The Caboose

My heart is pounding, my lungs are starved for oxygen, and I'm struggling to move my feet at all. I climb higher into the sky, through a dizzying kaleidoscope of redwood trees and sunshine yet I'm still falling behind. When it comes to group runs with the ladies, I'm often the fastest runner, but when I play with the boys, the game changes. I'm the weakest link, the caboose on our little runner train.

Today's game is all about staying close enough to see them without being totally left behind and I struggle to keep up during the first few miles. Eventually my slow and steady endurance base will leave me pulling back to stay with them, but for now, it is a grueling slog up some ridiculous mountain whose top is nowhere in sight.

Knowing that Matt was out of town for the week, Adam and Jeff graciously include me in their Labor Day weekend plans. They offered me two options: a Friday night hilly run to the brewery or a Saturday morning run in the state park. My reply was "BOTH!" As I scale what feels like the world's steepest redwood forest trail, I begin to realize what a foolish decision that is.

After almost forty minutes of nonstop climbing, we reach the top of the hill and the boundary between the community forest and private logging roads. We stop at several intersections, debating where to turn. This area is actively being logged and finally Jeff mentions that he's having trouble recognizing the route through all the bulldozer tracks and slash piled up alongside the road. The boys investigate some (still warm) logging equipment, whose keys are still inside, and we debate whether or not we should drive the remainder of our route to the brewery.

Eventually we pull out onto a country road and after a mile, I finally recognize where we are. Soft light illuminates the hills and farms as I we weave our way into the sleepy town of Blue Lake. We pull into the brewery just as the other half of our group heads in for a table. Although this isn't my typical idea of a good time, I would go again, just maybe count this as speed work and not run an intense fartlek run the day before. Daylight fades away as I enjoy the company, some funky jazz music, a hard cherry cider, and salmon burger.

8 miles, 1:23:42, 1,038 ft. gain
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A new day dawns and we're out again. For what is the busiest holiday weekend of the summer, we arrive before the masses and snag a coveted parking spot inside the park. This time, our group has dwindled from six to three and I'm pleasantly surprised to hear the boys are just as sore and stiff as I am from yesterday's B double E double R U N.

We trade the lead back and forth while Jeff and Adam, both teachers in the college's math department, entertain me with nerdy math jokes. "There’s a fine line between a numerator and denominator, but only a fraction of the population realizes it." Har har.

Emerging from the forest to the beach, we drop down onto the car road leading to Fern Canyon. Several cars pass us, kicking up clouds of dust in their wake. We reach the parking area and waste no time pulling out our morning snacks and basking in the sunshine. Day hikers pour into the area, fresh as a daisy. It took us an hour to reach this point and we're appropriately sweaty and dirty. I've done this same route several times and I always feel a little bit like a burly forest creature when I encounter people in this particular place.

We duck back into the shade and make our way through Fern Canyon. This time of year, the bridges are in place and we follow the conga line of tourists up canyon. Jeff tells the story of his first visit. "I just got home from the Grand Canyon, you see, and friends took me on this great little hike, promising a picturesque canyon. When we got to the car at the end of our walk, they asked 'what did you think of the canyon?' Apparently, I missed it." Well it's no Grand Canyon, but the vertical canyon walls fifty feet high are covered from bottom to top in, you guessed it, ferns. Not a bad place to spend a Saturday.

Taking advantage of the extra people in the canyon, we ask one of them to take our photo. He goes into full on photo shoot mode and has us pose for several minutes, offering us many different shots from which to choose. Thanks dude! There were a ton of people in the canyon and I'm amused to watch them ooh and aah over this place I get to call home and visit whenever I want. We venture further upstream, then climb out on the trail that will lead us back to the car.

The gently descent allows for a really nice kick at the end of the run. All three of us pick up the pace and we fly between the giant redwoods before arriving back at the car. Jeff and Adam waste no time pulling the cooler out to a bench in the sunshine and breaking into their cold beverages and snacks. Even though they practically killed me the night before, I forgive it all and appreciate the company and slower pace of today's run. As is typical with the boys, they've packed enough food to feed a dozen hungry runners. They share their snacks of cheese, sausage, crackers and beer and I'm a happy girl. Take me for a run, feed me afterward, and I'll be your BFF.

12 miles,  2:30:06, 1,350 ft. gain

I guess it's not so bad being the caboose.