Clouds begin to lower as we approach the trailhead. My hopes of a dry run diminish with each passing mile. I'm going to be wet. Again. Of course, with all of this practice, I've become a professional at applying Body Glide to all the right places and knowing precisely which layers will keep me on the right side of the line between freezing to death or overheating.
In a desperate attempt to get my allergies to calm down, get one dry long run in, and finally lift my spirits, Matt, Zoey, and I made the trek to southern Oregon for a weekend away. For the first time in almost a month, the constant dizziness that occurs
when my allergies are really bad finally went away. It was a relief,
but didn't solve the problem of what would happen when I returned home. The weekend wasn't as dry as we'd hoped, but it was so nice to feel good again.
As we made our way through flooded sections of trail, my gloomy weather grumpiness increased and I retreated further into my head. Training has been hard. It has been a combination of allergies, asthma flares, and soaking wet runs, ugh, let's just say I haven't enjoyed it. Not even a little bit. I let these thoughts marinate in my head for almost two hours while splashing through puddles before I take a deep breath and hint at them to Matt.
"How fast do you think you'll run the last ten miles of AR?" I ask. He gives an estimated pace and then realizes what I'm hinting at as I finally say it:
It's not the right time for me to train for a 50 miler.
I'm sure I could get in the minimal amount of miles and finish without a problem, but that would set me up for a pretty miserable finish. I like to train well for the major events on my yearly calendar. If I can't, I'd rather skip it than half-ass my training.
I could list all the reasons why, but written out, they sound like excuses. When it comes to my running, I like to rely on feelings rather than logic and the overwhelming feeling is that I'm miserable. My heart is not in this right now.
Matt wasn't too surprised by this decision, and maybe you, my lovely insightful readers, had figured it out already too. I kept avoiding signing up for AR (whew, saved myself two hundred bones on that one!), I never shared my training or the plan I intended to follow, etc. It's funny how others in our lives can often figure us out before we have our own grand epiphanies.
...which is terrible, because this view doesn't suck at all.
I know that my allergies have a lot to do with it, but vocalizing it to Matt on our run nearly brings me to tears. I'm frustrated, but not because I feel like I'm giving up, but because I truly don't know what it is I do want.
Dam.
Matt and I make up and share stories to improve our mood. Once his story about Princess Karen and her kitty Puffball's spa retreat weekend concludes, he asks for one from me. Apparently, I'm not the only one with mental struggles today. As my story about a herd of Ikea stuffed moose eating trees on the White House lawn progresses, I notice my breathing become labored as less words slip out between breaths. All that allergy stress doesn't go away in just a weekend. However, I'm relieved to decide that I don't need to make myself worse by training. I don't have to spend a zillion hours outside in the rain with all the things that make my head ache. Yay!
Cute husband and pretty waterfall.
By the time we make the full loop around the lake and return to the car, we're famished. By some stroke of luck, we parked the car at the marina and next to a camper store that is open year-round. We quickly change into dry outfits and make a beeline for the general store. Half fishing bait and half restaurant, I hold little hope for the food being good. But wow! It is...and not only because I'm hungry! Matt orders a breakfast burrito the size of my head and I get a BLT with taco soup. What a wonderful surprise! I wish all trailheads had such amenities!
18.75 miles, 3:35, 11:32/mi., 969 ft. gain.
----
Our long weekend extended until Monday and within an hour of returning to the coast, that familiar sore throat, headache, and dizziness had returned. It's so easy to adapt to my symptoms and accept them as part of life, but it's not until I take trips away that I realize how terrible living on the coast makes me feel. Running at 6,500 ft. in New Mexico felt better than my runs here at sea level have been lately. It's supposed to be the other way around, so that really means something.
Are you willing to move with us one more time, little kitty?
Even though it breaks my heart every time I think about it, I know it's the right thing to do: It's time to move. Without even considering what this stress is doing to my long-term health, I'm sick of suffering. I'm on half a dozen allergy and asthma medications that do nothing. Over the course of the last five years, I've gone back and forth on this
decision. Neither of us like this idea, but we have always said that if we leave it will be because of my allergies and how long I could tolerate them.
But where do we go?
Clouds darken as we drive north to the state park. Unlike many other races who have records of perfect running days, this one has the reputation of being a bit of a soaker. Of all the races I've run, my second year at this race left me wringing out my entire outfit several times in the bathtub before I hung it to dry. I never finish this race with dry feet. Those ominous dark clouds overhead threatened to extend that reputation for an additional year.
As the first club event of the year, there are always extra people in attendance. Some are here with new year's resolutions, and others are excited for the pizza and dessert that comes later in the day at the club party. Most of our club members mark this date on their calendar and block off an entire Saturday for running events.
Matt, Brandon, and I take off on our warmup. We complete two miles of the new 5K course and then make our way back. My lungs and legs are reluctant to move fast. I haven't run one sub-8 minute mile since CIM and my allergies have left me a little unsteady on my feet and dizzy, even on the flattest road runs. When someone asks my goal for the day, all I could do is shrug.
Before I have time to think too much about it, we're off. The course begins on a downhill and I struggle to keep my form under control. Soon the pack has thinned out and I'm running side by side with Paul, one of my favorite club friends. He's been fighting plantar fasciitis for several years and doing a lot of volunteering instead so it's a treat to race with him today.
Mile 1: 7:25
We weave through the campground and dash out onto a trail. I try to keep up with Paul as we return to another road portion. So far, my effort feels solid and appropriate for the terrain and conditions. I'm pressing myself against the pain line and it feels awful, as it should in a 5K.
I stay right behind Paul until we turn onto a grassy field, mowed short with knobby divots everywhere. I roll my ankle twice and then decide to slow down and stay upright. When my allergies affect my ears as they have been lately, vertigo comes on quickly and there's not much I can do about it.
Mile 2: 7:44
I haven't looked at my watch at all yet, but based on my arm swing, I can tell I'm slowing. Instead of getting angry at myself, I practice some self-love and try to coax a little more speed gently. You're pushing hard and doing great. You know you're not at your best and this course is hard. Keep going.
Slowing for another tricky trail section, someone passes me. I try my best to keep up with them. From here to the end, it's a moderate uphill on a straightaway and then a small flat loop. Up ahead I can see half a dozen runners. From my vantage point, it almost looks like they're walking. At least I'm not the only one who's wrecked right now.
We pass by the finish line just as it ticks over to the twenty-first minute. Now only that flat pavement loop stands between me and the finish line, I pick up the pace and begin my kick. I hear light footsteps behind me. They're catching up and I urge myself a head. Mile 3: 7:43
Dashing out on the final straightaway, the runner pulls up alongside me. She is tiny and the cutest little runner ever. How come I'm always racing against ten year olds? Haha. I feel like a decrepit old lady pushing my walker when compared to the ease at which she zooms by.
Mile 3-finish: 0:27
Moments later, I cross the line behind her.
23:34 7:35/mi. 7th lady, 1st in my age group
Even though it's not as fast as I could have done well-trained, it's nice to have an annual benchmark at which to begin my training. This time was a minute faster than my previous course PR, so that's some consolation. Matt ran a solid race, taking fourth place in the 10K, finishing in 39:09.
It's always fun when Matt finishes with 5K runners. How'd you let her beat you, Matt?! Haha.
Just as Rachel and I finished our cooldown, the heavens opened up. Only those finishing mid-pack or later in the 10K were affected, which would have been me. Ran fast enough to beat the rain, woohoo!
For the past thirty odd years or so,
my running club has given out an award called Quality Runner. Each
recipient is chosen based on outstanding running performance and
volunteer service to the club.
Last year, Matt was chosen for
this honor (here's where I gush about my amazing husband). That plaque was displayed proudly on the mantle above our
fireplace. As is customary in our running club, the recipient from the previous year presents the award the following year.
Club Awards Dinner Party, Y. Kim photo.
A list of accomplishments are read off and the name of the winner is saved for the end. Matt read through a list of race results, mostly local runs, but one caught my attention: "While this runner continues to improve with every race, perhaps their biggest achievement so far came at last year's Boston Marathon, where they ran their current personal record..." Rachel glanced up from across the table with an equally shocked look on her face. She knew who he was talking about too: This year's quality runner was me.
Y. Kim, SRRC photo.
Matt finished his speech and finally announced my name. I made my way to the front of the room, choking back tears as I went. It’s
such an honor to be included with this wonderful group of dedicated and
accomplished runners. As it turns out, this club likes me as much as I like them. Matt presented me with the award and a hug. It was so special to have my husband, my lifelong running buddy, present it to me.
That night, I returned the plaque to the mantle with my name freshly engraved upon the shiny gold plate.
Thank you Six Rivers Running Club for this honor and for helping shape me into someone worthy of this award. I have grown more in these last five years than I could have imagined.
Your love and support have shown me the meaning of true sportsmanship,
camaraderie, and teamwork. This club has become my family and I'm so proud to be a member of such a wonderful group. My life here would not be the same without all of you.
Just one day after our first race of the year, the four of us set out on our weekly long run. Matt, Rachel, Brandon, and I somehow found the driest period during of the day and had fun. I'm not sure I've had a terrible run with any of these goofballs. Matt was reunited with his boyfriend and all was right in the world. Here's how our day went.
The Plan: Eight miles with Brandon and Rachel, seven more with Matt.
Weaving through the quiet neighborhoods of Cutten, we took our pace slow and enjoyed the scenery. I haven't run much here at all and if all the rain kept me off the trails, exploring somewhere new was an acceptable substitute.
During an especially beautiful loop through a neighborhood, we watched deer frolic through open fields and marveled at the panoramic views between houses. Tour guide Brandon showed us all the sights in the sprawling metropolis of Cutten. Of course we oohed and aahed as the miles ticked by.
After a while, all of us were feeling good at the gentle pace. All of us except Brandon, that is. Captain
Speedy Pants was bored with our pace and decided he needed to stop and
complete several sets of pushups. Meanwhile, we ran ahead without him.
We zipped around a corner, tucked behind a big tall shrubbery and waited for the perfect moment. I pulled out the camera and waited. Meanwhile, Brandon was speeding up to catch us. We were nowhere to be found....until we jumped out of the bushes as he ran by, giving him the biggest scare of his life. Gotta do this now while he's young. Once he's older, our fun might be ruined by his first heart attack.
Brandon, who has recently relocated to Petaluma, mentioned he misses running through the redwoods. There's a small city park with a very flat paved trail and he said he wanted to go there, even though his mileage was already a bit past the plan for the day.
We obliged and while he wass doing one more set of pushups, we dashed off further into the park, extending his run a bit more. Haha. Concerned about her hip, Rachel added the condition that she'll only go downhill if we walk the uphill. Fine by me.
"How far have we gone?"-Brandon. "Ten and a half."-Rachel. "We should go to eleven then,"-Brandon. ...ten minutes later..... "How far have we gone now?"-Brandon. "Eleven and a half."-Matt. "Oh we should go to twelve then."- Brandon.
I tried to sneak more miles into their day, but they caught onto my game too quickly. Matt and I dropped them off at the car and finished the run after three additional miles.
My favorite house of the day.
------ Even though we didn't have the trail run we planned, this was perfect. Road running with the same leisurely pace and silly antics was just what I needed. Matt and I got in the car and the skies promptly reopened. Perfect timing. 15 miles, 2:22:25, 9:28/mi. 574 ft. gain.
In a sport where we often take ourselves too seriously, it's even more important to have playful days like this. Running isn't always about paces and mileage, it's about that freeing feeling running brings us. Please move back Brandon, we miss you!
Clouds hang low enough in the sky that visions of eventually poking out above them dance in my head. The rain ranges from a light drizzle to big fat raindrops. It hasn't stopped raining since CIM I don't really notice the rain much anymore unless it's really coming down. After about four miles into this long run, I'm still perplexed by how my outfit became soaked without noticing.
Armed with plenty of snacks and my trusty running buddy, Rachel, we climb higher and higher into the sky. Grasshopper is always a humbling experience. I call this a run, but only the downhill second half is a run. Our pace is more of a brisk power hike, and as we power up the ridiculous 12-20% grade, I explain that this is actually the easiest way to the top, for my reassurance just as much as hers. It could be much, much worse.
It goes like this: Up, up. Switchback. Repeat.
Today we're aiming for the summit whether there will be a view or not, and hopefully our first of many on Grasshopper Peak this year. For as brutal as the seven mile slog to the top is, this mountain is the highest point in the park and usually offers panoramic views of the surrounding forest and mountains below.
Every little creek is a rushing river. Cascading waterfalls pour from every slope, including some right down the middle of the road. After several dry seasons, it's as if the mountain has awakened from its slumber. The sound of rushing water is often so loud it drowns out the thumping heartbeat I hear in my head.
I stop for a few photos along the way. By the end of the run, I realize my camera will need to spend the next day with the lens popped out so it dries. But it's worth it. The muted daylight makes all the colors pop. For as much as I love sunny days, there's something exceptional about the rainy ones. The wet camera takes some pretty sweet shots too. The image below is unedited and accurately describes this outing.
We reach the final trail junction and spur trail to the summit. Despite pressing my effort to the edge of the red line, I'm still pretty darn cold. Climbing higher and higher, the lookout tower hides in the mist.
No views today. My hands and arms are so cold that my left hand and wrist lose function. Rachel helps me pull an additional layer over my long sleeved shirt. The forecast (and Matt) promised the rain would clear out as our run progressed. As it turns out, the opposite is true. I should know better than to trust that darn weatherman. ;) I will bring more layers next time. We make a quick rush for the top and snap a few photos as the icy wind slices through all our clothing layers.
Rachel C. photo credit.
"You're going to have to draw some mountains in that photo," Rachel suggests. There's no view today, but it's invigorating all the same. Perhaps all the breathtaking views of a clear day aren't what makes this place so special after all.
Rainy day.
Ahh, much better.
We make a hasty jog back down into the shelter of the forest canopy. Blood flow returns to my fingers and I breathe a sigh of relief. Maybe I won't die up there on the mountain today. A small part of me is excited the views were missing because that means Rachel will have to do this again with me later!! I'm not sure if that makes me clever or extremely mean, haha.
Our silly conversations resume as I mention the coffee waiting in the car. Winter long runs always end in coffee or tea.
Before we know it, we've fired up the Subaru and swapped soggy layers for cozy ones. Dry socks, down booties, coffee. Check. Check. Check. Maybe that wasn't so bad after all.
The sun dips lower in the sky as final whispers of its warmth follow behind and night sets in. Chris and I peer over the edge of a mesa at the hardiest of New Mexico's rivers, the Rio Grande, as it weaves its way through the towering pillars of sandstone. Peaceful and calm, we stand there together quietly, drinking in the view.
The mountains of the high desert take on a surreal quality in the wintertime. Orange mesas covered in small trees contrast with the snow white peaks behind them. Although this is hardly my first visit, I struggle to recognize this place. I cinch my hood tighter to block out the icy chill of the wind. I like New Mexico in the winter.
Looking toward Los Alamos and the Jemez Mountains.
Initially, I was sad to leave Matt with Zoey for the week. Always my adventure partner, I never have to ask if he wants to go running or hiking with me, the answer is always yes. With my brother Chris, I know my love for the outdoors far outshines any appreciation he has for it, especially in the wintertime. "I'm assuming you'll want to go hiking while you're here?" he asked me the day I arrived. Don't sound too excited about that, now.
Tsankawi trail.
Overlook from the top of the loop.
Cactus selfie.
With the way his job is set up, Chris has to take vacation time between Christmas and New Year's Day. It uses up a week of vacation he would prefer to use a different time of the year, but it also ensures that I get my favorite brother all to myself during the day. A freak snowstorm cancels our original plans, but I enjoy the fact that our visit is a little more leisurely and missing Carlsbad Caverns now just means I'll have to come see him again. Darn.
Don't worry, I still got to play in the snow. Run #2.
Last minute addition to my suitcase. This $10 pair of Walmart ice spikes have now run in eight states and three foreign countries.
Then we checked out the brewery, where I met my new boyfriend.
I spend so much time away from my family each year that I'm often surprised by little things when we are reunited. Even though months have passed, that closeness is still there; that biting sarcasm is a family trait; and that intense desire for long periods of alone time? Yup, that's shared too. Of my numerous immediate and extended family, Chris is most like me.
Each morning, I go for a run. When asked if he'll join with me, Chris ignores the questions and walks out of the room. I joke that he's afraid to learn that his sister has become the stronger runner, even though this altitude feels anything but easy. Don't worry, Chris, I already know it's true, hehe. :)
Paseo del Bosque Trail, my first run in NM, near Bernalillo just as the snow started to fall.
Super dry and cold point-to-point run in Santa Fe that split my lip wide open when I smiled as I passed another runner. That will teach me to be friendly.
A short portion of my run was on a frontage road alongside the highway. Even there, the views didn't suck.
I turn to the dogs, Tammy and Skittles, for company instead. I take each of them out, half mile at a time at first. By the end of my visit, they're up to a mile each, both enthusiastic buddies tiring more quickly than before and I can tell their short legs aren't used to all that activity.
Isn't this photo adorable?
The dry winter wind stabs its way through my layers. Even though I'm running at six thousand feet, the effort level is almost comparable to home. The cold air is rejuvenating. Even though I spend a lot of the week snuggled up to the dogs (I'm allergic to them too), the lack of any other trigger made my allergies disappear. I spend the week taking morning runs along the meandering country roads. Roosters crow, cows moo, and those breathtaking snowy peaks beckon from afar.
The mountains are out!
Our trip is a mixture of little adventures, divided between running errands,
trips to the museum in Los Alamos (now that is a gorgeous town in the wintertime!), Dairy Queen stops, and some hikes in
Bandelier.
Frijoles Trail, Bandelier Nat'l Monument.
In the evenings, we meet up with his girlfriend Monica for
dinner, hot yoga, and my first ever cycling class in Santa Fe. I really loved both the classes and the girl time with her. I guess I'd be okay with it if Chris decided to keep her around. ;)
Sun setting on New Year's Eve, my final day.
Aided by the silliness of drinking just one hard cider at altitude, Tammy and I shot this video for you on New Year's Eve. Even though I'm absolutely not a dog person, this little goofball grew on me. Meet my niece.
Thank you to Chris, Monica, Tammy, and Skittles for a fantastic blend of fun new things and familiar old ones; relaxing time with my book; and a reminder that, in our family, I'm still the least crazy one of us all.
