Breaking Webs on the Way In and Out

I closed up March (3/30) with a hike up San Juan Trail to Cocktail Rock and back. I was coming up on 24 hours into a fast when I headed out up Ortega Highway into the Cleveland National Forest. Just before I reached my turnoff onto Hot Springs Canyon Road a bobcat, an adult (obviously by his size), ran across the highway. The day was Tuesday, which meant that no one, absolutely no one was on my trail. I felt fine strength-wise, physically, or so I thought.

Let me begin with, the land was beautiful and I was in awe, as always.

One other car was parked in the lot. I didn’t think that mattered. But as I made my way up the seemingly endless switchbacks, I couldn’t help but notice how absolutely alone I was. I was so alone that I found myself searching the ground for foot prints, recent footprints, heck even recent tire prints. Though I wasn’t feeling physically weak, I was astounded by the lack of progress I made on the watch. It took me forever to reach Cocktail Rock.

Eager, yet apprehensive heading up SJ Trail:

A few miles in, it’s pigtail weather!! (I dressed too warm for this hike!)

Gosh, it was beautiful out there, but the switchbacks seemed endless and the weather was quite warm. As I scoured the dirt for prints, I broke countless spider webs on the way up. I learned quickly to keep my arms out front just for that purpose. Astounded by how much time had passed by the time I reached Cocktail Rock, I decided to hang out there anyway, throwing caution to the wind as far as getting back to the truck by dark.

Cocktail Rock:

When I departed Cocktail Rock for the return trip, I knew my chances were slim getting back to the truck before dark. And so I ran some, in hiking boots. The trail was so lonely that I couldn’t help but wonder, Am I crazy? Am I literally crazy? It sure seemed like I was crazy right about then – alone in the mountains, racing against the darkness. It was a bit spooky for me, more so than normal. All the way back, I continued to break the webs that the spiders had worked on so hard since I was there last a few hours earlier. I felt a little sorry for them – I broke their webs on the way in and now on the way out!

Oh how I wished that I would come upon others on this trail. I heard voices when I was about a tenth of a mile from the lot. But I didn’t see anyone. Expecting to see people in the lot, I had my keys out and ready to make a beeline for the truck. I was acting pretty paranoid being that by the time I made it to the forested lot, it was dark. There were no other cars, there were no people, who knows where those voices came from, I wasn’t sticking around to find out. I was weak and I was worn out, ready to go home.

  

13 miles, 2,302 ft of elevation gain

Old Goat Sweep

I drove up the mountain before sunrise this morning.  My destination:  Lower Blue Jay campground in the Cleveland National Forest.  Today, I had the honor to sweep Old Goat 50 Miler.  Oh, the privileges of working a race!  First off, I was able to drive all the way to the front lot to park.  I also didn’t have to sign in or sign any waiver.  I walked around in the big tent.  I knew the race director, his wife and the race coordinator all by name.  I saw lots of running friends, both runners and volunteers.  And best of all, I got to take off running whenever I was dang ready.

The sweeper’s job: 

Sweepers run behind the last person in the race.  They pick up trash, take down course markers, and look for anyone left on the trail.  Sweepers in the first parts of the race have it pretty easy.  Runners are still relatively happy.  Sweepers don’t have to pull anyone from the race.  And the weather is nice and cool.

My route: 

I swept the first ten miles of Old Goat this morning.  It entailed a loop referred to Cocktail Loop, which consists of running San Juan Trail to Old San Juan Trail, back to San Juan Trail into Blue Jay campground.  There’s no aid stations along the route.  It’s all single-track, and technical.

I had an overwhelmingly enjoyable run sweeping Old Goat.  I felt utterly stress-free, with all the time in the world to complete this loop.  The run was so easy, I don’t think I took even one sip of fluids until about mile 8.  I met new people, some I recognized from Facebook.  I fell once, skinned my knee.  And I practiced maneuvering over ridiculously rocky terrain.   Back at the San Juan/Old San Juan Intersection, I got to help direct runners out for their second loop (The Candy Store Loop).  I wasn’t jealous one bit that I was not running this race.  I much preferred my easy-peasy, happy time over any inevitable death-march today. 

On Cocktail Rock:

Sugarloaf Peak

27 Days passed without running, without TRAILS.  And it was during this time that I discovered how mentally weak I was (more so than I realized).  And that made me sad.  And it made angry, and touchy, and I felt like I was plummeting downward, like any mental strength that I thought I had was a façade.  I felt my house of cards had collapsed. 

I worked at healing my foot because I thought this was my only saving grace.  But the foot got better, then it got worse.  Part of the day I could walk, the other I could not.  And then one day, I cried and cried and cried, and told myself that I had to buck up, that I needed to be strong whether or not I could hit the trails.  After that, I began to rebound.  I tried to smile more.  I kept negativity off my lips and tried to push it out of my mind.  I kept my self busy.  I ate better.  I kept my cups of coffee to one, and my glasses of wine to none.  During this time, while limping about the grocery store parking lot, I turned to the man in the wheelchair behind me.  His right leg was raised, and so I asked, “What did you do to your leg?”

He said, “Nothing.  I fell off my bike, landed on my face and cracked my skull in three places.  I was in a coma for six weeks.” 

Yikes.  What if he can never ride a bike again?  After chatting for several minutes, I realized that he would do fine without the bike.  Just like I would do fine without trails.  Either way, I just had to “be.”  “It is what it is,” as we always say in my home.  (My husband brought that saying into our home.  Another thing he has passed on is, “Embrace the suck!”)

HOWEVER, I do love the trails.  And I’m aiming to get back to them, even if just for a “test drive.”  Finally, I did that yesterday.  After I dropped the boys off at school, I drove an hour up the mountain for a short run to Sugarloaf Peak.  The mountains were cold, the skies full of voluminous clouds.  I fell no less than five times – that’s right, at least five times.  I tripped frequently.  And once as I ran through the trees I said out loud, “Please Mr. Tree, don’t poke me in the head.”  Then one of their branches promptly poked me in the head.  By time my run was finished, my calves were bleeding and scratched up.  By the time my run was finished, I also summited Sugarloaf Peak which was pretty dang fun, that kind of hellish fun.  The climb to the peak was so steep, I fell back several feet more than once.  Some parts, I needed to scramble on all fours.  When I finally reached the summit, I saw the only two people I would see during the entire run.  I waved to them as they rested below on a rock that’s named Cocktail Rock. 

Old San Juan Trail:

Summiting:

In all, I ran a little less than eight miles.  Those last few miles were pretty dang miserable, and I needed to hike frequently.  As usual, the tranquil loneliness, the rocky terrain, the enormous skies made everything well worth it.  I love the trails.