#HolyFire

It is a little early for fire season in Southern California. I know. I was born in Southern California, and thus have 53 years experience. I have seen many seasons of fires and landslides. The destruction can be immense, it often brutally takes homes and lives. Gosh, there was one year back in the early 1990s when after a particularly tough fire season (hundreds of homes lost in Laguna Beach and elsewhere), we got it bad again when the rains came with landslides that destroyed more homes locally, and killed a few people as well. Usually, our peak of the fire season comes around October, occasionally September. Though, we can have fires any time of the year. And we do indeed.

Yearly fire stats for California (from Wikipedia for the last 18 years):

This past Monday, a fire broke out around my stomping grounds in Trabuco Canyon. The news media first called it the Holy Jim Canyon Fire, which was quickly renamed the Holy Fire (#HolyFire). Best I can tell however, Holy Jim Canyon was not the canyon that took the terrible destruction of the fire (yet). The fire seems to have originated somewhere near the Holy Jim Canyon parking lot. From there it travelled up Trabuco Canyon (not Holy Jim Canyon). The fire continued all the way up Trabuco to the Main Divide, and also travelled up West Horsethief (which I have written about many times in my blog).

This is the Trabuco Canyon Trail that I have experienced (Ah, lovely!):

Gosh, the boundaries of the fire are enormous now. The fire has travelled all along the canyons in and around The Main Divide, nearly to Santiago Peak, and in the opposite direction to Los Pinos Trail (perhaps peak). From there it has also traveled down into Corona and Lake Elsinore (of course taking Indian Truck Trail along with it). Tonight, Friday night, the fire still burns. This morning, the number of acres neared 20,000, with I believe 5% contained.

As far as I can tell, the fire has not touched Holy Jim Trail. But the fire has burned Upper Holy Jim, which is a shrubbery forest of Manzanita (or was, rather). Of course, the social media world that I mainly identify with (trail runners, hikers, off-roaders by any means) are in a sad panic. We all know that we will never have it like it was – ever again – on those trails. It will grow back yes, but it will be different. And because I know that it will never be like it was again, I have an overwhelming feeling of gratitude. I’m very grateful that I got to spend countless miles and hours on the beautiful trails that #HolyFire has ravished. But I am also confident that those trails will turn beautiful again. It will be a different beautiful, and it will take some time. That is nature.

When a fire attacked Wood Canyon earlier this year, I couldn’t help but feel terribly sad. This time around, with fire attacking lands even more meaningful to me than the coastal hills, all I can feel is gratitude. Any sadness that I feel now is sadness for the 12 households that lost their rustic mountain cabins and possibly all of their belongings in Trabuco Canyon. At the same time that I feel this gratitude, I suppose as a defense mechanism, I’m glancing around the corner looking forward to the regrowth, the rebirth.

Fire is horrible, it is horrifying. Yet, it warms us, it keeps us alive, it is strikingly beautiful. Fire is a destruction that brings with it, a rebirth. I find that considerably odd. I should note that an arsonist, it appears may have started this fire. So terrible! I want to also state that this fire would have eventually happened -- a piece of glass in the dry vegetation, a spark from a car, lightning . . .  Fire is nature. It happens with our without us. It is sad that the state of California does not come up with a comprehensive plan to attack the natural disaster that occurs to us most often. I have big problem with how the “wild” lands are managed. But that’s for another post that I will most likely never post because land management seems to be a political topic, and that is not my intent.

Hopefully, the weather will turn, and the firefighters will gain the upper hand on #HolyFire.

From before (why I am grateful):

Prancing down West Horsethief in a skirt (Twin Peaks Ultra):Chomping my gum while marching up West Horsethief:Afraid that I’m going to fall while running down a rocky West Horsethief:How I love thee:And just a few more from West Horsethief:

Reversed

Saturday, March 19, I got out to Trabuco Canyon about 7AM to run my regular fourteen mile loop, but this time in reverse. Reversed the loop is: up Trabuco Trail, UP W. Horsethief (Mama Mia!), up and down The Main Divide, and then finally down Holy Jim (Joy, joy!)

Although I arrived fairly early to the Holy Jim lot, it was already full, except for one spot that I backed into next to the porta potty. There was a large group of hikers prepping for a hike to Santiago Peak via Holy Jim.  Seeing this made me a little glad that I had decided to reverse my loop with that many people going up (had to be more than twenty). Though I really do love people, I tend to shy away from them, as I prefer solitude.

So, I took off trotting up Trabuco Trail toward the trailhead when one by one, 4wd trucks began to pass me. One truck stopped, and the man inside rolled down his window and I thought I heard him ask, “You lift?” I almost answered, “Well, no, but I used to.” But I stopped myself short, thinking, “Now Lauren,  he’s NOT going to ask if you lift weights.” So, with my early morning diversified and bountiful vocabulary said, “Huh?”

Turns out he asked if I WANTED a lift. (Laughing). Then another driver asked if I wanted a ride. I chuckled and replied, “No thank-you, THIS is the goal,” and continued on running toward the Trabuco Trailhead where a dozen or so cars had already parked. It is very rare that even a single car is parked in this lot.

Well, a group of sixteen hikers were going up W. Horsethief this Saturday morning. And it turned out to be okay, in fact pleasurable going up that terrible, beautiful trail with sixteen others.  It’s actually comforting to suffer with others, even strangers, I think especially with strangers.

To my utter delight, salamanders roamed Trabuco Trail on the way to W. Horsethief. They were everywhere crawling about the moist trail. I can’t tell you how much I love salamanders– they’re adorable! When one some of the hikers caught me, we got to talking about the salamanders, and I told John, the hiker in front of me, that they reminded me of puppies. “That’s weird,” he said with a chuckle. I told him I was serious, that when I pick salamanders up and look at their little orange faces, their faces remind me of puppies. (I had already picked up three or four that morning). John said, “Have you ever thought of getting help for that Lauren?” (Big laughs here).

Reaching the top of W. Horsethief came as a huge relief. Really! That climb is super tough for me and I take it at an actual snail’s pace. I didn’t take The Main Divide much faster, but at least I was able to run the flats and down hills, and some of the up hills that were not so steep and long. The views and the trek were literally breathtaking – wait, maybe the breathtaking came from the march up toward Trabuco Peak! That’s a brutal trek also, especially as warm as it was on Saturday.

Off roaders passed here and there. Everyone waved.  Views of Riverside and San Bernardino counties were crystal clear. I could still see snow on The San Gabriels. On the OC. side, the ocean was covered with a sea of clouds.  

I actually ran up on three or four runners along The Main Divide, which is rare. At the Holy Jim trailhead, several hikers rested in the shade, beat from the climb up. One man wore a netted hat, though the gnats were far and few between. 

I felt great running down Holy Jim. What pure joy to run down that giant switchback! I came upon several hikers and a couple of cyclists. I even ran up on a runner who recognized me from this blog. His name is Brandon, and I really enjoyed stopping and talking local trails with him. He’s one of the few people I can talk Yaeger Mesa about. He even knew the story of the bell up there. He knows the guy who carried it up. Anyway, we must have chatted for ten minutes before I took off again, delighted in the cool breeze (as I had been growing quite warm).  Euphoria set in while finishing up Holy Jim. Gosh, euphoria is one of the great benefits of trail running – perhaps the best (and it does not always come along). 

The bottom of the canyon was absolutely packed with day hikers. Most everyone was smiling, but I noticed a few grimaces, as uphill hiking isn’t so enjoyable if you haven’t  done it before. I overheard a woman complain about the gnats. And I thought, Oh my, you have not seen nothing yet!  He, he – better learn to embrace the gnats.

Great time out there on this day.

14.21 miles, 3,519’ elevation gained.

Back to the Scene of the Crash

Saturday, March 12, I hit the trails to return to the scene of the accident that broke my arm. In fact, I ran the exact route: Holy Jim to The Main Divide, down West Horsethief to Trabuco (where the crash occurred) back into the Holy Jim lot. 

I am happy to report that I did not crash again. Sadly, I gingerly made my way across the rocks along Trabuco Trail so fearful was I that I would fall again. But overall, I spent a marvelous several hours in the mountains. I wore a jacket most of the time, and even gloves, and didn’t need even half the water that I packed. I was serenaded by the woodpeckers hammering against the tree trunks as I made my way up Holy Jim. I also met several hikers on the way up, and then spent many sweet lonely hours along The Main Divide. Come to think of it, I didn’t run across anyone on W. Horsethief or Trabuco either. Running down West Horsethief was a bit tricky, as the rocky terrain still strikes fear in me. A fall on West Horsethief would most likely fare far worse than one on Trabuco.

I love this route. It’s the toughest 14 miles I know. Probably the most beautiful in my parts too.  I think it’s apropos that it would be THIS route that would break something. It was bound to happen I suppose.

14.07 miles, 3,605’ of elevation gain

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):

Twin Peaks Ultra 2014

To bed at 8:30 PM Friday, I woke to a 2:30 AM alarm Saturday morning.  Less than an hour after the bars closed I was on the road, spotting more than one drunk driver, on my way around The Saddleback Mountains, to Indian Truck Trail in Corona.  Total drive time: 1 hour.

4:30 AM Briefing for early starters (photo courtesy Michael Perlongo):

I set up the mountain in the dark in my quest to conquer Twin Peaks Ultra   mostly alone.  But I had the company of a lovely lady for a while.  When she told me that she had run Nanny Goat, I jokingly replied, “That’s good, you know all about suffering then.”  She said, “No.  I had lots of fun.”  It’s then that I wanted to take her by the shoulders, look her in the eyes and warn her, “You are going to go to a Dark Place today.  DON’T WORRY.  It’s going to be OKAY.  You will get through it, and you will be better for it.”  Instead, I told her, “Just remember, you have all the time in the world.”  Since we were both intent on the 50k, we really did have all the time in the world, well, all the time that the fifty milers had – and that was good enough. 

The first leg of Twin Peaks Ultra is about 7 miles long, all uphill, along Indian Truck Trail, a dirt road over-looking Riverside County.  How did I feel?  I felt neutral.  I felt no fear; I was not anxious.  I was in “one-step-in-front-of-the-other” mode.  I reached The Main Divide in about two hours with cheerful aid station workers, and one lovely lady stating, “It’s Lauren on the Run.”  I cannot tell you how strange that feels.  People read this blog.  And when they see me, they smile.  I find that strange and odd.

The second leg was a short distance of rolling hills along The Main Divide, about three miles.  At 9 miles in from the start, the front runners who started at 6:00 AM began to pass me.  I ran much of this portion alone however, and it blessed me with tranquility. 

I met my friend (Chimera, Old Goat, race director), Steve Harvey at mile ten where he manned the Horsethief aid station.  I made my stop quick knowing what hell awaited me.   I met up with Greg Hardesty, on my descent, who took this awesome picture of me slightly loosing my balance as I made my way into Trabuco Canyon: 

This third leg of Twin Peaks entailed about five miles of very technical terrain (Horsethief and Trabuco Trails).  I took much of the Horsethief portion slower than I wanted, mainly because I feared falling on the fist sized rocks that rolled beneath my feet, and also because I needed to step aside for runners to pass.  This trail is a true single-track, with no room to pass. 

I reached Holy Jim, slightly slower than than I intended.  Still, I felt no anxiety.  As I told the lady on the way up, “We had all the time in the world.”  And looking at this run as the first long run in getting back to shape, helped a great deal.  This notion kept my usual evil negative talk at bay. 

The 4th leg, the Holy Jim leg, consisted of five miles uphill switch-back.  I cannot tell you how many times I have climbed Holy Jim. I have had good times, and I have had disastrous times with that monster.  But it has always, always been beautiful.  One person at the trailhead told me he had seen my video of a prior Twin Peaks and thanked me for the info.  I met another lady at the aid station who said the same.  I always feel a little embarrassed when someone tells me they saw my video or read my blog.  It’s like I feel I need to “measure up,” like they expect something better than I am.  And I am so not better than I am. . 

Anyway, I stocked up with calories at Leon Gray’s station in the Holy Jim lot and trotted into the canyon behind several of the regular starters who were now approaching by greater numbers.  (Mind you, this was a mountain trail race, so by greater numbers, I mean don’t mean very many – only 79 people ran this race).

My first steps onto Holy Jim:

Those five miles up Holy Jim were a bear.  I saw friends who passed me on the way up.  Their encouraging words helped some.  Still, I felt miserable.  Weak, and totally unable to move with any speed whatsoever, I felt some solace over the fact that I had all the time in the world.   And I felt solace in the fact that I knew every bend in the road, and exactly when it was all going to end.

It took me two hours to climb Holy Jim.  My best time (I think) is 1 1/2 hours.  My worst time is around 2:15.  This was one of the worst times.  But I was not a wreck when I reached the top.  Still determined to finish this thing out, I felt confident that I would recover enough to reach the peak. 

On my way up The Main Divide, I passed four runners hovering over a map, and asked if they needed help.  They had already reached the peak and were unsure where to turn on the down trip.  I told them to turn onto Holy Jim and could have sworn that I read doubt in their eyes.  So I said, “Trust me.  I may come in last, but I know these trails by heart.  I know this course by heart.  Turn down Holy Jim, run back up to Horsethief . . .  Trust me.”

After these departing words, I began leg 5 of Twin Peaks Ultra – a three mile, uphill trek to Santiago Peak. 

I wish that I had the words to adequately describe the pure and utter hell that awaited me on leg five of this ultra.  It was only three miles.  But I think I could have travelled those same three miles faster if I were to have dropped to the ground and rolled up to the peak.  I was not in physical pain.  Sure the bottom of my feet ached a bit.  The plantar fasciitis in my left heel was hinting its way back.  Overall, I was okay physically and mentally – I was just utterly, UTTERLY exhausted.   

The hellish leg five mainly consisted of exposed, rocky truck trail with a relentless incline.  I was alone for the first 1.5 miles, and therefore resorted to mind games to keep me moving.  “Where do you think a half mile ends?” I asked myself, and then forbade myself from looking my garmin until I reached my guessed point.  I came up short each time, .3 of a mile, .45.  Doh!  But the game kept me going.  Somewhere in here I began texting my husband.  I needed something outside myself to help pass the excruciating slowly passing time.  Thank God I had service and was able to communicate somewhat with hubby.  He was so positive.  Oddly, I had this terrible desire to convey what I really couldn’t convey, and that was, I WAS IN HELL. 

About half way through this leg, I came to a flat portion and found very little strength to even trot it.  But up the next incline, I saw my friend Emmett Rahl.  What a welcome relief!  Coming down from the Peak, leg five had done him in as well, which made him decide to opt out of the 50 miler for the 50k.  I felt sad to hear this, as he had conveyed his desire to complete the 50 miler.  Regardless, I cannot tell you how much a friendly face helped on the course at this point.  Emmett pressed his ice filled hand-helds against my cheeks to cool my face, and I was off again, on again, with Santiago Peak in my heart.  That’s the only thing I wanted in the world right then – SANTIAGO PEAK.

Runners coming down from the peak told me about ice, and Reese’s candies, and great food that awaited me at the top.  I really didn’t care about anything except for the agony to stop.  I don’t know how I was able to put one foot in front of the other.  Passing a group of hunters drinking Corona beers, I was tempted to stop and drink a beer with them.  We chatted as I tromped by, and somehow I kept on going.  I saw a tree that I recognized, and I remembered that last time I came up this trail a LONG time ago, it had many more leaves.  And then I saw this:

The sight of the towers nearly broke me down.  I teared up, overwhelmed with relief.  The end of my misery was near, so, so, near, but at the same time, so gosh dang far!!!  Just a little bit longer, about a half mile, and I had this treacherous race in the bag.  I picked up my step some, and then lo-and-behold, another friend, Randall Tolosa, came up from behind me.  We made that last miserable part of the trek together, thankfully, as he kept my mind off the pure torture that I was enduring. 

At last!  Paradise achieved! 

At Santiago Peak I refilled my hydration pack with water, ice and Nuun tablets.  I guzzled three or four small cups of iced cola.  I ate a handful of potato chips, and I shoved a Reese’s two-pack into my pocket.  Now normally, I would never allow myself to eat two whole Reese’s to myself guilt-free.  Not so running down from the peak.  I ate both of them before the first mile off the peak had ended.

Heading down from the peak, I saw the lady whom I had wanted to warn about The Dark Place as we headed up the mountain so many hours ago.  I could tell from her face, she was in that Dark Place.  Yet, still she smiled.  That’s what keeps us coming back I guess.  We go to that Dark Place, and we still smile.  I barely recognized her, as we had met in darkness.  She wore a hat now, and she agreed with me that the trek to the peak was “quite difficult”  (those were her words, my words were not so nice).   I also saw a young man, a slender young man, suffering terribly as he made his way to the peak.  He didn’t manage a smile.  I assured him that paradise awaited. And it really did.  I can’t think of anything that equates to the relief of finally reaching the peak, except for giving birth.  Yes, giving birth!.  The whole process is so terribly painful, and all you want is for it all to end.  And then finally, after so, so, so long of suffering, you are there – standing at the peak, or laying there with baby in arms. 

I headed down The Main Divide, then Upper Holy Jim cautiously, yet excitedly.  All I had to do was not twist my ankle or break any bones for ten miles.  Upper Holy Jim provided breathtaking views with steep, rocky and slippery terrain.  A couple of runners were making their way back to the peak for the fifty miler.  One of them shouted out to me, “Thanks for saving us earlier!”  He was one of the four guys I pointed out the way to at Holy Jim.  I smiled and told him how I thought they weren’t going to trust me, when to my surprise he hollered, “No!  I read your blog.  Great job, by the way, keep it up.”  That was the lifter I needed to carry on. 

Homeward Bound:

My goal down Indian Truck Trail, the last seven miles of this event, was to maintain a 15 minute mile.  I maintained between a 13 and 17 minute mile (downhill – 17 minute!!!).  I was that tired.  About a mile into the last leg, my phone rang.  Yes, my phone rang.  Without glasses, I answered the call blindly.  It was my friend Hank who had gone onward to work on the 50 miles.  He was hoping that I had finished the race because he was encountering some trouble on Horsethief (The man eater!).  To avoid telling his story before he does, I’ll just say that I worried a great deal.  I phoned Steve who manned the station at the top of Horsethief.  I didn’t get through but was able to leave a message.  Then after several attempts, and a great slow down on my part, I was finally able to reach Hank again by phone, and learned that he was coping. 

I finally crossed the finish line of Twin Peaks Ultra, the 50k option.  So happy am I that I decided to show up.  25k trained, I ran a 50k trail race with 11,000’ of elevation gain.  I feel like I gained a whole new family.  Twin Peaks is in my blood for good now.