Misadventures on the Wild Craft Trail Run

I arrived in Mcleodganj, a small town just up the mountain from Dharamsala, to help my art collective set up an installation. When our supplies were delayed in Delhi I decided to try my hand at competitive mountain racing because, how hard could it really be? I’ve hiked Kilimanjaro and generally pat myself on the back for running an average of three miles once a week, in Oakland, at sea level. While a ten mile run starting at an elevation of 6,800 feet and climbs, over the next five miles, nearly 900 feet sounds challenging, it certainly didn’t seem impossible.

Ten Minutes in. I’ve passed all the other women. I am feeling pretty good about things and my internal dialogue is hopeful. I have a chance of finishing first in the women’s category; I might even be the first American to win this race. I’ve totally got this. All I have to do is keep on jogging. Even if it’s just baby steps through the steep parts. One foot at a time and everything will be fine.

Fifteen minutes in. The path is really rocky and steep. Run Keeper just informed me I’ve gone 0.6 miles. I’m running slightly over 19 minute miles. This might take longer than I anticipated.

Mile 2. I’ve started walking the steep parts and jogging along the increasingly infrequent places of even ground and moderate inclines. My breath is short; the altitude is definitely affecting me.

Mile 3. The local boys are bounding boulders to pass me. They shout encouragement over their shoulders as I slide backwards down the rock face I was attempting to clamber up. I started 30 minutes before them.

Mile 3.5, I have literally just climbed the vertical equivalent of the Eiffel Tower in 3 miles. How I miss sweet, sweet, sea level. At this point Newton is the only thing keeping me going. Somewhere this mountain has to go down. I have given up on the glory of winning. If I finish this race in one piece, I’ll be amazed.

4. A sense of parallax has set in due to lack of oxygen. Who needs depth perception when trying to scale the face of a cliff? If I make it to the downhill portion without passing out, I’ll put it in the books as a win.

4.5. I have the sneaking suspicion I’m on candy mountain. There is a reasonable chance that if I pass out I’ll wake up next to a deranged unicorn who has just finished harvesting my organs. I’ve never been that kind to my liver: the joke’s on you, Charlie!

5. OMFG, I have no legs! Seriously, when do I get a donkey or a jetpack? Didn’t we ride out of the stone age on horseback? Why did I wake up this morning and decide to play Neanderthal?

5.2. I see a pony. I am going to steal the pony. I might lose this race but I’m winning at Darwinism.

I’m almost at the peak, roughly 1,400 feet climbed and some guys just thanked me for representing white people. Sorry, white people.

5.5. Fuck you Newton. It turns out down is a massive cliff and a drop of 7,000 feet to the nearest habitable city. Where is my hang glider? I am no mountain goat. The path is erratic at best and most of the time I am lost.

6. I have entered the Matrix. There is no path. I am on the side of a mountain. I am in the middle of the Himalayas. The only objective is to go down.

6.4 While running through the wilderness, I put my hand in a thorn bush and have bled all over my race number. I have another epiphany: there is no matrix. Instead, there is the wrong side of the mountain. I pass some mountain goats and contemplate wrangling one. Goats were among the first domesticated animals; how hard could it be to ride one down? Their horns give me pause and I continue on, alone.

7. I’ve entered a lovely mountain village and am thrilled to pick up the pace and run on an actual path. I am passed by a 70 year old man carrying a goat. Turning a corner I run straight into some poor startled woman’s kitchen. She yells at me and waves towards a different path. Apparently I am lost, again.

Somewhere closed to mile 8. I am running down a landslide. I haven’t seen another person or path marker in a very long time. I am pretty sure that I’m at the back of the pack or at least I would be if we were remotely on the same mountain. Perhaps eight years from now I’ll emerge from the woods, crazed, with dreads and a full beard.

8.2 I am on an actual road which people are literally hang gliding off of. There is no purpose in walking, efficiency is paramount. The faster I move, the sooner I finish and I am basically just rolling down the mountain anyway.

8.9. I lied. Walking totally has a purpose, like when your lungs collapse and your muscles throw in the towel.

9.1275 miles, 5,268 vertical feet covered. For reference that’s the equivalent of climbing the Burj Khalifa, the world’s tallest building, in a little over two hours. A boy informs me the finish line is just through the broken wall on my left and down a little path. Suddenly he looks like the most beautiful angel of mercy.

Summary: You would have to be completely crazy to think this run was a good idea. Despite misadventures it turns out I was the second fastest crazy lady on the run.

To celebrate I go home, throw up, and go to sleep.