Five Thirty AM. I was surprised to see that the sun is already starting to rise so early. Toast. Hot Chocolate. Scramble into race gear that I had carefully assembled the previous evening. I was envisaging a hot, sunny day, so had opted for short Skins and a singlet. At the last minute I also grabbed a hat, and a couple of thermal layers to stave of the early morning chill.
I was lucky enough to have my Sister staying with me Labor Weekend, and she was accompanying me to the race, which was treat. Heading away from the planes and in land, the mountains of the McKenzie Country looked suspiciously snow covered. I didn't think that the night had been that cold. With the sun climbing behind us, the mountains and plains were brilliantly illuminated against the angry black clouds forcing their way towards us at the mercy of the relentless Nor'wester.
I love the McKenzie Basin. Those vibrant lakes, the stark peaks, the parched landscape: a little bowl of alpine wonderland wedged between the Canterbury Foothills and the Main Divide, undeniably beautiful no matter what the weather. Race day was no exception, the landscape scudding between moody winter storm, and brilliantly bright day, sun and clouds battling for supremacy. I started to wonder if the meager collection of light running apparel was going to be sufficient. It started to snow.
I had great hopes for this race. My reduction in training (partly due to knee injury, partly due to work and home life commitments) has been quite distressing, so I imagined that if I could run a good time for this event, it would somehow mean that I had not lost fitness.
Drawing near the start-line, a madly waving figure donned all in florescent's signaled that the upcoming river was fording the road. It bloody well looked as though it was over half a meter deep. It was going to be touch-and-go for my little car to make it across without the engine flooding. However needs must when it comes to a running race, so I edged across, hoping that we would be able to make the return journey without casting afloat.
Securely parked on dry land, we exited the car to brave the freezing winds that were slicing their way down from the peaks above. It was announced that due to extreme weather conditions, the course had been altered and would no longer traverse rivers or crest the peak of the Pyramid. I was disappointed, as the new course offered a lot less climbing, and a lot more running head on into the hellish wind. Never mind, I could still give it my all, and hopefully manage a reasonable time.
The runners started out. The cold air burning its way into my lungs as I determinedly tried to keep the pace that I had set for myself. We followed the road over the canal before heading out across farmland and then onto forest trails. Pushing along, my Camelbak felt nearly as heavy as my legs, and with every runner that passed me, I cursed my lack of training/ill-preparedness/lack of fueling.
As the course climbed towards the saddle, I put my head down, and got stuck into the climb. The ground was quite greasy, but very runnable. I was so caught up in my "need for speed", that I failed to take in much of the view that was unfolding below me, only casting a cursory glance over my shoulder before plunging back down the hill. Behind me spanned the McKenzie Basin, straw coloured and vast. In the distance, the sharp edges of the ranges were highlighted by the brilliant white of fresh snow. The painfully azure ribbon of the canal tangled across the valley floor.
At the bottom of the saddle the real 'hard labor' began for me. The trail undulated (always seeming to be slightly climbing) through thick mud and deep pools of surface water, skirting the base of the Pyramid. I love muddy running, and this gloriously mucky trail did a lot to lift my spirits. I marvel at the runners carefully picking the driest and cleanest paths around the edges of the messy areas of the trail. I take so much joy in splashing (or squelching) through, that I rather think they are missing the point (or at the very least all of the fun).
Rounding the northern most end of the Pyramid, the course changed direction, looping back towards the start. The wind was so ferocious and ever-present, that it did not seem to matter which direction I was running, it was always in my face. The last few kilometers of the trail struck out across farmland again, before dropping back over the canal, for a lung bursting dash to the finish. I had hoped to cover the distance in close to an hour and a half, so was feeling a bit dejected when I crossed the line in close to two.
But all of that was forgotten when I was greeted by my sister, who was braving the cold and the hell-wind to cheer me on to the finish. My heart was also warmed when I runner that had been struggling for quite a while just ahead of me (buoyed on by his faithful companion), had his two young children run into his arms, he heaved them onto his shoulders before stumbling the last few meters to the finish. Lovely.
I felt a bit disappointed by this race, and my performance (or lack there of) for a couple of days. I really need to organize my schedule to fit in the sort of training that I want to cover to feel comfortable for racing, and I need to make a habit of checking weather conditions before racing. I think that I could have fueled more effectively before, and possibly during the race. All of those things will help my enjoyment and sense of accomplishment. But the thing that disappointed me the most, was that I let myself get so caught up in my performance, that I forgot to enjoy the incredible trail that I was running. Consequently, I think I will leave my watch behind for a little while, and instead I will watch the scenery. Any performance above and beyond finishing and feeling that I have done my best is icing on the proverbial cake.
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