Part V
My legs aren't unreasonably cranky as I trot out of the transition area and gulp down a cup of lemonade; I think they're just happy that they're no longer hauling a bike over all those damned hills! I poke cheerily along as runners cruise by in ones and twos. No problem, I know what's in store for us, and am in no hurry to rush this one perfectly flat part of the run. It'll be over soon enough. I actually do pass one fellow who passed me in the first quarter mile, now bending over and looking rather pained. "Hamstring cramp up on you?" I inquire, tapping him lightly as I pass. "Yeah, dammit." "Hang in there, stretch it out, you can do it." A few hundred yards later I'm proven correct; he blasts by with a cheery, "Hey, keep it up!"
There are a lot of local runners out for their Sunday run to Fort Point, and it gets tough to distinguish who I should or shouldn't be following. The trail splits in a couple of places, and I have to keep my eyes open as I trot along and the racers ahead pull farther and farther away. Nobody is passing me at this point, so I have to pay attention to those receding in the distance ahead. The recreational runners nearby, however, are exceptionally encouraging and supportive, and their enthusiasm spreads an appreciative grin across my face.
I had thought we would run all the way to Fort Point before heading over the hill, but we turn off less than a quarter mile from the Fort. Uh oh...I was afraid of this. I hadn't wanted to believe that *this* was the way the run would start, but here we go...
We are ascending the very trails that marked the last of the trail running for last year's Alcatraz tri. The distinguishing feature of this particular section that remains lodged in my mind is the exceedingly steep set of railroad-tie steps down which we barrelled pell-mell in the final minutes of the run last year. Of course, that was last year. We have to run *up* these now. Uh huh.
My trepidation proves well-founded. Ouch. Oh, gawd! Yeow! All right, all right, Uncle! I give, I give! I'm forced to walk. I'm wheezing like a poorly maintained steam engine, and my heart rate is above 180. And I thought the Sand Ladder was bad! This runs a very close second. Ugh!
Tourists and runners dribble by in both directions, most of them heading down the trail and very politely moving out of my way. Near the top of the first steep stretch, a rec runner catches up from behind and says in admiration, "Wow, this is so hot! You're doin' great! Good job!" "Man, I wish I had all your energy!" I gasp in reply. "Well, I haven't just swum and biked. This is just so hot! You can do it, keep it up!" Wow, she really sounds impressed! Even though I don't feel as good as she says I look, I'm grateful for the admiration in her words and tone. Yeah, even if I'm a slug, I'm *doing* this! This is an impressive thing, she's right! She pulls off up another trail and calls back, "Good luck!" and I reply with a heartfelt "Thanks!" You know, things like that make all the difference in the world. I continue my climb with renewed vigor (though not much).
Ouch. Up a curving concrete ramp near the top of the hill. Thank god for the concrete; plain old rock and earth would have been even tougher on this grade. Whew! "You're almost to the top!" a spritely volunteer encourages as I finish up the ramp and turn right onto more trail. "Ha! You can't fool me, I know the truth! I did this last year!" I growl back with a grin. She laughs and wishes me luck, and I proceed with relief on a brief flat stretch. Ah, there's the 5-foot high brick tunnel! I inquire teasingly of the youthful volunteer manning this end, "Hey, you see anybody hit their head here yet?" "Nope, not yet," she giggles. "Wow, what a gyp! You sit out here all morning and help on this race and you don't even get to see anybody bonk their head! Well, thanks for being out here, anyway." She laughs and wishes me good luck, and I hunch over and crab-step through the tunnel. Boy, it's dark in here, and you gotta be careful, the ground is really ru--uh-utted, uh, rutted!
Shooting out into bright sunshine once again, and there's the Bridge! Right there, it's so close, so beautiful, so reddish-orange and so Deco! We actually run under the roadbed of the Bridge where it hits the tip of the Peninsula. Emerging at the far end, and wham! There's the brilliant blue Pacific, sparkling under the morning sun. Folks, it just doesn't get any better than this.
Except of course that you're still running uphill. But that's ok; it's not so steep here, and you get a cooling breeze from the ocean. But talk about magnificent! Even though my legs are feeling like two logs and my breathing is labored, my pounding heart still fills with wonder and joy at the abundance of beauty. Awesome.
Ah, but back to the running. "Jogging" is more like it, but that's ok, it keeps me moving. I even pass a couple of women here, and exchange a greeting with more volunteers. Up, up, along narrow trails overgrown with late spring wildflowers and grasses. Since the race was held in August last year, there was more brown and gold than green on these trails; now it looks quite different, even more beautiful and wild. The hard part is keeping out of the way of the race leaders who are now returning in ones and twos back down this trail at full speed. "Go, go! All right, looking good!" I cry out to each who flies past. "Thanks!" some manage to reply breathlessly. In a way, it's kind of neat that there are no big-name pros out here today; this race is wide open, and it seems that anybody could win. These guys all look like hellacious-good runners, and they all deserve recognition.
I reach the steep, narrow, rickety set of wooden stairs just wide enough for one, and make a concentrated effort to run them; I would feel awful to delay anybody in the hunt for a top-ten placing. OUCH! I simply can't run these things, but I can certainly walk them with alacrity. Whew! I make it through with moments to spare as a runner catches me from behind, and another rockets toward me from up ahead. I turn and watch in wonder and admiration as he hurls himself pell-mell down that contraption with the agility of a mountain goat. God, triathletes are AMAZING athletes! I can barely grasp the concept of exhibiting such grace and control at speed this late in this very tough race. Just incredible.
I hit the aid station a little past the two-mile point and pause to grab half a Stoker bar and some lemonade. Ahhh! That helps. I need to take some Gu. I work on this as I continue, fiddling with the zipper on my torsopack and finally wrestling out a packet of Just Plain. Squirt it in, guzzle some water, slurp! Yum. Portable rocket fuel! This stuff had better kick in quick, I think. I'm already fading, and 8 miles of hell left to go.
Up, up, up, and, at last! A righthand curve and the descent of El Camino Del Mar toward Baker Beach, *whew*. I spot the first woman on her way back as I hit the pavement and shout wildly, "All right, Holly! You got it, girl, go!" She grins as she flies by ahead of a pack of 3 or 4 men. Wow, only in my wildest dreams will I ever run like that...
I trip blithely downhill, the combination of a favorable gravitational situation and the Gu starting to kick in contribute to my improved sense of well-being. Ah, this feels much better. I continue to cheer on racers heading back up the hill. Boy, so many men, and no other women yet! Holly sure has got a commanding lead.
I pass two women heading my direction and exchange hellos with them. "Hey, you're Tricia, aren't you?" asks one. "Well, yeah," is my startled reply. "I haven't actually met you, but I've seen you at a couple of races; I saw you at some race with Paula." "Oh, that's right, at Wildflower. I remember! Did you get some of the cookies?" Both women brighten at this. "Oh, yeah, those cookies!" the other girl says. "Remember, " she turns to her friend, "I said you had to try one of these things, they were the best I'd ever tasted, and you didn't really want one but then you were like, 'WOW'!" I laugh. "Yeah, well you know, I keep telling everybody, 'Paula had some of my cookies the day before, then she went out and won Wildflower.'" We trot along together for a while, and I begin to pull away. "Have a good run!" they call after me. "Oh, don't worry; you'll probably run by me soon, I'm a godawful runner. See you soon."
Wow, that was pretty funny; people I don't even know know me and my cookies. What a trip!
Down the hill, off the road, down the rocky, rutted fire road to the beach. Ah, I *love* running in sand (insert sarcasm here). I even say so out loud, and the guys plowing through it around me laugh. You simply have to accept that there is no way to run fast through this stuff and get on with it. Soon enough I'm close to the water and firmer sand, and I trot happily along, soaking up the sea air, the sunshine, the breeze. Ahhh, this is nice! And that's about three miles done. Only a couple of more to the turnaround. I turn back inland and plow my way up the dunes to the steps heading into Sea Cliff. Yep, these hurt just as much as they did last year, ugh.
Onto the pavement. This stretch cracks me up, because in the next two miles or so about half a dozen of the guys flying past headed for the finish call out "Go,TriBaby!" Who the hell are these guys?? They all go by so fast I have no chance to recognize anybody. Hell, I might not have recognized them if I *had* seen 'em. This is too funny. I reply with heartfelt (if impersonal) encouragements and wonder who on earth I'm cheering. I also cheer especially for each woman who flies by, telling each what place she's in. "Yeah, go girl! You're in third!" "All right! You're the fifth woman, go get 'em!" etc. Women are few and far between at this race, that's for sure.
Reaching the top of the paved section before the descent to the Land's End trails, I exhult at the prospect of a downhill. Whew, that run up through the golf course wipes you out. I grin to the impressively tattooed volunteer posted at the top of the hill and inquire, "Have you ever seen this much pain in one place in your life?" "Hmm, I dunno about that one," he grins back. "Downhill for me, though, yay!" Less than a mile to the turnaround, and no more uphills until we head back this way.
Ah, it's the old "Laughing Quads" syndrome! After trudging through sand and up a long climb, now I'm asking them to carry me down a steep hill, and they guffaw most uncharitably at this request. Oh, yeah?? I don't care how funny you think this is, get goin'! Hmmph, laugh at me, will you? I'll show you! Pound, pound, pound! Down that hill we go! Runners heading the other way don't look too happy; I guess this hill hurts both ways, huh? Ouch, especially this tricky rutted section near the bottom. OK, now a left turn, and only about a half mile to the turnaround!
Spectacular coastal views and gently rolling dirt trails. "Only a quarter mile to the turnaround!" a passing runner tells me. "Thanks!" Trot, trot, trot. In and out of patches of shade, surrounded by trees, brush, grass, and sky, with the cliff dropping dramatically on our right down to the mighty Pacific. Jagged rocks protrude from the deep blue sea as foamy whitecaps dance around them. "Almost there!" another runner informs me. "Thanks." And then, yes, there it is! The aid station at the turnaround! Refill that water bottle, slam down some lemonade and a banana, now let's go! We're headed for home...