On the Long Run

For this past Sunday's long run I was looking for a runnable twenty-something miles. A varied group of us met along an overlook on the Blue Ridge Parkway to follow through with a run I had imagined would fit the bill, running from the Parkway Aid Station on the Masochist course to Long Mountain Wayside and then back on the Appalachian Trail to the Punch Bowl Overlook and back on the pavement of the Blue Ridge Parkway.

The first nearly twelve miles was a mix of long uphills and downhills along a gravel road, a part of the Masochist course I have only seen when I ran the race last November. Jeremy and Todd gave me a little involuntary push when they pulled ahead on the uphills, and I ran determined if not solid for that first section holding on to those lead boys as well as I could. 

The next section of the run was on the AT, some of the most rolling, smooth trail I've ever encountered on the AT. My experience with the AT had led me to believe it was all rocky and technical. The first half of the sections we ran Sunday afternoon was more like that of the trail that wraps around the lake at Holiday Lake than previous sections I've run. Despite a little fatigue settling into the legs we ran the first seven or so miles soaking in the beautiful fall foliage backlit by the reservoir only stopping for brief hikes uphill.

However, at roughly 18 or so miles into the run, we crossed a suspension bridge and began some climbing. At first I hiked when the group that was now clustered together hiked and ran when they ran. But a half mile or so into that, I checked out. I started walking, got out my iPod and pulled back from the group. The climb, skirting a drop-off looking down into a dense thicket of tall trees carried me away to Western States, the early morning hours of my second day there to be more precise. It was in those early hours that I feared failing the most. The fear that day was heavy and weighed my legs down with every step. This memory led the way to a much brighter, lighter truthfulness and for some reason I thought about how, on a twenty something mile long run, you always finish. Especially after the experiences I gained this summer between Western States and Iron Mountain there was a unique but substantial comfort in this realization. I knew the run may not be fast but I had this overwhelming sense that it would be completed, and that sometimes, that really is enough. This hike and the subsequent understanding that the run, no matter how fatiguing or grueling, would end seemed to wipe some of the lethargy from my legs. Soon I came upon the Swyers holding up for my return to the run and I was brought back to the present. 

The final miles saw a return of focus and I was able to run some of the final miles with renewed purpose if not some speed (it didn't hurt that I found myself having to run alone through the Bluff Mountain Tunnel). Jeremy asked me later if I felt like I am getting stronger. The answer is a most convoluted yes. I ran to the point of fatigue on the first half of the run, something I usually fear and avoid. Upon that fatigue I kept on moving as well as I could. But when the heaviness in my legs finally won over my mind and the threat of a shutdown occurred I was able to wade through, not instantaneously but in a way that I was able to overcome the soreness settling in and run hard to finish out the run. In my troubled mind, that is success, that is a sign of the type of strength that I need, that I desire.

I am feeling more ready for my upcoming races, but have also decided that feeling ready, much like feeling in shape, is something you look back on in retrospect or aim for, but rarely feel in the moment.

-Alexis