Race Report: #Across the Bay 415K

This is a little late coming, but life has been busy. I found a few minutes to write this morning while I enjoy coffee in our breakfast nook before work.

I planned on running the 415K — my first 12K ever — for months and even convinced my future sister-in-law, Megan, and college friend, Kathleen, to run with me because it was my birthday weekend. Well, I also registered them for the race without there consent, so there's that... The running group is in a base-building phase (several people will train for the PDX marathon this fall) so I've been running pretty regularly, on top of hot yoga, a couple weight training sessions and some dog walks. Yes, life has been so busy that I've come to count dog walks as exercise.

But anyway, back to the race. We hustled down to Aquatic Park to pick up our packets (Kathleen actually got mine because I left for the city too late). This wasn't easy and the next morning, when we saw race-day packet pickup happening, we were a little frustrated (though, as a race director, I understand the reasoning for not promoting morning-of pickup). Oh well. We were there and ready to go, and that's all that mattered.

I love these two girls. They're tough. And that was important because neither has been running.

"I've run three times since February 1," Kathleen declared as we waited for the bus to the start line in Sausalito.

The race goes like this: three waves start from Fort Baker, climb a hill, cross the Golden Gate Bridge, then snake along the bayside through Fort Point and Crissy Field, finally finishing at Fort Mason. It's about 7.5 miles and almost entirely flat. We didn't get the wave start plan because the race didn't seem that big, so we snuck Megan into Wave 1 with us.

Waiting for the 8 a.m. start felt like forever. I really wanted some water, which was no where to be found at the start line (or the bus loading area in San Francisco, for that matter). I guess since so many people carry hydration systems -- even for short-ish races like this where you would never really need that much liquid -- races are cutting back on what they provide. I really don't want to carry a waterbottle unless I'm trail running, so I guess I'm outta luck.

OK, but the race. The first 1/2 mile was downhill and super fun. (Kathleen zoomed this! She was so happy!) After a little bit of flat, we started climbing up to the Golden Gate Bridge. Later I would say this was not that hard of a hill, but I really did want to puke a little on the up. Megan gutted it out and crested the hill first of our little trio. We ran together for a moment on the bridge and then separated.

Running the bridge is ALWAYS cool. I wanted to take photos but my pace felt strong and I couldn't bring myself to stop for a pic. Thankfully, the race photog was up there and took photos.

Mile 3 comes somewhere in the Fort Point area, after the bridge and the downhill to get bayside. From there, the race was a bit of a slog. Flat. Straight. I got bored and tired and regretted not bringing music. Around Mile 5 I ate the Gu I was carrying in my RooSport Wallet, which helped sooooo much. There also were some Taiko drummers -- my favorite -- that boosted my spirit. I even passed some dudes.

The race ends with an uphill, steep downhill, hard right turn and -- boom! -- you're there. Had I checked out the course ahead of time, I might have shaved a few seconds off my finish. Coming up to that last hill (you can see it forever and it looks bigger than it is) was demoralizing, but the finish actually is fast.

My official race time was just over 70 minutes, a 9:20 pace by their clocks. My Garmin told me I ran a little more than 12K (as you always do in a race) and averaged 9:11 miles throughout. I feel pretty good about that. It also motivates me to run more and get back into some speed workouts, because I realize I've run marathons at a faster mile pace than that. But for a lazy Sunday run, that was great.

Lets Get Sweaty

M and I decided to kick our yoga game up a notch or three this year and, for the first time ever, I've found myself going to yoga class two or even three times a week AND IT'S HARD. Total surprise. This is a complete departure from my long-held contention that yoga is not exercise.

This change of pace came rather by accident; our gym offers free yoga classes and we got hooked on this one instructor, Yogi Greg. But all good things must come to an end, and Yogi Greg's tenure at Cabrillo Fitness expired when the Highway 1 evening commute became too soul-sucking for our pop-culture-savvy, sometimes-foul-mouthed Zen guru.

So we did what any fan does: we followed our yogi to a studio that specializes in hot vinyasa yoga and pilates. Although I only make it to one of Yogi Greg's classes a week, I've found a couple other instructors I enjoy taking classes from.

M and I had been all-stars in the front row of Tuesday classes at the gym. Turns out that class was bush league. Three weeks into my four-week trial, I'm a hot mess almost every class. High planks, vinyasa after vinyasa, balance poses for days -- you would never know if I'm crying because sweat is dripping from every part of my body. Some classes, the pace and the heat combine to make my heart pound and my head woozy. That's when child's pose is my favorite. Other days I think I'm killing it, but then I look around at all of the rail-thin Lululemon-wearing yoga chicks pushing up into crow pose like it's completely
normal to balance your legs on your arms and realize I have so far to go -- in my yoga practice and my wardrobe.

I think the classes would be difficult without the added heat and humidity, which makes me think that maybe sometimes yoga can be strength-building and — wait for it — even exercise. Yeah, I said it.

For now, though, I'm going to reserve any major judgements on these classes. I love the noodle-y feeling I have after yoga and my hips feel amazing when I run. But I'm waiting to see if regular practice leads to a stronger core and arms, or if I can ever master crow pose. If I apply what I know about running — it takes three weeks to benefit from a workout — to yoga, I might see some gains soon. I'll probably sign up for more time at this studio when my trial month is complete (M already pulled the trigger on a six-month membership, right after he got us the fancy yoga mat towels) and see how things go. Plus doing more yoga gives me a great reason to buy new workout tanks from Athleta … on sale, of course.

Awakening My Inner Morning Runner

Running in the morning offers many advantages: avoiding scheduling conflicts, kick-starting metabolism, an inspiring sunrise view.

But then there's the waking up part.

For me (and a lot of people), that's the hardest part. It's soooooo dark in Santa Cruz in the winter. I know pretty much everyone everywhere else has it worse, but it was brutal running in 36-degree weather one morning last month. Hitting snooze means staying in a warm bed, dog at my feet, with the promise of fresh coffee and a hot shower when I get up. Getting up to run before work sets off a domino-effect of time-keeping, strategy and stress. If I run from the house, I can sneak in a quick rinse before heading to the office, but if I meet the running group, it means bringing work clothes and wet wipes. Last week I forgot my lunch.

Getting creative with the route on a recent morning run.

Of course, as we all know, you never regret getting up and going for the run. You love it. You relish that run all day. I get a little smug sitting in meetings after a morning run: I watched the sunrise over Monterey Bay got to enjoy a delicious cup of coffee with friends before all of this. And at the end of the work day, there's to pressure to run stairs in the dark or pound out miles on a treadmill at the gym.

Aside from the obvious benefits of exercising (d'oh), I love morning runs because they feel goofy. Yes, let's run concentric circles today to see what the Garmin map looks like later. Military crawl under a fence so we can get to the peak of this hill? Absolutely.

And then there's the sunrise. It's pretty awesome pretty much all the time.

Seacliff Beach sunrise

Scotts Valley sunrise
(photo by John)

Runners World has lots of tips about how to become a pre-dawn runner, including a checklist of how to prep the night before. I would add: sign up for a race. There's nothing more motivating than the prospect of online race results attached to your name. I just registered for the Across the Bay 12K in San Francisco this April.

Ride Report: Clubbin'

Saturdays often are reserved for cycling with my sweetie but we hang out and exercise together A LOT so last weekend we decided to get our spin on separately. While he took off with some dudes to summit  the Eureka Canyon climb, I joined the Santa Cruz Triathlon Association for the club's weekly group ride.

Technically, I'm an employee of the club because I serve as Race Director for the Santa Cruz Triathlon, a nonprofit Olympic-distance race that's in its 33rd year this year (it's just my second as RD). But even though I work hard to put on the race, I haven't spent a lot of time with club members. The group ride seemed like a good way to connect with my people and a nice change of pace from chasing the boys all over South County.

We met at Natural Bridge State Beach at 8:30. Instead of driving into town, I decided to ride the 11-ish miles from home. Serendipitously, so did a handful of other Aptosians in the club and they picked me up on the way in. We zoomed into Natural Bridges nice and warmed up for our Highway 1 ride.

About 30 people showed up for the ride, which even had pop-up bike support courtesy of Wade from the Spokesman (also a sponsor of the race!). Many of the cyclists are in Nu2Tri, a training support program for newbies to the sport. They were going up to Davenport on Highway 1, essentially the bike course for the race, while more experienced riders set their sights on Swanton Loop.

Unwittingly, I got in with a fast group right at the start and we flew up the highway at something like 20 mph. We took turns leading and I managed to stay with the pack until almost Davenport. By then, the front group had spaced out quite a bit, with people stopping for bathroom breaks or snacks, and others cruising in twos and threes. I rode solo through Swanton, an idyllic coastal valley dotted with herb (like rosemary) fields, apple orchards, farmhouses and timberland. It's one of my favorite stretches of rural road in the county and I was happy to have it to myself.

Swanton ends with a one-mile, 500-foot climb that feels awesome: enough to make you sweat but doesn't zap all of your energy for the ride back to town. I spotted a pack of guys in front of me and geared down to chase after them. Two of the club's badass guys had already made the climb and were circling back down to pick up the rest of us. They rode with me for bit and helped me reel in the other guys. I won't lie — it felt amazing to finish the hill with the lead pack.

We stopped at the top of the hill to snack and chat while others caught up with us. The women I had ridden out with arrived, along with a few other club members I had yet to meet. Then I floated down the other side of Swanton, toward Highway 1, with the guys for a quick turn-around and another climb to the top. The hill is actually easier from the highway side, and I'm all for avoiding the highway when possible. Plus doing the "Swanton Double" just sounds cool.

I'd like to say the ride home was just as enjoyable but man, was I whipped. I'm not sure if we hit a notorious Highway 1 headwind or if I just overdid it on the outbound ride (probably the later). I rode back with a girl in the club I had yet to meet and we hit it off, chatting about our jobs and Santa Cruz as we swapped leads the whole way to Natural Bridges. She shared some cookies with me and we traded phone numbers before I pedaled back toward Mid-County.

I logged about 57 miles on the ride and 3,100 feet of elevation (there was a little GPS snafu when I forgot to restart after the cookie stop and I lost a mile). The boyfriend was impressed — and got a little competitive. He had a great, fast, hill-climbing ride that totaled out at 50 miles, a little shy of my mileage.

So my weekend rides in January were 38 - 55 - 40 - 57 miles, with varying elevation gains. It's a good base to get fit for a metric century (100K) ride in April or early May, and then a century (100 miles) in late May. With some more work on hill climbing, I may even attempt the torturous Santa Cruz Mountains Challenge in the summer and get redemption on Jamison Creek Road.

UP up and away (almost)

The fitness band bandwagon got me on Oct. 21, the first day I donned an UP band to start tracking my steps, sleep, food, weight and exercise.

I picked this particular band from the many, many fitness bands out there because I liked the look of it. That was pretty much the extend of my research. Looking back, I might have selected the Garmin vivosmart, which looks almost as cool but also does more stuff and connects to the same system as my Garmin Forerunner 110 watch, but alas, here I am with the UP by Jawbone, getting buzzed when I sit to long and feeling guilty on the days when I don't walk 10,000 steps. 

Last night, a remarkably normal Tuesday, I lost my UP. Sometime after yoga class, maybe during dinner at Manuel's with friends or on the subsequent dark, rainy dog walk through the upper parking lot of Seacliff State Beach, the band vanished. I didn't notice it was gone — or how addicted I'd become to the device — until we had walked home from the restaurant and gone for yet another dog walk in the storm. There, I tore apart the house, checking my gloves and rain jacket in case it had slipped off my bird-like wrist. 

Using the UP app and the big brother-esque GPS tracking feature of the band, I tried to locate my UP. The app pinpointed the device a half-mile away in a residential area we had not walked through, so I assumed someone had found my demure black band and taken it home. It was after 11 and still raining — not the appropriate time to go knocking on doors — but I decided to take a quick spin through the neighborhood to retrace at least some of my steps. 

Every wet leaf, pile of animal excrement and stray twig looked like an UP band in the dark. For a moment, I thought I found it in our backyard, but that was a salamander. When a sheriff's deputy started slowly cruising behind me, I realized my actions were both suspicious (hood up, black jacket, peering around trash cans and near fences) and likely fruitless, so I went home. No band was found. 

The stages of grief came quickly then. I talked myself out of the need for this particular fitness band while appreciating what UP had taught me: 

• I (and most people) sit too long and don't drink enough water when I'm at work. Setting a reminder to get up, move and drink a glass of water has helped me develop healthier habits when I'm at the office.
• I'm not interested in logging my food intake. Just not. Oh well. 
• I could stand to sleep more and better. I go to bed kind of late and wake up a couple of times a night.
• Taking 10,000 steps (an arbitrary goal I set for myself) doesn't happen on a normal workday. Going for a run, a long dog walk, out dancing or walking my work errands is necessary to crack the 10K barrier.

Just as I was prepared to let go of monitoring myself, I discovered my UP — on my dresser, right where I set it to change after yoga before dinner. Whoops. So all I really learned was the UP app's GPS tracking can be quite off.

Ironically, I didn't get any credit for the steps I took searching for the band (or going to dinner, or walking dogs). So yesterday I logged less than 10,000 steps, again. The band is back on my wrist today and it will probably remain there, at least until the next time I lose it. 

Race Report: Surfers Path 10K (on fumes)

In a masochistic move, I ran a 10K on Sunday morning, approximately 18 hours after completing this insane bike ride.

To be fair, the race had been a good idea in the beginning. I'd signed up for the inaugural Surfers Path 10K at the suggestion of a friend who I sometimes get the chance to run with. Plus having a race on the calendar always motivates me to run more, maybe even with said friend. And it worked — running group ramped up the training effort and I did get one run in with my friend together before the race — so the race was probably even a good idea in the middle.

But in the end, my legs were fried from 5,300 feet of climbing, followed immediately by a hot tub soak at the Dream Inn pool deck, then beers and burgers at West End Taphouse. Everything felt amazing; the food and drink was delicious.

But the Sunday morning 10K loomed. I foam-rolled at home and hydrated. In the morning, I briefly considered staying in but, but instead pulled on my Smartwool compression socks (a hopeful move to prevent cramping) and grabbed a cup of coffee. It was go time!

The race is put on by the same group that organizes the Surfers Path Marathon and Half Marathon in the spring. All of the courses cover popular running/cycling/walking routes along the Monterey Bay coastline from Capitola to Santa Cruz. The races on Sunday (a 5K and a 10K) started on 41st Avenue and headed out to Pleasure Point, then hooking a right onto East Cliff Drive. The 5K loops back around Moran Lake, while us 10Kers continued to Twin Lakes State Beach before turning back. Everyone runs past the start line and into Capitola Village for a nice downhill finish at the beach.

Road races can be big here (thousands run the She.Is.Beautiful race in the spring and the Wharf to Wharf sells out faster and faster every year). Maybe because the Surfers Path is new, or because it's November, the course wasn't packed and the whole event had a friendly, local vibe to it.

I had a few minutes to warm up before the 8 a.m. start. It was warming up, so I ditched my long sleeve at the sweat check (pretty posh for a local 10K). I didn't see my friend anywhere, but wasn't worried. I'd find her on the course.

Cinder and Callie (and Mike) came to cheer. 

I can't report much about my pacing. I managed to screw up my Garmin right at the start and didn't record about four-tenths of a mile. Instead of worrying about pace (and because my legs were beat), I focused on enjoying myself: great views, happy people. I chatted with a fellow racer who was struggling, spotted a few friends near the turn-around point, got a cheer from Mike and the dogs, and caught up with a running buddy who was out cruising on his bike. He and I ended up chatting through about three (painful) miles of the run before he ordered me to pass some people in the last half-mile.

At the finish, we found more friends, including Greg from South Valley Endurance, the timer who handles "my" race, the Santa Cruz Triathlon. There was cold-press coffee from Verve Coffee Roasters, great race shirts and a bag full of snacks from New Leaf Market for us.

It wasn't my best 10K time, not by a long shot. But I held essentially a 9-minute mile pace despite extreme fatigue. I'm definitely happy with the overall weekend effort and am ready to plan my next race! (Oh, and I need to find some new spandex shorts. Looking at race photos makes me realize what I for was not cool. Not cool at all.)

This is PROOF I need new racing
shorts. Seriously, what am I wearing?

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.