Santa Cruz Chronicles. 

Wolf Pack of Four

Well, today was the day. My house is now officially fully occupied by four girls, including myself. It’s funny to think back to the first two weeks I lived in the house, and was all by my lonesome. Then there were two, and eventually a third. The house now feels complete if I may say so. I’m sure there will be adventures to write about and things to document, but for now, it’s just peaceful being in a house with three other females—something I’d gotten quite used to back home. (You know who you are). 

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On a completely different note, I want to tell you of a run I went on last weekend. I headed out the door with the image and anticipation of the run I thought I was going to have (which, let me tell you, hardly ever comes true or turns into real life). However, this time, it was better. During the week prior, I found a new trail head and needless to say, I was in the mood to explore a little more. As I was making my way to the entrance to the trail—via this sweet bike path (which I’ll most likely find myself using, abusing, and leaving some sweat on)—I began to hear the faint echo of a cowbell and words of encouragement being screamed. All of a sudden, I recognized the atmosphere and the rush of adrenaline around me. All of a sudden, I found myself smack-dab in the running portion of the Big Kahuna Santa Cruz Triathlon. I ended up doing a little research on the race itself later that afternoon, and to my surprise, I had run roughly five or so miles with these (pardon my French) badasses during the 13.1 miles which the running leg was comprised of. Crazy sauce. The funny part, was how into it I got. At first, I tried to just keep to myself and my own workout. But when there’s those bright orange cones on the road and you start passing people (and keep passing them) and people begin to cheer you on because they think you’re in the race, it’s hard to contain your excitement. Needless to say, my run that day subconsciously turned into a semi-tempo run slash race simulation. 

There were even times in which I found myself doling out words of encouragement to those I passed. I even found myself receiving oodles of positive words as well. Something I couldn’t quite wrap my mind around, was how I couldn’t get myself to turn around and head home, while running on the course. I guess I didn’t want the people in the race to think I was cheating (even though I wasn’t in the race, wearing a bib number, or even a triathlon jersey). Plain and simple. It just didn’t seem like the thing to do. That being said, I ran in the race until the turnaround point, which was this really awesome Tiki statue at the end of the trail, and just ran back the way I came (still in the race). 

There was one point in the race which I still can’t come to forget. Since the run was an “out-and-back” course, it was only natural to forget the long downhill that we charged down on the way out. That being said, on the way back up the hill, there were a few triathletes who were stopping to walk up part of the hill. For whatever reason, my inner runner/coach/etc. kicked in, and as I cruised up the hill and crept by these people who were stopping, I wouldn’t pass by without saying something. Things like: “come on, don’t stop,” or “you’re almost there,” or (my personal favorite when cheering hillside) “come with me!” Regardless of what I said, the acknowledgement seemed to be taken with gratitude, as they often said something positive in return. Upon returning from my run that day, a slight rush of excitement stayed with me throughout the remainder of the day. It lifted my spirits. It got me thinking about racing, and more importantly, competing. But I think most importantly, was that I got to be a moving spectator for complete strangers and hopefully my words of encouragement made a difference.