The Run that Broke my Arm

Friday morning, about 3AM, I fell ill. I don’t know if it was food poisoning or a stomach bug but with body aches (though no fever), I vomited throughout the day. This thing plagued me for a full twenty-four hours. Saturday arrived with welcomed recuperation -- I slept off and on all day. Sunday, I awoke abruptly at 5AM. I had been dreaming that I was running down stairs. I flew down the steps, moving faster than I could ever imagine. Flight after flight, my feet never tangling, my step never pausing. And then finally, I hit the ground floor. I jumped down onto the road and ran up a small incline toward an underground parking lot, when WHAM. Someone took me out. With no warning whatsoever I was incapacitated, unable to see, unable to even move or fight back. I remember thinking to myself, “Oh my God, it is happening to me.” That’s when I woke, suddenly and with dread. I sat about in my pajamas a bit traumatized from the nightmare and drank two cups of coffee before finally packing my gear and heading out the door. With Calico 30k a little over a month away, I stubbornly refused to let illness or nightmare derail training. I was already behind. My destination: Trabuco Canyon, an hour's drive, for a long run (which I planned to increase two miles from 12 to 14).

Two pleasant surprises awaited me in Trabuco Canyon. First, the Forest Service paved a small portion of the rocky off-road terrain and graded much of the remaining 5 mile off-road portion. That made for some smoother driving and cut several minutes off the canyon drive (perhaps as much as fifteen). And then, two beautiful wild turkeys greeted me at the Holy Jim lot. A female and a male puffed up and gobbling, fluttered and danced their way about the dirt. The female, though smaller than her beau, but pretty enormous for a bird nonetheless, jumped up onto a truck (the same make and model as my truck), and landed on the hood with a loud clang that echoed up the canyon. The owners who prepped for a hike to Santiago Peak, laughed hysterically at that. I nervously chuckled along (relieved she didn't jump onto my truck).

I ran off on my own into the lonesome forest. Making my way out past the cabins, I came up on two hunters, their rifles secured to their bodies for the trip down as I headed up Holy Jim Trail (which I've often referred to as HolyCow or HolyCrap because of it's relentless climb). A fast walking hiker passed me at about mile 2.5. Two or three mountain bikers passed me, but overall the infamous Holy Jim Trail remained quiet. Ice cold water flowed in the creeks, something I have not seen in a while here. The weather was chilly, but I warmed up at about mile three, enough to take off the gloves, beanie and jacket. I took my time running up that five mile switchback. That’s not to say the trek was not strenuous -- I always find running up Holy Jim difficult, no matter my condition. 

I felt good finally reaching The Main Divide -- five miles in and I had accomplished much of my elevation gain. The shade and cool breeze tucked in at Bear Springs did wonders for my attitude. Chatting briefly with two hikers, I took off on The Main Divide at a comfortable trot, looking forward to views of Orange County on one side, and San Bernardino and Riverside counties on the other. I caught sight of Lake Matthews, and then later, Lake Elsinore along the way. A man driving his truck to Santiago Peak stopped to chat with me but I saw no others on the long, lonely road.

When The Main Divide wound to the eastern side, puddles of ice partially blocked my passage. As usual, I delighted in cracking the ice with as stomp as I passed. I felt like a child in a giant playground --  especially with all the branches strewn about from the last storm. It was as if someone had already played here. To make it even better, my injured foot felt good, despite the miles thus far.  

At mile ten, I turned off of The Main Divide and headed down the steep and rocky switch-back called West Horsethief.  I gingerly made my way, careful not to trip on the fist-sized rocks that in the past have pulled me to the ground. I breathed a sigh of relief upon reaching the bottom where Trabuco Creek flows beneath a thick canopy of trees. From this spot, I only had about 2.5 miles left-- most of it downhill and fairly runnable, though technical. I picked up my pace. I was so close to the truck now, I was finished as far as I was concerned. I ran a faster still, eager to end this difficult run and rest. I tripped twice over loose rocks on Trabuco Trail, each time thinking I was going down for sure. That should have been my warning. I didn't take heed. 

WHAM. Just like my nightmare, I didn’t see it coming. With no warning whatsoever I was incapacitated. I don't recall tripping. I only felt the impact -- my body slamming face first onto the rocks. When you land in the dirt, there's some give. Different story for boulders. There was no give, nor roll on my part. Nor did this fall seem to occur in slow motion as most my falls do. I didn't have time to realize that I was falling. I felt blindsided. Just WHAM: Body slammed against the rocks. The impact was so forceful and violent, I couldn't focus on anything, time or place. I knew that I was in a head-on collision. That's all I knew. Pain radiated from all sides but I couldn't pinpoint injuries. Instinctively, I coiled up on the Cleveland National Forest floor. Panic quickly set in. I felt like my breaths somehow took in, or processed the pain bombarding right then. My breathing quickened in response to take it all in. Faster and faster until I felt as if I might run out of breath. Purposely I slowed my breath to match my back and forth rocking. Then I gradually stretched myself out so that I lay face down, sprawled out the width of the trail. After some time like this, I faced the fact that no one was around, nor was anyone going to happen by and help. I was alone, and I had to handle this myself. 

It seemed like I lay there on the rocks for quite a while. I wouldn't have been surprised if a half hour plus passed. But when looking at my Garmin data, it appears that only six minutes passed from the moment I stopped moving forward, up until the moment I began moving again. First thing, after I got my breathing down, I grabbed my phone from my pocket. It flew out of my hand and landed beside me within reach. Zero bars. Somehow, in about six minutes, I calmed myself down and faced the fact that I would need to get up and start moving else spend the night in a cold, dark canyon. I pushed myself up from the ground into a sitting position. And then using just my legs, I stood and moved forward one slow step at a time. 

I felt nauseated back on my feet. My legs ached, my arms ached. I didn’t check for blood. I didn’t check for anything (I didn’t even check to see if I hit my head, which looking back, I can say that fortunately I did not). My main goal was to get out of there. I thought of nothing else. In the back of my mind I knew that I needed to get myself to the doctor.  Something wasn’t right in my left arm, it felt weird, it felt wrong, deep within. My right arm ached too. But it wasn’t the same. It didn’t have that inner-wobbly pain that my left arm had.

My sobbing stopped pretty quickly realizing the feat that lay ahead. Two miles remained of mainly rocky single track and then some truck trail before I could drive myself out of there. To get myself back I merely practiced the same technique I have always used on the trails -- that is, one foot in front of the other. I stepped over fallen branches, and I kept my left arm bent and draped across my abdomen. I could not bare the pain in any other position. I tried to run for short distances, but the jarring to my body, especially to my left arm, proved too painful.

I can tell you that this was a dang long two miles. But one foot in front of the other eventually got me back to my truck. It always does. The turkeys greeted me, gobbling loudly. I tore the pack off my back as quickly as possible -- like ripping off a band aid. Then I made a b-line to the only spot that I ever get service in this canyon by the trashcan under the posted trail map. With one bar, I texted my husband, told him that I was hurt and asked for the address to my nearest urgent care. With sporadic cell service, I couldn't wait. The one-handed drive out of the canyon was hell, with my truck bouncing about the road, even with the new grading. The nice new paving added some relief but then it was back to dirt road for a few more miles. 

Out of the canyon, I phoned home and decided to go ahead and drive there. I wanted to see if I could make it through the night, then maybe see the doctor on Monday. It didn’t work out that way. As soon as my husband saw the expression on my face, he drove me to the nearest ER (in Laguna Beach). Turns out, I did break my left arm, not a bad break, but bad enough to cause a good deal of pain.  I have a radial head fracture (my elbow), and my arm is in a splint cast.  All other wounds on my arms and legs are superficial. Am I bummed? Quite. But it is what it is, and there’s nothing I can do about it, as I often say to soothe myself. I have lots of thoughts concerning my Calico training, and my overall disappointment. It's Christmas Eve right now, so I am going to try and turn my thoughts toward that celebration, stay in the moment, and enjoy all the good things that I do have.

Merry Christmas!

When the wounds were fresh 4 days ago (December 20):

Two Bucks

Sunday, I got out for my long run, currently at 12 miles. I didn't get in a long run last week, so I felt a little concerned whether I'd be able to do this. I didn't think that I wouldn't actually be able to traverse the 12 miles. I can probably cover 120 miles if needed, but I may need to crawl most of them. I guess that was my worry, that I'd have to crawl most of them, and I would not be home for hours upon hours (and there are dishes to wash and toilets to clean!)

I decided on what I used to call “The Big Loop” at Aliso/Wood Wilderness Park.  It’s not actually the biggest loop one can derive, but just about the biggest loop.  I started off at the ranger station pretty late in the morning -- around 11 o’ clock.  The weather was cool enough though, that I even hit the dirt wearing a jacket.  But, I had the jacket off and tied around my waist in about fifteen minutes. The long sleeved shirt that I wore however, did not prove to be too warm for this 12 mile loop. 

I ran up Aliso Creek Trail and turned into Wood Canyon and ran that all the way to the end, where I took Cholla Trail up to the ridge (West Ridge).  I ran West Ridge to Top of the World and then across the Laguna Beach neighborhoods to re-enter the park near Meadows Trail.  From there, I ran down Meadows Trail back into Wood Canyon.  But just before I got to the canyon, about a tenth of a mile away I came upon a field with four deer -- two bucks and two doe. I tried to tread quietly by, as I did not want to disturb the scene for the two bystanders taking it all in. Then out of the corner of my eye, I saw dirt spraying up from the grown. That's when I noticed that the two bucks had locked antlers and were fiercely grinding towards each other. They seemed to slam about recklessly, moving slightly in my direction. Awestruck myself, I didn't think to take out my camera quick enough. Instead, I grew concerned that the two bucks would stumble closer and one of the two would charge me. 

And before I knew it, the fight was over. The larger buck commenced to eat grass from the ground, while the smaller one, stood by grazing too but jerked away when the other buck as much as raised his head from his eating position. It seemed clear to me which one had one the right to mate the doe.

In all, I handled the 12 miles better than I expected. I was not completely wiped out, didn't even nap when I arrived home. But, as the following days have been extremely busy, I have not been able to get in any runs. I suspect I may not handle the next run as well.

Finishing up West Ridge here

Overlooking the Pacific Ocean @ The Top of the World

Approaching the top of Meadows Trail with a view of The Saddleback Mountains

12.08 miles

1,183' elevation gained

Dumping the Data

I have been holding onto the data deep within my garmin in hopes of eventually uploading all those numbers to GarminConnect.  Along with all that data, I have dozens of pieces of paper with cross training workouts scribbled on them to add to my spreadsheets.  For months, I’ve been hanging onto this data to finally update 2015 numbers. 

BUT then, but then! I opened up my worksheet with years and years worth of data, back to 2006, to find all of 2015’s data missing (I had meticulously recorded numbers through June this year).  MISSING.  I checked my backup and was able to retrieve a tiny bit of 2015 data, but not enough to reconstruct the year. 

And so, I did it.  I cut the cord from myself and 2015’s numbers.  I’ve absolutely had it with hanging onto old numbers in hopes of updating 2015.  I must face the fact that I cannot locate the missing numbers, and I cannot fix my garmin (which contains August through November numbers).  In cutting the cord, I threw away all those pieces of paper with numbers scribbled all over them, and then I cut the big cord by resetting my garmin to its factory settings.  Yup.  I deleted all that unrecorded data.

Whew.  So, 2015 will be the year without numbers.  And that’s okay.  Because now, I have a garmin that works.  I used my newly reset garmin for Saturday’s run.  I ran down to the beaches for a cool winter run.  I went for one of my usual runs, to where the sidewalk ends, to discover that the tides had crumbled the sidewalk away.  Gone are my numbers.  And gone is the sidewalk. 

Buckled sidewalk at Capo Beach 

Capo Beach parking lot filled with sand and debris

Where the sidewalk used to end

Crossing the estuary, heading back through Doheny

 Back at home, I was able to successfully upload my garmin for Saturday’s run.   And that’s a great thing! 6 miles.

Spooked

One of my favorite places to wander is in Silverado Canyon, off a road named Maple Springs.  But Maple Springs Road, and the trails accessible by this road, namely The Silverado Motorway has been closed for well over a year now due to a fire.  It was supposed to re-open this past September.  But when I phoned the ranger station at the end of that month, I was told that it was still closed and probably would not open until spring.  I’ve been hearing though from other fellow wanderers, that the parking lot is open, that you can park and still hike the trails. Friday, I set out to see for myself. 

The lot was indeed open.  Two other cars were parked in addition to mine.  But signs indicated that the trails were closed.  And I did not see evidence of another living soul about.  That’s what made Maple Springs Road so spooky on this cold and windy morning.  The road was unkempt with thick dirt covering the passes where the stream usually flows.  There were no footprints.  No evidence of recent visitors.  Broken branches were strewn about giving the appearance that no one had walked this road for years. I felt like I was running along the road of a ghost town.

Not surprisingly, the entrance to The Motorway (AKA The Silverado Motorway and The Silverado Trail) was marked closed as well.  Now, I’m not saying that I actually traversed this trail on Friday, in fact, at this point I obeyed the law and promptly returned to my truck.  But if I had continued onward it probably would have went something like this:

I could see immediate evidence of the burn area, with burnt foliage and darkened tree trunks.  But there was a lot of new growth as well.  I scoured the ground for human footprints, but only occasionally came upon a faint print.  And that worried me.  In the cold silence, I wondered whether the mountain lions had grown accustomed to having this part of the mountain void of humans, and if I was somehow going to interrupt that.

I didn’t wear my earphones, but instead kept my ears focused on the sounds around me.  I didn’t want any surprises.  About a half mile in, the trail was pretty much washed out, with rock and mountain debris covering the entire passage.  So engrossed in the debris, fascinated by its abundance and multi-colored, multi-leveled layout, I missed the bend in the trail, following the debris instead.  Doh!

I should have turned to the left at the tree in the background here:

When the “trail” finally became impassible, I turned back, figuring I’d just find some other place to run, perhaps an out-and-back on Maple Springs Road.  I passed a satellite video camera implanted in the hillside (twice). I didn’t exactly smile at the camera, but I looked right into it, wondering if the camera was tracking humans or mountain lions.  I felt relieved to be leaving. 

It was on my return that I noticed my wrong turn and decided to head up The Motorway nonetheless.  But I was already spooked, oddly nervous.  I haven’t been afraid on the trails in years.  It was so dang eerie out there – windy and cold and not a single other person around.  The scene was beautiful though. I could see for miles, out to the ocean, and tiny skyscrapers in the far distance.  I nearly jumped off the mountain when my phone chirped because I had a text message.  And then shortly after that, something jumped out onto the trail probably about twenty yards ahead of me.  Understandably startled, I noticed first the tan color of the animal’s fur, and for a split second, thought mountain lion! That is until I noticed the animal’s white tail.  It was a deer, a large deer, and there were two of them.  They stopped and looked at me, then hopped, literally hopped like bunny rabbits up the trail further then off the trail to continue onward along the steep mountainside.  Occasionally, the two stopped and looked back at me.  I half expected a mountain lion to appear on the scene and take down one of the beauties. Not long after that, I decided to turn back.  I ran back toward my truck, happier with each step, anxious to feel safe again.

I drove about Silverado Canyon after that, exploring a side road called Ladd Canyon.  When I arrived home, I promptly lay on the couch and fell asleep, so warn out I was from this short, but worthwhile adventure.

Miles: 4.13

Elevation gained: 1,175’

Trashed

Thursday morning, I ran a usual loop at Aliso / Wood Canyons that’s not so usual anymore.  The run totaled 9.39 miles with 1,186’ of elevation gain.  The weather was cool, brisk actually.  I felt strong at the beginning.  But I was trashed when I finished.  Trashed.

Course:  Aliso Canyon, Wood Canyon, Meadows, Top of the World, West Ridge, Mathis, Wood Canyon, Aliso Canyon

Outwardly Vision

I’m working more hours at the moment, which means some minor lifestyle changes to fit in runs this week.  Otherwise, I will never get to 20 technical miles by the end of January.  And as it's going right now, those chances are looking a little slim.  I’m not exactly up shit-creek.  But I will be if I don’t continue to plug along.  Those lifestyle changes include getting enough rest so that after I drop the boys off to school, I need to run before heading off to work. 

Monday morning was my first go at this.  After dropping the last boy off at school, I drove down to the marina and ran about 4.25 miles.  I felt like a toad, but amazingly, my speed was up a tad (which I need to thank the dreadmill for -- Thank you dreadmill!).  It’s not a pretty sight, these short runs on pavement, in fact, it’s rather excruciating for me with all the people mingling about, no dirt trails and lots of glass to catch a reflection of myself.  Miles go by much slower on pavement than they do on dirt (even though I take trails much slower due to the extensive climbs).  I was not a happy camper -- thus, I did what I could not to zone-in, but instead to zone in on the outwardly.  And the outwardly from my viewpoint down at the harbor was a pleasant sight.

I think this yacht probably has more square feet than my house.

The Headlands:

Tuesday, I didn’t have enough time between drop offs and getting to work.  And I arrived home from work around 9:15 PM, and I don’t run roads under darkness.  So, no run for me.  But today, Wednesday, I headed back down to the harbor again before work.  This time, instead of running in and about the marina, I headed south and took in the beaches.  The first several minutes, probably ten or so, were only slightly less than miserable.  But I kept my outwardly vision, and enjoyed much of my four miles this morning.

The Jetty:

A Different Take on The Same Trail

First things first:  I am so flippin’ happy that we have cold weather once again (and its not really cold, but certainly relatively cold – LOVELY).

Secondly, I did not get out as early as I had wished.  But that is typical – pretty much since my drive went flying out the window a couple years back.  But all was not lost.  Why?  Because we have cold weather once again!  So, I don’t need to get out super early to avoid the heat. Hallelujah.

Being that time was limited, I needed trails with a quick drive so that I could get my run in, and back in time to drive my boys out to Fallbrook.  But since it rained pretty much all day yesterday, our coastal trails were bound to be closed. Therefore, I had two choices (to my liking) with less than an hour drive:  Harding Truck Trail and Santiago Truck Trail, both located in Modjeska Canyon.  Santiago Truck Trail is slightly closer.  I chose that trail, but not because it’s a tad closer.  I chose this trail because I felt I’d probably enjoy it more being that it’s more technical, and seemingly a single track compared to a truck trail. (Parts of Santiago Truck Trail are wide enough for a truck, other parts, it would be a tight squeeze, whereas Harding is all truck trail the whole way – in fact, I’ve driven it).

Right from the start, I saw the trail up ahead crowded with mountain bikers – traffic jam crowded.  Seriously, there had to be 50 bikers (it was surreal!). And being that I needed to use the ladies’ room, I hiked off trail, upward, toward the peaks.  I needed to hike so far off trail before locating said ladies’ room, that I didn’t want to back-track the same distance to return to the trail.  So I decided to hike up the hill some more, hoping that I could find a route back to Santiago Truck Trail. (One thing I hate is backtracking!)

I did not find a route immediately back to Santiago Truck Trail.  But I did find a single-track along the ridge, that took me above and parallel to Santiago Truck Trail.  Eventually, I came upon a cross made of sticks and branches erected above the valley.  And then the trail finally meandered back to Santiago Truck Trail. 

I ran Santiago Truck trail for a bit longer until I found another single track that ascended up to a ridge.  Being that I was on a ridge roll, I took it and ran it back to Santiago Truck Trail once again.  I was able to by-pass all the mountain bikers taking these side trails, and it also gave me ambition to take one last side trail up to a flag high up on a hill (above the vulture crags that I usually run to, where a lower, easily reachable flag flies).  I had noted this one particular flag pole for several years now, oddly, never desiring to make the trek up to it – I suppose because there’s so many other landmarks on Santiago Truck Trail.  But today, I finally got up to it.  The scene was awesome from up there, the flags tattered and torn from the weather.  I really could not have asked for a more beautiful view.

In all, about 6 miles run, approx. 1,100’ elevation gained.

My Own Personal Turkey Trot

Aside from bouts of treadmill torture, I did not get out for my first run this week until Thursday morning, Thanksgiving Day.  And what a wonderful day to run.  Sure, it was on pavement, and that put great fear in my heart, as the pavement is not kind to my foot condition.  But the fear was quickly put to bed by the extraordinarily beautiful big, puffy clouds, some of them threatening to storm.  And the streets were so festive, humming with people, all wearing runners bibs for our city’s annual Turkey Trot.  As I ran, I did not spend the time to contemplate all the things that I’m thankful for (though I have lots to be thankful for).  Instead, I merely took in the scenes and ran with a blank mind (only occasionally performing random mathematical equations in my head or typing out strings of gibber on an imaginary keyboard). This is not to say that the short distance I ran was not difficult.  It was difficult.  But the best things are always difficult.  Right?

I ran slightly more than the turkey trot, around 4.10 miles (approximately 6.6 km, whereas the turkey trot is 3.11 miles, or 5 km).  No foot pain whatsoever.  Barely even a limp all day.  That I am truly thankful for, not to mention these gorgeous scenes along the way:

Happy Thanksgiving!