Dead Last and Loving It: A Humble Ode to Bringing Up the Rear in a Trail Race

Round Valley trail network in Park City is incredible!

Summer in Park City means being outside and enjoying the great outdoors.  Of the many ways to enjoy a gorgeous summer day is to hit the expansive trail network and go for a run.

Last week, I participated in the Park City Trail Series 5K and absolutely loved it.  The expansive views, the cool morning air, not to mention I felt great! It was so great that I came home and immediately researched where to participate in another race this weekend.  This is Park City in the summer; surely I could find a race somewhere in Utah.  There were races all over the state today, but low and behold, I found one 10 minutes from my home!  A 7k and a 5k are pretty much the same; what is another mile or so?  The trail was touted as foot-friendly, with a few long, steady climbs and fast downhills.   Sounded like a perfect way to spend a Saturday morning.  

The race was in tandem with a half marathon, and the half marathoners started first.  As I loitered at the race start, waiting for the 7K to commence, I started REALLY looking at my fellow runners.  It didn't take long for me to realize they were actual runners.  Not runner wanna-bees, like myself.  Hardcore, fabulously fit, experienced trail runners.  Huh.

I positioned myself at the back of the pack, thinking that would be the most thoughtful and courteous thing to do.  There was absolutely no reason to do so.  Once given the mark to go, these people took off with such speed and grit that I was left in the dust.  I can now attest to where that expression originates.  

I kept running and squinting to try and keep at least a glimpse of the runners in front of me, but before I knew it, I was alone on the trail.  I immediately thought of the herds of impala you see on the Serengeti — and then there is the lone one from the group. It is that lone impala living its best life that a cheetah can spot from 800 meters away to stalk slowly, hoping for its next feast.  This is great, I said out loud; I am prey. The story about the lion and the gazelle was at the forefront of my mind:

Every morning in Africa, a gazelle wakes up, knowing it must outrun the fastest lion or it will be killed. Every morning in Africa, a lion wakes up. It knows it must run faster than the slowest gazelle, or it will starve. It doesn't matter whether you're the lion or a gazelle; when the sun comes up, you'd better run.

I kept going and saw on an uphill climb that someone in front of me had started to walk.  This is perfect, I thought. I can catch her, pass her, and then someone else can be dead last.  Well, no sooner did I catch up that I was the absolute inspiration she needed to get her ass moving.  That was the last I saw of her.  

At least the view was stunning!

Even though my race was ugly, the views certainly were not.  Snow-capped mountains and wildflowers were everywhere as I snaked from 6,500 feet to 7,1000 feet along the trail.  

Finally, I hit the 5k mark and a lone racecourse photographer who looked like he possibly took a nap while waiting for me raised his lens to snap a few photos.  He shared some encouraging words, and I thought, wow, a consummate professional. There is genuinely nothing happening here worth encouraging.    

As I came downhill for the last half mile and could see the finish line in sight, I could hear the announcer getting the crowd excited.  Taking one earbud out, I wanted to hear what kind of words he was saying to generate such a level of excitement for me.

Enthusiastically, he shouted, "And here comes our first half-marathon finisher." 

For the love of Pete, No!  Please, no.  I didn't compete in a half marathon!  This reverie continued as I approached the finish line, and I even gestured no with my hand going across my neck with a last-ditch effort to have him stop.  As I crossed the finish line, a lovely course volunteer handed me a medal. Immediately, I said, "I didn't run a half marathon!  This isn't for me!"

She said, "Oh, don't worry.  Everyone knows that you didn't! The first half-marathon finisher is directly behind you!"

Oh. My. Word.

Trying not to die completely, I walked to the water station, where the woman I had at least tried to chase came over to congratulate me enthusiastically.  

"Wow, you really slowed down there.  I thought for sure, since I haven't raced in many years, I would be last!" 

I'm so glad I could inspire you there, sister. Rest assured, the dead-last accolades belong to me.

With all of this said, I realized I would always rather be dead last than first on the couch.  No, it wasn't pretty.  In fact, it was rather quite ugly.  But I completed a 7k trail race in the mountains on a gorgeous Saturday morning as a quinquagenarian.  Even at the Olympic Time Trials, someone comes in dead last.  

And who knows, in the next race, I might be better.