On February 17, 2008, an outrageously perfect day for a run, I woke up to the annoying din of my alarm at 5 AM, and promptly (ok, slowly and groggily) prepared for my journey to Fort Langley and the 21.1 kilometre run ahead of me. My throat was scratchy. I was a little under the weather. But maybe it was just the lack of sleep.
With the dog happily walked and fed, my racing chip on my shoe and number on my jacket, I set out South East as the sun was rising.
First stop: Port Coquitlam to pick up my friend and, for today, "fan", who would prove to be a valuable resource post-race as she held me up as I limped to the car.
"Coffee. Stat." Sam said in barely a murmur. Her eyes were slitty. We both knew she hadn't seen this time in the morning since, well, probably never. A large java did the trick and we were both singing along to radio tunes as we merged onto the Trans Canada.
Fort Langley is a beautiful, quaint little town. Kind of like Port Hope, Ontario. Little shops. A handful of residents. (actually 2500, I think, but it seems like a lot less). A peaceful river with sandy banks, and a slew of snow-capped mountains in the distance. There is an actual "Fort Langley" that sit atop a mighty hill (I know, because I ran up it!). It is apparently the "Birth Place of BC" but I've not sure if it's a truth laden in rich history or merely a sales gimmick to attract tourists to the pioneer village.
Regardless, Fort Langley is beautiful. It is a mesh of old buildings, cottage-style homes, beautiful nature, and big mountains. It is the very definition of "quaint."
With 3000 runners and walkers competing in the 2008 Historic Half Marathon and 10k events, the town's population was easily doubled. There were several locals who didn't realize a race was happening, and we could hear them commenting on how "busy" the village was. Meanwhile, to me, it seemed peaceful and serene. In fact, I said to Sam when we arrived "It's so quiet here. Usually there is a big bustle before a race." Of course, as more people arrived, the "bustle" did heighten, but there is something about being in a small town that makes even big events seem a little more subdued.
After we parked and I managed a trip to the port-a-potty's before the line and stench were too much to bear, it was a waiting game. The longer I waited, the colder I got. "It's freezing" I quipped, shivering. Sam was decked out in a sweater and no gloves. She wasn't cold at all. "You're getting sick," she said.
"What is it, like -10?"
I was getting grouchy.
"It's 5 degrees and the sun isn't even up all the way yet. It'll be 10 in an hour."
I shivered for 45 minutes and was happy to finally huddle with the other 3000 runners in the start gates around 9.
The gun went off, I wave to Sam, and the race begun.
I felt ok. Not great. Not bad. Just okay.
But the excitement of being amidst so many runners helped to fuel my legs for the run ahead.
A found a nice stride. about a kilometre in. And ... then... I hit the hills.
I do hill training specifically to prepare myself for uphill battles on the race course. I run an 800m hill at a 45% grade up and down for up to 10 kilometres. I had been doing it every Wednesday night for months. I would even have boasted to be a good hill runner, that is until I hit *these* hills (read: "mountains") and *these* grades.
Immediately, not even 15 minutes into the race, runners dropped like flies. The walked. They stopped to catch their breath. They veered to the side of the hill to let the others pass. At this point, I was a "passer". By kilometre 19, I was most definitely a "fly".
At every turn, it was up up up. I've never heard so much cursing in a race before. We would round a bend in a back country road (which, by the way, boasted killer views of the mountains!), only to be greeted by another hill. Still going up. "Damn!" one girl said bowing her head in defeat and pulling off to the side. "For Christ's sake," said another as she tried to push forth, sweat spraying off her brow. "What the hell?" said a guy loudly enough that I though maybe it was going to come to blows between him and the hill. I admit that I had some choice words too.
And so this went on for 21 kilometres. They say, actually, that the elevation gain over the course of the race is 3000 ft. I'm not surprised. There were no plateaus. Zero. No flats. It was either all up or all down. So by the 10k mark, my quads were wrenching and my knees were begging for mercy.
But I ambled on.
One of the big surprises and highlights of the run (in addition to the blue skies, warm temperatures, and mountain views) was a little jaunt that we took into a wooded area, onto a foot path, and through Mountain View Conservation Area. (www.mtnviewfarms.com) All of a sudden we were running through fields next to lemurs, giraffes, wolverines, deer, monkeys, etc. For a moment I thought the hills had caught up with me and I was suffering from delirium. Perhaps I was running so fast I had entered a time warp. And now I was in the Amazon!
I saw the most interesting creatures! I learned later that the conservation area is home to thousands of endangered species from around the world and that some of our original registration race fees went to supporting their work. Yay!
By kilometre 14, I was begging for mercy. My iPod battery died. (No more Rocky music to propel me toward the finish.) The sun was shining directly on the side of my face making me wish I had both sunglasses and sunblock. My legs were seizing. And the hills were getting worse. People started passing me in a very big way. I was running so slow up those hills that I was going backward. I was sure of it.
I started to think of Sam at the finish line. I told her that I would roll in between 2:10 and 2:20. I thought she'd be standing there for hours wondering where I was, as I crawled into the finished in just under 3 hours. I would be begging for water. My legs would have to be amputated. The horror!
This dramatic brain lapse actually proved effective in helping the time pass and when I saw the 18km marker (and the start of the first downhill stretch in 5 kilometers), I felt a second wind. I passed the girl wearing a skort who was obviousyl not a "real" runner. I passed one wearing make up and earrings (god forbid I let her beat me!). At kilometre 20 I snuck by the 70 year old who whizzed by me 13 kilomters before making me feel inadequate, fat, slow, and ashamed. "Sucker" I said under my breath as I left him in my dust (and regained my confidence). The last kilometre was an uphill stretch up to and into the actual Fort.
I pushed hard. My legs were numb. There was a girl in a bra top about 10 metres ahead who I couldn't possibly let beat me. I mean, who runs in just a bra top? So I picked it up!
I was narrowing the gap quite nicely as we entered the Fort. The crowd cheered. Sam waved. I pressed on. Then bra-top girl got a second wind and started to make a bee-line for the finish. So I pushed myself into overdrive. "I don't care if the clock says 3 hours," I thought, "I am not letting bra-top girl beat me!"
About a meter from the finish, she lost her steam and I emerged victorious!
The good news is that the race wasn't as horrible as I had thought. In fact, although I was 2 minutes off my personal best, I was surprised and satisfied with my official 2:15:02 chip time.
I came 313 out of 574 female runners and 65 out of 100 in my age group (though I do care to point out that my age group is 20-29, so those spry 20 year-olds took me for a run for my money! I am anxiously waiting to be a spry 30 year old in the 30-39 group next year!!)
As I came through the shoot, a pilgrim woman from the Fort handed me my medal and a tree to plant. I rushed to the food tent (as I always do) leaving Sam searching high and low, loaded up on bananas, cookies, and gatorade, found Sam, and hobbled back to the car.
By 1 PM i was home sweet home. As part of my post-race tradition (something I have been doing for years and years) I promptly donned my official Historic Half t-shirt, curled up, and went to sleep.
Although the race and final performance were certainly not my finest, it was a beautiful day. The sun was shining. I was running. The mountains were glistening. The water was like glass. And I beat Skort-Girl, MakeUp-Woman, Old-Dude, and Bra-Top-Girl.
A girl can't ask for much more (well, maybe a top half finish next year).
As I snapped photos of the pearly-pink fungi on an old tree stump, I felt invigorated with creativity. As Beamer dipped her dry paws into the cool creek water and pointed her nose upward, as if inhaling the beauty of the day, all the silly little things that had been gnawing at my insides, were swallowed, and instantly gone. As I paused with my hand on the gnarly bark of an old fir tree, my trepidations were dismissed. 
