2014 in Photos

During a group run on Christmas Eve, I pulled off the path to snap yet another photo. "Oh here comes the camera!" Cindi called out. In our ladies' running group, I'm the one that hauls around a small point-and-shoot. Some of my best photographs each year come from this beat up little Cannon. Sure, my pace is slower when I run with the camera, but it forces me to view my natural surroundings from a different perspective than the usual "stare at ground, don't fall" scenery on my outdoor adventures. Here are a few highlights of 2014:

January

Big Bear Lake, Trinity Alps.

 This backpacking trip to the Trinity Alps was the beginning of a turning point in my energy level. After suffering through a month of immunotherapy, it was finally determined that my immune system is too sensitive to tolerate allergy shots without significantly affecting my daily life. The California drought allowed us to access the alpine lakes without so much as a flake of snow. My strength returned just in time for Matt and I began a short training cycle leading up to the Little Su 50K and my brother and his girlfriend came to visit.

February

Lee's Cabin, White Mountains, Alaska.

Oh Alaska. With your vibrant outdoor community, fantastic aurora displays, and endless miles of wilderness, you may forever hold a piece of my heart. Of course, having friends and family in Anchorage and Fairbanks doesn't hurt. There's never a shortage of adventure buddies, even when it's thirty below zero.

March

Crater Lake, Oregon.

Recovery from the Little Su (not quite) 50K blended into spring road marathon training. My asthma flared up due to the dry winter and I seriously considered bailing on this training season.  A quick day trip to Crater Lake in southern Oregon helped refresh my soul, forget about time goals, and focus on doing the best my body would allow.

April

Bear Basin Butte, Siskiyou Mountains.

A yurt trip here, a cabin trip there, we maximized every second of Matt's weekend. We substituted several road miles in our training plan for trail ones and spent the month weaving through the Redwoods and climbing through boulder fields to alpine lakes. I guess the drought had its perks.

May

Sequoia Park, Eureka.

For all the hard work and smart training I put in for my spring marathon, Mountains2Beach, a lot went wrong on race day. My confidence was shattered and I questioned whether running a fast marathon was even possible.

June

Cinder Cone, Lassen Volcanic National Park.

After almost a year of preparation and agonizing over routes and logistics, it was time debut my trail race. I absolutely loved sharing my favorite trails with others. Some of them, life-long locals, didn't know such a diverse trail network existed. A lot of people finished with cuts and scrapes, so after just one year, it earned the name Crashhopper. Later that month, Matt and I celebrated our anniversary with a backpacking trip through Lassen Volcanic National Park, our first summertime weather backpacking trip ever. I could get used to the mild conditions!

July

July began with a trip to Santa Fe, where my brother lives. My mom, grandma, and sister planned the trip earlier in the year and asked me to join. At the time, it didn't work with my schedule. As the date grew closer, I was able to join and kept it a surprise until the moment I walked through the door. It was the first time that all of us have been together since my wedding in 2007. There were some pretty Trinity Alps hikes later in the month too.

August

Santa Rosa Marathon with Chris and Lanore.

Journaling next to the South Sister, Oregon.

I'm pretty sure August was my favorite month all year. It began with a trip to visit my parents and extended family in Wisconsin. Then there was a backpacking trip around the Three Sisters in Oregon. But the highlight of the month, perhaps the whole year, was the moment I crossed the finish line of the Santa Rosa Marathon. After several years of failed attempts at qualifying for Boston, my health and the weather aligned to produce a performance that  I still get giddy thinking about. 

September

Big Tree, Oregon Caves National Monument.

Sandwiched between two half marathons, one a goal race and one a fun trail run, was my thirtieth birthday. After a fantastic girls' weekend with Nikki where we ate too much Dairy Queen and played on the trails, I'm pretty sure my thirties are going to be awesome!

October

Rocky Mountain National Park, Colorado.

Sometimes opportunities just fall into your lap. After our running club sponsored a trip to attend a conference in Estes Park, Colorado, we turned it into a mini vacation and played in the mountains for a week, visiting with family and friends along the way. Then I ran the local marathon for funsies and somehow took fifth place!

November

Grasshopper Peak Redwoods Run Finish Line, Humboldt Redwoods State Park.

With trail training in full force, Matt and I spent a lot of time climbing mountains and steep fire roads in the Redwoods. Some runs were better than others, but it is always nice to get a ton of quality time with my favorite trails.

December

The North Face SF 50K, Marin Headlands.

Trail season came to an end with the running of my seventh ultramarathon. Despite this being the hilliest course of our racing careers, both Matt and I came away with new personal records. The scenery was gorgeous. The following weeks included a few more coastal trail runs in our local area.

Thank you to all my readers. Some of you have been following since the beginning and others are relatively new. I hope you continue to enjoy hearing about my adventures as much as I enjoy sharing them.

Any suggestions on where I should visit in 2015?

Up next: 2014 by the numbers and goals for 2015.

Lost Coast and Punta Gorda Lighthouse

Driving to the Lost Coast Trail is always an adventure. Mattole Road, one of two thoroughfares between Hwy 101 and the ranching communities of the Mattole Valley, twists and turns along shoddy pavement as it winds itself through the coastal mountains. This drive requires a lot of patience and a strong stomach as the nauseating 30 mile drive takes almost two hours.

Monday's lingering fog is both thick and persistent. Due to the steady north wind, the north side of every hill is socked in with fog. Just staying on the road takes an extraordinary amount of focus. It's like untangling a knotted up kite string in the dark. Suddenly, a figure appears through the mist. At first I can't identify the creature, but as we approach, we notice the llama. He moves in that awkward way that llamas are known for and approaches the car, as if to ask for a ride back home. The King Range is home to cattle ranches, many of which use little more than cattle grates to keep their herds enclosed. But when we're traveling less than thirty miles per hour, it's plenty secure.

Soon we drop down on a south facing slope and the fog dissolves. Each little valley we encounter is flooded with sunshine and my fears of a completely foggy day on the coast evaporate. I stop to snap some photos, calling out to Matt as I shut the car door behind me, "Who knows if the sun will stick around!"

Just south of Cape Mendocino, the westernmost point in the Continental U.S.

With less than a mile to go to the trail, we come across a flooded roadway. Fearing that the water is too high for our small car, we park along the shoulder of the road and set off on foot, adding two miles to our trip.

The rush of the ocean waves crashing on the shore grows louder as we approach. Remnants of a recent winter storm and a King tide produce some impressive noise. On our backpacking trip a few years ago, a friend likened the sound to sleeping next to a freeway.

My body resists all movement as I struggle to stay upright and moving forward on the soft sand. The beaches here are made of black pebbles and not even running at the water's edge lowers the intensity. Fog collects on the mountainside and I wonder if the sunny beach day in my head will materialize. We cross several swollen streams, bounding over them in an attempt to keep our shoes dry as long as possible.

A small trail on the coastal bluff appears and even though it's still very sandy, it brings some relief to my angry hips. Running in the sand is so slow for how much effort it requires. 

Windy Point holds back the fog and the sky becomes noticeably brighter as we approach. Sunshine? Is that you?! I'm coming! Don't you dare run away from me!

What separates us now from our day's destination is Four Mile Creek. On a dry summer's day, this creek is small enough to hop rocks. Today it's a torrent of undetermined depth. We stand there pondering our crossing when a man appears from a cabin alongside the creek. It is just one of a handful of private lands within this rugged section of coastline. We chat a bit about the recent storm and how deep the creek might be. At first he seems like the type that lives here for the solitude and wants us to go away, but his demeanor softens as we discuss the recent weather.

Four Mile Creek and first glimpse of our day's destination.

We link arms and take tentative steps as we cross the creek. Even though the open ocean looms just feet away, I feel no fear. "At least we can still feel our feet, right?" Matt says. Crossing the glacier-fed Eagle River set the bar for scary water crossings pretty high.

Matt trots up the hill to the lighthouse as I snap some photos. I soon realize that I'm not alone. Nearly one hundred harbor seals crowd the beach awaiting the sun's arrival. It's not often I see these guys on my trail runs.

This guy might not be too healthy, but he's still really cute. This is a cropped image, I didn't get this close.

Once operated by the Coast Guard, the Punta Gorda Lighthouse was decommissioned in 1951 due to the enormous expense of manning a light station in such a remote location. Its cement lighthouse is a hollow shell of what was a very sturdy shelter, often flooding on rainy days so the only protection it provides is a break from the ever-present north wind that blows.

It's fun to explore.

Matt and I cozy up against the southern wall to munch on the homemade goodies my mom sent us and take in our first sunny view of the day. The ocean is actually pleasant to be around when you get out of the wind.

Due to our late start and having to time our run with the tides, it was already mid-afternoon when we began our trek back to the car. Golden light paints the mountains.

We decide to return via Windy Point Rd. and the coastal bluffs. Climbing a punishing 1,100 ft. in less than a mile with no switchbacks, everything hurts going uphill. The views disappear as we ascend into the clouds and I spook all the nearby cattle. Just when you think you're alone out here, there's always somebody lurking in the fog.

Where are my gummy bears when I need them?

When we finally crest the ridge after two miles of foggy climbing, the Mattole River valley appears. The road drops almost as swiftly as it rose, but at least now there are pretty things to distract me.

This is where they grow my hamburger. Happy cows come from Humboldt County.

The soft evening light clings to the mountains and the valley below. My mood improves as I try to commit this perfect view to memory.

The sun drops from the sky as we arrive at the car. The return trip via Mattole Road doesn't seem as frightening in the dark as it does in the fog, but it might be because Matt offered to drive.









10.5 mi. of the King Range and sand
2:52:57, 16:28/mi.
1 lighthouse, dozens of sea lions, some of mom’s homemade treats, and my best buddy. What more could a girl ask for?

The North Face San Francisco 50K Race Report

As a persistent patter of rain danced on the roof overhead, I lay in bed trying to fall asleep. After several restless hours, a series of alarms sounded including Matt's tablet programmed to crow like a rooster. I sleepily stuffed my face with donuts and Lucky Charms as I headed outside to catch the shuttle bus. The rain had stopped, leaving behind air that was warm, moist, and most importantly, scrubbed clean of allergens.

The bus dropped us off in the middle of nowhere. The inky black sky revealed no hint of the terrain. Since this race was Matt and Lanore's idea, I hadn't done any research on the course. All I knew was that it was hilly. I like surprises!

Matt and I caught up to Robert in the gear check line and we discussed our plans for the day. Robert had originally planned to run the 50K on his own, but when an injury kept him from properly training for it, he volunteered to hang with me for a bit and then drop out. Not many people in this world will DNF for you, so it shows he's one quality dude.

Daylight filtered through the fog as we headed onto the course, illuminating the small coastal mountains we would be climbing throughout the day. Runners zipped by on the downhill miles, some flailing out of control. Meanwhile, I focused on taking short, light steps and decided that whatever felt soft on my feet was fast enough.

The vibe of this race was entirely different from the trail races I normally choose. Between the palpable tension of the early miles and many runners' unwillingness to let me pass without a fight, it felt more like a competitive road marathon. I tried my best to ignore how everyone else was running and focused my energy on running my own race. I had a sleeve full of Oreos, my buddy, and a camera--the rest was just noise.

With the exception of the first and final hills (uphill finish, yuck), I ran-walked my way up every one of the climbs. Robert and I took turns snapping photos of the ever-changing landscape and chatting about training. In between stuffing my face with Oreos and trying not to shred my quads, I thought about how the two of us became friends. We met through our blogs, here's his. Given that I live in the middle of nowhere, it is rare that I meet other bloggers, but somehow we have similar taste in races and coincidentally met up at Mountains2Beach, Santa Rosa, and now here in his backyard.

Every few minutes, the light changed and one breathtaking panorama was replaced by the next. For how urban the adjacent areas are, the Marin Headlands holds a surprising remote quality.

Other than the climbs, which lasted anywhere between one and five miles apiece, the trail was quite runnable. Much of the footing was good and by mile 10, I almost believed that I could run a PR after all, even with twenty more miles to go.

Then came the mud. Until now, the race had been entirely too clean for my liking. Bring on the mud! The descent to Muir Beach was steep and muddy. I shortened my stride and started skiing some of the slipperiest spots. Robert, in his lightweight road shoes, took a few spills and told me to go ahead and he'd catch up. Runners ahead ran along the edge of the trail trying to avoid the mud. I could see much of the next mile ahead, it didn't seem like the mud was going to let up, so in I went. The trail beneath the mud was surprisingly firm for how soupy it looked. My trail shoes provided adequate traction in most places and while everyone in road shoes was flailing around in the mud, I trotted with ease. Thank you Brooks Cascadia!!

Robert caught up to me just before the aid station at Muir Beach and said he wanted to stop for more water. He said he'd catch up, but I wouldn't see him again for another six miles.

After a brief road section, the trail began to climb the long switchbacks to the Cardiac Aid Station at mile 18. Once again thankful for the knobby tread on my shoes, I powered up the switchbacks. "Of course you can pass, Polite Runner Girl," one man said as he aside. He said he could hear me asking to pass about a dozen people before I got to him. Mama raised me right....or the trail was too narrow to pass without them stepping aside.

Soon the lead 50K and 50 mile runners began to filter through. As I neared midpoint on the switchback climb up the mountain, I could hear runners below calling out "runner up" as they announced another speedster's location. It was really awesome to see the elite runners in action: Sage Canaday, Zach Miller, Rob Krar, and Timothy Olson were the only ones I recognized quickly enough to call out their names as they zipped on down the hill. Their mud splashed onto my left side and being the fan girl I obviously am, I decided I'd never wash that leg again.

Just ahead of Timmy was Matt (running the 50K, not 50 mi) and his distinct red jersey bobbing down the hill allowed enough time for me to catch a photo. I had a blast running and spectating this section. After a few false summits, it was my turn to head downhill too! Hooray! If there's anything more fun than climbing through a river of mud, it's going back down.

By the time I made my turnaround at mile 18, most of the people behind me had grown tired with moving off the trail for downhill traffic. I did my best to stay upright and not run into them, but I did have a few crashes. Nobody told me running was a contact sport!

A view of some of the switchbacks on my way down.

The sun made a brief appearance en route to the next aid station at about mile 23. I felt myself beginning to overheat so I made a point to drink my water bladder dry and refill at the aid station, my lone stop the entire race. It is always my fear that if I stop too long, I won't get started again, so I'm mostly self-supported.

Spa mud baths don't have the views this one did.

At the Muir Beach (mi 23.3) aid station, I stopped to refill. I chose a lonely looking volunteer to ask for more fluids. "You don't mind that it's lemonade do you?" he asked twice just to make sure. He commented on my HTC jersey and then sent me on my way. It was the most delicious lemonade ever and lifted me right out of any looming energy crises.

The climb out of Muir Beach revealed some pretty heavy runner carnage. Those that were still moving at all were walking slowly. My own power was beginning to fade, but I made a game of locking onto those that were still moving and then chatting with as many people as I could. While moving my way through most of the Western European accents, the climbs felt easier.

Even though I was unable to run much up them anymore, I was still pulling off a respectable power hike. As I climbed higher into the clouds, I thought about my training. The training runs I had done on Grasshopper Peak couldn't have prepared me more perfectly for this race. Power hike practice? Check! Baby steps on the steep downhills to preserve my quads? Check! The climbs here were much more mild than my Grasshopper Peak 30K course. None produced the same glute-searing discomfort that my course does. The only thing I wasn't prepared for was the complete destruction of my obliques and hidden core stabilizing muscles on the muddy descent from Cardiac. Ouch.

Finally a foggy glimpse of the bay.

Tennessee Valley aid station (mile 26.3) with its crowds of spectators gave me a boost heading into the last major climb of the race. By this point, the only people passing me were the 50 milers. That made me happy. Even though it doesn't feel like it at the time, I'm a fairly decent climber, especially on terrain like this. Grueling uphills that last for miles are apparently my thing. Nice.

Perched on a mountaintop overlooking the valley that would lead me to the finish line was the Alta aid station (mile 29.2). From what my shoddy math skills could reveal and no remaining mountains between me and the finish line, I knew I probably had a PR, maybe even a sub-six hour day in me!

I let the downhill carry me as fast as my legs could go. It was painful on my quads, core, and toes, but that mile passed quickly and soon I was maintaining a sub-8:00/mi even on the flat valley floor.

That was, until the final hill. The grade steepened as I rounded a blind curve. Spectators had been calling out "half mile to the finish!" for at least a mile so I stopped believing them. My watch had already passed the official 50K point ages ago so I had no idea where the finish actually was located.
 I saw runners on a hillside beyond the starting area so I assumed we had to loop back and I saved some energy for that, and in the process of my disorientation, I lost my sub-6. Hidden in the trees just 100 feet from a full ninety-degree turn was the finish line. I crossed exactly seven minutes faster than my previous best.

6:00:09
11:36/mi.
5,639 ft. gain

Those are pretty decent splits considering the hills.

I didn't expect to PR at this race. The course here had three times the climbing than Folsom Point 50K, where I set my PR in 2011. I assumed I needed a much flatter course to beat that time (6:07:09).  While I'm elated by my performance, I know those nine seconds will eat at me. Next time, for sure.

I didn't know it at the time, but there are totally Poison Oak oils in there too. Yay.

Matt had a fantastic race, besting his own PR by nearly half an hour in 4:47:50, a 9:16/mi and 23rd out of those 508 people. That's in the top 5%. Wow.

We hung out for a few hours while we waited for Lanore to finish the 50 miler. When approaching her 50th marathon (or longer) race, she decided that a 50 miler was appropriate celebration. Just before sunset, we caught up to her looking fresh and strong at mile 48.

She finished in 11:46 after climbing at least 10,000 ft. The first words she spoke to us after she crossed the finish line were as follows: "I think I'm done with 50 milers". What a tough lady, I want to run like her when I grow up.

PS- Sorry it took two weeks to write this race report. It seems I needed a blogging break. :)

Last (two) Week(s): Nov 23-Dec 6

These two weeks represent the entirety of my taper. When I first began running marathons and short ultras, I used a three week taper. As I've become more experienced, I noticed that three weeks began to make me feel stale, as if I were losing fitness. I first tried a two week taper at CIM in 2012 and liked it so much that I've continued. Here's my taper for The North Face 50K.

Week 1:
Sunday: Run 7.5 mi. 1:18:20, 10:26/mi.

 It’s fun to run with people that lead such different lives than I do. Yesterday, Kim found out she won a seat on city council by just 46 votes and she still can’t believe it, then she conquered the final hill (in picture 3) without stopping and broke into a wild happy dance. Tracy was stoked about introducing her son to indoor climbing after our run. Caroline was planning to hit the Fungi Fest later with her husband later. And Terri told us that today was her longest run since the accident two years ago and nothing could wipe that proud grin from her face.

Monday: Rest!

Tuesday: Run 4 mi. 31:20, 7:50/mi.

This one started out a little rough, but after the first pickup, my body realized what we were doing. I hoped this speed carried over to Thursday’s Turkey Trot 5K. Only goal for the race: MAKE IT HURT.

Wednesday: Run 4.25 mi. 35:18, 8:20/mi.
 A quick shakeout run along the bay with my new running buddy Rachel. She lives nearby so we met at my house and ran from there. We made a new (unwanted) friend on the trail. He was smoking a cigar and following us while telling about his cross country running days. Girls can't beat boys, he said. Okay, we'll see about that.

Thursday: Run 5.75 mi, including Turkey Trot 5K

The 5K was a bit long and my official time was 22:12, good enough for 10th woman. Matt won us a pie. Rachel and I beat at least a couple hundred dudes each. Guess that guy was wrong, huh?

Friday: Run 5 trail mi, 57:34, 11:31/mi, 784 ft. gain

Soggy and foggy miles on the Weaverville trail system. Originally, we had planned to do a series of hikes with Nikki, but she didn't like the rainy forecast, so Matt and I went solo. It turned out to be pretty wet, but we caught a mostly dry period on Friday for our run.

Saturday: Run 8 trail/snow mi. 1,317 ft. gain

Rain turned to snow as we climbed above 6,500 ft. along Manzanita Creek in Lassen. My heart was soooo happy. It was snowing so hard that the mountains weren’t visible, but my mind’s eye filled in the blanks (I did it for you in the top picture, hehe). Jaunts like this always help put me in a more Christmas mood.

TOTAL MILES:  34.5
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Week 2: 

Sunday: Run 6.25 trail mi, 1:11:13, 11:23/mi, 826 ft gain.

Group trail run with Mark and his friend, also named Mark. Even though Matt and I have run a lot in Redding, we usually go during road marathon season to take advantage of their paved trail system. Since our home trail system is so extensive, we seldom travel to run trails near Redding. I love that we've done some exploring with Mark on our own turf and his.

Monday: Run 6 mi, 49:54, 8:15/mi.

I went for a run with Rachel today at an almost conversational pace. She runs about 10-20 sec/mi. faster than me at most of our club races. It has been almost ten years since I’ve had a running buddy that matches my road paces this well. We feel more like training partners, pushing each other in different areas. I’m a hill climber and she’s better on the raw speed. With some more regular runs together, I think we could really bring some power out of each other.

Tuesday:  Rest!

I went out for a sunset photo session.

Wednesday: Run 3 mi, 22:51, 7:37/mi.
8 kitties 

I didn’t look at my watch until the end, I just hit the button where I thought a mile was. I was expecting to see the low 8:00/mi range, not 7:40s. Wow.

Earlier in the day, I dropped a heavy box on the 4th and 5th toes of my right foot. I spent the afternoon alternating ice and heat. That afternoon I went for a run to see how it was. The foot felt good during my run but when I stopped, it definitely felt tender.

Thursday and Friday: Rest!
My foot was sore on Thursday but by Friday it didn't hurt at all. A little bit more icing and a foot soak and I was ready for Saturday's race.

Saturday: The North Face 50K.

I'm still working on the race report, but I had a really fun day playing in the mud.

TOTAL MILES: 47.25

Notes: This taper couldn't have been timed more perfectly with my allergies. They flared up the day after the Turkey Trot. Although a cutback in mileage certainly helped, it still left my body feeling heavy and lethargic.