Run Like a Grumpy New Englander, or How a Trail Race is Like an Idiot Boyfriend

(For your multimedia pleasure, this post comes with a soundtrack if you're so inclined. See sidebar.)

I once dated a Dylan-loving, microbus-driving, poetry-writing bohemian who I very much liked the idea of. As it turned out, I did not very much like his aggravating behavior. He regularly picked me up late, rarely told me where we stood, and was a master of too-little-too late. Whatever. I don't give him a whole lot of thought some 17 years later...until today's Run Like a Girl 8k Trail Race.

I like trail running--this much we know. I liked the idea of a trail race in a Dylan-loving, bohemian sort of way. In fact, the race even had Dylan playing at the starting line. A good sign for my expectations. And my problems with the race may just be a function of Grumpy Type-A New England Road Runner Suffers Culture Shock. I'll also cut them some slack because this was the first year the race was held in Boston.

I don't know if all trail races operate like this one, and I'd like to think not. I expected the race to be a crunchy granola hoedown because I love a good cereal and a Virginia reel as much as the next gal. But I didn't expect that we'd have to wait for the granola to bake before we started and that I'd do-si-do for more than 3 miles before getting water. I'm used to road races that operate like a well-oiled machine, and this race...well, it was like a microbus in need of an oil change. And I've ridden in that microbus.

To put it in the simplest terms, the good:
*Nice schwag
*Nice volunteers
*Nice course
*Nice runners

and the not so good:
* Race started 20 minutes late, on a very humid and warm morning.
* No obvious mile markers on a 5-mile course (Garmin, I'll give you credit this time)
* No water stop before mile 3.6
* Rolled my ankle, eliciting foul language I usually reserve for my blog

Other issues not related to the race: what I like about trail running is being alone in the forest setting my own pleasant pace, instead of churning through my tempos in traffic on the asphalt. When I'm in a race, all of a sudden my pace matters enormously, and I had no fun trying to maintain my speed on that kind of terrain. I learned I am among the more cautious of my gender, and while I passed a lot of women on the uphills, I was passed by many on the downs. I just can't race well on that ground without being clumsy.

So I'll keep trail running just like I still listen to Dylan. But I don't want to trail race just like I don't want to date him. Live and learn. In romance and in running.

At least the weather held out.

Oh, and my results: 38th out of 315.
Time: 42:53
Pace: 8:38
Is this good for a trail race? Search me.

Half of my cheering squad.


I didn't place well, but at least I won this fun sprint at the end. She's enjoying it a lot more than I did, though.

Okay, this makes it look like I actually had some fun.