I Betcha My “Walk-Of-Shame’s” Bigger Than Yours

My initial plans regarding Saturday’s run was not to blog the event.  I thought that I’d act like it never happened, that I’d keep it a secret. 

I changed my mind.

Let me start with the fact that the first 15 miles of my 20 mile loop in the Saddleback Mountains were absolutely joyous.  I began running at sunrise.  I felt strong.  I ran without injury.  I had water stops where I refilled on every occasion.  I always had more fluids than I needed.

I experienced tranquility as the sun came up:.

I took in spectacular views as I ran along the mountain ridge (The Main Divide):

I stood in awe over the biggest pinecones I’ve ever seen:

I even had the company of my gnat friends (embrace the gnats!) who seemed to prefer the ridge of nose:

Saturday’s trails were in the same mountains that I always run.  The only difference was, I ran the trails reversed.  Instead of running up Holy Jim, I ran down Holy Jim, and instead of running down Trabuco Trail, I ran up Trabuco Trail.  Reversing my loop was a mistake mainly because it meant a huge climb out back to Blue Jay (where I began this run).  But the route wasn’t my biggest mistake.  I could have done it if I had not made the BIG mistake.  My biggest and crucial mistake was only packing a little more than 400 calories.  Sure, I got the fluids thing down pat.  I foolishly left something just as important out – fuel.

When I stopped in the bottom of the Canyon (Holy Jim Parking lot), I took out my water stash and refilled on fluids.  For good measure, I guzzled down a great deal straight from the jug.  I talked to a cyclist (who thought I was a bit crazy to make the climb to Blue Jay via Trabuco).  I felt fine though.  I knew the climb out would be difficult.   But I can do difficult.

I took in my last 200 calories as I started up Trabuco.  It isn’t very steep at first.  I ran in and out of shade.  I snapped a few photos.  I even came upon another runner that I saw on the ridge, as he closed up his loop via Horsethief.  He asked whether I was climbing up Trabuco back to Blue Jay.  When I said that I was, he replied, “Nice work!” 

Trabuco when it was all still good (though the climb was getting tougher and tougher):

As the climb increased, I grew weaker.  My legs felt like lead, and I wanted to stop.  But I wanted more to finish up this loop.  So I trudged onward with the promise that I would stop and rest when I made the Horsethief/Trabuco junction. 

That junction took F O R E V E R.  I continued moving forward in a haze with one thought, “One foot in front of the other.”  And thank goodness for the shade here and there.  But my running had turned into a hike.  And there was no changing that.  I felt too weak.  Still, I didn’t question whether I could make the trip back to Blue Jay.  I just conceded to the fact that this trip was going to be dang difficult. 

Finally, the West Horsethief/Trabuco junction:

I stumbled across the dry creek and found a boulder on the trail in the shade.  Here I sat and rested.  I was sure my back did not face a good spot for a mountain lion to pounce.  Yes, day time attacks are extremely rare (as are attacks in general), but I am still fearful about sitting or stooping down on a trail.  Even when I tie my shoe, I usually bring my foot up rather than stoop down.  Anyway, I rested for probably ten minutes on that boulder before gaining enough strength to continue on. 

And then the shade ended, and the terrain became extremely rocky.  With only about two miles left, I hung onto flimsy tree branches to rest.  And then I finally resorted to more sitting.  After walking approximately twenty-five feet I would have no more strength to continue.  I felt light headed, like I might vomit, so I’d find another piece of shade to sit down on the rocky trail.  I rested, taking deep breaths from my diaphragm.  I sipped my fluids, I took electrolyte pills.  Honestly, though, I took in the water at much lesser intervals.  My nausea was getting too much to take anything down. 

Some times I stopped more frequently, without even caring whether I found shade.  I would simply plop down in the rocks and lean on my side.  Standing back up took a great deal of strength, which I often used the aid of a branch.  Whenever I could, I rested on a boulder.  That way, the trip back to a standing position was not as painful.  My thighs ached, kinda of like labor pains (a painful throbbing in the thigh muscles), when I stood back up.  But I’d continue on until my breathing became so irregular and I thought I was going to pass out.

Now, my rests were flat out laying on the ground.  I didn’t care anymore about positioning myself safely from mountain lion attacks.  The ugly truth is that as soon as I bolted up because I was going to vomit, I would suddenly feel like I was going to experience diarrhea.  Thankfully, this did not occur, because I did not have enough strength to prepare for such an occurrence.

With about 2 miles remaining of this climb, I began to worry.  I mean REALLY worry.  I didn’t know how close to “the edge,” I was.  I mean, good, experienced trail runners have died on the trail.  Did they know when they were at the point when that was a possibility?  I didn’t know what it felt like to be at the point of no return.  I checked for cell service, and I had none.  I could not call family or friends.  I could call for emergency help only. 

The veins in my temples throbbed HOT blood around my forehead.  I just needed to lay down, CONSTANTLY.  I began to imagine how pissed my family would be if I died on the trails.  And I decided I had to call for help.  I made several attempts, to no avail.  Then I began weeping as I made that climb upward.  Each time I lay down to rest and get my regular breathing back, I’d try my phone again.  Nothing.

Finally, I got an emergency operator.  This is what I said:  I am not lost.  I do not need police, fire or medical aid.  I need a ranger.  I think I may pass out on the trail.  The operator thought for sure that I was lost.  I assured him that I knew exactly where I was.  I was only a short way from The Main Divide (probably a 1/2 mile).  A ranger would not be able to get a truck to me, but if I could just make it to The Main Divide, I could get in the truck for a ride back into Blue Jay.  That’s all I needed.  I was not injured.  I was just sick and so light headed that I could only take a few steps at a time.

Then I lost connection. 

I continued with the same routine:  Walk some, lay down some and rest.  The trail looked very different to me travelling it in reverse.   My spirit was squashed again and again by false summits.  I did not try and call emergency again.  I figured that a ranger would be waiting for me at The Main Divide. 

FINALLY, I caught a glimpse of the trailhead’s post.  I would have run to it if I could have.  Heck, I would have crawled to it if I could have.  No, I needed one more rest up.  So, I collapsed to the dirt floor and lay on my side, listening for a truck.  Silence.

It was then that I got the biggest surprise in my life.  A red and white rescue helicopter with red flashing lights swooped in just above Trabuco’s treeline and passed right over me.

No, no, no, no, no!!!!  I did not need a helicopter. 

I was mortified.  I painstakingly pushed myself up and made those last steps of my walk of shame up to The Main Divide.  The helicopter did not see me as it searched up and down Trabuco.  I collapsed in the dirt, waiting for my strength to make the downhill trip back into Blue Jay when a truck pulled up.  It was not a ranger truck, but two young adventurers who had driven the ridgeline from Silverado Canyon. 

They gave me a ride down The Main Divide toward the campground.  Lauren and Wes were their names.  About then, my phone came into emergency service range, and I received several texts from the firemen in the helicopter.  I felt like such a FOOL.  I didn’t have my glasses so I could not text them back.  Lauren text’d for me, to say that they had me in their truck. 

The helicopter did not fly off for good until an OC Sherriff fire truck came booming around the corner.  It was a huge truck, not your regular street fire truck, but a red, extremely tall mountain-terrain fire truck.  I slid out of Lauren and Wes’s truck and continued on my walk of shame to the firemen.  They brought me to the back of a truck so that I could sit on the ledge.  They hooked me up to electrodes, took my blood pressure, measured my blood sugar.  I couldn’t sit on the ledge any longer, so I made my way to the ground when my stomach began cramping terribly. 

The three men were very kind.  And I felt so stupid.  I could have avoided this.  They fed me ice-cold fluids.  I refused a ride to the hospital, so they stayed there with me sitting in the dirt until my vitals returned to normal.  My heart-rate was high, my blood pressure and my blood sugar were low.  Oddly, my body temperature was low as well.  It read 94F. 

Probably about an hour later, I was seat belted in their truck being driven down to my truck.  I thanked them profusely.  And I apologized.  I cannot tell you how much of an idiot I felt like.

(The profile below includes about a mile of the drive with Lauren and Wes):

Back at home, I still felt sick.  Protein, I craved protein, and at first ate meat (two hamburgers!!).  Then I stumbled to my bed and fell asleep still in my running clothes, caked in dirt from head to toe. 

When I woke two hours later, my stomach and back cramped.  After a hot bath,  I made posts on facebook and decided I would tell this story because I didnt want anyone to have to learn it firsthand.  Pack calories.  Pack calories.  Pack LOTS of calories.  What was I thinking going on a 6,400’ elevation gain run with only 400 calories?  I wasn’t thinking.  And that is not good.

Even late into the night I still craved protein.  I ate some junk food (like cheese!!) but really wanted more than anything – 3 bean salad.  My friend Dena saw that Facebook post.  She woke her husband, The O.C. Rock n’ Roll Chef.  He made some 3 bean salad with the ingredients in their kitchen, and she brought it over at about 10PM.  It was the best dang 3 bean salad I’ve ever had (I ate it for breakfast this morning too).  Thanks friends!  And thanks to the kindness of strangers, once again, I have been humbled.  I really hope that I can help strangers as much as they have helped me.

I Am So Weird

I remember as a child asking friends, “Do you think I’m weird?”  I so didn’t want to be “weird.”  Having grown up, I now KNOW that I’m weird, and it’s not so bad.  I don’t even care.  In fact it’s kind of fun.  People, my friends, sometimes look at me questioningly with an expression on their faces that says, “What the heck?” 

Even though, I can hide my weirdness and behave normally at any given moment, I’ve grown accustomed to being “weird.”  We all know it – I’m out of the closet, my friends and family know, my students know, the neighbors probably know.  It’s gotten to a point that I’ve forgotten all about being weird. (I sense that most runners are weird – just a hunch).   

And then this morning . . . I woke at 4AM, drank two cups of coffee, surfed the internet.  I made a Chia Fresca, packed, laced up my trail shoes.  Then I got in my truck and headed toward the mountains for a 15 mile run out of Trabuco Canyon.  I wanted to check on my water stashes. 

I drove nearly an hour under darkness, paid money to drive the toll road.  The sun had not yet risen when I reached the mouth of the canyon.  I found the gravel road particularly dark and desolate.  There’s usually headlights here and there when I drive it.  I wasn’t looking forward to the off road portion when suddenly, and I mean in an instant I decided I didn’t want to be alone today.  I could not bare loneliness.  I did not hesitate one bit, or put another thought into it as I did a three-point turn and drove back out of the canyon.  I took the toll toad home, and thought to myself, I AM SO WEIRD. 

Back at home, everyone in the house was still asleep as I changed into some sleeping clothes and went back to bed. 

This is my “running” story for today.

My husband said that I shouldn’t feel badly, that I should always go with my “gut” feeling.  There was a reason, he said, that I got that feeling.  He liked that I acted on it.

Who’s the weird one now?

Days Gone Past

Tuesday, my oldest son and I hopped on a bus and took it to Newport Beach.  He wanted to see the WWII bunker that I ran to on Monday.  Rather than hike (or run) the 10 mile round trip route to the bunker, where the parking is free, I decided we’d hike from the park’s main entrance.  This is why the bus: parking at the park’s entrance is $15.00.  The bus is $2, or $5 for a day pass.  Plus the bus is way fun.

We hiked up B.F.I. a three mile round trip.  My son added some initials to lengthen the trail’s name to a much longer name that is too profane to mention here.  We reached the bunker, hiked back and took the bus headed south.  We disembarked in Laguna Beach for lunch, then hiked the highway to the next bus stop home. 

By the time we reached home (5PM), I was so fatigued, I took a nap and did not run.  Therefore, the running streak was finished.  My fitness streak however (from Fitness Streakers on facebook) remained intact.  The rules to that group page are to run, walk, hike, bike or treadmill at least one mile a day. 

A two-day knee ache stayed with me Wednesday, but wanting to keep up the fitness streak, I pulled on a knee brace.  Then I went for a 1.17 mile run around the neighborhood. 

Suddenly Wednesday night I decided to call a friend from our boys’ music school.  It was then I found that our mutual friend had died in hospice.  I went to bed Wednesday night broken hearted.  Even though I felt so fortunate that our lives’ paths crossed, I was terribly sad.  I’m still sad.  And I’m still fortunate.  Tommy was a wonderful, eccentric, quirky guy.  He was a great musician, an unbelievably awesome musican.  He taught my son to be a great musician.   

I slept terribly Wednesday night, and I would have rather stayed in bed all of Thursday.  But I couldn’t do that to my family. 

I also didn’t want to run.  I really didn’t give a hoot about my fitness streak.  Deep down though, I knew that I had to run.  I didn’t think a run would do anything magical.  But I did know it would allow me to escape.  A run would allow me to forget and live only in the moment.  And that is just what I did for five miles in the coastal hills above Laguna Beach.  I ran.

R.I.P. Tommy Ryan

Rest in peace, Tommy Ryan.  What a great addition to the heavenly music above.  What a big loss to young musicians down below.  You will not be forgotten.

A Marina Run and a WWII Bunker

Monday, day two of my new running streak, I took a leisurely run at the marina.  Well, it wasn’t exactly “leisurely” because when I run flats, I try to pick up the speed.  I’m so accustomed to a slower pace due to the elevation gains I usually run, I must take advantage of the flats, so that I don’t train myself only to run slowly.  Still, my faster pace is rather slow.  Be that as it may, I ran faster than I usually do.  And that was fun.

I took a quick look at the daily fish count.  Look at all those fish, and three fishing boats were docking at the time, so their fish wasn’t even counted yet.  The café’s and restaurants were filled with tourists.  And there were smokers all about.  I assumed they were out-of-staters, because in California, smokers usually go back into the deepest darkest recesses to light up. 

Tuesday, day 3 of my new running streak, I went for a run and search.  A running friend told me where to find a WWII bunker off the trails in the coastal hills.  8:00 AM, I set out for a ten mile loop in search of this bunker. 

I began the loop in Newport Beach in the Laguna Wilderness, and ran a rolling truck trail down to the shore.  The weather was pleasantly cool.  For the first three miles, I didn’t even take a sip of the icy fluids strapped to my back.  I don’t even think I turned my hat around for the first three miles.  That’s how cool the weather was.  Lovely.

I had to climb a nasty trail, a steep truck trail, with paved portions.  Paved!   Also, not one single tree (aka. shade) lines the entire trail.  Stopping at the first location I figured to search for the bunker, I found nothing.  A bit disappointed, I thought to myself, “I have to take this trail again!!”  That trail is named B.F.I. appropriately named (Big F’ing Incline).  

Climbing B.F.I.

Still climbing B.F.I.

Before reaching the top however, I finally spotted it.  I noticed the cap first and ran on over to check out the bunker.  The cap was locked so there was no getting inside.  But I was able to crouch down and peer into it from a front opening.  I felt a bit sad exploring this historical remnant.  Mankind went through a terrible time during this period.  I even felt odd taking a picture of myself in front of the bunker.  I felt like I shouldn’t smile.  But I did. 

After my bunker find, I ran up another ridge then closed up this loop for 9.9 miles.  Ended up I drank all 64 fluid ounces of my Nuun dissolved ice water. 

The profile (Route:  No Name Ridge, No Dogs, B.F.I., El Moro Ridge, Missing Link, Fence Line, Bommer Ridge):

Loopish Out-and-Back

I have not been well, and ended my 9 day running streak on Monday.  I would have ended it Sunday if it were not for my oldest son.  He offered to run a mile with me on Monday, so off we went.  I could tell he was frustrated with my pace.  I could barely run.  If it wasn’t for my lovely son, my streak would have ended on day 8.

Today marked a starting over of my streak with day one.  There was a group run going out of Blue Jay for twenty-something miles into Trabuco Canyon.  I wanted some solitude today and decided to run elsewhere alone.  I chose the Candy Store loop, which is more an out-and-back than a loop (but it’s loopish, with loops along the way).  Today though, I decided to run it in the opposite direction.  This way, I would run the uphill first, and hit the downhill for the last ten or so miles.

Same route, different direction: 

The sun had already risen by the time my feet hit dirt.  Solitude I wanted, solitude I got.  I saw this furry creature on my way down the San Juan Loop.  But I didn’t see a single person.

San Juan Loop looked much different to me running it in the opposite direction:

The run out, that is up to Blue Jay, was beautiful, uneventful and difficult.  But it wasn’t as difficult as when I run it for the second half.  The weather was cool, the trails were empty.  I decided at one point to search out the water stash my friends have told me about.  Every time I look for it, I can’t find it.  Today, I looked twice.  The first time, no luck.  On my relook, I found the stash off a beaten path.  Camouflaged well, I lifted the debris to see just how much water there was.  There was lots – not only that, but there was a brown mouse that poked his head out and scrambled down the bottles toward me.  Well, I let out a yelp (I hate mice – sorry I just do), covered the stash back up and high-tailed it out of there. 

I ran a several miles without music.  And I stopped several times to snap pictures I haven’t taken in a long time.

A dry Chiquito Falls:

I ran UP the Viejo Tie for the first time ever.  The ground was soft with leaf litter, and portions were extremely steep.  But it was all doable.  I still had lots of energy.  By the time I reached San Juan Trail, I was ready for Blue Jay.  Two miles of uphill rocky single-track still remained. I took it running and finally ran into Blue Jay with an empty hydration pack. 

Feeling no dread whatsoever for the second half of my run (like I do when I run it reverse), I rushed to a water source and filled my pack to the brim.  Lastly I took out a Larabar for breakfast to enjoy as I ran back down San Juan Trail.

My water source:

I ran through my “two deserts” (mentioned in my last Candy Store Loop post) and found it extremely hot and dry, yet delightful.  The sandy dirt was quite loose to the point where I fell.  I wouldn’t normally call this a fall because I actually slipped.  Slipping and falling are two different actions.  But since I landed on my butt, well, I guess it was a fall.

I continued onward through the shady forests of Chiquito feeling good, feeling strong.  I picked up my speed as I ran down toward the Viejo Tie intersection when suddenly I tripped on a root hidden in the leaf litter.  I flew through the air, like a flying squirrel.  I mean FLEW.  I landed face down in a patch of poison oak on top of a bed of leaf litter about six inches thick.  Talk about a cushy fall.  The first thing that came to mind was, “Get up!  Don’t let the hydration pack leak.”  So, I jumped up, found just a few cuts and scratches on my legs and was on my way. (If you’re a new reader, you won’t know that so far, I’ve been immune to poison oak).

The weather heated up immensely.  Still, by the time I came near the secret water stash, I still had probably a pack 3/4 full.  And that whole mouse thing creeped me out so much that I decided not to stop and refill.

BIG MISTAKE.

I ran the next few miles, up and down, up and down (though mainly down) on HOT, exposed trail.  The sun drained me, but I still drank up, fearful that I would run out soon.  I began to feel nauseated and had to stop and cool off here and there in little sections of shade.  My legs felt weak, like they couldn’t hold me up.  I kept running, because I wanted to get this portion finished as quickly as possible.

And then I ran out of fluids.  With about 2 miles to go, I ran the flats and downhills, hiked the uphills.  When I finally turned a corner into some shade, I came upon two male hikers.  “Don’t go out there,” I said. 

One of the men said, “I know, we were just there.”  His face was red.  The other guy was laying down in the shade.  I ran past them a couple feet and then abruptly stopped.  I HAD TO cool down.  Bending over, I grabbed my knees and was still holding myself up when the two guys took off ahead of me. 

After cooling some, I took off running again.  When I caught up with the two hikers, they were resting in the shade again.  They asked advice on the route back, and I told them to take the San Juan Loop to the right – it’s the shadiest. 

I passed the hikers.  Soon enough, they were up gaining on me.  I could no longer run.  That’s when one of the guys yelled out, “Miss, did you know your arm is bleeding?”

Sure enough a stream of dried blood streaked down my arm.  The hikers didn’t seem too sure when I assured them that my arm was alright.

The hikers and I continued like this for about a mile – stopping and resting, then taking off as long as we could.  The hiker about my age would just plop down in the shade and lay there.  I usually took off first because I HAD TO GET TO MY TRUCK FOR WATER. 

Eventually, I could only hold myself up when hiking or running.  Standing still I had a problem.  When I stopped in shade to cool off, I had to grasp a tree branch so that I wouldn’t fall.  I felt that I could not lay down for fear that I wouldn’t be able to get up.  For the first time in a long time, I worried about my well-being.  The only thing that stopped me from calling for help was the fact that I was only about a mile from the parking lot.  I decided to wait it out and see how I progressed before calling aid.  I paid close attention to my body and worked and worked at cooling it down.  At one point I oddly took off my hat.  Thankfully, I still had my wits about me to put it back on.  My breathing was rapid.  And I was hot, OH SO HOT.  But I still could think logically. 

We were was SO, SO CLOSE to the parking lot when the two hikers plopped down in the shade again.  Some hikers on the boulders above noticed us and waved.  That’s when I felt safe leaving the hikers behind and making the march back to the truck.

That march was miserable.  I stopped quite frequently, in fact, in every bit of shade.  Eventually, I had to sit in the shade.  Then my saving grace arrived.  On several occasions, it seemed like just as I sat, a strong cool breeze came along to cool me off.  That breeze gave me just enough strength to walk another twenty feet or so.  I certainly suffered from heat exhaustion.  The breezes cooled me of enough that I worried less over the possibility of heat stroke. 

I couldn’t believe that I let a little mouse stop me from getting more water some miles back.  That will NOT happen again.  I hiked those last 100 yards painstakingly slow.  Then finally!  I caught a glimpse of the parking lot curb.  I had made it.  I had my pack off before I even reached my truck.  My key in the door, I grabbed out a jug of water ASAP.  Then I turned on the truck and put the air conditioning on full blast.  Feeling too weak to drive immediately, I took swigs of the water.  I poured some over my head too.  When the salt dripped down into my eyes, I used some of that precious water to wash my face too. 

Well, I love an adventure, that’s for sure.  But dang it!  How many times do I have to learn the same lesson?  Refill at EVERY chance, even if I don’t think I need it.  This is my promise on day one of my running streak.

Elevation Profile (The route, San Juan Loop, Chiquito, Viejo Tie, San Juan Trail, Blue Jay Campground, San Juan Trail, Old San Juan Trail, San Juan Trail, Chiquito, San Juan Loop).