Postcards from Yosemite Half Marathon
Hello! I’m home from my most recent running adventures in Yosemite, and, quite frankly, I’m still on cloud nine. This week I’d planned to cut myself a little slack and share with you all some photos from the trip, with some top line updates, but, and not to bury the lede, I had such an amazing experience that I’ve come home feeling hugely inspired to share more about finally running one of my bucket list races.
So, what does happen to you after you’ve run your dream race? Feelings of fogginess, a bit of restlessness, a sense of regret or hopelessness, asking yourself what now? All these “post-race blues” symptoms could be likened to a bad hangover after a wild weekend of partying, just without the wine.
I’m still waiting for my post-race slump to well and truly kick in, I’ve experienced it many times before, and even though we’re not quite over the jet-lag I’m still riding high on the memories of a wonderful race day experience. So, here is my postcard from the Yosemite Half Marathon.
The race expo was held at Bass Lake, which was the finishing area ; when I tell you that even the parking lot was stunning with communal static BBQs overlooking the expanse of the lake as it glittered in the sunshine, the quiet thud of music the only clue that beyond the bushes there was something “big” going on.
And if I told you we saw a bald eagle flying high above the lake, you probably wouldn’t believe me, but it really was the perfect setting, and I literally had to pinch myself to believe that after all those years of wanting to do this run, we were finally here!
The expo wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, well apart from the amount of “ordinary” people collecting their numbers, which struck both me and Jamie, because that isn’t really the case in the UK anymore. The volunteers were all friendly, no question was too stupid; I knew this because I asked a few, mainly which wave was I in? My number had a blue circle, but which blue I asked? Dark blue which was the first wave with a 4am shuttle bus (yikes!) or light blue, which was the second to last wave and a lie in?
“Oh, you’re a swifty” the race info guy confirmed smiling at me when I sought clarification, and he wasn’t referring to me being a Taylor Swift fan!
I gulped, what? there must have been a huge mistake. Shit, I thought, what finish time did I estimate a year ago when I signed up to the race?! Did I have massive delusions over how fast I could run this race? Had my Garmin gaslit me into believing I could achieve an unachievable time, one entire year ago?!
Immediately my head went into panic mode. I imagined getting on the 4am shuttle bus with all those usual racing snakes, my heart sank as imposter syndrome flooded me, taking hold of all my rationality and self-belief that, of course I deserved to be in that wave and on the start line.
I knew that if I didn’t take control of these thoughts right now, they could easily destroy my experience of my dream race. More importantly, I didn’t want Jamie to have to endure the next 24 hours of me being a nightmare, as I whittled myself to death imagining and playing out scenarios of fast men jostling me for position on the start line, posed over their smart watches, ready for take-off. If I let myself, I could have almost smelt the toxic mixture of deep heat and testosterone just from the mental image.
Luckily, I was able to hold it together and put all my anxious thoughts of being in the wrong place out of my head, I do hate to admit it but I did seriously contemplate starting in a later wave. But I held my nerve, and I went with it, setting my 3am alarm - thankfully we were still on UK time, so my body didn’t object too much!
The race had organised shuttle buses for all the runners to the 5000ft elevated start line, and as I climbed on board the bus it felt strange, I didn’t know a single person, so a combination of being completely anonymous but also a bit lonely, but as I listened to the excited chatter of those around me I began to feel less self-conscious and more present that I started to tune into the conversations, with the realisation that again, everyone around me was “ordinary”- there were glitter faces and glow sticks, walking poles and laughter, “It’s my first half and my training hasn’t gone well” - the familiar universal language of runners floated in the atmosphere and I felt myself relax as the bus climbed and climbed and climbed.
The sky was so black, apart from the moon lighting up the valley, I soaked it all up, I didn’t want to miss a moment, no selfie, or photo would do the scenery justice. We were all on an adventure, just a bunch of ordinary people running in an extraordinary place.
The air was cold and thin as we disembarked the bus, portable floodlights lit up the wilderness as they cast their light on the tables creaking under the weight of urn’s of hot chocolate/hot coffee, bananas, sunscreen, water, snacks – for a moment I thought Richard had set up his table of goodies…
Is this the norm for the American running culture? I’ve never seen so many toilets; the row of Portaloo’s seemed to go on forever. I mean, sure, not perfect, some of the doors didn’t lock and they were on an incline so getting up off the seat certainly kicked the hip flexors into action!
It was cold, but nothing worse than I’d experienced waiting on the start line of Bramley 20 on a freezing February morning in the UK. The race instructions said that, as supporters and spectators weren’t allowed at the start, runners could discard any layers at mile 3 and all clothing would be gathered up and taken to the finish. I mean…how amazing? I didn’t quite trust the process though, choosing to wear an old black top instead of my favourite Sweaty Betty one, just in case I never saw it again. But guess what, I took it off on the start line, and after the race there it was, where they said it would be, true to their word.
While we waited, I found a tree stump to sit on, drank my hot chocolate and simply soaked up the atmosphere. It felt different to so many races I’d run before, it was gentle, non-hustling, just runners running, a friendly, buzzy vibe. Despite my nerves about starting with other “swifties” I don’t think I’ve ever felt so calm and so ready.
I thought I’d see selfie sticks, headphones and YouTubers, I didn’t, I saw normality, runners of all shapes, all sizes and all paces, fast, slow, walkers, and I saw mutual respect amongst all of them.
And we were off… off road, in amongst the roots and the territory of the trees, winding down the trail, I didn’t see any pushing, shoving or frustrated runners, we just ran.
I glanced at my Garmin, my heart rate was sky high, and I’d only just started, I panicked, oh yes, that’ll be the altitude, I thought, of course, whilst my training had mainly been off road, I can’t escape the fact I run a lot of miles at sea level.
Down, down, down we went, the trail turned to tarmac, the road opened, the sun was just peaking behind the trees as the temperature rose, my heart rate settled, and the miles flew by. It was, incredibly, one of those runs where the stars simply align. What was I worried about, I remember thinking, the inclusive atmosphere tangible everywhere.
Then the downhills stopped, and the last 3 miles were on the undulating roads around Bass Lake, and this was tough. I had to dig deep, my quads were on fire, old blisters reignited, and I had to battle mentally with myself as my head screamed at me to walk, just for a bit, it promised me, but I held on. It was hard, it hurt, and my face showed it as well-meaning supporters told me to keep going, the kind comments from the photographer at mile 13 as he tried to get a smile out of me.
And then there was the finish line, I’d done it, it was all over, and it felt amazing. The only downside was that, because the logistics of shuttle buses for spectators and early waves didn’t match up, Jamie didn’t make it to the finish; he’s always at the finish line at these big events, waiting for me.
A huge wave of emotion at not seeing him there threatened to engulf me, but just at that moment a lovely young man called *Ryan came over and sat with me. He told me we’d sort of run the race together, he said I was in his eye line for most of the race, he commented on my running style and how he’d tried to match it; his comment took my breathe away, really? I’m usually asked if I’m on the right course, or someone’s breathing heavily on my shoulder trying to match my pace - because they don’t want to be “girlied” – his words were so refreshing.
We laughed about the altitude and how the downhill had shattered our toenails/knees/quads and boy didn’t those last 3 miles feel like running uphill for another 5000ft! I don’t think Ryan realised how much his companionship and camaraderie meant to me in that moment, and it reminded me to intensely of why races are so special.
I cried when I saw Jamie, I swear he had a tear in his eye, he says it was a bit smokey...
We sat by the lake soaking in the festival atmosphere, Jamie had a paddle, I had a full body immersion to cool off; neither one of us wanted to leave.
I knew that Vacation Races awarded the first 5 positions in each age category - we checked the results which said I’d come 2nd in my age group. Yep, I’ll take 2nd place, so we waited to watch the prize giving.
I’ll be honest, it was quite a long wait, especially as the age cats start at 11–14-year-olds - the crowd thinned, the applause started to lose its enthusiasm, but we got there.. 5th, 4th, 3rd, 2nd……….Jamie, phone poised, recording the moment, but wait my name wasn’t called, his phone lowered, shit, shit, shit – he looked at me with a mixture of fear and sympathy - for 10 seconds that felt like an eternity, Jamie felt this awful sense of foreboding, “how the fuck am I going to recover this, I’ve got another week with her “not quite making it” again.
Myself, so used to “nearly but not quite” put my Oscar losing smile on, ready to leave the area with a cool confident, I didn’t want a prize anyway.
Hang on, what did he just say? We couldn’t quite believe it when they called my name, the relief is evident in Jamie’s shout out “COME ON!”, and I was just beaming!
The moral of the story? I could have so easily not run this race, historically, I have let the doubts creep in, let the anxiety take over and either dropped down a wave/start time, or ran with someone who was slower than me to “hide” behind; in some cases, I’ve got to a start line and not managed to cross it.
None of these were options due to the cost of this event, but thank goodness I stuck it out, because it really was the perfect finish…..I said it all sounded perfect didn’t I, sorry, but that’s also down to a race company that has, finely tuned an amazing combination of inclusivity and competitiveness all wrapped up in one, the epitome of this new running culture. And I can’t wait to do it all again someday.