Our headlamps struggled to break up the shroud of darkness that surrounded us. The rhythmic crunch of our feet, the rumble of the packs and the sloshing of water bladders drowned out any early creatures waking in the morning dark. And the wind rushed its hollow sound as it peppered the cold through my thin workout wear.
I couldn’t see that far in front of me. I was more led by the lights of the runners who were gaining ground ahead of me. Behind me were runners who I was gaining ground on. We were spreading out, finding our paces, setting our precedents.
I was struggling to actually run. Every time I tried to pick up the pace my feet would slip. I twisted my ankle slightly but it sprung back with no pain. The terrain was unforgiving. It was a steady ascent with a trail 2 feet wide at best covered in sharp rocks that would jump when you stepped on them and scratch your ankles.
Occasionally I would look up. The stars were blue in the windy expanse. The half moon reflected coldly in the thin air. At a mile high the cosmos looked clearer. Instead of the stars looking like they were peppered across a black cloth, I could decipher their depth, their distance. Some looked closer than others, some larger, some whose thin light struggled from light years away.
At one point the trail opened up upon a paved road running perpendicular to it. I wasn’t sure which way to go. Up the road? Down the road? There were no flashing headlamps or spinning reflectors ahead of me to show me the path. I slowed to a walk, hesitant and slightly panicked. The moon was slightly to my right. I peered at it as if asking for guidance and a red shooting star fell just below it. It flashed like a silent firework, and like all shooting stars, as soon as I saw it it was gone.
My feet pushed me forward toward the moon and the shooting star. At the edge of the paved road was an unseen reflector, above me on the shadow of the mountain I could see distant headlamps. Behind me more were coming out of the dark approaching the road.
I pressed on, toward the moon and the shooting star, soon I was back on the rocky path and continued to ascend up the mountain.
* * * * *
It was lonely in the dark. The runners were spread out now. There were none near me, and the ones I saw were distant and independent. I could see little beyond my headlamp. The sky was still black with no hint of the sun. I could only imagine the surrounding terrain and my imagination filled in the gaps beyond my light.
But what I could see was treacherous. The rocks continued to jump up and hit my ankles. The trail was never wider than 2 feet and most of the time it was narrower than a foot. That coupled with the ever increasing slope and the high altitude made my lungs struggle more than they ever had in my year of training.
My ankles rolled. The more I pushed myself the worse my footing became. My right ankle occasionally reminds me it is there, much like my first Spartan Race about a year prior, it worried me like it was right on the verge of failing. Periodically it will hurt or be sore or press in a strange way. It’s never been bad enough for me to rest it.
Then, a misstep and a jumble of rock, my right ankle rolled severely sending a pain up my leg. I buckled, fell onto my hands and held myself still with my right leg in the air.
My heart dropped, my hands stung from the sharp rocks, and my ankle burned. I was only a few miles in, not even halfway through the first lap and I think I injured myself. Of all the shit and sweat and sacrifice I had been through to get there, I thought it was over after it barely started.
I set my foot down gingerly. It hurt, but I could put pressure on it. I began to walk forward, carefully with each step. I could not run, too afraid I had finally done some damage. I strolled, step by step making sure my ankle was not injured. The more I walked, the less it hurt. It was not stiffening up, not swelling, not hurting more. But now I was more cautious and consciously changed how I set my foot down as to avoid another twist like that.
Occasionally, around a bend or over an invisible ridge, red lights of radio towers appeared. They faded in and out slowly. Their distance was indeterminable, but seeing them above me on a peak or below me in some unseen valley gave me an idea of the surrounding terrain. I came upon some bridges no more than 50ft long. The sudden flat planks were almost a shock compared to the craggy footing I was struggling with.
An indeterminate amount of miles in, the trail twisted around and turned into loose gravel like that of a river bed. Shortly after, the train opened up to pavement and I noticed the lights of RVs and heard the low hum of generators.
We were running through a campground, complete with electric hook ups and cinder block bathrooms. Some of the run volunteers were there to greet us and guide us with glowing plastic sticks like those you’d see to guide airplanes.
This isn’t so bad I thought. The pavement was a welcome reprieve from the rocks and gravel, even the slope of the road was gentle unlike the strenuous trail of the mountain. We jogged through the park, full of sleeping campers and dim lights. Still more spinning reflectors hung from trees and even some cones guided our way.
I was about an hour in. I knew I needed to average 4 hours a lap. I thought for sure I was nearing the halfway point. I needed to be there in 30ish minutes to be at a good pace. I turned a corner and a paper arrow pointed me in the direction of a trail that headed off the gentle asphalt.
I could see the trail narrow. A shadow loomed ahead of me. Even in the dark I could see it, feel it. The trail became rocky again, the footing uneasy, but now the trail ascended again almost vertically. It was so steep I could almost reach my hands in the dark and touch the sharp ground. Upward it went and my legs strained as they slipped and the rocks jumped and cut my ankles just above my socks.
This was the mountain, the mountain that made the first half of the run seem easy. This was the hiding monster I anticipated. This was the stoic and sleeping shadow that haunted my dreams, that peered out in the corners of my mind while I was training. But this monster was worse. It was real, under my feet, cutting me, rolling my ankles, tugging at my lungs and making my legs burn.
I continued, upward and onward clawing in the dark, struggling to reach the peak, but only for the first of 8 more times to complete the race…
The rest, dear reader, is a story for another day…