I Was Dirty, Oh So Dirty (And It Was Fun!)

I did one of my longer races yesterday. An eight-kilometer trail race. Not an easy trail; it had grass, sand, roots, ruts, elevation changes, and mud. A lot of mud.

Six water hazards. Not on-purpose water hazards. We’ve had a lot of rain, and you know trails. The water does not drain the way it does in the average suburban neighborhood. I knew it could be bad when the first group (the 25-kilometer runners, who started before us) came around on their first lap and warned us “Just embrace the water!” Of course, those folks embrace the water. Most of them are used to it. That’s why they run that distance.

The rest of us are mostly relative newbies to the trail running life, doing it because a friend/relative/loved one talked us into it, doing it as an alternative to hard-surface running, or just fell into it because we were looking for something new to do (I am in the third category, as I started during the pandemic when road races were rare).

It was messy out there. One of the water hazards was literally swimmable for someone as short as me. I was seething when I saw the better runners dash through it like gazelles over savannah grasslands. How do they do that without losing balance, water bottles, sunglasses, ear pods, or anything else? I couldn’t even lift my sodden feet out of the mud and had to tiptoe through or when possible, around the water, slithering through muddy roots and trees too fragile to provide a decent handhold.

But I got through it, and when I collapsed into my car, I peeled off my shoes and socks and put on dry spares. I gulped some high-sugar beverage and drove home, forced to deal with my stinky self the whole hour’s drive. No amount of open windows plus air conditioning could handle that skunky smell. If you’ve ever run or fallen in standing swamp water, you know that odor. It’s a rank stench that reminds you of what might have been in that muck that you fortunately didn’t encounter.

I tossed my outfit and the towels I used into the washing machine upon arriving home. My machine has five extra wash settings (blood, dirt, wine, grass, tomato) and now needs a sixth: “DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT!” Or maybe “YOU ARE A FILTHY LITTLE CRETIN!” Perhaps “THAT IS BEYOND GROSS!” I ran my trail shoes through a hard hosing-down three times and mud still came out.

Despite the mud, heat, and humidity, I did enjoy the race. This is my final year doing this one, due to age and aging knees. I won’t stop trail running, of course. Just plan to find some easier courses, hopefully with a little less water.