Florida Challenge Half-Marathon at Alafia State Park, Lithia, Florida

One of the joys of being a middle of the pack runner is the freedom to run without too much external expectation placed upon you. The middle folks aren’t running to win prizes and money. For the most part we middlers don’t even make it to the top of the age group. And while we often strive to achieve a personal best for ourselves, there’s really nothing hinging on either our success or failure. If we do, we do. If we don’t, we don’t.

This liberated attitude is exactly why I can sign up for a trail run just a few weeks out from race day. It’s why, when the uncertain weather and terrain of the course throw down the gauntlet in challenge, I get to say, “Bring it.”

I’m the blue dot.

Pretty sure I’m going to get wet.

I have started to realize that I like a bit of challenge when it comes to running a race. It’s almost like a dare. When a race or course looks tough, I ponder to myself…I wonder if I can finish it. When the conditions are less than ideal, I speculate…how bad could it be?

That brings us to the Alafia River State Park on a chilly, rainy Sunday morning in late January. The trails here are a lot of fun, but you’d better be prepared for battle. The trails vary in surface, and since the bike trails are used for running races, you’ll get to have all the joys of up and down and up and down and up and down for quite a few miles. On this soggy Sunday, we also got mud. Lots of slippery, pasty, gray mud.

I arrived early, as usual, and scored the fourth spot from the gate at the park. They weren’t open yet, so I got to enjoy my bacon breakfast while waiting in my warm, cozy truck, insulated from the dreary 47 degrees outside. It is written in my personal commandments of running that I shall not go forth to run races without bacon. To bacon, I am faithful.

After finishing bacon slice number three, the gate opened for us crazed runners to pass through. I parked near the pavilion for packet pick up. The rain was light, but had been pretty steady nearly all night. I picked up my packet and hit the facilities. Running races at this park comes with the perk of using real bathrooms prior to the race start. Talk about luxury!

I camped out in the truck until it was about 15 minutes from race start. I wasn’t going to stand out in the rain waiting around. After I got myself readied to go with trail backpack, bib, and all the usuals, I got out of the truck to head for the start line. But, where was the start line? I walked towards some signs that said ‘RACE’ but saw no people. I walked the other way, no luck. I went back to the pavilion to ask and a man said, “I think it’s that way.” I went the way he indicated, ending up on part of the trail. No one. No markers. No line. No signs. My watch reported that I had just 5 minutes before race start. I doubled back and started jogging the way I had come. I met up with three other women who were also lost and in search of a start line. We make it back to the parking lot and ask another person who points up the road and says the start is just up the hill. Well. Guess we’re going to miss it.

The good news is that most trail runs of this size (i.e., small) don’t use timing mats at the start. As my new lost friends and I run up the hill we see the herd of runners coming towards us. “Guess we found the start!” I say. We let the pack pass by and jump in behind them. No need to go all the way up to the “line” anyway.

The rains continued through most of the race. The trails have quite a bit of tree canopy, so the leaves kept the rain from being too heavy. I had mistakenly brought along my Columbia rain jacket. Within the first mile I had already peeled it off and tied it around my waist. If I had left it on, I would have created my own sauna and been soaking wet anyway. Just before the mile 3 mark, in a wide open part of the trail, my street feet made their first attempt at sabotage. While fishing a sleeve of Clif Bloks out of my pack, my right foot toed a root. One second I’m cruising along the sandy trail, the next second I’m lying on my side, fully stretched out and looking at the world sideways. My open Clif Bloks were now in a puddle. It took my brain a moment to register that I was now horizontal, but when it did I scrambled up to my feet as a few runners passed me by. A lady inquired if I was alright, to which I said, “It looks that way!” and continued on.

I managed to keep my feet in check for the next 3-4 miles as we wound through the woods. The trail was marked, mostly, either with plastic orange ribbon tied to trees or with the more permanent white blazes painted on trunks every so often. Then, we reached a lovely point in the course near mile 6 where I was reminded of why trail runners need shoes with traction. Since I don’t run too many trail races, I usually just use an old pair of road shoes. I figure if they get dirty or I ruin them, it won’t be a loss. Unfortunately, those old shoes also lack an important feature - tread. I didn’t take any pictures at this point for both fear of dropping my phone in the mud and because I would need my hands to make my way down the mud slide. Yep, a nice 10-12 foot slope of pure, slick mud.

When I reached the “slide”, I stopped to assess the situation. I’d run this section before when it was dry. It was steep. Even when it was dry, you couldn’t run down this part, you had to step your way down (if you were lucky enough not to fall anyway). A few runners came up behind me and I graciously offered, “You first!” and laughed. They laughed too, and one of the men said he would go first since he had trail spikes on. He would go to the bottom, turn around, and assist the rest of us by planting his feet and offering a hand. The couple he was with made it down the slope successfully, only getting their hands muddy as they used the sides of the slope for balance. And then it was my turn. Street feet sabotage number two. As I inch my way down the slope, the man reached up for me to grab onto his hand, which I took firmly. About halfway to the bottom, my slick shoes lose what little grip they had and plunk! My rear hits the mud and I start to slide. From here, I don’t have enough grip to stand back up because of the angle, so I resign myself to finishing the slide all the way to the bottom, on my bottom. We all have a chuckle at my folly and we’re off to tackle a series of similar ups and downs over the next few hundred yards.

From here, the course flattened out onto a grassy road for awhile before leading us back into the woods. The single-track trail then looped this way and that for the next few miles. There were numerous creek and stream crossings with bridges built for bikers. You would think that having a wooden bridge would be a benefit, but these bridges had planks set quite far apart. In addition to the planks being slippery from the rain, it required quite a bit of focus to not get your toes caught between them as you made your way across.

Relief after the mud-fest.

There were quite a few sections like this. Smooth shoes, no bueno.

Although I wasn’t setting any land speed records in this race, I was moving along at a comfortable pace. I took the liberty of stopping when I felt like it, and I took my time on any sections that were slippery or technical. So far, I’d gotten mud plastered to my backside and on my right knee from the first fall. I’d stubbed my toes a few times here and there, but, I’d managed to maintain an upright position since mile 3.

Somewhere just after mile 9, my street feet would be back for attempted sabotage number three. At this point of the race, I was alone most of the time. The field of runners had been spread out so instead of watching the runner in front of me for clues to the trail terrain, I was spending a lot of time looking at the ground to avoid any further missteps. At this point the trail sloped slightly upward to a more flat section. Where the sloping trail met the flat section was somewhat of a dirt and root curb that required you to step up, like going up stairs. This time, I caught BOTH feet on the edge. Both knees hit simultaneously, hard, followed by both my hands out in front of me. No one was around to see this glorious feat of stupidity. I do believe my emphatic “Damnit!!” could be heard throughout the nearby forest. I picked myself up, sort of wiped my hands on my shirt, and again continued on.

Not too far from there, the last few miles backtracked over some of the same trail we had been on before, with a fun added bonus of some sugary sand close to the finish. Sugar sand is the devil’s work.

I crossed the line with a magnificently slow 2:45 finish time. With all things considered - weather, terrain, and the fact I had run a marathon’s worth of miles in four races the weekend before - I was pleased as punch with my time. I hit the pavilion for a few cups of water, an orange and a few muffins to go before heading to the truck with my plastic finisher’s cup. No medal for this one. Trail running is a bit like that, though, no frills. Those who attempt these races are often far less focused on what they get, and more on what they are able to do.

I spend just a few minutes to take off my muddy shoes before leaving for home. I had just 45 minutes before we needed to leave for my son’s soccer game and a 30 minute drive. It was going to be close. Squeezing in the run added to the weekend’s challenge!

So…Alafia River State Park: challenge accepted, challenge completed.

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