TINAJAS 50K RACE REPORT

i learned a lot of things on saturday.

the race was almost two hours away from home, so rather than getting up early and driving forever, bleary-eyed, uncaffeinated, only to run for more of forever, i drove out friday night and slept in my car. and i felt… more like me than i had in a long time, cruising along the dark texas roads and singing at the top of my lungs. i parked maybe 500 feet from the starting line, unrolled my sleeping bag in the back of my subaru, and was asleep by 22:30. it was by far the best night’s sleep i’ve ever gotten before a race.

the morning dawned cool and damp, dew clinging to the grass. i ran slowly, taking dainty, neat nibbles out of the distance with every step. i’d packed a variety of bars, but none of them seemed appetising. more than anything, i wanted pringles. but tinajas was an unsupported race, so the only food available was what was in my pack. and what i had in my pack was slathered in white chocolate.

still, i choked down half a bar every four miles, trying to ignore my utter disinterest in soy protein and sugar. i slowed over the rocky climbs, the slippery slabs of granite. i picked my way carefully over baby-head and deer-hoof rocks at 18 and 20 minutes a mile, while on the flat, open ranges i clocked in at 12:00/mile. and i felt great, trucking along, taking in the chill and grey. but then–oh, then. mile 11.

i don’t understand it. but miles 11 through 19 were just… awful. physically, i felt fine. my lungs pumped, my legs chugged. but my mind just started griping, and i couldn’t stop it for the whole ten miles. “fucking running fucking sucks,” i thought, in a steady, even chant. “running is stupid, stupid, stupid, and i hates it. you know what’s awesome? books. books and not running.”

but i made it. i’d been telling myself, for no reason whatsoever, that i could relax after mile 20. after mile 20, i thought, surely it was all in the bag. everything i’d heard said that marathoners bonked somewhere between 18 and 21 miles. but i knew that if i could make it to mile 20, i could make it all the way. still, that middle ten miles felt like it lasted twice as long as the whole rest of the race combined.

but mile 19 ended. and then mile 20. and then, turning into the next-to-last aid station, who should be there but my partner? cold and hunched over, but beardy and smiling and just the right kind of sweet. he took my windbreaker and vest and shitty protein bars from me, assured me that the next aid station was four miles away–just three miles from the end!–and that he’d be there, too.

after that, the time was just… time. my legs felts so heavy, and i could only shuffle along. but i knew i could make it.