What the hill?!

Apologies my dear readers, for the unannounced quiescence of the past few weeks. Some exciting developments at work and the insalubrious consuetude of viewing Lost, the popular television series, till I am goggle-eyed every evening have seduced me away from the blogosphere. But I return with exciting news and stories to share of races run and medals won. 

I refer to the annual Cape Ann 25K run – my first running race ever! Set in scenic Cape Ann, a rocky peninsula that overlooks the Atlantic, this race is infamous for a route that comprises 16 crazy hills! Runners make a 16 mile loop around the entire cape, with spectacular views of the ocean, the ships, sand beaches and grassy moors along the way. This race is one of America’s oldest and toughest races and is considered ideal preparation for runners training for a fall marathon. 

And so most of our team found itself in the tiny northeastern town of Gloucester that hosts this event, on sunny Labor Day morning. The pre-run excitement and anticipation was palpable as soon as we arrived and we were greeted with scores of runners scattered everywhere. Some were warming up and stretching their muscles while others were stretching the near endless line for the Porta-Johns even further. Yet others were securing their race numbers, trying their luck with registering impromptu, eating bananas, inventorying their ‘Gu’ energy gel packets or showering their young offspring with affection and assurances of finishing the race soon. As 9 o’clock approached, everyone gathered at the starting line and distributed themselves by their approximate running pace. I found myself somewhere down the middle – too slow a runner to accompany the well-toned, athletic, seasoned participants at the front and too swift, as I erroneously assumed, for the seventy year olds at the rear. A short, sharp blast from the horn and we were off. We herded down amidst deafening cheers and applause from the spectators that assembled all along our route. 

The first six miles flew by. I challenged the six toughest hills of the race with ease, fueled by the ardor of those running beside me. Tackling consecutive uphills in rapid succession was a first for me, so imagine my surprise when I learnt that I had run them at a pace 1.5 minutes faster than my normal running pace on flat ground! The celebrations and merriment of the onlookers filled the air with exuberance and energy. High school cheerleaders did little jigs and yelled catchy slogans. A group of musicians delivered enduring beats on bongos and Djembe drums. Gleeful toddlers strained to free restraining holds and to run amock in the strangle spectacle unfolding before them. An old couple offered candy and ice to the runners. Someone played the stereo. Another set up his hose to shower cooling water on the hot and sweaty runners as they passed by his front yard. Yet others waved and hoorayed from their kitchen windows. I was amused and delighted by it all. 

Exhaustion began to creep in slowly after the seventh mile. I had fallen behind my young, able-bodied companions and was now running among the suburban moms. I soon discovered that pushing sleepy baby Jen in a stroller at 7 miles per hour, while scooping up Muttley’s morning edition and calling the husband to remind him that it is his turn to take junior to the dentist offers training advantages that are almost impossible to compete with. In addition, hauling five hungry, reluctant kids to and from piano or soccer lessons every evening provides significant cross-training. It is with utmost humility that I inform you, dear readers, that a couple of miles later the supermoms were little specks upon the horizon. I now enjoyed the company of the elderly, the same seventy year olds I had conceitedly placed myself before at the start. Their placid countenance and cheerful “Come on, you can do it miss” pats on the back kept me going the next few miles. I had slowed down considerably due to fatigue augmented by shooting pain in the joints between the hip and thigh. I still had four miles to go and my motivation to tackle the remaining hills had near dissolved. Each succeeding mile seemed to get longer and I took extended walk breaks between brief spurts of running that required every ounce of motivation and strength. I was thankful for having caught up with P, my friend and teammate who had braved this 25K race on a serious ITB injuring she had been nursing for a week. We kept each other going by lively conversation and by gazing out at the picturesque grassy moors on either side. It was indeed beautiful, an emerald expanse interspersed with clear, aquamarine pools of water, that tumbled into the smooth sand and azure ocean in the far distance. 

Mile fourteen proved to be the hardest. It awakened the dormant disciple in me and coaxed me into invoking three hundred different Hindu deities to bless me with their many arms to get through these last miles. I negotiated, bribed, prayed and pleaded; I praised their benevolent nature and I promised to please. My forefathers would have been proud. When it brought only tears, I turned to other religions least their Gods be more merciful than my own. I loathed every bit of this mile as we had left the eye-catching scenery behind and were now back in the grotty part of town. Since most of the runners had already crossed the finish line by now, the cheering crowds had retired home. We only had rude drivers and the town traffic for company and had to stop frequently to give cars and the commuter train a right of way. P pushed me onward before I had a chance to act on my desire to stop, catch a ride and go home. 

We turned a bend at mile fifteen barely able to lift our feet and were greeted by several of our team mates waiting in anticipation. Seeing us struggle they quickly surrounded us with encouragement that the end was very near and advised us to take small steps, lift our feet and our heads high and to finish strong. We had one last steep hill to go. Our teammates ran beside us and helped us tackle the famous ‘wicked, crooked hill’ with renewed vigor. A little beyond, we made our final dash to the finish line together. 

The Cape Ann run was indeed a very valuable experience. It introduced me to the characteristic pre-race jitters as well as the energetic race day atmosphere. It taught me the importance of pacing myself conservatively so as to not wear out half way into a race. A careful analysis of all my injuries later revealed how an incorrect running posture had caused restricted rotation of the spine that impacted my strides and manifested itself as pain in seemingly unrelated regions. I learnt that I spent too much time on the ground and it is essential that I raise my calves higher when I run to reduce the constant impact on the arches and knees. But most of all it brought home the true value of being part of a strong, close knit team as I am certain that I would have failed this race miserably without my teammates’ company, motivation and precious support. 

True to its reputation, it was a tough race. But at the end of the day, we were thrilled to have conquered those heart-breaking hills with a hill-breaking heart! Below are some captures from the day.