Reflections on PacRim

I wrote my race report yesterday, if you haven't had the chance to read it yet check the previous post. I had to write again because my mind is overflowing, and this is the place for it to spill out.

I've been thinking about PacRim all day. It's hard to describe the impact it has on me. It seems as though running in one mile circles for 19.5 hours would be mind numbing and a simple feat of endurance. It seems that one would tire of the same footsteps over and over, the familiar turn of the path, the sameness of it all. But I don't. Those feelings never came to me. It's a beautiful little park, a busy place in a small town, with a variety of people and pets passing through. The circling runners always have something to say as they pass by, the lap counters cheerfully call out my name and number when I go by, the banter never ceases between friends. And of course, that may be the key for me. I was never alone, I always had Jenny by my side, and Abi, Jessica or Margaret. Jamal ran many laps with us, and sometimes Rob and Steve. Other runners fell into pace for a few steps or a whole lap. I think that feeling of community was and is key for me. It's reaffirming and keeps my faith alive. I mean my faith in humanity - it is a larger feeling than I can describe. It feeds my spirit.

So, first there is that renewal of faith, and then there is that interior struggle to keep going, to push through the difficult moments, the negative thoughts. When the tummy is queasy and the hip hurts, and the blisters are building. When it's cold and the body is weary. The little deals I make with myself, to finish the lap and then I can walk. I walk a bit and Jenny starts shuffling forward, and like one of Pavlov's dogs, I start my shuffle too. Or we both walk a little then giggle as we realize we're hoping the other didn't notice. Or I insist I need more walking and she falls into step with me, because no matter what, we're in this together. I play games in my mind...so many laps till a trailer break, where I will flop down on the bed for just a minute or two - when my back is hurting, nothing fixes it like laying flat out. Hoping which ever of our group is taking a potty break will take just a little longer so I can sit, or even occasionally, lay flat on the nearby park bench. I hear the advanced miles of others - 50 miles, 100K, and we seem so far behind. I remind myself that it doesn't matter, all that matters is my finding my own pace and reaching my own goal. All the little battles overcome to keep moving forward. Small battles, small goals, reached one at a time.

And the physical piece. Little bits of pain here and there. Aching knees. The always present left ITB/hip/knee. The everlasting blisters (though these are getting better). The tired back muscles as the night wears on. Relentless forward motion.

And the joys. Eric arrives with a warm soy chai. His smile feels like home just came to PacRim. Margaret's hug and encouraging words. Jessica's cheerful chatter. Incredible runners, runners I so admire, telling me how great I'm doing. Good friends teasing as they go by. New friends sharing stories, making connections. There are elite runners in this race, and they rack up miles beyond belief, at speeds that are amazing. At the same time, it doesn't matter - in a sense the field is level and we are all fighting the same battle. There may be elite runners, but there is no elitism, there is only a shared bond of endurance and encouragement.

I love the night at PacRim. I love it when darkness creeps over us, and when I think of the race, I think of runners flowing through pools of light, of the quiet town around us. I love the shadows of the shrubbery, the reflections off the lake, the feeling that we runners are the only ones awake in the entire universe. The chatter becomes quieter, everyone turns inward, and the motion continues. The aid station is a warm oasis, waiting for us, glowing across the park. This is the best part of the race. I'm tired beyond belief, everything hurts, and yet, it is my favorite time.

After a day of reflections, I now know that I will do it again. I know that everything that draws me to PacRim outweighs the temporary discomforts of the effort. I find myself wanting to give the entire 24 hours a go. I jotted notes about what worked and what didn't and what I need to change. They are tucked away waiting for the next time, hopefully to ease a few of the difficulties on race day. It is so much more than a race, so much more than the physical challenge, though of course, that is a huge piece of it. I need to run this again, to fill my heart up again and again. Now I understand the lure of 100 milers. I have no desire to tackle trails at night, run solo in the forest or up a mountain. Nor do I have the speed for those races. This peaceful little race is just right for me. It challenges me, it fills me up and one day later, next year is on my mind.