our usual route, that I will sprint past the group when I hear the first bark, and I let it pass in stride, these well meaning jokes made by friends. I worry that they think that part of it is exaggerated, I only wish it were the case.
Last night we were running a route I was unfamiliar with, I had a vague idea where we were, but I was taking my time. Todd, who I count on to protect me from far too many things, was up ahead running with a few of the faster guys when I heard a dog barking. It was mostly dark by this point in our run and I turned my head just slightly to see a dark, seemingly large, dog running towards our group and barking. I immediately panicked, I sprinted to catch up with Todd and the others. The beating of my heart drowned out the reassurances from friends that the dog was chained up, I ran hard until I caught my husband.
It was here that I began to plummet. The appearance, if only misjudged, that I was being chased had sent my body into a flight or fight scenario to which I responded with flight. The adrenaline coursed through my body until I caught the group but the aftermath over the next mile or so was like that of whiplash. My muscles immediately began to scream in rebellion. To top it off, I was angry. I didn't want to be angry, but I didn't want to be afraid either. I want to be strong and happy, fearless and tough. But I wasn't. I'm not. I felt weak and over the next mile we began a climb that wore me down further. I began walking and the darkness that usually appears late in an ultra or other grueling event arrived just in time to kick me down, laugh at my Achilles heel.
Nearing the top of Raptor Run I could make out the reflective apparel of the other runners, I took to a run, further berating myself for the group having to wait on me. You're not strong at all, gypsies carry less baggage than you. Coming into the parking lot, I began to dread the extra mileage I had claimed I wanted earlier in the day. I just wanted to pack it in, go home and drown in a bathtub of my own self-loathing and call it a day. And then Joe Alderson pulled in.
Curse you Joe for showing up, your appearance simultaneously adding to the draw of the extra mileage and the growing concern I was having of being able to complete the mileage (and Happy Birthday, too). With so little desire it was immeasurable, Todd, Blake, Joe and I embarked on the second half of our weekly run. The first mile was downhill and I still didn't want to run, I knew there was a dog on Top Ridge road and my mind and body were at odds.
I tried to get the group to go around Top Ridge Road but they quelled my desire to take the easy, short way out. They promised to protect me from any dogs, to stay close from this point on, Blake's plea so tenderhearted that I agreed. The next few miles were inconsequential, Todd gave me a GU and the miles while not fast passed by with little pain or struggle. The group as a whole grew quiet and a feeling of fatigue began to permeate the air. We were growing tired.
Except for Todd. All evening Todd had been in a great mood, running strong and mostly ahead of us. My hopes that Jeremy had worn him out on the first six miles were dashed as he bounded up the hill to the Monogram. He was having a good run, I was not.
On the final stretch between the Monogram and the parking lot at Snoflex, with legs so heavy I felt I had run an ultra and not just a hair over 13 miles, I fell in behind Todd. For a minute or two I focused entirely on Todd. He was having a good run, this can't be argued, but I began to believe he was having an even better run because the people he was with, me in particular, were having a rough run. I know because I have been that runner fueled by other's suffering. And so I decided to fuel off of his good run. I decided in that moment to see if I could change the run by simply changing mindset. This isn't a bad run, this is a great run made even better by the fact that you're going to push your tired, weary body to stay with Todd. And so I fell in with his stride the best I could, he immediately noticed and answered the call, feeling particularly good he could push harder and so he did. Joe answered the call as well, passing by moments later calling "Fartleks". I fell back for a moment, Joe pulled further ahead, Todd remained steady. And just like that the run that had been so hard and had made me angry, was saved in the final mile. I dug deeper as the lead they had grew and I found a final push. There was nothing spectacular perhaps in the pace itself, only in the act.
It was a long, hard day on the trails, many ups and downs both on trail and within me. But to finish the way that I did made me proud of myself, something I am almost never. To be able to tell myself that I can in fact do better and then do better was uplifting. I came home and reflected in the tub instead of drowning. Can I make myself do better by simply telling myself I can?
Well you bet I'm certainly going to try.
-Alexis
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