(Not) Running with the Big Boys

I live in Ashland, Oregon--what is arguably the ultra running capital of the world.  If the Oregon part of that—all Nike and the University of Oregon and Prefontaine—isn’t convincing, the Ashland part should be.  Our local running store is owned by Hal Koerner (one of the top ten ultra running athletes in the world).  Our coffee shops and trails are frequented by Jenn Shelton (the girl who was Born to Run), and a host of other stars of the ultra running world who either train here or live here, or both. 

Even local races are often dominated by world class runners like Max King or Erik Skaggs.  I doubt you could shout, “I’ll race you to the park!” on a lazy Saturday afternoon without having someone sponsored by North Face or Patagonia show up and kick everyone’s ass.  My sister said, “Wow, it must be cool to be out there and log miles with those guys.” 

It must be.  But, I wouldn’t know, because I am not cool.    A few months ago, I needed a lightweight jacket for cold mornings.  I was checking out the options at Rogue Valley Runners (see “local running store” mentioned above), when Hal himself stepped up to help me.  He pointed me to a North Face jacket and we briefly discussed the colors and sizes available.  I really wasn’t listening to the technical details he provided about the jacket because I feared suddenly stammering something like, “uh…I’m trying to increase my mileage, but it makes my legs hurt...any advice?”  I bought the jacket (about $120—has any aspiring runner ever NOT purchased something Hal himself recommended?).  Later, I had to peruse the North Face website to learn whether or not the jacket was waterproof (remember, I wasn’t actually listening to Hal), when I caught a photo of Hal himself, wearing the jacket.

So, you can imagine that I felt especially cool the first morning I sported that Hal-Koerner-recommended-super-awesome running jacket.  And I did.  Until the day I actually ran into Hal.  I recognized him running toward me on the main boulevard in town.  I was wearing the jacket (and, possibly coordinated socks—don’t hate).  He was wearing something that looked well worn, even tattered.  As if he had just rolled out of bed, slid on his shoes and ran a fierce yet easy pace on single track for 30 or so miles before running down a deer, skinning it, cooking the meat over an open flame, and then sated, running into town to meet up with a few buddies and catch another 20 plus miles.  I was dressed as though I would likely avoid stepping in any kind of dirt (let alone a trail) for fear of messing up my shoes. 

So, yeah, I imagine that it is pretty cool to dominate the trails around Ashland with those guys. However, I’m the girl on the boulevard in the awesome jacket (and I don’t really want to risk getting it torn or snagged by some errant tree branch in the forest…).