Dirty Girls Run

Dirty Girls Run – lotsa dirt, lotsa run!

- Submitted by Nancy Winchester

I have many wonderful, determined, persistent friends. They are supportive, encouraging, and always available when I need a receptive set of ears, or in the era of Facebook, receptive eyes and nimble fingers. My friends also know a lot about me, such as how I’m all about efficiency and planning. I owed my family a visit and early August seemed perfect considering the record-breaking heat we’ve been experiencing in Houston this year. I remembered a Facebook posting by my friend Tigera Turner from the year before, so to satisfy my drive to multi-task, I considered signing up for that race while I was in the area. I sent Tigera a note asking her about the Dirty Girls race, and she responded right away with both rave reviews and some stern warnings. She indicated that although it was a challenging course, it was definitely worth considering. Having run a couple of great marathons in 2011, I thought I needed to try a new challenge, so with Tigera’s blessing of the event, I registered for the six-hour timed event.

The Dirty Girls Run offers four events: 30K, plus six-hour, 12-hour, and 24-hour timed events, all run on a hilly 10K single- and double-track trail route at the Mansfield Outdoor Center near Mansfield, Ontario. Realizing that a) I have never run more than a marathon distance before, and b) I run in Houston, a very flat city, I knew I needed to do something to prepare. I did the best I could do in June and July in August – run as far as I could before the sun got too high and find as many “hills” as possible. I extended my regular 12-mile weekend route to 18 miles and did it back-to-back on weekend days, or when I had my biweekly Friday off, back-to-back-to-back. My hill training occurred when the trail dipped down to the bayou and then back up to road level. I arrived in Ontario woefully prepared for what I was going to experience.

I arrived race morning to overcast skies and cool (to me, at least) temperatures. I lined up hesitantly with people who were obviously veterans – Camelbacks, trail shoes, gaiters – making me stand out like a sore “city runner” thumb in my singlet and road shoes. As is always the case, pre-race jitters disappeared the instant the race started and we finally got to expend some of that nervous energy. This burst of energy relief was short-lived, however, as we soon fell into a single line walking up the first two steep hills of the course. Then, the field opened up a bit and people started running, and when passing opportunities became available, the field spread out and I found myself running alone for most of the rest of the race.

I admit I was very afraid of tripping and falling. I am in general a clumsy runner, even managing to trip over a road expansion joint in a Houston 10K earlier in the spring, so all of those rocks and roots were a little daunting. I realized on my second lap that I’d missed seeing a number of features on the trail, such as a long stretch of snow fence, a deer stand, and what I’m guessing was a sugar shack (RG note: for those unfamiliar with the term, maple syrup is made in sugar shacks). But I did get to know the trail really well, and running a familiar trail always helps the distance seem shorter, so I did have that small consolation to consider.

During lap four, I learned just how important concentrating on the trail ahead was to me. A fellow runner came up beside me and we struck up a friendly running conversation about the distances we were attempting. I hadn’t made two comments to him before my toe caught something, and down I went. I envisioned myself doing a graceful Charlie’s Angels shoulder roll, and since my fellow runner doesn’t know me and can’t correct the record, I’m sticking with that story. He apologized profusely for distracting me, and I advised him that the fall was inevitable since I was the clumsiest runner in the world and that there was no need to apologize. We then slowly drifted apart and I was back to running alone, concentrating even more intently on where my next footfall would land.

I started lap five with a mix of excitement and trepidation. This would be my last lap, and during this lap I would cross the marathon threshold and be into unknown running territory. I could feel my legs starting to tire with all of those hills, and I noticed that I was tripping more and more. I concentrated on picking my feet up higher than normal, and when I reached the 5K aid station, I knew I’d achieved my goal of passing the marathon mark.  Now, it was just to run until the time ran out.

Strategy is important in all races, but one doesn’t learn strategy until gaining some experience with a distance and the mechanics of a course. I obviously came to this race with no strategy, and during the last lap, it showed. I was passed by not one, but two, females as I carefully picked my steps so I wouldn’t face plant in a patch of poison ivy. I reached the 47.5 km checkpoint about 10 seconds after the second woman who passed me. In retrospect (and hindsight is always 20:20, right?), I’m sure I had enough in my legs to sprint that last distance had I known that a) she was coming up behind me and that b) this would essentially be my finish. After my big-city marathons, I had become so accustomed to a grand two-storey finish line that you could see for 0.2 miles away that the idea of a finish line being a random spot in the trail hadn’t established itself in my conscious thinking. And I’m sure I wasn’t thinking so straight at that point regardless!

Because I always finish what I start, I ran the last 2.5 km, reaching the timing clock at 6:12. I plan to use that time as my benchmark if I do another 50K race in the future. Tigera, who had finished the 30K earlier and had already cleaned up from her own tumble, and a couple of my friends from the area who came out to support me, greeted me at the finish. My only wish at the finish was for some chocolate milk that I had seen a 30K runner consuming as I started my last lap. It was the anticipation of that chocolate milk that gave me the energy to sprint in that last meadow distance (where there were NO tripping hazards!), and chocolate milk has never tasted so good.

If I had to list what I liked and disliked about the race, the former list would beat out the latter.  The volunteers were fantastic, the runners were friendly, and the amenities at the aid stations were plentiful. I guess it’s my own fault that I don’t wear a watch when I run, but would sounding an air horn at the end of the six hour time limit be too much to ask? And, I had to leave after waiting over two hours for results to be tallied. I learned later that this was the first year that they had used chip timing, but since the last checkpoint determined the finish times, and since those times were manually calculated, I don’t understand why whatever software system they were using to tabulate results couldn’t get it right. A pair of scissors, 15 minutes, and some tape and I could have saved everyone a lot of standing around.

Will I come back and try it again? Maybe, since it appears that all of the Texas 50Ks are scheduled inconveniently within a week of each of the three marathons I do each year. Will I prepare differently? YES! I’ll spend a few weekends camping in the Texas hill country (yes, there are hills, just not in Houston) and do some trail running. I might even invest in a pair of trail running shoes. And will I trust in my friends’ recommendations in the future?  H–E–double hockey sticks yes! Because what else are friends for?