There was no way, no way yesterday that I was putting on my longjohns on April 14th. Turns out they were not needed: snowblowers and a wetsuit were, however.
I didn't do the Iola Trail Run last year because, frankly, I don't care for trail runs. But several of my friends were doing it, and since I'm considering going to the National Snowshoe Championships in Vermont next year I figure that I should try to get more comfortable in the woods. Thanks to the weather, it was no Thoreau moment.
In February, I rode along with my friends to Iola for a snowshoe race. The GPS told us to take a series of backroads to the back of the park. The roads were much better then than yesterday! The forecast for Sunday was for rain mixed with a little sleet, starting at 9:30 am. At 9:40 we were sitting in the car and I said don't look now, but it's starting. Only the weather didn't listen to its own forecast: it was pure snow, the whole time we were out there. This course starts with a very large hill, and I'm not sure if it was our hike up Rib Mountain on Saturday or this particular beast, but my calves seized up on me to a point of pain I've never felt in a race. I was starting to wonder if this would be my first ever DNF. After about a mile, through a few easy rolling hills things started to ease up, but I think I was already thrown off. However, there was a St. Bernard at the water station, so at least there was brandy available if I needed it.
To me, trail running is one tree after another, with no real scenery to look at. One of my favorite things about racing is seeing the sights, even if it is just a sewage treatment plant. But this watching flags to make sure you're on the right course is nerve-wracking to me. Still, there was something serene about it, until about the second mile when the snow became an issue. At that point my Garmin said 2.25 miles, and it kept getting more off course, which made me think I took an extra loop onto the 15K course. I started to get weepy, wondering if I'd ever see the car again when I finally saw the photographers in the pines at the sign that said 3 miles (my watch said 3.7.) It was getting awfully hard to see the finish, but I finally got there.
So what happened? I don't know. The gentleman at the finish said it was probably around 3.8, my friend Jody heard the same thing. Someone else said trees can affect a Garmin, personally I thought someone forgot to scoop out the satellite dish upstairs. Regardless, my time stunk. Normally we try to have one person at least to greet our gang at the finish, but no way. Any thoughts of pictures was kaput. I slinked back into the chalet where Brad greeted me with a tounge-in-cheek "you look like you had a good time out there!" I must've looked like hell. And we only did the short race. Our other three pals did the 15k while the snow just got heavier. One came in looking like the mascot from Red Lobster. Meanwhile his wife had so much snow on her head she looked like she was wearing a hat. Michelle had to keep taking her glasses off, as they had no windshield wipers on them. I was so wet that I spilled bean soup on me and didn't even feel it.
After changing clothes, no one hung around terribly long (well five of us anyway) as we all had about an hour drive home. While everyone finished safe and sound, I could tell it took a mental toll. We all handled it in ways that fit our personalities. Several stopped for goodies or groceries on the wicked drive home. I ate the bacon egg and cheese Subway half that wasn't in the fridge when I left (thanks, mom!) and proceeded to fall asleep to tales from the scanner telling who was in the ditch where. Then there was our national champ Michelle, who walked back to her truck, got out her snowshoes, and went right back on the trail we just ran on! Talk about turning lemons into lemonade...
Lemonade, summer, ummmm, will it ever get here???
