"Up there?"

Betsy Winspeed felt a bit hesitant as she looked up at the steep slope the Tamalpa Runners of Marin County, California were expecting her to climb. She had come to Sausalito to visit a dear friend, Maggie Jordan.

"Come for a visit, dear. It’ll do you good, now that you’re out and about. You’re used to traveling alone, I hear, what with your trip to Italy and all… After all, what else have you got to do?" Maggie had said in her phone call at the end of July. "You’re into running? Well, we’ve got plenty of trails out here and a running group that’ll really test your mettle."

Betsy had gotten the next reservations she could and flown to San Francisco.

"Now that I’ve conquered the hills of Tuscany, I’m ready for new challenges," she had thought to herself. She had a new sense of freedom and power. She knew now that Ernie was with her in spirit, rooting for her.

Could a lady of 60-something keep up with a hardy group of mountain trail runners?

On this Wednesday night in the upscale tree-shaded city of Ross, Betsy found herself with some tall, thin men, serious trail runners, some of them, like Dave Covey, famous for ultra runs.

"Will I be able to keep up with this powerful group?" she wondered, clutching her little bottle of de-fizzed diet Coke. The five ladies in the group seemed confident that she could.

A tall man with a crew cut strolled up to her, as she chatted with the women.

"Welcome to the Tamalpa Runners Wednesday night run! I’m Dave Covey, the one you talked to on the phone the other night. Glad you could join us."

" Thanks," said Betsy, surveying the group of about 20, near the parked cars, waiting to start their run.

"You know you’re showing yourself as a novice trail runner with that bottle," smiled Dave. " There will be a water stop halfway through the run."

Betsy smiled back. "Thanks, Dave. Coming from Florida I’m not used to this dry California climate, so I always carry my fluid with me. That way, I can drink whenever I need it. You experienced ultra runners are probably beyond this."

"No, we’re not…It is a good idea," agreed Dave. " I had to drop out of the Vermont 100-miler recently because I got dehydrated." Pointing up the hill, he glanced at it and then back at Betsy.

"Are you ready?"

The rest of the ladies were jogging ahead at a sedate pace.

Betsy squinted and scanned the switchbacks that Dave indicated. The hillside looked like one she might feel ready to hike, but not to run.

"Almost."

She straightened her bright blue bandanna around her forehead, tightened her laces, and took a deep breath. "I guess I can walk if I get too tired," she thought.

Aloud, she said, "Ready."

A tall, lanky runner in the yellow t-shirt led the way up the hill.

"I’ll just try to keep you in sight," Betsy called to him, "like in the Tour de France…the yellow jersey leads the way."

"We’ll wait for you at the intersections, Betsy," Yellow T-shirt called back to her.

"It won’t matter," Betsy thought. "I’ll be lucky to stay with this group."

She started off briskly but soon found the going rough. Only a fraction of the way up the hill, she was already huffing. She watched her feet going up the narrow rocky trail through the tall trees.

Even though she was finding the terrain difficult, Betsy couldn’t help but notice the beauty of the trail.

"It’s like fall up here." Multi-colored leaves carpeted the ground. Though pretty, they made the footing treacherous. Her foot slipped almost sending her face-down, but Betsy caught her balance and continued the scramble.

"I’ll have to be careful."

Betsy desperately wanted to prove herself to this group. She could tell they weren’t used to having older women run with them.

"If they think this is a moderate pace, I’m in for it," She forced herself to start running again after walking around a hairpin turn. After a few minutes of jumping over logs and climbing stairs made with railroad ties, she began to feel strong, alive, powerful.

"I’m doing ok!" Betsy said to herself with surprise.

A runner behind her started up a conversation.

"So are you out here for any particular reason?"

Betsy took a breath before answering so she wouldn’t sound so winded.

"Just visiting an old friend and trying to experience some new running terrain."

"Have you been running for long?"

" Four years, but, you know, we don’t have slopes like this in Florida These hills are a challenge," she panted.

"Well, you’re doing fine," said the voice behind her. "Not too much more uphill."

"That’s a relief anyway," said Betsy to herself, wiping away the beads of sweat escaping through her bandanna "I think I can hang in for a couple more feet." At the top of the hill, the group stopped for a moment.

"So how ya doin’?" asked Dave.

"I did a bit of chin scraping coming up that last switchback, but I think I’ll make it," grinned Betsy. "I was trying to let my upper body weight pull me up the incline by leaning forward."

"That’s a pretty good technique. Also take little steps and use your glutes, not your calves, to get you up the hill."

"Now you tell me," laughed Betsy. "I could have used that advice at the bottom."

"Well, you’ve run up the worst part. It’s mostly downhill from here," said Dave. "As we go around Lake Phoenix, take a moment to notice the scenery. The light should be perfect on the sunny side."

She nodded, looking forward to the vista, but "I’ll be lucky if I can take my eyes off my feet," thought Betsy. "I couldn’t appreciate much of the forest views since I had to watch the roots, rocks and holes…but maybe if the trail flattens out, I’ll be able to enjoy the beauty of this run."

"C’mon," said Dave. Without looking behind him, he started off again. He seemed to float down the tawny hillside. Yellow T-shirt was right behind him on the tiny trail only a footprint wide.

Betsy was unable to look at any scenery on this leg of the run. Horses had used this path and made small holes in the grass. She had to be vigilant to avoid stepping in one of these. The slope was so steep she leaned back and took very small steps.

"I hope my quads can take this," she thought. "I guess I’ll know by tomorrow."

After careening down the narrow track, the troop followed the edge of the lake and eventually came upon a concrete levy.

Betsy teetered across the narrow levy wall, pausing in the middle to gaze at the shimmering lake to her left. It was a round lake with pines growing down to the water. The sun was long and golden. Loons and ducks paddled quietly in the shafts of sunlight.

"It reminds me of the Lake District in England…Lake Windemeer," she said to no one in particular. "And that thin stretch of water off to the right is striking, winding away into the pines."

"Yes, " said Yellow T-shirt. "You should see this place in the winter: the string of lakes is blue and the winter grass is green with the rain. That’s Lake Phoenix on your left and Alpine Lake on the right. It’s spectacular…Here, need a hand?" He reached down the embankment to help Betsy up to the next level, a short stretch along a gravel road. The men stood for a short moment to survey the scene.

A couple of tourists, who had driven their car up to this scenic point, watched as the group took off once more at a brisk clip.

"This isn’t my moderate pace," breathed Betsy to the five men in front of her. They may not have heard her.

As she ran by, Betsy made a face at the watching tourists as if to say "But I’m going to stay with them, by gum." They smiled and waved her on.

The trail entered a pine forest on the shady side of the lake and became a terrain of small rolling hills. The forest was deep and cool; the path carpeted with needles and spongy soil. The downhill slopes gave Betsy the momentum to climb the rises without spending too much effort or slowing her pace.

Soon, the men’s voices vanished. For awhile Betsy thought she saw the yellow t-shirt disappearing around corners. After a few minutes, all she saw was a foot. And then, she lost sight and sound of the group entirely.

"Well, I’m giving it my best," she thought. " I notice none of the other ladies are running with these men. Did they take a more level route? This is my first-ever trail run and I’m going to prove what I can do on this tough terrain," she thought, "but I am enjoying this California scenery. After all, that’s part of what I came out for." Her steps were soundless, cushioned by the forest path.

California blue jays fluttered out of her way. She looked up at the pines’ knarled trunks, listened to the scufflings in the brush. Sounds of the woodland quiet followed her.

"I’m running closer to my race pace than training pace," Betsy suddenly realized.

Around a corner, she came to a clearing where her group of trail runners, the five men, were stretching and getting drinks of water.

"That wasn’t so bad, was it?" asked Dave in a friendly way. "You’re doing great!"

Inside Betsy felt the same way. She hadn’t realized she was so close behind the group. She took a long drink out of her coke bottle, then, leaning against a picnic table, stretched her hamstrings and quads. The pause was brief.

Yellow t-shirt started ambling off. Betsy quickly followed. She didn’t want to be at the end of the line any more.

For awhile the group jogged along an asphalt road heading downhill. Betsy felt expert at this sort of running and picked up the pace, passing Yellow T-shirt. Soon, however, the others caught up and passed her.

"We’re taking this trail here to the left," said Dave, pointing. Then he disappeared.

"Ok, young lady," said Betsy to herself as she saw the narrow 45 degree incline sloping away from her offering tangled roots, and muddy spots. " This is your litmus test." She took a deep breath and sprinted.

"Whoa!" Halfway down the slope she realized her body was a vehicle with no brakes. It was invigorating to fly downhill, but…

"If I run into a hole or a sharp turn, I’m going to be in serious trouble."

Betsy made little rhythmic gasps as she careened down the trail. She leaned back at an angle, her neck braced. Her feet were turning over faster than they ever had in her life. The scene in front of her jiggled as if she were watching a movie filmed by a jouncing camera.

"Yaaaa," she let go a yell of delight, her arms outspread like wings, her feet pounding. Betsy felt as if her stride had lengthened to six feet. She was leaping like a deer.

She landed at the bottom of the trail breathless but exhilarated. A wide gravel road continued to slope downward and, as Betsy ran with the gravity, her euphoria continued.

"I made it in one piece!" she exulted. No one heard her.

Yellow t-shirt and the rest had disappeared, but she could hear their chatter ahead around a curve. They weren’t far.

Betsy patted herself on the back mentally. She grinned as she looked down at her normally pristine white running shoes now caked with dirt, proof of her accomplishment.

"I ran with the big boys," she told Maggie as she climbed the steps to her friend’s front door. " Up two hillsides with switchbacks, over rock-strewn tracks with sliding dirt, through shifting leaves. I teetered over a levy and I ran downhill like a bullet. Plus, I was the only woman with this group and the only person over 60."

Maggie, standing in her doorway, had stared at Betsy open-mouthed, taking in the crusted shoes, the legs scratched from branches, the white hair damp and plastered to her head.

"Betsy Winspeed, what have you done?"

Betsy grinned as she removed a little leaf from her running top and flicked some dust from her spandex shorts. She had passed her initiation into the Marin County world of hill and valley trail running. She stood up as tall as her stout little form would allow, looked Maggie straight in the eye and said,

"I kept up."

ã Copyright 1999 by Sheri Bedford