The Torture Trail

Many of you have asked whether I've been lonely these past few weeks while my partner-in-crime is off fighting villains in the Swiss military.

Some of his extra fierce fellow fighters

In a lecture

Camouflage tables = Totally necessary

My man strutting his stuff

While I've of course been missing him a WHOLE lot, I've also been having lots of fun keeping myself extra busy - just how I like it.  Catching up with old friends over coffee and brunch, doing some serious Christmas present shopping (more on that soon), snuggling in bed with my latest can't-stop-reading obsession: The Hunger Games (just trust me), trying my hand at some artsy holiday projects (stay tuned for more details there), and finally partaking in a Coastal Trail Race - something I've been wanting to try since I first moved to the city.

A few weeks ago, I stumbled upon the Coyote Ridge Race.  The timing, date, and locale were perfect - 8am (a luxuriously late start in SF where the majority of races are off by 6) on a Saturday morning (so I still had a full weekend to enjoy post finish) out at Muir Beach (right across the Golden Gate).

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They had a few options for runners: 7 miles, 10 miles, 20 miles, or the good old 50k.  While I had never run more than 6 miles as of a year and a half ago, I've really up-ed the ante in terms of my distance logging 3 halves and 1 full marathon in the past calendar year.  I was tempted by the 20-miler but - given that this terrain was expected to be a bit hilly-er than I was used to - I decided to opt for the 10.  

Leading up to the event, I was nonchalant bordering on hubristic and swollen-headed.  "Are you ready?"  "Are you nervous?" "Are you carb-loading?" people would ask to which I would chuckle: "It's only 10.  Of course not."  I even ran 6 the day before treating the race like a non-event. 

The day of was perfect - a brisk cool but clear morning, the perfect temperature for a fabulous race.  As I made my way to the starting line, I looked around at the incredibly small crowd of runners that was beginning to gather - approximately 300 split between distances.  Awards were given to the top three finishers for each distance?  I thought to myself.  I might seriously have a shot.  I scrolled my iPod to my top rated tunes ready to crank it out when the signal was given. 

The starting line - yes, literally on this bridge

The runners beginning to assemble

As the official yelled "Go!" I took off at a full sprint along the dirt trail and around the corner.  I was towards the front of the pack feeling good about my prospects to leave the slow pokes in my dust.  As I turned another bend, I was confronted with a massive hill dotted with a small dirt trail heading straight up its steepest terrain. 

I started up trying to keep pace but slowly (and very surely) lost momentum.  Runners passed me by the dozen as my steps got slower and slower.  Finally, I reached the summit turning back to snap a picture of my feat.  Surely the worst was over.

The starting block bridge was

right down on little beach

Thankfully, I was rewarded for my efforts with a delightfully steep downhill.

The blissful break, however, was short-lived.  Soon I found myself at the bottom of another hill.

You see those little figures on the horizon up there? 

That's where I'm headed.

When I finally reached the top of this summit, I was beyond completely spent - my legs felt like jello, my feet like rocks, and my lungs like bags of flour.  Despite my pain, I snapped some shots of the dewy hills, the majestic Pacific, and the gorgeously blue sky.

As I continued along the trail for what seemed like hours, I heard a fellow runner give warning of the impending aid station coming up on our left.  Oh, fabulous, I thought.  We've reached the halfway point so I'll get myself some H20, pump up the David Guetta tunes, and crank out another 5.

As I grabbed my cup, I chatted with the bundled-up volunteer: "So what mile are we at here? 5? 6?" 

She looked at my sullenly.  "3."

My heart sank.  Only 3 measly miles?  How in the world was I going to suffer through another 7 miles of this torture trail?

But then - just as I was about to throw in the towel - the sun caught the trees (and my camera's lens) at exactly the right angle inspiring me (well, really reminding me that I was going to report back to all of you) to keep on going.

I chugged along taking time to snap a few more pics of the trail's fabulousness:

Having the hill to myself 

Down into that valley and then up the hill on the other side

Finally, I saw the finish line - right where we had started.  Right down in that little cove.

Boy was I glad to be done -

even if I did average only a 12 minute mile.

It wasn't until I was back in my apartment later that night that I finally checked out the terrain map:

 

A tad bit hilly-er than I had expected

And checked the results: the female winner (a 19 year-old Division I cross country runner) averaged an approximate 10 minute mile.  So I guess 12 minute miles weren't totally atrocious?

I rewarded myself with a Hot Stone Massage at the Intercontinental - courtesy of GroupOn.  (For the best deals in your neck of the woods, check out www.yipit.com.)  

Until tomorrow,
xoxo
KK