Death Valley Marathon
I am not just at a spa, but rather THE spa. A place to be pampered that includes fresh fruit, pomegranate tea, and apple juice in the locker room. I am not exactly sure why I would need to eat while getting dressed, but the gesture feels decadent. And that is what this place is all about … women (and men) who have been freshly plucked, waxed, tweezed. It’s combined with a gym that includes a climbing wall in the middle of the lobby, right next to hair salon that costs nothing less than a $100 for a quick trim. People are either dressed in workout clothes or white fluffy robes with matching slippers. All getting ready for another night on the strip … Las Vegas that is.
I try to blend into the place, act as if this is my normal standard of living. The robe is a bit awkward as I am sure it’s going to fall off me at any moment. But the dead giveaway that I am not a regular is at my feet. They are minus layers of bright nail polish. And they are well calloused and blistered from yesterday’s marathon and all the training that came before.
It’s then that I begin to think about the race; the Death Valley M
arathon. The place was so beautiful, so remote, so weathered: Unlike here, there was nothing plastic, loud or shiny about it. Incredible vistas, odd rock formations, and one massive open valley that extended forever, only interrupted by a few trees that clung to a sparse underground spring.
The race was really spectacular …. 13.1 miles rolling hills out and then 13.1 miles rolling hills back, with two hills at the finish that seemed to be a cruel joke.
Almost the entire race was amazing for me, as my well rested body was happy to be over a tortured 2 weeks of tapering for the event. (I do not like tapering!) On the day of the rac
e, I felt like a race horse that was stuck at the gate, waiting for it to open, with the starting bell blaring in my head. My body was ready to go … But I had promised my sister at the start that we would go out S L O W L Y. I had plenty of time to run hard late in the race. But oh, how tempting it was as the runners all took off. (Many of whom I would see later in the event!)
d brother in law as they took pictures. Not really thinking about how far I had run or how far I had to go.It was all so swimmingly … all so perfect and easy, until I hit the 24th mile. I had climbed what I thought was the final hill and then realized I forgot one; the home stretch. I wasn’t in pain; I just couldn’t focus and it took forever to drag myself in. I knew where I was; I could see the finish line. Kevin shouted and screamed and cheered. “Do not leave anything out here.” “Let’s sprint it in,” he screamed while running next to me. But I was sprinting! Couldn’t he acknowledge the effort???
Finally, it was over and I was wandering around the finish line with a vague notion that people were trying to
help me. I was wobbling around, delirious and so insanely happy it was over. Four hours and 17 seconds. I hugged strangers who I had chatted with along the way. Then I sat down and sprawled out in the middle of the road, wondering if I would ever get up again. I was done!
And now as I sit at the spa, waiting for my massage and priding myself in the joy of the victory, I continue to watch the people in the white robes getting ready for a night out on the town. I soon hear the clack, clack, clack of a woman walking across the tile floor in heals. I can see the tightness in her calves from the pressure of the shoes. I feel my calloused toes begin to curl and cringe in a complete protest.
