Day One

Ambitious for ambition, I decided today to start streaking.  No, not running nude.  Running consecutive days.  After my last streak (that ended with 56 days), I thought, “Did that.  Don’t need to do it again.” 

Well, I think I do need to do that again.  I need to kick-start my fitness.  I need to kick-start my love of running.  I don’t know how long I will streak.  Perhaps I will try and break my record. 

Day one of my streak I got a late start in Laguna Coast Wilderness.  9 AM weather was still cool, the skies were overcast.  I set out on Bommer Ridge amongst several hikers, mountain bikers and runners.  Yes, runners!  I saw more runners on the trail today than I think I’ve ever seen on a trail run.  Within an hour, I probably came upon twenty runners.  Festive!  About that time, the sun broke through the clouds too.

View from Bommer Ridge:

The weather warmed up tremendously before I turned off onto Old Emerald, a lovely single track that winds down into Emerald Canyon.  Mountain bikers flew by me all the way down.  I lost them in Emerald Canyon when I turned off onto Old Emerald Falls.  The bikers continued up Emerald Canyon back to Bommer Ridge .

Old Emerald Trail:

Heat bared down even harder as I ran Old Emerald Falls.  To make matters even more difficult, the landscape was dry and exposed.  My pack contained plenty of fluids, but I really could have used some ice in my cap.  I took in a lot more heat than I expected and looked forward for this never ending lonely trail to end.  Not a pleasant experience.

Old Emerald Falls (I have no idea where the falls are/were!):

Matters didn’t improve much when I finally hit El Moro.  I really don’t think there’s a single piece of shade on that trail.  After a while, I began to think I was running the longest trail ever!  When I finally got a look at the grand Pacific Ocean, I was ready to jump head first into it.  I would have if I could have.  My saving grace was an occasional breeze.

I ran into the parking lot on my way to No Name Ridge where I would close in this giant loop.  I guzzled down at the water fountain and washed my face with cold water in the restroom.  With about half my fluids remaining, I didn’t refill my pack.  Why didn’t I refill my pack?  Because I was lazy.  Yes, LAZY.  I broke one of my hard fast rules, which to ALWAYS refill.  I paid for this big time. 

The heat continued to bare down on during those last four up hill miles.  With about two miles left, I sucked down that last of it.  All I could think about was water.  Water and shade.  I brought my energy level way down.  And I finally found a bit of shade beneath a kiosk where I sat to cool down for a few minutes. 

I knew I wasn’t going to die or stroke out or anything like that.  There were plenty of hikers at this point, that if my situation got crucial, I could beg water off.  Still, the last two miles were pretty dang miserable. 

Making my way up No Name Ridge on my way back to the truck:

My little piece of shade:

I made it to a drinking fountain before my truck.  After guzzling down I washed my face.  Then I guzzled down more.  Feeling better, I took off my hot shoes and socks, and relaxed in an air-conditioned car before taking off for home. 

Day one was a huge struggle. 

After a cold bath at home, I’m all better.

 

The loop:  Boomer Ridge, Old Emerald, Emerald Canyon, Old Emerald Falls, El Moro Ridge, B.F.I., No Dogs, No Name Ridge.

The “New” Out-Of-Shape

It’s a bitch getting back into shape.  It seems much harder getting back into shape than it is getting into shape in the first place.  It feels painstaking now, progress seems slower.  Then it dawned on me today, the reason it seems harder is that the bar has been raised.  Who raised the bar?  I did.

When I first started running, I couldn’t run a neighborhood block.  When I reached a mile, it was pure hell, and the last step was the best step of the entire trip.  Now, “out-of-shape,” I can go out the door tonight and run twenty miles.  Heck, I can, on the spur of the moment, sign up for a marathon and run it tomorrow.   And finish.  I won’t break any personal records, but I can do it.  This is my out-of-shape.  My out-of-shape is a weak core, a slower pace than I know I can run (& that’s not very quick), extra pounds, and a recovery rate that sucks, not to mention a wimpy mental attitude.  I know what it feels like to be at my near best.  When I’m not there, I’m “out-of-shape.”  This is my “new out-of-shape.”

So fast forward to this morning . . . I set my alarm for 4:30 AM.  I woke feeling way, way, way too tired to make the mountain drive for my planned run.  So, I walked out to the living room couch and fell back asleep. 

Waking at 7:30 AM meant no mountain run for today.  I drank some coffee and packed up for a local run in the coastal hills.  When I pulled up to Aliso/Wood Canyons, there was just one space to park on the street, perfectly sized for my truck. 

The great news is, my shins barely ached.  In fact, I wouldn’t even say that they ached.  They merely felt tight.  Not tight enough to stop and stretch however.  My pace was pretty slow.  I didn’t want to waste time stopping if I didn’t have to. 

I took a “relatively” flat course up Wood Canyon, making 3 or 4 stream crossings.  Humidity was high.  Parts of the canyon trapped in the heat so intensely, it felt like someone had closed the oven door on me.  I felt good nonetheless.  I was just so dang happy to be running trails, enjoying the wildlife, bunnies, squirrels, stink bugs and tiny yellow birds hopping about the meadow floor. 

Glorious.  Simply glorious. 

An easy Wood Canyon stream crossing:

The shady oven:

The toughest climb was up Cholla Trail.  Out of the canyon, Cholla left the oven behind, but the air was still thick with humidity.  I’m used to running this entire trail, so when I felt I couldn’t run it today, I stopped instead of hiked.  I’m that stubborn.  I can run this trail dang it.  I stopped to rest twice going up Cholla. 

As I ran West Ridge’s rolling hills I didn’t think about how much longer I needed to run before I finally made Top of the World.  Instead, I noticed deer tracks off to the side.  I noticed slithering snake “tracks” across the trail.  I nodded to several hikers who made their way along the trail, and I wondered how they could make it with just a single bottle of water.  My clothing drenched with sweat, and my body chaffing at clothing seams, I guzzled my fluids like it was the last on earth.

West Ridge:

Time for breakfast at Top of the World:

Some beauty on Cholla:

I didn’t finish these near 15 miles strong.  But I finished.  And I finished dirty.  It’s good to get dirty – even being out-of-shape.

The Magic of Evening

I must say, or rather write, that I cannot recall the last time I went for an evening trail run.  The weather was perfect too.  We had a little rain this afternoon, it was muggy by evening, but with a delightfully cool breeze. 

No near fail here.  My right shin felt tight running up Cholla trail, but that quickly ironed out.  I need to do this more often.  What was I thinking trying to run in the middle of the afternoon.  Note to self:  change things up more often.   I knew there was a reason I loved late sunsets.  How did I forget?

Running up Cholla Trail:

West Ridge on the way to Top of the World:

Saddleback Mountains:

Top of the World:

Near Fail

Last weekend I stashed water at the top of Maple Springs for a group run that I posted for today.  Turns out the weather was a bit cooler than the past few days.  Super good thing, being that we didn’t begin until 7:00 AM. 

Seven of us set off up Maple Springs Road to “Four Corners.”  I took up the back right away with aching shins and tight calves.  I stopped to stretch several times, to no avail.  The pain in both shins only worsened causing a constant stabbing as I made my way up the mountain alone. 

I thought to myself, “Well, this is a big FAIL.”  If it hadn’t been for the water stash, I would have turned around after two miles and driven home.  But, I wanted the other runners to know where the water was stashed just in case the weather really heated up and they needed it.  I know all too well the dilemmas of running out of water. 

I thought I might catch up with the rear of the group at three miles. 

No runners in sight. 

Five miles, no runners in sight. 

Well, dang it, I really didn’t think I could take the pain much longer, and it looked like I was never going to catch up with the group.  So, I flagged down a motorcyclist.  I asked him if he would relay a message to the next group of runners he came upon.  “I’m not going to make the loop.  I’m in pain.  Slow down or wait so I can reach you and tell you where the water is.”   (The message was actually shorter, but relayed the same info.)

With the motorcyclist driving off, I felt great relief knowing I would turn around soon.  Within minutes Janine and Philip came hiking around the corner and exclaimed, “You weren’t that far back!  We were just up the way.”  What a fantastic sight to see these smiling trail runners.  By this time I was only two miles from “Four Corners,” and when I found out Janine and Philip weren’t doing the loop, but an out-and-back, I continued upward with the two.  Their company took my mind off the shins.

We made it to Four Corners with plenty of water to refill our packs.  I was surprised to see none of the other runners had waited.  I’ve done a group run on this loop several times and every time before, the group waited for everyone at “Four Corners.”  It’s not a rule or anything.  Just kind of an unspoken thing that didn’t happen today. 

More water for us, though I hoped the others wouldn’t run out.  They had a tough load ahead of them with no shade.  While taking in the views, two cyclists came up Harding Truck Trail and we shared our plentiful source of water with them while chatting and laughing over trail stories.

The 7.5 miles down Maple Springs was tough on my shins.  It wasn’t as painful, but still I experienced difficulty.  Philip and Janine would quickly get ahead, while I struggled to keep a decent pace.  They waited though every so often.  Each time I’d turn a corner to see one or the other waiting, it put a smile on my face. 

Ends up I got in 15 plus miles with friends, so it wasn’t so much a “Fail.”  In fact, I’d call it a success.  Good conversation, laughter and plenty of water.

Time to start working on my shins.  I’ve been running low mileage weeks lately.  Perhaps I increased my mileage too quickly.

Where my Angels and Demons Reside

Every time I run trails, I look up at Santiago Peak wistfully.  I so yearn to run up there, to the place called “Talking Peak.” I want to stand high above the clouds and look over the counties, and say to myself, “I did it!”  At the same time, I’m scared to death of the place.  The last time I made that trek was during Old Goat 50.  It was the most miserable trek I’ve ever made in my life.  I hit the base of Holy Jim at approximately mile twenty-eight, and like a zombie made those 8 uphill miles to the peak.  I really don’t know how I was able to put one foot in front of the other on that day. 

Since then, I’ve run Holy Jim several times.  But then again, I’ve had many good times with Holy Jim.  Though gorgeous it is, the three miles on the Main Divide up the the peak has NEVER been my friend.  Never, ever.

On Thursday, the 4th of July holiday, I left home under darkness and made that hour drive into Trabuco canyon.  The off-road portion was particularly bumpy.  I drove it slowly because I’m worried.  I’ve been giving my truck quite the beating lately.

Not a single car was parked in the lot as I took off up Holy Jim at 6:15 AM.  The gnats were heavy in the foresty lower portions of Holy Jim.  I breathed in a couple of those tiny black critters through my nose.  Believe me, the cool weather made the gnats bearable. 

Running through a fig tree tunnel on Holy Jim:

As usual, I felt relief and comfort when I hit the switchbacks.  I knew I’d be at this back-and-forth, back-and-forth for a long time.  I didn’t count them, the switchbacks that is.  I didn’t look forward in the run.  I simply enjoyed the beauty moment by moment.  I stopped a few times to snap photos.  The photos didn’t pick up the angels, but I know they were there.

A male runner passed me about half way up.  He took that trail like a storm.  Gnats swarmed in on me in the shady, final stretch out of Holy Jim.  When I reached the Main Divide, I took pictures of my face covered in gnats, because that’s what I do.  Just then, another runner came up out of Holy Jim.  We hiked the next mile or so together, which made the trip much more bearable.  Still, I felt the struggle big time.  I also worried some about my fluids.  The weather was heating up quickly, and I felt constantly thirsty. 

While talking to this other runner, Mark, I learned that we live in the same town, that we have a son the same age, and they will both attend the same high school in September.  I thought it odd that I didn’t know this family.  And I thought the man looked a little familiar.  That’s normal though.  I come across so many people through the days, that I’m left in a daze with practically everyone looking familiar. 

When Mark took off ahead of me to the peak, my travel slowed quite a bit.  The heat bared down heavily.  Large “horse” flies bit at my neck, arms and legs.  One even bit my hand.

The remaining trip up to Santiago Peak was pretty hellish.  Bug bites, gnats, waning water, a hot breeze, you name it.  I told myself, “Giddy-up girl.  Get it done!”  And onward I went, one foot in front of the other.  Then a memory popped into my head, seemingly out of nowhere.  It was of Mark (the guy I had just met).  He was standing in my backyard, talking to my husband about our garden.  Mark was at my oldest son’s 5 year old birthday party!  Our sons went to the same preschool!! 

The Main Divide, heading up to Santiago Peak:

I drank my coconut water and took in some calories as I continued up, up, up.  About a quarter mile from the peak, I met up with Mark as he ran back down.  He got a chuckle out of my revelation, thought it was crazy that I would remember.  He said that he “vaguely” remembered something of what I described.  We chatted briefly about the various preschool teachers we had seen over the years (Boy, does time fly!)

In no time I could see the towers.  But I still had some climbing.  Before I summited, I began looking around for water stashes.  Not finding any, I hiked up to the summit.  Surely, I thought, someone would have stashed water there. 

No water.  

I made it though.  I actually made it to Santiago Peak.  I sipped my fluids (water plus Nuun tablets) as I walked out to the viewpoint and took in the Pacific Ocean and all the cities below.  I spent about ten minutes simply wandering about, relishing my “now.”  I also took some of that time looking for water stashes. (No luck.)

Santiago Peak:

I ran back down The Main Divide at a steady pace.  I drank when I needed, but knew at that rate, I was going to run out quickly.  I stopped where some races set up an aid stop, and looked around for some stashes.  (Nothing.)

My sips grew smaller as I made my way into Bear Springs, the Holy Jim Intersection.  There had to be water there.  I felt confident.  I know some friends who stash near there.  Disheartened, all I found were empty jugs and bottles. 

Running back down The Main Divide:

I did not panic.  In fact, I knew that I’d be okay.  A mere two miles away a tiny spring flowed out of the mountain wall, year round.  That spring had fulfilled me on many occasions.  I realized that mentally, I was with it.  Physically, I was not.  My gait was awkward.  It felt like my body wanted to break down.  It wanted to plop in the shade and lay there, perhaps nap.   

Before I headed down Holy Jim, I had a choice to make:  what to do with the remaining fluids.  I could conserve and sip tiny bits for as long as possible.  That wasn’t going to get me to the spring mentally or physically fit.  I decided to drink up until I felt satisfied.  And so I drank.  And I finished off all my fluids before even heading down Holy Jim.

I ran a half mile down that switchback feeling much relief having just drank the remainder of my fluids.  With 1 1/2 miles to the spring, I saw the landside in the canyon that is just before the spring.  Foolishly I focused on that slide for an entire half mile.  It didn’t do my mind good.  The yearning was too much to take, and that half mile dragged on miserably. So, I decided not to look at the slide and ran the remaining mile in, feeling pretty decently.

The spring came down in a constant quick trickle.  Using my coconut water container I filled my entire hydration pack (68 fluid ounces), drenched myself, and drank two whole containers of cold water in that shady spot.  What a tremendous relief!

The remaining three miles down, though hot, were pleasurable with a full pack of spring water.  I got my body back.  It no longer wanted to collapse in the shade. 

The best thing about the entire trip, besides summiting and meeting another fellow trail runner, was that I kept my wits about me in a potential crises situation.  It’s good to know where you’re running.  I’m fortunate that way, very fortunate for my running friends over the past years who have shown me the way. 

Be the Chick who Loves to Run in Heat

Something has got to give!  Starting a run in extreme heat is much more difficult than beginning early in the morning when it’s cooler, and gradually working myself into the heat.

The heat wave is still on in the western states.  There’s been deaths, fires, and immense tragedies (we lost 19 elite firemen yesterday in one forest fire).  We are fortunate locally.  Historically, we’ve got a few months before fire season.  And the heat deaths have been east of us, or in Nevada and other western states.  For us here in Southern California, it’s just damn HOT. 

If you are a reader, you are familiar with my dilemma.  I am a morning runner.  But my summer job assignment forces me to run afternoons.  And thus, I hit the trails this afternoon at approximately 1:40 PM.

About a mile in, I suffered immensely.  My body felt heavy, my eyes already stung from salt.  I wanted very badly to turn back.  Exasperated, I phoned my husband and asked, “How hot is it right now?” 

This is what he did:  he busted up laughing.

This is what I did:  I hung up on him.

When my husband, my coach called me back, he spoke to me in the way that he knows motivates me.  We have known each other for thirty-two years (gasp!), and he knows a little bit about me.  

“Don’t be a baby who can’t run in the heat,” he said.  “You know what precautions to take.  YOU KNOW HOW TO DO THIS.  Be the chick who loves to run in the heat.”

Just minutes earlier I wanted to fall to the ground in a heap of tears.  Strange how his words, “be the chick . . . “ changed my motivation.  Suddenly, I wanted to learn to be the chick who loves to run in the heat. 

And so I ran. 

And I was MISERABLE.  But, I knew what precautions to take.  I kept hydrated.  I didn’t try to break any personal pace records.  I kept on the lookout for environmental hazards.  I enjoyed the summer beauty.

First thing I did when I reached Top of the World was unpack my bandana.  I drenched it and lay it on my neck.  Then I ran into the city park and guzzled down at the fountain (even though I had a pack on my back).  I washed down my face in the public bathroom, soaked my hat.  Then I drenched my bandana again and draped it over my head for the run back.

I don’t need no stinkin’ air-conditioning: 

I ran a little over 6.5 hilly miles this afternoon.  And I think that was quite enough.  I’m not yet the chick who loves to run in the heat.  But at least, I didn’t turn back.