Back-to-Back At Last

Tuesday I made it out to the trails for my first back-to-back run in a long time.  This was not entirely by choice.  With two substitute teaching assignments on the horizon (Wednesday & Thursday), I knew I would not be able to run again until the end of the week.  So, off to the coastal hills I ventured. 

Was it cold?  Well, not freezing.  But it was too dang cold to grasp a water bottle filled with ice water.  (Why do I fill my handheld with icy water during the winter?  I have no clue!):

The skies were beautiful and big:

The hills were rolling and felt good:

And I warmed up good by the time I reached Top of the World (overlooking Laguna Beach, CA):

In Alta Laguna Park stretching the plantar fascia for the downhills on the way back (down hills cause the most trouble for me right now):

Total miles run:  6.5  On the plus, plus, plus side, I was able to run all the way in.  No need to do a walk/run for the last bit.  I worked on my foot the rest of the day, stretching, icing, etc.  This morning though, instead of using the walls to hold myself up as I walked out of our bedroom, I dropped to the floor and crawled out. 

Joy and Pain, Sometimes a Necessary Combo

Got 10.79 trail miles in today (with 2,177 feet of elevation gain).  Objective met.   I felt the joy of the trails, during which I snuck up on 2 buck.  One of them stared me down until I got so spooked that I went on my way without looking back (Not really, I did look back to catch one more picture – but the good news is that I did not turn into a pillar of salt).

The misery of Mentally Sensitive was absolutely delightful.  And upon reaching the top, I bushwhacked my way to a secret club house dug out in the brush.  The place is fairly new, and I’ve never had the opportunity to meet the creators of this secret meeting place.  I took a seat on the skateboard nailed into the roots beneath a tree and made a little monument out of sticks and an empty bottle of saki I found strewn to the side. 

I experienced great aggravation over the fact that I could not take the pain to increase my speed to my normal slow speed.  I tried not to think about such things, and it was during those thoughtless times that I experienced the most joy. 

The last mile and a half in, I needed to switch off running and walking.  By the time I reached my car, I really, really wanted to cry.  But I did not.  Instead, I went home and iced, then stretched, then applied heat, not to be complete without a scolding from my husband who argued  I should give up some things and get to the doctor ASAP.  He almost convinced me. 

I will say that I did take some precautions on this morning’s run by stopping often to take in the beauty.   And this camera happy person took that time to complete a photo diary of my run.

Leaf Litter at the Ranger Station:

Broken up ice on Aliso Creek Trail:

Taking off down Aliso Creek Trail on this Brrrrrr, cold morning:

True Love :

Looking back on Buck #2:

Climbing Mentally Sensitive:

Swing Break in Moulton Park:

Top of the World:

Sugarloaf Peak

27 Days passed without running, without TRAILS.  And it was during this time that I discovered how mentally weak I was (more so than I realized).  And that made me sad.  And it made angry, and touchy, and I felt like I was plummeting downward, like any mental strength that I thought I had was a façade.  I felt my house of cards had collapsed. 

I worked at healing my foot because I thought this was my only saving grace.  But the foot got better, then it got worse.  Part of the day I could walk, the other I could not.  And then one day, I cried and cried and cried, and told myself that I had to buck up, that I needed to be strong whether or not I could hit the trails.  After that, I began to rebound.  I tried to smile more.  I kept negativity off my lips and tried to push it out of my mind.  I kept my self busy.  I ate better.  I kept my cups of coffee to one, and my glasses of wine to none.  During this time, while limping about the grocery store parking lot, I turned to the man in the wheelchair behind me.  His right leg was raised, and so I asked, “What did you do to your leg?”

He said, “Nothing.  I fell off my bike, landed on my face and cracked my skull in three places.  I was in a coma for six weeks.” 

Yikes.  What if he can never ride a bike again?  After chatting for several minutes, I realized that he would do fine without the bike.  Just like I would do fine without trails.  Either way, I just had to “be.”  “It is what it is,” as we always say in my home.  (My husband brought that saying into our home.  Another thing he has passed on is, “Embrace the suck!”)

HOWEVER, I do love the trails.  And I’m aiming to get back to them, even if just for a “test drive.”  Finally, I did that yesterday.  After I dropped the boys off at school, I drove an hour up the mountain for a short run to Sugarloaf Peak.  The mountains were cold, the skies full of voluminous clouds.  I fell no less than five times – that’s right, at least five times.  I tripped frequently.  And once as I ran through the trees I said out loud, “Please Mr. Tree, don’t poke me in the head.”  Then one of their branches promptly poked me in the head.  By time my run was finished, my calves were bleeding and scratched up.  By the time my run was finished, I also summited Sugarloaf Peak which was pretty dang fun, that kind of hellish fun.  The climb to the peak was so steep, I fell back several feet more than once.  Some parts, I needed to scramble on all fours.  When I finally reached the summit, I saw the only two people I would see during the entire run.  I waved to them as they rested below on a rock that’s named Cocktail Rock. 

Old San Juan Trail:

Summiting:

In all, I ran a little less than eight miles.  Those last few miles were pretty dang miserable, and I needed to hike frequently.  As usual, the tranquil loneliness, the rocky terrain, the enormous skies made everything well worth it.  I love the trails. 

Sometimes When It Rains, It Pours

I decided to break from running after my November 13th run.  I continued strong on at the gym, burning calories, lifting weights.  I even counted calories at home. 

Almost week later, on a Tuesday morning, I got a call as I packed for my first run back.  Yes, I admit, it was too early, my foot still ached, but I was dang tired of waiting.  The call was from the school nurse. Our youngest son injured his leg.  He was crying in pain, couldn’t walk.  They had to wheelchair him out to my truck.  He was smiling by then, but walked about the house with a limp.  He insisted he didn’t fall or hurt his leg during recess.  Still, I worried.  My guess was a hamstring injury.  He is our most active boy, always jumping and running.

I kept him home the next day.  And I called our family orthopedic surgeon (I think that’s funny that we have a family orthopedic surgeon).  I made him the first available appointment – Friday morning.  Thursday I  got my two oldest boys off to school, left baby boy at home with his papa and went off to a substitute teaching assignment (middle school fine arts).  I phoned home frequently to learn baby’s leg was much better.  Still had a limp, but no cries of pain.  Then my throat began to ache and my sinuses grew sore as well.  By lunchtime, it seemed every single joint ached.  I just wanted to crawl into bed and sleep.

Back at home I lay in my bed with our baby boy, and every so often he would cry out from leg pain.  Ice and heat did nothing.  And he refused pain medication.  As I lay there with him, I noticed the pain came in waves.  It seemed to me he was having either spasms or cramps.  I kneaded around his leg to find some specific areas where he cried – around his outer back thigh.  This wasn’t his hamstring.  My concern grew.

Friday, I was so dang sick I could barely get the boys off to school.  I foolishly packed my bag for the gym, then brought baby boy to the doctor.  He was doing much better, no more cries from pain.  But I wanted to check this out anyway.  Turns out, he has bursitis.  Bursitis!  VIRAL Bursitis.  I saw the swollen bursa sacs right there in the x-ray.  I was so dumbfounded, my doctor simplified it for me and said, “It’s like he caught a cold, but in his hip.”

Can you imagine?  A cold in the hip?  Our baby healed very quickly.  I on the other hand, grew sicker.  Didn’t make it to the gym.  Instead, I slept off and on for the next two days, achy and lethargic. 

This morning, the first official day of our week-long Thanksgiving recess, I felt good enough to make a trip to the gym.  I rode 27 miles on the gym bike and noticed that my heart rate rose significantly higher than normal.  And so I neglected the weights, went home and took a nap. 

Twelve days have passed without a run.  But my son is well.  And that is most important.

Happy running to those who can make it out there.  I’m hoping for tomorrow, or the next day, or the next. 

Holy Jim Aid / Chimera 2013

Just because I can’t run (and I’m still a little angry and don’t want to accept it) doesn’t mean I can’t go to Chimera.  What’s Chimera?  Chimera is a 100 mile race in the very mountains that I run, The Saddleback Mountains. 

I worked the Holy Jim aid station, mile 40.7 in this enormous race on Saturday.  As always, I met new friends, had a great time, and was inspired by awesome runners.  Truly awesome – every last one of them. 

Prepping:

We waited about two hours for the front runners to come in on this cloudy day.  The first three came in pretty dang close together (within minutes).

The first runner in to Holy Jim (placed 2nd overall):

The second runner to come into Holy Jim, Fabrice Hardel.  He placed first overall (I came into this event on “team Fabrice”):

At one point we learned that Trabuco Trail was not marked.  Only a couple people complained.  If you’ve run the trail before, you pretty much cannot get lost.  If a runner had never taken it though, there are a couple places to take wrong turns to dead ends, and one place to take a wrong turn that would be detrimental to your race.  I set out in my truck and marked about a half a mile.  Then I hiked the single track to mark the next half mile.  Before I returned, I handed the tape off to a runner’s crew members to mark the trail up to West Horsethief.  This is the trail that would be a big mistake to take.  However, a runner would have to make a hard right to take this trail, so we felt pretty secure that no one had done it. 

The runners were amazing.  They ran on into our station from about 12:30 until 7:30 PM.  The first eight or so just filled up with fluids and were off.  After that, the runners began sticking around.  Some went out to their personal crews parked in the Holy Jim lot.  Others had some warm soup or pumpkin pie at our station.  The later they arrived the longer the runners stayed.  All but one took off to the next station.  The one who stayed eliminated himself from the race.  And I have to give him huge credit for that.  I know how hard it is to make the call yourself.  It was excruciating when I did it at Bulldog 50k.

I recognized many faces, runners I’ve seen at events but don’t know.  Runners I know by name, but still don’t know.  And runners I do know and have run with.  The delight of my day was my friend Robert W.  I knew that he’d do well.  But he seemed to come in closer to the top than I figured.  And then, best of all – he placed 4th overall.  I am still thrilled, ecstatic to be precise. 

Way to go Robert!

After about the twentieth runner (133 runners started this race), the station grew active with clusters of runners coming in right after another.  What a lively bunch!  Great personalities, great jokes.  And they were oh so gracious. 

John H. looking strong!  (Deborah, one of his crew peeks out behind him):

So, what did we have to offer besides a radio for communication, a fire chief and first aid kit?  Let me see if I can recall.  We had pumpkin pie, oranges, salt, gels, endurolytes, sodas, Heed, water, ice, cookies, potatoes, candy, peanuts, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, bananas, potato chips, slices of a veggie sub sandwich, pretzels, M&M’s, and chicken noodle soup.  Oh, and we had light and a heater when the sun went down. 

As nighttime rolled in, the weather grew cold.  We had a big moon beneath partly cloudy skies. Dave, the Holy Jim Fire chief, brought out some extra lights and also a heater.   Dave was another high point of the day.  I remember this man telling me to be careful one early morning as I headed up Holy Jim.  He said there had been a dozen rescues the day before.  Chimera 2013, I officially met Dave.  He was such a pleasure to meet (as were all my crew members).  He was full of interesting stories, and I got to learn were the resident mountain lion lives.  Right off Holy Jim!!!  Dave opened up the firehouse for me and the other lady in the crew so that we could use the bathroom.  And when it grew dark, he drove us in his huge red, mountain fire truck to use the restroom.  He didn’t think us ladies should have to use the outhouse!

The arrival times between runners grew greater beneath the dark skies.  I saw my friend Kurt E. and Randall T.  Both were smiling and looking pretty dang great for having endured the course so far.  Did I mention that this course is BRUTAL?

A night group fueling up to take off up Holy Jim in the dark (Kurt E. on far right):Our radio guys, and Dave, the Holy Jim fire chief (wearing a skunk cap):

Our last runner came in about 7:30 (I believe).  And then we waited.  We kept the soup hot, but began cleaning up some.  We made radio contact several times, but could not learn the number of the DFL and his/her estimated time of arrival.  Finally we learned that the last runner had made our station some time earlier.  Thing was, all runners had not made it to the next aid, Bear Springs.  We could not leave until all runners had reached the next station, just in case they had to double back.  And so our captain, Doug and one radio guy stayed behind, while the rest of us cleaned up and headed out.  I left the scene at 8:30 PM.  The guys who stayed behind, didn’t leave until 10:00 PM.  In all, 121 runners reached our station, 12 dropped before reaching us, 2 of those did so because they took a wrong turn early on in the race. 

Back at home I tracked the race all night.  I didn’t learn until morning that Fabrice had won (yay!), but more importantly, Robert placed 4th (YAY!).  What a day.  What a wonderful day.  Sadly, my foot ached from standing so much.  Cheers to a QUICK healing.

13 on the 13th

The Sock initially helped my foot immensely.  Almost immediately, my arch and heel improved.  I could walk around in the morning with very little pain (mornings were always the worst).  After two days, improvement came slowly.  Still, I felt good enough to run.  So, I set out this morning along Trabuco Creek Trail (not to be confused with Trabuco Trail in Trabuco Canyon).  Immediately, my right foot hurt.  But it was bearable.  So, I continued onward.

Trabuco Creek Trail:

Aside from the foot pain, my calves felt extremely tight.  I stopped beneath the train tracks for a long stretch before continuing on. 

To get to my destination (Arroyo Trabuco Trail) I got to run along orange groves.  Oranges were slim pickings, but I found a couple trees bursting with the sweet fruit.

I got to run beneath Interstate 5.  A bit scary due to the darkness and nooks and crannies for scary people to hide.

At last I made Arroyo Trabuco Trail.  My foot still aching, but not too badly, I made several creek crossings without falling in the creek.  That only happens about fifty percent of the time on this trail. 

I enjoyed much of Arroyo Trabuco before finally turning around, a little over 6.5 miles, giving me 13+ miles today.

Turnaround point:

During the last 4 miles, running with THE FOOT became increasingly difficult.  Finally, with two miles, my pain was immense.  I was so close to phoning my husband for a ride to my car.  I just couldn’t take him from his work.  So I pushed onward, despite the pain. 

I’ve been icing off and on since I arrived home.  I’ve taped, I’ve rolled, I’ve applied heat.  Right now I’m wearing The Sock.

13.28 miles run today.  And I think I’m convinced that I really need to give the foot a break.  Bummer.