The Active Joe: Hug a Dino

In February of last year, I ran my first trail race, the Cross Timber Trail Run Marathon distance. I had a fantastic experience, ran into issues and fought my way over 26 miles of climbing, descent, rocks, roots and sand. 

I trained hard over the summer and ran several other races, particularly focusing on the 50k distance. These runs took me to Colorado, all over Oklahoma, and became shared experiences with my partner, Jessy. 

Come September, I embarked over a new adventure, the 40 mile distance at the Rough Creek Trail Run. This included a very strenuous hike over a portion called the Rusty Crown due to a series of incredibly steep, hand over hand climbing, followed by almost immediate decent, outlining a crown shape. 

This was a big race for me because it was a new distance, a new vertical challenge, and it also took place a couple weeks before I left for Africa. Jessy and I were struggling to navigate our new life as co-parents, partners, she was in a new job, and I was preparing for a three week long international volunteer trip to a third world country. The stress leading up to the race was immense, but we both trained and talked and not only made it work, but tried our best to find ways to thrive throughout. 

When race day arrived, Jessy and I woke early together and she headed to Stonebridge Ranch to time a triathlon and I headed to Rough Creek to run. And run I did. 

Jessy finished her race, then drove out with the kids to see me finish. By the time they arrived, I was completing my final 13 mile loop and each aide station cheered me forward. I crossed the timing mats with a strong finish and ran straight into Jessy’s arms. We drove out to the aide station where some friends were volunteering, and here took my favorite picture of us together. We both are sun-kissed, smiling and overjoyed to be together. 

We spent the next several days spending as much time together as possible before I left for Africa, and made some wonderful memories while doing so. 

Fast forward to November. 

We have now left Africa behind, toured Paris together, reacclimatized to life together in the home, and are trying to return to the life we are building together. 

This was a lot of work. Trying to structure and maintain routines while we both worked fluctuating retail schedules, the emerging different abilities of one child while supporting the other child through the shift, balancing our work lives and still trying to be the happy and free couple we were when we first started dating proved a great and dynamic challenge. Add in Jessy’s completion of her first 100 mile race and the recovery time that takes and my continuing to train for increasing distances, and you can begin to imagine to level of grotesque “tired” that existed in our home.

I will always remember this as a hard time because of all we had on our plate, but the amount of joy I received from each day was unimaginable. I awoke to the woman of my dreams each morning, and kissed her good night at the end of every day. I had two amazing kids burrowing themselves deeper into my heart and identity. And we had lots of problems. Lots. But the biggest was that when the days were hard, Jessy and I simply missed each other. That missing one another was the biggest struggle, I’ll count that as a blessing. 

What does this have to do with the Active Joe? Well, because once again, one of Libby’s fine races cropped up at a benchmark of my life and offered up a plethora of lessons with each step. 

At Cross Timbers, I learned what the trail community was about and embraced it. While running Rough Creek, I learned how to push myself not just to complete the distance, but to do so with a little skill and a lot of joy. At Dino Valley, I learned that everything can be going wrong, but when you have love and support, you can always make it work.

I had a lot of mixed emotions going into race weekend. Running an ultra distance race takes a long time, a lot of energy, and tons of recovery. The time spent on each of these things is time taken away from anything and everything else you have going on in life. 

I had been gone for almost a full month. The week before I had been working a lot and spent time away to play some music gigs. I was going to be gone for pretty much the entire weekend to do this race. Jessy’s response when I brought these feelings to her were one of many reasons I love her so much. 

“Go run your damn race. It’s yours. It’s you time. So go do it.”

After years of being a single mother of two, working full time and at times multiple side jobs, all while trying to stay fit and healthy and earning two degrees, she was now having to teach her incompetent and insecure co-parent the ideals of self care. God bless her. 

So on November 4th at 4am she fed me breakfast and pushed me out the door with a kiss for good luck. I arrived at the race sight excited for my adventure. 

I had spent the summer heat training since I crewed a friend at his Badwater135 race (An ultra marathon through Death Valley) and then spent time in muggy hot Africa so when the weather called for unseasonable heat, I was ready. 

When the race began, I ran. I quickly found a comfortable stride and took a lot of joy from the beautiful terrain. The course was a grand mix of rocky climbing, root covered trail, grassy meadow and two major creek crossings. 

On lap one, I was tailing along behind a pack of runners as we wound around through one rocky section, all realizing we had lost the trail. We back tracked and retraced until we found our way and continued forward. As I continued, I ran into Libby’s smiling face several times. I thought it was really cool that the Race Director was out on the trail with us, smiling and offering support. 

On the second loop, I learned that she was actually out because the night before someone had pulled several course markings from the trail. That was the reason we all got lost and the reason she was out on the course. While yes, she was smiling and offering support, she was also desperately trying to remark an already rough trail so no more runners would get lost and turned around like my group did on our first loop. 

When I made the turnaround for the third loop, it had gotten and had been really hot. I thrived in this heat, but many did not. I was seeing several runners stopped and laying down in aide stations, volunteers were telling stories of several drops from dehydration issues. I continued to run, and did my best to run well. I ran out of water between two aide stations at one point and during this time, my mind played out many a drama of the terrain in my head. 

“….Between the fence line aide station and the pavilion aide station, you trekked across a wide meadow with no shade. The body was given some respite as you dove into a treeline, but here you met hills and undulating trail. As the dusty single track led down, you would find pockets of thick, muggy air covering valley floors. Here, it was harder to breath and one had to work through with stride intact to find cleaner breathing only after more arduous climbing. Once free from these trees, you were led out across dark concrete. One could watch heat waves move and shake the sightline of rising hills in the distance. Thirst and thick dust caked my throat. I moved forward, for that was the only option for survival…..”

All this within the confines of a six mile stretch through a manicured and well visited state park. 

After Pavilion aide station, were the two creek crossings. The water was cool each time, and the rocks slick. The water temperature was kind to hot, swelling feet, but wet shoes had begun to bear their burden as I felt little blisters begin their ugly work on the bottoms of my feet. 

On I ran into my fourth and final loop.

By the time I hit my fourth loop, I had already been running about eleven hours. I had kept my phone on to track my distance, but in airplane mode, so I had little contact with Jessy. I rewarded myself with a text exchange after 30 miles, just to check in. The more tired I became though, the more I craved her support. I worked my way into my final miles sunburnt and hungry, body hurting feet blistered. I pulled out my phone and let her know where I was and that I was hurting. 

“Go run your damn race.”

Okay…. So I ran. It was now dark and I was tired. So I ran in the wrong direction. I cried a little bit. My phone had calculated that I had added about six miles between getting lost this morning and running an extra loop in the dark on accident. I was frustrated and kicking rocks. 

Go run your damn race. 

So I ran. Well…. Maybe now was more power hiking than running. Those blisters were begging for attention that I refused to give them. They burned and I felt the inflammation grow, imagining my skin tightening and separating. At some point I felt a sharp, diving burn, then felt hot liquid spread over the bottom of my foot. One popped.

Gross.

On I ran. As I entered the first creek crossing of the final stretch, the cool water both relieved the pressure in my ankles and feet, but burned where the blisters had cracked open. I rested at the aide station a moment and chatted with a volunteer and a fellow runner. The runner was embarking on the 100 mile distance and was considering a drop. I tried to offer confidence and positivity. We moved out together, but shortly after lost one another on the dark trail. I power hiked on curled toes and achy feet. Marched out steady run cadence. I thought about how I missed Jessy.

I made it to the final aide station and was nearly to tears with relief. I was just over two miles from finishing my 100k. I ran through the station with a hello and triumphant “I’m almost there!!” I made it to the creek crossing and hit the water swiftly, full of confidence, not listening to the beaconing, burning call from my blistered feet. 

And just as I reached the middle, moving with ease…

I slipped.

Cartoon style. 

Feet above head and ended up drenched, with scratched hands, and a throbbing tailbone. I was now sitting in a creek and laughing at myself. Yes. This is what it means to run my damn race. This is why we hit the trail, why we train, why self care sometimes means taking time away and finding yourself hurting and alone and missing the ones you love.

It’s because life is hard and full of obstacles, but in the midst of it all, you can find yourself ass down in a creek and laughing.

I finished the Dino Valley 100k in a little over 14 hours. I took home an overall finish award and a sweet looking belt buckle. I also later learned that many runners complained that Libby didn’t mark the trail well, even though I watched her scrambling to remark after unforeseen events disrupted her original markings. I also learned that several runners blamed lack of water at aide stations for the bad runs or DNF’s. That broke my heart because as a trail runner, it is our job to know the course, watch the weather, and handle ourselves. It is also our job to love one another on the trail and help our fellow runners out. 

On an unseasonable hot day, watching runners pour water over their heads and use tons of ice stuffing their hats or shirts, then complain that there was not enough, is painful to me. We run trails to be rugged and over come distance and ourselves without creature comforts. 

After the race, I texted Jessy to let her know I finished, though I knew she was asleep. I then sat in a camping chair by the finish line, enjoying a cup of coffee a volunteer was kind enough to make me. I watched a man, who had also just finished, boss his wife around, asking her, not too kindly, to get him food and drinks. His kids were there playing and wanted to sit in his lap, for which he sharply reprimanded them. I don’t want to judge this guy, but I also don’t ever want to be like him. 

At Dino Valley, I ran and I enjoyed myself. I had a great finish and walked away with some great stories. But I also learned yet another valuable lesson. To love the trails, you need to love one another and you need to love yourself. Thank your volunteers. Thank your race directors. Thank your spouses and support systems. Thank your kids. What we do takes a lot out of us, but it also takes a lot from everyone around us. 

Love your damn run, love yourself and love those that put up with you and beyond.