Tahoe Races Calling Your Name

Ah, Autumn in Tahoe. The crowds are gone - the kids long since torn from their wakeboards and BMX bikes and forced into desks, noses in their textbooks. The caboose on the long train of playa-dust-covered motor homes, strapped to the hilt with bikes and costumes and pieces of art-car scraps, has finally rolled through town on its way back to 'real life.' The first rain has soaked up the moon dust, but also kept the mountain bikers safely home sipping Sierra until the clouds clear. The sky is enormous, and the trails are empty.

And they're calling your name.

The beautiful, quiet, and nearly perfect trail running conditions alone should be enough to get you up to the mountains before the first snow flies. Additionally, I'd like to tempt you with some of my favorite local races. I've run them all, and I adore them. I'll be missing most of them this year due to schedule conflicts, but I'd love for all of you to go, have fun, run your hearts out in the mountains, and then tell me all about it. Please!


Lake of the Sky Trail Runs (9/11/10)

Taking place on the Tahoe Rim Trail between Tahoe City and Brockaway Summit, LOTS offers distances of 8 miles, 18 miles, a marathon, and 36.4 miles, plus 2-person relay categories for the marathon and 36.4-miler. You get a laid-back atmosphere with beautiful trails and great aid stations. I've always had a great time here!



Race Website
My 2009 race report



Emerald Bay Trail Run (9/19/10)


This was, without a doubt, my favorite new race of last year. Short, flat, fast and with incredible lake views. What more can I say? This 7-mile course blew me away. I'm pretty heartbroken that I'll miss it this year.




Race Website
My 2009 race report



Lake Tahoe Marathon (9/26/10)




The Tahoe Marathon puts on an entire week of events from which to choose. There is quite honestly something for everyone. From multi-day ultras, to biking around the lake, to speed golf, you will definitely find an event to suit you (or any member of your family). I've run the Triple and the Marathon, and this year I think I'll be trying my hand at the half. If you haven't yet registered, you can get a 10% discount with the coupon code 'brugmanblog'. Pretty cool, huh? As far as I'm concerned, that's the best benefit of a 2009 win. That discount is good right up until the day before race day.



Race Website
My 2009 race report




Frog Creek Benefit Run (10/2/10)

2009 was the first year of the Frog Creek Benefit Run, a 10-mile trail run that is a benefit for the OHF foundation for medical research. This race is put on by a friend of mine and Truckee local who hosts the start/finish at the family-owned Frog Creek Lodge. The race features a beautiful setting and a laid-back atmosphere, along with unbeatable single-track on the PCT near Donner Summit.


Race Website
Turi's 2009 Race Report


Autumn in the mountains is its own special bliss. Aside from the LTM Half, I'll be busy with other adventures and miss these races. But I'm loving the cool-weather trail running right now. Smooth, damp trails, and the only people I run into out there are friends, whether I knew them before or not. Given the fact that the kids are trapped in their desks, and therefore, I am as well, it's a sweet release.

Tahoe Rim Trail 100, 2010

I’ve often thought that writing and running are complimentary pursuits in my life—both essential parts of holding my world together. After writing my last blog post, and subsequently running the race I was pondering, I am more certain than ever that these two activities come together for me with a result that is more than just the sum of their parts. Using writing to explore my goals and thoughts going into this race is almost certainly what allowed me to have a wonderful and rewarding experience during a hot day on a difficult course. Feeling grounded in my goals and intentions gave me something to focus on when things got tough during the race.

In the weeks leading up to the race I had a few conversations with friends about the strength of the ultra running community, and how we enjoyed being part of it. It had me thinking a lot about what I love about trail running—what I’ve gotten out of it and what I hope to accomplish. I never felt a stronger sense of the running community than I did at this race, on this day.

Donald, me, Olga and George, ready for a big day

It started Friday night with a small gathering of runners at my house for dinner. I love it when runners come together from far and wide to hang out, and it’s especially nice when we can take some time together outside of the race to socialize. It was a perfect pre-race distraction for me.

100 mile chicks!

Saturday morning I arrived at the start a bit earlier than strictly necessary, but it turned out to be yet another great opportunity to say hi to a number of friends I knew I wouldn’t see once we started running. I was excited but not nervous, as we headed off into the dark towards Marlette Lake.

Racer and wingman, pre-race

Is it just me, or am I the only one on the starting line letting loose with a huge belly laugh? Catherine must have been saying something pretty funny!

I ran a few miles with Kathy D’Onofrio, until I realized that her pace was too fast for me and I had to let her go. After that I ran for a while with Mark Tanaka, who is clearly also too fast for me. Unfortunately, I failed to recognize this because he is such an entertaining person to run with. By the time I left Tunnel Creek at mile 11, I was well aware that I needed to slow things down or be very sorry.

As I headed down into the Red House Loop I noticed my stomach was upset, and I really started to worry. Had I made a mess of things already? I was forced to duck into the woods for an emergency bathroom stop with nothing but thimbleberry leaves for TP. I was feeling pretty bummed, and I knew that was a bad way to feel this early in the race.


At the bottom of Red House I took a mental break to assess my situation. The last thing I wanted was to feel depressed about things already, so I made up my mind not to. I made a plan to slow down, eat some food, and get some salt caps from my drop bag at Tunnel Creek. I gave myself a pep-talk and decided that I needed to enjoy myself, no matter what the day might bring. All of this helped me feel much better.

On the way out of Red House, there is a short stretch where you share the trail with runners headed out. It was on this section of steep climbing that I saw nearly everyone I knew in the 50M and 50K races on their way down, and was even greeted by a few anonymous blog readers. Seeing all those smiling faces, getting all those hugs and hellos, was absolutely the highlight of my day. It was exactly the mental boost that I needed, and if you were one of those people you need to know how important you were to my day. Thank you!

At Tunnel Creek my weight was down three pounds already, from 133 to 130. I simply incorporated the information into my plan to take care of myself. All the way to Diamond Peak I concentrated on salt and hydration.

Turning down the new section of the course that headed towards the mile-30 aid station at Diamond Peak Lodge, I checked my watch and realized I might arrive as much as an hour earlier than planned. Would Donald, my one-man crew/pacer team even be there yet? It’s not that I couldn’t have survived without him, but there’s something very comforting about knowing someone is there waiting for you. I was looking forward to the support of someone just asking me what I needed and cheering me on. When I rounded the corner into the parking lot to see my Subaru parked there, I smiled with relief. Donald was somewhere on the other side of the lodge waiting for me. Yes!

Rounding the corner into the Diamond Peak Aid Station

Part of the new course includes a departure from Diamond Peak that leads the runner straight up the ski slope to the ridge. I referred to this section affectionately as the “Hill from Hell” or the “Cliffs of Insanity!” It was simply brutal. No fun at mile 30, I knew it would be unbearable at mile 80.

Looking back down the steep, sandy climb as runners trudge up

The twenty miles back to the Start/Finish transition went reasonably well. I spent the whole time focused on hydration and nutrition, and every time I got on the scale and it said 134 I gave myself a big high-five. I fought the heat with a bandanna full of ice on my back, and a cup of ice in my sports bra at every aid station. The volunteers, particularly the men, were amused every time I dumped ice down my top, (especially when I squealed) but no one made fun of me. They all knew I was being smart.

Following the ribbons on the TRT

Back over Marlette Peak

Approaching the Snow Valley Peak Aid Station at mile 43

Friends greeted me at the 50 mile station at the Start/Finish and helped me with my food and water as Donald got ready to join me. Seeing all those people, I again felt overwhelmed by the awesome community around me. I tend to get a little giddy at the aid stations because it’s just so cool to have all those people cheering. I was told by many people after the race how good I looked at various aid stations. It’s ironic since I was struggling physically most of the day, but I’m sure it’s because I was enjoying myself in spite of feeling crummy. I’m really not such a goofball during the miles in between aid stations. I’m pretty sure.

Meghan and I do a little jig together as I come into mile 50.

Weighing-in alongside Kathy. 134! High-five!

As Donald and I headed off on lap #2, I couldn’t help but compare how I felt now to how I felt at this same point during my race in 2008. It was obvious to me that I felt decidedly worse this time around. I’d run about 30 minutes faster for 50 miles on a harder course on a hotter day, so it wasn’t too surprising. Still, my training had been much better this time around, so I held on to the faith that it would get me through.

Heading towards Marlette Lake for the second time that day.

Having Donald as my pacer was a circumstance that turned out to be nothing short of perfect. It might seem odd, since on the surface it would appear that we didn’t know each other well. As I said to him in the weeks before the race, we’d only spent about 30 minutes ever in each other’s presence, and for at least half of that (during his Western States run last year) he was in danger of puking all over me. Possibly not an auspicious beginning to a friendship, but ultra running is funny that way. He’s written enough blog posts that made me think, Whoa, this guy is looking inside my brain and putting words to my own thoughts, that I knew it was going to work out just fine. When he volunteered for the job, I jumped at the chance.

My friend Betsy once gave me advice on finding a good pacer, and she recommended having someone you respect and trust, someone you’ll listen to, but not someone you know well enough that you’ll argue with him or get irritated. With that description, I knew I had the perfect pacer in Donald.

I was excited to play tour guide on my favorite trails, and I busied myself by explaining the course to Donald, and pointing out flowers and views and things he really didn’t need me to point out.

When we landed at Tunnel Creek for my fourth time, I decided it was time to have some blister issues taken care of. They’d been bugging me all day, and frankly I needed a good excuse to sit down.

Jenny, Andy and JoAnn tackle my disgusting feet.

The amazing Tunnel Creek crew took great care of me, as usual. Andy and JoAnn expertly dealt with my blisters, then Jenny and Donald cleaned my feet and put my shoes and socks back on. I was reminded of watching Nikki Kimball’s crew at Western States last year and thinking what a rock star she was to have an amazing crew like that. Here I was now with my own rock star crew! I was only disappointed that no one took a picture of Jenny and Donald cleaning the dirt from between my toes. I thought it was great! I was enjoying myself so much in fact, (acting like a goofball again) that one of the volunteers asked me if I was on drugs.

“You know,” I responded, “I think I might be!” Running is kind of a drug, right?

Have you ever seen people with two such goofy grins heading into the Red House Loop? Complete dorks--both of us!

As the evening wore on, my physical state slowly deteriorated. Somehow though, almost magically, I felt great mentally. We shared stories, Donald kept me laughing with corny jokes, and on the Cliffs of Insanity! we stopped several times to turn off our lights and check out the stars. (It had nothing to do with needing a rest, I assure you!) It was good stuff, for sure.

Back at Tunnel Creek one last time. I can't fathom why I'm still smiling.

The hardest part of the night came somewhere after 4:00 AM. I kept thinking I was feeling dizzy or something when it finally occurred to me what was going on: I was incredibly sleepy! I became so sleepy in fact, that I began nodding off while running, and swerving all over the trail. I kept shaking my head, trying to wake myself back up, but I had to do it every three or four seconds. This went on for hours. All I wanted was to sleep, just to sit down for a few minutes and nod off. I knew of course, that it probably wouldn’t help, and so did Donald, but he indulged me once or twice and let me sit down. If it weren’t for him though, I probably would have curled up at the side of the trail and slept for hours. I’m no good at sleep deprivation.

Sunrise

Taking a 60 second nap in the middle of the trail

I’d heard plenty of stories from other runners of having hallucinations on trail. Since I hadn’t experienced anything like that during my other 100 in 2008, I figured I just wasn’t a hallucinator. Boy was I wrong! I’d been seeing things that weren’t really there a little bit all day, but in these wee hours of a sleep-deprived morning, it all became completely unreal. I entertained myself by watching houses and buildings and cars and people that I knew weren’t really there turn themselves back into trees and rocks. It’s really fascinating the scenes the human brain can concoct in such a depleted state.

Since I was well aware that none of it was real, I didn’t say much to Donald. When I did point out a little black dog that turned into a tree stump, I think his response was something like, “Boy, you’re really going through it, aren’t you?” I wasn’t sure if he was laughing at me or freaked out. I refrained from pointing anything unusual out to him after that.

In those last ten miles, my brain and emotions were all over the place. I kept reminding myself of the goals I’d written up before the race, and that’s what kept me from falling apart mentally. The few moments when the pain and the sleepiness were so hard that I was overwhelmed and I thought “I just want to be done with this,” I immediately put the brakes on that thought. I remembered to acknowledge what I was feeling and accept it as part of the experience. I remembered not to fight it. I’d been looking forward to this race for so long, I didn’t want to wish any of it away, not even the worst, most painful parts. I breathed deeply, took pride in how far I had come, enjoyed the presence of a friend, and kept moving down the hill with painful, little steps.

I already knew, as I made my way around Spooner Lake in the last mile, that I was happy with my race and proud of myself. I’d made a few mistakes early on, but I’d been smart and kept it together for most of the day and night; I’d stayed positive throughout the race. I think that, most of all, is what I really feel good about.

Physically, I felt much worse than I think I should have, and it was a very hard race for me starting early in the day. After my pep talk at the bottom of Red House though, I never felt down or disappointed with how things were going. I just remembered my goal of accepting my best effort without judgment. I knew I was giving my best effort, and that allowed me the freedom to enjoy myself, the freedom to let go of everything else outside of the run itself.

Andrew surprised me by being at the finish line, and the race officials surprised me by telling me I was the third woman.

“Third?” I sputtered in confusion. “But what happened to all those women in front of me?”

A woman standing nearby raised her eyebrows and hands and said quietly, “They all dropped like flies.”

I guess that’s the way it goes sometimes on a hard course on a hot day. The finish rate for the 100 was 56%. Ouch.

This race was so challenging for me, I’m not sure I’ll be back to the 100 mile distance. I said the same thing in 2008 though, so I’m certainly not saying I won’t be back. A runner passed me in the last few miles, being paced by Rob Evans. Rob told us as he ran by that he loved being a pacer this year. (He ran the 100 last year.) I told him I was seriously keeping that option in mind for next year, and I am!

I can’t express enough gratitude to all the people involved in this race. Everyone from the directors and the volunteers, the other runners, my pacer/crew, to the friends and family cheering on the sidelines. A special community indeed—this race is where I have felt it the most. Thank you!

Silver State 50M 2010

The summit of Peavine Mountain sits at 8,500 feet. Not high, really, by Tahoe standards, but it looms over the city of Reno like a sentry, guarding the edge of the Sierra Nevada from the reaches of the high desert. It draws a horizon line that dominates my twice-daily drive between Reno and Truckee, and thus often dominates my thoughts as well. Its treeless countenance takes on two shades: In the winter, it’s white—completely white. In the summer? Brown. And relentlessly hot.

But this is Peavine from afar, from the safe confines of the climate-controlled vehicle, speeding along at 70 miles-an-hour toward some other destination.

A deeper experience with the mountain illuminates an expanse of personalities. And few activities offer a more intimate experience with place than does running. This year’s Silver State 50/50 blessed us with the most winsome of Peavine’s temperaments.

On race morning, friends and I arrived at the start with just enough time to dash from the car to the bathroom to the starting line. No time for socializing—we were off! Across the wet grass of Rancho San Rafael Park, and towards the mountain, a hundred or so intrepid runners began the 50 mile journey.

The course doesn’t mess around, and we launched into the 12-mile climb to the summit almost immediately. After a wet and chilly spring, with snow falling just four days previously, the forecasted high for the day was in the upper seventies. It sounded hot to me, but I knew it was better than snow, wind and rain any day, so I was pleased.

I spent the first several miles climbing the singletrack with my friend John, whom I hadn’t seen in months. We shared training stories from the year and upcoming race plans and goals. The miles seemed to go by fast as I locked into my steady hill-climbing pace, alternating running with walking as dictated by the terrain. The early morning light cast a slightly golden glow, and the cool air felt hopeful.

I passed through the summit aid station at mile 12.5, and it was only after I had stopped climbing that I noticed how tight I felt. My hips and hamstrings felt sore, my legs heavy, and even my shoulders felt achy and tight. The climb had given me something to focus on, and distracted me from the fact that I was feeling decidedly less that spry.

Approaching the Summit aid station at the top of Peavine.

On the Western edge of the mountain, the trail heads off onto what’s known as the Long Valley Loop. This long loop is on a beautiful, lightly forested section of trail. With its pines and granite outcroppings, it feels distinctly more like the Sierra Nevada than does Peavine. You’ve made the transition out of the desert. I enjoyed this loop, but I was running alone and I had a hard time keeping any kind of a decent pace. The heavy training miles and total absence of any sort of taper were making themselves known. This is when I had the revelation: “Not easy is good.” The race was supposed to be training, after all, and I needed training done on tired legs.

I arrived at a Hawaiian-themed aid station just as they were taking breakfast burritos off the grill, and they looked so amazing that I had to try one. It was one of my training experiments this season to try a variety of foods at aid stations. I like to eat some real food throughout a race, and ideally I’d like my stomach to be able to handle whatever happens to be available. So far, this has been a pretty fun aspect of training. (I love eating!) That was one delicious burrito!

The Hawaiian aid station. What a spread! Will you look at that fruit platter. And, she's got hot breakfast burritos in her hand right there. Yum!

I climbed alone through the sparse forest until I arrived at a small aid station with only 3 volunteers. They were cheering so wildly though, I felt like a rock star. I recognized one of them as Tom Wion, whom I’d met last year during TRT while he was on his way to his first 100-mile finish. I think they thought I was pretty funny because I was more interested in talking to Tom about his experience at TRT than I was in getting on with my own race. Well, I wasn’t feeling that great anyway, so why should I care about a few extra minutes at the aid station, right? I’m such a procrastinator. Eventually I got around to hitting the trail again.

Tom Wion shows off his well-earned belt buckle from TRT 100. Great job, Tom!

I was nearing the end of the Long Valley Loop when I hit my mental low. I was closing in on 30 miles, and I had spent the last 15 or so just feeling like lead. It felt like a stark contrast to Leona Divide, where I had felt relaxed and happy all day. I reminded myself that was because my injury had forced a lot of time off just before Leona. No such luxury in this race, and I would just have to push on through.

At Ranch Creek (mile 28) Michelline (another of the fabulous volunteers who also works the Tunnel Creek AS at TRT) was there to cheer me on. As usual, she gave me just the mental boost I needed. I told Michelline that I’d see her at Tunnel Creek, and started cruising the mellow downhill ahead.

I was back on the flanks of Peavine, and picking up the pace actually had me feeling better. I followed a dirt road that traversed the slope before turning sharply downhill for the 3-mile descent to River Bend. This is a fun, singletrack downhill, in spite of the knowledge that upon reaching the bottom, you will have to climb right back up it and then some.

On my way down I had a chance to see what was going on in the women’s race. Here’s what was going on: I was getting my ass handed to me by a talented field of ladies! It wasn’t really discouraging though because I knew I was running the right pace for myself, and trying to keep up with any of them early in the race would have certainly been a mistake.

Oddly, the return trip up from River Bend was one of the best parts of the day for me. I had this conversation with John after the race, and he and I were of the same mind so I know I’m not completely crazy. I just find something enjoyable in this climb. It was something tangible to set my mind on all day because I knew it was the hardest part of the course. It was also here that I realized the temperatures weren’t nearly as warm as predicted. I’d be surprised if it ever got above 68 degrees. Perfect running weather.

Part of the long climb up Peavine.

I focused on a solid hike, peppered with bits of running. As with most of the day, I was alone, and I was perfectly happy with it. Something about that climb made all my senses come alive. This is the slope of the mountain that I can see from my daily drive. I saw this hillside that I think of as so brown and dry, and here it was—green and alive. The rains had made everything unusually lush, and tiny flowers seemed to pop out everywhere. The sound of my breathing and my feet scuffing the dirt mixed with the birdsong, and I felt almost relaxed. The wind picked up and blew in clouds which formed occasional shadows across the open landscape.

Two years ago at this race, this climb had been the bane of the event. The temperatures soared to 98 degrees, and many runners ran out of water before reaching the aid station—a six-mile climb away. (To the great credit of the volunteers that year, they quickly set up an “emergency” water station a few miles early once they realized the problem.) This year’s conditions held the two experiences in stark contrast, and I was perfectly happy to have this mellower challenge for my day. There was also a new aid station halfway up—Sandy Hill—to ensure runners made it safely to the summit. This newer version of Silver State was much more to my liking.

Sandy Hill aid station, aptly re-named. It wasn't hellish at all this year though!

When I reached Peavine Summit for the last time, the woman checking in runners told me enthusiastically how much I had moved up in the race. She seemed pretty excited about it and I thought it was pretty sweet that she even paid attention. I noticed the other volunteers were layering up with jackets as the cloud cover thickened and the wind picked up. “Perfect weather for running!” I grinned at one of them. She merely smiled in agreement as she rubbed her arms and gave a little shiver.

The remaining 8 miles of downhill went pretty well. The beginning has some loose slippery stretches, but after I got past that, I found myself on beautiful singletrack. It was fairly fast running, and although I was quite ready to be done, I tried to hold a good pace. I could see that I wasn’t going to come anywhere close to my Leona Divide time of 8:45, but it was clear that I was in for a big PR for the course.

In the end, I crossed the line in 9:20, exactly ninety minutes faster than my time from 2008. My name never made it into the official results, despite some help on the matter from some kind race officials. I’m not complaining though; that’s just the paperwork. Plus, finishing 6th woman, nearly 2 hours behind badass Joelle Vaught, is only going to ruin my runner rank on Ultrasignup. We can’t have that!

Back towards Reno, and the finish line.

The finish line was rife with friends, and we sat around eating fresh burgers and exchanging notes on the day. I didn’t really have great things to say about my performance at the time, except for the sizable PR. I simply hadn’t felt that great for the most part. In retrospect though, it makes sense given my training at the time. I’m actually happier with it from a training standpoint, since it’s all done in the name of TRT 100 in July.

The overall quality of the field at this race was impressive this year. Both races (50M and 50K) had some very talented men and women, and that somehow felt like it brought up the quality of the entire event. I’m going to go ahead and give Sean Meissner’s car the award for fastest carpool. I believe they took 2 first places, a second place and a fourth. By comparison, my carpool only took a third, a fourth and a sixth. (I’m sort of the weak link in my carpool, apparently.) We’ll get you next year, Sean!

I should also mention that in my three years at this event, this year definitely seemed the most professional and well-done by the directors and volunteers. It’s always been a good event in my experience, but this year things were kicked up a notch. The course was extremely well-marked (which had been a minor issue on occasion in the past) and the aid stations were amazing. Everyone was all aflutter over the presence of GU Roctane. I was personally a fan of the breakfast burritos and the quesadillas that George Ruiz packed with avocados. Yum!

This is a challenging course with good competition and excellent support. If that sounds like your kind of race, then you couldn’t do much better than Silver State.

Thanks to the volunteers and everyone who put this race together. It was great seeing you guys out there and feeling the love!

How to Train Your Draggin'

“Quite a bit more, really, than the simple exhaustion of a single difficult workout, breaking down was a cumulative physical morbidity that usually built up over several weeks and left the runner struggling to recover from one session to the next.
The object, according to Denton, was to ‘run through’ the thing, just as he maintained one should attempt to ‘run through’ most of those other little hubcaps life rolls into your lane; everything from death in the family to cancer of the colon.”

-John L. Parker Jr., Once a Runner


A number of things have occurred to me recently. One, is that I am tired. Quite tired. While my weekend long runs have remained refreshingly fun for the most part, the only word I can come up with to describe my mid-week training is “lackluster.” The physical exhaustion breeds the emotional, and my motivation wanes. I know this is no time to slack, but it’s not easy.

I am draggin’.

Another thing that occurs to me: “not easy” is good. This brilliant epiphany came my way during the struggling middle miles of the Silver State 50, which fell just a week into this current episode of fatigue. (And yes, I realize that I am remiss in getting out a timely race report, but I’m getting to it. I promise. It’s just that … I’m tired. Remember?)

Struggling in training is not necessarily a bad thing. I was immediately reminded of what Quenton Cassidy knew as “breaking down.” (I do, of course, recognize the irony of being an ultrarunner who compares herself to a fictional miler. I can’t help it. This is just what I know.) In many ways, making it through this period of exhaustion is about conquering my mental and physical weaknesses. I don’t mean to sound all full of bravado in saying that, but I have a healthy amount of fear about running 100 miles. It’s not going to be easy, and in order to train for it, I need to experience plenty of “not easy.” I need to run through this period of breaking down.

During Silver State, I battled a bit of both mental and physical fatigue through the middle of the race, and it felt weird. I realized that most of my races over the past year (Helen Klein being the notable exception) have been relatively easy. They follow a similar pattern: Start conservatively, stay relaxed, pick up the pace a bit, pass a lot of people in the second half of the race and maybe push things towards the end. To be honest, I love this pattern. I feel good, and I’m generally pretty satisfied with my races that go this way. But if I’m using my races to train for a 100 miler, it would make sense that I should mimic the race conditions as much as possible. The pattern I just described has me feeling good for most, if not all, of the race. That doesn’t exactly mimic the race conditions of a 100 miler. At least, not in my limited experience.

So, I’m okay with being tired. I’ve never been one to overtrain, and I can promise you that’s not what’s going on here. I’m still sticking with my 5-day-a-week training plan, even if my weekly mileage is high. (I like my days off!)

Training while tired, getting out the door when I don’t really feel like it, doing my best to maintain some amount of quality in those tempo runs, knowing what it feels like to race with heavy legs—these are the things that will help me (hopefully!) somewhere in those dark reaches beyond mile 70.

Memorial Day Weekend is coming up, and you know what that means. Big sale at the Patagonia Outlet! (Also, Western States Training Camp. I'll be there, running through. I hope to see many of you out doing the same.)

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.