It was nice in town, a warm autumn day in the low 50s, a running-in-shorts-for-the-last-few-weeks kind of afternoon. That changed as soon as I drove up the Hillside to the Glen Alps parking lot. It was windy, and the air was sharp with the feeling of winter. There was almost no one else around, either, which I took as a good sign.
What wasn't a good sign is that the few people I saw in the parking lot all had on winter coats. And hats! And mittens! They looked at me as if I were mad when I got out of my car in capris and windbreaker. For a moment, I doubted myself (Oh, don't you hate it when you do that, forgo your own good sense and start worrying that perhaps you should do this or shouldn't do that?).
It was cold, too, and the wind was strong and the bottom half of my legs, which were bare, quickly became wind-chapped, but no matter. As soon as I ran up Blueberry Hill I was, if not quite warm, at least better able to tolerate the cold.
After that, I saw no one. No one except for one man coming off the mountain who warned me of dangerously high winds and slick root toward the top. I thanked him and kept going.
Then I had the mountain to myself. All. To. Myself. Can there be anything better? Often I wonder why I'm not scared when I'm alone on a mountain. I should be scared, should have been scared yesterday. The wind was so strong that I could barely walk in places, and if I tripped or fell off the trail, it would be a long, long time until anyone found me. But I felt completely calm, completely at home.
That's a lie, I didn't feel calm. I felt energized and wild with wind and how it threw itself against me and scattered my hair and blew my hat off my head. I loved that wind. I couldn't get enough of it, even though my eyes watered and my face ached.
I made it almost to the saddle before the wind knocked me flat, twice. The gusts were so strong that I had to climb a few areas on my hands and knees. That's when I decided to turn around. At first I balked; I wanted to run at least to the saddle. Then I realized how dumb that was. The saddle was an arbitrary point--what did it matter if I reached it or not?
Still, part of me longed to keep going. I wanted to pit myself against the wind, see how much I could stand. I wanted to fight that wind. Of course I would have lost. I am a puny woman and the wind is much bigger and fiercer. But still ....
Running back down the wind was behind me, which meant that I barely had to move. I simply lifted my legs and the wind pushed and I was running, fast and smooth. It almost felt as if I were flying. Of course, I was exerting almost no energy but I think it still counts as running, no?
(I keep mentioning the Little Su so that you will all hold me accountable and I won't be able to back out, hee, hee.)
The best part of yesterday's run? After almost three months of being sidelined with an injury, I finally, finally got my trail shoes dirty. And not from hiking, mind you, but by running. I swear, I wanted to sink down in the mind, dunk my face, cover myself--I was so happy to get good and dirty again.
|Is there a more beautiful sight than a pair of muddy trail shoes? Well, it would help it they were more worn and rugged-looking. I shall work on that.|
Reading: I am behind on my reading (sorry, to all of you waiting for me to review your books). I have been reading running blogs instead. I've been devouring them. I found a great line about a race gone bad over at Jen Benna's A Girl's Guide to Running. I don't know if any of you read her blog but I'm hooked (I have so many, many bloggy loves). In her race report of the Run Rabbit Run 100 she wrote, "No, I didn’t have the race I am capable of, but I had the race I was supposed to that day."
Isn't that wonderful and lovely and profound? I think I shall print it out and tack it over my running shoes.
I also got to interview local Anchorage running gal Michelle from The Runner's Plate last week for a Q & A in the Anchorage Press. She recently won the Kenai Marathon and is crazy fast; I think my race pace is slower than her easy pace. It was great meeting her, her hubby and their very affectionate dog.
Speaking of dogs--poor Beebs! She had a sore on her leg and licked it silly so we had to strap her in the blue-inflatable-cone-of-shame. Poor stumbling-with-a-pillow-thinger-strapped-to-her-head Beebs.
|Please, someone get me out of this, okay?|
Happy weekend and long runs, everyone.