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Part 1: I originally wrote this as a note on Facebook in December.

So yesterday I did something I never thought I'd do: I registered for a snowshoe race. I've been in a bad head-space recently - depression, lack of motivation, avoiding social situations, and getting sedentary, fat, unmotivated, and lazy. I knew I was in trouble when I realized that I had maybe three pairs of pants that fit comfortably, that previously I needed a belt for. Something needed to change. I was out in the amazing patch of woods behind the cottage when suddenly I realized that I could do that race. I didn't have to compete against anyone, all I had to do was finish. Coming in last is better than not coming in at all, and miles better than never having tried. It's 3.5 miles, I can walk that, if I need to, for crying out loud. I came home and sent out a message to four of my trail runner friends and asked if I could do this, if I was crazy for even considering it. I got back a unanimous "You can do this!" and one "as to whether you're crazy, you're asking the wrong crowd". I've been hanging with these runners for a couple of years now. They're not just runners, they're trail runners, a different breed altogether than the people you see running down the street. The more time I spent with them, the more crazy I was convinced they were, but it's a good crazy. I kept getting asked when I was going to join them. They were cool with whatever excuse I gave them, they liked me anyway, and still let me hang out with them. So the decision to register for that race somehow didn't seem quite so insane as I once would have thought. And doubt and remorse has yet to set in. I don't think it will. I am getting amazing support from these crazy people in the Trail Monster Running Club, everything from simple encouragement, to excellent advice, to answering questions, to helping me figure out how to train. I originally thought I'd just do the one race, but now the thought that maybe I can do all three seems like a real possibility, as does the idea that maybe, just maybe, I might be joining them on the trails after the snow is gone, too. I keep hearing "just keep it fun" and "just start slow", there's no competitiveness, it's all supportive. Just a bunch of really cool people excited about helping a newbie get involved in something they love.

Part 2: The Squall

On January 25^th, I stood with 92 other people waiting for the words to start the race. I'd started the Couch to 5K program, but hadn't stuck with it (life got in the way is my excuse, but it's not a very good one). My friends Tinker and Jarius had come up from New Jersey to do the Squall, and Jason's cousin's wife Elizabeth had ridden over with me. It was a beautiful day, with almost a carnival atmosphere, and we'd just had a great snowfall that covered the icy spots on the ground. I was looking forward to doing this and felt prepared, both physically and mentally. My first and foremost goal was just to finish. Not being dead last and doing it in less than the slowest time the previous year were bonus goals.

Ryan's arm came down and off we went, fastest people in the front, us pokey folks at the rear. I was sticking with Tinker and Jarius, Elizabeth was up ahead a bit. After 20 minutes, Tinker looked at me and said “If want to do a faster pace, go for it” and off I went. Not real speedy, just doing the week 2 training from C25K – 90 seconds running alternating with 2 minutes walking. I caught up and passed a few people, Elizabeth included. For someone who wasn't running, she sure was hoofing it. There was an older guy just ahead of me, I kept trying to catch up, but it never happened. It kept me focused, though. I was feeling pretty good for most of the way, felt myself flagging a bit at one point in the middle, but I caught my second wind and was feeling really good. I wasn't giving it my all until I knew I was close to the end, though. I wanted to keep something in reserve so I could run hard at the finish. When I came out on the Link trail, I kicked up a notch, and then really pushed when I hit the last curve before the finish. I was 87^th in, with a time of 57:15, ten minutes better than my target time. It was a wicked rush, having people cheer me in and congratulate me, telling me what a great job I'd done on my first snowshoe race. And then being impressed when they found out that it was my first race and I'd just been running since mid-December. Jason waited at the finish the whole time for me, he had my camera and was supposed to be taking photos, but was too excited and caught up in the moment and forgot he had the camera. That's love, standing in the cold for an hour waiting for someone to emerge from the woods. Let's face it, trail running isn't exactly an exciting spectator sport.

I got my t-shirt and lots of warm fuzzies, and went home and promptly signed up for the next race in the series. And a week after that, I said “Oh, what the hell, why not?” and signed up for the last race, too. The madness is contagious, but it's a special kind of crazy. And if you do all three, you get to call yourself a Badass. I was already 1/3 of the way there, why stop now?

Photo courtesy of Don Penta