A Fistful of Gummy Bears: The Greenhorn Ranch Trail Run Part II

Photo by Tyler Tomasello

Shit, I need to shit. 

After scarfing down two pockets-worth of gummy bears, that was the first thought that came to my mind. 

I was about two miles deep into the second 25 km loop of the Greenhorn Ranch Trail Run, and I didn't want to go back to camp for a measly portable toilet. I felt like backtracking would break up my supposed flow. 

But I also felt like shitting in the woods would do the same. 

I was in a predicament. A predicament of the highest order. Though I knew shitting in the woods was a likely prospect during the race, it was no longer an idea. It was a reality. One burbling deep in my intestines. At the moment, I didn't know if I had it in me.

I begged for a distraction. 

As I started jogging towards the Bunny Hill, my right knee happily obliged me. 

The pain was sharp and sudden, blooming outwards from deep beneath my kneecap. Every time my foot touched the ground, my knee throbbed. When I slowed to a walk, the throb dampened in intensity. So I decided to hike with purpose.

Eventually the white tape marking the trail veered off the fire road. It was a familiar sign. The Bunny Hill, steep and wild, lay before me. I faced the beast again. Only this time, I faced it alone. 

Without a reference point--people hooping and hollering in triumph ahead of me--the Bunny Hill felt longer. Much longer. I couldn't see where it ended. The hill just seemed to climb eternally. 

With each step, the pain in my right knee swelled. I was sick of climbing, but I had to press on. 

The Bunny Hill passed, sluggishly and languidly. But it passed all the same. Soon, it was behind me. 

I trotted on more even terrain. I smiled wide, patting myself on the back for conquering the Bunny Hill a second time. The throb emanating from my right knee felt faint now. The skies were blue and the views were just shifting to sublime. The conifers thinned and the mountains greeted me with their majesty. 

My right calf decided to sour the mood with a couple of seizing spasms. If it ain't one thing, it's another thing. 

I slowed to a walk and the spasms stopped. When I tried to run, they zapped me fervently. After some failed starts, I stopped on the trail and walloped my right calf a handful of times with my fist. Interestingly enough, the walloping worked. The spasms ceased, and I trotted on.

A handful of gentle downhill miles elevated my mood. I started singing again. 

I don't think I've got
The will to take another shot
But your words they miss me
All my friends tell me to accept the end
But my, my mind won't let me

"Lady You Shot Me" was on repeat again. 

In the bliss, I failed to heed the still present but faint pain in my right knee. As the slope steepened, the pain returned with a vengeance. And it didn't abate. Reprieves from running seemed to do no good here. 

I checked my watch. Though I wasn't in danger of DNFing, my slower pace worried me (I never fail to make mountains of molehills).

As the miles passed, that worry lessened. I tried to get out of my head, reminding myself to be present, to indulge the moment at hand. I quieted my thoughts--my worries about the future, nagging thoughts from my past--and basked in the silence and solitude of the forest. Soon, every tree, every rock, every bird appeared new. Lizards skittered off the fire road as I approached. 

There's so much I don't know. 

The fact that I could only run for short spurts didn't suppress this wholly encompassing sensation of awe.

At the next aid stationed, I chatted briefly with the volunteers, grabbed a can of soda, said goodbye, and continued my trek.  

 I staggered down the final steep hill of the course and crossed a stream. I pulled off the trail as n older gentleman passed me. "Less than two miles to go," he announced, trotting on. 

I waved and cheered him on, following slowly behind. 

Soon, I was back on the ranch property. Through the trees, I could see the lodge, the fishing pond, and the horse corral. 

The sight of the finish line emboldened me. I started running. I passed the saloon and saw a small gathering of spectators and runners. One of the spectators who was sitting with a few people stood up and started cheering me on.  

It was my girlfriend Christina. Her new friends started cheering with her. 

The encouragement was exactly what I needed. It fueled me. My feet flowed beneath me.  

As I crossed the finish line, all I could think is Everything is beautiful. 

 

Photo by Tyler Tomasello