Running Notes: Redwood Trails

I stood at the start line and looked around me.  Not a gray hair in the bunch.  It would be a tough morning… the call started – ready…set…run!  I waved a quick goodbye to my husband as the group of 40 or so runners surged across the start line.  They took off like jackrabbits! This run started with a 400 yard or so open field sprint before the hills and the woods looming ominously ahead. 

My first trail run. It sounded like fun to run outside in the woods and this particular one was billed as good for beginners.  So I signed up . . . .

In a matter of seconds, I was swallowed by the woods and a massive hill.  I trudged upwards, chatting with a companion who was about my speed – God! this was hard – when will this hill end, I thought.  Since the park was not closed, I scurried past some hikers, complete with hiking poles and backpacks and thought for the first (but not the last) time, why am I out here?

At the top of the hill, my companion sprinted off and I was left alone.  I looked around me – huge stands of redwoods were in this park, unbelievably massive trees creating semi-circles of protection – each protecting and sheltering the other- and creating a mossy coolness in the park.  At another spot, a meadow of beautiful wildflowers.  Awesome beauty, so this is trail running! 

Why am I out here? 

Again, this is a familiar thought… one I have every time I run a race.  Why did I think this was a good idea?  I had learned that it was a 10-miler (not 10K) when I picked up my bib 30 minutes before the start, and “gulp!” I realized I had misread the description of the course.  Some longer distance folks were prepared to do 2 or 3 loops of the course.  I was doing 4 miles longer than I had planned. 

I settled into my cadence.  In the second hour of the race, a guy ran up behind me, saying excuse me “ma’am” – I was surprised that someone was coming from the rear, but also that he had referred to me as “ma’am” – an indication that I was not a peer. 

He would soon be followed by another – “excuse me ma’am,”

and another “how is it going ma’am?”

or a cheery “way to go, ma’am!” 

I was beside myself – who do these jackrabbits think they are talking to?  I muttered to myself – as another happy multi-lap runner sped by me, “how ya’ doing ma’am?” 

“They are treating me like I’m somebody’s grandmother,” I pouted aloud to no-one in particular. 

This comment was followed by a shock of recognition – I am somebody’s grandmother – indeed by this point, I had two grandsons with another on the way.  These mostly young runners saw me as somebody’s grandma, and they were right!

With the ins and outs of the breath, that thought roiled, becoming a mantra – I am somebody’s grandma.  I am somebody’s grandma.  I am somebody’s grandma.  I am somebody’s Grandma!  

I was named after my own grandmother, and here I was, deep in the California woods, really feeling for the first time that I had become Grandma Grace!  I trudged on.

Why am I out here?

I came to a sudden stop.  This trail had streams which had to be crossed without the benefit of a bridge.  As I contemplated how to traverse the one ahead, too deep to avoid getting my ankles wet, and too wide to jump, I met a fellow runner – “hi ya’ doing Ma’am – I’m doing the 20” -he said, as he splashed by me into the ankle deep water. 

I stared at the stream looking for a way to cross with dry feet.  “Just do it, ma’am, just plop on through to the other side,” he encouraged, noticing my discomfit.  

“You’ll dry quickly!  You are doing great!  Keep going, ma’am!”  And he was off!

“No kidding! I laughed, incredulous; and, then more seriously, yelled after him –

“How far do I have to go?”

“Only 2 more miles or so,” he hollered back.

Left with my thoughts, I realized in the time he had done 18 miles, I was at a measly 8 miles.  But this “water element” was not going to stop me. 

So I did.  Plop, plop, plop . . . through the icy cold spring run-off, to the other side, and off I trudged with my wet socks, and wet, squishy goretex trail shoes for the final two miles – marveling at the pure joy and abandon I felt. 

Why I am out here.

That first trail run was not my last.  I love the beauty of the outdoors.  I enjoy the uncertainty of the terrain, and the unpredictability of the course.  I love the pitting of myself against the course-with no expectation but finishing . . . alive.  And I loved the camaraderie and encouragement among runners sharing in the challenge of the course.

While I see myself as strong, vital, vibrant, and ready to take on challenges– others might look at me and see my graying hairs and see somebody’s Grandma.  How would I respond to that?      

As I emerged from the woods, down a steep, quad crushing, knee-jarring ravine toward the finish line, I realized that I would respond just as I had at every stage of my life- with joy, with expectancy, and with a bit of surprise. 

How about you? Are you a runner, hiker, biker, swimmer, or endurance athlete? Have you had experiences of acknowledging your own prowess as you age? or overcome disability?  Outside of sport, have you found yourself in situations where you have had to shine in the face of doubt?  I’d love to hear about it in the comments below.