Race: Chocolate Chip Cookie 50K Trail Run
Shoe: Skora Core
Distance: 50 kilometers
****
I sit in the idling car to keep the cold at bay. I’d only been outside long enough to check in. Already I can tell the icy chill in the air threatens to numb my extremities with surprising speed. It’s thirty-five degrees Fahrenheit and, while I’ve run in far colder weather, I haven’t done so in over a year.
Fog encircles the starting area as runners arrive and check in, each battling the cold in his or her own way. I do what prep I can in the car, but some things can’t be avoided forever. I turn the vehicle off and brace myself as I open the door.
The cold assails every inch of exposed skin, though little of it exists. I know in a few miles, I won’t mind so much, but right now, it sucks. I’m wearing multiple layers, but the race will be starting soon and I don’t expect I’ll want them once the run is underway. So I shed my warmer outer garments and shiver in my tights, light jacket, and gloves.
My toes lose feeling with surprising velocity as I bounce around in a futile attempt to keep the chill at arms length. I run in circles to trick my body into feeling a little warmth all the while thinking, You know you’re about to run over thirty miles, right?
They herd us to the starting line. It’s a small race so it doesn’t take long. After a low-key countdown, we’re off. The pack instantly thins and I’m in between the few guys at the front and the rest of the runners behind. I don’t have a watch and haven’t run an ultramarathon before so it’s anyone’s guess how fast I’m going.
I follow the frontrunners, maintaining consistent pace with them, not gaining and not falling further behind. Before too long, we come to the first few hills of note. As we crest the tops and descend on the other side, I draw nearer. Slowly but surely, I catch up and, once I do, I continue to match pace for a while.
****
A few miles in and my toes are just now regaining feeling. The fog still keeps the sun hidden and the air cold, but consistent movement has the warming effect I knew it would. As my toes warm up, though, I feel my lungs constricting ever so slightly.
As soon as I notice this, I remember that Spokane is a couple thousand feet higher in base elevation than Tacoma. I basically trained at sea level and I feel the elevation now. I spot watches on the other runners’ wrists.
“Does anyone have our current split?” I ask. One of them checks and calls out, “Six minutes.”
Damn. That’s way too fast. It sure as hell doesn’t feel like a six-minute split, but it will in a few miles. I have to slow way down. We’re not even ten miles in yet. Now is not the time to try to maintain an unsustainable pace.
I pull back, effectively isolating myself. The frontrunners continue on ahead of me. I’m able to see a couple of them for a few more miles until more hills force me to slow my roll even further.
I crest one such hill and it opens up to a ridgeline single track. I’m finally above the fog. I welcome the warmth of the sunlight. Extending out to the right is a gorgeous panoramic view. On a warmer day, I can imagine the view of the valley below must be breathtaking. Today, though, there is no valley below. Stretching out before me is a vast sea of fog.
I snap a photo of the stunning scene and carry on. A smile finds my lips and sticks. I can’t believe I get to do this, I think to myself. Along the ridge ahead of me, I see two of the frontrunners one last time before they disappear into a more wooded section of the trail.
****
After a few more miles following the trail up and down, I come to the first of two aid stations. I’m set for now so I don’t stop, opting, instead, to press onwards. They point me in the right direction and I’m off. Seeing people encourages a faster clip. I’m not alone out here after all.
It doesn’t take long to settle back into a groove. And without a watch or music to clue me in on the passage of time, I don’t get the sense that any time has passed at all. My experience coagulates into an eternal moment that is neither different nor the same as the moment prior.
I begin to notice a slight tinge in my stomach. During a run like this, sensations in the gut can be a tricky business: some are cured by caloric intake while others might be exacerbated by the same. I take stock of my current situation and decide I just need a little pick-me-up.
I take off my pack and open one of the zippered pockets, retrieving a couple apple slices from the enclosed Ziploc bag. Within a minute, I feel marked improvement. Perfect, I think, We’re back in business.
The miles pass beneath my feet and I come to the Spokane River as the sun is finally dispelling the fog. Autumn leaves cover both the deciduous trees and the rocky trail. Sunlight radiates through the yellow and orange hues and provides an incredible contrast to the equally lovely evergreens.
Across the river, I see something I recognize. It’s my old running route! I used to run here all the time. Well, not “here,” but here’s equivalent across the river. I’m running parallel to where I ran frequently years ago. There’s something unexpectedly reassuring and beautiful about this.
Following the trail beside the river is the perfect distraction. It’s nostalgic and inspiring at the same time; an odd combo for me, but not an unwelcome one.
Gunshots shatter the stillness. Ah yes. The gun range. That has startled me many times before. I don’t even mind. I’m enjoying this trip down memory lane too much. The gunfire fades as I put some distance between the shooting range and me.
****
The trail veers away from the river sooner than I hoped it would. I can’t say for sure, but I feel like I have to be coming up on the second aid station. I know I’m over fifteen miles in, but I don’t know if I’m quite to mile twenty-two, where the second of the two aid stations is waiting.
Because this is my first ultra, I have no knowledge as to what awaits me at the second aid station. I’ve only ever done short road races prior to this and aid stations there are little more than “Here’s your Gatorade. Now go!”
I know that just won’t cut it today. I’m in need of some real calories and, though I can’t quite put my finger on it yet, salt. On a run this long, I would optimally have a salt tab or two with me. It slipped through the cracks while I was gathering my gear and getting everything set up. And I can tell I’m going to bonk hard in about five miles unless something changes.
At last, I come to the aid station. To my great delight, they have real food. Chicken broth, potato chips, peanut butter and jelly, and so much more. My salvation is at hand. I consume a cup of the soup and some chips. The salt is life. The calories invigorate me. I’ve got about nine miles left in the run and I know I’ll be able to make it now. I swipe a few chips and a miniature PB & J for the road and get back to it.
****
Now, this run is divided into two loops: thematically dubbed the “large cookie” and the “small cookie.” The former is a twenty-two mile loop culminating at the second and final aid station. The small cookie is a nine mile loop contained within the large cookie. The two intersect at a couple points and both end at the second aid station, which doubles as the finish line.
Because it’s less than half the size, the small cookie is noticeably faster. As a result, it also feels much easier. I don’t know if it actually is, but my morale is sky high at this point. I begin to feel as though nothing can stop me now.
I pass a couple runners still on their first loop. We exchange a little encouragement and carry on. These are the last miles in the race for me and I’m excited to finish. There’s more soup waiting for me at the end of this and all I’ve been able to think about for the past couple miles is how much food I want to eat when this is all over.
I devour the remainder of my potato chips and the little PB & J. It hits the spot, but mostly just teases my hunger further. I dream of hamburgers and pizza. God, that sounds good.
It’s late in the game and I’m getting fatigued in every way. I’m talking to myself, my joints are starting to shut down, and I could swear I just saw a ghost dog creeping through the woods off to my left before it vanished into thin air. Hallucination aside, I’m more alert than one might believe. Sort of.
****
Throughout the entire course, the trail is marked with astounding clarity. There are white arrows on the ground as well as orange ribbons attached to trees at key turns or potentially confusing areas.
At one such turn, I notice a white arrow on a tree ahead of me. There haven’t been any arrows on trees up to this point and I don’t remember seeing it the first time I came this way, but I follow it regardless. Maybe I just missed it the first time around.
As I continue down this trail, though, I find it to be completely unfamiliar. I come to a fallen tree that lies across the path. Unless this tree fell within the last hour, I know for a fact I’ve not passed here before. And the tree has clearly been on the ground longer than an hour.
I turn around, heading back the way I came. This is wrong, but I’m not too far out of my way yet. I don’t think, anyway. I don’t know exactly where I went wrong, but I’m hoping it becomes obvious quickly.
I see a woman I passed a few minutes ago running toward me. She followed me in my mistake. I tell her I think we missed a turn and she tries to find where we are on her phone. She has no success so I hurry back to find where we went wrong.
It doesn’t take long. I really don’t know how I missed it, but I’m glad I caught it as soon as I did. The turn is obvious, but if you miss the markers, there are three possible ways you can go and only one will bring you to the finish line.
I return to the woman who followed me in my folly to tell her how to get back on track and then I’m off once again.
****
My wrong turn apparently happened remarkably close to the end of the run. Before much longer, I find a vaguely familiar sight. Could it be? Is this the finish? My pace quickens as I investigate. And then I realize beyond the shadow of any doubt where I am: I’m just a few hundred meters away from the finish line.
My spirits soar. I accelerate further. After one last corner, I cross the line, fatigued by the effort, but smiling in spite of it. And all I want now is more soup and a few handfuls of chocolate chip cookies.