I guess I should have known what I was getting into when I signed up for the “Festival of the Hills” 10K here in northwestern MA.

Those hills? Yeah, they were packed into that run, let me tell you.

The 10K was my first real 10K (I’d been running six-milers on an oh-so-level local rail trail), and my first race since beginning to take running a bit more seriously over the past year. It was a small race, with about 100 entrants, in a rural area. My fellow runners were a chilled out and supportive bunch, and the course was breathtakingly beautiful, cutting through dirt and paved backroads, along streams and farms and open, rural land.

The hills, though. Wow. I ran up the first few, but a bit after mile 3, there was an excruciatingly steep and long one, followed within a few minutes by another. Although I think I was pretty well-paced, for me, for the rest of the race, I’m bummed to say I did take a walking break on both of those hills.

Traveling to the race this morning, I told myself I’d be happy to just finish, suspecting as we drove through the area that the race would be as hilly as the surrounding terrain. Really, though, deep down inside, I wanted to come in under 60 minutes (my six-milers on the rail trail usually came in at about 56 minutes). A little unrealistic, I guess, given my lack of hill training. I lumbered over the finish line a bit slower than that, with Dan jogging alongside. Not last, but certainly not a personal best!

But I did it, afterall! And, well, there’s always next year for better times on this race. In the meantime, I know what I need to do: hill training. For now, though, I’m relaxing with a big pot of lentil soup on the stove and my dog at my feet.