Time to get Rid of the Farmer’s Tan

The grass in the coastal hills has turned mostly brown in Southern California. Temperatures have risen, and I’m not ready for spring to end. I’ve been making that my excuse to put in time at the gym instead of venturing out to the trails. But cross training at the gym is just not giving me what I need mentally. Today (or yesterday rather because it took me a day to post this blog), I packed a bag for the gym with the intent of driving there straight after work. Instead, I drove home, ate lunch, folded clean clothes and listened to my youngest son play the piano. I debated back and forth whether I should go to the gym or hit the trails in this heat (it’s been in the high eighties Fahrenheit lately). The clincher was learning that my oldest son was going to skip the gym today (as we often go together). If he wasn’t going, then neither was I. And so, with no class to teach on Wednesday evenings, I headed out the door at 4:30 PM in a tank top and running shorts. My handheld filled with ice water and my belt complete with phone, camera and lip balm, I was hoping to get rid of the farmer tan that I’ve been cultivating all year. You know, that tan that begins after the white shoulders, down about short-sleeve length on the arms. With these summer temperatures coming on, I would really like to wear a sleeveless sun dress without looking like a dork.

Though I did have all the time in the world, well, not actually that much, but lots of time anyway, I didn’t spend a ton of time on the trails. I wanted to get home to spend the evening with my family. So, I decided to take my T.O.W. run, but cut it short a bit. Instead of starting out in Wood Canyon and running up to West Ridge, I drove a little further and parked my truck right near West Ridge. That made this out-and-back to Top of the World 5.14 miles instead of the usual 6.5.

Hitting dirt finally at 5PM, the temperatures started to cool, and I had some nice breezes from the Pacific Ocean. There were lots of mountain bikers out, especially near Top of the World where fifty or so bikers wore numbered bibs and did timed, what seemed to me as death-defying runs down the backside of West Ridge into Laguna Canyon. They were a jubilant group of mostly men, but I did notice a couple women among these crazy folk.

Though my lovely green grass was mostly brown, Prickly Pears were in full bloom with yellow and orange blossoms abounding. I expected to see at least one snake, and I kept my eyes peeled, especially on those single-track detours along West Ridge. But alas, not even a single snake trail. A few times I worried about falling, even along the simplest portions.  Nothing seems safe to me right now. I can not afford another fall.

Overall, I got what I needed mentally. I didn’t burn as many calories as I would have at the gym. But I did get to hit my groove on the out portion of this out-and-back. I got some wonderful peace, some sunshine, and the passing company of like-minded people who love trails like I do.

Sporting that farmer’s tan.

Battle Scars

After my last fall (which I wrote about in my last entry in “Seven More Miles”), I wasn’t myself for several days – not that “being myself” is all that great. But after the fall, I felt “under the weather,” achy and sore.  And the next day, my first day back to work, I was a bit cranky. I didn’t have as much patience as I usually do with my students. I apologized to them, and they said, “Oh, no! It’s me not you!!”   My students are so polite and appreciative. I love them. I told a few female students about my fall and showed them my battle scars. They cringed and turned quickly away. Maybe I should not have revealed the damage.

Quite frankly, I was a little embarrassed about walking around with scabby legs – as the scabs ran from my knee down to my ankle. Being that I wear dresses when not on the trails, I wore boots all week to cover the damage. And being that I did not run all week, but spent my workout time at the gym, I wore leggings instead of shorts, in order to cover the damage. To top it off, the hole in my hand wasn’t healing as quickly as I wished because I picked at it too much. Come to think of it, I picked at the scabs on my leg as well.

It took me seven whole days to get back out on the trails. I needed about three days to recover from the accident, and then it rained for a few more days. Finally, on the seventh day (Sunday, April 10), we had a break in the rain, and amazingly, Aliso/Woods Canyons was not closed due to “wet and muddy conditions.”  It was a beautiful day, and I enjoyed my eight mile loop immensely. It’s always so crisp and clear after a rain. I’m glad I enjoyed it while I could, because little did I know that I would not get in a run for the next seven days. I have not run since. To make up for it, one might think that I over did it at the gym with three plus hours of cardio each visit. In reality, I can hardly feel three hours of cardio at the gym in comparison to a few hours on the trails. And all it is, is cardio, and that is not my ultimate goal – time on the trails where I can heal and grow – that is my ultimate goal.

My April 10 route: Wood Canyon, Cholla Trail, West Ridge to Top of the World, West Ridge, Mathis, Wood Canyon.

Seven More Miles . . .

Sunday, March 3, I went long. I went long on Harding Truck Trail, which starts at Tucker Wildlife Sanctuary in Modjeska Canyon. I arrived fairly early, as those limited parking spaces fill up quickly, and took one of the two remain spots. It was just before 8:00 AM when I took off up Harding Truck Trail. Several other hikers took off behind me.

Though it was relatively early, it was not so for trail people. I met quite a few hikers and runners coming down as I made my way up that steep grade. Boy, is Harding Truck Trail steep. It’s not so technical, as it is a truck trail after all  (though actually closed to traffic). I found the trek up Harding very difficult, and actually ran very little of it. Once I passed the 5 mile mark (where Laurel Springs Trail branches off), I came up on very few people on Harding Truck Trail. Overall, the views were delightful – lots of spring flowers and above blue skies with white puffy and smeared clouds. The scene was serene.

My goal (or turnaround point) was “Four Corners,” which is where Harding meets Maple Springs and The Main Divide branching off in two directions. I will not lie and say that the climb up to “Four Corners” wasn’t tough. It was tough as hell. But then again, when do I ever say the climb wasn’t tough. IT IS ALWAYS tough for me. I kept the following in my mind on the way up – “at mile 7.5 you get a reprieve!” That’s when there’s a slight downhill, and then the climb after that isn’t so steep. Right about mile 7.5 I came across what appeared to be three brothers. I didn’t ask if they were related, but they all looked alike. There was a small, a medium and a large blonde haired boy, just like my three sons (though not blonde), but these guys also had a few years on mine. Anyway, I passed them, and kept in the back of my mind not to let them catch up (because I am weird that way).

Finally, FINALLY, after three hours and 45 minutes, I made it to 4 corners. There was one dirt bike rider who came up on The Main Divide. Other than that, I was alone until the three brothers arrived and carried on along The Main Divide. I probably stayed about 15 minutes drinking my protein shake, taking photographs and looking out onto Orange, Riverside and Orange Counties. I felt fully rested, and quite content.

As I made my way back down Harding Truck Trail, I came up on a semi-large hiking group that I had passed on my way up. It was like seeing old friends.

The run back down was uneventful for the first 2+ miles. Thing was, I didn’t focus well on the trail. Instead, I found myself thinking about work and other such worries. Okay, I know that I must focus, especially when fatigued on trails. You would think that I would have learned. But, NO! I let myself get lost in thought. Then with about 7 miles remaining, I tripped. And when I tripped, I went flying forward. I don’t know where my tuck and roll went, but apparently, it’s gone. Now, it’s just spaz-out free fall. And that’s just what I did.

I landed hard. And though I knew I was hurt, I knew that I did not hit my head, and I probably had not broken anything. But, my breathing out of control, I was certain to vomit. Oddly, I made my way to the edge of the trail so that I could vomit (because I thought it was polite to be neat about it). Leaning over a fallen log, I noticed the blood oozing from my leg. But all I really cared about was puking. Just as I started to dry-heave, I got some reason and focused on getting my breathing under control. I have no idea where that reason came from; I guess just from within. Slowly, so, so very slowly, my breaths lengthened, and I took in more oxygen. It was at that point that the nausea left me.

I could tell that my immediate injuries were to my right leg and palm. The injury to my palm looked terrible with ripped skin covering a small hole in my hand. I actually felt sore all over, but the visible injuries came from the aforementioned. “Seven miles,” that’s what I told myself. All I need to do is focus for seven miles. So, I wiped the blood off of my leg until that was moot – I mean, why wipe the blood when it doesn’t matter? It was just going to keep oozing until it was done, and I didn’t want to wait. And so, I swallowed three ibuprofen and took off trotting down Harding Truck Trail toward my truck parked at Tucker Wildlife Sanctuary.

Those last seven miles were bearable, with my main problem coming from my hand, and a part of my leg that was not bleeding (the right side of my front right calf). With about two miles remaining, I ran up on two lovely ladies who were hiking the trails now in afternoon heat. One of them noticed my leg, and made comments to the affect that I was a bad-ass for traversing the trails seven miles with my injury. That kind of praise always cracks me up (like when people were amazed that I made it two miles to my truck with a broken arm). I mean, what was I supposed to do? I am no bad-ass for running those miles with my injury. I did it because that’s what I had to do to get to my truck. I had no other options. Believe me, if I could have dialed in a helicopter (free of charge of course) to come pick me up, I would have surely done so.

Total trip miles: 18.84 miles (30.32 km)

Elevation gained: 3,666’ (1,117 m)

T.O.W.

I call one of my very regular runs TOW which is abbreviated for Top of the World. It’s regular because parking is easy, it’s close and it’s quick, and at the same time it’s somewhat difficult. The route, if you have ever visited this blog, I’m sure is familiar: From Wood Canyon in Aliso Viejo up Cholla Trail, and then West Ridge (taking all the tiny side detours) up to Top of the World in Laguna Beach. I once again got the wonderful opportunity to run TOW recently, on Wednesday, March 30, during a mildly warm afternoon. The Prickly Pears were blooming full force. The occasional breeze was cool, and the trails were active with hikers, runners and bikers. Nothing eventful happened, which can be a good thing or a bad thing. I’ll say it was a good thing. Nothing eventful happened except for wonderful stories of nature showing its face.

6.58  miles / 10.6 km, 901’ / 274.6 m  elevation gained

Old Goat 50 / A Quick Behind the Scenes

Just when I was getting the posts caught up, I’m falling behind again. So, I’ll make this quick. Last Saturday, March 27, Old Goat 50 took place. Old Goat 50 is a 50 mile / 50 k Old Goat race that I coordinate volunteers for. This race went smoother than any race that I’ve coordinated to date. And the credit is not mine; it all goes to the volunteers. We always have great volunteers who give so much of themselves – so much time and energy all for free. This time it was especially true. The number of aid station workers was slim due to it being Easter weekend. But even short staffed, they came through like champs. We also had enough drivers, such wonderful, wonderful drivers, who really made it all a success.

I regret that I did not take a photo of every single volunteer. In awe again.

A few behind-the-scene shots:

I set out the day before – this was the view from my home:

Net Control:Course Sweeps:

Lower Blue Jay Aid Station with race director Steve Harvey:

Driver loading up (left) to take Santiago Peak AS volunteers up the mountain (right):

Posing with the crew from OC4Play

Chasing Euphoria

I mentioned recently receiving a sense of euphoria during one of my recent runs, though I don’t talk about that aspect of running much. It’s that feeling I get once in awhile on my runs. It’s a feeling of perfect intoxication, exhilarated sort of, but softly. It is more than happiness. It’s kind of an out of this world joy. Actually, it is simply pure joy, like I am at one with everything, that I understand and accept everything, that nothing is a problem -- everything is perfect -- the weather is perfect (whether it’s storming or sunny), my steps are perfect, the world is perfect. Oh wow, you would think this is the reason I run. But it’s not. I didn’t even know about this feeling until I had been running for a while. And even now I never know when this euphoria will hit on a run. I cannot go out there expecting it. And I certainly don’t run or chase after it. It’s just not something I can chase after and catch. It’s just an unexpected gift that happens occasionally. As a matter of fact, if I try and go after this feeling, or manufacture it by possibly running the same course, or doing the same thing that I was doing when it last happened, it will never hit me. It’s when I totally forget that this wonderful added gift of running even exists, that it gently hits me again.

Hardly ever does this feeling come to me two times in a short period. But it did recently. Tuesday, March 22, just the second run after my last euphoria,  I set out on Tijeras Creek and ran down to Arroyo Trabuco for an out-and-back into O’Neil Park. From the onset, my step felt quicker than usual.  But I still looked forward to a long 12 plus mile run that would surely tire me out. It never really did that to me -- yes, I felt fatigued here and there, but never wiped out.  

The creeks were semi-full. The air was cool and breezy. Everything was green and the grass was tall. Though I wasn’t running quickly, the miles seem to pass quickly. I tend to break each way of this route into three portions, with the first portion measuring about 2.5 miles, which on the back is the last portion. It was during this last 2.5 mile portion, when I hit the shade after a quick downhill that the euphoria hit me. You can imagine my surprise and delight to have this happen so soon again. I just rode the wave.

12.12 miles run

I know I said that I can’t chase after euphoria, and I wasn’t doing that when two days later I set out again on the same trails for the same out-and-back. Thursday, March 24, I just had a lot of spare time and wanted to go on a mindless run. Arroyo Trabuco is the perfect place to go on said mindless run. It’s not too dangerous – no cliffs to fall from and such. I know there wasn’t a chance in hell that the euphoria was going to hit again so soon, and on the same trails at that. But I did have a delightful run, and I would have done it again the next day if I did not have Old Goat 50 to work the next couple of days.  Though did not experience that intoxication that I call euphoria, I did feel in harmony with the land. I noticed flowers I hadn’t noticed before. I watched a roadrunner bird sprint about in the fields. And I crossed the creeks seamlessly without getting even a toe wet. One woman stood off to the side watching me move across the rocks, audibly nervous that I was going to fall clapped when I reached the shore. “Wow! Good job,” she exclaimed.

Miles run: 12.29

What a week! And I’m almost caught up.