Wet Weekend

Last weekend was a wet one. Over 6" of rain fell in the Little Rock area between Friday and Sunday, and although that's a lot of water, we were grateful it wasn't frozen. Since ice and lightning weren't involved, training was on for Saturday morning. Fourteen miles, the schedule called for...fourteen hilly miles of Oucho Gaucho in West Little Rock. Fortunately, the temperature made it bearable, hovering in the upper '50s. Still, rain is rain. Rain means all the things I've mentioned here in the past...wet socks, heavy shoes, chafing, annoying raincoat swish-swish. Even being the addict that I am to this strange sport, I had a hard time getting psyched up for this run.

I chuckled when I drove up and saw a crowd of 50 runners, all decked out in rain gear and blinky lights, huddled up under the awning of whatever restaurant replaced Gaucho's Grill. They were staying as close to the building as possible, trying not to get wet, as though two+ hours in the pouring rain wasn't about to drench us.

Tom sidled up and asked how long I was going. "Fourteen," I said, "Isn't everyone?"

Tom is smart, see. He knew good and well that I would not really be awake at 5:45 a.m. and that he could pretty much talk me into anything at that time. "Well," he began, "Chris and I thought we'd just do 9 today and then do about 10 tomorrow out on the Ouachita Trail....Wanna?"

"Let me think about it," I said, already knowing in my mind that I was sold. Hmmm...pouring rain, hilly course, sleepy...not a tough choice. Nine instead of fourteen?

"Ok," I said, when I found Tom again in the huddle.

"Ok?!?" he grinned.

"Ok," I admitted.

The nine Oucho Gaucho miles were alright. I headed out with Tom, Chris, and a new team member, Jenna. I had to work to keep up, but am used to that and despite it, feel I am getting stronger. I was glad I'd worn tights and gloves because wind and water made me colder than expected. As usual, Chris and Tom sped up all the hills. Also as usual, I pushed to keep them in view and then caught them on the way down. For a long while, Chris and Jenna chatted, trotting along at a steadily faster clip as they went. Tom dropped back to hang with me, which was nice of him, and the four of us stayed within 10-20 ft. of each other the whole route. We ended up with about 9.5 miles, 1:36. After stretching, it didn't take me long to get freezing cold, so I headed home. The remainder of the day, I made a point of eating right and trying to stay off my feet.

(Note to self: It's tricky to drive across town with the heat on full blast after a run, because although I feel cold, my body is warm, and the windows constantly fog up. Each time I put the thermostat on defrost instead of heat, I began shivering like crazy, causing me to switch it back to full heat. This went on the whole way. Bring more towels and dry clothes.)



Sunday, I drove to our meeting place out on Highway 10, chowing down on PB&J, pretty much regretting my decision. We'd agreed to meet at 7:30 a.m., so at least it wasn't dark, but it was raining and it had dropped about 20 degrees and of course I was sleepy. Tom and Chris were giddy as kids at a playground, though, and their attitude was infectious. I started getting excited. We set out from a turnout by Lake Maumelle, on Highway 10 near Ouachita Trail mile 202. It was our plan to run from 202 to mile marker 197 and back. Within two minutes we were soaked.


The first mile, I just followed them and tried to get a feel for the trail. I've done a little trail running, in the parks where I've worked, but in those cases I knew the trails intimately after leading countless guided hikes on them. Today I was in new territory and totally dependent on Tom and Chris to take the lead. A welcome and refreshing situation for me. They may not realize what a treat it is, for someone in my line of work, to just be in the back and have no part of finding the way.


Question of the day: Is it called a creek crossing if the trail is just a big long pool of ankle-deep water for quarter miles at a time?


If so, creek crossings were countless. The trail was flooded in numerous places, and it was easier (and less of an impact) to just push through the puddles instead of going around. Knee-high crossings were also aplenty.


In the last year, land surrounding this area has been in the spotlight as our city deals with threats to our supply of drinking water. Developers want to build on pieces of land that are sensitive pieces of the watershed of Lake Maumelle. As I ran through the woods, I wished that the builders and legislators and leaders who make decisions about these things could be out here. Anyone who doesn't comprehend how a watershed works would have no trouble getting it on a day like this. Anyplace water could run on, it did. It ran in big valleys, little valleys, and anyplace with any decline in elevation.


This land is beautiful. Thickly wooded glades. Moss-covered rock outcroppings. Quiet, save the sound of water rushing, all around.


Not counting the myriad sections of flooded trail, we made at least three waist-high swiftwater crossings. Imagine wading into a swimming pool, a still-freezing-cold pool on one of the first days of summer. You've opted not to just get it over with by launching yourself cannonball-style into the deep end, but instead to subject yourself to slow and agonizing suffering by inching in.


First, your feet are cold, then your calves tighten up, then your knees feel like twisty-turny knots inside your legs. Then, comes Critical Point Number One. You know the spot. This is a point of no return. A part of you that is exponentially more sensitive than other parts of you.


So we went into the first creek past Critical Point Number One. With one misstep into a sinky muddy spot, I quickly advanced to Critical Point Number Two. I don't know why my belly button is such a significant spot, but I sure do know it doesn't like to be submerged in cold water.


"You know," I hollered at Tom, who at 6'-something was not dealing with the same situation faced by Chris and I (Chris is my height),"I've passed Critical Points One and Two, and if we get in over Critical Point Three, I will seriously begin to question this decision."


We all laughed. Tom pointed out that I am for sure a crackhead, noting the fact that I didn't say "I will turn back" or "I will hate you for getting me into this" but simply "I will begin to question this decision."


When you're dressed right, being wet isn't a big problem, and if you can keep moving, you won't get too cold. Technical clothing is wicking, quick-drying, and insulating. The only thing that consistently stayed cold on me was my hands, which I could deal with. Feeling in my feet kind of came and went....mostly went...considering they were underwater most of the time. The neatest thing was how warm and tingly my quads and trunk would feel each time we came up out of the water and kept running. Hot and cold at once. Interesting. Strangely pleasant.


We did cross the path of a pissed-off looking cottonmouth snake, who lay coiled on the side of the trail. Each of us came within inches of stepping on it because it blended into the wet leaf litter so well.


Our average pace was 15-20 minutes per mile. Trail running is much different than roads; you slow down to deal with terrain, water, and lots and lots of uphills. Somewhere around what should have been mile 195 we realized we must have missed 197. We wondered if we could talk Tom's wife Hobbit into picking us up at Highway 9, giving us a straight shot 10-miler rather than an out-and-back like we'd started out doing. Tom pulled out his phone, found that he had a signal, and called. Hobbit is the coolest. She agreed to come. We pushed on.


It's been a long time since I felt like such a kid. Since I didn't have to lead the way, I was free to just scramble through the woods. Another thing about trail running that's different than roads is that on the road, my mind goes to a place of reflection and meditation. In the woods, I can't. Trail running calls for a higher level of alertness, a focus on everything out in front of me in the big picture and immediately at my feet. It's a constant processing of information about my surroundings. It's freeing. There's not time or space for stress to think about anything else. Rarely have I been so present in the moments of living life.


Too soon, we came to the trailhead at Highway 9. No Hobbit. Knowing we'd quickly get chilled, we started running up the road in the direction she would come. Tom was sure there was a store just up the road, perhaps a mile or so. After 20 minutes, no store and no Hobbit. We were having fun, but didn't want her to miss us, so Tom called again. She agreed to pick us up at the store at the junction of Highways 9 and 10.


Finally, the store came into view when we rounded a bend. Chris said, "I can't run any more" and started walking. We all did. I studied the distance; we were maybe 100 yards from the end.


"You can't run that last little bit to that store?" I teased, knowing that Chris is as competitive as I am. She smirked at me, we both looked at Tom, he grinned, and off we went.


A man and woman running the store thought we were nuts, I'm sure, but we were grateful for their heat. Tom wanted sugar and was excited to buy some Gatorade. When Hobbit pulled up, my opinion about her being the coolest person around compounded. Not only did she get up our of bed on a lazy rainy Sunday and drive 40 miles to come get us, she had the heat in her truck on high and brought towels, Pringles, pretzels, and cookies. Gourmet food to people craving sugar and salt. Even better, she is a runner herself, meaning: She understood.


Later that day I got a voicemail from Tom. He'd been studying his maps and just wanted to let me know that officially, the section of trail we ran was 10.2 and the section of road was 2.7.


A 22-mile weekend. Not bad for two days in the rain.