I’m not a Krispy Kreme guy. I grew up outside of Chicago where the town literally ran on Dunkin and the four food groups were glazed, creme filled, cruller, and munchkins. Those were the days. Unfortunately, by the time I made my way to NC, got married, and had a kid, Dunkin’ took the fun out of getting donuts, which left me with Krispy Kreme.
A few months ago, while my wife slept in, I took my 4-year-old son to a local Krispy Kreme. We walked in and he made a B-line to the glass providing a panoramic view of an assembly line of glazed delectables. His mouth gaped as the donuts were dunked in oil, flipped, and run through “Sugar Falls” for a good glazing. From that point forward he’s been Krispy Kreme all the way.
Let me break for a second, flash forward a few weeks, and then I’ll jump back to more donut stories in another flash forward-back scenario.
John, Lakeside’s race director, and I went out for a run with a friend of his. We started at Bryan Soccer Complex, made our way 4 miles down the trail to Yanceyville Road, and then onto Blue Heron Trail. Just as we entered the woods John hit a stump in the middle of the trail and fell to the ground pretty hard. I laughed, he didn’t, and the three of us continued on. On the way back, John hit the same stump, I laughed again, he didn’t again, and the three of us made the 4 mile return trip to the car.
Sugar Falls
Two Sundays later, my son woke up at the butt crack of dawn and proceeded to discuss which donuts he’d like to get from Krispy Kreme. My wife, still asleep, was nearing an awakened state. To avoid the wrath of a prematurely woken South American, my son and I moved our discussion to the kitchen. A short time later, my son and I were headed to Krispy Kreme in our pajamas.
We arrived, ordered, and headed for the door. As we did, the sky opened up and down came the rain. The two of us paused and stared out the window until the rain let up a bit. Eventually sprinkles replaced downpour and we briskly walked to the car. With donuts in hand I filed in behind my son. A few steps into my jaunt my right foot slipped on the wet pavement and my left foot slammed down forcing my big toe into the ground.
Normally, shoes would prevent what happened next from happening, but I wasn’t wearing shoes I was wearing Crocs (don’t judge me). So instead of a mild ouch, my toe slammed into the ground and I felt an unforgiving crunch. Don’t worry, it wasn’t the donuts. Those I saved. No, it was my big fat thumb toe that didn’t fare so well.
With a week to go before the 15 mile Lakeside Trail Race I opted to rest instead of run. While old Toby wasn’t going to heal in that time I was hoping the rest would give me a slightly more comfortable run. Besides, I had plenty of tape and ibuprofen.
Running on Tacos
On race day I showed up, got my bib, had a cup of Joe, taped my big toe to its neighbor, and waited for the race to start. In my car I thought about my toe, how I was going to run, and the tacos I ate the night before. Wait? What? Yes. The previous night I made a horrible mistake called tacos. Pro tip #1: If you’re going to eat tacos the night before a race, don’t. Pro tip #2: If you ignore pro tip #1 and eat tacos before a race with sauce it better not be super hot fire sauce because if you do…
Eventually I made the last trip to the John and put the fire out. With the fire fully extinguished I donned my ultra vest (I’m training for a 50 miler), and waited with the other cattle.
Standing still for a long time got me thinking about how beautifully cold it was outside. Last year’s race weather was 55F with intermittent Armageddon. This year was clear, breezy, and 28F. Having spent most of my pre-race in A) My car and B) The bathroom, I hadn’t had a chance to take in just how wonderfully uncomfortable it was outside. Fortunately, the next 15 miles would provide me with an opportunity to do so.
With a few minutes to go John pulled out the bull horn to share race announcements before turning to the timing company’s mic to deliver a more audible message. Words words words and…
3…2…1 [air horn].
The race started out on pavement in an attempt to thin out the herd. It worked well. I settled in behind a small group of folks running around 9 min pace. Pavement soon turned to trail and the pack went single file. Having already settled in with a pacer that would keep me honest I figured I’d be sitting pretty for the remainder of the race.
The first four miles went fine. One foot in front of the other. My toe didn’t hurt too bad and the ibuprofen was definitely doing what it was made to do (i.e. prevented me from knowing the reality of the toe situation). As for terrain, I’ve run the course enough to know where the ups, downs, and flats are. Where to pick it up and where to coast. The hardest part of the race was not the terrain, but holding myself back. Normally I run 8 min miles on trails. Today, given the toe and my desire to keep running in the near future, I had to keep it slow. I had to force myself not to pass the dude in front of me (who I was using to keep my pace reasonable), and I successfully fought the urge each time.
Thirty five-ish minutes later I hit the 8 miler turnaround feeling pretty good. I waved to my friends. Waved for the camera. Waved to a bird. Said hello to a baby. Counted pieces of gravel. Really. I was feeling wonderful. My pace was great, legs felt good, toe was still taped. I was golden. All I had to do was keep on keepin’ on for the next 11 miles. Easy as pie.
From the turnaround I trotted down Yanceyville and then ducked into the parking lot at the beginning of Blue Heron. After the tall grass I entered the woods making my way towards the next leg of the course. Almost as soon as I breached the treeline…
…my right foot caught a stump, I somersaulted on my shoulder, and popped up right into a tree on the side of the trail. It was like a scene out of a cartoon. Not a good cartoon, but a cartoon nonetheless. I stopped to assess my foot, shoe, leg, body, pride, etc., and noticed a huge hole in my shoe. Great. Now I had 10 miles to go with the Popemobile for a shoe. Not only that, but that stump I just tripped over was the same [expletive] stump that John hit twice a couple weeks back. Screw you Karma!
Then came the roots. You know, the things trees have that sometimes breach the surface of the earth due to erosion and other circumstances? Yeah, well, about a quarter mile from Karmatown my foot slipped on one of those tree nourishers and my ankle made all kinds of Rice Krispie with milk sounds.
My body wobbled, and I fell to the ground. Slowly, I pulled myself up. As I stood there leaning up against a tree (whose cousin just tried to kill me) I thought back to earlier in the race at mile 3 when last year’s winner was walking back to the start line due to an ankle injury. I pondered a similar course of action until pride stepped in to say, “Like hell you are!” Like hell I’m what? “Like hell you are quitting. You pull up your pants and get moving Nancy! I don’t care if we have to walk to the finish line!” Pride, you are most likely going to get your wish. Oh, and I hate you.
I hobbled through Blue Heron and onto Peninsula. Waved to more folks at Church Street and then on to Osprey Trail. I was doing fine, really I was, until somewhere on Osprey before the newly built walking bridge I took a dive down a slope, over roots and rocks, and into some brush. FTLOG! WTF is going on with me today? Sure there’s the toe thing, but am I really that incapable of remaining upright? Once again I got up and it was clear my ankle was having none of this race. I’m pretty sure it waved a finger from the middle at me. Upon close examination my ankle was clearly starting to swell and it was definitely flipping me off. Thankfully I only had about 6 miles to go. “Thankfully”.
Back on Osprey some dudes passed me before the trail turned towards the lake. I crossed Yanceyville Road and those same dudes passed me again with about 3 miles to go on Townsend. Guess they missed the trail markers and had to run a few extra steps or so. With two miles to go my ankle was throbbing with a capital EXPLETIVE. I’d walk some then jog some get passed some hear some words of encouragement from passerbys and repeat.
I was really starting to get frustrated. I was being passed by multiple people (all of which were very nice). “Keep it up” and “Only a couple miles to go” and “You’re doing great.” I just wanted to scream and say,”STFU! I should be done! I should be laughing it up at the finish line eating chicken soup and jelly beans. Instead, I’m here getting passed by you. YOU!” But I didn’t. Because that would be the biggest a-hole thing I could’ve done. Those folks were running their race and I was just jealous that they were ahead of me.
At this point in the race I was broken. My spirit. My toe. My ankle. And when I reached the stairs I just thought to myself, “Only ONE FU**ING MILE to go!” My left ankle was singing bible hymns. My right toe was peeking out through its observation bubble. And my pride was whispering, “Don’t you even think about quitting you bleepity bleep bleep!” over and over.
With less than a half mile to go I was passed by not one but two women who were having the best time in the world.
Oof!
“That’s it!” I thought to myself, “I’m going to get to the finish line and go home!”
And that’s what I did. Because even if a race is crazy awesome, sometimes running sucks.
