Maple Springs / Modjeska Peak Out-And-Back

I look forward to my mountain runs.  I enjoy them so much that occasionally I break the cardinal rule – the buddy rule.  Always run with someone.  Problem is, sometimes I find it difficult to find a buddy to run mountain trails.  That’s understandable.  It just takes so much time out of the day, not to mention, it’s a tough feat.

Since I broke the cardinal rule today, I was sure to run prepared on this early morning, cold-weathered run.  Funny thing . . . I took off onto Maple Springs the same time as a Boy Scout Troop.  They were on their third training hike for an upcoming 70 mile hike.  For those unfamiliar with the Scouts, their motto is “Be Prepared” and their number one rule is the “buddy system.” (I was a Scout as a child).

Heading up Maple Springs alongside the “boys” (& men):

I ran the canyon (which is mainly paved) without music because I wanted complete awareness of my surroundings.  I figured if I’m going to get into trouble (ie. mountain lion, a human with bad intent, etc) it’s going to be in the canyon with its high mountain walls and overall enclosed feeling. 

But I did not fear.  The canyon was breathtakingly beautiful.  The maple’s yellow leaves had mostly turned brown.  The creek ran strong.  Colorful birds swooped down onto the road and rustled about in the brush.  Good thing I know that birds make loud sounds in the brush.  Used to be I didn’t know the difference between the sound of a bird/small animal in the brush (because they are noisy) compared to a larger animal, say a buck.  It’s kind of like knowing the sound of a rattlesnake.  Before I knew what their rattles sounded like, EVERYTHING sounded like a rattlesnake – cicadas sounded like rattlesnakes.  Once you hear a rattler’s rattle though, you KNOW exactly what it sounds like.

Long after passing the Boy Scouts, I heard something loud tramping through the brush and I knew it was not a bird or squirrel.  It was branch-breaking loud and it stopped me in my tracks.  I listened for a bit, looked closely down at the stream, then took off cautiously up the canyon.  I figured it was probably a deer as I’ve heard that kind of loud, almost clumsy, branch-breaking sound before, and it was always a deer.  Still, I’ve never heard a mountain lion make its way through the brush, so there’s always that fear.  So, I took out my pepper spray, made sure my knife was in instant reach and continued up the canyon.

Scenes from the canyon:

Attempting a stream pose:

A Grand Ole’ Tree:

Camera timer is ticking & I can’t make it to the spot in time : )

The climb to the Main Divide was peaceful.  It’s loneliness was lovely.  I dropped my camera once.  I took in awesome mountain views of several Southern California counties.  Pretty much nothing ran through my mind.  And even though I carried a pack on my back, Maple Springs lifted all my weight off my shoulders.   

I noticed gray, bushy-tailed squirrels scurry up and down trees.  I saw these wonderful black and white birds with red head-tops that I’ve never seen before.  And I saw snow in the distance! 

A perfect place for a picnic (or photo):

Quickly scrambling for my camera to catch this shot of the moon as the clouds swiftly moved to cover it:

Nearing the top of Maple Springs:

I reached the top of Maple Springs and the Main Divide, a place known as “Four Corners” at the same time as a group of runners came up Harding Truck Trail.  They were a happy bunch.  When I asked if they were part of a running group, one guy answered, “No, we’re just a bunch of dumb asses who thought it was a good idea to run up here in the freezing cold.” 

I might add that it was dang cold on the Main Divide and the wind blew fiercely.  “Well,” I answered, “I’m a dumb ass who thought it was a good idea to do it alone.”  They took off ahead of me to Modjeska Peak while I attempted another posed picture that didn’t turn out so great.  But I didn’t want to mess around too much trying to get a good picture, as dark clouds were rolling in, and I could see a rainbow in the distance.  I did not want to run down this mountain in a storm.

Meeting some runners as they come up Harding Truck Trail to Four Corners intersection:

Four Corners before taking off to Modjeska Peak:

I ran up to Modjeska Peak joyfully, taking so many pictures of the snow that you’d think I’d never seen snow.  I’ve seen plenty of snow in my life.  BUT I have never run trails in the snow.  There wasn’t a lot of snow, but the thrill of it made me forget about that wind whipping my hair onto my face. 

When I reached the peak, the group of runners were starting to make their way down.  I took a couple photos, then dropped my camera.  That was the end of my camera.  I couldn’t get it to work after that. (That’s number two camera killed on the trail!)

View from Modjeska Peak:

Santiago Peak behind me:

The weather grew colder as I ran down the mountain.  About 1 or 2 miles down a biker making his way up said, “Lauren?  Is that Lauren?  I thought I saw your truck.” 

I wasn’t in thinking mode at the moment and wondered, “Who do I know that rides?  Think, think, think . . . “  I couldn’t think of anyone!  And then as I approached I couldn’t believe my luck.  It was my good friend Tom Fangrow!  I laughed out loud.  What are the chances that we would meet on this empty, freezing cold mountain road?  To me the chances seemed pretty slim.  I just had to have a picture of this chance meeting, but with my camera broken thought that wasn’t going to happen until I remembered my phone!  And click, I had it.  Tom was off for a big loop, down some very tricky switch back that we ran together with some other friends two summers ago.  I could barely do it back then.  And I was off down Maple Springs for the remaining 6 or so miles. 

Meeting Tom on the Trail:

Another delightful run for the records; this one was finished off with light rain.  18.06 miles (29.07 km) ran happily, joyfully, playfully . . .

Recovery Run

Monday I rested.  I mean REALLY rested.  After getting the boys off to school, I returned to the bed and slept until about noon.  I was probably asleep for the night by 9:00 PM.

Tuesday I played gym rat:  cardio, stretching, strengthening and ab work.  That evening I returned from my job at 6:30 and was in bed by 8:30 PM.

Wednesday I hit the dirt for my recovery run:

I visited some of my favorite spots, and . . . well, I guess that’s all I have to say about that. 

Some scenes:

Valley of the Giants Marathon

When my cellphone alarm sang out this morning, I had to think hard.  Get the boys to school?  Run?  Then I looked at the time and saw 4AM and immediately knew, A RACE.  It took me one or two seconds to recall which race, and I thought to myself, “Oh crap.”

Crazy Elevation profile of this marathon:

Normally I love trails, as you are aware if you’ve read this blog.  But this race took place in the San Gabriel Mountains.  I’ve NEVER run those mountains.  I like racing on trails that I know “like the back of my hand.” 

It was cold at the base of the mountains in Rancho Cucamonga.  My good friend, Kurt F. came out to meet me near the start line, as lucky for me, he only lives a couple blocks away from the race.  (Kurt is one of my oldest continuous friends.  We met when I was TWELVE YEARS old).

Among the runners I saw some people I recognized from volunteering Twin Peaks 2 years ago.  I also saw Mark Ryne who I first met at Barstow’s “Get Your Kicks on Route 66 half marathon” a few years back.  I saw Steve Harvey, the race director of so many hardcore races in my local mountains.

Raring (Ha!) to go, at Start Line (Mark Ryne’s photo):

Fellow trail runner, Mark:

The morning was lovely, clear and cold with no wind.  We began on a slight decline, then climbed for about a mile and a half.  Then we ran downhill for about two miles.  “Remember this,” I told myself “You’re going to have to climb out in the end.” 

The 29 racers spread out quickly, and for a long while, I had two runners behind me, and one a ways up front that I could see.  I tried to catch him for a long time.  I closed the gap on every uphill, but then on the descents he blew me away. 

Gorgeous Views:

The Santa hat and long sleeves come off!:

I ran fire roads, lovely forest paths where I could hear the stream flowing strong.  I ran up a single track, and along rock mountainsides.  I crossed creeks and ran along cliffs and then a long descent into the halfway mark.  Thorns from a wild rose (I think) tore at the back of my calves and drew blood.  But other than that, my first half of the race was fun and carefree.  I didn’t make the time I planned but how could I have possibly known, being I didn’t know what lay ahead.  The cut off for 13.1 miles was 3 and a half hours.  After my first hour running, I calculated making the half in three hours.  I made it in at 3 hours 22 minutes, and there was the guy I had been trying to catch for so long.  We spoke briefly then he raced off while I chugged down some Coca-Cola. 

13.1 miles!!!  Awesome aid station workers to greet us:

After leaving the station, I had about 2 miles of uphill running which I used to my advantage to catch the guy ahead of me.  I passed Mark on the way as he came in to the half way mark.  We both took a few pics and I continued to work on lengthening my lead on the guy I had passed.  I knew I needed to get the lead as big as possible or else he’d pass me on the next downhill.

Heading back and working on “the pass”:

Mark crossing stream, very close to halfway point (probably half a mile):

Quick pose as I continue to make my way back up the mountain (Mark’s photo):

At about mile 16, I made the big descent and I ran “like a bat out of hell,” because I didn’t know how close that quick downhill runner was to me.  I never looked back once I passed.  I tripped several times, but never fell.  Then as I began to bottom out before the next climb, I had to duck beneath some branches.  I glanced down at my garmin to calculate whether I’d make 6 hours.  There was a slight, very slight chance.  That’s when I looked back up and slammed, I mean slammed my head into a large branch.  It seemed like I could hear my skull crush and my brain rattle (of course they didn’t), but the impact really dinged me.  At first, I started to cry but quickly stopped the sobbing and headed off a bit slower.  I began to see purple spots and worried the head impact caused some damage.  But immediately after downing a gel, the purple spots in my vision disappeared. 

Still, I wasn’t the same.  Eventually, I was able to pick up my speed again, but the climb was uphill again.  I was completely alone, realizing now that I was never going to make 6 hours.  My spirits began to drop until I heard someone hooting and hollering.  I knew I was close to the next aid station.  When I reached the single-manned station at the top of the climb, I inquired whether he could see any other runners behind me through his binoculars.  He said that he could see me running for a long time and pointed out the vast mileage as I looked down upon it in kind of a disbelief.  And he had seen no other runners behind me.  At that point I felt safe, thanked him for his hospitality and headed off downhill toward the next climb back to the finish line.

Well, LET ME TELL YOU miles 22 through 24+ were pretty much HELL.  Time travelled so very slowly.   My left ankle was sore, my right knee ached.  Every time I turned a corner I thought for sure the last mile and a half descent would begin.  I turned corner after corner, my spirits dropping, dropping, dropping.  That’s when I wanted to take the “Race director’s name in vain,” (something another race director, Jessica Deline wrote that I now understand).  I thought to myself, “Does he think this is funny???”  When I turned one of the last corners and saw that the climb continued, I actually exclaimed, “F***!!”  And I stopped running for about twenty steps.  Then I picked up my feet, kicked out the back and continued the ascent.     

I was so dang happy to see that final downhill.  But I have to write even that last mile and a half or so, really crept by.  The race director, James Schoelles, ran me up to the finish line.  I wasn’t mad at him anymore (Seriously, he put on a top-notch race).  You can’t believe how very happy I was to have finished.  No, I didn’t get the honored DFL (there were still 3 more runners to cross the finish line – and they all did : )  My time:  6:34.

Running UP HILL into the finishing line, filming race director, James Schoelles as he photos me (James’s photo): (Oh and NOTE TO SELF:  GET YOUR HEAD UP LAUREN!)

And of course, the movie!!

The Slow Hand of the Training Clock

In my wildest dreams I wouldn’t have imagined that I be a runner.  And a long distance runner, running up hills?  Ha!  That’s truly funny.

Let me be a testament to the fact that you can do it.  Whatever it is that you’re trying to do, you can.  The biggest thing it will take to get wherever it is that you want, is patience.  That was something that I DID NOT HAVE.  Patience.  Somehow, and I’m not sure how, running seemed to give me patience.  (Oddly, the biggest compliment I get from my students is “You have so much patience.”) 

I had to work up to 3 mile long runs.  Heck, I had to work up to running a block!  And I was embarrassed, I felt foolish. And since I was first a road runner, in order to keep it up, I had to pretend the rest of the people whizzing by in their cars, on their bikes, etc., weren’t there.  I sobbed when I first ran ten miles.  I felt like vomiting when walked to the Start Line of my first half marathon.  And I was scared to death to run my first marathon.

All along it seemed like training wasn’t really helping.  Obviously it was helping.  I just had to have the patience to allow enough time to pass to see results.  It’s similar to staring at the clock; you rarely see its hands move, but they move!  And they move pretty dang fast. 

Yet I still continue to train.  I find new things to train for – greater distance, steeper hills, rocky terrain, and It it still continues to pay off.  Now I know that I won’t really see the results until I look back (though sometimes I see the results as they happen).  When I start a run now, I feel much stronger.  I used to need a good three miles to warm-up.  Now I don’t experience anxiety when I know a big descent approaches.  I used to feel that terrible anxiety on my drive to the park where I was going to run the hill. 

SO . . . I have another mountain marathon this weekend.  It’s got 6,000 feet of elevation gain.  And it’s on trails that I’ve never run, in mountains that I’ve never run (however, I have done a bit of hiking in them).  I’m not scared because I know that I can do it.  And I also know that anything can happen, good or bad (like a PR or a twisted ankle).  I also know that since this race only has a little over 30 runners, I have a pretty good chance at a DFL.  That doesn’t scare me much either.  The only thing that scares me is coming in thirty minutes to an hour after the last runner.  If I’m going to take that DFL honor, I want to come in minutes after the runner in front of me.  I’m also a little scared about not making the half cut-off.  But those things too, I can deal with. 

I know I ‘m supposed to taper before a big race.  But I hate The Taper.  In my defense, all my runs this week have been less than ten miles.

Scenes from today’s run:

I really enjoy looking up beneath trees:

Crazy for Cholla, a short descent up to the ridge trail (West Ridge):

Running West Ridge, up ahead, a little hill that I call “Good Girls Don’t” – a couple of years ago, I couldn’t run it.  Now I can (of course not very quickly ):

A new (for me) little single-track I found along West Ridge:

Where I crashed my head into this branch:

And came out and found this (not me, but these rocks overlooking the Pacific):

Top of the World once again:

Running down Rockit:

Rockit:

Running in for the final stretch along Coyote run toward Wood Canyon:

Miles run this morning:  8.08 (13 km)