Mt. Hood 50 Is My Kind of Race!

I knew without a doubt I would meet my time goal. I was well trained, well rested, well hydrated. I had done the physical and mental work. I was ready and eagerly anticipating running the Mt. Hood 50. During the 10-second countdown, I kissed my necklace charm, did the sign of the cross, and was off with the pack at 6:30am.

In the two months prior to the race, I had been on two training runs on the course, so was already familiar with 36 miles of it (14 miles of the first half, and all of the last 22 miles). While this was enough to give me confidence for race day, it also left just enough curiosity as to what might be around the next bend.

This course was tailor-made for me: soft, mostly shady trail, lots of trees, getting to see other racers on the two out-and-back sections (loop and point-to-point courses can get lonely), some good climbs, some good downhill, and a particularly stunning Mt. Hood view that stopped me in my tracks, dropped my jaw, and made me exclaim “wow!” out loud, even though no one but the trees was around to listen.

There were a couple “tricky” turns in the first couple miles. One fellow said he was glad he was following me, or he wouldn’t have noticed the turn and would have kept going straight. A couple miles later, I started getting passed by people. Come to find out about a dozen of them had gone off course. How, I wondered, when it was so well marked? You can’t blindly follow the people in front of you— use your own eyes! Rant over.

From the race start at the historic Clackamas Lake Ranger Compound and around the north side of Timothy Lake, the first several miles of the course are mostly flat with some small rolling hills. After the first aid station near Little Crater Lake, there were a couple of nice climbs up to the aid station on Hwy 26, which was right across the highway from the Frog Lake trailhead/SnoPark. Also in this stretch was that stunning full-on view of Mt. Hood from the side of a high ridge. It would have been a wonderful spot to sit and soak it all in for a few minutes, but I had a time goal that kept me moving. I had seen the Hwy 26 aid station while driving to the race start. It was very cool to be here now. I got myself clear up to Hwy 26 from Timothy Lake! While that was a pretty damned cool accomplishment in itself, I still had another 36 glorious miles to go!

I thought the return to the Start/Finish area would be faster, but I was wrong. (The course is two out-and-back sections with the start/finish in the middle.) I did, however, get to the mid-point right on schedule to meet my time goal according to my race plan. I had mentally rehearsed what I would do at this aid station several times before falling asleep the night before. I had it down pat. I accessed my drop bag and dumped the contents, got rid of garbage, restocked my gels, got out my iPod, changed my shirt, reapplied sunscreen, and used an icy-wet towel to wash my face and hands while a volunteer filled my hydration pack with water. A few minutes later, I was off onto the familiar second part of the course, and still feeling great. 28 miles in, and I felt like I had only run a half marathon.

Just a few minutes down the trail I was singing along with my iPod when I heard cheers. Friends Chris & Darla Askew, Gina Guss, and Sean Meissner were sitting on a log waiting for me to go by. Instant excitement! I stopped and gave a hug to each of them, then was off again.

Most of the 5 miles to the next aid station was a long, gentle climb. Very runnable when the legs are fresh, but after 28 miles and with the day heating up, it wasn’t so runnable now. I ran this section for a few minutes, then walked several minutes. I tried to time my walks when the trail was in the sun and run in the shade. There were times I would have preferred to hike, but my time goal told me to keep running easy. After the Red Wolf aid station comes a screaming down hill for maybe three miles. I really worked it, and felt great. I loved passing a few people here, and thought for sure I had made up some of the time I had lost on the previous climb. The next climb up the other side of the canyon from the Warm Springs River took its toll on me. I looked at my watch thinking I must be almost there. I asked someone how much farther to the aid station. He said maybe a mile and a half. Crap! I should be there by now. I was going to be way over time for this leg of the journey. I still had hope that I would be refreshed at the aid station and be able to rip the downhills back to the finish and still meet my goal.

I pulled into the Warm Springs aid station at 2 hours 50 minutes, 20 minutes later than planned. They were out of ice, and I was really hot. I had to do something to cool down. Thankfully I thought to take the icy wet towel from my drop bag, drape it around my neck, and take it with me. Back at the river crossing, I stopped and dipped my fingers in the water. Yes, it was ice cold! I rewetted my neck drape for the next climb. Now I did the math in my head. I was not going to make 8-minute miles to reach my time goal. Not even if the remaining miles were all downhill. And there was still another mostly not-runnable-for-me 3-mile climb to go.

I let myself grieve for a few minutes. I shed tears for something I was so sure I would attain. (Perhaps if the day had been ten degrees cooler I would have been able to do it?) Then I decided I could either let this ruin my race, or I could enjoy the last eight miles. I chose the latter. I sang to myself and to the people I passed hiking up the hill. I extended my hand and words of support to the exhausted gentleman sitting alongside the trail in the middle of the 3-mile climb (someone else was with him, and he later came back to finish strong). I thought about my run around Mt. Rainer, now just over a month away, and what a great training run this turned out to be for it.

At the last aid station, I took a few minutes to recharge for the final 5 miles of mostly downhill to the finish. Even though my original time goal was not attainable, I wanted to challenge myself, rip it up, and finish strong. I wasn’t thrilled with the gel flavors I had remaining, so grabbed a couple Cherry-Lime Roctanes to take me to the finish. Just as I was about to leave the aid station, I saw a group of three runners approaching. “Shit!” I exclaimed. “Better get moving,” one of the volunteers said. Indeed. I wanted to stay ahead of these people. I knew I had to run every step of these last five miles. If I walked, they might catch up with me. I kept wanting to look back to see if they were on my tail, but didn’t. I just kept going. I was tired and hot, but kept running. I’d run this part of the course two times before and knew what was ahead, and that I could keep pushing myself. It was just a matter of listening to my body, of balancing the down hill with effort (yes, you can exhaust yourself running downhill) and time/miles remaining.

I saw the finish line. I heard cheers. I let go and felt like I sprinted across the finish line. Tears filled my eyes. Friends gave me hugs. It had been hard, but not that hard, if you know what I mean. If I had to, I could have run another 10 miles, but I was glad I didn’t have to. I’ll save that for another day.

I Learned Something Yesterday

I felt good starting off yesterday. Started running at Tumalo Falls just before 9am on a big 18+ mile loop. Went up Bridge Creek trail and cut over to South Fork. Alternately hiked/ran South Fork. Two years ago I think I hiked all of South Fork and thought it was really hard. Not now. Not after all I’ve experienced in the last two years. I’m fairly certain I ran more of it than I hiked this time. I had my first gel at 45 minutes while hiking South Fork. I remember thinking it felt past time for a gel, even though I don’t usually take one until an hour into a run.

I’d made it my goal to run all the rolling hills between Swampy and Swede shelters. I did that, but at a cost. I didn’t want to take the time to stop for a second gel (I stopped taking gels “on the run” after choking on one) and compromise my goal of running the rollers. I should have just stopped for a minute. I thought, “only 1.3 more miles to Swede, I’ll take one there.” That was the longest 1.3 miles of my life! I thought I’d learned this lesson before. Well, today just confirmed it.

Not far out of Swede I started feeling sleepy. This has happened to me a lot lately, usually around 8-10 miles in a long run. (Maybe this is why I tend to get “low” points in races in the 10-13 mile range too.) I felt kind of spacey and lightheaded. I tripped and fell at 7.25 miles, skinning both knees a bit. I hate that sprawling, falling, suspended-in-time feeling; that “oh shit!” thought that runs through your head just before you wonder how you’re going to land this time.

Man it hurt! Not a lot of blood, but a lot of dirt. I got up, assessed the damage, shook it off, walked a bit, then tripped and almost went down again. This really flustered me. My confidence was gone. So I decided I should just hike for a while. I hiked maybe 1.5 miles, almost to the Shooting Star shelter, crying and feeling sorry for myself.

During this time I got smart though: I took a gel. And another. And a couple more with 2x caffeine. I started carefully trotting again, and was able to pay better attention to the trail. I had taken five gels in just more than an hour. (No, my stomach was not bothered. Thankfully I have never had any stomach issues while running.) By 10 miles in I was feeling much better. By 13 miles in, I was feeling confident and strong again. It helped that the couple of miles between Shooting Star and the Skyliner trail were nice downhill. Then I ran all the rollers on Skyliners Trail, then all the rollers on the Tumalo Creek trail back to Tumalo Falls. My confidence was back, and I felt strong! I don’t think I’ve ever run all those rollers before (and the ones Swampy to Swede too!), but I did today. I was amazed how I was able to turn a really bad run around and finish happy and strong.

Starting tomorrow I’m going to modify my gel frequency schedule, and start taking them sooner. What worked for me a year ago isn’t working now. My body just seems to be going through the gels like crazy. I am not the same person I was before. I am different mentally and physically, and all new cells. Bodies are not static, but always changing.

I learned some valuable lessons yesterday. 1) Don’t wait for a landmark (aid station, trail junction) or a certain time period to go by to take a gel if I’m already starting to feel like I need one. 2) My mind might say “you just had a gel, it’s not time for another yet,” but my body might be telling me something different. I learned which one to listen to. 3) If I feel sleepy, light headed, spacey, start tripping or stubbing my toe, or if I get emotional (feel like crying) or negative, I probably need to eat. 4) If I hit a really bad patch, don’t assume the rest of the run is going to suck. I might just come back stronger than ever, and have one of the best, most fulfilling runs I’ve had in a while. 

Western States 100 Pacing

Last year I sat at my computer late into the night watching live video feed from the Western States 100 finish line and crying my eyes out. I just knew I had to be there in 2011. With the passing of the next eleven months, I forgot how much it meant to me and it just seemed like too much work to make it happen— almost an impossibility. Then on May 23^rd, at the end of our meeting, my coach asked “how about being a pacer at Western States this year?” I gazed off into the distance and quickly got excited. “Yeah,” I nodded. (Pacers are allowed at Western States for the final 38 miles of the race, from the Foresthill aid station at mile 62 to the finish.)

So many things had to come together for this to happen, and the event was just one month away. I had to find someone to pace. I didn’t want to drive to Auburn alone (I hate driving long distances alone, and driving tired scares the heck out of me). Nor did I want to spend the money to fly down. I immediately began sending out e-mails to people looking for a pacer. Unfortunately, most people never got back to me. Of the few who did, one fellow’s wife was not comfortable with him having a female pacer. Another said he’d call me after the training runs over Memorial Day weekend. He never did. Finally on June 10^th, I found someone. I was so excited I could hardly sleep that night. Turns out though, he was having a problem with tendonitis. His doctor wouldn’t give him a cortisone injection, and his chances of actually making it to the starting line were slim. I received this news on June 14^th. Western States was just 11 days away, and I still didn’t have anyone to pace. I kept checking the “need a pacer list” daily. Miraculously, one more person popped up on the list the following day: Melanie from Scotland whose pacer had to drop out due to a stress fracture. I sent the e-mail and got down on my knees asking God, “please let her be the one.” I knew my chances were getting slimmer by the day. A day went by with no reply. Then on the 16^th, I got an e-mail back that she was relieved I would be able to pace her. She and her husband were flying to San Francisco a couple days later and she’d call me.

In the midst of searching for someone to pace, I had a really big running week (98 miles of trail) June 6^th through 11^th. Though my body felt good and I wasn’t sore, my inner being felt totally wiped. For the next several days I was almost painfully hungry, but not interested in food. Then I got sick. I had gotten caught in a thunderstorm on a run on the 10^th, and maybe that’s why? Perhaps I ran my body down too much that week. Or maybe I would have gotten sick anyway. No matter the reason, Western States was less than two weeks away and I had a terrible cough, my nose was really stuffed up, and I had a fever for a few days. What did I do? Rest, rest, rest! I slept as much as possible. I ate as much as I could, even when food did not sound good. I ate burgers and milkshakes and macaroni and cheese just to get calories in. My body could care less about vegetables. I listened and went with it. I had been in similar situations a couple times before: a weird problem or sickness just before a race. I’ve learned I just gotta do what I can and trust that everything will turn out just fine. This time was no different. Still sick, I carried on making piles of clothing, snacks, and supplies for the trip and the run.

A couple days before leaving, I felt better, but still had an annoying cough. I had my concerns, but was committed to doing this, and nothing was going to stop me. I only managed a handful of short runs in the two weeks leading up to Western States. I was too afraid of overexerting myself and not getting enough rest. Everything I did (or didn’t do, as the case may be) during those two weeks was for Melanie. What about the trip down, you ask? I hopped a ride with Marilyn, an ultrarunner from Ashland who was driving down to crew for another runner. She was looking for someone to drive to Auburn with her and share expenses. I only had to get myself to Ashland. The arrangement worked out magnificently.

After arriving in Auburn the evening before the race, Marilyn and I drove out Highway 49 toward the town of Cool to check out a couple of aid stations along the course. The moment I saw No Hands Bridge, I knew instantly what it was. Tears filled my eyes. I couldn’t believe I was actually here. We drove by the Highway 49 aid station too. It was incredible just to be in this place that I had read so much about. Things were about to get even more amazing.

The next day I slept in as late as I possibly could. I knew I would get no sleep that night and probably not the next day. We made friends with a nice young man at the motel front desk who had an interest in the race. He and a friend had backpacked the Western States trail from Squaw to Foresthill before. He was kind enough to check runner updates for us. We could wait around either at the hotel or at Foresthill, so Marilyn and I headed to Foresthill, arriving just in time to see the front-runners go by. It was amazing just to be in this place at this time— so much energy, so many people. But not only did I get to hang out here, I was fortunate enough to be a pacer! After checking in to “pacer central,” and pinning on my pacer number (just like the runner numbers, only yellow) I hung out for hours and hours (and hours and hours) relaxing, eating, people watching, and trying to stay off my feet. I moved my lawn chair to stay in the shade. Although I’d heard the temperatures were not as hot as usual this year, I was quite hot just sitting around doing nothing and was thankful that I didn’t have to run in the afternoon sun.

Hanging out with Rod Bien waiting for our runners

I saw many people from Bend and the Portland area, who I know: Amy Sproston with her pacer Todd Janssen. Sean Meissner was there to pace. So was Rod Bien, pacing his friend David at his first 100. David had paced Rod at 100s before, and now Rod was returning the favor. Scott Wolfe was there pacing his buddy Andy Jones-Wilkins to yet another top-10 finish. I got to see great runners in person that I’ve only read about. I was five feet away when Nikki Kimball (third place female) pulled in to meet her crew. Man was she organized and knew what she needed! I observed and soaked it all in. I was particularly impressed by how she mowed down a cheese stick as if she were a human weed-whacker.

The hours ticked by. The sun went down, and I prepared to meet Melanie. I got cold just sitting around, so donned gloves and arm warmers for the wait. I sat ready to go at Foresthill, watching runners’ headlamps as they approached, and listening for Melanie’s name. The 30-hour cutoff pace (11pm) came and went. If she didn’t arrive in Foresthill before 11:45pm, she would be pulled from the race. There is a 30-hour cutoff for the finish, so we’d have to make up time, and I wasn’t thrilled about that. If she was tired and hurting (who wouldn’t be after 62 miles?), I was gonna have to push her to make sure she finished in under 30 hours. Anything over 30 hours, and you’re not an official finisher, nor do you get the coveted belt buckle. As I watched, more headlamps approached, and I prayed: Please, let this be her. My prayers were answered at 11:17pm. When her name was announced as she arrived in to Foresthill, I felt like I had won the lottery! I ran up to meet her. My day was truly about to get more interesting.

The town of Foresthill sits on top of a narrow ridge. Within minutes of leaving the aid station at the school, we were onto single-track and headed down, down, down long switchbacks. We passed people right and left. I was surprised by how many people were walking, even on the downhill, and talking up a storm. They were past the 30-hour cutoff too! Melanie and I chatted occasionally, but knew we had work to do.

Melanie liked my “head torch” as she called it, because it was so much brighter than hers. I was wearing a second one around my waist that I wasn’t using, so we swapped head torches. After a while I decided to stay running in front of her because it seemed like she ran for longer when I led. We ran as many of the flats and downhills as she possibly could. All I asked on the uphills was that she keep moving. Though I really wanted to stop and hold her in my arms, there were times I had to give some tough love. I wasn’t about to fail her. I wanted her to finish and get that belt buckle! I knew she didn’t come to run this race and go home without that belt buckle. I kept reminding her how strong and amazing she was. I told her I knew she was tired and hurting, but that she had to keep going. In “x” hours it would all be over and then she could rest as much as she wanted. Pain is temporary, that belt buckle is forever! I knew she was running to raise money to build schools in Uganda. I reminded her that her suffering was only temporary, and to think of the children who would continue to suffer.

During the night we came along the only muddy section of trail, maybe 10 feet long. A runner was hesitating at the near side. Her pacer was at the far side, pointing out where the runner should put her feet to avoid getting muddy. I was stunned by this scene— the mud wasn’t even ankle deep for goodness sake! We weren’t going to get tricked into stopping for this. I told Melanie “follow me” and we plowed right through the mud and left that runner behind. As soon as we were out of sight, I turned around and gave her a high-five saying, “I live in Oregon and we’re not afraid of a little mud.” There were also many creek crossings. Most were shallow or had rockss that you could cross on without getting your feet wet. Some of the creeks were really noisy and sounded big, but when we got to the crossings, they weren’t much. I wished it had been daylight so I could have enjoyed the sights.

Pretty much everything was a blur up until the Rucky Chucky crossing of the American River at mile 78. We could see the river crossing from quite a ways away, lit up by large lights powered by generators. It was a beautiful sight! The lit-up portion of river looked like a deep serene pool of blue. Since the water was too high to wade this year, rafts ferried runners to the other side. It looked like a scene out of a fairy tale, or perhaps a theme park ride. The approach to the river was very rocky and steep. Volunteers lined the path every five feet, hands outstretched to assist with the decent. Just before reaching the boat, someone slipped a life vest on me. A young man extended his arm to assist me on to the boat, but I gave him a big hug instead. I was having a great time, feeling good, and high on life. I looked at the young man who was rowing our boat and exclaimed, “Wow, you’re cute!” Then I looked the other way and saw his cohort, and said “you’re cute too!” quickly followed by, “I’m married, not dead!” which got a chuckle out of everyone.

They say the darkest time is right before the dawn. The climb from Rucky Chucky up to Green Gate was not terribly steep or long, but it was hard and mentally demanding. Like all the other aid stations, this one was lit up with Christmas lights, always a welcome sight. And there really is a green gate there.

A couple of times during the night Melanie had mentioned that a blister was beginning to bother her. Both times, though we were still up against the 30-hour cutoff, I said that perhaps we should stop and get that taken care of at the next aid station. Melanie breezed through all the aid stations quickly. She never dallied or sat down. She weighed in at the required stops, grabbed some grub, and off she went again. She was a woman on a mission. Evidently she had forgotten about her blister or her mental toughness had taken over. Either way, I wasn’t about to bring it up again!

There were other times when I looked back to see her grabbing at her stomach. She said her stomach was feeling “iffy.” We just kept on moving and I said, “I’m sending relaxing healing thoughts to your stomach right now. Do you feel them?” When Melanie ran right behind me, I made sure to listen to her breathing. At times it would get fast and shallow. I asked her to take deep breaths and “blow it all out. Blow out that CO2 so you can get more oxygen to those hard working muscles.” It seemed to work. As we approached Auburn Lake Trails aid station, the sky began to get lighter. We had made it through the night, but I was about to learn a valuable lesson.

While Melanie weighed in at Auburn Lake Trails, I filled up her hydration pack. Unfortunately I forgot that I need water too. Not far out of the aid station I sucked on the hose and all I got was air. Shit, shit, shit! I estimated it was still 4 miles to the next aid station at Brown’s Bar. I immediately thought back to a few months ago when my coach had me do some runs without water on purpose. This was to teach me that come the day that I run out of water on the trail, I would know I’ll be OK until the next aid station. This was that time. Though it might be a good hour or more until the next aid station, I didn’t freak out, but did get really thirsty. I said nothing to Melanie. She didn’t need to be worrying about me. For the next hour or so I didn’t take any salt or any nutrition. I had read that you should always take a gel with a few ounces of water for proper digestion. I didn’t know what might happen if I didn’t. I’ve never taken a gel without water, much less 24 miles into a 38 mile run. Maybe I should try it sometime and see what happens.

I enjoyed the many small rolling hills along this stretch, and the views across to the next hillside as the sun rose higher in the sky. Pulling into Brown’s Bar aid station, I yelled, “Water, I need water!” A volunteer quickly removed my hydration pack and began filling it. Someone had a video camera and a great song was playing loud. I sang along and danced and shook my butt for the camera. I hope that doesn’t come back to bite me. I was just so happy to be getting water! By the time my hydration pack was filled and on my back, Melanie had already left the aid station. From here on out, she grew stronger with every passing aid station and the rising of the sun. I told her, “Only a 10k left! Do you smell the finish line? There’s a belt buckle with your name on it. All you have to do is go get it.” Earlier I had also said, “Only 18 miles left Melanie. 18 miles is NOT a long way.” She had reluctantly agreed. But now she obviously was feeling better and in agreement. I think she just wanted to get the whole thing over with. She ran strong on all the flats and downhills. Even her uphill hiking was now much stronger and more efficient. I was really proud of her. She dug deep and was making a come back, and most importantly, quickly making up time. Runners who had passed us earlier were now looking weak as we passed them. Regardless, we were all out there sharing breath, sharing energy, helping each other out. It was a beautiful thing.

The course was really well marked

We came into the Highway 49 aid station several minutes before the 30-hour cutoff horn. I promised her that the next uphill would be fairly short, followed by 2.5 miles of mostly downhill to No Hands Bridge. She really poured it on. The sun was getting higher in the sky and I was glad that most of the course was still in shade. Even though it was mid-morning, the sun was intense, and I hadn’t had time to put on sunscreen. I knew I would get sunburned; I just hoped it wouldn’t be bad.

Not No Hands Brigde, but amazing none-the-less

At No Hands Bridge a volunteer removed Melanie’s hydration pack, handed her a water bottle, and shooed us out of the aid station. I thought this was a marvelous gesture. It must have been so freeing to be rid of that hydration pack after 96.8 miles. Crossing the bridge, the sun shone down brightly on us. I felt as if it was sucking every last ounce of strength out of me. It was a two mile climb, gentle at first, to Robie Point, but much of it was in the sunlight. Melanie continued hiking strong as I began to drop back. I yelled up to her, “Go Melanie, go!” At first I was a little sad because I really wanted to be with her when she crossed the finish line. Had I given up?

Then I got happy. I realized Melanie was going to make the 30-hour cutoff with time to spare. She’d be an official Western States 100 finisher and get her bronze belt buckle. I was overcome with emotion and the tears began to flow. I had done my job, served my purpose. I did good. When I reached Robie Point, I asked the volunteers about her status. She had beat me to Robie by three minutes! Good girl, Melanie! Now it was only 1.3 miles to the finish line and I was a pacer without my runner. I couldn’t be more proud. People along the route cheered for me anyway: “Yay, pacer!” I quickly told them how my runner was finishing strong and left me in the dust and how proud I was. They didn’t seem to think any less of me. I thought about all the runners we had passed during the night, many of whom I’m sure had no prayer of making the 30-hour cutoff.

The finish line

That last mile was really strange being without Melanie. It was her race and I had done my job, but I wasn’t about to just quit and meander to the finish line. I wanted to finish out my experience here too. I didn’t pour it on as I usually do at the end of a race. That would have just been silly. So I walked/jogged casually around the track to the finish line. I was so stunned and filled with emotion that I didn’t know exactly what to do next. I wandered around for a while looking for Melanie but didn’t see her, so sat down on the grass and took some deep breaths, trying to absorb everything that had just happened. Then I looked to my left and there she was. We hugged and cried and thanked each other several times, then parted ways. Just like that. My job was done. It was the most wonderful, challenging, fulfilling 11hours and 24 minutes of my life, and I would do it again in a heartbeat. Even now, more a week later, I am overcome with emotion writing about it.

Chilling afterward in a dirty pool of what had been an ice bath for sore feet

On the ride home I relived key moments over and over. I was so proud of Melanie, and I was proud of myself. I thought back to my first pacing experience last September and how much I have grown as a runner and as a person in general since then. I had reached deep into my bag of knowledge and pulled out things that I had read, that my coaches had told me, and that I had learned on my own. I laughed out loud when I realized that one day my pacer will probably pull the same things on me at my first 100-miler that I did for Melanie. What goes around comes around, and I’m really looking forward to it.

Risks and Roller-coasters

The only picture that exists of me with a broken ankle.

My husband and I recently took a vacation to Florida. One of our stops on a tour of the southern part of the state was Busch Gardens in Tampa, where we rode roller-coasters to our heart’s content for two days. If you know me, you might find this rather odd. I am very afraid of heights, drop-offs, and cliff-edges— any place where a misstep or fall could mean severe injury or death. I’ve always had a “healthy” fear of heights, but in August 2005, just as I began my initial weight-loss journey, I slipped off a steep hiking trail in the Columbia River Gorge and broke my left ankle. I rolled down the steep slope, then held on to a skinny little tree (see photo below), my legs dangling below me. I was terrified. I didn’t have the strength to pull myself back up to the trail. Doug (my husband) had to crawl down the slope, get below me, and push me back up to the trail. At the time I thought I’d just sprained my ankle, and walked back to the car 1.5 miles away.

Having a broken ankle in a cast for 3 weeks just as I was beginning to get active and lose weight was devastating to me. I couldn’t hike or do much exercise, which at the time was all I felt I could be proud of myself for. I pretty much gave up on using crutches the very day that I got them, and rented a wheelchair so I could more easily get around home and work. It was one of the worst times in my life.

Revisiting the fateful spot one year later

That’s how my extreme fear of heights started. I figured if I fell where I did, I could fall anywhere, and potentially to my death. Since then, I have hiked or ran on several trails that really freaked me out— I’m talking tears and hyperventilating! Sometimes I have even given in to my fear and turned back. These have included the trails to the top of Black Butte and Paulina Peak. I am happy to report, however, that my fear is very slowing getting better. As long as I can catch myself before freaking out, take a few deep breaths and realize that I’m not going to fling myself over the edge, things turn out fine. One year after breaking my ankle, I revisited the exact spot on the trail and opened the door for healing to begin.

Back to roller coasters. I rode my scariest roller coaster yet at Busch Gardens. It is called ShieKra. It is the first floor-less “plunge” coaster in America. It takes you up a very steep 200 feet climb, then stops just after you go over the top and lets you hang there looking straight down for 4 seconds while you contemplate the forthcoming 90-degree drop straight down. Doug and I watched it several times before deciding to ride. Frankly, I was surprised my husband wanted to ride it. It if was just me, I probably would not have. The initial climb was one of the steepest I have experienced. I was terrified not only of this climb, but what I knew was coming next. I fixed my eyes straight ahead, avoiding looking over the edge of my seat to the left and down. I said out loud to myself over and over, “Breathe, breathe.” During the hang-time before the plunge straight down I was practically hyperventilating. And then on the plunge, holding my breath. No wonder they want riders to be in decent physical shape, to not have high blood pressure, etc. Even though I am often quite scared on coasters, somehow they feel so safe. I don’t have to trust myself. I’m not afraid of slipping or taking a running leap off the edge. I’m seated with a harness over me. I’m not going anywhere the coaster isn’t. Here are a bunch of great images of SheiKra since I didn’t get any good photos of it.

I am fine taking risks riding roller coasters. They feel so risky, but really aren’t. I’ve never been a risk-taker. I’ve long felt that by not taking big risks in general, I am protecting myself— that I need to protect myself. But by “protecting” myself, how many really great things am I missing out on? Without taking risk, I’ll never know.

Lately I’ve taken a few risks that are really paying off. It all started in late November when my coach asked me to write down my goals and a time-line for them. One of the first goals I accomplished in February was starting this blog. I was scared to death to tell people who I really am. I was afraid what people would think of me, that they might think I was a terrible person. That did not happen. I am so glad I took the risk. Many people have thanked me for sharing my story and have told me they passed my blog along to others they knew would benefit from it. These stories mean so much to me. Thank you all for sharing them with me. Yes, my blog risk was worth it!

For the most part, the goals/risks on my list are getting quickly accomplished. I review my goal list regularly, and was surprised the other day when I realized I could cross off another, when I didn’t even  know that’s what I was doing. Another risk I took recently was starting a facebook group called Central Oregon Trail Runners Network. I had been envisioning a site where trail runners in Central Oregon could go to share information about trail running in our area— from sharing photos and trail reports to planning meet-ups with other area trail runners. I thought if I didn’t do this, someone else eventually would. Like usual, I questioned myself. “Who do I think I am to do this? It’s not like I’m some confident, amazing athlete or leader.” Then I stopped myself right there. I have to stop putting myself down. I also need to start stepping outside of my comfort zone. So I did. When facebook asked me to add friends to the group, I wondered what I should do. I started by adding all my current facebook friends in the area who I know are trail runners. I was really concerned about pissing off somebody by automatically including them. But then I figured if they didn’t want to be part of the group, they were free to hit the “Leave Group” button at any time.

I usually check facebook and e-mail before breakfast, but the next morning I put it off. And put it off some more. I was afraid of what people might think or say. When I finally got up the nerve to get on the computer, I was relieved that no one was mad. Everyone was still part of the group. And I even had a couple requests to join the group from people who weren’t facebook friends of mine. Wow, that wasn’t so bad after all! I’ve had a few people tell me in person what a great idea Central Oregon Trail Runners Network is. Whew! Another risk is paying off— one that I hope will grow to be a valuable resource for trail runners in the area.

I am getting set to take all kinds of risks this summer. One that I am very excited about is taking more friends and small groups of soon-to-be friends, on casual, social trail runs. And I’m not talking in town. There’s something magical about taking someone on a trail they’ve never been on before, getting them out of their comfort zone to challenge themselves a little. There’s no greater reward then seeing the look of wonder on a person’s face after they’ve run to the base of a mountain, or smile of confidence after running over log bridges, through streams meeting the challenges that the trail put before them.

When I moved to Bend in fall 2007, I had just started trail running. I was not confident, and didn’t know where to go trail running, much less want to go alone. I didn’t know anyone in town yet, so I did a few runs with a local women’s running group. I learned short running loops in Shevlin Park and at Phil’s trail system. From there I did research in hiking books, asked around, bought trail maps, and slowly began exploring. I discovered that I love maps, and that I thoroughly enjoy planning a trail run: plotting my route, stocking my hydration pack to be prepared for as many contingencies as possible, the sweet anticipation of the unknown while driving to the trailhead, and of course the big payoff, the run within nature itself.

North Sister above South Matthieu Lake

I have had the opportunity to take  several friends trail running, and in fact take a few to places they’ve never been before. One day I’ll never forget is when Susan, looking up at North Sister from South Matthieu Lake near McKenzie Pass, exclaimed, “Laura, you take me to the best places!” Ever since then I’ve wanted to share experiences like this with more people. I know there are people out there who want to get out of town on the trails but don’t know where to go, don’t want to go alone, or are afraid of getting lost. After a recent trail run, another friend told me she’d be comfortable going back out there on her own now. Yes!— that’s my goal. I want people to feel confident and empowered, not like I felt for so long, and still struggle with at times. I want other people to be able to experience nature through running and become confident, prepared trail runners. Just the other day I ran to a beautiful viewpoint on a trail high above Tumalo Falls with spectacular mountain views. I stopped, smiled, laughed, cried, whooped and hollered— all alone. I wished I’d had someone to share that particular experience with. Soon.

I don’t know for sure what form these “trail runs with Laura” will take or when, but I have begun work on the concept. What I do know is I have routes in mind for everyone from 5k-er to 1/2 marathoner and up. Anyone who can comfortably run a 5k will be able to run/hike a beautiful 4.25 mile loop I have in mind. Routes may be a challenge for some and easy for others. These runs will be a social setting and we’ll take hike/snack/photo breaks. I want each person to feel comfortable with his or her pace and accepted for who they are, challenge themselves a little, be surprised by what they are able to do, and most of all, have fun!

A small section of the multiple-mtn view from the ridge above North Matthieu Lake

But I can’t put this off, or else it won’t happen again this year. Nobody but me can make my dreams happen. I’ll start by letting my friends know, and hopefully they will share with their friends, and so on and so on. Who knows where it might go from there? This is the first public announcement I’ve made of this. If you or someone you know lives in Central Oregon or will be visiting the area and is interested in a trail run adventure, please comment here, or send me a message on facebook.

Other risks I’m taking this year include: running the Wonderland Trail 100+ miles around Mt. Rainer on a 5-day running tour; running two 50-mile races, and one 100k. The 100k I intend to do is held on the Pacific Crest Trail in the North Cascades of Washington state, an area that I’ve never been to. Registration hasn’t even opened yet, and I have to admit I’ve already scared (and excited!) myself looking at pictures and video from the course. This race is only open to “veteran” ultra runners who have completed ten or more ultra-length races. Pretty scary (OK, not scary, but thrilling) that in less than 18 months, I’ll have 12 ultras under my belt and considered a “veteran.” The course is 62 miles long and never crosses a road. I worry that my fear of heights will kick in on exposed ridge top. What if I freak out and can’t continue? What if I fail? But what if, as my coach suggests, everything goes just fine and I have a great time and come out of it feeling strong and empowered? I can’t know success until I take a risk. Neither will you. Don’t think “Impossible.” Instead think “I’m possible.” The only limits that exist are those which we create in our own minds. To put it another way, the only person who can tell you you can’t is you, and you don’t have to listen. Why not tell yourself you CAN? Now that’s worth listening to!

Let’s go out there and start achieving the things we’ve always wanted to do but were too afraid to. Yes, I know it’s scary, but I’m with you. If Laura can do it, you can too. I’m so excited for all the amazing things you’re about to experience! 

McDonald Forest 50k

Lovely Rita. Shave and a Haircut. Who Do You Love. On the Sly. These are just a few of the challenging trails that comprise the McDonald Forest 50k held annually in the Peavy Arboretum and McDonald Forest (used by Oregon State University College of Forestry for instruction and research) six miles north of Corvallis, Oregon.

The race affectionately referred to by many as “MacForest” or just “The Mac” was my second-ever ultra-distance race last year, and my favorite of five. So I decided to go back this year not only because I had enjoyed it, but I wanted to gauge how my fitness level had improved. I love MacForest because it has a little bit of something for everyone: steep lung-busting climbs, quad-bashing descents, sweet single-track, long up- and down-hill forest road sections where you can really pick up the pace; narrow muddy horse trails, creek crossings, and the lush green foliage (including poison oak) of the Willamette Valley. The course, though quite convoluted, is one of the most well-marked I’ve ever run. With 6,700 feet of elevation gain, it is at times a hike-fest. It’s good to get out of your comfort zone, learn to be patient, and get in some good climbing every now and then. Anyone who runs this race is a total bad-ass.

I was surprised by the number of people I spoke with who said this was their first ultra-distance race. More power to them. After this, they should feel like they can accomplish anything! In fact, one young fellow said he had never run more than 18 miles before this. Part of me wishes I had had that much confidence in myself and my abilities when just starting out. I am in awe of those who ran The Mac as their first ultra.

Race morning (May 7th) temperatures were perfect. Overnight lows were in the upper 40s and highs were expected to be around 60. That meant shorts weather! I was so excited to be out of running tights/capris and feeling free as a bird in shorts and a lightweight, short-sleeve top. I wore some light gloves the first half of the race because my fingers tend to get cold sticking out there doing nothing. At straight-up 8am, the race was on. After an initial 1.5 mile loop on a wide service road, the field of 200 had spread out a bit, and we were funneled on to single track for a warm-up climb: 600 feet of gain in the next 1.5 miles.

I had forgotten how many steep, and at times quite muddy, climbs there are in this race. Starting at 9.4 miles in, Lovely Rita is one of the best: over 400 feet gain in about half a mile. I was slowly plodding along, mouth agape, gasping for air, sweat pouring off me in buckets. Though she might be lovely, Rita sure got a good trampling. Not to be outdone, Shave and a Haircut at mile 14 is a steep, muddy slope that loses more than 500 feet in about 3/4 of a mile. After a couple more comparatively short ups and downs, racers were dumped out onto a forest road at mile 16.4 for the 1.5 mile climb up to the Dimple Hill aid station.

I had made it my goal this year to run as much of the forest road uphill sections as possible, and especially the stretch to Dimple Hill. Last year I had walked the entire thing, and it seemed so long. But I had done a lot of hill training in the past year, most notably on what I call the “7 mile hill” on the Haulin’ Aspen course. I learned to switch gears, slow down, be patient, and “rest” while running (albeit slowly), up hill. I was stoked to meet this goal head on. Half a mile up the 1.5 mile climb, I was telling myself “I can do this. I’ve so got this.” A mile in, I was laughing and getting teary-eyed because I knew I could do this for another 1/2 mile. I had this in the bag! Cresting the top at Dimple Hill aid station, I wanted to spike my gel flask in celebration, jump into someone’s arms, and tell everyone what I just did! Instead I smiled and laughed celebrating alone in my head. It didn’t matter what the rest of my race looked like. I was happy because I showed myself how much stronger I was than the previous year.

Ultrarunners April and Craig got married during the race at the Dimple Hill aid station at mile 18.6 (yes, they ran the entire race). I got to Dimple Hill too late for the ceremony, but as I approached, friends and family of the couple were walking down the hill to their cars and cheering on runners. That was pretty cool. I was fortunate to “run into” the bride later when she was heading down the hill from Chip Ross Park, and I was heading up. It was nice to be able to give her a big congratulatory hug, since she was already gone by the time I crossed the finish line.

Around mile 20, after the descent off Dimple Hill, the outside of my left lower leg started feeling a little tight. I’ve had some issues with muscles and tendons in my lower legs off and on for the last year (in fact it was this race last year where it started). I have learned to not freak out at the onset of this tightness, and most of the time it doesn’t bother me much. I have developed some techniques that I use, literally on the run, to deal with it. Today was no different. On the long gentle downhill stretches that generally bother it, I thought about running tall, engaging my core, planting my footfalls underneath my hips, and my opening up my stride behind me. When thinking about this, the tightness in my lower leg subsided. Now if I could just think about that all the time! Starting up the next long set of switchbacks after Chip Ross, I met Elizabeth. It was her first ultra race. We put arms around each others shoulders and together yelled, “Yahoo— another hill! Hill, you’ve got nothing on us!” As I hiked ahead of her, I sang her the chorus to the song Move Along: “When all you’ve got to keep is strong, move along, move along like I know you do. And even when your hope is gone, move along, move along just to make it through. Move along.” And then I was gone.

I had met a gal named Jennifer early in the race. She struck me not only because she was wearing long tights (I would have been burning up!) but because she ran at a nearly constant slow pace. And yes, this was her first ultra as well. I was astounded how she slowly ran up inclines that I felt necessary to hike up (she was far ahead of me on the steepest parts of trail and I wondered if she could possibly be running them too). Her slow running pace was just a bit faster than my hiking pace. I told Jennifer a couple times that she was my hero. I couldn’t believe how she could keep slowly running while I was sucking wind and dripping buckets of sweat while hiking. Jennifer’s downhill running pace however, was not much faster than her uphill pace, so while she passed me on steeper climbs, I passed her on long downhills. We leap-frogged positions several times throughout the race.

By the third time Jennifer passed me (on Lovely Rita), I had begun to beat myself up mentally because I felt I wasn’t measuring up. But then I stopped and thought, “I don’t know her story, and she doesn’t know mine.” IMPORTANT ASIDE: Please listen to me when I tell you: don’t compare yourself to other people. Every person has a different story/past/experiences. You don’t know other people’s stories, and they don’t know yours. So don’t judge others, and most importantly, don’t judge yourself. Doing so only leads to emotional pain, which I know quite well from personal experience and still struggle with. Don’t compare yourself to friends 10 years younger than you, or friends 20 years older than you who kick your butt every time (I love all of you!). You’re all different people with different life experiences, so just be filled with gratitude that your own heart, lungs, eyes, and legs all work and are able to take you to such wonderful places. Just be in the world and be grateful.

Coming into the last aid station at mile 26.8, I saw Jennifer plugging along just ahead. Part of me really wanted to beat her across the finish line, and part of me felt that since she had been so consistent, she deserved to beat me. I stopped to use the porta-potty and thought about it. My second big goal for the day was to run up this final long gradual hill, just under 2 miles long and over 400 feet elevation gain (it sure seemed like more than that at the time!). I settled into my slow, patient uphill pace again. Soon I noticed someone familiar ahead! It was Sean Meissner, running with his sister April at her first 50k! Of course I had to stop and tell April what a badass she is! We chatted for a couple minutes before I went on my way. Sean told me to catch a guy ahead and I said I could do that with no problem. The problem was, once the downhill kicked in again, that fellow flew past me! After the race, he said his body just did not want to run any more hills, but was ready to go on the downhills.

With 2.5 miles to go, I passed Jennifer for what I hoped would be the last time. I said, “Only 2.5 miles to go, we’ve so got this!” At 1.64 miles remaining, there was more uphill singletrack. I looked behind me to see where Jennifer was. I told myself that if I walked up all of this hill, she would pass me again. So I ran as much of it as I possibly could. Knowing she was behind me (but not knowing how far) pushed me to finish stronger. The last mile, the song “More” by Usher played on my iPod. The timing couldn’t have been better: “I’m a beast, I’m an animal, I’m that monster in the mirror, The headliner, finisher, I’m the closer, winner. Best when under pressure with seconds left I show up.... Gonna push it to the limit, give it more.” I ran happy and proud, like I was flying!

I crossed the finish line feeling great. Though my time was four minutes slower than last year, the course was considerably muddier, and a new section of trail had been added. I wondered how much less my time would have been with the same course conditions as last year. But it didn’t really matter, because I met my other goals of running up hills that I walked entirely last year. Watch out Rita, I’m coming back for you next year!

Let’s Rumble!

Eagle Rock Trail

By mid-April, most Central Oregonians are sick and tired of winter and chomping at the bit for summer trail running season to begin. That’s not the only reason that the Peterson Ridge Rumble, a 20- and 40-mile race held on the Peterson Ridge Trail system outside of Sisters, Oregon is so popular. It’s also because it’s one of the most well organized, well marked, scenic, and most importantly— fun— races in the area.

One of the things I like most about the race is the layout of the course. The 20-mile course map looks like a figure-eight on a long string. The first half of the 40-mile course is the same as the 20-mile with the addition of a small balloon attached to the far end of the figure-eight. Instead of running down the long “string” back to the start/finish, 40-mile runners are directed onto a large loop at mile 25. With less than 2,400 feet of elevation gain in 40 miles, the Rumble course is very runnable, which can be a blessing or a curse. The first third of the course is gentle uphill, the middle third is mostly rolling, and the final third gentle downhill, making for a fast finish. Another thing I love about this race is that due to the course layout and the 20-mile race starting an hour after the 40-mile, you get to see a lot of smiling faces passing you in both directions. If you prefer running in solitude, you’ll get that on the final 15 mile loop.

There are many interesting rock formations along the course

There were more people than I anticipated at the 7:00 a.m. early start. I had chosen to take the early start because the RD had run into a few inches of snow above 3,600 feet when he had marked the course a few days earlier. Then the weather got colder and since we had snow flurries in town, I figured there would be even more snow up on the ridge. It turns out there wasn’t. Even the highest points of the course were essentially snow-free. Weather at the early start felt pretty warm at 34 degrees, and many of us chose to wear shorts, since temperatures were expected to reach the mid 50s. Though few mountaintops were visible due to cloudy skies, views from the ridge-tops were still expansive and stunning. Forecasted rain showers did not materialize.

Runners are directed over this large rock pile!

After the initial mile of trail, racers were dumped out onto a long straight gravel road for two miles. Most people didn’t appreciate this section of the course, but I chose to look at it as something I had to go through to get to the “good stuff.”

I was feeling really good, and then all of a sudden just before mile ten I was sprawling toward the ground. I wasn’t particularly hurt, just a slightly skinned left knee and a little trail rash on my right shin. I got up and started running again. Within another quarter-mile, pow! I went down again. This flustered me. Why had I fallen again so soon? Perhaps I was more shaken than I thought, so I took an walk break and had a gel to shake off the feeling.

By 12 miles in, the front-runners of the regular start began passing me. Doing some quick math in my head, their pace was twice as fast as mine! At mile 13 we turned around to experience gentle downhill for the next seven miles. I really enjoyed this section of the course as I got to see many of my friends coming toward me heading up the hill as I was headed down. I gave and received hugs and high-fives, and exchanged many encouraging words with other racers. One of the things I enjoy about ultrarunning is giving and receiving encouragement in the form of “good job,” “nice work,” “looking good,” and the like. I estimate that 85% of fellow racers said something to that effect to me that day, and darned near everyone was smiling when they said it! Ultrarunners are happy, encouraging people!

One of the ridge-top views; I loved the winding trail through Manzanita!

About 15 miles in, after a bit of downhill, the front of my lower legs began to feel tight and a bit fatigued. This has had a tendency to happen over the last year on long downhill sections. Sometimes it leads to problems with tendons that cross over the front of my ankles. This day it didn’t get any worse or cause me problems. I did try to be proactive by occasionally stopping to do ankle circles, which gave some relief. I have been working on core and glute strength, balance, and proprioception, which I hope will one day put an end to this nuisance.

Mountain bikers perched atop rock outcroppings for a better view

By mile 23, even though the last seven miles had been downhill, I was starting to feel it. 20-mile racers had been passing me the last few miles. At my mile 25, one 20-mile racer who was just a few miles from her finish, ran with me for a bit saying, “we’re almost done!” “No,” I replied, “I’ve still got 15 miles to go.” “You’re running the 40?” she asked. “I don’t know how you do it. Great job! You don’t even look tired.” This last part made me laugh on the inside. A few minutes later I peeled off with other 40-mile runners onto the 15 mile loop. I walked for a few minutes and began to feel better.

The next few miles were mostly gentle uphill again. If this had come earlier in the race, I would have been able to run it all, but since fatigue was setting in, I took more frequent walk breaks. By the time I reached the aid station at mile 30 though, I was feeling great again and thinking wow, this is no big deal. I’m going to finish strong no problem.

The last 10 miles of the race are mostly flat to downhill with great views from the ridge top. I was feeling good, and for possibly the first time ever in an ultra-distance race, a little bit proud of myself. Not much could have been better. Then it did get better. Just after mile 34 I heard distant whooping and hollering. Something exciting must be ahead, I thought. Then I heard it again. As I came running down the ridge, I heard people yelling my name: “Yeah Laura!” It was the volunteers at aid station seven! I nearly cried running down that ridge and into the arms of four ultrarunning friends. What a wonderful surprise! This really pumped me up for the last few miles.

I tried to not take any walk breaks this last stretch, but just plugged along slowly and consistently. I was not familiar with this last part of the course and was taken by surprise when the parking lot of Sisters Middle School— the start and finish of the race— suddenly came into view. As I followed the course markings across the parking lot toward the school track, people already finished with the race who were accessing their vehicles cheered me along. The cherry on top of this race is the lap around the school track to the finish line. I ran as proud and fast as I could while friends and onlookers cheered. I crossed the finish line feeling like I could have run 50 miles, though I was glad I didn’t have to.

Peterson Ridge Rumble is one of the best races I’ve ever run. The last two years I ran the 20-mile distance, and this year felt ready for the 40-mile. The race is a fundraiser for the Sisters High School cross country team. Members of the team staffed several of the well-stocked aid stations, which were just 4 to 6 miles apart. I felt spoiled with aid stations so closer together in such an “easy” ultra. On top of all this, finishers received a pair of coveted Peterson Ridge Rumble socks and got to chow down at a do-it-yourself burrito bar.

For several years, miles of trail have been added to the Peterson Ridge Trail system by the Sisters Trail Alliance. As a result, the Peterson Ridge races keep getting longer. I can’t help but wonder how long until there will be a Peterson Ridge 50-mile race. With so many ultrarunners in Central Oregon and around the country, I’m sure it would be welcomed.

Am I Ready to Rumble?

Feigning happiness at mile 13 of a super-crappy 23 mile run

I had a tough go of it mentally the final weeks leading up to Peterson Ridge Rumble 40-miler. I was using a lot of negative self-talk. After the Gorge Waterfalls 50k in March, I suddenly noticed that I had put on weight over the last few months. I didn’t need to step on the scale to know. The running tops and shorts I had been wearing since last summer were now snug and I wasn’t happy about it. In fact, I beat myself up over and over about it. I had been sleeping poorly again, waking up in the middle of the night either in a panic, or feeling bad about myself. One night I awoke thinking about my running pace. In my head I was equating faster pace with being a better runner. I didn’t know if I was deserving of being a faster (and therefore “better”) runner. I cried myself back to sleep. Faster runners aren’t necessarily “better” runners. They’re just different. I know what I’d tell someone else who had the same thoughts that I did, but then I’ve never applied the same rules to myself that I do to other people.

On Monday March 28^th I did a 2-hour treadmill run at the gym. When I got home that evening, my body couldn’t get enough food. I ate and ate what I thought were a good mix of proteins, carbs, and fats. My stomach felt full of bulk but I still felt hungry. Eventually I didn’t know what else to do other than just go to bed.

The next morning when I woke up I just wanted to cry. The only things I was able to see were negative— all the things in my life that were not right. I saw the dust on the shelves, crumbs on the kitchen counters, spots on the floors. I got down to clean the spots on the floor and saw the spots on the cabinets. I couldn’t handle it. I decided to go for a run. I put on a running top and immediately burst into tears at the sight of my abdomen pressing against the fabric. See what happens when I’m not in control of myself? I thought. I stormed downstairs. I wanted to kick or hit something really bad. I wanted to break dishes. Instead I screamed, aggressively jumped up and down, then collapsed onto the kitchen floor in a heap, sobbing with my head in my hands.

A short time later I left the house dressed for a run. I told my husband I didn’t know where I was going or when I would be back, but I had enough water and supplies with me to last for 5 hours. I arrived at Shevlin Park. Within 5 minutes of leaving the car, I wanted to go back. But I really didn’t. But I did. I didn’t know what I wanted to do. I felt desperate to talk to someone and made a couple phone calls. My body didn’t feel like running, so I just hiked as I talked on the phone.

I hiked through Shevlin Park and up the Mrazek Trail a way, then decided to check out the Tumalo Creek Trail upstream from Shevlin Park. I’d never been on this section of trail before, but had heard about a cool rock arch that the trail passes through. The trail is very rocky and skirts the base of cliffs high above the river. It was pretty slow going. I did not know how far the rock arch was down the trail, but kept going a little farther to see what was around the next bend. The farther I went, the colder and breezier it got. I knew there could be cougars out here (later I talked to people who had seen cougars along this very trail before). I didn’t feel safe out there alone, so called Doug to let him know where I was “just in case,” then high-tailed it out of there.

I tried to run a little on the way back to the car, but my body (or was it my heart?) just wasn’t willing. I looked at my Garmin. I had really wanted to get 10 miles in that day, but it was not looking good. I was being really hard on myself. I would have to hike another mile to reach my initial goal. I was already mad, feeling beat up emotionally, and a bit lightheaded and out of it. Would pushing myself to go an extra mile really do me any good today in this mental and physical state? Probably not. In fact, I decided it would likely do more harm than good. So instead I made myself a deal: I needed to get 3 hours of hiking in. I got to the parking lot with 3 minutes left to spare. So I “made” myself walk around the parking lot for a few minutes. Looking back on it now, that seems so ridiculous! Though I spent most of that 3 hours loathing myself, I also stopped along the way to admire the budding sagebrush and blooming Manzanita. And I’d begun to check out that new-to-me trail. The day was not lost after all. So why did I feel so lost?

The next day I still felt emotionally traumatized. I decided that perhaps I should take it easy on myself physically for a while. I cut my running back to every other day. I removed all information about pace from my Garmincarbs back into my diet. I made it a point to be more aware of what I was eating when and how I felt afterward. I ate dinner a little earlier so that I was just a little bit hungry by the time I went to bed.

A couple days later I decided to try running again. At first I wasn’t into it. The thought popped into my mind that perhaps I wasn’t “worth it.” Then I started telling myself “I AM worth it!” Within 5 minutes I felt good. Another 10 minutes and I felt damn fine and was having a good time. I explored another nearby trail that I had only run right past before. Another short trail I had never run up before. I’d always hiked it. But that day I ran up it, and that made me feel really good. I finished the run on a high note and felt that everything was going to be just fine for Peterson Ridge, which was just over a week away. After that I had a couple of great 1/2-marthon distance trail runs out at Phil’s Trail system checking out another new-to-me trail (VooDoo, and it totally rocks!).

Wednesday the 6^th I awoke feeling emotionally “on the edge” again. I was tempted to call off a run date with a friend and soon-to-be friend. Instead of giving in to my fear of what was yet to be, I decided to take the risk and go on the run. I am so glad I went! I had the wonderful opportunity to run with a blind triathlete that day. Nancy and my friend had met recently at a 1/2-marathon training program and Nancy had been instructing Lisa how to be her guide on runs. Nancy let me guide her on the run back. This experience totally blew my mind! I had to be so focused on the trail to keep her safe that I had no time to worry about myself or the thoughts swimming in my head. And this person who had just met me half an hour earlier trusted me! Nancy taught me a lesson that day and I look forward to running with her much more in the future.

I’ve heard from many others that after a certain point, you gotta make running more about other people than yourself. I am beginning to find this true. I had gotten to the point of wondering “is this all there is?” Am I really doing all this just for me? While running is “worth it” to help me stay physically and emotionally fit and learn about myself and what I am capable of, running for others can give it so much more meaning. Much like setting an intention for your yoga practice, you can also set an intention for your run— a person or cause to keep in mind that you wish to send love and support to. You might run to raise funds for a charity or bring awareness to a cause. You might run for all those who wish they could run, but are unable to. What other ways might you be able to lift up others through your running?

Running with Nancy that day got me out of my own head and thinking about how I could be of service to others. It also put me in a much better frame of mind to visualize running the Peterson Ridge 40-mile race feeling strong, and crossing the finish line happy with plenty of energy remaining. Good thing, since the race was now just four days away. I won’t deny I have challenging, negative, down-on-myself days (sometimes even weeks!), but sure do have a knack for pulling myself together just in time for a race. Only I can change my thoughts to cause the change I seek in life. I could either choose to follow my current path and probably have a crappy race, or start visualizing the end result that I desired and trust that everything would turn out just fine. It didn’t just turn out fine though, it turned out great! I am beginning to apply this technique in more areas of my life. If I can crawl out from under years of negativity and feeling worthless, you can too!

Next up— Peterson Ridge Rumble Race Report!