Whine and Blood

 I did 14 miles on Barr Trail this morning and the trail took payment.

The alarm went off at 4:15 because the way supposed to be hot (correct prediction.) I laid in bed for a few minutes, trying to both convince myself to get up and go back to sleep, which was a portent of the two voices in my head to come. Finally I got up, and put on all the stuff I laid out the night before: sunscreen, body glide, running clothes, contact lenses, hydration vest, shoes. I took a look at the shoes and realized they were getting a little long in the tooth and soft in the grip, but figured they still had some life left in them.

By 5:30 I had parked and was running toward the trail. The weather was pleasant, and the sun hadn’t yet crested the mountains to the east, making for a cool start. As I’ve described before, Barr Trail is at its beastliest in the first and last 3 miles and today was no exception. I was slow up the W’s and the higher I climbed, the more the one voice kept saying “I don’t think you can do this. This is stupid. You aren’t ready for this trail series. You are going to DNF because you are so slow you will miss the cutoff.” The other voice just kind of said “don’t think about time right now, just move forward.” So I did. I did whine to myself, but then cut my nonsense off with “But did you die?” 

Once I finally got through the W’s and past the top of the Incline, the trail got damp, cool and smelled good. It was a little refresher as a reward for the slog. The next several miles were easier, interspersed with some steep sections. I kept moving forward and at one point thought “I can do this.” I saw a pretty Columbine and took a photo because “why not?”

I originally thought I would get to Barr Camp, but realized part-way up that because of where I had parked, I would need to turn before camp and head back down, since I didn’t think it was a good idea to toss in extra mileage, especially knowing the day would only get hotter.

I got to the .5 mile to camp sign and turned. I dug through my pack and had a Honey Stinger stroopwafel, and if you think that just sounds fancy for "cookie," you are right. I started my run back down the trail and while my legs were tired, I was using different muscles and made decent time.

Not too far down the trail I saw one of our guides from Achilles! We stopped and chatted a bit and she was having some of the same thoughts I was on the way up. “I keep asking myself, why am I doing this?” I cheered her on and then we were both on our way. A couple miles further and I ran into one of the guys I run with during our Thursday Incline Club. We had talked about going to camp together but I wanted to start earlier than he did, so we figured we’d see each other on the trail. We met up just at the spot where his “favorite tree” was and we both hugged it, which is his tradition. I have a favorite tree too, but it is above camp, so this can be my favorite below-camp tree. There is a significant likelihood I will hug it during future runs. 

I got down to just where I had bit it during the 2021 marathon… and son of a mother if I didn’t yard sale again! The trail gods clearly needed a sacrifice in their traditional sacrificial spot to make up for all the uphill whining. I skinned up my knees but thought, “well hey! I didn’t bash my face this time!” I dusted myself off and kept going, into what was rapidly turning into a hot day. The sun felt like an open oven in the places between the tree cover. 

I passed a family of sweaty hikers, where their 7 year old boy took one look my way and said “what did you do to your knees?” Bless elementary school kids and their honesty. I called out “oh I fell. That happens sometimes,” and kept going.

Down the trail I went, feeling the heat and fatigue and thinking about an ice bath and what to eat at home and maybe blogging this run… when at maybe 3/4 a mile left of trail I slid on loose gravel, my “still have some life left” shoes not gripping, and I felt myself going down again.

Right into a rock with my face.

Again.

My sunglasses flew off, my hat flew off, and I assume a dust cloud rose around my flattened body. I reached up and came away with blood. 

But I didn’t cry this time! I took a moment, sitting all the way over the trail to assess. Nothing broken, but definitely bloody. Both knees, right elbow, both hands, somewhere on my face. I found my loose bits and pieces, put everything back together, looked down and saw I had bled onto the trail. Big drops.

Oh well, keep going. On I went, wondering how I looked but not bothering to dust myself off this time. I got down, through town, saw my reflection in a window enough to realize I wasn’t dripping blood from my face at least (knees and elbows were a different story) and back to the car.

As if on cue, my mom FaceTimed me. About 5 minutes into the conversation she asked “did you fall? You are dirty and is that blood?”

Yes, yes it is. And I’m going to have a black eye, I can feel it.

When I got home, I took a better look. 

I looked like chum.

I turned the ice bath into shark bait. 

But did you die?

I’ll be back out there next weekend.

I will learn nothing from this.

I am recycling those shoes though.