100% all-natural, organic Colorado Runners

(Ok, this one had my family crying in laughter at dinner one night at Johnny Carino’s, I’m attempting to retell it just the way I did then. It’s kind of an awkward story. But it was kind of an awkward experience. I guess I’m just kind of an awkward girl.)

Training for a marathon is quite an experience. I’ve learned things and experienced things I never knew existed.

I decided I wanted to run a half-marathon race before my actual marathon. I actually did it rather earlier on in my training than most programs suggest, but I was ready and it was a beautiful race I couldn’t pass up. It was called the “Autumn Colors Run”. It was in Buena Vista, Colorado on September 19th, right at the peak of the aspen trees turning colors in the Colorado Rockies—one of my favorite phenomena and times of year. They bus you up to the starting line way up in the mountains—9500 ft. elevation. You end at 8000 ft. elevation. Most of the course was downhill (and I kicked butt on the few uphills—I LOVE training in Colorado Springs, where it’s rare to find a flat area longer than 50 meters). The first 6 miles or so are running on trails through the mountain forests, with splashes of brilliant scarlet, gold, and bright yellow flash right by you in the surrounding forests as you power downhill. Once you emerge from the mountains, you run through the valleys, with a 360 degree view of breathtaking Colorado mountains, painted with patches of the same vibrant hues. It’s beautiful. And a freakin’ fast course. I loved it.

But I’m getting carried away. Let’s back up to the starting line. Where was I? Oh, yeah--You learn a lot about your body while training for a marathon. I’m still figuring out how it works for those 26.2 body-pounding miles. But it’s a good system, and once you figure it out, it’s pretty predictable. I’ve learned that I have to hydrate a LOT for several hours before I run. I’ve also learned, from sore experience, that as a result of said hydration, I MUST find a bathroom right before I start. If not, there will be an “emergency” (cue “Animaniacs”) somewhere between miles 3 and 10. But it has to be right before I start—you go too far beforehand, and you’ll need to go again before mile 6.

I knew there would be port-a-potties at the starting line, so I loaded bus 4 of 5 and headed the 13.1 miles up the canyon. I got to the top and jogged over to the port-a-potty line. It was LONG. I expected the line to go quickly. But I kept watching the time, and the minutes were ticking down faster than the line was. One by one, I saw people peel out of the line. I thought, “I’m jealous! I wish I could just say, ‘Nah, I can wait, I’ll go at the next rest stop—in 13.1 miles.’” Until I realized they were doing nothing of the sort. One by one, they wandered up the hill a short distance until they were hidden in the trees…well, mostly hidden. A minute or two later, they’d come down the hill and take their place at the pack at the starting line.

“Oh no, I don’t want to do that! PLEASE hurry up!” I groaned inwardly. Through my “learning experiences” in training, I’ve discovered that it’s MUCH easier for a man to use nature’s restroom than a woman. Let’s just say that I haven’t quite “mastered the skill” yet. But it was getting closer and closer to starting time, and the line was still far too long. The 2 girls behind me decided to give in and climbed the hill. I was banking on pure faith that enough people would give up, give in, and climb the hill, shortening the line enough for me to make it there just before the starting gun went off.

About 4 minutes to “Go time” (no pun intended), I realized my hope was in vain. I begrudgingly climbed the hill, trying to hurriedly come up with a better “plan of attack” on how to best accomplish this mountain-woman task I have not yet mastered without publicly embarrassing myself afterwards.

But Colorado’s a funny place. And runners are funny people. And when you put the two together…well, just keep reading.

As I walk up the hill, I see people dotting the hillside, “hidden behind trees”. Now, when I say hidden, we’re talking about runners and aspen trees and lodgepole pines here. Think the old Disney movies, when there’s always a tall, skinny villain and a short, fat one, and the short, fat one “hides” behind a lamp post---but his rear end and stomach are both sticking out, completely defeating the purpose of “hiding” behind anything. Not that runners have large rears or bellies to stick out, but it has the same effect, these runners “hiding” behind skinny tree trunks to take care of business.

It would have been really awkward if it didn’t just hit my funny bone and make me want to bust out laughing. But out of respect for the people busy at work, I held it in and just smiled real big.

To my left there was someone about 20 feet away. Keep your eyes straight ahead, Depew. Nope, there was someone straight ahead about 30 feet. Keep your eyes to the ground and veer right.

You know when you really have to go, but you’re still minutes from a bathroom, and then someone turns the faucet on or starts singing, “Don’t go chasing waterfalls…”? I was about there. The forest was filled with the “sounds of nature”. I sped up my hike farther up the hill. I certain didn’t want to be “hanging out” around an aspen trunk like a fat Disney villain for all these experienced all-natural mountain men and women to see my "lack of skills".

I heard the 2 girls I’d been standing in line with a few trees away, chatting as they “hid” behind their respective trees. (I think it’s weird enough that girls talk while they’re going to the bathroom in separate stalls, much less when the stalls are completely missing!)

Seriously, it was a funny sight. I took my eyes off the ground for a few seconds, long enough to look around and see probably 2 or 3 dozen people within easy hearing- and seeing-distance just standing or squatting and doing their business. I smiled and thought, “Now THIS is 100% all-natural, organic Colorado runners.”

Thanks to the 2 or 3 dozen mini-lessons around me, I successfully accomplished my task and raced back down to the finish line before the gun went off. No public embarrassment or anything. Put that down as another one of my life’s lessons I’ve learned through running. I felt pretty darn “Colorado”, and pretty darn “runner”.