Western Wisconsin, October 2019
Marathon records have been smashed. Fast shoes, bodies less than 7 stones in weight. Flying through cities at a rate beyond what most achieve on one lap around a track during interval workouts.
Meanwhile, running through the trees, I begin to see the forest. It also smells of fall and the sound of deer dashing through the brush draws my eye for a moment away from monitoring the floor for rocks and roots. Turns out trail runners can trouble wildlife. Nature is good for humans but we are not so good for nature. Though I argue we are animals too, and have found ourselves out of our natural habitat and boxed away, butt cheeks spread on office chairs, having to protect our garbage from neighborhood bears. Telling someone you ran 31 miles in the woods draws concerned stares.
Music conducts through my skull, bypassing my ear drums, thus allowing me to tend to my surroundings. Bone conduction headphones threaten the purity of my soul, or so says the man who stopped me recently on a run on a Wisconsin trail. "Snark, snark!" said he. Then proceeded to sermonize on the righteousness of His Way of Running Trails. "Thanks for the advice, mansplainer" said I, then with middle finger aloft left his pasty midwest ass in my dust.
I did not actually employ the middle finger except in my mind. I did run on this astounding trail in southern Washington, and as I climbed into more remote territory, the little hairs on back of neck rose to remind me of bears not appreciating sudden appearances by interloper nature crashers. So I turned off my headphones and blasted my music outright into the air, serenading bear with The Clash and Lizzo and some Bach as well. I turned my head left and beheld Mount Saint Helens, nearly falling over the cliff so surprised by the perfection of the moment, and with a sound track to boot.
Southern Washington, October 2019
No bears were hurt in this process but when I descended back to humanity I got a sour look from a hiker about my music, from the pocket of my tights "should I stay or should I go", and is not this the multimillion dollar question? Adjusting my music back to the private world of bone conduction, I smiled at her and continued on my way.
First ultra done, grand master champion for women, I now see myself in Chamonix, doing the UMTB, for the bluffs of Wisconsin are surely proof I am destined to be...
Truth is I loved that 50 kilometer trail run, despite the three near launches into the air, toe catching on a rock or root, surely disturbing deer and foxes with my desperate yelp and flailing arms, but no harm done and I loved that 50 kilometer trail run, despite the prolonged bout of diarrhea at mile 20, pulling over Shalane Flanagan style, though as with her running she is an elite bathroom user as well, and her time of 13.86 seconds was a fraction of my time gazing at the blue walled porta-potty which was mercifully sitting there right when I needed it most.
Truth is I loved how after I had to walk and recover from my nausea and gut twisting existential crisis, the amazing volunteers sitting there trailside with a table of snacks pointed out the flat ginger ale and that was exactly what I needed most in life and it gave me my second wind and I came across that finish line and got a special mug for being a champion.
Truth is I came back to Wisconsin to run but what was most precious was the multiple connections I made with friends from childhood who gave me the gift of their presence and did not even roll their eyes once at how I chose to celebrate turning 50, in my home town, with a long run, with old friends, with two separate servings of deep-fried cheese curds, with a drive through the old neighborhood, with family time, with deep gratitude.
Home is back here in California. I brought back a turkey feather I found in the arboretum in Madison. I brought back the views of the Mississippi from atop Grandad's bluff. I brought back the smell of autumn and the multicolored trees which I believe is God's tip of Her hat to gay pride. I brought back the question of what is next.
I think it will be this 50 miler. Because I am alive and filled with longing.
Meanwhile, running through the trees, I begin to see the forest. It also smells of fall and the sound of deer dashing through the brush draws my eye for a moment away from monitoring the floor for rocks and roots. Turns out trail runners can trouble wildlife. Nature is good for humans but we are not so good for nature. Though I argue we are animals too, and have found ourselves out of our natural habitat and boxed away, butt cheeks spread on office chairs, having to protect our garbage from neighborhood bears. Telling someone you ran 31 miles in the woods draws concerned stares.
Music conducts through my skull, bypassing my ear drums, thus allowing me to tend to my surroundings. Bone conduction headphones threaten the purity of my soul, or so says the man who stopped me recently on a run on a Wisconsin trail. "Snark, snark!" said he. Then proceeded to sermonize on the righteousness of His Way of Running Trails. "Thanks for the advice, mansplainer" said I, then with middle finger aloft left his pasty midwest ass in my dust.
I did not actually employ the middle finger except in my mind. I did run on this astounding trail in southern Washington, and as I climbed into more remote territory, the little hairs on back of neck rose to remind me of bears not appreciating sudden appearances by interloper nature crashers. So I turned off my headphones and blasted my music outright into the air, serenading bear with The Clash and Lizzo and some Bach as well. I turned my head left and beheld Mount Saint Helens, nearly falling over the cliff so surprised by the perfection of the moment, and with a sound track to boot.
No bears were hurt in this process but when I descended back to humanity I got a sour look from a hiker about my music, from the pocket of my tights "should I stay or should I go", and is not this the multimillion dollar question? Adjusting my music back to the private world of bone conduction, I smiled at her and continued on my way.
First ultra done, grand master champion for women, I now see myself in Chamonix, doing the UMTB, for the bluffs of Wisconsin are surely proof I am destined to be...
Truth is I loved that 50 kilometer trail run, despite the three near launches into the air, toe catching on a rock or root, surely disturbing deer and foxes with my desperate yelp and flailing arms, but no harm done and I loved that 50 kilometer trail run, despite the prolonged bout of diarrhea at mile 20, pulling over Shalane Flanagan style, though as with her running she is an elite bathroom user as well, and her time of 13.86 seconds was a fraction of my time gazing at the blue walled porta-potty which was mercifully sitting there right when I needed it most.
Truth is I loved how after I had to walk and recover from my nausea and gut twisting existential crisis, the amazing volunteers sitting there trailside with a table of snacks pointed out the flat ginger ale and that was exactly what I needed most in life and it gave me my second wind and I came across that finish line and got a special mug for being a champion.
Truth is I came back to Wisconsin to run but what was most precious was the multiple connections I made with friends from childhood who gave me the gift of their presence and did not even roll their eyes once at how I chose to celebrate turning 50, in my home town, with a long run, with old friends, with two separate servings of deep-fried cheese curds, with a drive through the old neighborhood, with family time, with deep gratitude.
Home is back here in California. I brought back a turkey feather I found in the arboretum in Madison. I brought back the views of the Mississippi from atop Grandad's bluff. I brought back the smell of autumn and the multicolored trees which I believe is God's tip of Her hat to gay pride. I brought back the question of what is next.
I think it will be this 50 miler. Because I am alive and filled with longing.
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