hu·bris ˈ(h)yo͞obrəs/ noun
1. excessive pride or self-confidence.
Having completed a 55k run back in February, perhaps I can be forgiven for fancying myself an “ultra” runner, capable of casually knocking off lengthy trail runs. Well gentle reader, today my hubris was exposed. I had my gluteus maximi served up to me on a silver platter by the Grand Canyon. Thank you Canyon – lesson learned.
Over the years I’ve had the opportunity to hike all portions of the Tonto trail that lie east of the Bright Angel trail. For some time I’ve been contemplating the segment that runs west of the Bright Angel trail to the Hermit Trail. Sharon was out of town, the weather finally cooperated, seemed like the time was right for a run. The plan was simple…leave the house to arrive at the trailhead at first light. Check. Load up the running vest with sufficient food, water, appropriate clothes, camera, etc. Check. Run down the Bright Angel – hang a left at Indian Gardens and blithely jog across the Tonto and then cruise up the Hermit trail. I even thought of tacking on some extra distance at the end (if necessary) to make this run/hike a full 26.2 mile marathon. See definition of hubris above.
Things started out well enough. As soon as I dropped below the rim, the wind died completely and the weather was perfect. There were more deer than people on the trail. The ominous clouds to the north stayed to the north. I felt good.
The Tonto trail west was in good shape, was generally Canyon flat, and made for good running. (I should say at this point that my trail running generally leads any onlookers to wonder if I’ve misplaced my walker.) Be that as it may, Tonto west did not disappoint.
Eventually the Tonto met up with the Hermit trail. According to my gps watch I’d traveled 16-17 miles by this point. I figured another 7-8 miles up, across and up the Hermit. I was tired but thought I’d just speed hike up and out. This was where the Canyon delivered an ego shattering smack down. As soon as I started climbing I realized I was shot. My feet, shins and calves were periodically cramping…sometimes solo, sometimes in three part harmony. My stomach figuratively flipped me a double bird. I shuffled along at approximately the pace of a dying tramp. If I survived the climb and made it back to civilization I had serious thoughts of becoming a NASCAR fan….forget this running around nonsense and spend my weekends parked on the sofa, drinking beer watching cars go ’round in circles.
Now, many hours later, after a long hot shower, an hour lying in bed and half a large Oregano’s pizza later, I’m beginning to feel human (and extremely humble) again. So maybe it was a good day after all.
Me, being the mother, can offer sympathy and great joy that you made it to back to the trailhead safely. Do have to say that I really enjoy reading about your exploits.
While I can sympathize with the feeling of, “hey this uphill is rather up and my energy is rather down” but at the end of the day you did this to yourself. Sympathy declines as choice increases. Glad you had fun and got to tick off another canyon run.
“What is an uphill, but a downhill in reverse.”
-Buddhist Proverb
Aaah…Grasshopper. Not looking for sympathy. This is a cautionary tale of overconfidence run amok. And a declaration of my new found love of good ol’ Amurkan sedentary spectator sports.