The Pace of Nature: Pre-race Thoughts on the Tahoe Rim Trail 100

Adopt the pace of nature: her secret is patience. - Ralph Waldo Emerson


Walking into the yoga studio at the Tahoe Yoga and Wellness Center is like walking into a room full of calm. The empty room feels slightly warm with leftover energy from the previous class. Bare feet connect softly with the smoothness of the bamboo floor, and yoga mats are quietly rolled out toward the center of the room. This is my favorite part of cross training, and an essential part of my taper. My yin yoga practice is the savasana (final meditation pose) to my season of training.

In Monday’s class I was struck by a number of comments from the instructor. These are the same remarks, more or less, that he makes in every class, but this time they seemed to me to hold a sharp relevance to the act of running a hundred miles.

In yin practice, the postures are very passive and held for several minutes at a time. Thus, it takes special effort to contain the mind, to keep it from wandering, to stay present. My teacher spoke of the freedom of presence. It struck me as odd at first that something so challenging—staying present—could hold freedom, until I realized that staying present simply means letting go of everything else—all the other cares, worries and responsibilities that are outside the current moment. That freedom was something I also found in the last, painful miles of my previous 100 mile run at TRT. It was a fearful way to discover how to appreciate the moment, which I’m certain is what made it so rewarding.

He also spoke of having acceptance, no judgment, and of simply acknowledging what is there and allowing it to be. These may not sound like important ideas for running, but I think they are critical to dealing with things like pain and fear—things I’m certain to encounter when running a hundred miles.

Last month, when I came crashing down on my ankle and everything else subsequently crashed down around me, I spent the long limp home doing some serious thinking. I thought about what was really important in my life, and asked myself what were the things I wanted most desperately. It turned out, running a bad-ass 100-miler wasn’t even on the list. It was a good dose of healthy perspective.

Sometimes though, it feels like the only thought on my brain for the past six months has been what will happen this Saturday. I realize this is in large part because it is much easier for me to focus my thoughts and actions on an attainable goal rather than on the more difficult questions of life.

So, as Saturday approaches, I am still asking myself what I want out of this experience. Why am I going to this race? Is it for a challenge? A sense of accomplishment? Always, I hold this sense within me of needing, wanting, pushing for something more. Something. Sometimes I think I know what that something is, and other times that’s the whole point—to figure it out. At least running is one something that I know how to do.

I’d like to take some lessons from the past year and focus a little less on the concrete goals contained in numbers—numbers that tell time, splits, pace, place. Numbers that tell good or bad. I’d like to focus a little more on the abstract this time around. I’d like to be present, without judgment or expectations. I’d like to accept my best effort for whatever it is. I’d like to experience the freedom of letting go of everything but the run itself. I’d like to channel the calmness of the yoga studio, to bring that meditative state to the trail and balance out the excessive motion of running—the perfect harmony of yin and yang.

In a positive state of mind: TRT 50M 2009

To be in Point Reyes

I can’t recall if I’ve always been one of those people who enjoys doing things by herself. There may have been a time when showing up alone, with no friends for security, was a bit daunting, but if that was ever true, it’s a time that has long passed. So when a number of opportunities coalesced—a beautiful location, some favorite music, and a chance for a long trail run in new territory—I knew it was time for a little solo road trip to the coast.

Actually, if I’m being honest, this trip was anything but a solo venture. First off, I took the dogs with me. That may not sound like much, but there’s something very reassuring about having two adoring and sometimes even obedient companions with you. Secondly, there were friends with whom to meet up at every turn. But, the fact remains, I was under no obligations to anyone but myself. That’s the beauty of going it alone. The path was mine to choose.

So, Mother’s Day weekend, I packed a bag full of running gear, a cooler full of picnic fixings, and two crazy dogs into the car and drove out to Pt. Reyes. There, I would stay with my good friend Heidi (who was unfortunately working all weekend), go for a long run, and meet up with some friends for music and food.

Saturday morning I woke up early and hit the trails. My chosen route had me running 32 miles along the Bolinas Ridge trail from Sir Francis Drake Blvd., almost all the way to Bolinas Fairfax Rd., where I cut west along a series of trails to hook up with the Coastal Trail, and return to my start at the Bear Valley Visitor’s Center.



Along Bolinas Ridge, the fog gave way to an expanse of rolling green hillsides. Although devoid of people, I did share the trail with a number of other companions.



I think of cows as such peaceful creatures, happily munching away on grass here in this heavenly setting. But when you get right up close to them, they're rather ... well, large. Apparently mountain girl doesn't translate well to cowgirl because it made me distinctly nervous that I had to shoo them from the trail. They only put up a few moos of protest before moving along though.



Soon the open ridge gave way to forested trail with an iris-coated floor.



Connecting Bolinas Ridge to the Coastal Trail was a beautiful stretch of little-used corridors. Unfortunately, much of the overgrowth was poison oak and stinging nettle, but that just added to the adventure.



Eventually I found my way out to the coast, and breathlessly beautiful singletrack. I couldn't figure out where all the people were on this sunshine-y day in May, but it felt as though I had it all to myself. And people say California is crowded!

I don’t know when it happened, but sometime during this training season I became one of those people for whom anything less than 30 miles isn’t long enough to actually constitute a long run. It’s unfathomable, really. I always thought 24 was my limit for a solo venture of this sort. And in the past, it was; but no longer. This particular 32 was so beautiful, filled with both peace and sublime adventure. It was almost over too fast.



I made it back to Heidi’s early in the day, and spent the afternoon playing with the dogs and appreciating the utter absence of my To-Do List.

Then, I promise I iced my ankle. I was being good, right? But then I was bad. Remember that little girl? The one with the curl? Just think how horrid she would have been if she’d had not one little curl, but a whole mop full. Because that was me. Instead of doing something responsible after my long run like taking an ice bath, I got in the hot tub on Heidi’s back deck and had a glass of wine. I watched the chickens cluck in the garden, and the cows grazing on the hillside, and I felt quite guiltless about sipping my drink and slinking down into the steaming water.

To top the day off, I joined some friends, who’d made even longer journeys than I, to see some of our favorite musicians perform at the Pt. Reyes Community Center. My friend Chris once told me that the best recovery from an ultra was to dance late into the night, shaking the kinks out and preventing the soreness. I found out he was exactly right.




Sunday, Mother’s Day, held a peaceful recovery run/walk with just me and the dogs on Limintour Beach. I haven’t seen Gus, the 9-year-old husky mix, act like such a puppy in years. The dogs’ sheer joy at chasing each other through the powdery-soft sand kept me smiling all morning.



A community picnic and kickball game is an excellent way to spend an afternoon at the coast. These friends have some kicks, and I got mine just being a part of it. Talk about good fun! When was the last time you walked up to home plate with your kickball shoes on?

And of course, the afternoon and evening met over another parade of songs. Live music soothes the soul. It reaches out with a caress and makes you feel like everything is as it should be. Like it’s going to be okay.

I got to chat with one of my favorite Bay Area musicians, Nicki Bluhm. It’s a bit thrilling to meet someone whom you’ve always seen as a rock star, and then somehow reassuring when she turns out to be kind, friendly and quite down to Earth.


A short nap on the lawn was in order before a final installment of music.



I made my departure early to tackle the long drive home before the drowsiness crept in. Cap and Gus curled up in the back, proving themselves once again to be perfect traveling companions.

Some days I find myself exhausted just trying to calm my restless heart. Running is many things to me, and among the most valued lately, it is something to gather and quiet the fragments of my mind. Weekends such as these—with their varying layers of movement and sound, peace and beauty, independence and community—do much to gladden the heart.

Channeling my Inner Gear Girl

For all of the reasons that I love running, there is one that stands out most prominently. Sure, running is good for me, it keeps me balanced and sane, it keeps me from getting fat, it connects me with other like-minded individuals, and it provides a forum for the goal-oriented part of my psyche to do its thing. But here it is: Mostly, running just feels right. It feels good, like something I was meant to do. 

I love the simplicity of the motion, and in fact, I love the simplicity of the entire sport. I don’t need spare tubes and tire irons, or a rack of cams and a rope, or skis, poles, bulky boots, and about 10 lbs of winter clothing. It’s just me and a pair of shoes, and I love that about running. Okay, shorts and a sports bra are kind of essential too, and I know some of you will argue against the shoes, but you get what I’m saying - Simplicity. 

So, when the awesome folks at The Wilderness Running Company asked me if I would like to do some product reviews for them, I was flattered, but a little unsure. I mean, I’m sort of anti-gear when it comes to running. 

Way back when I was 22, I spent five months backpacking on the Pacific Crest Trail. The biggest of many lessons I learned on trail: Less is more. And when you spend 2600 miles learning something, it’s not easily forgotten.

As an ultra runner, however, the truth is that some gear is important. The first thing that comes to mind is hydration. If you’re going to run solo for 20-30 miles (or more), you need an efficient way to carry food and water. You need to be comfortable for that kind of distance, so the right shorts/tights/shirt/sports bra/jacket become important. And, of course, those things we use to protect our precious feet: shoes. All are important. 

Knowing this, I was game to review some products for Wilderness Running. Then I looked at their website. Here are the first two sentences from the front page of their gear store:

“The simplicity of wilderness running is among its greatest charms. To scamper through the wilds unencumbered by a heavy pack is to tap into something uniquely pure and primal.”

Um, did they say simplicity? Did they say primal? 

And this, from the section of their website called The Trail Running Life, “Wilderness running is about feeling really alive. Awake.”

Okay, clearly these are people with whom I can see eye-to-eye. In fact, I’m pretty sure they have been reading my personal journals or something. I can definitely work with people who think like this.

I even saw fit to write up a report of my favorite Tahoe escape, The Flume Trail, for the Destination Trails section of their website. There are some pretty awesome trail reports there, so I feel honored to be included among such company.

The other true confession is this: In my past, I have frequently worked in gear stores. I worked at a high-end gear store in Minneapolis for two years, and upon moving to Tahoe, I spent a few years waxing skis and slinging gear right here in Truckee. In other words: I know how to speak the language. 

So the upshot is this: In the next couple of months, you’ll be seeing more gear reviews here at Daily Adventures. I’ll be tapping into my inner Gear Girl, and she’ll be bringing you all the latest and greatest. (And I swear that Gear Girl will not refer to herself in the third-person, because that is, like, SO annoying. Um, yeah, I promise.)

Big thanks to Wilderness Running for giving me this opportunity, and to you, reader, for reading my reviews. It’s been kind of challenging embarking on this new genre of writing, but it is through challenges that we learn. And I love learning! (So look forward to learning a lot more about gear here at DA!)