The Long Run

Rick picked me up at 4:45 and we headed down to the McMillan trail head of the Orting Trail. It was full dark when we set out, but Rick had a new light. His light was so bright that we figured when he looked at Mt. Rainier, people in Yakima thought the sun was rising in the west. We started along the trail, but turned back almost immediately. Rick asked if I had locked the door of the truck. I said "yes", then "I think so". I ran back to check - both doors were locked. We set a fairly quick pace running out (at least, quick for the likes of me). It was a beautiful morning - about 54 degrees, clear and starry sky, the outline of Mt. Rainier just ahead. We heard a horn honk as Jenny drove by, and as we approached the downtown trail head, we saw her standing outside her truck waiting for us. We moved right along, running down the dark path, the only three on the trail.

As we approached the farm intersection, we could see activity and hear voices. Fishermen and lots of them. Walking and biking out to the river bend. Pretty soon we could smell campfires, and then, my favorite image of the morning, rows and rows of fisherman, standing in the water and along the banks - a campfire here and there - just their silhouettes, with the silhouette of the mountain above them. The salmon are running. As we left the river bend, we left the fishermen behind. The trail continues along the river, but only the one stretch is populated by fishermen. We ran out ten miles, seeing a lone biker, and just as we hit our turnaround, two runners, otherwise we had the trail to ourselves. Eventually the sun came up, but as it did, the fog rolled in. It became just slightly chilly, and the mist soaked my hair. At 10 miles, we did an abrupt about-face in the middle of the trail and started back. We began to encounter the occasional runner and biker, but still were mostly alone.

The fog began to thin out and fingers of sun poked through. The last of the fog cleared out right next to another farm along the trail - the one that has three emus, two llamas and several longhorn cattle. A new calf and an emu watched us as we went by. Some days one of the emus will trot along the fence beside us, thrumming deep in the chest, but not today. We went back by the fishing stretch, across the bridge, through the farm intersection and to town, where Jenny stopped at her truck. Fourteen miles for her today. Rick and I continued on. Our pace picked up a little - the "horse to the barn" syndrome. Jenny drove by hootin' and hollerin' out the window. We finally saw the line of trees ahead, signalling the end. Twenty miles. 4:04:47 - my very best time ever.

That 4:04:47 that included three potty breaks - I am stunned, simply stunned. I hoped, I wished, but I didn't really believe I could do it. Maybe, just maybe, I really will be able to pull a 5:15 out of my hat. At the very least, a 5:20. Wow! I am reminding myself that this is a fairly flat run and both marathons have hills. But still...

And, best of all, no hurts. Okay, the typical achy hips, but no pain in either of my recently injured areas. A couple of blisters, but that's old hat. That is what I call a good run.