Not a failure

Failure is relative.

Saturday I set out at 9:00am from Stinson Beach to run a marathon. I knew it was a trail race, but I had no clue how difficult it would be. We ran across the beach and across the street onto the Dipsea and then Steep Ravine trails. Imagine going for a strenuous mountain hike--lovely, but all uphill. For a straight 3.5 miles. Running (or, trying to).

Then you get a nice break. Well, sort of. You get two miles downhill. Sometimes, you feel like you're going to lose your footing and fall down the hill, which means you really have to pay attention to each footfall. Not to mention all of the roots and rocks causing the terrain of your path to change and shift all of the time.

Then it's through Muir Woods for a quick, flat jaunt before heading back uphill and through the mountainous woods.

I could keep going, but I think you get the point. The trail was so beautiful, but also underestimated. I didn't really know what I was getting into, which was my fault.

The cut-off time was six hours, and by the time I had done the seven-mile loop twice, I was going to be cutting it close to make it for the couple-mile out-and-back. When I reached the final aid station, they announced that any more marathoners wouldn't be able to do the out-and-back because of time constraints.

I had been struggling with pain in my right knee and hip, so part of me was glad to hear it. I only had the 3.5 miles back to the beach along the Dipsea trail, which included the Dipsea steps (seriously--this was insane--just tons of steps constructed to slice right through the mountain) and a glorious view of Stinson Beach--my finish line.

In the end, I finished just 22 miles according to my measurement (the website says 21). And I burst into tears as I cross the finish line, partially due to my elation at having finished, but mostly due to the pain I was in.

All in all, I'm proud of what I accomplished. Sure, I ended up being one of the slowest marathoners there (um, there were only 50 of us), and I was four or so miles short of a true full marathon, but I'm still proud. I realize (should have before) that it isn't exactly smart to run a trail race when you've only trained on city streets. That I guess I learned the hard way. I feel like trail marathons are at least twice as hard as road race marathons.

Would I do it again? I'm not so sure. In fact, I'm not sure if I should keep running marathons, with the way my joints were responding to this one. That's up for debate. They say trail races are gentler on your joints, but I'm not sure that I believe that. Or maybe it was just the steepness of some portions of the race that killed my joints.

Do I consider this a failure? Not at all. The amount of energy I exerted in this race was more that either or my road marathons, and that's saying something.

Plus, I got to spend a long weekend hanging out with the guy below. I might still be a little limpy, but all in all, it was definitely not a failure.