Yesterday I completed my 52nd Calgary Roadrunner’s Grand Prix race since Dianne talked me into trying one back in October 2000. That first year I only ran half of the 10 races offered, some 4k options and some 8k, but since then I’ve been hooked on the series. In 2001/02 Dianne encouraged me to run “All the Eights!”, so I did, earning my first Iron Person award for perfect attendance. Since then I’ve only missed 3 Grand Prix races, one for a good friend’s wedding, one because I was very sick, and one last winter for a very important race in Tampa. The comaraderie at these races is a big draw for me. I really feel welcomed, challenged and encouraged by the friends I’ve made here.
Assuming I break no bones necessary to XC mobility, assuming I can stay healthy enough, assuming nobody I love gets married or dies with their funeral on a Grand Prix race day in the next 4 years, I hope to eventually accumulate 50 Grand Prix races IN A ROW. Right now I’ve got 12 consecutive races under my belt. Doing the math, assuming the race schedule doesn’t vary, I should end up completing my 50th in February 2010, right around the same time as the Vancouver Olympics. ON TO 2010!
Gotta dream, eh?!
Ah well, enough of that, on to describing this weekend’s reality. Pardon me while I give you a bit of background to set this race into my hectic life. Friday night my husband and I were honoured to be able to attend a big fundraiser gala for our daughter’s special needs school. Long story short, we dressed up in our best, mingled with the well-heeled, our daughter sang like a shining star in the choir, and gave us big hugs when she was done. The bus took her home while we stayed and ate gourmet food and listened in awe to large corporate representatives pledging to buy buses and bidding on auction items worth thousands. We left early to be home by 10:30, as Hubby had to take Soccer Boy to Edmonton (3 hours north) the next morning bright and early for a tournament.
The “boys” were up at 5 a.m., to eat and leave the house at 6:30 am. I made them sandwiches in case the roads were nasty and they didn’t have time to buy food before the first game at 11:45. Hubby tucked me back into bed before he tucked into his scrambled eggs.
I awoke again before 8 a.m. to strong winds and about -10c/14F. I made and packed up soup and squares to bring to the race, fed and clothed Little Runner appropriately for the weather, and somewhere in there forgot to eat my own breakfast. I munched on a bag of tortilla chips and a couple of chocolate chip cookies on the way to pick up Dawn, her daughter Carrie and 4 year old granddaughter. Carrie had generously agreed to watch my Little Runner while I raced, since Hubby was now out of town. Both kids had a great time running their race in their winter boots. They seemed oblivious to the cold while us adults shivered in our race gear. I tried to console myself by remembering that I’d done this race in worse conditions.
I also reminded myself, as I picked my way over ice-trapped bulrushes in the frozen swamp, that I was doing this for FUN. I said it out loud as I faced into the biting wind and settled into the pace I would try to maintain over the uneven, re-frozen slush. It was a good day for the Yaktrax, let me tell yuh.
I had FUN, but I soon learned that if I smiled too much into the wind my teeth got too cold.
After the 4k turnoff I figured I was last. I had this season’s nemesis in sight ahead of me, and even though he’d run 12 earlier in the morning, he wasn’t to be reeled in today. It was somehow comforting to have at least one body out there in view.
There were some very big “changes in elevation” out of the creek valley, but I managed to get up and follow the flags beyond without losing consciousness. I’m normally a kami-kaze-type downhill runner, but yesterday the conditions on the south-facing slopes were strange. It was hard to tell what ground was solid, what was mud, and where it might be solid ice. To top it off, I wasn’t confident that I wouldn’t catch my Yaktrax on a twig or root and end up crashing, so I descended cautiously. No sense hurting myself now, in the last race of the season!
I trotted for what seemed like forever on hard, crunchy, uneven bumpy stuff interspersed with sugary drifts with crunchy topping. I couldn’t look ahead for more than a glance at a time, due to the varying terrain. The sun tried to shine, but the cloud cover kept the light flat and grey. No sense thinking about anything about the precise moment in which I ran. I found myself mentally putting myself in a bubble, where nothing existed but my next breath, my next step.
Finally I got to climb out of the valley a couple of times on the south side, in big drifts of shifty snow, and ran happily to the finish. There, cheering for me were Dawn, Carrie, the kids and race crew. Little Runner held out my numbered tongue depressor and gave me a big hug.
Cold start. Warm, fuzzy finish. The best kind!
We made it to the hall to find that my cheddar corn chowder had been already consumed, but I rather enjoyed Dawn’s alpha-beefy soup and some dessert. After the usual announcements and clean up, Carrie and I took charge of Coach Derek’s two boys while he and Dawn participated in the Race Committee season wrap-up meeting for the next hour. Little Runner and I didn’t get home until 4 p.m. and she fell asleep in the car before we even made it to the freeway. I slept very well last night!
All Downhill From Here 