Alternative spring break: Blood, sweat and tears

This week is spring break for Seattle Public Schools. It's also the week after REI's month-long Member Rewards Sale and the Seattle store's annual Running Shoe Expo. This all means I get a week off from coaching, and a little "calm after the storm" from the hectic past few weeks at work. Although I don't have the means to go anywhere special this spring, I am taking what advantage I can of the virtually endless menu of adventures within (the magic number, apparently!) 35 minutes of Seattle.

Mountain running with George
Yesterday, George and I spent the better part of the day exploring unmarked trails on Rattlesnake and Tiger Mountain (35-minute drive from Seattle). We were scoping out a way to connect the two mountains, in anticipation of an unofficial 100K that my running buddies are organizing next month. I won't be able to run the "race" itself day of, but I'm happy to tag along in the meantime for planning it. And what a great way to start a Monday morning - driving against rush hour to get to the mountains instead of the office.


On our way!
It was quite the adventure run. We had maps, fancy phone GPS and a rough idea of where we wanted to go - but wound up exploring hidden trails and bushwhacking a good deal more than planned. We climbed up to panoramic views of the valley, we pounded the descents, we marveled over hidden gems of trails, we splashed through mud and puddles, we told stories, we laughed. At some point, we found ourselves caught up in a horrible mess of nasty thorns and brambles, which lacerated the hell out of my bare legs. Ouchies! But we laughed about that, too.

We also pulled off a waist-deep river crossing in icy cold water - twice!


George's video of our Raging River crossing
A wonderful weekday adventure indeed. 4+ hours in the mountains, and we're already plotting out our recon mission to check out all the trail offshoots that we didn't get to fully explore, since evening work shifts beckoned us both back to Seattle.

Island biking with Mac
Today, I hopped on my bike in the morning for an epic day of human-powered exploration on Bainbridge Island (a 35-minute ferry ride from Seattle) with my friend Mac, who's born and raised on Bainbridge. He gave me the grandest of island tours, meeting me on bike at the ferry landing and taking me through town, from park to park, coastal roads to forested singletrack, hidden lakes to hidden beaches, killer climbs to heart-pounding downhills. What a BLAST. We skipped rocks on the water, ducked in to the public library, visited the community horticultural haven Bay Hay & Feed, rode by Mac's childhood home, and shared a delicious pizza at the Treehouse Cafe on the south of the island. Along the way, Mac regaled me with stories and a wealth of information about local history, traditions, animal and plant life, and prominent people who have lived on the island.


My wonderful tour guide leading the way through beautiful island forest.
Aside from one minor crash on my bike (marking the second time in two days that the outdoor world has gashed open some of my skin and drawn blood!), it was a lovely day. I rode the ferry back in peace, with jello legs and a contentedly full belly. Once the ferry docked, I geared up for my least favorite part of using my bike for transportation - riding it through downtown around rush hour.

Seattle: Drivers vs. Cyclists, Again
Most of the 15ish minute ride from the ferry landing back to my apartment went just fine, despite increasingly intense rain. Until. Until, until, until. The street I was riding on downtown had "sharrows" - meaning it's designated by the city of Seattle as a bike route, and is marked by a bike logo on the pavement to remind cars to be mindful of cyclists - but no designated bike lane. As I approached an intersection, the right lane in which the sharrows and I were turned into a right-turn only lane. I glanced over my shoulder to make sure I could merge over to the going-straight lane, merged over, just as the light at the intersection turned yellow. I still had plenty of time and space to brake for the light, and came to a complete stop with no issue.

Several moments later, I heard screeching brakes behind me. I couldn't tell if they were bike or car brakes, but looked back just as a cyclist came to a screeching halt within an inch of me on my bike, and began screaming obscenities. For one second, I was terrified I'd somehow cut him off - but I quickly realized his wrath was not directed at me, and had everything to do with a van that had apparently nearly collided with him. I didn't see what happened, since it all unfolded behind me, but I imagine it had something to do with the weird lane merge (and poor visibility in general, due to the rain).

Anyway, the driver of the van immediately rolled down his window and said, "Man, I am SO sorry, I didn't see you." The cyclist didn't take this well, and went berserk. He started pounding on the side of the van, hitting it, kicking it, dropping F-bombs right and left, and screaming at the top of his lungs at the driver. The driver handled this remarkably well for a few more seconds, apologizing again and trying to make peace with the cyclist. The cyclist's anger only escalated at this point, as he screamed obscenities and yelled at the driver to get out of the van so he could "beat the shit" out of him. The driver asked, "Are you serious? Man, I SAID I'm sorry", to which the cyclist continued to scream and scream and scream. This is where the driver started to lose his cool, too. He got out of his van and started screaming back. The two of them continued in a screaming match - escalating rapidly from yelling about whether the cyclist was wearing enough flashers to be visible to screaming threats at each other - and I found myself praying silently that neither of them would pull a knife or gun on the other...they were both so, so angry. (Keep in mind, I was within three feet of these guys, with nowhere really to go until the light changed.) Words here can't begin to do justice to the level of rage these two had for each other.

It was not pleasant. Eventually, the light did change, and I pedaled so damn hard away from the whole scene. My heart was pounding. Something about the adrenaline of it all must have triggered something in my system, because as I arrived home safe and sound a few minutes later, I more or less had a panic attack and started bawling. I really can't handle rage; it terrifies me. Although I've had a number of good adventures over the past month (and that's most of what I prefer to share in the online realm), it's also been a difficult month for me, with a lot of emotional upheaval, loss, transition and overall uncertainty. (AND, the stress of more things going wrong with my car; it seems like these problems will never end. Sigh. Sidenote.) So, in some ways, the emotional release of adrenaline-charged crying felt good today.

In other ways, it all just makes me so sad for Seattle. That moment was such a sharp contrast with the quiet, rural roads and forested trails that Mac and I spent all day riding. There is a tremendous amount of animosity between drivers and cyclists in this city. I am both a driver and a cyclist, at different times, so I'm not on one "side" over the other. There are reckless drivers, and there are reckless cyclists; neither are acceptable, not when lives are at stake. Unfortunately, for the most part, the streets of Seattle are not designed to safely accommodate both; it bums me out that I live somewhere where safety is a reason not to ride my bike. But it is. I love my life. I love biking, too, but moments like this evening make me ask how much, and is it worth it?

Badger Mountain 100-Mile Challenge: Inspired by my friends

One of my new year's running resolutions for 2012 was/is to volunteer at more races. Trail races are typically low-budget affairs that rely heavily on passionate swaths of volunteers who come out to make possible the amazing feats of their running compatriots - whether by checking in runners at the start line, manning aid stations, or serving as a direct support crew to individual runners. Since I've run more than my fair share of races at this point and reaped the benefits of the unbelievably awesome local running community, I figured it was high time to wear the volunteer's hat for a weekend!

It was with this mindset that I agreed to crew and pace for my good friend George last weekend at the Badger 100-Mile Challenge outside of Kennewick, Washington. (Yes, 100 miles. On foot.) It's only a few hours' drive from Seattle, but the terrain couldn't be more different from what we Cascadians are used to running through. My typical trail run is through tall, dense forest, a cocoon of bright green moss and ferns and pines. Kennewick is a barren, treeless desert of dirt and dust, exposed ridges, scattered with tumbleweeds and sage.


George was not the only running buddy of mine tackling this beast of a race; I knew several other folks, mostly through the Seattle Mountain Running Group (SMRG) I've been bumming around with a lot lately. By the end of the weekend, I'd know many more, and far more intimately. This being George's first 100-miler, and George being the kind of awesome friend everyone was eager to come out and support, there was a small entourage of us out to crew for him - Jenn, Glenn, Topher and myself. I'd never even been to a 100-mile event before, so aside from being excited to support George's accomplishment, I was psyched to get to witness firsthand what a race like this does to the minds, bodies and spirits of its runners.


The race started at 7 a.m. on Friday in steady rain and 50mph winds. After a steep initial climb, the 60ish starting runners faced long miles ahead along exposed ridges. We managed to miss George at the first crew-accessible aid station (CREW FAIL!) because he, and the other runners, were all booking it so hard to get off those ridges and away from the miserable weather. It wasn't until mile 22ish that we saw George and many of the other SMRG runners come through, and were able to dole out clean clothes, homemade cookies, and bottles of thick, goopy Perpetuem to keep them going.


Topher's old school VW bus made for the perfect movable aid station, with a dry spot for our running friends to get the fuel they needed before moving on. Our runners' clothes had already gotten so soaked that our crew's first mission was to cruise into the nearest town to find a laundromat and some high-powered dryers. The next few aid stations went by in a flash - amazing how all of Friday flew by, as we drove and parked and waited and made bottles of Perpetuem - and repeated. Fortunately for our runners, the rain let up in the afternoon.

Most of the runners were approaching the turnaround point at mile 47ish around sunset on Friday. Amazingly, at this point, most of the runners we saw were still in great spirits - awake, energized, positive, and confident. I wondered about whether my presence was actually of value to them; everyone seemed to be doing just fine! Usually, the dropout rate for tough 100-mile events like these is right around 50%, but seeing all the smiles and good humor as the runners trickled in to that aid station, I wondered if anyone would be dropping at all. Where was all the misery and soul-reckoning I'd heard about at these events? I was proud of and excited for all the runners I knew out there, and duly inspired.


Our man George, happy as a clam. Photo by Glenn Tachiyama.
Finally, night fell. The aid stations have a different feel at night, with their quiet, unassuming presence tucked away on the sides of mountains, the party lights, the Dixie cups of chicken noodle soup, the stoves fired up for ultra-grub like pancakes and quesadillas, the folding camp chairs set up to support the slumped bodies of increasingly fatigued runners. It was a really neat experience to hang out at these aid stations through the night, staring into the darkness and watching for the tiny, bobbing light of a runner's headlamp in the distance. The lights of Kennewick lay out below us, a blanket of stars above us.


The white line on the right side of this image is from the headlamp of a runner.
Glenn jumped in to pace George (essentially, run alongside him, ensure he stays awake, moving, and on course - a job that's part babysitter, part designated driver, part coach, and part therapist) from mile 47 on through most of the night. Because most of the aid stations for that stretch were not crew-accessible, the rest of us took the opportunity to curl up in our vehicles and catch a few hours of shuteye.

The next crew fail came in underestimating George's pace yet again. He and Glenn powered through the night, passing many other runners, and gaining speed as others were just starting to slow down. They blazed in to the aid station we'd parked at to nap around 2:30 a.m., a few hours ahead of when we were expecting him. Jenn traded places with Glenn to pace George for the remainder of the race, while I waited for another runner friend of ours, Ras, to come in so I could hop in to keep him company for the remainder of the course.

Running through the night is a crazy thing. My only other experience with it is the Ragnar Relay, but that's never more than a few miles before you hand off the baton to the next runner. I joined Ras at around 4 a.m., and for the next 8.5 hours, we were out on that course together, battling fatigue and steep hill climbs and the sheer emptiness of a race course that had dwindled down to the smallest handful of determined athletes. From there until sunrise, we only saw one other runner. We made our way over jeep trail after jeep trail, hill after hill, until the sun came up. That sun felt good.


This was Ras's second 100-miler, and though he was definitely hurting from long, unexpected stretches on pavement, he kept in great spirits. We shared amazingly lively conversation over the sunrise, through winding vineyard trails, along the highways, up and down more and more mountains. It was cool to spend more time getting to know Ras, since he and I have run a lot of the same races, but had never officially met before last weekend. (...Although he's made guest appearances in my photo albums before, given that we have similar climbing paces; the clicking of his trekking poles was the soundtrack to my ascent at Angel's Staircase last August.)


Ras + my shadow at the top of Angel's Staircase, August 2011 - Little did we know it wouldn't be the first time we'd share mountain summits!
While trekking along a seemingly endless stretch of road, we stumbled on a group of 7 or 8 runners, walking the opposite direction as us. They'd gotten terribly off course in the middle of the night and were trying to find their way back to the aid station we'd just come through. They all had hamburgers in their hands - apparently picked up along the road while lost - which they gnawed away at, eyes glazed over like zombies, as they stared confusedly at the two of us. These things happen at ultramarathons, I guess. We wished them luck and continued onward.

We saw George and Jenn at one of the later aid stations, along an out-and-back portion of the race; they were a couple hours ahead of us on the course, but it was great to see familiar faces. By the time we rolled into the final aid station, Ras's wife Kathy jumped on course for the final few miles.


The final few miles were probably the most scenic of the entire course, at least that I saw, with sweeping views of the valleys below us, and a highly runnable trail that seemed to give many of the exhausted runners new life in their legs. Amazingly, I'd soon learn, ALL of the runners I knew doing this race MADE it to the finish under the 32-hour cutoff. Pretty impressive, given that only 34 of the original 60+ starting runners finished. Later, stories trickled in of other runners dropping, due to turned ankles, muscle cramping, hypothermia, and feet so swollen that shoes had to be cut away with scissors. I attribute the finishers' achievement to their relentlessly positive attitudes, their tenacity, their training, and the running community camaraderie we're fortunate enough to have out here in Washington. Everyone had families, friends, crews, other runners, pacers and a team of exceptional volunteers rooting for them, and everyone rocked it!

So, after all that, am I more excited or less excited about someday trying to tackle a 100-miler myself? More excited, to be sure. Perhaps not this race in particular (the terrain didn't sing to me; the course markings still need some improvement), but I've got buckle envy, for sure.


Photo snagged from fellow Kansan, and 2012 Badger finisher Jeff Webb
I've got some work to do, but I have a pretty constant source of motivation from the people in my life out here - a huge congrats to all the runners at Badger this year, and a big THANK YOU for inspiring me with your superhuman accomplishments and triumph over a punishing and merciless mountain challenge.

Race Report: Gorge Waterfalls 50K

Flying at mile 29ish
I would like to start this entry off with giving the biggest shoutout possible to photographer extraordinaire Glenn Tachiyama for capturing, on more than one occasion, the exhilaration and pure joy I (and several hundred other runners) felt over this past weekend! Because of his talents and devotion to the trail running community, I get to continue reliving my favorite moments, as well as share them with people in my life. Thank you, Glenn, for who you are and all that you do!

So. Have I mentioned recently how much I love this sport? Thank goodness for all the lessons learned (well, relearned, or truly hammered home, at least) at Orcas this year. At this weekend's Gorge Waterfalls 50K in the scenic Columbia River Gorge in northern Oregon, I started more toward the middle of the pack, and took my sweet time warming up over the first few miles. Please, universe, let me remember this pearl of running wisdom in my races from here on out.

Due to some last minute trail closures and crazy late-season snow, James had to revise the course multiple times in the weeks leading up to Sunday - ultimately, the revised course featured less elevation than the original one, and may also have been a bit short of a true 50K. Throw in a flat tire on the race supplies van on race day morning, and I'm sure this one was a bit of an RD's nightmare - but for the runners, it was quite a dream! Tons of beautiful waterfalls, well marked course, aid stations with awesome volunteers, yummy finish line food, and as always, a fantastic community and overall vibe. Thank you, James and Candice and everyone else who helped make this happen.

Anyway, the revised course played well with my current strengths - a lot of twisty, technical trails but with long, relatively flat sections, and only two really sustained climbs.


A decent section of flat road in the middle of the course also undoubtedly shaved some minutes off my time. I hit the halfway/turnaround point in exactly 2.5 hours, which is more than a little ridiculous, given that my previous 50K PR was 5:35, run on a far flatter course. I did slow down some on the return, but felt pretty darn good the whole time. I had some great conversations with other runners out there, many of which continued at the finish line party afterward.

The out-and-back nature of the revised course (versus the original point-to-point) actually turned out to be pretty cool, because I got to see some of the pack-leading rockstars like Max King, Ian Sharman, Stephanie Howe and Jenn Shelton...Oregon runners, represent! This was my first ultra run outside of Washington state, and though there were plenty of familiar faces there, it was fun to run alongside so many new ones, too.


First Glenn sighting, mile 10ish. So excited to see him, I leapt skyward to make a fool of myself :P
I tried some new things this race. I ran with handheld water bottles instead of a hydration pack - YES. I consumed significantly fewer calories than past races, but my fueling regimen (see "Race Recap" notes below) seemed to do the trick. I probably could/should have started drinking/eating a little earlier in the race than I did, but overall, my stomach and energy levels did great - no bonking, no cramping, nothing - woohoo!


Loving life (Photo by Glenn Tachiyama)
My only troubles were my feet, which got thoroughly soaked from the sloppy, muddy trails and several shallow waterfall crossings. Compounded with some very rocky sections, my feet - which typically don't give me trouble at all - were in some serious pain toward the end of the race. I wasn't able to rip down the downhills as fast as I usually do. Fortunately, the extra hill training and strength training I've focused on the last month or so paid off on the uphills; I could feel my legs were far less fatigued on the climbs this time than they were at Orcas. That felt GREAT. I shall run more hills.


With Tom and Elodie at the finish line. I wouldn't be where I am now in the world of trail running without these two wonderful souls!
I crossed the finish line in just under 5:15 - a PR for me of 20 minutes, although with the likely shorter distance, not entirely sure it counts as a PR. Nevertheless...very satisfied!

RACE RECAP

Average weekly mileage in 8 weeks leading up to race day: 40 miles + sporadic cross-training (cycling, snowboarding, yoga/strength)

Peak weekly mileage: 71 miles

Longest single run in training: 29 miles

Race Day Breakfast: Green smoothie, boiled egg, cup of coffee, and a few squares of dark chocolate

During the run:1/2 packet of Perpetuem (carb/protein beverage mix), 3 GU's, a few Endurolytes (electrolyte/salt tablets) and 1 squeezable packet of almond butter

Simple pleasures

Sometimes I forget just how valuable and rejuvenating even just a few minutes of dedicated quiet "self time" can be. The past week has been pretty nutty, and from the looks of my iCalendar, the coming one will be, too. It's all good stuff - putting in long miles on the trails, road trips for out-of-town races, working with people who have become like family to me, coaching Girls on the Run, dinner plans with friends, promoting REI's upcoming Running Shoe Expo in Seattle (April 14 - come one, come all!), and other life sundries - but it's always daunting to have so many of my waking hours scheduled in advance...particularly on days that start at dawn, and hop from activity to activity until dusk.

Wednesday this week was that kind of day. Early-ish morning run with a great bunch of folks, home for a quick shower and lunch, Girls on the Run practice, check-in meeting with my fellow coaches, then straight to work after that. Except! Except that there was less traffic than expected between my meeting and work, and I wound up with a bonus half hour.


So I seized the opportunity to take a walk (in the evening sunshine!) to one of my favorite spots in Seattle, the Row House Cafe in South Lake Union. I ordered a tasty cup of lentil soup, and soaked up the peace of every minute I spent curled up next to the window. I had some people-watching opportunities and a good book. Absolute bliss, seriously. Long live quiet moments among the loud ones.

(Also, their Pandora station or whatever they were playing - in conjunction with the Shazam app on my phone - introduced me to this lovely little song. It captures well my mood in that moment.)

Road trip tomorrow! Oregon, here we come! More soon.

To every woman who's ever beat me in a race

Today was my first day coaching for Girls on the Run at a local elementary school. First of all, AWESOME. Could I imagine a better opportunity to blend my passions to do something small but hopefully good for the world?!

Second of all, in preparation for the season, one of my co-coaches and I met up for tea last night at an old haunt on Capitol Hill. Unsurprisingly, some of our conversation drifted to our own experiences running. She's someone who's been running her whole life, and has loved it from day one. Although, by all appearances, I seem to be one and the same, the truth is that I'm not. I ran track for two miserable years in middle school, and pretty much hated it. When I picked up running recreationally on my own again midway through high school, I still pretty much hated it. Although I subscribed to Runner's World and desperately wanted to be one of those endorphin-crazed running devotees, I was an impostor for many, many years before the real love kicked in.

(But goodness am I glad I stuck it out!)

The funny difference that my co-coach and I discovered was in what we say to people who have tried to run but don't enjoy it at all. Her advice is, "Stop running. If you don't love it, you never will. Find something else you actually like to do, and do that instead." My advice is, "Run more. If you don't love it yet, you aren't running far enough." Because for me, the first few miles are (still!) almost always miserable. It takes me that long to warm up, to get into a groove - and of course, it took me several years of running regularly to get to the place where 5 miles could feel like a warmup instead of a workout. And those same several years are how long it took me to go from being someone who detested running to someone who genuinely embraced it.

Even the minutes or hours leading up to a run I've promised myself to do can be excruciating in their own way; given how much I love this sport at this point, it's surprising how much mental energy I sometimes have to drum up to get motivated to just get out the door.

So what is it that keeps me motivated? Here's an incomplete list of a few things:

• Food/supporting my eating habit


• Endorphins, stress relief, happiness


• To find creative flow and generate ideas that only come when I'm running


• General health, well-being, strength, and longevity


• Community, and the friends I've made running


• The unique joy of exploring beautiful places on foot


• Personal challenge, pushing my limits


• Inspiration derived from other talented runners


• Competition, wanting to continually improve myself


• Hoping to inspire others when I can


• To experience humility

It's that last one that stuck with me on my post-GOTR-practice run today. Every step, every hill, every mountain, every acceleration, every bit of force that ripples up my quadriceps, even every injury...remind me that I am small and human.

Ultrarunning, in particular, is a world dominated by (relatively) older folks. On the one hand, I feel extraordinarily grateful to have discovered this sport in my twenties. Although I don't have the advantages of college track/cross country experience, or the featherweight boons of the traditional runner's body, what I do have going for me are the years in front of me. Ironically, for the world of athletics, my youth is probably the greatest detriment of all to my running right now. I feel like the equivalent of an uncalloused foot...for as many hard runs as I've dragged myself through in training and races alike, I'm still pretty fresh and tender in the grand scheme of things.

I have the deepest admiration for so many of the women kicking my butt at these races, who are often close to twice my age, and understand more than I do yet just what a mental game this sport is. A single tough hill climb still has the ability to ravage my self-esteem, to push me to the brink of despair. I look forward to someday, I hope, being as mentally tenacious as so many of these women are. They inspire me. And perhaps that sense of being reminded just how small I really am, but how much potential there is for me to grow, is one of the greatest motivators of all. So to all of you, those who've passed and reduced and left me in the dust, I thank you!

I hope that, in much simpler words - or perhaps without words at all - I'm able to impart some of the love and awe and contentment I feel when I run to these little girls whom I've been entrusted with coaching for the next couple of months. Pay it forward!

From Orcas to Rainier: A Weekend to Remember

This past weekend, I was blessed with more sunshine than the Pacific Northwest has collectively seen in months - and was further blessed with the coincidence of two of my greatest winter adventures having been long slated for this very weekend: (1) the Orcas Island 50K race and (2) three glorious days of backcountry snowshoeing/sledding/hutting it up down by Mt. Rainier.

Part I: Orcas Island 50K Race Report

Running on Orcas Island feels like it's become a little part of my soul at this point. It being the first trail race I ever ran, two years ago now, it holds by nature a special place within me - but it's also just hands down my favorite race. I love the camaraderie of a weekend on the island, potluckin' and campin' and runnin' and eatin' and drinkin' (though just soda for me this year!) and geekin' it up big time with other addicts. I love the course. I love the views. I love seeing what kind of crazy stuff my friend Tom will be eating and wearing and saying at 6:30 a.m. the morning of.


Exhibit A: Tom, Orcas 25K in 2010, Original photo courtesy of Glenn Tachiyama; Photoshopped commentary courtesy of Ryan Schmid
This year, however, was my first time tackling the 50K distance, rather than the 25K. Aside from discovering the day before race day that my tried-and-true running shoes had separated from their soles, and aside from discovering race morning that I'd forgotten to pack my running shorts, the real disaster didn't occur until Race Director Extraordinaire James yelled "Go!"...

Despite promising myself I wouldn't do this anymore, I started off way too fast. All my training has been so solid over the last few months - high mileage, more speed and hills than ever before, no injuries (knock on wood) - that it's hard to squelch the soaring optimism that's been stalking me at the beginning of my recent races. But squelch it I must, or else I wind up suffering for hours at its hand.

I knew after the first mile that I'd gone out too fast. Unfortunately, because I was running in a single-file line on single track with a still-too-optimistic ego to negotiate with, I still didn't reel myself in when I should have. Too proud to let myself get passed in those first few miles, I pushed too hard for yet another mile or two - at which point the course began its first of three steady mountain climbs, and I fell apart.


8,000 feet of elevation gain
So, over the course of the next mile or two, roughly 50 people passed me. I pulled over to the side to let the herds go by while I gasped to catch my breath, tried to nurse liveliness into my brick legs, and contemplated with a mix of glee and disgust the opportunity I'd have at mile 9.5 to drop out of the race completely. The kind of self-berating that usually accompanies this sort of contemplation can be especially cruel. To put it mildly, the next few miles were a challenge.

Fortunately, after cresting Mt. Pickett and backing significantly off the blistering pace at which I'd hurled myself over the starting line, I started to feel decent again. I caught up with Candice, who unfortunately had twisted her ankle pretty badly and was padding along at a pace I was able to match comfortably for a couple miles to the first aid station. Although I wish it had been under better circumstances, her company for those couple miles was a godsend, wrenching me out of my self-deprecating mental soundtrack and reminding me of one of the aspects I love most about this sport: the awesomeness of people you run the trails with. (Candice, may your ankle heal up swiftly!)

The rest of the race was pretty fantastic. 21 more miles to go after that first aid station, and with the help of some Endurolytes and the realist runner in me overtaking the optimist one, I enjoyed a relatively solid, steady race.


Me running by Cascade Falls. Photo by Glenn Tachiyama.
The sunshine atop Mt. Constitution was blinding, the views impeccable, and the company on the trails delightful as ever. As I've gotten more involved in the local trail running community over the past year, the entire weekend was sweetened by the sight of all those familiar faces before, during and after the race. Shoutouts to all those, old friends and new, who kept me company during those long, beautiful hours on the trails of Orcas!

Aside from some calf and quad cramping around mile 24, I felt strong the rest of the way. The climbs were invigorating, the descents adrenaline-charged, and the feeling of crossing the finish line - of being able to stop running - a fine pleasure indeed. I crossed in 6:31, right around where I hoped/expected to (the realist runner in me, again, at least) and spent the rest of the day celebrating with various characters among the fantastic cadre of friends I've made in this sport - Glenn, Tom, Ryan, Ben, Tracy, Michael, Jeff, Alex, Scott, Andrew (notably, though, nearly all dudes...where the ladies at?!)


After much celebrating and merriment at the finish line, we headed off to the ferry landing, bound for Seattle and, in my case, a good night's rest before the next big adventure.

Part II: Hut Up or Shut Up

So. I got to stay here for two nights


with eight of my favorite people


where we went snowshoeing,


watched sunsets,


ate food in our union suits,


and spent the better part of our days sledding.


Video by Cambajamba.
I would like to be as indulgently prolix in my descriptions of High Hut as I've been in my ramblings about Orcas, but I gotta be honest: Cam beat me to it with his epic retelling of our journey. Please check out his spectacular account of our shenanigans on the mountain. I doubt if I could tell it better.


Alan and I at sunset up at High Hut. 'Tis a good life we lead.

Conscious Endeavors

To build upon the mememe reflections inspired by the New Year (and given that I am currently laid up on my couch for a few days with ice cream and mashed potatoes, recovering from wisdom teeth removal this morning...), here's some elaboration on the aforementioned notion of projects - specifically, my top three for this year.


The Gratitude Project
I can't think of any situation in my recent experiences that hasn't been instantly and vastly improved by shifting some of my focus to gratitude. Stuck in traffic? It happens a fair amount in this city. Choosing gratitude over frustration goes a long way. With a bit of conscious effort, I can choose to spend that time feeling grateful that I have a car in the first place, that I am on my way to something great - dinner with a friend for whom I'm also grateful, work that I'm grateful to be able to do, a home that I'm grateful to have and share with someone wonderful. Fortunately, too, many of the times I'm stuck in traffic, it's on I-5 with a view of the Seattle skyline, the Olympic mountains, the Cascade mountains, Lake Union, Mt. Rainier...does a day go by that I'm not counting my blessings for this wonderful city that's come to be my home? If you read my blog, you know the answer.

In 2012, I want to spend more of my energy on gratitude, and less on irritation, on frustration, on impatience. Gratitude gives back immediately. It fills me with a sense of owing the world something in return for what I've been given, of making the most of my day, my resources, my talents, my energy, my love. I want to do a better job appreciating the people in my life who make it great, appreciating my health and ability, appreciating the small things as well as the big.

I credit my parents for instilling in me from early on the value of gratitude - and with that, I want to officially introduce my new micro-blog venture for 2012: Thanks, Parents! The plan is to regularly update it with small thank-you notes to my parents for all the time, effort and love they poured into setting me up for an awesome life. Please check it out!


The Gazelle Project
It should also come as no surprise that running will continue to be an area of focus for me...except, more so! Based on lessons in 2011, my priorities will include: being a big part of the running community rather than making it a solo sport, prioritizing injury prevention, running higher overall mileage, learning to embrace elevation and become a stronger uphill runner, and being far more conscientious with my nutrition and fueling.

In a recent article in Trail Runner magazine about 24-year-old ultrarunner Kilian Jornet, he was quoted as saying "Don't think of training is training. Training is going and running because you enjoy it." Indeed, I've begun to think of running not as the thing I have to find time to pack in to my schedule, but as the thing that IS my schedule, which other things need to be packed in around. It feels good.

In celebration of my commitment to train at new levels, I registered for the White River 50-Mile Endurance Run this July...woohoo! This is on top of a couple spring 50K's I've also registered for. Other specific running goals include: a sub-20:00 5K, a sub-6:00 mile, and qualifying for Boston. Above all, though, I'd like to continue running without injury and loving every moment I get to spend out there.


The Energy Project
This is an ongoing one for me, for which I usually have tremendous zest for around New Year's, but often fizzles as I get deeper into the year. However, it's far too important to let slide off my center burner.

Everything we do takes both time and energy. I consistently feel like I don't get to do enough of the things I want/need to, which leads me to feel panicky, stressed, guilty and generally bummed. Since we can't generate more time in our lives - we are all, after all, subject to the same 24-hour days - this project is geared at generating more energy within myself.

It's a broad one, I know, but within it are the seeds of several subsequent goals: establish and maintain a better way of organizing my thoughts and to-do lists, procrastinate less, prioritize sleep, incorporate more fresh juices and green smoothies in my diet, be more conscientious in general of how I nourish my body. I've decided to forgo alcohol altogether in 2012, partly as a personal challenge, partly as a way to do something nice for my body and support my running ambitions, and partly as a way to simply be gentler on my wallet.

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I could go on and on with the project list, many of which include subsequent SMART goals...
- The Reading Project (Read at least two nonfiction books and two novels every month in 2012, and track them on my Goodreads page.)
- The Writing Project> (Build an online portfolio of my writing. Network in the freelance world. Be getting paid to write full-time by the end of the year.)
- The String Band Project (Actually take banjo lessons and practice regularly, instead of thinking that owning one will magically grant me the ability to play it.)
- The Strength Project (Do more yoga. Strength train 3x/week. Be able to do 50 pushups. Be able to do a single darn pullup.)
- The Financial Peace Project (Be diligent again in budgeting and tracking spending through Mint.com. Read more books on personal finance and investing. Learn more from my dad.)
- The Minimalism Project (Get rid of a lot of my unnecessary stuff. Simplify.)
...but as important as these subsequent ones all are, and as much as I will still try to contribute as much of my energy to them as I can this year, the truth is that the first three - Gratitude, Running and Energy - are what I've decided to make my biggest priorities. I'm learning that, hard as I may try, I just can't do it all.

There is a quote that's been attributed at times to Bill Gates and at times to Tony Robbins, and I'm not sure who it's really from, but it goes something like this: "We tend to overestimate what we can accomplish in one year, and underestimate what we can accomplish in 10." With that in mind, I'm trying to accept that there's no way I can possibly expect to accomplish in one year every single goal I've mentioned above. Nevertheless, I believe in vision, I believe in action, and to drop another of my favorite quotes, "I know of no more encouraging fact than the unquestionable ability of man to elevate his life by conscious endeavor." (Henry David Thoreau)