2012 in Review

Every Christmas since our wedding, Matt and I send a calendar to our families with photos of our adventures.  It was difficult to choose just a few photos from all the breathtaking trips we took, but I managed to choose one favorite photo moment from each month.  Despite some major marathon weather and illness setbacks, it was a pretty fantastic year.

 

January: A trip to southern Michigan.  We saw a lot of Matt's family and our college friends.  Here are Matt and Joel after a snowball fight. It was after one of Michigan's few snowstorms that year.

Races: Patrick's Point 10K, Snowman Half Marathon. 

February: I have always loved the simplicity of winter landscapes.  A trip back to Alaska made my  heart so happy.  The Little Su 50K along the Iditarod Trail was just enough of a reason to buy that plane ticket.  The remaining moments in the frozen north were filled with many other adventures and a silly grin permanently plastered across my face.

Race: Little Su 50K, part 1 and 2.

March: Somehow we managed to recover and ramp up training simultaneously.  It wasn't a smooth ride, but we ended up where we needed to be.  This photo of the Arcata Forest reminds me to inject playful runs into my training as well.  Every bit of running, whether pace based or not, pushes me closer to my goals.

Races: Bidwell Classic Half Marathon, Foggy Bottom Milk Run 10 Miler.

April: This month was all about Matt. He spent years training and finally qualified for the Boston Marathon.  We made the trip to the East Coast for the race and to take in some of the sights along the way.  I also got to finally meet the Atlantic Ocean and roast on a long run myself on Marathon Monday in Boston, realizing how fun urban running can be.  This photo was taken along the Charles River on my 16 mile run that morning.

Races: None!

 

 

May:  I couldn't decide between these two photos.  My trip to the U.P. and Wisconsin this month was perhaps my favorite month of the entire year.  They cancelled the Green Bay Marathon when I reached mile 18, but I still finished.  I also visited Pictured Rocks Lakeshore for the first time despite growing up nearby.  It is one of those places that is just as good as the pictures.

Races: Avenue of the Giants Half Marathon, Cellcom Green Bay Marathon.

 

June: It wasn't until this trip that I realized how much I miss my family.  Through the three weeks with my parents, sister, and extended family, my sassy independent heart ached for these visits to become more regular.  Maybe those weekly phone calls aren't all I need anymore.  This photo is with my sister, Matt, grandma, and mom at my cousin's wedding.

Race: Dow's Prairie 6.1 Miler.

July: This month was the beginning of a five month battle with my sinuses, so it produced a lot of ups and downs.  Through sheer stubbornness and some antibiotics, I made it through trips to Crater Lake (pictured above) and Oregon Caves.  This is the month when I took the lead in my division of the club's race circuit.

Races: Arcata Marsh 5K, Siskiyou Out Back 50K, Clam Beach Challenge 5K

August: This month was all about recovery.  Matt and I got official diagnoses for our nagging symptoms: he had pneumonia, I had a severe sinus infection.  We spent most of the month on the couch watching bad daytime TV.  I ran both of the club races at a reduced capacity, but my steady persistence paid off in a pair of age group wins.

Races: Sand Dollar Shuffle, Hammond Trail Half Marathon.

 

September: Watching the sun rise as we descended into the Grand Canyon is something I hope is permanently etched into my memory.  The vivid hues on every wall, the ribbons of light flashing across the multicolored mesas, it was too incredible to forget.  Here Matt descends the S. Kaibab Trail on a series of impressive switchbacks.  We also visited briefly with my brother Chris in New Mexico.

Race: Blue Lake 5K.

 

October: This month was spent close to home, but wasn't without adventure.  Accompanied by Matt's brother, Craig, we went on a cabin trip into the western part of the Siskiyou Mountains and were dazzled by the changing light as a rainstorm passed by.

Races: Arcata Forest 5.5 Miler, Humboldt Redwoods Half Marathon.

November: This month was mostly about road marathon training.  Whiskeytown Falls was just one way we celebrated a Thanksgiving weekend holiday.

Races: Arcata Bottoms 3 and 8 Miler, Turkey Trot 5K.

December: A powerful series of winter storms predicted to deliver rainfall totals that media outlets were calling an "atmospheric river" hit during our fall goal marathon.  That added difficulty that neither of us was prepared for and we weren't pleased.  A storm of similar intensity (but from the north so it was much colder) occurred a couple weeks later dumping 22" of fresh snow on us during a winter camping trip.  This time, we were giddy with elation.

Races: California International Marathon, Blue Lake Fish Hatchery 4 Miler.

I accomplished modest personal records this year (at all distances but the 50K), but I feel like my biggest gains weren't made physically but mentally.  I learned how to listen to my body and rest when illness comes along.  I had a lot of unusual weather to run through, but I persevered and always made sure to give my best effort, despite the outcome.  I'm hoping that with another year of experience under my belt and a little confidence, the physical part will shine through in 2013's race times.

Running the Fine Line on King Peak

There’s a fine line between a genius idea and a really stupid one, I thought to myself as I climbed the ridge line to King Peak.  On a clear day, one towers above the Pacific Ocean, the beach and coastline remarkably close for such a rugged place above tree line.  Today, it was only a flat white light.  Snow flew in horizontally with the 30mph wind.  When climbing into the wind, icy needles pricked my bare face.  I didn’t expect it to be this cold and snowy, I didn’t bring my face mask.  That’s when it my mood crossed over to thinking it was a stupid idea.

In the middle of Danny’s winter break from his teaching job, we planned a run that we could perhaps only do with him.  Through a network of winding narrow and washed out gravel roads we found ourselves in the area’s most difficult place to get to: King Range Conservation Area.  It is also the wettest, December alone has brought 40-50 inches of rain to this area.  The gravel roads are proof of how ugly it can get.  We move cautiously alongside washed out lanes and around corners that are so tight they require a 3-point turn, all the while maneuvering through deep ruts along King Peak Road.  Heck, getting to our adventure that day was an adventure. 

In typical Danny style, it was a seriously hilly run.  From the moment we began climbing, we basically stayed at that intense effort level until the very top of 4,100 ft. Kings Peak.  The trail wove through a forest of stately Douglas Fir, poking through clouds so low that we couldn’t tell where the cloud began.  Then it finally began to rain.  Through the clouds, we could see a hint of how beautiful this trail is on a clear, sunny day.   We caught glimpses of the coastline and the nearby town of Shelter Cove to the south.  Danny remarked that on other hikes he has been able to see his family’s home when he looked north from the peak.

The rain finally turned to snow at about 2,500 ft.  Alternating between large Charlie Brown flakes and pelting icy bullets, most all of it came in horizontally.  Above treeline, the only reprieve from the wind was when the trail moved to the backside of the mountain.  Icy snow remained from a previous storm but the new stuff refused to stick.  We marched slowly, continuing on at an anaerobic yet glacial pace.  My hips and calves begged me to stop.  The muddy ice trail gave way to snow and finally the footing improved. 

As we moved higher, soon all I could see in the flat light was Danny’s neon jacket up ahead.  Matt often stuck back with me, snapping photos and telling stories.  But most of the time, we moved silently, only the howl of the wind to keep us company.  Nearing the top, the wind and snow intensified even further.  I held one hand to my face, blocking the pelting sleet from my now-windburned skin. 

And then it appeared.  At the top of King Peak was a small trail shelter built from rock.  Merely a platform in the hillside, it provided just enough protection from the wind and snow to have a quick lunch. 

How come pizza never tastes this good at home?  And why did I fill my camelbak with ice water?  Cocoa would have been a much better idea.  Ice formed on the bushes, icicles growing horizontally instead of the usual vertical.  I wonder which way the prevailing wind comes from, don’t you?

Proof that this isn’t shot sideways: you can see me in the lower left corner.

“I don’t think I’ve ever run in conditions quite like this,” Matt finally remarked as we ran along, gloved hands to our faces to keep warm.  “I’m pretty sure we did in Mt. Pleasant,” I replied, most all of my winter college runs were in sideways snow.  It felt very much like this.  I remember hating it so much that I refused to run below 10F, because that always meant there was a below zero wind chill.  Memories of icy runs, windburned cheeks and frozen face masks flood my mind.  To combat the windy conditions, my running routes were elaborate series of zig zags, I never went more than a block or two into the wind at a time if I could help it.

We descended the mountain with large, bounding steps.  My stride opened up and I felt like I was flying.  The trail had moved to the sheltered side of the mountain.  Suddenly I noticed a smile form across my face.  I danced playfully down the switch backs.  The boys eventually caught up.  “It was fun watching your footsteps in the snow, your stride was really big,” Danny commented.  When I run with my Garmin, I always imagine myself leaving tracks behind with each footstep, but this time I was leaving real tracks.  This was, believe it or not, my snowiest trail run ever.  Usually I switch to snowshoe or ski when I use winter trails.

When we reached Lightning Trail, I wondered if it was named for the heavily scarred burn area or because it was the perfect for me to travel lightning fast.  It is probably the latter.  Downhill trail running on a gentle grade, like the Lightning, is my favorite.  My stride is strong and effortless.  They should make a trail running resort like downhill ski resorts do: a lift to the top and then let me run down gentle, winding single track over and over again all day.  That would rock.  I’d pay money to do that.

The snow finally turned to heavy rain when we reached King Peak Road.  After miles of single track trails, I find a return to gravel roads torturous.  Suddenly the pace feels painfully slow.  Trees don’t zip by.  I see them come up ahead and they take forever to pass.  I don’t have to focus so much on my footing and the world moves in slow motion despite the fact that I’m now moving about three minutes per mile faster than I was on the trail.

Finally, I’ve soaked through all of my layers.  My weak left shoulder becomes sore from toting around two layers of saturated gloves.  I can’t tell if the moisture accumulating beneath my nose is rain or one big nasal river.  I try to wipe it away with my glove, it only scratches my now-sensitive skin.  I trot along at a slow pace, moving easily that I won’t have to walk anymore; I’m too cold to walk.  I’m always surprised how the chill of a driving 35F rain can feel about the same internally as a calm -40F Fairbanks afternoon.

I reached the truck at the perfect moment.  Danny had run ahead, fired up the heater, and was changed into dry clothes by the time Matt and I arrived.  As I shoveled in handfuls of sour cream and onion chips, the memories of the snow melted away and I thought to myself, For sure, this was a genius idea. I should do it again soon.

15 mi., 4:07, 3,900 ft. climbing.

Safety in Winter Camping

Fri 12/21/12:

“Is it considered post-holing if we are wearing snowshoes?” I ask Matt as we climb back to the road on Friday morning.  Despite snowshoes, we still sink some 10” into the snow.  When we reach the car, it looks like this: 

22” of snow fell over the course of 30 hours and it continued to pile up as we shoveled a new path to the road.  It took me an hour to dig out the car.  

When Matt and I returned home, we learned that his coworkers expected us get stranded out there.  I don’t think they realized the careful thought we put into our trip.   

Here’s what we did to ensure that we wouldn’t get stranded:

1.       We packed extra clothes in the car.  Like redundant amounts of clothes, especially dry mittens.  Know that having to walk to civilization is a possibility.  Dress warm.

2.       Find out which roads they plow and which they don’t.  Stay close to the ones they do, it might be passable when you park, but it may not be the same when you try to leave. 

3.       Bring a shovel.  Be prepared to use it.  A lot.

4.       Tell people where you are going and when you plan to return, preferably the first person you plan to see upon your return.  We left our plan with the guy Matt was scheduled to work with on Friday night.  If you are visiting in a national forest or park, it might be a good idea to leave a plan with them too.  Then they won’t have to wonder about your abandoned car buried in the snow.  They’ll also be able to tell you about potential local hazards you haven’t considered.

5.       If you aren’t confident in your route finding abilities, stick to trails that are very easy to follow under heavy snow cover, such as fire roads or those along a river or creek.

6.       Everything is slower in the snow, whether you are driving or hiking.  Build a time buffer to accommodate that.  Even main highways can close with intense winter storms.  Know which highways close often or frequently require chains. 

Had to chain up over Oregon Mtn. near Weaverville.

7.       This is not the time to venture out of your comfort zone.  Listen to your gut.

I think this is my favorite photo. :)

And most importantly, have fun! :)  Can you think of any other tips?

Granite Peak Snowshoe

Thursday, Dec. 20

Wind blasted ice pellets into my face as I climbed up the fire road to Granite Peak.  As much as I’d like to believe it, winter camping isn’t always fun.  I find my mood changes frequently, from euphoria and a smile you can’t beat off my face to utter contempt.  During our snowshoe hike, Matt and I realized what changed our mood so much: warmth.  Dressing for a strenuous snowshoe climb requires a delicate balance as one always walks the fine line between being cold and sweating.  I often experience the two simultaneously.  My biggest area of weakness lies in the extremities.  My hands are never comfortable at the same time as my feet, they appear to take turns in protesting.  I must overdress my core area to send a rush of warmth to my hands and feet.  Eventually I reached a compromise, tolerably cold hands and feet and a slightly damp jacket.  

 

We continue on up the mountain as heavy snow begins to fall.  Large fluffy flakes tumble down from the heavens.  My outfit is finally comfortable and I return to that euphoric state.  It is snowing so heavily that we can only imagine what the view looks like on a clear day.  “We’ll just have to draw some mountains on the photos when we get home,” Matt offers, “I’m sure they are there.”

Snowfall this heavy and consistent is something that remains mostly in my head.  Childhood memories of winter weather snap into focus.  We plod along through the deep snow telling stories of growing up in the winters of Michigan.  The snowmen, the school bus adventures, forts, skiing, that May 15^th snowstorm in kindergarten that brought so much snow overnight that my mom had to carry me to the school bus because it was too deep for me to walk through.  I think that’s the main reason I enjoy winter camping, it briefly returns me to a simple and innocent time of my life.  The snow is a friend that I so rarely get to see that I become overjoyed at its presence.  The inconveniences and hazards of winter drift away.  

Matt and I stop for lunch.  We take turns sprinting uphill in our snowshoes to keep ourselves warm as the other tends to our camp stove.  With bellies full of instant mashed potatoes, we decide that the late afternoon light is dwindling and we turn back.  We playfully toss snowballs at each other.  We lure each other under tree branches then shake snow onto the other.  We make snow angels.  We look up at the sky as it falls into our eyes, like living in a giant snow globe.  I couldn’t imagine a more perfect way to celebrate Christmas than this.

We return to our parked car just off the highway.  It now looks abandoned, with almost 10” of fresh powder clinging to every surface and the tires barely visible.  We shovel a path to the road, hoping the snow plow will take pity on our “driveway” and not block us in with a wall of tightly packed snow.  Then we continue down the hill to our camp on the shores of Trinity Lake.  

Our campsite is barely recognizable.  The tent looks like an igloo, weighted down by a white coat 7” deep.  Despite being a three-season tent, it holds up well in the snow and stays remarkably warm and dry inside.  We are amused by how the snow keeps piling up as we cook dinner.  We carefully place our belongings so they don’t become buried.  Rumbling is heard off in the distance.  At first, it sounds like thunder, but then in a cascade of heavy snow, a tree releases its burden onto our picnic table.  This sound, along with that of snapping branches continue on through the night, some so loud and powerful that the ground and tent shake.

We retreat to our shelter, snuggling hot water bottles to stay comfortable.  Now I’m finally ready for Christmas.

Winter Camping

Wednesday, Dec. 19

Ahh…the first trip of winter.  Ever since last Thursday’s taste of snow at Horse Mountain, my hunger for an extended trip grew.  When rumors of a snowy forecast came about, I could barely contain my excitement, especially since the forecasted amount came in feet rather than inches.  Yes, inland we go.

We settled on Trinity Lake, near enough to main roads that we didn’t get stranded out there, but far enough that we were in the wilderness.  Winter trips take more effort overall, but with shorter days, I find myself sleeping better than I do in the summer.  Wednesday night for example, we spent approximately 14 hours sleeping and chatting in the tent.  I love the slower pace.  People laugh when I tell them that my California backpacking season doesn’t really start until Labor Day.  I’d rather be half frozen than too warm, so I spend my summers snuggled up along the coastline.

You'll note that is dry pavement beneath our feet.  It won't stay that way long.

The road leading to Minersville Campground was blocked by snow and ice.  We parked our car strategically: not too far from the road that we’d have to shovel a long path, but not too close that we would be buried by the snow plow.  We also put the chains on, just in case.  We moved cautiously downhill toward Trinity Lake and the campground. 

“I hope there are sites available,” Matt said sarcastically.  Solitary camping is one of the things I miss most about Alaska.  I don’t like to share my view, nor my peace and quiet—winter camping here all but ensures those things.  Even the bears usually stay away.

We’ve slowly acquired enough gear and little tricks to make California winter camping tolerable and warm.  Also, memories of “real” cold still linger and suddenly 20F is decidedly balmy by comparison.  I feel like we are still just a few small tweaks away from having a good setup.

We planted our tent on a slippery patch of icy snow.  The tent slid around as I assembled it.  The ground was still soft and stakes slid in easily, finally holding the tent in place.  I wonder to myself whether I’ll be able to find them when we leave in a couple of days.

Weaverville valley is known for trapping cold air and having fabulous surprise snow in the winter.  While surrounding valleys of similar elevation remain green and dry, this area takes an unusually high dumping of snow each year.  Of course, that is precisely why we came. 

I hope I can sleep, I’m pretty excited.

Dear Matt and Karen,

I think there’s a point where I stop having fun on your “adventures”. This is pretty much it. Twenty two inches in 30 hours is not fun. Where’s my warm garage?

Love, Focus

Words will never do....

A Run with Karen

It has been two weeks since CIM and I finally feel like I’ve gotten my legs back.  The hot spots in my left calf and right foot are but a distant memory.  My lungs and heart rate have taken a little longer to recover, but now I am running happy and strong again.  The pace on my watch matches the effort I put forth; it is such a wonderful feeling.  Recent rainstorms have washed away most of the things that bother my allergies most.  I lamented Mother Nature and her cruelty this fall, now I find myself thanking her.  Dare I say I’m finally healing after a summer and fall of intense allergy suffering?

This is what Friday, Saturday, and a bunch of Sunday looked like.

Typically, I don’t share my road running routes, but I thought it would bring balance to those beautiful trail photos I share.  I don’t always run in pretty places, but my road routes are pretty cool too, and much more typical of everyone else’s route.  Today, it was dry and sunny (read: pretty!) out, so I brought the camera along on my seven mile out-and-back run.   It is important to note that running while shooting photos is really hard.  Practically everything is crooked, but I think that's half the fun.  I've also gotten really good at pulling the camera out turning it on while running, and pausing for a second to snap and then resuming the run with only the briefest of pauses.  If you want beautifully framed shots, you should probably skip this post altogether. :)

Here are some highlights:

You ready to run?  Let's go!! :)

What I love about this place is that they have this ceramic cow out all year long in an open field and decorate it for each holiday.  For Christmas, it is surrounded by inflatables Peanuts characters.  The only problem is that during the day it looks like the cow murdered them all, doesn't it?

On any given day, I'll run through half a mile of trash cans.  It is kinda fun.  Luckily, my running routes are on quiet streets so I can run in the road if I need to.

In this part of town there is a lot more pedestrian traffic and I've almost run over a lot of people on blind corners.  I love that this business has removed that hazard. I simply look through the windows and can see if anyone is around the corner.

There are half a dozen of these on my various routes. They never seem to register my speed when I'm hauling ass, but only when I'm going really slow.  I sometimes like to pretend that I'm the one going 25mph when a car passes.

The cool thing about my town is you don't have to live in the country to own livestock. If you have half an acre or more, you're allowed to have whatever you want, doesn't matter where it is.  These guys are a bit soggy today, but they look happy to have green grass again.

Weirdo ornamental tree.

 The coolest part of my run?  This:

Since it was an out-and-back, I didn't take any photos on the return trip, probably what made the pace a little bit quicker.  Got to just run instead.

What's the best part about your road running routes?  Do you notice any of the things I do on my runs?