JFK 50-mile race continues...
Let's GO!
The JFK 50 miler race continues…part 3. Thank you for being here and reading along. I hope this one brings you along on the trail with me. If you need a refresher head to last Thursday’s post here.
Have an amazing Monday,
Julie
I fixed my eyes on the trail. Rocks the size of watermelons jutted at odd angles, forcing me to high-step and zigzag. My attention shifted from my porta-potty search to watching my feet, desperate to avoid face-planting in front of everyone.
My sneaker caught on a jagged stone, sending me forward into a clumsy stride. My muscles tensed against the unpredictable terrain. I let out a sigh, that was close.
I looked down at my watch— over four miles in. How did I miss the first aid station? I shrugged it off. I’ll stop at the next one. The trail tapered to a single-track path causing a traffic jam of runners. It slowed me to a walk. I mumbled under my breath.
If I don’t take action and overcome my fear, my three-hour timeframe will not happen.
I mustered up my courage and called out, “On your left.” The runner stepped to the side. I shifted back to a run. I smiled. What was I afraid of? A runner getting mad at me for making them move to the right? I laughed as my voice rang out through the woods, “On your left, on your left.”
I was here to run and run hard.
Let’s Go!
******
I sipped from my flask. I squeezed down another energy gel. My body gave me a nudge—I was cutting it close. These days holding it in was hit or miss. I scanned for a large tree or bush— nothing. Well, I lied. There were trees everywhere but I didn’t want to stop. I was back to running at an honest pace. I charged ahead. I was hopeful Felicia was behind me. I didn’t dare turn around. I could hear shouts and cheers getting closer—the second aid station.
The trail opened up to a large parking lot with crowds of people to my left. On my right grass and bushes— I made a run for it. I couldn’t wait any longer. Felicia was right on my heels headed in the same direction. Nature called.
As I dashed behind the bushes, my vest caught on a thornbush. I used my bare hands to unsnag myself and got jabbed with one. Blood pooled over the top of my left hand. Why did I take my gloves off?
I ignored the blood and tried not to squat over any of the thorns. My eyes scanned the ground as blood streamed down my hand. I placed both of my black gloves together to use as toilet paper, which I would later regret, and pulled up my shorts.
I forgot about the tissues I had stashed in one pocket of my running vest. I wiped my bloody hand on my red long-sleeve shirt and followed Felicia to the aid station. I tossed my gloves.
Tables lined up with paper cups of water, Gatorade, pretzels, and chips. I grabbed some water, and a cup of chips and smiled at the volunteers, “Thank you.” Crowds of folks assisted and cheered as we made our way back on the Appalachian Trail— 6.5 miles left. I used my sleeve to wipe the blood returning to my hand. Next time I would pack bandaids.
As I glanced at my watch, I realized my original time goal might be challenging. The trail's technical terrain and the dense runner crowd required more strategic pacing than I anticipated.
I kept my chin up and took some deep breaths. I shifted my focus back to nutrition timing, picking up my feet, and my run buddies over the next five miles.
I prayed.
I hummed—Step by step, ooh, baby. Thank you, Ramona this song hasn’t been on my radar in years.
Blood dried on my skin as we navigated the narrow trail. I picked up the pace until jagged rocks consumed the path, forcing our group to slow, single file to a walk. The medical team was standing by and called out, “Watch your footing, it’s very rocky and steep. Go slow.”
I listened.
The steep switchbacks demanded careful placement, each turn a tight zigzag climb down the mountainside—a misstep could send us tumbling. I studied the runner ahead, matching his cadence. My thigh muscles tensed as I tracked where to place my foot next.
I would not fall.
To be continued…
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What a challenge, Julie! I did not realize how carefully you had to consider each step.
Makes me think about how life gets complicated sometimes, and we have to slow down and think about how to proceed when all we want to do is just run.
You’re keeping us in “suspenders” as my grandfather would say. Instead of suspense!
A great account!