Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

A Day on Mt. Diablo

Back in February, I picked out the Mt. Diablo Marathon as a training run en route to my attempt at the TRT100. I figured it would be about the right distance for my training at this point, and I knew it was a challenging course. I needed work on my downhill running, and Diablo clearly offered the opportunity. My goals going into the race were to get in a solid day of training, and give myself that motivational boost I always get from immersing myself in a crowd of other runners. Although there were some adventures along the way, I can happily report that I survived a solid training run!


I spent Friday night at a friend’s house about 20 minutes from the starting line. Although I wasn’t particularly nervous about the race, I had put in a full week of mileage already, and I knew the predicted 90 degree temps for the day could make things, well...unpredictable. I spent most of the night checking the time on my watch instead of sleeping. Finally at 5:30 I arose, donned shorts and a tank top for the first time in probably 7 months, and slathered myself with sunscreen. I ate my bagel and banana in the car, and headed off to the nearest Starbucks for a much needed venti coffee. Say what you want about Starbucks, but at least they’re open at 6:00 am, and their coffee is strong.

My caffeine needs getting satiated, I sat at a stoplight at a deserted intersection, confident that I should arrive at the start about a half hour before the race began. I was looking forward to the day, and as I gingerly sipped my coffee in an attempt to avoid burning my tongue, the light turned yellow.

Wait. Yellow? Huh??

Since lights don’t generally turn from yellow to green, I stepped on the gas to get through the intersection quickly. Had I really been sitting stopped at a green light? I shook my head and took another swig of coffee. I reasoned that the caffeine had not hit my bloodstream yet. Unfortunately, the oversight turned out to be more of an omen for the rest of my day.

I arrived at the start with just enough time to check in, gear-up and hit the bathroom before heading to the starting line. There was a good sized crowd gathered, and I didn’t have much time for socializing since Wendell was already giving pre-race instructions. I positioned myself somewhere in the middle, knowing that I didn’t want to go out too fast, but also recognizing that many of the runners were going 50 miles and would undoubtedly be starting at an even slower pace than myself. When Wendell asked if this was anyone’s first marathon or 50 miler, several folks actually raised their hands. I was blown away that anyone would choose this as a first attempt at either distance. I sincerely hoped all of those first timers would have a good day.

As we set off into the shadow of the mountain, the trail immediately began to climb. The first thing I noticed was the plentiful amount of oxygen available at this altitude. I had no trouble with a slow steady jog up the hill, and soon found myself on single track in a long train of runners.

The trail wound up to the spine of a ridge that I immediately dubbed the devil's backbone. We were thrust into the bright morning sunshine which still only whispered of the day's impending heat. A line of runners was strung out before me on the ridge like popcorn on a Christmas tree. The lush green of spring covered the hillside, and it was painted here and there with a colorful palette of wildflowers. As I cruised along the backbone, I attempted to absorb the stunning vistas and watch my footing at the same time: a serious but worthwhile challenge! As we moved through some short, loose bits of downhill, I suddenly found my feet in the air and my butt smacking down hard on the dirt. I discovered the advantage to handheld water bottles is that they protect your palms in a fall, but the disadvantage is that using them to brace my fall caused me to squirt GU2O all over my legs. Ick! I quickly assessed the damage at zero, brushed myself off and kept going.

The fact that we were well into the race at this point and still climbing didn’t worry me too much. I knew the course climbed all the way to the summit, headed down the other side, and then promptly returned to the summit before heading back down towards the start/finish area. In short: we would either be ascending or descending all day. At times, flowering shrubs croweded the narrow trail, and the air was thick with their intoxicating perfume. In spite of the hot day, this was clearly the best time of year to be on Diablo.







I soon found myself at the 3800 foot summit of Mt. Diablo, which required climbing all the way to the top of the observation deck. I paused for a moment to take in the view and re-pay some oxygen debt. Although still early, the day was a bit hazy, and I had trouble identifying any significant landmarks. I knew that deep blue sea was out there somewhere, but the coastline was hidden safely under a curtain of fog. With a satisfied smile I skipped down the steps two at a time beginning the long descent to the marathon turnaround point.

Dodging the oncoming traffic, I took a left turn clearly marked with a stripped ribbon. At this point the 50 mile course and the marathon course were still following the same trail. Based on my one previous experience at a PCTR event, I had decided to give the course map a good study the night before. This is not because the courses are poorly marked; in fact they are quite thoroughly and clearly marked. I am just aware that when there are multiple distances being run at the same time, and the course is routed through various intersections or aid stations more than once, I get easily confused. When I ran the Muir Beach trail run, I managed to stay on course mostly by questioning the volunteers at every aid station about where to go next. Fortunately for me, they all knew the course well. I remembered though that following my own color of ribbon, among the myriad of other colored ribbons, had required paying close attention, something which is challenging for me when I get tired.

Unfortunately, in spite of doing my route-studying homework, I still wasn’t sure exactly where I was on the course. The map in my mind had turned into a confusing jumble of pink and yellow arrows smeared across a zebra of contour lines. That zebra was currently galloping away through the grass towards the ocean.

And so it seems inevitable that I arrived at the Juniper Oak aid station to hear a volunteer say, “Uh oh, we have a marathon runner.”

“What?” I asked, already knowing exactly what that comment must mean.

After volunteers informed me I had made a wrong turn, I immediately commenced with a small bout of swearing. My sincere apologies to the aid station workers and any runners who may have been offended by my initial reaction! My mind was imaging that I would now have to finish a 40+ mile day or drop out, and I was bummed. Fortunately Sarah, one of the RD’s, was there and told me I had just missed a turn about a mile back where the marathon and 50 mile courses split. This meant that I had only added two miles to my marathon, which was actually a considerable relief. I refilled my bottles with water, and said to the volunteer helping me, “Well, I came here for a training run, so now I’m just getting some bonus miles!”

I headed back the way I had come in acceptance of my fate, and happily noted that it was easy downhill going this direction. I recalled that I had seen a runner with a number heading down when I had still been running towards the aid station, and realized that I probably wasn’t the only one to make a wrong turn. I wondered then, why that returning marathoner hadn’t warned me of my mistake, instead of letting me run all the way to the aid station to find out. The devil take the hindmost, eh? I vowed to check the race number of the runners coming towards me incase any of them were mistaken marathoners that I could help out. As I neared the intersection where the courses split, I saw a couple of men with marathon numbers coming towards me running with some 50 mile runners. “The marathon course goes this way,” I called, pointing in the direction of the other turn. They agreed with me, but continued the way they were headed. I shrugged, thinking maybe they had upgraded at the start to the 50 mile race. Anyway, I had done my duty.

Now happily back on track, I headed down the trail towards the marathon turn around. There were a few stretches of steep downhill, and I found myself taking them at almost a walk, cautiously stepping through loose gravel, trying to avoid landing on my butt again. Eventually I saw another runner coming towards me. Was this the marathon leader headed back? To be honest, this guy did not look like an elite runner, and I had definitely seen one or two fast runners on the list of entrants. I was wondering if anyone had dropped out, when the truth dawned on me with a slow sinking feeling. Those men who had ignored my directions earlier were the marathon leaders!

I felt like a complete idiot. They had ignored my directions because of course they had already run this part of the course. Although I was immensely relieved they had ignored me, I still felt like I had nearly caused a serious disaster and I felt terrible. From now on, I promised myself, I would never give directions unless I had complete and intimate knowledge of the course. I was beginning to understand why the other marathoner who had gone the wrong way hadn’t said anything to me.

As I neared the aid station, I began to see more runners coming towards me. I was still feeling like a jerk for giving misinformation to the lead runners, but just kept reminding myself that they had been too smart to listen to me, so no harm done. I saw the women who had been right in front of me and right behind me earlier, and realized that I had been in second place when I had gone the wrong way. I decided it was probably better this way, since I would have undoubtedly started racing and getting competitive if I though I had a shot at finishing in the top 3. With no such opportunity now, I simply continued on toward the aid station.

After reaching the turn around, I noticed that somehow I was miraculously in 10th place. I attributed this mostly to the fact that there were something like 12 women entered in the race. It would be a long climb back to the summit, and I settled in for the ascent with a steady hiking pace. Although my heart rate was high, I knew I could continue the pace for a long time. I was going up a particularly steep section when I noticed a runner coming the other way had stopped.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he breathed, “just a cramp.” I offered him a Salt Stick Cap, which he gladly accepted. I was pleased they turned out to be useful, since I had been carrying them all day but hadn’t taken any. I also marveled at how ultrarunners will happily swallow a pill produced by a stranger from a little ziplock baggie full of unlabeled white pills. Seems pretty sketchy when you think about it, doesn’t it? ;)

Back at the junction where I had made my wrong turn, I crossed paths with a confused marathon runner.

“Where do I go?” He asked desperately. I was terrified of giving him directions. I interviewed him thoroughly.

“You’re running the marathon?” I inquired.

“Yes.”

“Have you run the out and back section yet?”

“No.”

“Okay,” I was pretty confident now, "you go this way until the turnaround. Then when you get back to this intersection, you go that way."

We parted ways, and I felt a little better. Perhaps, I thought, if I could help more people in this race than I harm, I can neutralize the bad karma I have surely incurred. In a series of changing promises to myself, I now vowed to become a do-gooder trail fairy for the rest of the day. To be honest, picking up the few GU wrappers I found on the trail did make me feel better, and I wondered why I hadn’t been doing that from the outset anyway.

At about this time, a man I had been chatting with earlier came up behind me. We were still hiking, and his pace moved him slowly by me. As he moved ahead, he let slip the admonishment “Don’t chick me” through his labored breathing. I managed a good natured laugh in response. I knew he was a nice guy, and that he didn’t mean anything rude by the comment, but the following paragraphs were already forming in my mind as I hiked.

I have planned at various times to write an entire blog post on this topic, but have been somewhat unsure of exactly how to tackle it appropriately. Well, here goes. What it comes down to for me is this:

The use of the word chick as a verb has got to stop.

When it comes to ultra running I think this word is frequently employed because maybe the playing field for men and women is just a bit closer to level than it is in other sports. I just don’t think the men who use it understand how it makes them sound. Yes, I know most of the men who lament “I got chicked!” are nice guys who probably don’t actually mind getting beaten by women in a race. In fact, sometimes I think guys really believe this is some way of showing respect to those fast women who almost always beat them. In most ultras, the elite women are faster than over 90% of the men’s field. (That’s just my estimate, not an exact figure.) Should all those men really feel bad about themselves? When talented women like Bev-Anderson Abbs, who took 3rd overall in the 50 mile race at Diablo, come in ahead of you, can you really feel bad about it? No. And I know that most, if not all, of those men do not feel bad about it. So why comment on it at all?

I don’t let my students get away with using that phrase, just like I don’t let them get away with using “retarded” or “gay” as a slur. If you don’t understand why this term can be rude, or even offensive, let me put it in another context. When someone says “you got chicked,” this is what I see:

Two 10-year-old boys are on the playground. One just took second in the playground races at recess. The winner was a girl. The boy laughs and points at his friend, crying in a sing-song voice, “You got beat by a girr-rel! You got beat by a girr-rel!”

No kidding guys, this is what you sound like. A 10-year-old. And how do you think the girl in that scenario feels? The loud and clear message is that it is shameful to be slower than a girl. So even if you think I’m just some uptight feminist chick, could you please do me a favor? Don’t pass this phrase on to the next generation. Please don’t say it in front of your sons, or even worse, your daughters. Don’t say it in front of anyone else’s sons or daughters for that matter. Don’t tell them that being a girl is anything to be ashamed of.

So enough of that diatribe, back to the race. After reaching the summit for the second time that day, I was pleased to discover that I only had 8 miles to go. I knew a good portion of the 8 miles would be downhill, and I was looking forward to an easy descent to the finish line. Unfortunately those 8 miles confirmed something I already knew: down hills are not my strength. I cruised when I could through the mellow stretches, but whenever it got steep and sketchy, I found myself slowly picking my way through the mess. Eventually my knees and quads were starting to feel it and I wondered just how far I was from the finish. I was running with a few other people at that point, and one guy had a GPS. He informed us that we still had 5 miles to go. It was clearly going to take me longer than I thought to finish this thing.

I kept reminding myself to eat, and shoved down a few clif blox here and there. I always stop eating when I get near the finish, but at the pace I was going, the finish wasn’t going to come as soon as I’d like.

Heading down some singletrack switchbacks, I suddenly tripped. I had some pretty good momentum going and I did not want to fall. I almost caught myself with my next step, then my next, and once again. With each near miss I seemed to gain speed and finally I was airborne and heading for the bushes. The whole experience seemed to take forever, and my brain went like this: “Oh shit, I’m gonna crash. Oh, maybe not! Damn! Wait, maybe not! Shit! Yup, I’m flying through the air, this is not good. Oh God, is that poison oak? Crap. It doesn’t look like it, but I’m not sure. Turn your head! Don’t get it on your face!!” Then my actual voice went like this, “Aaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!” CRASH!

Fortunately for me I landed in the bushes and dirt, not on any rocks. I got up, but this time it took me a little longer to assess the damage. First of all I was mortified at my own screaming, and checked to make sure there were no other runners around. There weren’t. Hmm, I thought shakily, maybe that’s why it’s embarrassing to get beaten by a girl. I sound like a frigging idiot. Maybe we should just change the phrase to “don’t Gretchen me,” because I can see how that might be embarrassing.

I confirmed the absence of poison oak from the vicinity and started a tentative jog. My left arm was on fire, but I didn’t really see any wounds. I was feeling pretty sorry for myself and shuffled along down the hill. When I came to a creek crossing, I gratefully stopped to soak my bandana and wash the dirt from my legs. I discovered two bloody knees, a bloody elbow and slightly bloody shoulder. None of it was very severe, and I felt much better after cleaning off.

Nearing the finish now, I spotted a young coyote trotting gracefully through the grass. It was beautiful, and I smiled. It’s natural athleticism provided a stark contrast to the way I felt at that moment. I was clearly a stranger in it’s home.

A few minutes later I gratefully crossed the finish line.

When I had made my final climb to the top of the observation deck in the race, I had considered running an additional 2 miles after the race was over. I’d run 28, and I thought I might as well bring it up to an even 30 for the day. After my fall, I’d scrapped the plan in a bout of self pity. Now I gave it another thought. I sipped an ice cold coke, and was about to refill my bottles for the 2 mile jaunt, when I spotted a creek in the shade near the finish line. Hmm, I could run 2 more miles, or I could drink this coke while sitting in that creek and soaking my legs. I decided that 2 miles was not going to make or break my chances at TRT. The icy water was the perfect tonic for my tired legs.

After changing and donning my flip flops, I headed back to the shade for pizza. I enjoyed chatting with some other women that I'd met on the course, but I was somehow missing that post race glow. I finally checked the results to see that I had finished 4th woman. I couldn’t believe it. How had I managed that? Sarah even gave me props, saying I had run really well considering the extra 2 miles. My finish time was 6:30, and I felt okay about it since I had initially estimated it would be 6 hours. The results also showed my pace, which was an agonizingly slow 15 minutes per mile. Now I’m sorry, but that is just slow. Then I noticed that the first place woman came in at 6:03. I started thinking how I might have finished if I hadn’t made a wrong turn. Then I realized I had been going faster than 15 minute pace because I actually ran 28 miles not 26. So what did that mean? I’ll tell you what it means: The math is irrelevant. I finished in 6:30 and took 4th woman, and I think I can feel pretty good about that. As my husband said when I told him about my day, “I guess that’s all part of it, isn’t it?” And he is exactly right.

It will not be surprising to you to hear that the 15 minute drive to the freeway took me 45 minutes. Yes, I got lost. I was just cruising along on a street that should have gone straight to the freeway, when I noticed that the name of the street had changed. How did that happen? I consulted the map. Maybe the map was wrong. I kept going. Finally I decided my best recourse was to turn around. As I was headed back I crossed a street that I recognized from the incorrect map. After several turns, I followed a sign that said “freeway” into a mall parking lot. Huh? Where was the freeway? Clearly my map sucked. After another 10 minutes of frustration I was finally on the freeway heading home.

The next day I still felt pretty crummy. Could my electrolytes really be that far out of whack? I consumed food and fluids all day, with no improvement. It finally dawned on me that I was sick. (The sore throat tipped me off!) Maybe this could account for my lack of attentiveness to my surroundings on race day. So as luck would have it my plan of training through this race didn’t completely work out. I took two unplanned days off after the race in an attempt to recover from the mystery ailment. Unfortunately it’s still lingering, but I did manage to get close to my mileage goal for this week.

Thanks so much to Sarah and Wendell and all the volunteers for being out there on a hot day and doing such a great job. I really appreciate the opportunity that these races provide. Congratulations to all the runners in the marathon and the 50 mile race, and especially to the “first timers.” You guys rock!





Unfortunately I am withough my camera at the moment, so for some real race-day photos and great reports on the 50 mile event check out:


Donald's Blog
Scott's Blog
Leslie's Blog

Much More Than a Six Word Memoir


I’ve been tagged! This particular version of tag is pretty cool as far as I’m concerned, since it only requires writing six words. Perfect for us slacker types! Catherine tasked me with a six word memoir. Here are the rules:

1) Write your own six word memoir

2) Post it on your blog and include a visual illustration if you want

3) Link to the person that tagged you in your post, and to the original post if possible so we can track it as it travels across the blogosphere

4) Tag at least five more blogs with links

5) Leave a comment on the tagged blogs with an invitation to play!


So I came up with a bevy of six-word mottos for my life, unable to choose the ‘perfect’ one, until the number six suddenly struck a chord. In my Middle School Language Arts class we are studying poetry, and the students are learning about various forms of poetry by writing their own poems. I’ve been writing my own poems along with them to serve as samples, to become a better teacher by looking at things from the students’ perspective, and to make it more of a group experience. (We can all share thoughts on what challenges we found, what we liked about certain forms, etc.) Anyway, back to the number six.

One of the poems we wrote this week was a sestina. Sestina comes from the Latin for sixth. It is a repetitive form of poetry consisting of seven stanzas. It follows a strict structure where the end words of the first stanza are repeated in each of the following stanzas in a specific pattern. The seventh stanza, the envoy, is three lines with two of the six words in each line. Follow?

So I thought the six words from my sestina would be an appropriate six word memoir:

books, students, face, learn, you, change

I’ll admit, alone they aren’t much of a memoir. So here is the sestina I put them in:


“The Musicians”

Laden with books,
I greet my arriving students.
A scowl clouds her young face.
She has so much to learn.
What can I tell you
about change?

I needed things to change.
My mind heavy with books,
listening to the discord flow through you.
But are students
here to learn?
Tension darkens my face.

Some days are hard to face,
and then things change.
What did I learn?
It’s not about the books,
of course. It’s the students.
I strum along with you.

I’m here because of you,
and that innocent grin on your face.
Me and my students:
grasping at change,
devouring books.
Inevitably, we learn.

There is still much more to learn.
Some days I am desperate to see you,
to talk of books
and the music you’ll face.
The instruments change
in a song written by students.

Each day is awash in students
who learn,
and I enjoy the change.
I have walked with you,
and looked into your face.
Together, we write books.

The melody lingers as we close our books. We are students,
turning to face the challenge, to learn about ourselves.
When I think of you I smile, and that is my favorite change.


I won’t make too many apologies for the excessive schmaltz. (That’s just how I roll!) Just know that this poem was really only written to share with my middle schoolers, not for publication to the world. Oh well.

In other news, Diablo marathon is tomorrow. I am excited because I have been training hard recently, and I rarely go into a race without at least a little rest. I will definitely be doing this one on tired legs, and it will be interesting to see how it feels. I know I frequently say “it’s just a training run, I’m not really racing,” but then I have a hard time not pushing myself when I get there. Well, I’m still gonna say it: It’s just a training run! I have committed myself to the plan that every race before July is just a training run for TRT. So in order to hold myself to this, I put in some decent miles this week. My goals for tomorrow are to have fun, practice nutrition and hydration, socialize with other runners and remain uninjured. Oh, and get a good workout! My plan is to run it like an ultra, meaning walking on most of the up hills and not worrying about my time.

I got obsessive about checking the weather forecast for the area this week. NOAA’s prediction for Saturday at Diablo climbed from a high of 71 on Monday, to 90 by Wednesday. ACK! I’m still running in tights and gloves and a jacket up here. Even in the hottest days of summer it does not get up to 90 degrees in Truckee. Obviously I am not a heat runner. Actually, to say that I am not heat trained right now would be woefully understating the matter. Yesterday the forecast was back down to 86, but I just checked it and now they are saying 90 again. I’d better stop looking, I think I’m jinxing myself.

Given the elevation profile of the course, my tired legs, and the heat predicted for tomorrow, I am predicting my slowest marathon ever, which is just fine with me.

Oh, and tags for the six word memoir: Claire, Dean, Eric, Jessica and Eric. I hope none of you have been tagged already, and of course if you don't feel like playing, that's totally cool. I'm not offended!

Happy Trails everyone!

A Smattering of Multimedia

Podcast Interview:

Based on many of my links and comments in this blog, most of you probably realize that I am a big fan of Scott Dunlap's blog, A Trail Runner's Blog. In fact, most of you are probably fans yourself. Mark recently remarked that "we can't get enough of this guy," and although my response on Mark's blog was a bit cheeky, he is ultimately correct. Scott's blog is popular for a reason! Today Endurance Planet posted a podcast interview (here) with the ultra blogger, providing some good insight into how Scott became a runner and blogger.

T&F Video:


After some hints from Lisa about how to actually get the youtube video into my blog (I'm an idiot, I know!) I've posted this video about CMS Track 2007 just to practice my new skills. This probably won't be very interesting to you unless you are a current T&F athlete or an alumni of the Claremont Colleges. (I ran track for CMS from '92 to '95.) The video quality isn't amazing, but the editing is quite good, and I think the music works really well. My favorite part comes after the credits when you can merely glimpse some of the antics of Coach Goldhammer himself!





Finally, here's how I spent my spring break, which explains why I missed my long run that weekend. Oops. It was worth it though!




It's the view from the stage of a Hot Buttered Rum Show. That's me on the far left: red hair, brown shirt.

I'm Back! (And plan on running 100 miles!)

After a winter off from running, and a spring of diving back in, I am finally getting around to posting to my blog. I sort of feel like I’m talking to no one here, since I personally would give up reading anyone who hadn’t posted to her blog in 3 months. I have, however, received of late several comments from folks asking “Where the hell are you, Gretchen?” So, thanks for letting me know you are still out there!

My biggest news is that I am an official entrant in the Tahoe Rim Trail 100. Yup, that's right, I am going to try to run 100 miles.

When I was in highschool, and I though 8 miles was a really long run, Ann Trason was busy kicking the butts of men and women alike on the Western States 100 course. I didn't have any clue what that was all about, but it seemed like such a romantic idea, and I loved the fact that a woman could sometimes be the winner of the entire field. What was ultra running? I didn't know. But Ann and Western States planted a seed that I am finally starting to water, 20 years later.

Several blogs I have read lately address the ever-present question of why we do this crazy thing that we do, be it running ultras, competing in triathlons, or climbing mountains. I know athletes have been asking this question for centuries, and will continue asking it as long as this planet is ours to explore. We all have to come up with our own answers to the question of why, but I also see a clear similarity among most people’s thoughts on this topic.

In particular, several posts on Claire’s blog, Who in Their Right Mind?, got me thinking about why exactly I want to run 100 miles this year. Claire is a triathlete, and her question focused more on "why do 3 sports at once instead of just one?" Her own response to the question though, touched on an idea that I think is true for many of us: the suffering endured in the process of pushing our physical and mental limits is rewarding. Yes, that’s right, it’s the suffering we like. Scott Dunlap also touched on this thought in his recent post on the Rucky Chucky 50K, noting that sometimes he wants it to be as hard as possible. After running out of water with several miles to go he said, "In fact, somewhere inside I was giddy knowing that I was stripped down to the most ancient of human conditions – nothing but your will, two legs, and fortitude to get you to the finish. I often wonder if we all have a secret desire for this to happen on occasion, just to prove to ourselves we can do it without all these fancy gadgets and aid." I knew exactly what he was saying.

Having identified myself as a runner since the age of 11, this is by no means the first time I have pondered these questions. After reading Claire’s post, I recalled a journal entry I had written on the topic in which I felt I had reached some real conclusions about why exactly I loved sports like running and rock climbing; sports that caused other people to give me that funny look and say “You’re crazy!” You know the look I’m talking about.

During the summer of 1998 I worked at a wilderness camp in northern Minnesota as a canoeing and climbing guide. I had just run my marathon PR at Grandma’s Marathon: 3:26, still my PR a decade later. Two summers before, I had spent 5 months backpacking the Pacific Crest Trail. It was also the summer that I met my husband. I was 24, and it was a good time for getting philosophical about the questions of life, and actually coming up with some real answers.

So I went looking for the journal that contained that particular entry, thinking I would recycle that entry and post it here. Two hours later, every corner of my house has been scoured to no avail, although I did enjoy perusing a number of journal entries from my younger days. A brilliant way to spend a Sunday that was set aside specifically for doing taxes.

But what I recall from that journal entry, is that my conclusion on the matter boiled down to essentially this: We do it because it reminds us that we are alive. Yes, the endorphins are great, yes I love the adventure of exploring new trails, being in the outdoors, the community. All of these things have their own rewards, and are part of the whole experience, but I don’t need to run 100 miles to experience those things. The truth is, pushing my own physical limits as far as I can makes me feel alive like nothing else.

I watched a documentary last night, “Steep,” about the pioneers of extreme skiing. (I lost a ro-sham-bo with my husband on this one, I wanted to watch “Across the Universe.”) I enjoyed the movie though, and would recommend it, even if you are not a skier, because it really looks at this same question of why. Although frankly when I meet an extreme skier (not unusual here in Tahoe) I give them a funny look and say, “You’re crazy!” Seriously, wanting to run 100 miles looks pretty sane compared to the stuff in that movie. My favorite quote from the movie was a skier, in response to the question of ‘why’, saying “The closer I am to death, the more alive I feel.”

I don’t think ultra-running is about being close to death, but it is true that the harder I push myself, the more alive I feel.

Reflections on a Year of Running

I wasn’t actually planning one of those typical “year in review” blog posts, until Scott Dunlap tagged me with the assignment. I guess I just needed the motivation! I ask my students to reflect on themselves as writers twice a year by reviewing all their writing pieces and assessing their strengths and weaknesses as writers. They whine a lot of course, but the process is invaluable in my eyes. Through reflection we see our own learning and progress take place, and can use that information to set appropriate goals. Given the value I place on reflection for my students, one might ask why I wasn’t planning such a post. What my students don’t understand is that I truly empathize with them. I understand the challenges of reflection and self-assessment.

Let me share a typical scene from my classroom for illustration.

Me: “After filling out the evaluation, please write me one page in which you discuss your strengths and weaknesses as a writer. Please use specific examples from your own writing to support your opinions.”

Student: [whiny voice] "What? Why do we have to do this?"

Me: “So that you can figure out how to become a better writer, and think more about what you’re writing and why.”

Student: “But I don’t want to think!”

Me: [sighs in resignation] “I know. Just try.”

Fortunately, looking back at my year of running is much more fun (and far less depressing) than assessing my strengths and weaknesses as a writer. Whew! So, without further ado…


1. Most memorable moment on the trails.

There are so many choices, but I spend a lot of time running with one of my dogs as my only companion, a crazy border collie named Cap, and those runs comprise most of my running memories from the year. My most memorable was a training run we did in June on the Tahoe Rim Trail. We had an epic day running 26 miles on the trail, essentially running the TRT 50K course, minus the Red House Loop. I planned to carry everything I needed for the day, and set out with a hydration pack filled with food and water and two handheld bottles. I felt like a fully loaded mule, while Cap bounced around my legs like a jack rabbit on speed. (Note to self: look into doggie backpacks for Cap.) Although only June, I knew there would be very little left in the way of natural water sources, so I would also be sharing my supplies with Cap.

We had an incredible day and saw almost no one else on the trail. Although it wasn’t too hot, it is bone dry at 8000 feet, and I was careful to conserve our water usage. Nonetheless, with 6 miles to go, we ran out of water. It doesn’t sound too bad, but since I had been sparing with the water all day, I was already quite dehydrated. I never thought 6 miles of downhill would feel so hard. It was a good lesson, and it was also one of those days where “toughing it out” was good mental training. Upon returning to the car we both inhaled a few quarts of water, then jumped into Lake Tahoe for an exhilarating reward and ice-down.

I remember floating in the clear water of the lake, utterly refreshed, gazing up at the surrounding mountains where Cap and I had just spent the day, and laughing in joy at our brilliant adventure. Although physically drained, I never felt stronger and more alive.

For a "most memorable race" I would have to give the nod to the Cool 12 Hour Night Run. Howling cyotes, shooting stars, running in the pitch dark when my flashlight burned out, a close encounter with a skunk, and a billy goat in a tree! Whoever said the Olmstead Loop was boring??

2. Best new trail discovered in 2007.

This is a tough question. Although I spent time on a lot of different trails this summer, very few of them were new to me. For a brand new trail, my favorite was Discovery Park in Seattle. It’s an incredible little slice of wilderness in the middle of the city.

Closer to home, I would say the Hole in the Ground Trail. Although this trail isn’t exactly new to me, (I have mountain biked it a few times) this year was the first time I did any trail running on it. It’s a popular trail for mountain bikers due to its scenic beauty and technical difficulty. This meant that bringing Cap required a lot of time with him on the leash. He wasn’t quite 2 years old for our first run on this trail, and it was the beginning of his serious training as a running partner.

The best features of this trail: high altitude (it’s near the Sierra crest) technical running, breathtaking scenery, and a perfect lake for swimming right at the halfway point.

3. My best performance of 2007.

The Way Too Cool 50K. If you don’t like crowds on a trail that is mostly singletrack, then this race may not be for you. Otherwise, I can’t recommend it highly enough. A combination of solid early season training in preparation for the Death Valley Trail Marathon, and an accidental 2 week taper led me to a strong performance of 5:26. Although you can’t really compare this course to the TRT course, (my previous PR) I took pleasure in the fact that it was a PR by an hour and 20 minutes. Much of this course is graced with long smooth “barely downhill" downhills with great footing. There are only two climbs, and they are both short and steep. I think my keys to a good performance were maintaining a solid pace hiking the two uphills, and letting fly on the long easy downhills.

4. I don’t know how I previously survived without...

My dog Cap as my running partner. Have I talked about him enough yet? Every girl needs a good training partner, and sharing an adventure is always more fun than going alone.



5. The person I would most like to meet on the trails in 2008.

My response to this question is non-specific. My favorite part about ultra running this year was all the wonderful people I met, and my goal is to do the same next year. At Sliver State I met Olga and Scott for the first time. At TRT I met Jessica and Addy. During that race I met and ran with Tate, probably the most significant encounter since we spent about 45 miles together that day. Never underestimate the rarity of finding someone with whom you are compatible both as a runner and as a friend! At Lake of the Sky I met Peter and Catherine, and at Helen Klein Catherine and I got to run together for several miles. There were innumerable others whom I met during races as we briefly shared a few miles of trail, not to mention race directors like Nancy Warren, Norm and Helen Klein, and Robert and Linda Mathis.

Community is an important part of ultra running, and one of the things that will keep me coming back to races (and keep me blogging!) So, I would most like to meet all the people I have not yet met!

6. The race I am most excited about for 2008.

TRT 100, I guess. (Do I sound excited?) I’m still tossing around races for next year, and the excitement won’t really kick in until I have my calendar established and my training begun. Still, this is definitely the right course for my first 100. I feel intimate with that trail, and I love the course.
Hey Tate, are you reading this? Do you want to run TRT 100 with me?


The only person I am tagging on this game is Catherine. This partly because all the other blogs I read have already made a post similar to this, and also because today is the last day of 2007, so it's getting a bit late for this sort of thing. (I am the biggest procastinator I know.)

See you all in 2008!

Happy New Year!

Growing up in Southern California, I never even knew there was such a thing as “the off season.” To me, that simply meant the relaxing lull between cross country and track seasons, when I ran on my own for two weeks over Christmas break. It wasn’t until I moved to Minnesota when I was 22 that I discovered the true nature of seasonal sports.

I was more of a climber than a runner at the time, and I was a bit stunned when I realized that my main option for winter climbing was 5 months indoors hanging out with spandex clad chalk hounds who’s primary concerns were whether that hold was “on,” and if their buddy spent too much time hangdogging. I took a brief foray into rock climbing’s much less popular winter cousin, ice climbing. Although I did love the gear, (How cool are crampons! And ice tools? They look like something straight out of a slasher movie!) I did not enjoy the shivering stints at the endless belays in 20 below temps, bundled in my partner’s oversize down coat and trying desperately to keep a decent grip on an icy rope with giant mittens on my hands.


Ice climbing not turning out to be my big passion, I decided to try my hand at other winter sports. That led me to dog sledding, naturally. Well, I was in Minnesota after all. I spent a winter working as a handler for a musher in the northern part of the state. While I spend more time on other winter sports these days, dog sledding was a passionate and intense love affair. A friend once described it as the winter equivalent of white water kayaking. Thrilling! Unfortunately, it also requires a lot of dogs.

Living in the Sierra, I have turned my off-season pursuits to sports more practical to the locale, like skiing. Lest you think skiing is purely a gravity sport, and not much of a workout, let me enlighten you.


Cross country skiing is in many ways the winter equivalent of trail running. You can get out into the beautiful parts of the mountains, with little or no other people, and it’s an incredible workout. I love skate skiing for the high intensity and speed, and classic skiing for its access into the backcountry and untracked beautiful areas.





Even at the downhill resort, I get a workout telemark skiing. It’s essentially like doing squats all day long, no joke. In the last week I got in my first two ski days of the year, spent about 3 hours skiing each day, and my quads feel like I just finished a 20 mile downhill run. If that doesn't seem like enough for you, try tele skiing in the backcountry. A few hours of skiing uphill to 'earn your turns' will kick anyone's butt. Definitely good off season training.


Currently I’m on winter break, and enjoying the opportunity for a little more exercise. Christmas came early for me when a winter storm caused a snow day on the last day of school before break. (Did you realize when you were a kid that your teachers looked forward to snow days more than you did??) I spent my snow day cross country skiing through the forest out my backyard with my two dogs. I forgot that deep powder is better suited to downhill skiing than cross country, and it was a serious workout. I tried to get the dogs to break trail, but the powder was over their heads, and they are too smart for that. It took me 2 and a half hours to ski a trail that is a 30 minute run in the summer time, and I loved every minute of it!

XC Skiing: "Get off my ski tails doggies!"

The Unbroken Trail Ahead

Ultimately, I have come to love the off season sports in their own right. I know my body can't handle 12 months of running, and I am ready for a change of pace by the time fall comes around. I'm not as comfortable with any sport as I am with running, but that's part of the enjoyment. Facing a steep downhill slope on a pair of skis is definitely pushing the limits of my comfort zone. Other things have to take a back seat to training for races so often, that its fun to get some variety in my exercise. Winter time also brings an increase in my yoga practice, which I have found is critical to maintaining a healthy physical balance. The strengthening and stretching of a variety of muscles in yoga, dissolves the tension that builds up in a season full of running.

At this point it’s time to start training for next year’s races. I haven’t really decided on my races yet, but like most of you, I won’t be running Western States this year. There have been a number of heated discussions on other blogs about how hard it is to get through the lottery, (You have a 13% chance according to the WS website!) so I won’t go off on the topic here. As a two time loser however, I was especially concerned by this statement in the rejection email, “Be aware that the WS organization is considering a modification to the two-time loser rule, however, and your two-time loser status may be impacted by change to the protocol.” Great. To be honest, I would like to run another 100 before an attempt at States, so I wasn’t disappointed at all about not winning the lottery. However, I was kind of counting on that “two time loser” status to get me a guaranteed entry into the ’09 race. It will be interesting to see what happens.


Two probable races for next year include Miwok 100K and TRT 100. If I’m really going to do TRT, then that will be my focus, and any other races will simply be training runs. One thing to note if you’re interested in doing Miwok: it appears to be going the route of Way Too Cool. Last year it filled in three days. Entries for the 2008 Miwok race open on January 6, so I suggest you mark your calendars. (Of course, I marked my calendar for the Way Too Cool sign-up, but I forgot to set my alarm. Oops! Guess I’ll be volunteering this year!)


Looking back on the year, I had a full load of races and a great season. Admittedly, the only race I was really in ideal shape for was Way Too Cool, which was very early in the season. Still, I was happy with my race at TRT 50, and HK50, and I really enjoyed all of my other races. I think my favorite race was the 12 Hours at Cool night run. There is just something about the serenity of running alone at night that is quite unlike most other trail running.


Have a happy new year everyone. I’m off to write my training calendar for 2008!

Donner Lake, viewed from our xc ski on "the back loop"

A Beautiful Day at HK Classic

Saturday was the running of the last event in the ultrarunner.net trail series, the Helen Klein Ultra Classic. Named after the ultra running legend herself, the race is put on by Helen and Norm Klein, and follows an out and back course along the American River in Sacramento.

My journey began Friday afternoon as I headed “down the hill” from Truckee to spend the evening at a friend’s house in Orangevale, very near the start of the race. Upon hearing that I planned to run 50 miles the following day, my friend exclaimed, predictably, “I wouldn’t ride my bike that far!” I gave her that placating smile that is the usual response to this sentiment (or even better, the statement ‘I wouldn’t drive my car that far!’) But after pausing to actually think about it, I had to agree, “I don’t think I would really ride my bike that far either!” I said. She laughed, but hey, my back and shoulders get really tired from cycling!

The race began at Cavitt Jr. High School, and runner check-in was in the gym. I arrived early for once, at around 6:00 am, to check in and get my race goodies. The brightly lit gym was already full of runners pinning on race numbers, adjusting hydration packs and prepping drop bags. It was a great place for the start and finish, as the gym provided a warm place to wait, and the use of the locker rooms and showers was wonderful after the race.

Norm explains the course

Norm had breakfast ready, and I was comfortably sipping my coffee and eating a bagel when Catherine found me. She would be running her first 50 miler today. We finished all our pre-race duties, and gathered with the crowd in the gym to hear Norm’s briefing about the course. It was pretty straightforward, since we would be following the bike path the whole way, but he did mention that there was a small detour at one point. He said they put up an excessive number of signs to mark the detour, and that there was “absolutely no way in hell anyone could get lost.” This statement was met with a roar of laughter from the crowd, and some smart remarks from a few folks seated near me.

Catherine and Me, waiting for the start

Everyone listens intently to Norm

Soon we headed out the door for the half mile walk to the start. Catherine and I caught up with Peter Lubbers and Scott Dunlap just outside the gym, and spent the walk sharing running stories from the summer. Peter had the foresight to bring a flashlight, which was helpful on the dark trail. By the time we reached the starting line there was just enough light to see by, and Scott and Peter moved up to the front. I looked around, but somehow I had lost Catherine already.

Bloggers, super speedsters, series champs and all-around nice guys, Scott and Peter

We set off into the rising sun, and I made a point to take in the scenery. Living in Tahoe, I am lucky to have breathtaking scenery on most of my runs, but I really appreciate running someplace different. I think every trail has something beautiful to offer, and this one was no exception. As we ran across a small dam, the sunrise reflecting on the water appeared as a pool of lava. It lent an eerie glow to the usual excitement in the early stages of a big race.



I didn’t realize it at the time, but the first several miles are a gradual downhill. The running was blissful, and I chatted with another runner named Kenny. He was training to attempt a Boston qualifying time at CIM in December. I was a little puzzled until I found out he was running the 30K. “Oh my God, I’m running too fast!” I declared. I wished Kenny good luck as I watched him speed off into the distance.






I spent much of the first 15 miles with an internal monologue debating my pace. Am I going too fast? It feels fast, but it feels great. I didn’t really train hard enough to run fast. But I’m rested and it’s a flat course, so I can probably run well. I don’t want to go too fast too early though. Am I going too fast??

Soon Catherine came up behind me and saved me from this circular conversation with myself. We ran together for a while, and I told her my plan was to take a short walking break every 40 minutes. She was considering a similar plan, and I encouraged her not to skip the early breaks when we would still be feeling good. I feel that’s what saved me in my first 50 and allowed me to feel good at the end. I wished Catherine good luck as I made a quick detour into the bushes.

Running alone again, I plugged in my ipod and began chugging along at a steady pace. I’m pretty sure bluegrass music is the best thing to listen to during an ultra. It has a great, steady beat that is motivating, but not so crazy that you start running too fast. The sounds of South Austin Jug Band and Hot Buttered Rum kept me going for the entire first half of the race. You can have the whole “headphones vs. no headphones” debate if you want, and most of my races are run without headphones, but at this race I think the music was a godsend. While beautiful, the scenery was still rather homogenous. Running to my own soundtrack kept me smiling all day, in spite of the lack of significant landmarks.



As the morning grew to a more reasonable hour, the bike path came alive and the people watching was as much entertainment as anything. There were bikers, runners, families with strollers. On the river there were flyfishers, sail boats and kayakers. It was tuning out to be a beautiful day.

Catherine and I played leapfrog and ran together here and there. I was extremely glad that there were real bathrooms with toilet paper on this course, as I had to make use of several. Upon reaching my dropbag at the Sunrise aid station I shed my long sleeved shirt, but decided against picking up my second water bottle. It was supposed to reach 77 degrees, but the aid stations were so close together that I really didn’t think I’d need more than one bottle. Plus at the pace I was running, covering the 3 miles or so between aid stations didn’t take long at all. As it was, I still only topped off my bottle at about every other station. I realized that there were so many aid stations I would lose a lot of time if I stopped at every one, and it just wasn’t necessary. I was glad I had gone light, with my ipod and GU’s in my pockets, and my camera in the pocket on my water bottle.

I had given Kenny a high five on his way back to the 30K finish, and now seeing first Scott, then Peter heading back, I knew I was nearing the halfway point for my own race. I hit the turnaround at 4:12, well under 9 hour pace. I started to debate my pacing once again. If I didn’t slow down (highly unlikely!) I would run about 8:25. My PR for the distance was 9:28, run at AR50 in 2006. I had a pretty good cushion to slow down and still get a PR, and it was tempting. The day would be getting warmer, my hips were getting tight. Why push it? But then I wondered, when was the last time I’d had anything but the most modest goals for my races? It had been a while. I was in a position to run a decent time, why not go for it, instead of pretending that I didn’t really care. So my plan was to get as close to that 8:25 as possible. I knew some slowing was almost inevitable, but figured if I kept a goal oriented attitude, I could certainly break 9 hours.

For the return trip I indulged myself in 2 podcasts of “Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me.” Listening to the NPR show had been so much fun at my last race, and once again it had me laughing my way down the trail. I settled into a pace I felt I could hold, started skipping my walking breaks, and slowly, very slowly, began passing people.

The day grew warmer, and I noticed a few aid station volunteers sipping cold beer. Now that looked good! I opted for ice in my water bottle instead. I also forewent my usual barrage of PB&Js and other solid foods. I knew the increased pace would keep my stomach from happily accepting anything like it usually does. Instead I ate GU and salty potatoes. I had a few ginger candies in my pocket, and those also went down well. But as I started the last ten miles, I realized I was probably working with a serious calorie deficit. Uh oh. Would I bonk? I shoved down another GU. Ugh.

I realized that my arms were turning a nice shade of watermelon at this point. I had started the day with 45 spf sunblock, but now it looked like I should have reapplied long ago. I told myself I would ask for sunscreen at the next aid station, but inevitably at every aid station I forgot. I would just have to add sunburn to the list of post-race enjoyments like blisters, tight hips and serious chaffing. Whatever.



I didn’t really feel like I was struggling until the last few miles. The music of Michael Franti and Spearhead was pulling me along with such enthusiasm that when the album "Everyone Deserves Music" ended, I had to listen to it again. I could see that I was going to finish close to 8:40, but unfortunately this is when I realized that the first few miles had been downhill. Now I wouldn’t call any of this a serious uphill. It certainly wasn’t anything I was going to walk. But trying to maintain my same pace was not the easiest thing I ever did. I was glad Peter had pointed out the trail we were on that morning because it really didn’t look the same in the daylight, and there were no course markings for the last half mile. I made my way through the school grounds and to the finish line in 8:39 and was stoked.

Both Scott and Peter were in the gym when I finished, and my first thought was, wow, I really must have been fast if those guys are still here! Of course they were both showered, changed, fed, and ready to go home. They were also both loaded down with prizes from the ultrarunner.net race series. In a dramatic finish, Peter had beaten out Scott for the overall series win by less than 2 points. I’m pretty sure they planned it that way just to keep us all guessing. Scott had to feel pretty good though with his fast finish under 7 hours!

As I hobbled into the showers, I found myself wondering how fast I might have run if my training had consisted of an average weekly mileage that was more than 30 miles per week for the last 3 months. Although I generally prefer courses with dirt trail and more hills, I can really see the allure of this course for running a fast time. If I was ever going to run sub-8 it would be at Helen Klein.

After getting down a little food and a lot of water, I had the pleasure of meeting and chatting with Robert and Linda Mathis, who put on the race series and direct several of the races. They were busy calculating the results of the series, and loaded me down with prizes too. Going into HK I was in 2nd place in my age group and 5th overall. I knew I had a good shot at winning my age group, but as it turned out, a couple of the women ahead of me didn’t run this last race, so I won my age group and took 3rd woman overall. This garnered me 2 pairs of trail shoes, $150 in gift certificates to Fleet Feet, and a bunch of other cool schwag. How fun! Scott had given me one of his pair of trail shoes since he was already sponsored by Innov8 and had all the trail shoes he needed. Now I needed to pass this gift on since I had won shoes of my own. I thought I would give it to Catherine for finishing her first 50. Although I got anxious about the drive home and left before she finished, Catherine crossed the line in 9:51. Congratulations Catherine!

On my drive home I enjoyed a relaxed state of post-race bliss. I love running ultras! I love the people, I love the events. I actually love all the time spent alone in my own head, running down the trails. I had such a great summer and fall of running, even though at times I completely blew off my training. I ran more ultras this year than ever before, and came through it all uninjured. And to be honest, I am really ready to take some time off until the spring races start. If this weather holds, I’ll be rock climbing on Donner Summit, and when we get the huge storms that I am hoping for I’ll be skiing the sierra pow!

I do have to give a big thanks to Norm and Helen and all the volunteers for putting on a great event, and to Robert and Linda for RD-ing and volunteering at so many races, as well as putting on the race series. That’s a lot of work! And to the rest of you, as Robert said to me as I walked out the door of the gym, “See you in March at Rucky Chucky!”

The Lake of the Sky 50K

It’s been two weeks since I ran the Lake of the Sky 50K in Tahoe City, and I finally have a minute to sit down and reflect on the day. Our wet fall weather took a break for the weekend, and the morning dawned cold amidst the clearing clouds. I walked up Fairway Drive towards the start and breathed in the sunrise before me. The early light reflected off a glassy Tahoe, while pink clouds still hugged the surrounding mountains.

I arrived with just enough time to check in and toss my extra clothing in to my car. I decided to start out in tights, a long-sleeved shirt and gloves. I ran with my hydration pack, not so much for water capacity, but in order to have a place to stow my extra clothes that I would undoubtedly shed as the day progressed and warmed. I knew we would spend the early miles climbing, but I just didn’t feel like shivering through them. As it turned out, I kept the tights and long sleeves on for most of the day.

We gathered at the start and I noticed a few familiar faces, including Scott Dunlap sporting some brightly patterned sleeves (very stylish Scott!) and Bev Abbs. I made the rare choice to position myself near the front of the start, as I knew the course went immediately onto singletrack. Although I didn’t exactly plan to sprint up the hill, I still didn’t want to get caught in the inevitable bottleneck. I planned on running much of the initial grind, and knew that many folks would not. It worked out well, and as the true racers sprinted ahead I found myself with a line of runners who held a steady jog on all but the steepest and more technical stretches.

Familiarity with the first half of the course helped the miles fly by initially. In no time I was at the first aid station where Jack Driver and friends were keeping us well stocked with goodies.

The cold weather had brought a hard frost to the ground. I knew the rocky technical trail was a challenging one, but I had no idea how bad it could really be. Uneven rocks covered with an icy frost do not make for an enjoyable running surface. We were slipping and sliding all over the place! Walking turned out to be the safest choice for this stretch.

I soon found myself running alone, and plugged in my headphones to keep myself company. I rarely run with music, but I knew this was not going to be a fast day for me, and thought a little extra entertainment was in order. With that in mind, I had downloaded a podcast of my favorite NPR show, a hilarious news quiz called “Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me,” to listen to on the run. The moment Peter Sagel’s voice welcomed me to the show, I knew it was a great idea. My only concern was the strange looks other runners were surely giving me as I shouted out the answers to the show’s questions, my responses ringing across the forest floor. Fortunately no one was around when, at several points, I found myself laughing so hard at the show I nearly had to stop running. For my next race I’m going to have to download 3 or 4 shows, because I was so bummed when that one was over. I had also downloaded a podcast of “This American Life,” but decided the chances of it making me cry were too great, so I didn’t listen to it. Crying and running do not go nearly as well together as laughing and running.

At the Watson Lake aid station there was quite a Thanksgiving feast available. I had no trouble putting away a slice of pumpkin pie (with whipped cream!) and it carried me easily to the last aid station before the turn around.

At this point I started to feel the miles, and I knew I would get slower throughout the rest of the day. The course climbed uphill as the halfway point approached, and I chose to walk most of it. I began to see the race leaders heading back the other direction and I was grateful for this indictor that the turnaround was not far.

I spent the remainder of the day simply enjoying the scenery and trying to forget about how slow I was going. To be honest, I don’t really like to go slow, so it was a good exercise in patience and letting go of any time goals. It seemed to take me about an hour between each aid station, regardless of how far apart they were. I snarfed another slice of pie at Watson Lake, and pulled out my camera to get some scenery photos now that the clouds had really cleared. Unfortunately my camera battery was dead, so that didn’t work out too well.

The technical downhill as I neared the finish line was as treacherous as I knew it would be. It would have been a joy to run down those last 4 miles if the trail had been soft dirt. Unfortunately my legs were weak and the rocks were vicious, so I picked my way slowly and carefully. At the finish, I noticed that all of the runners who had run fast times also sported bloody wounds on their knees and shins. Coincidence? I think not!

I crossed the line in 7:42, not quite my slowest 50K ever. As Peter Lubbers later pointed out though, it’s really a 33 mile course. Well, okay, I guess that makes it a little better. (Can you tell I didn’t do a good job of letting go of my concerns about time?)

After the race I indulged in an incredible buffet of home cooked food and met a few new folks, including Catherine and Peter. So great to meet you guys! I’ll be looking for you all, and more familiar faces, at Helen Klein next weekend.

A few days after the race, I went down to Orange County to visit family and was able to hook up with Jessica and the OCTR crew. We went for a great 6 miler in Peter’s Canyon. I felt great, and I definitely noticed the advantages of training at altitude, as those uphills at sea level felt almost easy. Thanks so much for putting the run together Jessica!

Fall Comes to the Mountains

Although the miles have been few, they have certainly been sweet here on the trails of Tahoe. The change in seasons always leaves me with a sense of nostalgia, especially in fall. Perhaps it's because summer is my favorite season in the mountains and I'm sad to see it go. But it seems to be the combination of that sadness, coupled with the excitement of the coming snow and all the joys of the ski season, that leave me with the odd feelings that I identify with fall. When I lived in southern California, it was the way the Santa Ana winds blew the smog away, leaving a crystal clear view of the distant mountains that gave me this feeling. The difference is that down south, the onset of winter means that the best season for running is just beginning, whereas here I am doing my best to appreciate every last day of clear mountain trails.

Friday's run on my backyard trail

Saturday's run on the TRT

The aspens have begun to turn, and I have spent several days already running through snow dusted trails. It makes for heartbreakingly beautiful running. The crisp air also means I don't carry much water, even on a 20 mile run. Summer may be my favorite season, but I think fall provides the best running conditions.

Paige Meadows on the TRT

The TRT heading west from Tahoe City

The Truckee River

Last weekend I payed a visit to my old stomping grounds, the beautiful trails of the Twin Cities in Minnesota. This is where I ran my first marathon to qualify for Boston, and where I trained for Grandma's marathon, which still stands as my PR for the distance nearly a decade later. Needless to say I have a fondness for running in this town. Unfortunately I missed the peak of the fall colors, as the leaves were really just beginning to turn. If you ever have the opportunity to run the Twin Cities Marathon, I highly recommend it. It is flat, fast beautiful, and filled with cheering spectators for the entire distance. When I lived in both St. Paul, and south Minneapolis I trained on portions of the course which follow bike paths along the many rivers, creeks and lakes of the Cities. Last week I ran what felt like a blazing fast 7 miles along Minnehaha Creek, and recalled the joys of sharing urban running trails with all the other runners out there. It's a contrast to the solitude of running on mountain trails, and perhaps that's what gives me such an appreciation for it. I feel like I suddenly have a hundred running partners, even though I likely won't say more than "Hi" to any of them. That always contributes to the feeling of speed, oh, and the fact that I live at 6000 feet and ran on a flat paved trail at sea level!

The Mississippi River viewed fromthe Science Museum in St. Paul MN

While Andrew and I were in Minneapolis, the bears here in Truckee were up to some unusual antics. It's been a tough year for the bears up here, with more than 30 killed by cars in the Tahoe area this season. It's no wonder then that this bear decided it would be preferable to jump off a bridge than tangle with an oncoming vehicle.

The scared bear clings to the side of Rainbow Bridge on old highway 40 (photos courtesy of Tahoe Tribune)

You can read the entire story here, but the short version is that the Bear League set up a safety net, tranquilized the bear, and pushed it off the side into the net. The bear was fine.



This is the excitement of life in a small town. In truth though, the issue of how to leave peacefully in the natural envorinment is a serious one. Although this is a sensational story, it is only one of many cases where the bears (and other wildlife) are adversely affected by the presence of humans. I'm glad, this time, that the bear got out alive.


This week is the Lake of the Sky trail run in Tahoe City. My training has been sorely inadequate, but I'm trying to think of it as a training week for the upcoming Helen Klein 50 Miler. Thus no tapering for me, although frankly I don't see how I could run any lower mileage than I already am. The weather looks questionable for the race at this point, so I am getting mentally prepared for a cold wet day.


For those of you with big races coming up, good luck! Addy is running her first 50 miler at Dick Collins Fire Trails 50 on the 13th, and Russ his first 100 miler at San Diego 100 on the 20th. I'll be sending good vibes your way!

School Daze


With a last-minute-end-of-summer job change and the start of school this month, my world has completely changed. What happened to all that time for running?? Being a teacher, the flip side of having summers off is that you have no life at all during the school year. Suddenly I am teaching high school English (I've only taught middle school in the past) and find myself drowing in prep and grading already. Drowning as in, I don't yet know exactly what I'm teaching today for a class that starts in 4 hours.

But here I am. Blogging.

I just realized that, while doing a good job is really important to me, taking time for some personal pursuits is necessary to my sanity. No one wants an insane teacher, afterall. Although some might argue we are insane to be in the profession at all.

Anyhow, mid-week running has been hard to find these days, and it mostly consists of short runs with the dogs. The bulk of my mileage comes on the weekend, and still, my weekly mileage is quite low. I still plan to run my upcoming 50K and 50 miler, counting on the magic of that weekly long run.

It's clear that fall has come to the mountains, as we have had a fire in the woodstove (our only heater) for 3 nights in a row. The willows have turned a hazy orange and the morning dog walk requires a warm hat and jacket. (But I'll continue to wear flip flops until the snow flies, my feet need to breathe!)

I've checked out some new (to me) sections of the Tahoe Rim Trail the last few weekends, and enjoyed some mid-run swims in high mountain lakes. The real goal of all of it is to enjoy the last days of summer while exercising vain attempts at tiring out my crazy border collie. I wonder if there are any 100 mile races that will allow you to have a dog as your pacer? I know he could go the distance. Perhaps I could rent him out to other runners.

I hope everyone out there is having some great running adventures. One of these days I am going to catch up on all your blogs! Meanwhile, here are some images from my long runs the last few weeks.

Lake Tahoe viewed from the TRT above Tahoe City

Lava rock trail on the TRT

A rare cool rainy day in Tahoe. Perfect running conditions!

My awesome training partner, Cap the crazy boder collie!

Castle Peak, viewed from Andesite Peak on "The hole in the ground Trail." That open slope above the treeline is one of my favorite backcountry ski destinations.

Smoke from several distant wildfires made for a hazy day.

Lola Montez lake makes for a great swimming hole for humans and dogs on the Hole in the Ground Trail.

The Indigo Girls rock the Power to the Peaceful concert in Golden Gate Park in San Francisco. I went for a beautiful urban run in the park that morning.