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Well excuuuuusssseeee meeeeeeeee for missing a day, but you see, I’ve been doing a little running, and the crankiness factor got overbearing. Not to mention that on Day Five (Thursday) of our most excellent adventure, which ended at the Pacific Ocean in the hot and dry region of Guanacaste, there was nary an Internet Café and no electricity –  we had to cart in a generator to camp (which we did a couple of other days, too). This experience has taught me at least one thing:

I’m friggin’ spoiled.

Back in California, I can find an Internet connection practically anywhere –  even on the rump of a French poodle as it preens through Fashion Island with its Botoxed owner. Heck, in Orange County, we disguise cell phone towers as palm trees. Here, the palm trees are real, and good luck getting wired in the backcountry, where most of this alleged “run” has taken place. There are other means of getting wired, but this report is rated PG — for Pretty Gaseous.

So, if I can, let me think back to Day Five…ah, yes! I remember (several days in the tropics has a way of turning one’s brain to mush, making me feel like voting for Brent Romney in Tuesday’s primary –  the horror!) The Expedition category runners (there are 20 of us left) started the day with an 11-k time trial of sorts, with the slowest runners starting first, the next starting a minute later, etc. The idea was to inject a little fun and competition into matters –  or give us a chance to look at other butts for a change. I ran well and passed three runners. Not sure what my finishing time was (I long ago gave up caring, really) but I finished 7th, I think. We all ran fast.

Then we sat around for a couple of hours waiting for a bus, and were joined by the 20 Adventure category runners who were still alive. Then all 40 of us ran a 22K. So, basically, I ran two races on Thursday –  for a total of about 23 miles (sorry, but these people do everything in metric down here. Go figure).

Waiting between runs was tough, because it got nasty hot. We didn’t start the second race until close to noon –  when it was roughly the temperature of a Starbucks Venti Americano (can you tell I miss them?).

We had a big payoff at the end of Thursday –  almost as nice as the waterfall at the end of  Wednesday: Our first glimpse of the beach! We camped at Bahia Junquilla, on the Pacific Ocean. The water was gorgeous, slightly warmer than Orange County (and with less runoff and fewer dead bodies of depressed home owners), as well as very salty. I didn’t swim much. The exhaustion of the entire week seemed to come crashing down on me, and I was zonked out the rest of the day and night (my normal state of mind back home).

I got another massage after Thursday’s run –  this time, a relaxing one that didn’t cause me to go into spasms of agony. The sun set as my masseuse worked me over. I gotta tell ya: It was one of the best ways I’ve ever experience day dissolving into night. And for $25, the massages last a good 90 minutes.

Articulating what all of the runners are feeling is, of course, foolhardy but I think there are common things we all can relate to –  one of these things being a sense of accomplishment, regardless of how fast we are running.

As you sit at home reading this, sucking down a martini or a caramel latte or whatever (something with caffeine, to give you the energy to get through this), and if you happen to notice the finishing times, you might think: “What a bunch of wimps! Why are they taking so long to run so-and-so many miles?’’

Not to make excuses, but this course is unreal in terms of how rugged it is. The hills are very steep and technical, the brush sometimes feels like barbed-wire whacking against your legs, and the sun bakes your brains. The most challenging trails here would be off-limits at home. Rain in El Moro? A stroll down the marble corridors of South Coast Plaza…

Here are some of the challenges one faces when doing a multi-stage endurance run:

* A serious lack of sleep. Almost none of us are sleeping well. Sometimes your body hurts too much to relax, sometimes the people in the nearby tent are chatting away, sometimes the ground is too hard –  and sometimes the poker party never ends. Then there are those tiresome, all-night sessions with the local barnyard animals. I know, sick joke. Ahem. Sorry.

I have not slept more than three hours each night –  usually only two. We’ve all been going to bed around 8 and getting up between 4 and 5 to prepare for our runs. Preparing takes time, as we have to break down our tents and get our running gear ready in the dark. Then we eat (I’ve discovered the value of food before a long run) and we’re off! The race organizers are very good about keeping us all on track. They know the danger of keeping us out on the trails in the heat of the day.

* New food. Let’s just say that a lot of people are having stomach issues. I’ve been OK –  well, yeah. OK. Nothing out of the ordinary. But several runners have succumbed to leaky-spigot syndrome.

* The cumulative effect of running every day. First of all, I wouldn’t even call this a run. It’s a grueling adventure –  a test of mind and body. There’s a lot of slogging through water and mud and over rocks and tree limbs and branches and through steams and cow crud, etc. I’d say out of the 135 miles we ran (I ran more; more on that later!) only about 30 were on relatively unobstructed, non-technical fire road.

There are several things that can go wrong when doing something like the Coastal Challenge:

* Getting hurt. Do this early on, and your whole week is over. Just stepping on a rock or root the wrong way can do this –  or lugging your stuff to and from the truck to camp. One  runner, Jackie Windh, hurt her knee at the end of Day Three. She doesn’t know how she injured it –  overuse, she figures — but it started bugging her and she had to withdraw from the event.

* Getting lost. I’m exhibit No. 1 in this category. More on this later. It’s pretty funny, in a sad and pathetic way. This happened to several people. The race used neon orange markings on trails, trees, fence posts, rocks, cows’ asses (joke) but it still was difficult at times to find them. Some were ribbons that blew in what seems to be a perpetual wind (not the perpetual wind one has after El Torito’s Sunday brunch. I know, I like potty humor. You noticed?)

* Heat exhaustion. I typically carried between 80 and 120 ounces of water with me, and still worried about running out. Aid stations sometimes were 10 miles apart, and a few times that was far enough away for me to almost exhaust my supply. I constantly drank. Day Five bugged me the most, heat-wise, as we approached the beach. I would say it was in the 90s easily –  maybe 100 degrees.

* Animals/insect bites. There weren’t any major incidents this year. One dude got bit by a fire ant in a hotel, but out here, that’s like saying you chipped your nail. A cow ran with runners, I ran a bit with a dog, etc. Funny, I thought I would be inundated with a lot of animals and snakes and insects, but I saw fewer than those that live in my bedroom. I saw a monkey in some park in some town (how’s that for journalistic details? Haha!) but, he lived in the park –  not exactly a primate living in the wild. Snakes? Never saw one –  unless I count an state-side attorney wallowing by a pool at the Best Western Irazu in the capital, San Jose.

Perhaps I doth bitch too much?

Well, as I inferred, my crankiness level hit a 10 out of 10 on Thursday night.

So, on to Friday, our last day of running –  a brilliant day of relatively short running and lots of lounging by a swimming pool and –  yes! –  hot showers! Hallelulah! I cannot understate the joy of knowing I will not have to pitch a tent tonight! Yippie!

I started Friday ranked No. 11 –  I had a lock on it if I just ran normally. (OK, I know I said earlier that I don’t care much about my finishing time, but come on –  a solid week of running with people makes it impossible not to feel competitive.)

All I had to do Friday was go steady and I would remain No. 11. A woman from Britain, Nikki MacLeod, was 12 minutes behind me. She was my biggest threat. The course today was fireroad with very mild uphills and a couple of coastal reef runs tossed in for fun.

No problem, right? Wrong.

I was doing great, running with a guy named Chris Hacker (fine dude), and was 75 percent done with the run, when Chris said he saw Nikki approaching us from behind.

“See ya!”   I said, and took off without looking back.

I turned on the jets and zoomed away. I felt awesome. I also felt like a bit of a jerk. My comeuppance would come very soon.

I ran about 1.5 miles along a reef (rock-hopping is more accurate) and then made the biggest mistake I’ve made all week, with only about four miles to the finishing line (think of that: four miles out of 135):

I missed a turn.

Yes, I missed a turn.

Long story short, I ended up running an extra loop. I estimate it was five to six miles; my Garmin watch stopped working a couple of days ago. I had to retrace my 1.5 miles on the reef and my mistake cost me a full hour, knocking me clear down to No. 14 in the final standings.

Yes, I finished 14 –  instead of 11.

Those of you who know me well know that No. 14 is my favorite number, so there’s some poetry in my final ranking.

Funny, Nikki never passed Chris. If I wouldn’t have gotten all macho and had just continued running with Chris, who did NOT miss the turn, I would have remained No. 11 in the final standings. But nnnnnnnnnoooooooooooooooooo! I had to get competitive. Actually, I think this is all pretty funny –  and very instructive (at least for me).

I was upset at first about getting lost, but soon my mood lifted. Soon, I stopped to think: about what I was doing in Costa Rica, about why I run –  about why Paris Hilton still is a celebrity, etc.

Then, when I retraced my run along the reef, I started feeling an overwhelming sense of joy. The sun was beating down but there was a cool breeze and the water glittered. The scenery was gorgeous. And inside, I was happy. Completely.

I remembered that in running and in life, it’s important to take time to look around –  not to just plow ahead. To savor things. To not just exist with blinders on –  doing that, to some degree, is unavoidable. The trick, I think, is to widen the blinders as much as you can so you can take in more of what is around you. You can miss a lot of things when you go too fast.

Running has taught me this.

I was thinking these thoughts while I was running along the northwestern-most tip of Costa Rica. I could see Nicaragua to my left, across the bay. I had screwed myself over time-wise by getting lost, but I could have cared less. I was thrilled to be alive and to be so close to finishing this awesome adventure.

In many ways, I did not want it to end. But I knew it was time. I was ready.

As a write this, I am sitting in the lobby of the Bolanos Bay Resort –  an airy, plantation-style hotel. It faces the beautiful bay Bahia Salinas. The wind is blowing. It is drying my freshly washed hair (Pantene, baby). I am in Central America, of all places — at the nexus of two countries.

One of these countries –  Costa Rica –  I feel I now know well, having run 135 (for me, 140) miles across it, through dripping-wet jungles, across wind-swept plains, through dusty, charming villages, through steep canyons molasses-thick with dried-out tree limbs and lashing brush and jagged rocks, across highways with no medians, along white-sand beaches, over slippery black boulders, down fireroads pocked with water-filled holes and peppered with cow dung, down gravel paths, up a log staircase –  I think that pretty much covers it. 

Yes, I got lost today. Sometimes you need to do that to discover where you’re going.

Greg

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For more coverage on the Coastal Challenge beside the event’s home page (www.thecoastalchallenge.com), visit www.sleepmonsters.com and click “race reports

Voices from the Jungle

Liz babe, I hope you’re still following Greg’s blog. I look forward to reading the recap of everything we went through when I get back.   Every day has truly been an adventure and things have improved for me markedly over the last two, such that the finish has been satisfying. But alas, now that the journey is done, I am anxious to get back to the week before, if you know what I mean. While I rest here on the ocean shore, looking across the waves at Nicaragua, there is only one thing missing to make this beautiful scene complete. Love ya and look forward to seeing you soon!!!
— Chris Hacker