East Texas Fade Away....

What was supposed to be my comeback trail run in Tyler State Park last Saturday, was instead a sad indicator of why I have so often fallen short of my own goals.
Three years ago at this race, it snowed six inches and we ran in a beautiful wonderland of white. But as it warmed and the day crept up on us, the snow began to melt and I slipped, breaking my ankle in the process. The saving grace was that the injury happened as I was leaving the start-finish for my second loop.... so I only had to walk 100 yards to the aid station to drop out.
I remember being in fine spirits; laughing and joking with friends, expecting that it was just a sprain and would heal in no time at all.
By the next Wedensday I was back on the treadmill testing it out. After six-tenths of a mile, I was done... another week and a half and I actually started running again. But it was never the same.
Eight months later, after MRIs and myriad scans and probes, I twisted it getting up from my desk and was limping so badly that the Dr. took an X-ray. Yup, a break... but not from the incident in my office a few hours earlier -- from back in February. That was Oct. 2004.
In December of that year I had surgery to repair the break, but the damage I had done was so great that it was July of 2006 before I was pain free. During that time I could not run without making the other symptoms (nerve pain, numbness, loss of muscle strength) worse. So I gained 45 pounds and became an even more avid volunteer.
Finally, I have been running again. Three 1/2 marathons and a 20K under my belt at Palo Duro, I figured I could maintain a good enough pace to at least have burgers with my friends at the end of the East Texas Ultra.
But it was freezing cold, so I put off getting out of the car until the very last minute. Dressed and hydrated, I walked to the aid-station table, saw that one cooler was full of gatorade, and decided to use the other. I filled my camelbak with a clear liquid.
The start was quick and I assumed my position at the rear of the crowd, laughing and flirting with the trail until I was alone in the piney woods of East Texas.
Tyler State Park is such a glorious place to run (or ride) and in each season the experience is just slightly different. It's been a cold year and the forest was very much hybernating. Nothing had yet to turn the expectant color of spring-fresh green. Drying leaves covered the needles fallen from Pines high above. Birds called, but could hardly be seen.
It was somewhere in those first miles that I noticed I was drinking some sort of sports drink that definitely had sugar. The taste reminded me of those bizarre Swedish car candies my friend Kiwi likes so much. I drank as much as I needed. And then at the first aid station, I realized I was drinking Heed.
I finished up the first, short, loop in good spirits and let the Aid Station captain fill me back up with Heed. It was cold and I had been ill, so I figured I might need the electrolytes. And I could have used a new set of lungs.
But not five minutes into the second loop, I realized that both my calves were cramping on the uphills. And then I couldn't run the flats any more either. By now I was suffering from severe congestion and I could no longer stand the taste of Heed.
I ate some of my home-made gluten-free bananna bread. That didn't work at all.
At the next aid station, I was reduced to walking. And I was afraid of deydration so I asked the man to dump out the Heed and give me water. He did... but I could still taste the damned Swedish candy with every sip.
By now I was feeling feverish and I ached. I reached Red Spicer's aid station a second time and decided to read the ingredients on the jar. Heed, it turns out, is made with Maltodextrin. A derivative of wheat, it's the first and main ingredient.
As a Celiac, this meant that I had been poisoning myself since I started.
At this point I couldn't cry and I couldn't scream. I decided to keep walking. As a rule, I know it takes two days to get out of the system once it's in... so there was nothing that stopping for a while would have done for me.
If you know the Tyler course, you know that about a mile from the end of the run (which goes backwards from the bike direction) it comes very close to Blackjack, and the start-finish of the race. It was then that I got passed by Tommy, who took one look at me and told me to get off the trail. Having nothing left and realizing that the next mile would take me longer than the first three, I weakly acquiesced and wandered the short distance to the finish line.
I must have looked pretty awful. Letha, the rest of the workers and Race Director Paul Stone all wanted to know immediately what was wrong. All I wanted to do was crawl into the bed in the van and disappear.
It's hard to explain, but I am embarassed.
I had hoped for a good enough performance that I might banish the psychological demons of the broken ankle. I had wanted to see my friends and play in the woods. Instead, I drank something without reading the label, something that no Celiac can ever afford to do. I kept drinking it, too. And I made my own situation worse.
Celiac can be completley controlled by diet, but I cannot seem to maintain vigilence when it really counts. I feel like a fake. And a liar. I feel nothing at all like a runner and I am ashamed.