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Promised
Land: A Costa Rican Mudslide?
Not having been in a Costa Rican mudslide, the title of this
race
report is a little bit of a guess.
But it’s easy to imagine,
rivulets
of water, rushing to become small streams and merging
to
become large streams – where only a dry run had been previously,
just
days before. Places where
I’d never even seen it be wet had
become
torrents of clear, mountain-spring water, spilling over our
feet
and ankles. Mud
where there had been none.
Some of us had prayed that morning, our morning,
that
it wouldn’t rain; I suspect that our prayer was trumped
by
Dr. Dave’s, who likely prayed that it would rain.
I
will say this, rain or no rain: the lightning was terrifying.
I’m
sure that no one prayed for that: on the contrary,
our
group prayed that the thunderstorm would turn south and
leave
us alone. Just
minutes later, the electrical storm wasn’t
overhead,
it wasn’t up the mountain – it disappeared.
We
didn’t hear a rumble after that.
I believe that our prayers about
the
thunderstorm were answered. We
didn’t do it: we prayed the
Someone
Else would spare us the terror.
Prayer answered: I’ll
leave it at that.
It was nice, having people around me who had a heart for prayer.
They
were there in training: they had been there all year, they were
there
in different times and places, an aide and comfort for those long
hours
on overused trails in the City and on painful sections of the mountain
paths.
They were – (and are) - an inspiration and a blessing, and I
thank
God
for them, all of them.
I thank God for those who trained together
for
this race - Heather and Renee and Wendy and Sue – all of whom
started
the race together, this group of fellow Believers who made the
journeys
easier in training, and in whose solidarity I was comforted
as
we prayed for deliverance from the frightening electrical storm –
(which
sent at least one runner back down the mountain.)
It
was also nice to have had a training partner, Rich Brooks, who
Continued
to train with me even though he didn’t do this race.
I
thank God for him, and for Steve Bozeman, too, who helped pace
our
little group early on. It
was nice, it was a blessing: thank you
Lord
for these people.
And thanks for Dave and his entire crew, too, and the students
who
were
participating as entrants and volunteers – it was nice to hear
cheers
from people who manned the aide stations, who I’d like to cheer
for,
now! Thank God for
you folks, who weathered the worst of
it
and made life easier for those of us who were counting on your
good
nature.
2
Another prayer was for the safety of all the participants.
Whether
or not you believe that those prayers were answered,
there
were an amazing number of finishers – around 95%.
That’s
a lot of finishers, and there were very few face-plants, too –
(none
that I know of.) God
is good.
Last time I did this race, I finished in
The
cutoff was 11 hours, a limit that created problems for
race
officials and streamer placement.
I didn’t take it too
personally
that my time would have an asterisk to it, and be
over
the eventual cutoff. But
then, I was 15 lbs heavier than
I am
now – and as a swimmer, I don’t look like lots of runners
who
could – with some melanin added - resemble certain
equatorial
Plainsmen. Theirs –
(maybe yours) - is a better body
for
this type of travel, if you want to run very fast over very
long
distances. I have a
semi-cetacean body, looking more
comfortable
in the ocean or in a swamp. (Compared
to some
of
these Promised Land runners, I look like I should have gotten
on
the scales prior to the race.)
At least some of my fat has
been
replaced by beef – (or is it bull?)
I was thinking of how some of the other participants might
have
enjoyed the race: one
mountain goat by the name of
Brandon
(who
is also a mountain biker and kayaker) might have
been
able to negotiate some of the newly-made downhill
streams
in his kayak. Bet he
could. He had a good
day.
Another
runner had expressed the desire – (in her brilliantly
funny
while
standing up (on a trail, of course.) In
this race,
she
wouldn’t have had to use this skill:
with all the water
coming
down, it would be like peeing in the shower.
(None
of you does that, I know.)
The rain resulted in another blessing, though, something
most
of you likely hadn’t been thinking about: it kept the
Spring
Gobbler hunters from ambushing us, and more
realistically,
from taking down the streamers - as has happened
in
past events. Still, I
wore blaze yellow, being chicken enough
not
to want to look like a turkey.
3
I trained in blaze-yellow on some Saturdays.
We
trained up on the course as frequently as possible.
The
mountains had lots of runs, dry 2 weeks ago,
even
just barely damp and slick a week after a surprise mountain
snowstorm
about 5 weeks ago: that
morning, it snowed
when
it wasn’t supposed to, and several of us went up to
Sunset
Field one early Saturday morning at
hoping
to run parts of the course, only to drive up into
deeper
and deeper and deeper snow, until finally, at the top,
there
was a half a foot that had already fallen.
It
was still falling. We all
went up there, four vehicles,
five
runners (wasting lots of petrol) none bailing out
of
the drive – probably because we were worried that the others
would
be there and wonder where we were, and if we were safe.
Once you start up the mountain, it’s hard to turn back.
As it was during the race.
I doubt that more than a few of you are OCD
(Obsessive-Compulsive
Disorder) enough to run the course,
or
parts of it, keeping splits, doing worst-case/best-case scenarios
and
writing down race-splits that you'll keep for posterity
(and
for advantage) in years to come. That’s
the real benefit of
being
a local, if your mind goes in those directions.
In
my case, it was close to a best-case event, improving
almost
2 hours over the 2001 event in spite of the conditions.
Absolute
best-case – for me - would have been maybe 20 minutes
faster.
Worst-case could mean not finishing, or not finishing
under
the cutoff time, but in terms of splits, for me, worst-case
meant
less than that. I don’t
want to upset anyone with my estimation
of
a worst-case time.
The course is nice to practice on, anyway, just because it is.
That
is, until June, when the weeds trip you and tangle your feet
in
masses of nettles that sting and burn.
Some of the course had
already
begun to grow up, and poison ivy was common at the edge
of
the paths. The growth
was enough to hide the snakes, but it isn’t
warm
enough – and wasn’t on our race-day – for them to be basking
on
the southwest exposures. There
are several rattlesnake dens
not
too far away, near Petite’s gap.
The rain probably kept the
snakes
from joining our mad march over the mountains, too, as it
did
the hunters.
4
Counting blessings – those are some that I’ve mentioned:
I
still have lots more. But
finally, in conclusion,
I have to say
This:
as we were going up one particular mountain, hearing
someone
say how miserable it was, I thought about how hard
it
was going to be the rest of the day if I started thinking that
way.
I decided to keep reminding myself how much fun it
was,
and how this was the day the Lord planned, just for us.
I
figured He knew what was best for us,
and I was grateful
that
we didn’t get the 82 degrees and sunny temperatures that
had
been predicted early in the week.
A word to remember for all, a final note: gratitude is the
antidote
to grumbling.
In Good Humor and Grace,
Jim McFarland, CMT
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