Ride Report: Our Personal Santa Cruz Mountains Challenge

Some background to start: Mike, the fiancé, and I love playing outside together. We appreciate each other's activities — he's a surfer, I'm a runner — but often there is one person who truly loves what we're doing and one person who is along for the adventure. One area where that isn't true is road cycling. We both really, really like getting on bikes, climbing hills and covering a lot of pavement.

We set off this morning on an adventure Mike had mapped out. Inspired by the Santa Cruz Mountains Challenge, he wanted to tackle some of the toughest climbs in the county during a 55(ish)-mile-ride. Our weekend rides often include 2,500 or more feet of elevation gain over 25-30 miles, but increasing that didn't seem like a bad idea, especially if was just the two of us and no timeline.

Elevation Map

The plan entailed parking off West Cliff Drive in Santa Cruz, then heading through town to our first climb, a breezy warm up on Glen Canyon Road to Scotts Valley. From there, we rode the lower section of Glenwood Drive (a normal climb for us) and then headed up the infamous Mt. Charlie Road, a 5.2-mile climb with multiple short Cat 2 segments. Mt. Charlie was new for both of us. The steep sections left us gasping for breath but overall the ride was scenic and pleasant. We stopped at a historical marker at the top to learn about Mountain Charlie, a failed gold digger who survived a bear attack in the 1870s and went on to be a stagecoach operator in the area, before continuing our climb up Summit Road.

The road seemed remarkable free of cars. We pedaled past vineyards and Christmas Tree farms on Hwy. 35/Summit Road until the highway split at Bear Creek Road. We went left up, then down Bear Creek Road about 11 miles into the town of Boulder Creek. This was essentially the halfway point of Mike's plan: about 30 miles in and one of two significant climbs done. After a quick stop to refuel at Johnnie's Super (including a LARABAR and Hammer Gel) we were back on the road.

The next section covered more new terrain for us: Hwy. 236 toward Big Basin Redwoods State Park. Four miles in, we made a sharp left onto Jamison Creek Road. Mike had said this would be the steepest — but also shortest — climb of the ride. The hill started with a mellow 5% grade and we held the same conversational pace we'd carried throughout the ride. But 1.2 miles in, the hill changed. Here's a description from Stanford Cycling Team:  For people wanting to climb over 1,100 feet in 1.8 miles (read: masochists), this is the ride for you. This section of the climb averages 11.5% grade, with some areas nearing 14% grade. 

I made it about two-thirds the way up the hill (the whole hill, not just the really steep part) before my legs turned to Jell-o and I had to walk. Mike powered on, using a mix of out-of-the-saddle riding, weaving back-and-forth across the entire road (much to the chagrin of descending cyclists) and sheer willpower to summit the hill. I walked about a mile, pushing my bike and wishing for a passing motorist to hitchhike with. I tried (and failed) to ride again, and even considered carrying my bike on the back of a motorcycle. The bike-hike took about 25 minutes, but it turned out Mike had only beaten me to the top by a few minutes. That must have been one hell of a crawl up! 

(Let's just say, the only good Jamison is probably the whisky, and there should be a bottle at the top of that climb for poor cyclists like me.)

From there, we turned onto Empire Grade Road bemoaned all of the little hills on our back to town. Just before we passed UC Santa Cruz, we hit 37 mph on a downhill. The ride finished along West Cliff Drive, rounding out at 56 miles and about 5,600 feet of elevation.

These climbs are integral parts of a couple cool century rides that happen in here in the spring and summer: the Mt. Charlie Challenge in April and the Santa Cruz Mountains Challenge in late July or early August. I've heard the Mountains Challenge always includes Jamison, which may be a deal-breaker for me, but the Mt. Charlie ride could be exciting. I haven't ever attempted a century ride (metric or full 100 miles), but would like to. Maybe 2015 is the year! 

Muddin' it up

I attempted a long trail run Saturday morning. It's been awhile since I felt motivated to hit double-digit mileage on a run, but the "perfect storm" of new trail running shoes and a chance to hit some new-to-me trails presented itself. I couldn't resist.

I set out in Ed R. Levin County Park after dropping M at the Oakland Airport for a quick boys' weekend in Joshua Tree and Long Beach. I arrived at the park, on the outskirts of Milpitas, before 9 a.m. and paid the modest entry fee. Despite miles of trails wending up the grassy hillsides, the parking lots were empty. I felt surprised, but was excited to have the paths to myself.

I laced up new Project E-Motion N2 trail shoes by Pearl Izumi, decided against listening to music and popped a Hammer Endurolytes Fizz tablet in my water bottle. I had roughly planned a 9- to 12-mile adventure that would take me to Monument Peak and perhaps all the way to Mission Peak, in the adjacent Mission Peak Regional Preserve.

Unfortunately, it also was the morning after one of the first storms of the fall in the Bay Area and the rainfall (after so many months of so little) congealed the trail dust. Large signs declared the trails closed to bikes and horses because of the rain, a regulation I silently celebrated — I wouldn't have to contend with those trail users and I got a brief boost of confidence for being out there when cyclists and horsemen weren't. 

Quickly, I realized the trails should also have been closed to runners and hikers. The mud sucked my shoes in, encasing them in a thick, sticky paste largely composed of decomposing horse shit. I paused to clean my shoes on a wooden fence, then continued my run. As the hill steepened, my feet slipped in the slick mud but I soldiered on. 

A quarter-mile into the run, I encountered the first locked gate. Maybe this should have been a sign to turn back, but I assumed it was meant to keep those horses and bikes out. I just climbed it and used a rail to, again, clean mud from my shoes. I changed my mind when at the second locked gate, a long 15-minute mile farther up the trail. The trail conditions hadn't improved and likely wouldn't, even though the rain had let up and the sun was peeking through clouds. So I turned back, hopping a different gate to access a paved service road that led back to the parking lot. 

Just before the parking lot, I detoured onto another trail that seemed less mucky than the first. Yeah right! Muckity muck mud everywhere. It felt like my shoes could be pulled right off my feet by the goop. On downhills, the mud naturally shook off of my shoes, and clumps of muddy horse poop flicked against my calves. Eventually, I found my way to manicured grass near the nearly-dry reservoir built for recreational fishing. I ran loops there to clean off the mud until I hit 4.5 miles. Unable to keep a pace in the extreme trail conditions, I called it. 

I think I'll hit a favorite trail at The Forest of Nisene Marks State Park tomorrow morning before work. The rain improves those paths! 

But Ed R. Levin County Park — I'll be back. A friend had recommended the trails there and they do look great, given the right weather conditions. 

Getting back UP

It's been months since I've blogged. Running, like blogging, also has languished. Why? Why not? Life has been busy-busy-busy.

Race director-ing proved harder than I expected,
but the race went well! 

I just finished my first year as the Race Director of the Santa Cruz Triathlon. One might think organizing a triathlon would correlate into triathlete workouts. I can tell you, it doesn't. I miss paddle boarding. Evenings normally reserved for yoga class or beach runs were consumed with meetings, paperwork and stress. Lots of stress, which makes it hard to sleep, which makes difficult to rise early and get a workout in before work (I have a day job too). So my fitness has suffered some.

Thankfully (I guess), it's mostly running fitness that's poor right now. Yoga is fun. Our Tuesday morning "Oregon Workouts" of circuits and body-weight exercises feel great. And cycling has never been better. Mike and I just got back from a quick jaunt to Ashland, Oregon, to plan our wedding (240 days to go!) and ride bikes. We knocked out 25 miles and made it halfway up Mount Ashland, which is about 2,100 feet of elevation in a single, steady climb. While we wanted to go all the way up (5,000-plus feet of climbing), the altitude ate up any anaerobic fitness I had, plus we had to get cleaned up for a friend's nuptials. I am sticking with my story that the elevation, not a lack of fitness, did me in because rode the undulating hills here at sea level in Santa Cruz with ease the following weekend.

Conquering Eureka Canyon Road
with Mike and friends in August. 

But the reality is I need to do more. I know that. I'm healthier but, more importantly, I'm happier when I'm exercising and feeling fit. So I've taken three steps to do better:

1. I registered for a 10K. I haven't wanted to race in years. Really, years now. But I needed something to force me to run, and the prospect of official race results available forever on the Internet is super motivating. Plus, my running buddy Meaghan was already signed up for this one, the Surfer's Path 10K. The race is too soon and I won't be in great shape, but it's a starting-off point to get me back where I should be: able to knock out a 10-mile trail run any day of the week. 
2. I'm heading back to the gym. This will please my brother, a personal trainer who swears by lifting for fitness and weight loss. He's right, too. Doing weights seems to give everything else a little extra "umf!" So I'm on board: at least once a week, plus those body-weight exercises in the Oregon Workout and yoga on Tuesdays. Someday I may even do a pull-up.
3. I bought an UP. I never thought I'd be a fitness tracker person, but I love my Garmin and got intrigued about what else was out there. The UP wrist band tracks steps and sleep, and if you want, moods, calories eaten and exercise. So far, I'm just using it for the basics and to remind myself to get up and move around at the office every 45 minutes. I'm interested to see how much I walk and run each day, and really like the the reminders to get off my ass. Too often, I get sucked into whatever I'm doing on a screen and lose track of the time. UP should help with that. 

I feel like I'm starting from zero, which is a huge bummer. It's easy to regret not maintaining fitness when I had it because, man, I had a few good years where I busted out two or three marathons annually. But I also know the commitment it takes to get it back and keep it — and I know I'm capable. 

Backcountry Ski Trippin'

I'm new to snow sports.

Until the past couple of winters, my experience in the snow amounted to some sledding as a child and chaining up my '98 Mustang in college to get access to a snow-covered peak for a hike.

But the boyfriend is a snowboarder and, over the course of the past couple winters, I've learned how to get down a mild blue-square run and acquired all kinds of snow gear: the appropriate layers, snowshoes, waterproof boots and a complete snowboarding setup. 

Last weekend we put it all to the test by hiking in to the Benson Hut, a Sierra Club shelter three miles south of Sugarbowl and about six miles from Donner Pass. Our friends had, smartly, left a day earlier and made the five-mile hike from the ski resort parking lot in during idyllic conditions. 

The boyfriend, a buddy and I weren't so lucky. 

The only precipitation the Sierra has seen since the first week of December rolled in Saturday morning as we got geared up for the adventure. We cut off two miles of hiking by riding chairlifts up to the top of Sugarbowl, a cheat method that almost immediately knocked me out of the game because I didn't know how to snowboard with a 25-pound pack on. 

Kindly, the boyfriend carried both our packs (what a stud!) and we made it to the top of Sugarbowl, AKA Mt. Lincoln, elevation 8,400 feet. 

It looked like this: 

 

Yikes. Visibility was basically nothing. Winds whipped us, threatening to blow away stray gloves as we got our  gear organized and used a bike lock to chain our snowboards together between some boulders (for protection against blowing away, not theft). 

Then we hiked.

Three miles, even backpacking at altitude, should be nothing. We were able to hug the ridgeline enough to avoid getting lost (normally, it's a simple ridge hike and the path is visible throughout). But no one was having fun. Our buddy, hiking in Sorels with Yaktrax post-holed through the soft new snow. Once the boyfriend and I strapped on our snowshoes, we kept them on -- even when that meant crossing the rocks of wind-blown, snow-free saddles in the snowshoes. 

We hiked for two hours to reach the hut, quite off of the 30-minutes-a-mile pace we had accepted as the slowest we would possibly go. The boyfriend and most of the crew already the hut had made this same trek five years prior (one of them loves doing this trip as a birthday celebration) which also helped us find the way.

The hut was a welcome sight, nestled just below the peak of Mt. Anderson (8,500 feet). 

We spent the afternoon and evening sipping whiskey, making fajitas and enjoying the company of friends while it stormed outside. A few brave skiers in the group took their skis and skins out to test the fresh snow. I can't imagine being good enough at snowboarding to get a split board and skins and ski in the backcountry, but props to those who do. Resort skiing feels adventurous enough for me.

In the morning, we awoke to more snow and panoramic views. 

The return hike, with the sun shining and epic views surrounding us, felt like a walk in the park compared to our adventure the day prior. To avoid the snowboarding-with-a-pack debacle, get a little more cardio and ensure the guys got to a sports bar in time for the Niners game, I handed off my snowboard to a friend who had hiked in without one and chose to snowshoe down the ski runs with the boyfriend's sister. This added a little over two miles to our hike and was possibly the most pleasurable part of the weekend. Happy skiers paused to ask us about our adventure before zipping down the mountain. We trotted on.

The Benson Hut is open to the public for day use and as an emergency shelter. You also can book the hut for overnight stays and volunteer to maintain it (one of our friends does this, which is how we got hooked up with the hut). It's part of a network of huts on the Sierra Ski Trail in the Lake Tahoe area. Each are about a day's ski apart. 

After visiting, I'd love to go back in the summer. 

What I learned from #RWRunStreak

I set out in November to run at least one mile every day from Thanksgiving to New Years. My running streak lasted 25 days before illness, fatigue and scheduling torpedoed the effort.

The theory behind a running streak is getting out to run one mile will help you run farther. One mile becomes two or three, and pretty soon you're logging more miles that you ever thought possible.

That didn't work for me. One mile often was just one mile. Getting my daily "run" in became a chore often done as dusk fell and I darted around the neighborhood for 10 minutes. Even worse were the days I pounded out two miserable miles on a treadmill at the gym. My longest run during the streak was nine miles.

Other issues? Yes:

• At first, the effort cranked my metabolism. I was hungry all the time. But as my body adjusted to doing short runs every day, that appetite was unwarranted. I gained a couple pounds during my run streak. 
• Though I was able to keep up on yoga and weight workouts during the running streak, biking went bye-bye. 

With all of these negatives, I did learn a valuable lesson: I really love running, about four times a week. I thought this was true before I started streaking. Back in college, we trained 13 of 14 days and it destroyed me. Running was no longer fun. Cruising through four to 10 miles four times a week is just right for me. It also leaves room for those other things I love to do: cycling, beach walks with the dogs, hiking, yoga. 

I won't be streaking again any time soon, but I'm excited to return to my normal running regime. 

Tips on How to (Not) Get Lost in the Woods

My first few strides down a redwood duff-strewn trail in Fall Creek State Park one day last week felt amazing. I only had two thoughts in my head: "why don't I run here more often?" and "how do so many hikers get lost here?"

See, a few years back when I was the crime reporter at the local paper, I wrote more than a few articles about hikers who had gone missing in the park. Each time I was astounded at how sane adults could get lost in the sliver of redwoods and creeks. Sure, there's 20 miles of trails in the park, but it's narrow, hemmed in by ridges and located on a main road. Walk in any one direction for awhile and you'll hit the road, the creek or the neighborhood by the high school.

And then I got lost. 

Don't worry. No one had to call 9-1-1. I found my way out of the park, it just took longer — both time and distance — than I intended. 

During all that extra time on the trail, I worked through how I had ended up in this slightly embarrassing conundrum and what I should have done differently. I'm sharing the tips I came up with to remind other runner- and hiker-types how to behave in the woods and, since I'm escaped unscathed, because it's a bit funny. 

Trail map.

Although I intently studied the trail map to chart my course: Ridge Trail to Truck Trail, then down a connector to Fall Creek Trail and then I would be back at the trailhead,  I had little familiarity with the park. The map doesn't show distances; I estimated the whole adventure will be 5 to 6 miles. It also wasn't a topo map, so I'm not aware of the massive climb I selected.

Lesson 1: Know where you're going and how long you'll be gone.

I only got half of this right. My guess on how long I'd be running, oh, an hour or so. Which rolls right into into ... 

Lesson 2: Nutrition planning should be done based on time, not distance. 

Makes sense, right? Six mile run is easy-breezy but a steep climb could drag down your mile pace and leave you out on the trail longer than expected. I didn't bring water or snacks with me. Thank goodness I've been snacking so much on Fakesgiving leftovers; despite having just coffee for breakfast, I didn't feel any twinges of hunger until after mile 6. Weather also is an important factor here. Obviously, you need more hydration when it's hot, possibly additional energy supplements if it's cold. And this goes for hikers also — packing water and snacks should be non-negotiable.

So the trails at Fall Creek are rad and hard core. The climbs on Ridge Trail — straight-up steep very few switchbacks — likely melt into sloppy streams when it rains. I saw very few other hikers out and zero runners. Like most California State Parks, waist-high brown 2X2s indicate trails at Fall Creek. While I never understood why something as important as a trail marker would be disguised as a leafless sapling, I know what I'm looking for.

The singletrack of Ridge Trail feeds to Truck Trail, a logging road, after about two miles. I used my Garmin watch so I know when this is coming, and was pleasantly surprised when the trail distances on the signs matched up with my GPS mileage. I had about 1.3 miles to go until a connecting trail would take me down from the ridge to the creekbed and back to the parking lot, so I did the math and figured my watch should hit 3.5 miles at that intersection.

Floating along on the forest path, my watch clicked past 3.5 miles, then 3.8 and beeped at 4 without any trail marker. Convinced either my watch or the sign was wrong, I kept running. The fire road felt pleasant under my feet and I had finally hit a nice clip on the ridgeline, so the last thing I wanted to do was ruin that pace by frantically looking for the trail. Surely, it was just ahead.

Lesson 3: Trust your gut and (to some extent) your technology.

I would later discover my watch mileage was within a tenth of a mile of the connector trail I was searching for. Whoops. Also, a little voice in my head told me something was wrong long before I ran up on an active logging operation.

Yeah, that. Thankfully a large cattle gate marked with alarming red tape separated Truck Trail from the felling redwoods just around the bend. This was the end of the road and I'd run a full mile past the trail I had wanted. At this point, more than 50 minutes had passed since I set out and I'd covered 4.5 miles (I'm not that slow; chalk up a few minutes to attempts at trail-finding and stretching breaks). 

Lesson 4: Set a time limit for running in new places.

This, perhaps, is the most important rule and one I should have stuck to. I wanted to run for an hour, tops. D'oh. That went out the window when I was still heading away from the parking area after 30 minutes of running time had elapsed. If I had been smart about it, I would have turned back at my halfway time point. Then I could have simply back-tracked and likely wouldn't have gotten lost. I also would argue this technique could help most hikers lost in Fall Creek. Maybe it's a less-exciting outdoor adventure to do an out-and-back hike, but it's much easier to follow a path you've walked at least once rather than way-find in a wholly new environment.

For me, doubling back made it fairly easy to find the turn. I monitored the mileage on my GPS watch and slowed to  walk when I knew I was close to the connector trail. It wasn't much more than a game trail, half-covered in dusty foliage and marked not with a post but orange ribbon lashed around a tree, much like how trail crews indicate a tree set for removal. 

Lesson 5: Don't freak out. 

The return trip was logical, but not easy, from that point. There were no trail markers for miles (not even orange ribbon) leaving a couple trail choices to common sense. I followed the creek back to the trailhead, logging about 8.5 miles in more than 90 minutes. While it was longer and farther than I had planned, the run was enjoyable. 

But in those last  few miles, especially the downhill, I devoted more attention to foot placement and slowed through a couple slightly treacherous sections. If I had known the trail or at least knew how far I had left in the run, I may have gone faster. The trail, until the final mile, was essentially deserted and I was concerned I might twist an ankle or fall while far from help. With plenty of daylight to finish, taking my time to avoid injury was an easy concession to make. Next time I'll go for a course PR.

The best sign in the park (photo: waymarking.com)

Other tips that I know you know but I'm reminding myself of: 

• Explore new trails with friends who know the way. Half of my running group frequents Fall Creek State Park. I probably should have invited someone along or just waited on those trails until we had a run planned there.
• Tell someone where you're going and when you'll be back. Give that person a non-emergency phone number to call (park office, sheriff's department, etc) if you don't check in within a reasonable amount of time.
• Dress in layers. If you get hurt, have to walk or encounter foul weather, you'll want that long-sleeve you thought of ditching at the car. I also like bright colors and, if lost in the woods, this could help for search parties.

A final lesson for Park Rangers: Install some effing trail markers! 

I love unblemished forestland as much as the next outdoors enthusiast, but it's downright irresponsible of State Parks to list trails on a map that are not well-signed. I believe signed trails are a reasonable expectation for a publicly administered park. And no, orange ribbon doesn't count unless there's a addendum at the trailhead map that people should be watching for that particular marker. 

This is the generic State Parks trail marker. (Photo: everytrail.com)

Simple trail markers can't be that expensive or difficult to install. Signs would give park users peace of mind so they can better enjoy their outdoor adventure, and the markers could reduce the number of Search and Rescue Team call-outs in the park. If State Parks can't take this on, perhaps a nonprofit that supports local parks or trails could manage to build a few trail markers.

#WeRunSF

Now that I'm not writing full-time for work, I have the energy to run more—and to blog about it!

Sunday, I was in San Francisco and up early to join more than 30,000 long-distance runners at the 10th annual Nike Women's Marathon and Half Marathon. The race draws mostly women to run the streets of San Francisco and raise funds for cancer research. "A few good men" enter as well but from the amount of pink and purple, tutus and the Neutrogena products in our goody bag, it was evident that this race is all about girls.

Getting to the start line is a feat in and of itself. The race is outrageously popular, so we first had to win a lottery to be offered the chance to enter. I got it, I think, thanks to a college friend who invited me onto a girls' team she had organized. We five "Tufted Puffins" were spread across three cities in two states, so we trained together virtually all summer. 

I picked up my packet a week early, just in case the trip to the city destroyed me. I'm not good at the city. I get lost; once my car was towed for parking in a driveway. But Saturday was great. I got where I needed to be to meet K and her friend at the race "Expotique". We got their race numbers, checked out the swag and considered waiting for a makeover or hair stylist before heading across the street to use our race-day discounts at Macy's. 

Both girls admitted they'd missed more long training runs than they'd completed—a sin I also had committed—but since we'd all finished halves before we had that confidence that we could get through the course and maybe even enjoy it.

Race morning came early. I took my first Uber Cab ride to get to the startline at Union Square and joined thousands of other women walking toward the race corrals. They were marked with this lit-up globes, our first glimpse of the race-day festivities.

Thirty thousand-plus racers is a lot of people. We filled the street for more than four city blocks.

I found K and her friend. We made last-minute bathroom stops. Someone (probably not a fellow racer) left behind a pair of black heels in my port-a-potty. So "city" of her (or him).

I forgot my iPod, so I was hoping the positive vibes of the race would carry me through the course. Excited women from all over (there were some Canadians right behind me) bounced up and down, taking photos and mouthing the lyrics to the pop songs blaring from the loudspeakers.

I was in the first corral and it took me two minutes to get across the start line. What a huge race! Friends were 15 minutes or more behind me getting to the blue arch.

All around, the race was harder than I expected. I nearly fell a couple of times in the early miles because the course was so crowded. Navigating cobblestones and rail tracks in the semi-darkness proved challenging. And staying focused was hard for me. I fretted about a slow first mile (the crowds) and the first round of hills made my not-quite-recovered-from-a-cold lungs wheeze.

But it was so fun. Listening to ladies around me chat (praise was high for a church choir at Mile 1), being cheered on by enthusiastic fans and laughing at the quippy signs ("26.2 miles: long and hard, just like my wife likes it" and "Mortuary ahead. Look alive.") kept all us runners engaged. 

The hills killed me. Before that, my 8:30 pace (about a 1:54 finish time) was tolerable. But I felt like someone was pushing me back as I tried to climb from Crissy Field into the Presidio. That was Mile 6, barely halfway. As we neared Mile 8, a couple running near me started talking about how hard the next hill was—not nice of them! They were right. The hill up past the golf course, near the Veteran's Hospital, was massive.

Cruising down the hill with three miles to go, I got confident. I felt good. I picked it up and tried to push it. But the last two miles had a slight incline that made my legs feel like cement. It was rough. 

I finished in just under 2 hours, 37 seconds off my randomly-chosen goal pace of 8:30 a mile. While I'm not stoked on the time, it was a much harder course than I expected. 

The finish line brought me a firefighter and a Tiffany necklace. Yay. 

I grabbed all my other race goodies—T-shirt, snack bag, space blanket—and wandered around the finish area. And the rest of the Tufted Puffins finished strong to earn their necklaces as well. The chocolate milk was a huge post-race boost before I bundled up and found the Uber Cab taxi stand. The ride home ... and that's a whole other crappy story.

All together, good race, Nike. Thanks. #WeRunSF

Humbled.

It's helpful to get your ass handed to you from time to time.

I sound like a snob, but I'm good at most things (at least most things I attempt) and generally succeed. I win. Well, maybe not first place in a race, but I set achievable yet challenging goals and I get them. So it was surprising — and wonderfully humbling — to feel like an utter failure during a trail half marathon yesterday.

Two friends and I raced the Forest of Nisene Marks half, a gloriously hilly run that largely follows a root-riddled single-track trail through the state park. I went into the race with just one goal in mind: break two hours.

This seemed do-able. Here's why:
• I raced a marathon five weeks ago and have been running consistently since then, including a couple afternoon jaunts along the trails the half marathon covers. So I figured I'm fit AND I know the ups and downs (literally) of the course.
• Plus, two years ago I ran the same race in 2:00:16. Since then, my half time on pavement has improved dramatically (hell, I was around 1:56 for the halfway point in my marathon, on flat, paved roads), so why couldn't my trail time drop too?

Yeah, so none of that mattered.

It poured. Rained. Hard. All night before the race and on through our adventure in the woods. We're talking Oregon winter rain (minus the cold factor) but the race was just south of Santa Cruz — hello? California coast — and it's June.

The trail was a mess: ankle-deep puddles where the path hadn't turned into a small creek. Anything that wasn't covered in water was a sloppy, muddy mess. It wasn't a large race, but about 80 pairs of running shoes slogged through those trails before me, so any decent footing was long-since mucked up by the time I trudged through.

Add in some sort of poor eating plan that gave me stomach problems the whole way through and I was a miserable, gassy, drowned-rat-looking of a trail runner. I even though about quitting. (But of course, that's not an option. Ever.)

Luckily, I'd handed my watch over to my buddy John so I couldn't see how far off my goal pace I was. There are no mile markers, no split readers and no pace groups in this low-key local run. So I just made my way through the woods hoping that someone in front of me would fall and break a bone so I could play heroine and get out of finishing all 13.1 miles.

I'm kidding. Kinda...

Somehow I eventually got to the finish line, soaked to the bone and far off that seemed-so-reasonable goal time. And I won't lie. I was totally dejected by my results. I get that I'm not fast but I'm also not THAT slow. Not 2:11 half-marathon slow.

A few things helped me get over this "not winning" situation:
• Ericha, the other friend running, finished in 1:55 and some change. She's a 3:27 marathoner (a full 30 minutes faster than my PR) so to have her beat me by approximately 15 minutes makes sense.
• Even in the best conditions, it's a hella tough course.
• An all-caps text message from the boyfriend exclaiming that me I did awesome considering all that rain and mud.

So some days we lose. I'm still glad I finished because I know ran hard (I was pretty darn tired later). And there's next year, and any number of races between then and now.

Stretching is Not a Workout

Yoga isn't exercise.

Yes, I know it works your core and all those planks can really get the upper arms trembling. But seriously. It's stretching, with intention. And those young yoga instructors in spaghetti-strap tops and no bras because they're vegan and never got boobs, they look fit.

But yoga is not exercise.

Before I go any further, I will give credit to those pals who do Bikram yoga. Yes, the hot class makes you sweat a lot, which makes it hard and exercise-like.

So I've been going a yoga class here and there since the marathon, mostly to differentiate my exercise routine. The problem is, yoga doesn't make me tired.

I've been trying different instructors to see if it's a personality conflict. The guy who told me to breathe through my neck was a dud, but tonight's instructor (who was hanging upside down from some ropes like a bat when I walked into class) was fun. Still, after 90 minutes with either teacher -- or any of the other ones for that matter -- I don't feel like I got a workout.

I do feel stretched. Oh yeah. We opened our hips and elongated our necks like nobody's business tonight. I'm stoked about that because my right hip is still a little tweaked. But, as an aside here, my personal trainer/brother recently told me stretching is useless ... directly after which he said the look on my face gave the impression he killed my puppy.

Point is, after 90 minutes of "exercise" -- 80, if you take out the time we nap at the end -- tonight I'm not tired. Heck, I'm not even relaxed because I'm so frustrated that I didn't get a workout in.

At least I went for a 5-ish mile barefoot beach run this morning.

M-m-m-marathon!

Woot-woot! I ran a sub-4 hour marathon, FINALLY!

Yes, the Eugene Marathon was great.

Running in my hometown has so many benefits. Yes, I'm from Springfield (sort of Eugene's ugly stepsister) but the race course wends from the campus area of Eugene, along the bike path and into Springfield for a couple miles. Then it heads out past Autzen Stadium (Go Ducks!) and onward to the finish at UO's storied Hayward Field.

So getting under the 4-hour mark was monumental, but there was much more made this race — marathon No. 8 — awesome. It all relates back to having home field advantage.

• My parents were my race support, driving my sister and I to the start and then appearing several times on the course to cheer us on. (Audrey ran the half.)
• Miles 10-15 were on turf I've run a zillion times, starting around age 11. This was especially helpful when looking for a spot in the woods for a quick bathroom break. (Ucky porta-potties!)
• My brother and his wife, Erica, live a few blocks off the course, so they walked down with their doggies to cheer me on.
• In a super-lucky moment, a high school running buddy who lives on the race course made a "Go Squires" sign and was out with her whole family to cheer racers on. Huge boost having her there! Thanks to (another) Erika!

Perhaps the coolest part of being here with family and friends was having my sister race with me. Audrey ran the half marathon and clocked a 12.5-minute PR (1:29 and some change) with her pacer buddy. After her awesome race, the kiddo changed her clothes and shoes, then popped out onto the course to run me in to the finish. She shuffled along for my last two miles, telling me nice things and making me run faster.

We crossed the finish line together. Super cool!

Final time: 3:56:52. Even the gun time was under 4 hours, something around 3:58:30. My overall pace was 9:03, but for the first 20 miles I averaged sub-8:50 miles. I was 1073 out of 2291 racers, including 75th in my division, which had 178 women in it.

Oh, and don't miss the neat arm warmers I picked up at the race expo. Flowers, but almost a Dia de Los Muertos motif, made by Run Pretty Far. The waist pack (for Gu or a cell phone) rocks too. Dad loves the camo and it was great during the race, not bouncy at all. It's a SPIbelt, check it out.

Facebooking a Marathon

My marathon progress Sunday will post directly to my Facebook page. Yup. Awesome or scary? Too much digital age sharing or a great way to get motivated around mile 22? Tough to say.

Hopefully, since it should be a beautiful Sunday morning and the race has a relatively late start time of 7 a.m., my Facebook friends will be out biking, running or just brunching — and not checking my Facebook marathon progress.

It's not that I think I'll be embarrassed of my performance, I'm just not sure I want to Facebook universe with me every step of the way, peeking in at the 10K and half marathon and on and on until the finish line arrives approximately four hours later.

Yes, this makes me a little nervous ... a little more nervous.

So why don't I just delete the feature? Well there is a running group friends whom I'd love to have out there with me — literally running with me if that were possible — and at least this way they are with me online. Also, it's a damn easy way for Mom and Dad or my brother and his wife to figure out when to meet me on Main Street in Springfield (mile 14, good spot to drop clothes, gloves, etc and get a hearty cheer) and when my exhausted, sweaty, sore self will be needing picked up at the finish line.

There are benefits. And it's not like I wouldn't post my time on my Facebook page anyway.

I Left My Mind ...

It's tapering time, 15 days until the marathon.

This is the time to go crazy with doubt. Did I train enough? What about that one day when I skipped my ... run, yoga class, sit-up? Can I make it up now?

I've run enough marathons to know the answers are always the same: hay's in the barn, it's in the bag. Pick your metaphor, the bottom line is you can't do anything about it now. From here on out it's maintenance runs, getting good sleep, drinking lots of water and trying not to get hurt. (Important last point, so maybe this week's surf session was a bad plan and riding bikes this weekend could be risky?)

So with this extra time and energy on my hands, what to do? Plan the next marathon, of course.

Picking another race before competing in the race you're training for is a way to trick yourself into not getting lazy once you've crossed the finish line. So I about 13 hours left to decide if I should use a Deal-of-the-Day to register for the Morgan Hill Marathon in October. I'm thinking, for $35, why not?

Then there's the Bizz Johnson trail marathon out in Susanville two weeks before the bargain-bin marathon. Fast, negative elevation gain and trails, but it's at elevation so the altitude may cancel out those pros.

Do both? My awesome long-distance running buddy Sonja would say yes.



For sure, I'm running the Nisene Marks Half Marathon a month after the marathon. That will keep me going post-marathon and roll right into summer ... maybe triathlon training?

But for now, I'm just plotting. Muahahaha!

How Many Miles?

I hurt myself. Specifically, my hip. All week, I could hardly run — yesterday I trudged along for 15 minutes before giving up and walking home.

This was after getting a killer massage/torture session from Jamey, a friend of Scotty and Coach Rod. Fifty minutes of elbow-digging into my hips left me feeling like I'd already finished the week's prescribed 20-mile run.

So you can imagine I was not looking forward to today's outing, the last loooong run of my marathon training plan. With some prodding from Mom and a whole lot of stalling, I headed out to Nisene Marks around 11 a.m. to run the fire road.

I had a plan, I swear. I routed a course on this very nice map, calculated the miles, even told Mom and Christy where I'd be in case something went awry and the sheriff's search and rescue team needed to be summoned.

It turned out to be the best run I've had in weeks.
• Sunny skies, but not too hot under the trees
• Few people out on the trails
• Fun music on my iPod
• And, best of all, no pain in my hip.

The only problem? At the advice of some very kind (but possibly alcoholic) weekend warrior mountain bikers, I veered from my carefully planned course and continued up the fire road past the Sand Point Overlook. The bikers were right: it was beautiful up there. But I think their ability to calculate distances might be inhibited by their love of vodka- and kahlua-laced milkshakes.

When I came across a small "11" sign on the side of the trail, I said a bad word and turned back. Best guess? I was 11 miles from somewhere. (The bottom of the park? Top of the park? Hell?) So it's pretty likely I ran 22 miles.

It took me about 3:45 running time ... but as you calculate that mile pace in your head (10ish), remember there is about 2,000 feet of elevation gain in that run and it all happens at once. Oh, and sometimes my girly pop country causes me to break out in dance while I'm running and I don't stop my watch for that part.

Point is, I'm back and can run the Eugene Marathon on May 1. Thanks to those who helped (or just smiled politely when I ran by singing today).

Here are some photos. No videos of the singing and dancing, though.

Reflections on a Decade

We look back on the year when we roll the calendar over each winter, or perhaps on our birthdays as we mark another age gone by. Moments to consider larger chunks of time -— like a decade —- are rarer.

Ten years ago, I was a college sophomore. I ran track, but my dedication waned around this time and I eventually quit the team to pursue activities such as editing the college paper and drinking. I was good at both of them. I still ran here and there, however, it would take moving to Santa Cruz five years later to really get me back into a routine.



Now I've run seven marathons and one ultra, and running is something I know I will never forsake again. It's a place where I -- and a lot of us, I believe -- find strength and sanity.

I remember the crushing defeat a decade ago of trying to run 10 miles of hills on a warm summer day. An elderly couple hiking took such pity on me, they offered to drive me back to town (I still ran). Looking back, I probably wasn't fit enough but I also didn't think I could. By comparison, last weekend's 18-mile run with a 10K race smushed in the middle was a challenge but not un-doable. In fact, we had a pretty good time.

So of course time makes us wiser and we learn from our mistakes. I wonder what would be different had I stuck with racing in college. Would I be faster now? Or would I have given it up when I graduated? Most importantly, would it still be this much fun?

Muddy Day Run

So today we set out to run 12-ish miles in Nisene Marks. After the 35-mile bike ride I embarked on, basically alone, yesterday, the hill-intensive run seemed like a bad plan. However, with the opportunity to crank out the run with Rich, Scotty, Blair, Steve and the crew, the trails seemed less daunting.

Oh my gosh, it was fun! I love running in Nisene but rarely hit the trails. Typically I stick to the fireroad because I'm either running alone (safety) or want to do an exact distance. With a half-dozen "over 40" men to run with, no need to worry about off-the-grid pot growers, getting lost or how I would make it back should I break an ankle.

For anyone who knows the park, we ran West Ridge Trail from the fire road up and up and up to the turn to Hoffman's Home Site. Essentially, it's the half-marathon course backwards.

The trail was all kinds of muddy. Steep, too. We ran, they sang Beatles songs and it drizzled on us. All that uphill paid off with about a mile of extreme downhill. I'm not sure the guys enjoyed it, but I just rolled down making Indian whoops and stretching my arms out like a kid playing airplane. Soooo fun!

At the end of all this, we did have to grind out about three miles on the fire road, which was grueling and made me wish I had eaten breakfast.

We finished muddy and exhausted, but out-ran the downpour (it started just as we were loading up to head home or out to breakfast). And we got in a great 13-mile run, well on our way in our marathon training plan.

The Land of Peace and Tranquility

Running in the Land of the Medicine Buddha in Soquel is just serene: few people, a challenging trail that's all uphill at the beginning, all downhill at the end and plenty of room for Callie to romp.

The trails allegedly wend all the way up the hill to The Forest of Nisene Marks State Park, which could make an amazing point-to-point long run. But on this particular day, we only ran about 4.5 miles to a nice little lookout where the redwood trees gave way to orchards and green hills.

The property -- open to dogs, closed to bikes -- is part of the Tibetan Buddhist retreat tucked above Soquel.

The trails themselves are bark dust and redwood duff, under a canopy of trees with sporadic benches and small altars. If you drive up the road, there are more altars and a wishing temple (which was closed -- no wishes for us). All together, we saw six people and a standard poodle.

However, the highlight of the run, of course, is finishing. In the Land of the Medicine Buddha, the trailhead is marked with a gong, an ornate bell and many, many wind chimes. We rang and donged all of them!

The Perfect Run

First, yes, I'm back at the run blogging. I didn't stop running, just gave this up for a long while. But no more. With the whole running group training for marathons together (Eugene, May 1) plus the new incentive at work where I get paid to exercise (no joke!), there's all kinds of fun running to share about.

So mid-morning, Christy dragged me out of the house to run at Waddell Creek. It's a decent drive up the coast to the trailhead. It's part of the Skyline to the Sea path that winds through several state parks in Santa Cruz and Santa Clara counties. In the past, I've only done this run as a 13-ish mile out-and-back to Berry Creek Falls, but today we ran shorter, about an hour.



It was gorgeous and muddy and sunny. The trail starts at the beach and heads up through some small farms. The fire road is all torn up this time of year from farm trucks, mountain bikers and the rain, so keeping my new shoes clean was not an option.

Lots of other people had Christy's same awesome idea and were out hiking the trail. Mostly couples, and none of them looked happy. (Probably because they weren't rocking out to the Dixie Chicks like I was!)

The first two miles or so just felt icky. I think it was because I took Coach Rod's advice to carb-load with beer last night. (We'll have to talk about that one later, Coach.) But once I got a little muddy, the run felt great.

There's a side trail that spurs from the fire road just after the ranger station and reconnects about 1.5 miles up the route. Taking the trail back seemed like nice way to mix things up, plus there'd been a lot of bikers and hikers to dodge and Christy claims the trail is less hilly on the return.

It's not. It's still really hilly.

You also have to be a little adventurous to get to the trail. There's a creek crossing that, when the water flow is low, is covered with a plank bridge. However, this time of year, the creek is up to a couple feet deep in some spots and the little bridge is leaned up a against a tree on the riverbank. Hikers were putting their boots back on when I jumped in and splashed across. (Cleaned the mud off my shoes that way.)

Christy, who was not running with me because she can run 11 miles in 32 minutes, or something really fast like that, did the same thing to the next group of hikers.

We finished the run with a romp in the ocean, my special "Dead Body Tour: North Coast Edition" and treats from Swanton Berry Farm. Sure, it took half the day to get in a 6.5-mile run, but it was totally worth. Callie is definitely jealous.