I ran my version of The Candy Store Loop once again this past Sunday. And once again, it kicked my butt. But I survived. I fell only once (just a minor scrape to my uninjured knee). I did not experience heat exhaustion, even amidst a heat wave. And I did not run out of fluids. I spotted a orangish-tan colored lizard that I’ve never seen in these mountains. And I nearly stepped on a salamander. Fortunately, I didn’t squash the critter, as Sunday, I ran with two friends (one who noticed the critter) – one new friend and one old (Nicole and Emmett). Wait: I must hum the tune that I used to sing in Girl Scouts so many, many, many years ago: “Make new friends, and keep the old. One is silver and the other gold.”
Though the elevation gain is not extreme for nineteen miles (just over 3,000’) this is one tough route. It’s tough because of the technical aspect – rocks and boulders, and sand, and boulders, and rocks, and overgrown grass, and rocks, and boulders, and oh ya – scorching sunlight on exposed trail. Did I mention rocks and boulders?
But it’s all fun. It really is. And one of these days, I’ll finally be ready for The Candy Store Loop.
Chiquito Trail:
A Trickle at Chiquito Falls:
Salamander on the Trails:
Ocean View from Old San Juan Trail:
Chiquito Trail View:
Tired Dirty Feet back at The Candy Store (From left to right – Nicole, Me and Emmett):
I overslept this morning and changed my mountain running plans to coastal hills running plans. Then I changed my plans back to mountain running. My feet didn’t hit dirt until after 9AM. That’s okay though. I felt rested and strong as I started the first leg (the uphill leg) of my version of The Candy Store loop. There many variations of this “loop” out there. The main parts of the run however, are always the same: Around 20 miles long, it starts or ends in the lot across the highway from The Candy Store, and goes to Blue Jay Campground, with the main trail being a long technical, rocky Chiquito Trail (which passes by Chiquito Falls, dry now for a good long while).
Fortunately, I experienced a cool breeze practically all day. Also in the fortunate category: I am still immune to poison oak, as the shady portions of today’s run were covered with the plant. However, unfortunately, I was NOT ready for this difficult run. I felt so fatigued, I experienced light-headedness and needed to force down additional calories. I also poked my leg by running into cactus, resulting in a trickle of blood. Then I fell flat on my butt running down a steep Old San Juan Trail. Running the uphills on the return “downhill” portion really got my goat. At one point, I turned a bend to find another uphill on my “downhill” route and hollered out a profanity.
On the slightly humorous, Lauren-peculiar side, a set of hikers stopped me with three miles remaining for my run and asked, “How much longer?” At that point, my brain could hardly form a thought. But I did manage to sound like a ditzy broad when I replied “How much longer to where?” (It always cracks me up when people ask me how much longer, as if I know where they are going). The group of three looked at me questioningly until I re-phrased my question to “Where are you going?” One of the guys answered, “Chiquito.” Still barely able to form a coherent thought, I answered, “You’re on Chiquito.”
Turns out they were hiking to Chiquito Falls (which I should have guessed – duh!). And though I figured out “how much longer” after we parted ways, I was only able to tell them that the falls are five miles from the parking lot. I forgot to mention that the falls are dry.
Despite not being ready for this run, I did finish it. I finished it without collapsing and without calling 911. I didn’t even run out of fluids. Hooray for the fresh water in Blue Jay! Who cares that my lower left calf aches (grocery store accident), and the plantar fasciitis in my right foot is having a painful flare-up.
Going Up . . .
Much Appreciated Shade:
So, so, so happy to hear the cars from the road way down there – I was almost, almost finished:
Route: San Juan Loop, Chiquito, Viejo Tie, San Juan Trail, Long Canyon Road in Blue Jay, Old San Juan, Chiquito, San Juan Loop.
I have not been well, and ended my 9 day running streak on Monday. I would have ended it Sunday if it were not for my oldest son. He offered to run a mile with me on Monday, so off we went. I could tell he was frustrated with my pace. I could barely run. If it wasn’t for my lovely son, my streak would have ended on day 8.
Today marked a starting over of my streak with day one. There was a group run going out of Blue Jay for twenty-something miles into Trabuco Canyon. I wanted some solitude today and decided to run elsewhere alone. I chose the Candy Store loop, which is more an out-and-back than a loop (but it’s loopish, with loops along the way). Today though, I decided to run it in the opposite direction. This way, I would run the uphill first, and hit the downhill for the last ten or so miles.
Same route, different direction:
The sun had already risen by the time my feet hit dirt. Solitude I wanted, solitude I got. I saw this furry creature on my way down the San Juan Loop. But I didn’t see a single person.
San Juan Loop looked much different to me running it in the opposite direction:
The run out, that is up to Blue Jay, was beautiful, uneventful and difficult. But it wasn’t as difficult as when I run it for the second half. The weather was cool, the trails were empty. I decided at one point to search out the water stash my friends have told me about. Every time I look for it, I can’t find it. Today, I looked twice. The first time, no luck. On my relook, I found the stash off a beaten path. Camouflaged well, I lifted the debris to see just how much water there was. There was lots – not only that, but there was a brown mouse that poked his head out and scrambled down the bottles toward me. Well, I let out a yelp (I hate mice – sorry I just do), covered the stash back up and high-tailed it out of there.
I ran a several miles without music. And I stopped several times to snap pictures I haven’t taken in a long time.
A dry Chiquito Falls:
I ran UP the Viejo Tie for the first time ever. The ground was soft with leaf litter, and portions were extremely steep. But it was all doable. I still had lots of energy. By the time I reached San Juan Trail, I was ready for Blue Jay. Two miles of uphill rocky single-track still remained. I took it running and finally ran into Blue Jay with an empty hydration pack.
Feeling no dread whatsoever for the second half of my run (like I do when I run it reverse), I rushed to a water source and filled my pack to the brim. Lastly I took out a Larabar for breakfast to enjoy as I ran back down San Juan Trail.
My water source:
I ran through my “two deserts” (mentioned in my last Candy Store Loop post) and found it extremely hot and dry, yet delightful. The sandy dirt was quite loose to the point where I fell. I wouldn’t normally call this a fall because I actually slipped. Slipping and falling are two different actions. But since I landed on my butt, well, I guess it was a fall.
I continued onward through the shady forests of Chiquito feeling good, feeling strong. I picked up my speed as I ran down toward the Viejo Tie intersection when suddenly I tripped on a root hidden in the leaf litter. I flew through the air, like a flying squirrel. I mean FLEW. I landed face down in a patch of poison oak on top of a bed of leaf litter about six inches thick. Talk about a cushy fall. The first thing that came to mind was, “Get up! Don’t let the hydration pack leak.” So, I jumped up, found just a few cuts and scratches on my legs and was on my way. (If you’re a new reader, you won’t know that so far, I’ve been immune to poison oak).
The weather heated up immensely. Still, by the time I came near the secret water stash, I still had probably a pack 3/4 full. And that whole mouse thing creeped me out so much that I decided not to stop and refill.
BIG MISTAKE.
I ran the next few miles, up and down, up and down (though mainly down) on HOT, exposed trail. The sun drained me, but I still drank up, fearful that I would run out soon. I began to feel nauseated and had to stop and cool off here and there in little sections of shade. My legs felt weak, like they couldn’t hold me up. I kept running, because I wanted to get this portion finished as quickly as possible.
And then I ran out of fluids. With about 2 miles to go, I ran the flats and downhills, hiked the uphills. When I finally turned a corner into some shade, I came upon two male hikers. “Don’t go out there,” I said.
One of the men said, “I know, we were just there.” His face was red. The other guy was laying down in the shade. I ran past them a couple feet and then abruptly stopped. I HAD TO cool down. Bending over, I grabbed my knees and was still holding myself up when the two guys took off ahead of me.
After cooling some, I took off running again. When I caught up with the two hikers, they were resting in the shade again. They asked advice on the route back, and I told them to take the San Juan Loop to the right – it’s the shadiest.
I passed the hikers. Soon enough, they were up gaining on me. I could no longer run. That’s when one of the guys yelled out, “Miss, did you know your arm is bleeding?”
Sure enough a stream of dried blood streaked down my arm. The hikers didn’t seem too sure when I assured them that my arm was alright.
The hikers and I continued like this for about a mile – stopping and resting, then taking off as long as we could. The hiker about my age would just plop down in the shade and lay there. I usually took off first because I HAD TO GET TO MY TRUCK FOR WATER.
Eventually, I could only hold myself up when hiking or running. Standing still I had a problem. When I stopped in shade to cool off, I had to grasp a tree branch so that I wouldn’t fall. I felt that I could not lay down for fear that I wouldn’t be able to get up. For the first time in a long time, I worried about my well-being. The only thing that stopped me from calling for help was the fact that I was only about a mile from the parking lot. I decided to wait it out and see how I progressed before calling aid. I paid close attention to my body and worked and worked at cooling it down. At one point I oddly took off my hat. Thankfully, I still had my wits about me to put it back on. My breathing was rapid. And I was hot, OH SO HOT. But I still could think logically.
We were was SO, SO CLOSE to the parking lot when the two hikers plopped down in the shade again. Some hikers on the boulders above noticed us and waved. That’s when I felt safe leaving the hikers behind and making the march back to the truck.
That march was miserable. I stopped quite frequently, in fact, in every bit of shade. Eventually, I had to sit in the shade. Then my saving grace arrived. On several occasions, it seemed like just as I sat, a strong cool breeze came along to cool me off. That breeze gave me just enough strength to walk another twenty feet or so. I certainly suffered from heat exhaustion. The breezes cooled me of enough that I worried less over the possibility of heat stroke.
I couldn’t believe that I let a little mouse stop me from getting more water some miles back. That will NOT happen again. I hiked those last 100 yards painstakingly slow. Then finally! I caught a glimpse of the parking lot curb. I had made it. I had my pack off before I even reached my truck. My key in the door, I grabbed out a jug of water ASAP. Then I turned on the truck and put the air conditioning on full blast. Feeling too weak to drive immediately, I took swigs of the water. I poured some over my head too. When the salt dripped down into my eyes, I used some of that precious water to wash my face too.
Well, I love an adventure, that’s for sure. But dang it! How many times do I have to learn the same lesson? Refill at EVERY chance, even if I don’t think I need it. This is my promise on day one of my running streak.
Elevation Profile (The route, San Juan Loop, Chiquito, Viejo Tie, San Juan Trail, Blue Jay Campground, San Juan Trail, Old San Juan Trail, San Juan Trail, Chiquito, San Juan Loop).
This morning I woke at the ridiculous hour of 4AM. Why? So that I could drive an hour into the mountains and run The Candy Store run as the sun rose. The drive up the windy mountain was uneventful as car after car raced down in the opposite direction from Riverside county, to jobs in Orange County. I parked in lower Blue Jay Campground. Tents were erected through out the grounds, but not a person stirred. It seemed also that not a creature stirred.
I took off on the same rocky trail that we took off on in Old Goat 50. The skies were cloudy. And as I descended down the mountain, I heard child screams and laughter coming from a campground above. I felt like I was making slow time, yet I felt good. I didn’t tape my arches, nor did I roll my shins beforehand. I wound down the trail and made the first point of interest (the Chiquito / San Juan intersection) in about 37 minutes. I consider 45 minutes very decent time for me. I didn’t want to care about time on this run. I wanted to enjoy. Still, I couldn’t help but celebrate a tad.
I continued on San Juan Trail, which was shady and lush, climbing up toward the Viejo Tie. Ear phones dangling around my shoulder and not in my ears, I desired complete awareness of my surroundings. The trails were desolate. I was completely alone, except for what lurked out there in the forest. I felt relieved when I hit exposed trail because I had a better grasp on my surroundings.
Memories from Old Goat flooded my mind as I ran. I recalled where I fell. I recalled when I passed, when I was passed. The Tie went by very quickly, especially compared to the first time I ran it. Still, I felt like I moved slower than I did during Old Goat. Yet, I made the Chiquito intersection in about 50 minutes (1 hour is VERY decent for me). Again, I felt accomplished. So relaxed was I, the trails’ technical difficulty didn’t throw me.
I ran in and out of shady lush forest, on overgrown single track for the next few miles. My mind wandered to all the things I needed to do (grade papers, make calls, pay bills, organize, organize, organize). I thought a lot about our dying friend. I told myself, “Don’t think! Don’t think!” I found this quite difficult. That is until I told myself to do just one thing today: call the hospice. With that one thing resolved, I was finally able to empty my mind.
The Viejo Tie (Or San Juan Trail just before the split):
The poison oak on Chiquito was unavoidable. Even though I have been immune to the plant’s poison, I’ve heard that immunity doesn’t last forever. I’ve run through the stuff head-to-toe before with no consequences (knock on wood!). This morning, I occasionally stepped aside from a bush. But then my thigh would brush against several leaves. Eventually, I realized it was useless. There was no escaping the plant.
Chiquito Trail (notice the poison oak on the forest floor):
“The Candy Store Run” is approximately twenty miles, mainly downhill from Blue Jay to The Candy Store, mainly uphill on the way back. Beginning this run at The Candy Store rather than Blue Jay, is the much easier way to go because you run the harder part on strong legs. Both ways are long. Both ways are lovely. But I wanted hard. Excruciating in fact. This is why I began on the mainly downhill for an uphill climb on tired legs.
I passed Chiquito Falls still feeling strong, feeling like I’d make The Candy Store in under 3 hours. Then a funny thing happened on the way to the store. I saw another person running up from the other way. He wore all black, just as I did. He didn’t startle me. I could distinguish that he was a trail runner by the two handhelds. But who?
Why, this other runner was my friend John H.!! I laughed out loud. I mean, what are the chances that I’d come across someone I know? We stopped and chatted for a good amount of time, laughing over the things we put our trucks through and how we both stash water in the mountains. We talked about Old Goat (John was a sweeper who swept my friend, Emmett). As we chatted, he helped put my mind at ease over finishing a fifty miler. John seems quite “laid back” about running, whereas I tend to tense up. Anyway, I didn’t worry about making The Candy Store in under 3 hours anymore. It’s not often I get to talk trails and laugh out in the middle of nowhere with a friend.
But then, I was off running again; John was off running again as well, in opposite directions.
Out portion of the run, it’s still cool enough for my long sleeves:
Views of The Cleveland National Forest on my way down:
A quick glimpse of the many spring flowers along the way:
Toward the end of the out portion, I came upon a couple hiking groups. One man looked at me as though I was crazy. Another gasped, “Running?” At the giant fallen tree, decomposing for years, I began my climb up to the parking lot. The sun was out in vengeance. The climb was difficult. I finally ran into the parking lot in over three hours. Across the street, The Candy Store was probably still closed (unless they sell donuts for breakfast). I didn’t run across the highway to check, though I do love candy. Instead, I ran over to my water stash in the brush. After refilling, I set out for the return trip beneath an unrelenting sun.
Running back on the San Juan Loop, toward Chiquito Trail for the climb up:
It came as no surprise that the climb back out toward Chiquito Falls was miserable. But it was a lovely miserable. I climbed over boulders. I ran the uphills in the shade. Sometimes on exposed trails, I hiked. I passed more hikers, some in small groups, some with walking sticks.
Excruciating is a great word for the back portion of this run. Much of it, before Chiquito Falls, is exposed, hot and rocky. Tiny gnats swarmed my face. But despite this, I still felt good. No major aches or pains. At one point, about half way, I heard the pounding of fast running. Disoriented some, I was startled, thinking someone was running up on me from behind. Turns out, it was John. He wasn’t behind me. He was in front of me. We spoke briefly as I stumbled up the boulders. Except for the last climb up to the parking lot, he had mainly downhill to look forward to, whereas I was looking at several more uphill miles. Doh!
A big rock on Chiquito:
A simple view of the climb out:
Sleeves off, it’s now HOT, and I’m greatly looking forward to San Juan Trail because that means I’ve only got a few miles to go:
I came upon cyclists on the way out. I gave directions to a father and son. I could have cut the course short on a few occasions. But I decided to sweat it out. A cool breeze blew through the trees. And though I felt fatigued, and pretty miserable, it was the good kind of miserable. Seriously. There is a good kind of miserable – it’s the kind of miserable when a difficult, yet gorgeous run is nearly over.
I headed up the mountain with Emmett Rahl at 3:30 AM. With little sleep, I felt energetic, excited, trying not to think about Old Goat specifics. My first & utmost concern was making that first cutoff – The 21 mile technical “Candy Store Loop” in 6.5 hours.
We took off in the dark wearing headlamps. I handled the rocky terrain well, relieved I had trained on San Juan Trail. I fell twice in the dark. But they were both those amazing, what I call “ballerina” falls. These are the falls that I bounce back up with absolutely no injuries. A little ways later, I kicked an embedded rock so hard that I was sure when the sun rose, I’d see a blood soaked shoe.
I passed several people on the Viejo Tie portion of the loop. I chanted my mantras, prayed for strength. Though visibility was tough at first, I know the Viejo Tie. In training, I learned I didn’t have to go as slowly as it looked like I did. There’s landing paces, ways to maneuver the trail quickly and confidently. As I passed one group of runners, one of them yelled out to the others ahead, “Fast Runner” so that I could pass. I got a hearty laugh out of that. I don’t think anyone has EVER referred to me as “Fast Runner.” With six runners behind me, one of them at my toes, I felt happy. I arrived at Chiquita trail 12 minutes faster than my best! With the sun out and warming the earth quickly, I saw that my shoe was clean of blood. My big toe ached, but it was bearable.
My friend Robert Whited passed me on the final ascent into the “Candy Store” aid. I didn’t see many people running this portion. Those I did see, like myself, hiked a great deal of the short distance. (Not Robert though; he’s an animal.)
Somewhere in the first 11 miles, I lost my time gain and arrived to the parking lot across from The Candy Store right around my best time: 3 hours. I quickly hopped back on the trail to loop back around onto Chiquita with a great sense of urgency to finish the mainly uphill ten miles in the best time I ever had. If I did any less than my best, I would not make the cutoff.
The first five miles into the return trip were tough. But I moved forward at a good pace. Emmett Rahl caught me and then he quickly ploughed up ahead of me. My friend Kurt Erlandson also passed with encouraging words. Many people passed me, as I had taken the early start, and the regular starters were coming on strong. One guy turned back to look at me and said, “Hey! I read your blog yesterday.”
Right about the time that I felt I couldn’t move any faster, a group of 5 or so runners came up from behind as we climbed that rocky exposed terrain. The female leader passed me. Her male followers didn’t pass. I didn’t force it either. Instead, I followed her lead, picking up my pace tremendously. Focusing on her feet, I witnessed her trip a few times. I continued with my mantras and praying. And then I fell again. But amazingly, I fell sideways, directly into the mountain wall. The runner ahead hollered back asking if I was okay. Surprisingly, I was fine after pushing myself away from the dirt and keeping stride with the group. It seemed as if I didn’t miss a step.
At the Chiquita falls aid station, I met up with a large group of runners. I found Emmett, gulped down a shot of water. I said to him beneath my breath, “I’m out of here.” I needed all the head start I could get. He didn’t hear me, telling me later that he turned to look and I had disappeared.
I arrived to the first cut-off in 6:10. This was my best time by EIGHTEEN minutes. I also made the cutoff with twenty minutes to spare!! Several runners dropped out at that point. It was an easy place to drop because our cars were in the vicinity. So relieved to make the cutoff, there was no way I was dropping. Next stop, the Bear Springs Aid station by 5:00 PM.
I refilled my hydration pack, grabbed a gel, a piece of peanut butter sandwich and a couple Red Vine candies. Then I quickly took off again, this time running the single-track Falcon Trail toward the Main Divide for a huge climb up to Trabuco Trail. I hiked the Main Divide with some difficulty. But I wasn’t alone. Several other runners struggled that bastard of a rocky road. Good news is that it’s relatively short.
Aid at Trabuco was festive. They offered runners beer and didn’t let me do a thing myself. I took a few sips of beer. I gulped down Coca-Cola and ate pieces of oranges. I took off my long sleeve shirt, tied it around my waist. I applied sunscreen to my shoulders. Relief settled in with the shade of Trabuco Trail. I struggled some down the rockiest portions. At one point my feet rolled over the ground as if I were running on marbles. At about mile 25, I took off my sunglasses to take in the spectacular lush mountain scenery. I saw what looked like thousands of tiny gray flies fluttering about. Something was happening with my vision. I took in another gel, and kept the fluids flowing.
Hiking up the Main Divide toward Trabuco Trail:
When Trabuco Trail FINALLY began to level out, I could hear voices behind me. So, another runner was going to pass me. They had been passing me for hours. I wasn’t running very quickly. Actually, I was just trotting when the two came right up on me. I overheard the sweeper, Eric Kosters, talking to “headquarters,” as he approached with the last of the pack. This is what he said, “I’ve got runner #such and such, but we’ve caught up with another runner. So, I’ll be with her instead in a minute.” He wanted to know who I was, I yelled out, “121.” No, he wanted my name. I told him and he chuckled loudly and said, “Lauren!!!” We had been “talking” on Facebook in the weeks prior.
The beauty I took in on Trabuco Trail when my vision started getting “weird.”:
Well, I knew this extremely rocky, hot trail well. Though Eric was a nice guy, the last thing I wanted was him running up my rear. I took off like I’ve never run that trail. “Get as many corners behind you,” I told myself. I wanted the sweeper and other runner to turn corner after corner and not see me. I figured that way they wouldn’t try as hard. I ran that portion so quickly, I AMAZED myself. I actually passed two runners in the process, one of them, Jeff Higgins (whom I would later meet).
I was in and out of the Holy Jim aid station in probably a minute. I refilled fluids, grabbed a handful of potato chips and took off in a big hurry, away from the sweeper!!!
Two of the runners I passed on Trabuco passed me going up Holy Jim, one of them the young man who was previously with the sweeper. Eric Kosters had a new runner now, and it wasn’t me.
Climbing Holy Jim was EXCRUCIATING. I wanted to vomit and could barely move one foot in front of the other. The salt was crusted over my face so thickly that it cracked when I grimaced (or smiled ). I dreamt of the spring in the mountain wall where I would wash my face. But I didn’t count switchbacks or even think about when I would arrive. I merely climbed switchback after switchback, trying to focus on the moment. I passed a runner, and came up on the heels on another runner suffering as much as I was. His name was Mark, (he was the guy with the sweeper on Trabuco). He hadn’t climbed Holy Jim before. I tried to give him hope, talking about the downhill toward the top, and that it was going to get shady and not as steep pretty soon. I continued to pray. And I continued to dream of washing my face.
When I finally arrived at the spring, Mark was a few feet ahead with his hands on his thighs. I told him that he could wash his face if he needed, that the water was safe. I don’t think he wanted to walk those few feet back. I know I wouldn’t want to. I painstakingly squatted down to the spring, my quads aching so much, I groaned. And then I washed my face again and again. It was beautiful, truly beautiful. I have never had a better face wash in my entire life.
When I took off I passed Mark who was still resting with his hands on his thighs. I passed two other suffering runners as I made my way to the top. I kind of wished that I would vomit so that the nausea would go away. It took every thing I had to take another step. I should have taken in more calories at the aid station. I probably should have eaten a whole meal. Looking back, Holy Jim is where I lost the race.
I made the second cutoff, about a half mile past the top of Holy Jim with ten minutes to spare. I took my drop bag and didn’t do anything I had planned. I wanted to re-tape my arches, change my socks. Instead, I merely took out my Chamois Butt’r and gobbed it onto my underarms which were rubbed raw by my shirt seams.
I took a seat, my shoulders and arms aching. I couldn’t think. I didn’t know what to do. A few runners who had dropped were sitting in chairs beneath the easy-up. They looked relaxed, yet defeated. The aid workers, so friendly, re-filled my hydration pack. They wouldn’t allow me to do anything myself. Aid worker, Cris Francisco, was a life saver for me right then. He massaged my shoulders and my upper back. It was very painful, but he got out the twisted knots beneath my skin. He traveled back and forth between runners putting wet paper towels on their necks. And he poured water down my back. The bad thing was, I had taken a seat. And I continued to sit. Finally, Cris said, “Lauren, come on! You’ve got to get moving.” So, I was up quickly, asking what I should eat that wouldn’t come right back up. Upon Cris’s suggestion, I took a handful of pretzels and headed up the Main Divide, destination: Santiago Peak.
The continuing two mile climb was miserable. Pure hell. I chatted with runners traveling down from the peak, one of them Kurt Erlandson. He looked strong. Many of the runners coming down assured me that I would feel much better when I reached the peak. I ate my pretzels slowly and I hiked slowly. It felt like the peak would never arrive. One foot in front of the other. I made the cut-off, I would make the peak. Nearing the top, Emmet came down looking refreshed. He told me about the chicken soup at the top. Just about fifty yards from the aid, I saw Mark again, who had passed me at the last aid.
I met Scott Barnes, an extremely encouraging “elite” runner along with Deborah Acosta at Santiago Peak. A beautiful site! It was nice to see two friendly smiling faces. Deborah refilled my pack, she gave me some delicious chicken noodle soup (again, strangely, the best I’ve ever had in my life!). Scott offered to cook me a quesadilla. I declined, thinking I wouldn’t be able to hold it down.
I ran down the Main Divide, carefully. I passed the sweeper and Jeff Higgins on their way up. I didn’t pass anyone on the way down and made only a very quick stop at the next aid. The sweeper and Jeff came in right behind me, and Cris Francisco took over as sweeper. Cris was so kind with his encouraging words and told us to take advantage of the downhill. Not wanting to be with the sweeper, even though he was Cris, a great guy, I took off running quicker than I wanted to. I continued running on what seemed like a new pair of legs. I ran the uphills even and continued running, leaving the sweeper and Jeff behind.
And then as the dropping sun turned the sky orange, at mile 41, a jeep pulled up beside me. The passenger rolled down the window and said, “Lauren, I have some bad news.” I looked at his car and runners in the back seat. In disbelief I said, “Are you pulling me?”
“I’m very sorry,” he said, “but the race director said you have no chance of finishing by the course cut-off.”
The race director!! Steve Harvey? My friend??? My friend was pulling me from the race???? I wanted to plead, “But I can make it. I can!!!!!!” I only had nine miles to go. Instead of pleading, I burst into tears. Even with making the 5:00 PM cutoff at Bear Springs, there was no physical way that I could make it to the peak and then to the finish in 3 hours. It was over. I simply bawled. Not wanting to burden the guy who was pulling me from the race with my pain, I turned away from him and cried at the valley. I didn't want to look at him; I didn't want to talk to anyone.
I also didn’t want to wait for the truck back a ways to pick me up, so I continued running the main divide. Maybe they would forget that they pulled me. But, I knew they wouldn’t forget. When the truck pulled up, I was still crying. The passenger said she was so sorry. Both the driver and the passenger were so extremely gentle with me. I bucked it up and cried silently. The female passenger talked to me quite a bit, but I just couldn’t talk. I phoned my husband at one point to tell him, and bounced around the truck for a long bumpy ride back to the start. We passed several other runners along the way who would eventually get pulled. Emmett was pulled at mile 44 after he was told they he would be allowed to finish.
Arriving at the finish line, people were in a festive mood. The grill was on fire. People drank beer. I just wanted to get my grab bag and sulk away. And then I saw Steve Harvey. The race director. I wasn’t mad at him anymore. He has to do what he has to do. I walked up to him and he said, “I’m sorry.” And then I cried on his shoulder.
As I ate my burger and waited for Emmett, I got a nice pep talk from Jeff Higgins. This was his fifth year trying and being pulled from Old Goat. Here I was thinking that I would never run this race again, and Jeff keeps coming back again and again for more fun. Thank you Jeff. I really appreciated your talk. I appreciate that you came up to me in my misery. I wasn’t pretty and I wasn’t exactly nice. I hope that I wasn’t too short.
Pulled at 41 (me not looking too fresh and layered five times over as the cold, cold, cold settled in at Blue Jay) and Emmett pulled at 44 / as a side note, I really didn’t want to post this picture because I looked and felt so terrible. But, I wanted readers to see Emmett, an inspiring, back of the pack ultrarunner.
I got very little video and still shots in this race. I had to keep moving and only had time to run, eat and pee.
I’m not much into “training.” I’m really into trail running. When it comes to “training”, I flail. My confidence plummets when I “train.” Negative self-talk sets in. (I’m working on that problem.)
This time around, I’m just getting in the miles, best I can. And I’m practicing sections of my upcoming race. I like to know every ditch and boulder on the trails that I race. That way I won’t need to look for markers. And there’s less surprises. (With trail running however, just like in life, it’s impossible to eliminate all surprises.)
This morning, for my 48th birthday, I woke at 5AM, the entire household asleep, and drove up Ortega Highway into the Saddleback Mountains. I stashed some water across the highway from The Candy Store and drove on up to Blue Jay campground (total drive = 1 hour).
Then, on a cool weathered morning, I commenced to run approximately the first 20 miles of the 50 mile race I’m registered for next month. I came in under the section cut-off with only minutes to spare. That’s cutting it a bit too close for me. But I learned lots on today’s run, mainly how to pace myself. I also came upon the race director, Steve Harvey running with his Trans Rockies partner, Jennie (imagine my luck!!). I told him, exasperated, “I don’t think I can make the cut-off.” Steve hugged me and said, “You might not, but I think that you can do it.” I believed him. What he said is true. I might not make the cut-off, but I CAN do it – it’s not out of reach. To add to my luck, I got to clear up some things about the Candy Store Lollipop loop I was running. Turns out, I’ve been taking a wrong turn about three miles in. (Next PRACTICE run, I shall correct that).
San Juan Trail trailhead – stooping down so that I can fit into picture frame (I cut my head off in first picture):
Chiquita Trail:
Changing socks for ankle socks near my water stash. Across the highway is The Candy Store. After refilling my pack, I found it very difficult to depart with my water jug. And I spent TEN minutes here – much too long. But that’s okay – it was a lovely time:
Heading back to Blue Jay on Chiquita (Though I believe the first picture below is part of San Juan Loop.) The trip back is mainly uphill, quite technical and grueling beneath a warm sun:
A rock on Chiquita trail with beauty that stopped me in my tracks:
). I dreamt of the spring in the mountain wall where I would wash my face. But I didn’t count switchbacks or even think about when I would arrive. I merely climbed switchback after switchback, trying to focus on the moment. I passed a runner, and came up on the heels on another runner suffering as much as I was. His name was Mark, (he was the guy with the sweeper on Trabuco). He hadn’t climbed Holy Jim before. I tried to give him hope, talking about the downhill toward the top, and that it was going to get shady and not as steep pretty soon. I continued to pray. And I continued to dream of washing my face.
