The Road Not Taken (Triple Lakes Trail Marathon)

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
two roads diverged in a wood, and I --
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

I have run marathons in the woods before. I have completed what I consider to be true trail runs of 10, 11 and 13 miles. But, until today, I had never completed what I consider to be a true trail marathon. Today, I became a trail runner.

The distinctions may be subtle, but the Triple Lakes Trail Marathon is conducted primarily on single lane trails through Bur-Mil Park in Greensboro, North Carolina. The Park stands as an incredible asset to the people of Greensboro and Guilford County. The Park presents a pretty good challenge to any runner.

In previous blog posts I have explained how I ended up deciding to participate in the Triple Lakes event. Frost's poem puts it well as I opted for the less traveled road, rather than competing in yet another marathon conducted on asphalt. If you are a runner, go run through the woods every now and again. It's challenging, refreshing, different and filled with roots, tree stumps, creek crossings, leaves, pine straw along with the occasional critter.

I ran the first 13 miles in 2 hours and nine minutes, which was ahead of my intended pace. After a full month of recovery I felt strong, so the quick pace felt natural.

While I successfully avoided losing any skin to trips and falls, I did experience three significant stumbles when my toe caught a root and I started plunging downward...generally face first. Balance, coordination, strength and a well said "dog gone it," combined to keep my from falling to the ground. I said this happened three times, it was probably more like 33. Yet I never fell, never even had to put a hand on the ground to keep my balance and, most importantly, I left no skin on tree stumps or rocks along the course.

Running on a trail is a combination of high speed hop scotch played between tree roots, a balancing act on narrow trails or single plank bridges, and a battle against gravity on both downhill and uphill runs...and there were severe downhills that, while short, literally drove the breath from my lungs with an "ugh" sound. There was not any mountain climbing at the level I experienced in Arizona or California, but there were severe slopes, muddy creek crossings, climbs on rocks and some downhill sliding with pine straw under my feet.

I would compare trail running to playing a racing game on Wii or XBox. You are actually not moving all that fast, but there is a need for constant attention to all the action. During today's trail run, my eyes and my mind were fully engaged throughout the entire 26 miles. You have to choose your route, while avoiding the tree roots, look ahead to make sure you are on the trail, pay attention to runners in front and behind you, and quickly decide exactly where to put your foot with every step.

I said my eyes and mind were fully engaged for 26 miles. That's true, except for about 20 yards between mile 14 and mile 15. My focus lapsed for less than a minute. My attention was quickly brought back to the trail by sudden severe pain that shot through my right foot. I was running on a side slope (i.e., left foot was higher than the right foot) during this brain fade and did not look at the trail in front. My right foot landed on a root or a rock and rolled that Rice Krispies kind of roll...you know...Snap, Crackle and Pop! It hurt immediately as a result of a pretty severe twisting and rolling action, which bore pretty much all my weight. I kept running for two more miles in spite of the new pain, but eventually had to stop to tighten my shoe. When I say it hurt, I mean it hurt. After tightening my shoe, I walked for a few minutes. The walk was to evaluate my options--do I continue on, or do I stop and try to find another October marathon? Keep in mind, I'm out in the woods with no idea how far to the next aid station (it was over 3 miles away).

What to do, what to do?

I stopped again and tied my right shoe even tighter. The purpose of the shoe tightening was to support the injured ankle by cinching my shoes as securely as possible. Then, I started running again. Much more slowly and much more carefully. The ankle twist had minimized the feeling of strength and stability that I normally feel in my foot. I still, at this point, had 10 miles of root filled, hilly trails to run. It was not long before I had to stop again and tighten the shoe. I could run, albeit with pain, on flat or uphill sections, but running downhill magnified the pain...evidenced by the groans that came uncontrollably from by mouth. A fellow competitor ran with me for a while to make sure I was OK. At the 19 mile aid station I downed two Tylenol, but declined to have my ankle taped. I just hoped the tight shoe would provide the needed stability.

Reaching mile 20 gave me hope I could finish (and the sign of the day). When I made it through mile 22, I knew I could finish...and the Tylenol took some of the pain away. At mile 23 I jammed my right foot in an awkward position during an uphill climb and let out a yell, because that one really hurt! The last four miles of the trail, at least until mile 25, seemed extra rooty, hilly and rocky, which served to slow me yet again.

At mile 25 we broke into a grassy field, with some cheering fans. It was a relatively quick run around a pond and up a hill to the finish, which was achieved in a total time of 4 hours 53 minutes 20 seconds. That put me in 73rd place out of 110 marathon finishers, 20th of 24 in the 40 to 49 age group, and 57th of 77 males.

I'm now typing from the Greensboro Airport (now it's the Atlanta Airport as I wait for my connecting flight) and can assure you, the ankle still aches (demonstrated by my slow limp from Terminal D to Terminal A in Atlanta). For me, the good news is I finished the October marathon despite the surprise challenge of a turned ankle, and I have four weeks until the New York City Marathon...which gives me time to heal.

One final note, I'll post again about the trail running experience. It strikes me there are more than a few life lessons to be found along a run through the woods. I'll try to consolidate these thoughts in a blog post during the coming days. For now, though, I'm looking forward to returning home and finding an ice bag for my ankle.