Wedding Ring Epilogue

I met Andrew in the summer of 1998 when we were both trail guides at a camp in the Boundary Waters in northern Minnesota. Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell you the whole long story of our meeting, falling in love, and getting married, but the setting to that story is important to the one I’m about to tell, so a few details need to be shared.

Camp Menogyn is a solid five and a half hours from the Twin Cities, and 30 minutes inland from the north shore of Lake Superior - remote and beautiful. Reaching its shores requires the campers (and trail guides) to paddle a canoe across West Bearskin Lake. There are no roads into Camp Menogyn.

As guides, we spent our infrequent days off in the tiny town of Grand Marais, out on Lake Superior. It was here, on the rocky coastline of the big lake, at Artist’s Point, that Andrew proposed to me in 1999. Looking back from Artist’s Point, one sees the crest line of the Sawtooth Mountains which parallel the shore of the lake.

Our wedding rings were made by a jeweler in Grand Marais who based their design off the surrounding landscape. The edges echo the line of the Sawtooths, and in the center the rings were carved into a lakeshore reflecting the surrounding forest – a scene constant in the Boundary Waters. Perfect for two people in love with each other and the outdoors.

Our wedding guests paddled canoes to the shores of West Bearskin, where we said our vows at Camp Menogyn on the first snowfall of the year in the autumn of 2000.

Some people think married couples wear wedding rings to show our status, like a cab driver with a rooftop sign alit: “Unavailable.” For me, it’s a reminder and a connection. I look down at that ring and feel not just the love for my husband, but all of our history – beautiful and challenging alike – as well as the place where we fell in love and said our vows. I love that place.

So when I lost my ring this past February, I struggled to get over it. I told myself it was just a material object, but the loss still felt painful. I ignored Andrew’s every entreaty to replace it. I even scanned the trail at Miwok where I thought I’d dropped it. I was looking for my ring during a race!

The post I wrote about that loss received such lovely comments from you all. Thank you! In particular, I was thinking this summer about part of what Pam said: “I kept waiting for the Gotcha Moment when you find that ring. You may one day yet …”

I can’t say I agreed with her. The idea of having a bit of hope to still find the ring was tempting, but it seemed foolish. And still, her comment stuck with me.

So, have I given away the end of the story yet?

Early in July I was in a blissful post-race haze after Western States. Just beginning my summer vacation, it was likely the best part of my entire year. Friends would arrive that afternoon to celebrate the July fourth weekend, and I swept pine needles from the deck to prepare the yard for the impending celebrations.

You’ll never believe what I found in that mess of pine needles.

I have never squealed so loudly in such excited disbelief in my entire life. Not even when I was a teenage girl. By the time Andrew came running up the stairs to see what was wrong, tears of joy were already streaming down my face. Yup – cried when I lost it, cried when I found it. I’m kind of a crier.

And although I tried very hard to avoid dwelling on the potential symbolism of a lost wedding ring, I am quite happy to inject its recovery with all manner of meaning. Love endures. Don’t give up hope. Pick your own cliché – they’re all positive.

The best I can figure, it came off my finger while shoveling the deck (maybe while removing a glove?), but I simply didn’t notice its absence until I was 200 miles away, 24 hours later. And the craziest thing – it stayed on the deck for five months. Five months of excessive, ridiculous amounts of snow which were repeatedly shoveled off inches at a time. How it didn’t get scooped up in a shovel and tossed into the garden I have no idea.

Here’s the cliché I chose to sum up this experience: Life is crazy, and beautiful, and you never know what might happen. You just never know.

Running is a State of Being

When I’m not training for any particular races, I spend a lot of time on long, meandering walks with the dogs through the forest behind my house.

During one of these recent walks, words floated around in my head, finding their way into phrases, sentences, and even occasional paragraphs. Most of my writing happens on trail, with only a fraction of it actually finding its way from brain to fingers to keyboard.

A phrase kept arising that finally caused a serious conversation between Artistic Writer Me and Grammar Teacher Me.

“I ran slow.”

A fair statement, no? I mean, much of the time I am slow! But you see where Grammar Teacher Me has a problem with this, right?

Run is an action verb. You don’t run slow. You run slowly.

But I can’t gripe about my pace in a race by whining, “Man, I was running so damn slowly!”

Artistic Writer Me asserts: It wasn’t my legs that were slow; it wasn’t the action of running. It was just me!

I was slow!

And this is just fine, Grammar Teacher Me says, because “to be” is a linking verb. It expresses a state of being. It names the subject. Me=slow. Therefore, adjectives, not adverbs, are the menu item of choice.

I can be slow, but can I run slow?

It was then that I recognized this one truth: Running is a state of being. “To run” does not have to be an action verb.

I can run slow or fast. I can run happy, sad, heavy, or light. Sometimes, I just run. It's me being who I am.

And I felt quit triumphant at finding a conclusion that satisfied both Me’s.

Donner Lake Rim Trail - PCT Loop

Trail: 75% Technical singletrack, 25% dirt road.

Distance: 28 1/2 miles (partial loop)

Difficulty: Challenging

Trailhead: This "loop" requires a short shuttle, so you'll want to leave a car at the finish. From I-80, exit Donner Pass Rd. in Truckee. For westbound traffic, turn left across the freeway and left at the blinking light. For eastbound traffic, go straight through the blinking light. Park on Coldstream Rd. near the 76 station and the Truckee Donner Lodge.

To reach the Teton Way trailhead in Tahoe Donner to start the run, head east on Donner Pass Rd., then turn left on Northwoods Blvd. Turn left at the blinking light (Northwoods) and left again on Ski Slope Way. Look for the trailhead on your left after you cross under the power lines. 

You can download a map of the roads and trails in Tahoe Donner here. 

Season: July to October

Water: In early season, there are creeks along the DLRT and always at Summit Lake (~mile 9). There is typically little or no water on the PCT. In summer (mid-June through late August) you may be able to fill up from the spigot at the Sugar Bowl Academy on Donner Summit (mile 16). There are creeks along the Coldstream Trail (~mile 24 to 26) all season.

Notes: If you want a more scenic finish than Coldstream Canyon and don't mind a slightly longer shuttle, leave a car parked at Squaw Valley (behind OVI and next to the fire station) and skip the Coldstream trail. Continue past Tinker's on the PCT and drop down on the Granite Chief Trail for 3 miles into Squaw.

Looking out at Anderson Ridge and Tinker's Knob, 2 miles into my run.

Trail Description:

I ran this route as a loop, since I am lucky enough to live in the forested area between the two trailheads. By connecting three miles of unofficial trail and about two miles of pavement, I got in 33 miles right out my door.

Running through Tahoe Donner from the Teton Way trailhead, I kept my eye on the map at the well-marked trail junctures. When I hit the Donner Lake Rim Trail on Donner Ridge, I dropped down into Negro Canyon toward Castle Peak.

Looking down into Negro Canyon from Donner Ridge with Castle Peak in the background.

On this Monday in August, the DLRT was blissfully deserted. I had it all to myself.

Water can be had at several streams through Negro Canyon, but most are usually dry by late July. (This year was quite an exception!)

The next water source is Summit Lake, about nine miles in from Teton Way.

Summit Lake

After the rocky, exposed granite near Summit Lake, the path again becomes forested. Upon reaching the trail junction with Warren Lake, I headed south on the PCT (the opposite direction from Warren Lake).

In less than two miles, I crossed under I-80 via two easy tunnels.

Running under semi's!

I had taken this day as a solo effort because my weekend was full, and no one could join me on a Monday. I couldn't recall the last time I had done a long run by myself, and it seemed a beautiful way to celebrate summer's near end.

There was a time when I did all on my training alone because I simply didn't know anyone who wanted to run so far. Now I am blessed with many wonderful training partners, and I feel truly lucky. But it was nice, on this day, to remember the girl who always used to be alone, and to revel in the joy that I still find in my wilderness solitude. I know and love these trails. I feel safe here. And even though 33 miles was a tall order for me on this day, I had not a shred of concern that I wouldn't make it.

Looking back at Castle Peak from near Donner Summit.

Donner Lake and Old Hwy 40 at Donner Summit.

After crossing Old 40, I stopped at the Sugar Bowl Academy to refill my water from their spigot, located on the east side of the parking lot. This is fine during summer months, when school is not in session, but be respectful at other times and stay off campus.

I followed the road behind to school to where the trail again resumed it's rocky, singletrack personality. Here, the trail climbs up Mt. Judah through the Sugar Bowl ski area.

This trail can be quite crowded on summer weekends, but I saw only a handful of people.

Climbing over the shoulder of Mt. Lincoln, I looked across Anderson Ridge to see my destination, Tinker's Knob, where I would leave the PCT.

Anderson Ridge

Looking toward the back side of Squaw.

The wildflowers, still thick along the trail, were a testament to the big winter and late summer!

At Anderson Peak, I took a short detour on a side trail to the Benson Hut. This Sierra Club hut is a great ski touring destination in winter!

The Benson Hut

Tinker's Knob, viewed from Anderson Peak.

The trail around Anderson and Tinker's is quite rocky!

At Tinker's, I left the PCT to follow the Coldstream Trail back down to Truckee.

A quick glimpse of Tahoe before leaving the ridge.

The Coldstream Trail was a new one for me, and I was pleasantly surprised at its beauty. It was clearly little-used, but the singletrack followed the spine of a ridge with excellent views for the first three miles.

Soon, I was down in the canyon and back into familiar territory near the Lost Trail Lodge.

The Coldstream Trail

The Lost Trail Lodge

Crossing over the tracks at horseshoe bend, I knew I was almost home.

The last few miles were a slog, as I knew they would be. That's what happens when you run all your miles for the week in a single day. I'd taken it quite easy and enjoyed myself immensely, but was definitely pushing the limits of my fitness.

The last two miles were on hot, flat, hardpacked, dirt road. I let myself take walking breaks because, what the heck. Why not?

Self-portrait on Coldstream Road

Tahoe Rim Trail Endurance Run 2011

Sunrise over Spooner Lake

I stood in the early morning darkness wrapped in a down jacket and smiling at friends. A small crowd sporting running shorts and arm warmers, accessorized with a variety of hydration packs and the occasional pair of trekking poles, gathered under the pines. The casual milling-about of the runners belied the enormity of the task they were about to begin. In what has become something of a tradition for mid-July, I stood at the start line of the Tahoe Rim Trail Endurance Runs. In contrast to the previous four years, however, I would not race this day.

It is no understatement to say that this race holds a special place in my heart, having been the setting for my first ultra, my first 100, and countless training miles.  And although I’d already had my own big race weighing on my mind when TRT registration opened back in January, it still felt strange not to sign up for this race. It felt just a teeny, tiny bit sad.

Now, at the start of the 100 Mile, I felt anything but sad. Later in the day I would be at this exact spot to pace my good friend Donald through the second half of his race. Standing next to me, chatting with fellow racers, he looked perfectly at ease. I was excited for him!

Pre-race with Donald. Read his race report here!

Being present at the start was a bit of indulgence on my part: Donald didn’t need me here, and I’d already been offered a ride later in the day so I could have chosen to sleep in. Considering that I would be up all night pacing, it would have been the prudent choice. No one has ever really called me practical though, and I just couldn’t resist being a part of the magic on the start line.

The runners headed off into the darkness, kicking up a small dust storm in their wake. I cheered them on, mentally wished them well, and immediately turned to welcome friends who had already arrived to race the 50 Mile and 50K races that started an hour later.

Clare and Scott, ready to take on the 50M!

Tim, John, Annie and Katie show the joy and dedication of the TRT family by taking on a day full of various racing, pacing, and volunteer duties.

Julie and Betsy stay warm before the 50K.

After a relaxing morning, I spent time socializing at the Diamond Peak aid station. Familiar faces presided, both as spectators and racers, and I cheered friends through the aid station.

A woman on a mission: Jen Benna shows how it's done, leaving Diamond Peak. Read her beautiful and inspiring race report here.

50 mile runner Paul Sweeny.

Jenny Capel is relaxed and casual in the 50 mile race.

Donald came through in good spirits, stating that he felt good and thought he had started conservatively – both good things at mile 30!

Amy is all smiles with only 20 miles to go.

Jamie Frink heads off to the nasty hill at Diamond Peak.

Jack, Chet, and Steve, fueling up and swapping stories at Diamond Peak.

I returned to the start/finish area in plenty of time to see finishers in the 50K and 50 mile events while I waited for Donald to show up. The standard ultra fare had me smiling: Some folks looked great, while others were puking repeatedly. Some 100 milers were hanging out at the aid station hoping to settle unhappy stomachs while 50K finishers sat nearby draining the keg of Sierra. I only had a teeny tiny beer with Betsy while I waited for Donald. I promise!

Sarah and Tom, ready to head out for Tom's second lap.

Mark Tanaka assured me that since he is a doctor, it was okay for him to pop some ibuprofen at mile 50.

Hanging out with Tina while we wait for our pacing duties to begin.

Badass 50M finishers Jenny and Jamie.

When you’re waiting to start pacing someone in a 100 miler there is always a certain amount of anxiety: Did I get here in time? Did my runner come through already? Did I miss him while I was in the outhouse?

None of those things happened of course, but even though I was there early, I immediately checked with the aid station to make sure he hadn’t already been through.

Then when your runner’s expected arrival time comes and goes, there’s further anxiety: What happened? Is he okay? Did he get hurt or lost? Did he come through and I didn't see him?

I knew this was all paranoia on my part, especially since his “expected arrival time” was my own ball-park estimate. Sure enough, he showed up shortly, intact and ready to hammer out the remaining 50 miles.

It occurred to me at some point during my waiting that I was not the least bit worried about running 50 miles through the dark on rugged mountain trails. Considering that 30 miles at Hardrock had completely kicked my butt the week before, this seemed a bit surprising. However, I recognized that I had several things going for me on this particular evening, such as: A) I had an additional week of recovery from Western States, B) I would be running on terrain I was comfortable with and knew very well, and C) … Well, see point “B” again. I love this course!

Truthfully, I couldn’t have asked for a better pacing experience. The night was filled with friends at aid stations, perfume from wildflowers, moonlight on snow, sunrise views over Lake Tahoe, chilly winds, and warm fires. Donald handled himself beautifully over a beast of a course, and I felt like I just got to sit back and smile at the whole experience.

I had geared up with arm sleeves, my Icebreaker wool top, Houdini windbreaker, hat and gloves, but the night air still felt frigid – much colder than it had been at either of my own races at the TRT 100. At one point I saw a runner heading towards us dressed in a down jacket, and I did not think it totally unreasonable! I was glad I had dressed warmly, but I would have been even happier with a pair of tights instead of my shorts. I worried about Donald at first, with only a light windbreaker and gloves to add to his shorts and t-shirt, but he seemed to manage just fine, as he did with everything that night.

We both had just a bit of trouble tearing ourselves away from the fire at Diamond Peak, especially knowing what we were about to face. Two miles straight up the ski run, and Donald kept a pace I could barely hang on to. The only reason I managed to keep up was pure pride: I couldn’t let a guy with 80 miles on his legs kick my butt!

Darkness gave way to morning on the return trip, transforming the surrounding landscape. From moonglow, to first light, to full sun, the ever changing palette of colors captivated me.

Watching Donald come across the finish line, and spending a few minutes afterward with other racers and volunteers, was more gratifying than I would have expected. I hadn't run a hundred miles, but I'd been there to witness a good friend accomplish something pretty tough. Maybe it's because I have run this 100 twice before that I felt a taste of that mix of emotions that comes with finishing it. That, along with the immense pride I felt for my friend, had me glowing almost as much as if I'd run the race myself.

Following up my goal race at Western States with two wonderful pacing experiences was a great way to head into summer. In fact, I realized pacing is something I’d like to do more of, especially when I’m not feeling the itch to race myself. I didn’t experience any post-race depression after States, even though there had been a huge mental buildup, and I think that’s largely due to the fact that I had support roles at Hardrock and TRT on the calendar. It wasn’t until after TRT was over that I began to wonder what to do with myself for the rest of the summer.

Every time I pace someone I come away with new lessons. From Paige I learned about pacing, from Jamie about speed, and from Betsy about pure grit and toughness. Donald, he taught me about focus. There were times when he wasn’t feeling well. His stomach bothered him. He had a monster hill to climb. It was freezing cold and windy. He had to negotiate snowy slopes. But he never got down, never stopped moving forward, never lingered at aid stations, never lost focus. Even in the last ten miles, when things were at their very hardest, he seemed only to become more determined.

A brilliant example of what it takes to run a hundred miles.    

Trail running for me is a journey of the heart and mind, even more so than the body, and getting to share in someone else’s 100 mile experience is a joy and a privilege. Adding pacing to my list of experiences at TRT was an excellent decision! I feel certain I'll always come back to this race in some form or another. (Next year I'm thinking about running the 50M.) Whether I'm pushing myself, or supporting others to do the same, TRT is one of the best, friendliest, and most beautiful places to do it.

Weekend Adventures

 

Morning SUP on Donner Lake

PCT and TRT in Desolation Wilderness: Echo Lakes to Dicks Pass

Sunrise on the drive to the trailhead. 

Trail: Technical singletrack


Distance: 26 miles (out and back)


Difficulty: Challenging


Trailhead: The trailhead at Echo Lakes Resort can be reached off of Hwy 50 near South Lake Tahoe, CA. Just south of Echo Summit, turn south on Johnson Pass Rd. At the Snow Park parking area, turn left and follow the road for about a half mile to the resort at Echo Lakes. Public outhouses are located adjacent to the parking area.


Season: July to October


Water: Creeks and lakes are plentiful during approximately the first ten miles. After the turn off to climb up to the pass you may find snow patches in early season or big snow years.


Notes: Wilderness permit required, even for day use. No fee, as of 2011. You can fill out permits at the trailhead.

Trish, Monica, Jennifer, and Jamie, trailside.

Trail Description:

Head south on the Pacific Crest Trail and Tahoe Rim Trail (the same trail, at this point) and follow the signs to Dick's Pass. Trails are well marked. You can turn around whenever you'd like for a run of any distance.

Stormy skies and snowy peaks above Aloha Lake

I set out with Jamie, Trish, Monica, and Jen (Caren caught up with us later) for a long, beautiful day in the Desolation Wilderness. Days like these are reminders of just why I live in Tahoe, and why I do this crazy ultrarunning thing.


The trail began across technical, rocky terrain along Echo Lake. We engaged in the standard conversation for this stretch of trail: Just how does one acquire one of these boat-in, lake-front cabins on National Forest land? Given that they can only be inherited, schemes ranged from befriending elderly landowners to marrying them.


After the glorious beauty of Aloha Lake, we made a wrong turn across the snow. I personally found the off-trail scrambling and snow traverses to be a fun adventure. The remainder of our group at least took the adventure to be reenforcement of what complete badasses we are. 


Yeah, anyone can get there if they take the trail!

Climbing up to the pass

After passing Echo, Aloha, Susie, and Heather Lakes, we worked our way up towards Dick's Pass. There is more climbing on the way out than on the return trip, and we were still full of spirit and soaking up our surroundings.

Jamie, Monica, and Trish at the top of the pass.

View from the top.

I found it fitting that the trailside lakes carried female names. It is rare that I spend an eight hour day running with a group of 5 other women. It's been a topic of much conversation lately not only why there are so few women in the sport of ultrarunning, but also how lucky we are to find ourselves among them. Although I quite appreciate most of the men I've met and run with, it is certainly a unique and wonderful atmosphere to be out in the wilderness with a group of badass women. It promotes unique topics of conversation as well. Enough said.

Trail along Heather Lake

We found a beautiful waterfall on the return trip - good for filling water bottles and for mid-run showers.

The day wasn't all that hot, but I couldn't resist the refreshment. It felt something like this ... 

Return trail along Aloha Lake

We pondered the name "Aloha" and decided it was chosen for the clear blue water, almost tropical looking, and tiny granite islands that look like sandy beaches. 

The last 5 miles back along Echo are always tiring but wistful. My legs felt shot from all the rocks, and the going was slow. My feet were hammered, feeling every piece of granite beneath my shoes. Still, I felt the peaceful sadness of the day coming to a close.


My fitness is not what it was in June, but it was such a wonder to be out there. A blessing, every mile.

Technical trail leads to Echo Lake.

Back at the car, a quick swim in Echo Lake is the satisfying cleansing to finish this prayer. The wind was fierce, and I nearly chickened out. Jamie went under first, obligating me to go. 


And that's exactly what good, badass, chick, ultrarunning friends are for.