First off, I
Map quested the location from our house. BIG MISTAKE. I would have been much better off using an Atlas. Yes, we will be getting a GPS as a family present :), but they too have their downfalls when it comes to rural locations.
Anyways, a trip never seems to be complete unless we get lost. The wrong turn came 3 1/2 hours into the trip, only a 20 minute detour, but long enough to make the entire family lose it, particularly Mom and Dad. After I asked some nice folks at a Monticello gas station where
Wakulla Springs was and to somewhat translate one town they were referring to, as I hopped in our mother-of-all vehicles (Expedition), I somehow banged my left knee on the outer bone right under the knee cap. Talk about pain! I knew that was going to leave a mark.
We left our house around 1:15pm and arrived at the
Wakulla Springs Lodge at 6:30pm. My family was thrilled to get out of the car and to check out our room. An on-line website referred to it as "rustic". Jason knew what that meant: old. He was right, but I was just glad to finally be able to relax even though we had to figure out how to fit our family of four on one Double and one Twin.
Particularly peeved, was my wonderfully supportive husband. No TV, and no Internet, we weren't even in cell range. Let me tell you, it was an utter tragedy for him. I was glad not to have those types of distractions, but the techie that he is was not looking forward to our little get away.
I managed to fall asleep around 10pm then woke up at 12am, 2:26am, 3:26am, each time that bone right below my knee cap throbbed and was tender to the touch. I next time I woke up it was 5:00am. The throbbing had subsided. I laid in bed for another 15 minutes before I began my
pre-race ritual. Before I bore you out of your
gord, I'll skip to the race itself.
It had been pouring hard during the night, but had let up when I made it to the Start/Finish to pick up my number and make contact with my lap counter. Now the rain was coming down like a mist. "Perfect" I thought. I love this kind of weather. I had put on my watch and
footpod on as well, just so I could keep track (even changed the battery). Jose (as
afore mentioned), was
LDS like myself so we had much to talk about. We talked about our families, church callings and running of course. A mile into the race, I looked down at my watch and realized my
footpod wasn't working. So much for that. I was now depending heavily on my lap counter.
The misty rain, turned into a torrential down pour after a couple laps. Everyone was soaked. Our shoes sloshed through puddles and every inch of our bodies was soaked with water. I was grateful that I had put on running tights (no chaffing).
My pace remained consistent until the last 3 laps (6 miles). I began to feel the deadening weight that overtook my thighs. I couldn't even feel my butt it was so freaking cold! I downed Gatorade, Coke and water for one of the last few laps. It helped a little. I was so tired of hearing the rain, tired of being wet and hurting over particularly from my left hip bone to my knee cap.
I saw Jason, already soaked from standing in the rain in his shorts, flip flops and a heavy coat looking at everyone and myself in disgust. He couldn't believe I would go out in the sopping rain and run for 30 miles. In passing, he says, "Des, don't you want to take a shower?" He was asking me to throw the towel in and get out of the rain. I couldn't believe him! So much for support. That is the divide of runners and non-runners. They who do not run will never understand our commitment :). Up until this point Jason thought of me as crazy, but even more so now. He didn't realize I was so close to finishing or was I? My lap counter didn't say I had one more left, what if I had two more? That particular question kept me doubting if this was my last lap the entire time.
During the second to last lap, Jeff said, we only have one more lap to go and we're done. I'll give you a quarter mile lead,
after all I'm old school. Ladies first. You don't want to say that a 63 year old guy beat you to the finish." I told him I didn't mind. I truly don't. I have a deep respect for the more experienced ultra marathoners. They are my inspiration. I look at them and think, "I want to be like them when I'm 60. I want to run as long as I can put one foot in front of the other."
We lapped Jose and asked him how many more laps he had left. He had 3 and I only had 1 left. I was seriously beginning to doubt my ability to finish this thing.
After all, we had been on the same lap count as Jeff the entire time until Jeff and I lapped Jose. I wished him good luck and trudged on hoping against hope that this was my last lap. I was nearing the finish (Jason wasn't there), Jeff who was not too far behind told me to sprint home. I had no sprint in me. I made it over the finish line with no feeling of euphoria, just doubt. I asked for my lap counter. Someone said," She has 10." My head was reeling. Uh-uh, there is no way I'm running another 5 laps! I was thinking.
Oooooh, no! There is no way I ran only 10. That number was actually my lap counter group number. Jeff jumped to my aid and looked like he was ready to pounce on anyone who said otherwise. "No, she's done 15! We've been on the same lap count since the beginning."
My lap counter piped in, "Nope, she's done! She's done 15! I let out a sigh of relief you wouldn't believe. The doubt, the anxiety my thighs no longer felt like lead weights. Jeff and I hugged. I was done! There were a few chuckles and some, "Why don't you go for 50 ?" jibes. Which would mean 10 more laps.
Hah! Not a chance! I'm
soooo done. I am crazy, but not that crazy, besides I had my daughter's recital to get to by 6:30pm. It was already 12:30pm.
I talked to Gary (the race director) who ran the race as well. I told him that he and his wife did an excellent job putting on the race, not the mention the wonderful efforts of the volunteers and lap counters. They sure know how to put together a mean
pb & j. I asked him if there was anything I get besides bragging rights (even though that's enough of a consolation prize for me), truth be told my favorite of all consolation prizes is being able to keep my ratty race number. He said that there was a Finisher's Award back at the Start/Finish. He also started talking to another gal who I knew was one lap ahead of me saying casually that she had done 17 laps and that she was feeling pretty sore. She was all smiles regardless. I wondered what my reaction would have been, if that would have been me. I picked up my Finisher's Award (a beautifully done toll painting of a tree that I have yet to find out the name) and called it a day....well, after my daughter's recital.
