When my friend Liv (the most stylish Lutheran pastor I know) mentioned the Wild Woman Trail Marathon and Relay last spring, I thought it was a great idea. You can run the whole marathon course yourself or split the route with up to three other friends.
Truth: Races often sound like a lot of fun when they’re months away. Another truth: I favor paved surfaces. When I hike or run on trails, face-planting is a real possibility, especially if I want to enjoy the scenery.
Liv and I, and our support crew, set out on the five-hour drive from Spokane. Beige fields gave way to the Columbia River and glimpses of Mount Hood. Before we set up camp, we made a stop at the Full Sail Pub in Hood River, Oregon. We were too late for a brew tour, but just in time for some evening refreshment and a peek at some colorful kite boarders.
The Wild Woman race is well worth the drive and the modest registration fee (camping Friday and Saturday nights in a nearby field, with a great view of Mount Adams is included.)
An array of women runners in all shades of wicking fabric, capris, skorts, and tutus gathered for the event. Plus the race HQ happened to be an adorable farm with a mobile chicken coop and half-dozen, um, fragrant and happy pigs rooting in mud (a sight to make me rue the bacon I had on my sandwich at lunch).
Other attractions included pre- and post-race yoga sessions (BYOM: Bring Your Own Mat) and horse troughs filled with cold water at the finish line, which was great for the aching feet. I was too wimpy to immerse myself, though that was cool as far as horse-trough etiquette was concerned.
The organizers aimed for a zero-waste event and reusable water cups (I couldn’t help but call them Diva cups, and I relied on my Camelbak, but I appreciate the spirit).
Was there a minivan draped in a pride flag and topped with a unicorn figurine? Check. Camper van flanked by singing women with banjo? Got it.
And I haven’t even talked about the miles and miles of well marked, majestic trails. The trees were excellent company in the long stretches between exchange points or the sight of other runners. Most of my portion of the race was shaded, especially the hardest hill in the first three miles. I haven’t been in The Running Zone like that in a long time, gliding over sand, dirt, rocks, and twigs with only the occasional “Hey, lady, it’s this way!” to puncture my trance when I’d veer off course at a water stop.
Liv headed back to Spokane on Saturday afternoon, after the race (Sundays are busy days for clergy, go figure). WanderMan and I hung out for another night, reading, emptying our cooler, watching the sun dip and moon rise. (I was also grateful that I had enough quarters jingling in my wallet and car for a shower at the nearby campground. That’s $2 well spent).
Photo credits to WanderMan (pictured above, next to yours truly, smooching my handmade Wild Woman finishers medal).