The ups and downs of XC
I can't tell how much of my running is mental. Somewhere, yesterday morning the usual jitters disappeared for reasons that I can't explain. It made me a little nervous, but not in the right way. To add to the mental/emotional roller coaster I stumbled into a negative cloud thanks to the Internet. I may not know how much running is mental, but I knew I didn't want to race under a dark cloud. I spent my few spare moments seeking out something positive to counteract the cloud. I turned to music to cheer me up. Even though I knew I was doing it, it seemed to work.

I set out without nerve or cloud, with friends on the starting line, through the woods. Learning from Tuesday's two-mile, I held back. Working into single file as we ran on a path beneath and between leaveless trees down toward an unfrozen creek and lake, I worked my way into about fifth place. Openings appeared where I could have moved to fourth or third or up further, but I was reigning myself in, trying not to move too soon. Single file continued for quite some time. I worried about rocks and tree roots twisting my ankles. I grew momentarily annoyed when an s-curve in the trail slowed our pace, but still I held back. As we crossed a path above the lake that may have been a reservoir, space opened up around us. I moved onto the heels of the leaders, but didn't pass. I was waiting for at least the 3k mark, the halfway point. We took the turn, but I was not ready to move immediately. A little further down the trail, I saw my opening. I can't remember what the opening was. It may have been the slightly wider trail, or it may have been just a half-step of pace, or it may just have been that I was looking to open things up a little more. Whatever it was, I moved to the front. I don't like races to come down to wild sprints at the end. To win, I like to have a lead. I tried all the tricks I could think of as we moved back through where we'd come. I crested hills hard and made turns strong, hoping that those behind me would lose sight of me for a moment and be demoralized with the ground they'd suddenly lost.

The sounds in my ears were breath and footsteps, but most of the noise came from inside. The personal battle was waging as I crossed the three mile mark. Soon after, I mentally lamented the 6k race, wishing that I'd already broken the proverbial tape in a 5k. At the previously annoying, s-curve, I slalomed through with jerky hips and powerful steps. I bounded onto bridges and hoped for the finish to appear. It did not. The battle wasn't over and the trail turned upward. I don't recall bounding down so far in the beginning, but here I was climbing up. Hills at the end of races, seem to be a club hallmark and yet I'm usually unprepared. I pressed up the hill, but most of the pressing seemed to be taking place against my chest. My heart and lungs were burning as I fought on. I didn't want to look back, but I sensed my competitors gaining. Halfway up the hill, I thought to myself, if I can clear this hill, I can win. I cleared the hill, and found more hill. With another push of painful steps, I crested that next part of the hill and saw the finish line. Finally. I may have sprinted, but there wasn't much left in the tank. Chest heaving, I crossed the line and waited just a few seconds before being followed into the chute. Victory tasted of cold air.

My new shoes now sit on my bedroom floor undefeated. They are the only shoes I've ever owned that have held that honor. They are considering retirement, but more than likely they will be back to better that (probably inaccurate) 6k time of 26:27.