Tag Archives: trail running

Imagine If

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The doctor says it’s terminal and you only get one more walk or run. Where and when? I’d be torn between these beauts.

The Arb, Carleton College, Northfield, Minnesota. Miles of incredible, meandering trails. Some by a river, some surrounded by head high grasses, often accompanied by deer. I always get lost and never sweat it. More miles, more better. Great anytime, but especially primo in the fall.

Bodega Head Trail, Bodega Bay, California. What it lacks in distance, it more than makes up in natural beauty. 1.9 miles of exquisite Bodega Bay and greater Pacific Ocean views. Stop anywhere, lay down, and soak up the Vitamin D. The ice plant makes great cushioning for a mid-day nap. An all-time great spring run.

Oak Bay Loop, Victoria, British Columbia. From the Hotel Grand Pacific to Dallas Road around Ross Cemetery and back. ANY sunny morning, but especially nice in the summer. If those coastal views don’t lift your spirit, you really are terminal.

Sunriver, Oregon, Benham Falls Deschutes River Trail. Another summer gem. Beautiful green grasses, a calm river mixed in other places with beautiful water falls, all framed by high desert pines. Full disclosure, since it’s my last run, I’ll be shirtless on this one.

Lastly, if the diagnosis comes in winter, really anyplace with two inches of fresh snow will suffice, but it’s tough to beat Hamar, Norway and Olympia, Washington.

What am I missing?

A Trail Run To Remember

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I don’t write as much about my athletic exploits as I once did. Probably, as I fast approach my sixth decade, because I’m not competing anymore. I should probably stop referring to myself as a triathlete. Rest assured though, I’m still swimming, cycling, and running. And now that I’m healthier than a year ago, hitting it a little harder.

Take yesterday’s Capitol Forest run for example. Mid-day I started to think about doing the 13ish mile Mima Falls loop. The weather was ideal, 50 degrees, sunny, still. So I texted The Good Wife my route—Mima East, Mima West, McKenny, Campground—and probable timeline just in case I was mauled by a bear or something—and headed to the trailhead.

Cap Forest is LARGE and apart from my loop, I don’t know it well. I was never a Boy Scout, so I began the run with shit preparation. I suppose I get a few points for alerting the The Gal Pal of my plans, but I headed out at 2:45p without calories, phone, jacket, or a map of the forest. I was carrying 4 ounces of Gatorade.

After Mima Falls (mile 2), there’s a sign that says, “Steep, remote trails from this point.” It was a mix of slow running and hiking to the high point around mile 5+. I saw a fair number of people on the way to the falls, but afterwards NO ONE. I felt like I was the only person in the forest. Not even any animal life, no birds, no rodents, no nuthin’.

I was trying to keep my average pace under 10 minutes/mile and didn’t appreciate it when Siri would announce via my 🍎 watch , “Mile 6, total time 63 minutes, last mile, 10:21.” I was looking forward to the second half being much flatter and even losing the hard-earned earlier elevation.

At mile 8, I was feeling fatigued, walking every riser, but confident I could grind out the last 5. When suddenly I came to a supe-depressing sign, “Trail Closed—Falling Trees.” SHIT. I climbed over the signed fence wondering just how bad could it be. Only to find out 100 meters later that it couldn’t have been worse. I was met by several giant pines whose downed branches rose about 30 feet above like a green tsunami.

Wut do I do now? Travis would’ve known which fire trails to take back as a shortcut, keeping the distance to the planned 13, but I was without my wingman. The safest and only option I could think of was to back track the whole way.

I didn’t want to run 8.4 more miles, but that’s what I did. We’ll, kinda ran. More of a hike-run or run-hike. I didn’t enjoy the return because I was too busy calculating things. “Okay, at this pace, I get back right after sunset. If I slow too much, it will be dark, meaning cold and because the trail is muddy and rocky in places, footing will be dicey.” I had already rolled my ankle twice. I would’ve been in trouble if I had broken my ankle or gone down on some of the muddy descents. Needless to say I was solely focused on my pace and footing, pretty much blanking on the beautiful surroundings and sunset.

I survived the return, arriving at the car a little past sunset. Weirdly, in the last few miles I came across two different pairs of mountain bikers and one young female runner heading outbound into the dark. She smiled and waved at me like it was no big deal, “I trail run in the forest, in the dark, by myself, all the time.”

Adventurers often say a good plan should make you nervous about whether you can pull it off or not. My plan didn’t make me nervous, but the unexpected tweak most definitely did. I felt vulnerable in the middle of the forest, by myself, very late in the day, far from civilization.

Thankfully though I survived to swim, cycle, and run another day, or God willing, decade.

For those keeping score at home, 16.8 miles, average pace 10:38, total elevation, 1,975’.

Canada Seven Weeks Out

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[Note to newer readers. I’m competing in a long distance triathlon on August 26th in Penticton, Canada—2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike, and 26.2 mile “run”.]

June was productive. I’m fit although I’m swimming, cycling, and running slower than I’d like. Rightly or wrongly I’m chalking that up to the higher than normal volume. When I shut things down for a day or two, I bounce back well. I’m looking forward to the August taper and to returning to more normal, sane levels of activity post-race.

Too soon for a definitive judgement, but right now, I’m even more convinced that repeat Iron-distance competitors have several screws lose. One problem is never feeling as if you’re doing enough. I’m training more than normal, but still often feel it’s not enough. Right now I feel especially badly since today is my second rest day of the week. Of course I nearly killed myself on my mountain bike yesterday, but still.

My suggestion, if you ever suffer the same kind of mental lapse I did and sign up for a similar “race”, is to design a standard week that is realistically repeatable. For the love of alliteration I repeat, realistically repeatable. I’ve had to adjust my original weekly swimming, cycling, and running goals down. I’ve also had to build in a weekly rest day (or two). Getting ready is more about consistency and positive momentum than uber-long workouts that often result in missed workouts.

Rereading that last pgraph makes me chuckle. I sound like I know what I’m doing, but I don’t. These are unchartered waters. I wish I could hit it hard this week, taper for the next three, and race, but most participants probably wish they could just be done with it as this point.

Last week, thanks to some of the more generous friends a guy could have, I once again trained at altitude, even if only 4,000′ plus, in and around Sunriver, Oregon. The week consisted of a mix of Benham Falls trail runs, Mount Bachelor cycling, North pool swimming, and a memorable Sunriver to Bend and back mountain bike ride. Even had great, built-in training partners for most workouts.

That was especially nice when I went over my mountain bike handlebars on the penultimate day. I rode smack dab into an 18″ vertical rock on the side of an easy trail. Total lapse of concentration that I paid dearly for. Quite possibly the world’s worst mountain biker. I thought I had broken my nose and lost a tooth and needed lots of stitches. Fortunately, I was cut up and badly bruised, but avoided the emergency room. Very sore, but I’ll be fine in short order. That sigh of relief is the worldwide triathlon media which is already downbeat with Lance on the sidelines.

Another training tip from the rookie know-it-all—be sure to throw your back out and face plant on your mountain bike at least eight weeks before the start.

In related news, I’m sorry to report elder brother, a 2002 Iron-distance Canada finisher, also known as Wonder Years Wayne, has already launched his psychological attack. I HAVE to beat his time of 11 hours, 44 minutes, and 58 seconds otherwise I may have to re-up and the idea of that isn’t very pleasant right now. He takes great pride in accurately predicting my finishing times. Last week he emailed ludicrous numbers in what was an obvious attempt to get me to swim fast, cycle faster, and then blow up somewhere along Shaka Lake during the run. In a shameless flourish even by his standards, he threw in a Hawaii World Championship reference. Not taking the bait. Wouldn’t be prudent.

Here’s to one more month of going long. One more update pre-race.

Postscript—If you’re interested in either writing and/or the importance of positive thinking in athletic performance dig this recent story.

Seattle Marathon Training Update

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After a few solid weeks of Seattle Marathon training I’ve hit a serious speed bump in the form of a bottom of the foot soft tissue bruise. Bad timing since last week was supposed to be my longest week. Had to pull up after a half mile one day, rested the following day, and ran 3 miles the third day. As a result, it’s unlikely I’ll be able to hang with the leaders over the final 10k.

It seems to be improving thanks to DG’s wise counsel, ice water, a tennis ball, new shoes, and flat trail running. And so I hope to put a little time into Subway Jared (New York Marathon time, 5:13) and Edison Pena, the Chilean miner/Elvis singer (5:40).

Monday’s predawn workout on the Olympia High School track was a setback of sorts too. Before hitting the track, Dano and I ran four miles with the right wing nutters. Dano only had time for 400 meters before heading home, but he can vouch for the veracity of the next paragraph.

As Dano and I rounded the first corner, one of four or five women stretching on the football field hollered, “Hey Ron!” It was dark and since I didn’t know which of my female fans it was I uttered a simple “hey” in reply.

Apparently women do love the strong silent type because once Dano peeled off the adoration, like my pace, picked up. 800 meters, “Looking good Ron.” 1200 meters, a reprieve because now they’re hopping on one leg across the width of the football field. 1600 meters, “Nice work Ron.” 2000, they’re hopping again. At 2400 meters I’m feeling part human, part gazelle. A legend in my own mind. This is how Pre must have felt.

Then it all came crashing down in one decisive ego shellacking blow. 2,800 meters, “WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO START YOUR INTERVALS?!”

“I’m nursing a soft tissue bruise.” That had to impress them don’t you think. I spent the last 400 meters thinking about how I should have replied. “I just got back from a training camp in the Rift Valley where I took it to the Kenyans. Today is a recovery run.”