Salida Trail Marathon Part II: The Best Day

View from the course - looking south to the Sangre de Cristo range Run Through Time Trail Marathon - March 14, 2026

​(Read Salida Trail Marathon Part I: One Step At A Time)

One foot in front of the other and I’m just about to the top of this four-mile uphill bit of Type II fun. I see some folks standing in front of the 12.5 mile aid station - they direct me to continue on up the hill for another half-mile before returning to the station where I get off the road and onto some rolling double track. These volunteers do not pull me off the course - somehow, I have made the first time cut-off! 

But there’s no time for celebration. I’m not off the hook yet for the second cut-off. The promised wind has picked up, and despite passing another runner or two, the next portion feels desolate. The climbing is more varied but we’re still gaining elevation. Some stronger gusts take me by surprise, and I barely save my hat more than once. I’m in automatic mode, staring down at the dirt, when I come around a turn and a large meadow opens in front of me, with a stellar view of the snow-capped Sangre de Cristo mountains. For the first time today, I relax a smidge. I remember that I love being out on the trails, running through trees and meadows, reveling in vistas to the far-off horizon. 

I soak that in, and then it’s on to technical, rocky terrain that doesn’t allow for viewing anything but what’s right in front of me. All along I’ve been diligent about eating and drinking. My hydration vest is bulging with a plain water bladder, two soft flasks with a strong electrolyte mix, and tons of bars and chews. It was bulging so much, in fact, that I had to switch jackets this morning because the first one wouldn’t fit over all my fuel. Every few minutes I take a bite of a bar, eat a couple of chews, wash it down with plain water, take a few sips of electrolyte, wash that down with plain water. It is not easy to continue taking all that in, but my body responds well to this method so I keep doing what works.

As I approach mile 19.5, the aid station and second cut-off, I’ve picked off another runner or two and realize that I can let go of the time cut-off worry. I do some fuzzy estimates and conclude that Charlotte has finished by now - still hoping that all is well with her, but figuring I would have heard something if there was a problem. Plus I think the warm temps, wind, climbing and technical demand have taken the edge off my anxiety. I grab some water at the aid station and keep on truckin’.

For the next few miles, I move along at a consistent pace. I’ve been trading passes with a couple of young women in their early twenties - I pass them, they pass me, and so on. At around mile 23 as I pass them again, I can see that the heat has gotten to one of them. I also know that this is where my old lady endurance kicks in. Being young, they don’t have that edge, so I’m pretty sure they won’t pass me back again. (They don’t.)

The last push is a climb up Spiral Drive, where you pass by the “S” lights on Tenderfoot Mountain which overlooks Salida. I am mentally prepared for this, and though it is tough at the end of a long day, it feels kinda good, especially knowing how close I am to finishing. Coming down from Spiral Drive into the last aid station I am feeling decent. I grab some more water and take off, when the volunteers start yelling at me - I’m going in the wrong direction. Oops. I see them watching me so I pull myself together and try to look like I know what I’m doing. Not sure they are convinced.

I know from doing the half-marathon last year that the last mile of this race is a heartbreaker. You can hear the cheering from the finish at Riverside Park across the river as you switchback your way down the front side of the S Mountain. You get to the bottom and think it is just a hop over the railroad tracks, a skip over the river bridge, and a jump across the timing mat to finish. Nope. You get to the bottom and there’s a white arrow (created from flour) pointing you east. At the next possible turn, there’s another arrow - straight.. You keep heading east and just when you think you will never ever see the finish, there’s a right turn!! White arrows, pink flags, and to the finish you go. 

I run (am I actually running at this point?) across the bridge and a young girl sitting high on a huge boulder at the entrance to Riverside Park cheers me on. “Thank you!” I say, and she cheers louder, energized by acknowledgement. I try to pick up my legs for a finish push but the Frankenstein effect has set it. Then I see and hear Charlotte and Lynn! I am so happy to see them! They are simultaneously cheering and running with me to the finish. Lynn says to Charlotte, “well, she’s running better than us!” I guess Frankenstein can move when the end is in sight.

I cross the line with a time of 7:06. I finished! Maybe not my goal time, but I completed my first trail marathon even though I started the day with concrete legs. 

It turns out that Charlotte not only held up just fine, but performed well - she placed 1st in her age group and 7th woman overall! I’m so proud of her, and very happy for her. As much as I love running, I don’t think that even at her age my body would have consistently performed the way hers does. 

It feels both surreal and satisfying to hang out in the park post-race with Charlotte and Lynn, cheering the final finishers in. White puffy clouds move across the azure sky. The sun on my skin gives just the right amount of warmth, and the wind is more gentle now as it blows through the leafless branches of the huge old trees. The Arkansas river flows just a few yards away, and the three of us chat away. There is nowhere else I’d rather be.

Charlotte and I at the finish. (Photo credit: Lynn Oslick)