The Giant Gap in the Trail

Or, lessons in preparation and fear

Three weeks ago, I learned something everybody knows: preparation is good. Yes, indeed, I experienced the benefits of better training and better planning and execution of a key element of any ultra running race: hydration and nutrition. Three weeks ago, I ran the 44km distance at the Zagori Mountain Running trail race in Greece, my second time at that distance, and this time, I ate the right amount of carbs and calories per hour and drank the right amount of fluid and it made a huge difference.

I learned another lesson that everybody knows: it’s all in your head. I had come away from last year’s race with a sense of awe and quiet terror over one particular section of the route, a two-mile traverse along the fairly steep grass-and-scree slope of a gorge called Megas Lakkos.

ok it doesn’t look that steep here

I was essentially alone during that traverse last year, back far enough in the pack that I could see only one figure in the distance, and didn’t even feel comfortable enough to turn around and see that there was no one behind me for a while. Alone and in the 22nd mile of a 27-mile race, and with over 7,000 feet of elevation gain already accomplished and felt in my quads and glutes—and on top of that, feeling the effects of poor fueling and hydration—I became very afraid last year that I would tumble to the side and then fall all the way to the bottom of the gorge, or that one errant footfall would send me headlong. My pace for those two miles was, shall we say, glacial.

And most importantly, my memory of those two miles was of a horrifyingly steep and exposed mountainside, complete with one section where the edge was so precipitous that a cable had been placed along the path for us to grab at. Even worse, there was one spot where there was no cable and we were required to step across a void, an opening in the trail, without even a spray painted exclamation point as any kind of security.

right before the cable

This year, my preparation (see above!) meant I could move faster, in relation to the rest of the field. Despite a ten-degree increase over last year’s temperature, to a scorching and shadeless 98 fahrenheit, my hydration kept me going. Leaving the Astraka Refuge at mile 19 and at the end of a six-mile continuous ascent, I made sure to be with a group of guys going my pace. We chugged along, me pretending not to really listen to their inside jokes and chatter, and determined to stay with them until we reached Megas Lakkos. So, I had company. And with company, the two miles of open mountainside we had to cross didn’t seem frightening at all. Even when a guy behind me slipped and fell face first onto the path with his legs kind of hanging over the edge into the scree, I didn’t panic. I offered help and waited until he regrouped and insisted that I and the other guys I had glommed onto should keep going. And I kept going.

As we went along and my fears simply did not materialize, I thought surely, the organizers had rerouted the race. Surely, this mountainside that was eminently doable was new, and the result of a change. Surely, the organizers had said to themselves after last year’s race, that section in Megas Lakkos is too terrifying, too dangerous and surely we must reroute it to a safer and less daunting path. You can guess where this is going, right? Straight to that spot in the trail where the giant gap was that I had, in terror, stepped across last year, feeling I was escaping a plummet only by dumb luck. Now I could see it up ahead of me. One of the guys was about ten yards in front of me at that point, with the others a bit further off. I called out something, laughing, about how I hated this part. (Reader, take note that I was a) speaking b) laughing c) not terrified.) Which part? he said. This part, I said, as I briskly stepped across a rather small gap in the flat stone that formed the trail, where there was scree maybe a half a foot below.

It was that simple.

Well, let’s correct that to say that, when you’re 62 years old and you’ve decided you love this sort of serious hard effort in wild places, it’s not simple at all. It requires hard training, and some equipment (hydration vest, hiking poles, trail running shoes), and calories and fluid milliliters. Plenty of calories and fluid milliliters (6 or 7 liters of electrolyte-infused water, and 4,000 calories containing about 800 grams of carbs). It requires preparation and a good head game.

Funny how that’s true of so much of what we do in life, whether it’s athletic or creative. We do have to train to write. (We do research, and that’s a kind of training; we take classes and workshops; we do writing exercises; we improve.) We most certainly have to have a solid mental game. There are so many ways in which a creative person—I’ll say a writer, since that’s me—can be derailed.

There are so many phantom Giant Gaps in the Trail that can loom up in the way of our creative endeavors. I’m no good. I shouldn’t be trying this. I’m a failure because I haven’t [fill in the blank]. It’s so easy to let these thoughts in and, once invited, let them put their feet up on the couch and leave coffee rings on the table.

But if we do the mental game, if we prepare, we can keep those thoughts at bay. Instead of feeling terror or—in the case of the writer, abject inadequacy—we can see things as they really are (which is almost always not as frightening as we imagine). We can experience ease and, dare I say it, joy.

Joy breeds joy, both in writing and in athletic pursuits. You can be sure that, once I reached the end of Megas Lakkos, I knew I had the race in the bag.* I had a good feeling, even as I scrambled, hands and feet, up the escarpment to the plateau above the gorge. I hated that final climb up that damned escarpment, which kept going up and up even though surely that next-to-last aid station with the horses and the cows must be just ahead, wasn’t it? Wasn’t it?** But I knew it was simply a matter of endurance at that point. All I had to do was just keep going. When I reached the aid station and grabbed a fistful of potato chips (alas no dixie cup of chips to put in my vest pocket like last year) and jammed them in my mouth for the best kick of salt I’d ever tasted, I knew I could run down the last 2 1/2 miles all the way to the finish, and it would be great.

Preparation and the mental game. Preparation yields the good mental game. I know this. We all know this. Doing it is another matter. It takes something like this—writing it down, putting it into words (see my race recap from last year!)—to make us start to really learn it.

What are your lessons learned about creative or athletic endeavors? Have you figured out how to put your wisdom into practice?

*Reader, I won my age group.

**Reader, I was hating the escarpment in this photo.