The Things We Do for Love…of a Jacket?
What’s the big deal? A jacket? Who gets excited about a jacket? Realistically, if you were a poor child, living in a house without heat…you would be excited about a jacket. Or, I suppose if you lived on top of Mount Washington in the winter, a jacket would be a pretty good thing to acquire. But, me? I have a bunch of jackets. Why would I need – or want – one more? Like a lot of things, it always seems that what we want most is what we don’t already have. I think that was true this time.
Runners in the Mountain Masochist 50 Mile Trail run, a Blue Ridge mountain classic, know that race director David Horton likes to reward runners. From the sweatshirts, long-sleeved T’s and other goodies for entrants to stellar prizes for finishers and top performers, Horton loves to give stuff away. He breaks into a frenzy as he throws door prizes Frisbee style at the postrace dinner, clunking unsuspecting or eye-hand coordinationally challenged, non-catching diners in the head with Nalgene bottles, Smartwool product or Montrail hats. Often, he checks around on the stage to see what else he can give away. Even in his college running class, he loves to bestow left-over race shirts on students who demonstrate a certain level of appreciation for the trails and adventure. People can use a lot of words to describe David Horton, but “Scrooge” is not one of them.
He has set a precedent at the MMTR to reward long-time finishers with something special. In the case of the ten-year finishers, a personalized, warm and water resistant jacket is the ticket. Last year was supposed to be my year; my tenth finish. The coat was purchased, embroidered and present at the 2005 post-race dinner. Did I get it? NO! I messed up. I tried hard, I really did. But, a strange and stupid condition that makes me go numb and not able to breath foiled my plans. Bummer. I sat outside the entrance to The Loop in a quivering pile of cramped muscles, feeling an overwhelming sense of failure and self-pity. I really hated quitting but I couldn’t walk and breath at the same time. Bad combination. But I wanted that stupid jacket! “Could I walk the last 18 or 20 miles and make the cutoff?” Naw. I guess the jacket would have to wait – in Horton’s closet.
So, with illusions of a great racing year, I signed up for the 2006 Lynchburg Ultra Series, anticipating a solid year of training. Well, best laid plans…you know how that goes. A job that requires me to be away from home 50 – 75% of the time (including weekends), work very long days, be on call and trying to finish up a graduate degree really put the ‘ol cabash on getting fit. So, with all of about four hours a week of “training” - if I was lucky - I stepped to the line of the 2006 version of the MMTR in the chilling darkness of a November morning. It was going to be a long day but I had to finish…I wanted my jacket. No, I needed that jacket. Besides, Nancy Horton had told me that if I didn’t get it this year, it would likely go out of style. Well, that was certainly added incentive!
The day was long, indeed, very long. 2.5 hours longer than ever before. There were moments of “Hey, this isn’t too bad” to periods of wobble-headed, energy zapping sleep walking. The sleepiness that fogged my mind and body while running has been another annoying and unexplained development over the last several years. But thankfully, my friend, Tim Meitl, kept me from walking off the edge of the road when I couldn’t keep my eyes from closing.
The day was a lesson in running the race with patience but was not particularly bolstered when a well-meaning aid station worker unwittingly filled the pouch that held my hydration bladder rather than the bladder itself. Within seconds of putting my back pack on, I had Conquest running down my back, into my tights and ending up in my shoes. Then, I watched it all crystallize and freeze on my legs. I was not particularly happy but at least it woke me up for a few minutes.
No. I didn’t run fast but I did cross the line. My finish toward the back of the pack was far removed from being a front runner like “in the old days”, but it counted just the same. All those years of training, of pain, of success and failure, of broken bones, surgery and illness had brought me to the finish line. Sure, had I saved the money spent on race entries, travel, equipment and gear, I could have bought 50 jackets like the one I got. But, the price I paid for this jacket was worth every blasted cent. It was earned with the proverbial blood, sweat and tears. How sweet it is…
Rebekah Trittipoe
November 2006