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.
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 think I prefer the odd goals that I conjure up, over training for long distance endurance races. A 50k or 50 miler not only tries my body, but more so, they try my soul. During these runs (and training for them) I must fight the toughest battle – the battle against myself, against those awful voices that nag, nag, nag. It’s simply terrible.
On the other hand, a couple months ago, I decided to attempt Mount Everett’s elevation gain every month with my running. That brought me great enjoyment – a goal that can be achieved in tiny steps. I did it in February, will probably accomplish the task for March.
I came up with another goal the last time I ran to Santiago Peak (actually, I kind of stole the idea from Jessica Deline, after she saw the photo of my feet on the peak’s surveyor’s mark). Consequently, this new adventure consists of collecting peaks in my runs (and taking a photo of my feet on the surveyor's stamp as proof.)
Anyway, as I continue my wind down for Old Goat 50, which is precisely one week away, I feel relaxed. At the same time, I am terrified. I am terrified of Old Goat. I fear the battle. But, I am relaxed over doing my own thing in running now that “training” has ended – as I did on this cool March morning.
During this morning’s single digit run, I sought out Los Pinos Peak for peak #2. I parked high up the mountain (in Blue Jay) and headed up the Main Divide well before the San Juan 50k runners would be making their way up the same truck trail. I did a run/hike combo and found that I made the exact time as when I did a power hike for the whole 1.5 miles. Hiking power continues to amaze me.
Traversing the Main Divide:
At the Trabuco/Main Divide fork, there’s another prong to the fork, obscured by vegetation and fallen tree trunks. That fork belongs to the Los Pinos Trail. Rather than bushwhack, I hopped some turquoise colored posts and made my way to the trailhead. Then I commenced to run up and down (mainly up) a gorgeous Los Pinos (The Pines) trail.
My tortuous Mentally Sensitive repeats did me good today. I found these mainly-up-rolling-hills amazingly easy (as easy as running trails can get anyway). The views were immense, my home county obscured with thick clouds. These are the trails that leave the world behind.
Before I knew it I arrived at the peak, or so I figured. It appeared as if everything else was downhill from there. Well, I looked around and thought, “Where can the mark be?” Surveyor’s plaques are never in the middle of the trail. And at Santiago Peak, it’s at the top of a pile of rocks. To my left on Los Pinos trail was a natural looking pile of rocks. I hopped up on them, glanced around. Nothing. And then upon closer look, I found a small circular plaque embedded in a boulder. Without my glasses, I could barely read it. And what I could read didn’t make sense. But surveyor remarks don’t make sense. I hopped around a bit more and found a larger circular plaque and was able, just at the perfect angle, to make out the words, “Los Pinos Peak.” I had arrived.
Los Pinos Peak:
Proof:
Peak Goof-Around Time:
On my way back down Los Pinos, I took an off-shoot that I noticed on the way up. Since my mileage was less than expected I figured I had a couple miles to spare. But this single-track trail descended at such a great rate that I feared it would eventually dump me out in the canyon below. And then what a climb out that would be (surely making this run carry into the double digits)! And so, I turned around and ran back up to the trail and made my way peacefully back to the Main Divide. Since this portion will be the last remaining miles of Old Goat, I worked on my footing and form. My shoes felt unbelievably comfortable. So much so, I wished that I had trained in them.
I met the San Juan 50k aid station trucks making their way up the Main Divide. After stretching, I got into my truck, drove down Long Canyon Road and came upon the front runner of the San Juan 50k, Dean Dobberteen (spelling?). I’ve seen him many times, usually the front runner. Anyway, he made that Candy Store run that I’ve been training in TWO HOURS!!!!! This is basically the same course (actually his was shy a mere two miles) that I finally got in less that 6.5 hours. Wow. (I won’t let that throw me. He is among the best of the best. I just want to finish, or at least try and finish).
After working a 6 day week, I started off this morning at 4:30 AM in a low mood. I felt fatigued. I felt discouraged. As Old Goat 50 approaches, I realize more than ever, that I am in way over my head. I don’t think I can do it. And how can I even start a race if I don’t think that I can do it?
Even with this defeatist attitude, I dressed for a run and got out the door early. I began the drive up the mountain at 5:00 AM. About five miles into Ortega Highway, a car sped up behind me. The skies were pitch black, the moon behind me, low on the horizon. All I could decipher about the car were its blaring headlights riding up my rear.
Now, I drive that windy, cliffy highway cautiously, but I keep at the speed limit. Often drivers get behind me and tailgate beyond irritation. I only slightly speed up when this occurs because I don’t want to become one of the countless fatalities of Ortega Highway. I always pull over at the first turnout – even if the driver isn’t tailgating. I don’t like driving up that mountain with any vehicles behind me.
No turnout for a few miles I sped up, over the speed limit, I’m sure. The car behind me slowed just a bit, but still rode me. Then suddenly, the red and blue spinning lights took over the sky. It was the sheriff. His lights were magnificently bright against the black mountains. And in my awe, I COULDN’T BELIEVE IT. “Of all people,” I thought, “I’m going to get a speeding ticket???” (Funny thing, the last speeding ticket I got was on Ortega Highway! I was pregnant with my first son on my way home from substitute teaching at a boys’ detention camp located near Lower Blue Jay Campground. The irony!)
The deputy was a young guy. I probably had 20 years on him. Foolishly, I immediately blurted out my reason for speeding. He said, “That’s okay, don’t worry about it.” Turns out, he pulled me over because my truck matched the description of someone who had just stolen some pallets. (Or so he said ).
“Have a good night,” he said. And I was off driving up the mountain toward Lower Blue Jay Campground to run The Candy Store Lollipop Loop plus some. I stashed some water on my way there. I arrived to Blue Jay under dark skies. After applying sunscreen and Glide while sitting in my warm truck, I opened the door and stepped out. Tree canopies all about swirled in a fierce wind. My face nearly cracked and shattered from the wind chill.
I could not run in the freezing wind. Or could I? I felt like a wimp, like maybe I should. But in the end, I decided to drive back down the mountain during sunrise. I stopped to get the water I stashed on the way up. Then I debated all the way down the mountain what I should do.
Seriously, I didn’t want to run. My eyelids felt heavy. I thought about driving home and going straight to bed. However, I knew that I’d let the evil bashing voices in to condemn me all day. Then I thought, “Heck, just pull over and sleep in the truck; that way no one will know.” (Ha, ha, no one but me, not to mention, I’d have to lie to my family, which I wouldn’t do). At the bottom of the mountain, I finally decided some food might help me get along. So I stopped by McDonalds for a healthy greasy breakfast. The Sausage Egg McMuffin totaled 450 calories. So, I made the decision to run the coastal hills without calories, thinking the 450 would do me. (I usually don’t eat breakfast before running.)
The weather was quite cold at Aliso/Wood Canyons, but not freezing. I took off into Aliso Canyon with stiff calves and shins, which is weird because that tightness doesn’t occur in the mountains.
I really had no idea how far I’d run this morning, though I had planned on 26. I knew that I wouldn’t do that. I wasn’t even sure if I could do 5 miles today. Relieved to just get out there, I practiced loosening up. I practiced on focusing. I practiced keeping my core straight. Whenever I thought about anything, I sobbed. So, I didn’t think. I concentrated on running elevation, not so much miles. (I still want to run Mt. Everest’s elevation this month).
I wound in and around the wilderness park for a little over 16 miles. At first I felt very good on the down hills. I even felt okay on the ascents. Before I was even half way through (which I didn’t know at the time because I didn’t know how many miles I would run), fatigued settled in. Allowing the McDonalds breakfast to carry me through on calories was not a good idea.
Though my mood was in the dumps overall today, I enjoyed much of today’s run. I got out there when I didn’t want to run. The only thing I wanted to do was sleep. So utterly wiped out I was in the end, I hiked the last .75 mile in. And now that I think of it, I didn’t even stretch at the truck. Instead, I drove home, but stopped first for some groceries. Then I slept for 2 hours.
Okay, I know that’s lame. I contemplated a great deal over what to name today’s loop, but came up with nothing. This is the best I’ve got (at least until I run this loop again). What loop? The second portion of the Old Goat 50 miler that I’m running at the end of March. The first twenty miles is The Candy Store run that I’ve posted recently. The second portion of this race is a 30 mile loop that takes runners up The Main Divide, down Trabuco, up Holy Jim to Santiago Peak, then back, mainly via The Main Divide (in the Saddleback Mountains).
I posted this run in my running club and 3 other runners showed for a shorter loop which took them up the infamous West Horsethief. We ran together for the first 6 or 7 miles. The weather was cool, perfectly cool. And the skies were blue.
Top of Trabuco/Main Divide (Me an utter goofball, Alyx, Tory, Jessica Deline RD of Twin Peaks and The Harding Hustle):
View of Santiago Peak from Trabuco:
Running Trabuco:
The Departure, and I’m not weeping over missing W. Horsethief:
Once we split, I’m sure my pace slowed. I run faster when I run with others. Though I enjoyed the earlier company, now I enjoyed the solitude. I came across several friendly hikers. And I put a great deal of effort into not thinking about the past or future. I succeeded pretty well, and of course, that’s when I ran my best.
I have not run Holy Jim since I DNF’d the Saddleback Marathon this past November. I have not run to Santiago Peak since Twin Peaks Ultra (October). I’ve been avoiding these trails I think, due to a fear lurking in the back of my mind. A fear over the difficulty. A fear over mental defeat. Holy Jim is where I gave up the mental battle during the Saddleback Marathon. Santiago Peak, well, I have a mental defeat just about every time I run those last 2.5 miles.
Nonetheless, my run into Holy Jim was lovely. The weather remained cool. The skies grew a little cloudy. And the trails were “spring” green with moss and ferns heavily dotting the landscape.
Ending up Trabuco:
Spotting a rare candy rock :
In the Holy Jim parking lot, I traipsed through the brush to locate the fresh water that my son and I stashed yesterday afternoon. I felt a little like Katniss from The Hunger Games. Just like in The Hunger Games, water is the number one commodity in trail running (calories being number 2, which I had plenty of). Though I wasn’t particularly thirsty (I had just gone through 60 fluid ounces on the trip there), my mouth practically watered when I pulled out one of the hidden jugs. I set it on a log, unpacked some calories and refilled my hydration pack to the brim. That water looked so beautiful and precious to me, I was tempted to pour it over my head and shower in it. But alas, the weather was too cool for such an act. So, I hid the jug back among the others and headed up Holy Jim.
Holy Jim was a bear, yes, but not a grizzly bear. I found the 5 mile climb laborious, but enjoyable. It was like meeting up with an old friend (one of life’s greatest treats). On the way up Holy Jim, I devised a plan to conquer the final 2.5 mile ascent to Santiago Peak. I decided I would use those couple miles to “rest-up.” Instead of struggling by running up that thing, I chose to hike it. In fact, I forbade myself to run any portion of it, EXCEPT the flat part that reaches only about a tenth mile.
A Stream Crossing on Holy Jim:
Hiking the last couple miles to Santiago Peak:
That’s not me on the motorcycle:
A view from the summit:
Standing on the Summit:
I only lost about ten minutes hiking to the peak instead of attempting to run it. That’s a lot of time for only 2.5 miles. HOWEVER, I felt relaxed. The ascent was still difficult. But I never grew angry. I didn’t bash myself (that is fill my brain with negative self-talk). I reached the peak delighted. And on my trip down, I felt stronger than usual. I think I’m going to work on this approach more.
The next three miles back down were good. The final ten miles were an utter struggle. I ran most of them, and when I found myself trying to run ridiculous inclines, I forced a fast hike (as fast as I could manage anyhow).
Today’s training run: Success, even though The Bigger Loop took me quite a bit longer than I hoped. At least I know where I stand (or run), and have a time to work with.
I feel like time is fleeting. But I will not fret. Time on my feet, that’s my goal this month. Putting in the miles!
). 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.
). 
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