I forgot to mention that a train crosses the course in the middle of the race. Yeah right, you’re kidding? That’s exactly what I said.
I first heard about the train in the book: The Longest Race by Ed Ayres. It must be a joke. There’s no way the train still passes through. Keep reading…
I was three hours into the race. Both of my 17-ounce hydration flasks were empty. I planned to be at the first crew stop by now. I hesitated taking down a gel without fluids so I waited. I had at least 2 more miles.
Deep breath.
I’ll be off the trail soon and can refuel. I did a good job of front-loading early. Everything is fine. Once I see the crew at 15.5 miles, I will sip hydration and eat. I’ll get back on track.
I glanced at my left hand. A tiny cut no wider than a pencil tip, now silent. My shirt told a different story, crimson stains swirled across my right sleeve, far more dramatic than the tiny scratch that started it all.
Sunlight dotted the narrow trail as my sneakers followed the steps of the runners ahead. A carpet of rocks and roots commanded my attention—no quick passes here. I breathed in the bittersweet, earthy scent. I listened to the beat of footsteps hitting the dirt. Though progress was slow, I appreciated the careful pace that kept us all safe.
When will we run again?
This thought lingered until the runner in front of me called, “On your left.” I followed his lead. The trail widened a bit. It was safe to pass. I kept up with his pace and grinned. Cheers and shouts grew louder. We were almost at the first crew stop.
I looked up to see the trail open and crowds of spectators and crew teams gathered by a paved path roped off. My heart raced as I ran off the trail and onto the pavement.
Where is my crew?
My eyes scanned the crowd for yellow shirts and yellow hats. There they are!
I ducked under the rope and handed over my empty bottles to refill. I tossed the empty gel wrappers into my bag. I grabbed three more. I knelt on the pavement to switch my sneakers from trail to road.
My fingers were stiff and slow. Why did I use my gloves to wipe myself?
Deep breath.
My fingers fumbled over the black laces.
Deep breath.
My concentration zoomed in on one simple task—lacing my sneakers. Looking back, I can’t believe they stayed tied the entire race.
(Tip— don’t use your gloves for toilet paper or invest in a different lacing system.)
My crew handed me the full flasks. “Here you go.”
“Thank you.” I shoved them into my running vest while grabbing a handful of pretzels.
“See you in 12 miles,” I called.
I smiled, at least I hope I did, and headed towards the next section of the race—the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal Towpath.
26.3 miles on a flat, dirt, and stone path—time to run hard.
I picked up the pace, munched on pretzels, and grinned. I can do this.
The next aid station was in sight. Cheers, shouts, and cowbells filled my ears then a loud, echoing blare. Oh sh#t is that the train?
My eyes wide as I looked to my right.
Crap, the train is real.
I turned back to the aid station a few yards ahead of me. I didn’t stop. My entire focus was on the train. Could I get across the tracks in time?
A spectator 10 feet from me, caught my attention. His eyes met mine.
“Go, the train will wait, Go!”
Okay— I took his word for it and bolted over the tracks with a dozen other runners. We made it across safely and smiled at our good fortune.
It was mile 16…dedicated to my friend's Dad, Michael French. I believe he held the train for us.
We beat the train!
To be continued…
Join us next Monday 12/16 to write together. Click the button below to join our Zoom room. There’s no fee.
Looking for last-minute gift ideas. How about a book?
I have several copies of my memoirs available to sign and mail out (media mail within the USA) or if you prefer Amazon you can find them there as well.
If you would like a copy for yourself or a loved one click the button below.
Thank you for your interest in my work,
Julie
Share this post