Arcata Forest Race: Behind The Scenes

Before I began directing running races, I never really thought about the details that go into putting on an event: the permits, the insurance, the recruiting and organizing of volunteers, and the time spent with a mountain of checklists. Race week is filled with all the shopping, the thinking, the double checking, and the oh-my-goodness-I-hope-I-didn't-forget-anythings.

Cars begin to fill the parking lot as runners and volunteers alike arrive for the morning. The air is still, yet there's an undercurrent of excitement, nervousness, and anticipation. This year, I've agreed to trade duties while Matt races his own event. I'm one of the first to arrive to the starting area and as we unpack supplies, Matt realizes he never packed the cookies in the car.

The week leading up to the race is always the busiest. We boosted our online promotion, flooding the club's Facebook page with photos of us at the club gear shed, our pile of cookies, and photos of awards for top finishers. We must have done a decent job at it because this year's event is more crowded than I've ever seen it. And now we're without our cookies. Those homemade cookies we can't possibly replace with imposter bakery ones from the Safeway just two miles away.  Ugh.

I mean, really, someone will notice if these cookies don't show up, right?

Forty minutes later I return to the park, weave my way through the pack of runners forming at the start line, piloting a too big car through people who don't even notice there's anything behind them. It's just two minutes until the race starts, but dangit, I've finally got the cookies.

Matt meets me at the car as I open the door. He hands me the world's most obnoxious air horn and ushers me to the start. They're ready to go. He gives no update on what still needs to be done while he's gone. I'm left to find that out once the pack disappears.

Y. Kim, SRRC photo.

The answer: ummm....everything....and in fourteen minutes, because that's about how long we have until the two mile racers arrive. There's no finish line, no food spread out, no tape on the results boards. Thanks Matt. (Don't worry, he'll spend most of the next week making up for it.)

With a little help from volunteers assigned to work the finish line and a few helpful spectators, we pull all the tables across the park to the finish area. Holly begins chopping up bananas as Jen grabs the cookies from my car. Katrin finds the tape and affixes it to the results boards. Just as we almost have our act together, Will, Jen's son, dashes across the finish line.

Then a rush of people follow soon behind him, many of whom don't understand why I'm chasing them around for the tag on the bottom of their bib number. Cindy isn't even signed up to help today, but she sees that we're swamped and pitches in for a few minutes before she heads off to another Saturday commitment.

Finish line crew. SRRC photo.

There's a brief gap between 2 mile and 5.5 mile finishers, but otherwise it's nonstop excitement. This year, Matt has decided to run both courses in reverse, which means the finish line is on a bit of a downhill. As one woman smiles for the camera, she trips and cartwheels across the finish line. She tries to shake it off, but later asks for the aid kit to patch up her shoulder. Ouch. Several others almost trip and fall and I get run over by an out of control jogging stroller (which are, um, not even allowed at this race). We'll have to re-think the downhill finish line thing for next time. I spend the remainder of my morning literally catching people who have sprinted to the finish and can't slow down enough by the time they reach me.

This shows the hill pretty well. Just steep enough to lose control. Y.Kim, SRRC photo.

The top finishers in the longer, 5.5 mile race begin to appear. I'm pleased that three of the four top runners are club regulars and I present them with their awards.

Another race director approaches me later, with a cookie in each hand, "Will you bake some for my races? I'll pay you!" I accept this as the highest compliment, but decline. "How else am I going to get people to run these crazy hard trail races without cookies to lure them?" I respond.

As the final runners come across the line, I glance over at the food table nearby. Everyone crowded around it has a cookie in their hand. Sometimes I wonder if the personal touches are worth it, but with this crowd, they never go unnoticed.

By the end of the day, I'm about as exhausted as Matt, who went straight from working an overnight shift to his racing/directing duties. Our sixth event is complete. With a little extra help, everything worked out well and I doubt anyone noticed the little hiccups we had throughout the day.

Next time, we won't forget the cookies!

4MPH Challenge

A glassy reflection of mountains on the lake surface beckons me from my tent. The air is still and saturated with morning dew. I shiver as I wriggle from my sleeping bag, fumbling around for my down booties and hat. I emerge from my princess bed of three sleeping pads and a deluxe flannel sleeping bag, and once I'm out of the tent, I make a beeline for the stove. I put on a pot of water and wait not-so-patiently for my tea to brew. I fry up a few slices of banana bread until they're warm and crispy. Car camping is so luxurious like that. Of all my solo adventures in the last year, those on the shore of Whiskeytown Lake are my favorite, due to equal parts of good food and good views.

I make my way to the race start line, bringing the car along only because I'm not sure what I'll be wearing and want a place to stash my options. I meet up with Nikki, Leslie, and Heidi, a few of my running friends from home who signed up for the 36 mile race. Since I want this event to fit somewhat into my training plans and not require weeks of recovery, I signed up for a mere twelve miles, the longest "fun run" distance I have yet to encounter.

This race is unlike any other event I've ever run. The object of the game is to run a six mile trail segment in 90 minutes, which is a pace of four miles per hour. After ninety minutes, the runners begin again. If you don't arrive before the group restarts, you're out. If you arrive before the ninety minutes are up, you wait around. For the unlimited option, the winners are determined by the number of miles. For the middle option, "Up to 36 Miles", those running the fastest final leg (miles 30-36) are declared the winner. As for the shortest option, "Up to 12 Miles", there are no winners and one can start and finish whenever they please.

Since the emphasis on this race was to run a slow, steady pace, the starting line is more of a "No, you go first" game rather than crowding around the flour line on the sidewalk. There's an eerie calm and almost slow-motion lurch away from the starting line as we make our way through the parking area and onto the trail. Nobody wants to go out too fast. Since I could choose my starting time, I begin with the 36 mile runners with plans to run with Nikki the first six miles and then negative split the second leg alone, so I could get a bit of a trail speed day in my day as well.

It doesn't take long for the pack to spread out along the singletrack trail. We're tracing a line along the shore of the lake, that calm, peaceful mountain backdrop still painted across the water. It's almost idyllic and I stop for a few seconds here and there to snap a few photos while trying to avoid passing the same people over again to catch up to Nikki, but there's a gap behind us so I'm able to do so pretty easily with minimal lingering.

Soon we reach the end of the trail and our runner train snakes down the roadway. This next mile section of trail will be where we begin seeing the unlimited group, one leg ahead of us, making their return trip. I spot a few familiar faces, other ladies from the running club, and wave happily. As far as running events go, this one has such a profound social vibe that I forget it's actually a race.

As we make the one big climb of the route, a 300 ft. gain, Nikki falls behind. I slow to stay chatting with her and we continue our conversation about her magical adventure tutu as we power hike up the hill. We made tutus for the Enchanted Forest Wine Run we did together a couple years ago in Oregon. Since then, her tutu has accompanied her on many adventures. I'm a little ashamed to say that mine has been hanging in my closet since then.

I listen carefully to the sound of her breathing and how readily she forms sentences. I know I'm only going 12 miles and can afford to push harder, but I don't want to ruin her race in the process by taking her out too hard, too early. Brief panoramic views wait for us at the top and we sail down the other side, following a delicious ribbon of single track trail whizzing by as we descend. We reach a steep technical downhill and gingerly tiptoe our way down. This must be a fun section to do with 50 or 100 miles or more on your legs. Even better in the dark, I think to myself. I'm now relieved that I signed up for the shortest distance, even though at the time it felt a little lazy.

Photo credit: Shasta Trail Runs.

The last obstacle of the segment is a stream crossing. Half a dozen runners are there when Nikki and I arrive. A couple of them are grasping at tree branches, trying to cross without wetting their shoes. Nikki hesitates. I plunge right in. There's no point in twisting an ankle rock hopping on mossy boulders. I'll probably stay drier going through the knee deep water than when I slip off a rock and get completely soaked. 

One quick jaunt to the meadow and we're done. Nikki and I give each other a "Now what?" look.

Thirty minutes to spare calls for a selfie. Behind us is the not-so-insignificant stream runners would cross every six miles.

First six mile leg: 60:15

We've arrived with thirty minutes to spare and are not sure what to do next. I suck down the Chia Squeeze packet I've been carrying (again, car camping=lap of luxury) and then munch on one of Nikki's Rice Krispie squares. I head for the water jug, and in an effort to be friendly, spot a woman with her feet atop her wet shoes, sunning them as she watches the growing crowd pouring in. I ask her about her planned mileage for the day and how she'll approach the whole wet-feet-for-nine-hours thing.

"I'll let my feet air out each time and keep the same shoes," she replies, "I've got a dry pair for later if it comes to that." I can tell that by the confidence in her voice that she's not only done this race before, but knows exactly how to care for her feet. It won't be until we return to the other side that I figure out who this mystery badass lady is. I've heard her name before and seen her atop many a list of race results, but now I can say I've seen her in action. (Check out this article from iRunFar about her.)


Just as I'm about to get chilled standing there in a sweaty singlet and shorts, it's time to line up again. I wish Nikki good luck and tell her I'll see her on the other side. Then we're off almost as unceremoniously as before. I take off somewhere near the front (yay, only 12 miles today!) and find myself just ahead of the woman I talked to during the break. I climb the sketchy hillside and then take off at a comfortably hard pace. Once beyond the technical part, it feels like I'm descending...except wasn't it downhill through this section before too? My mind is confused and I enjoy fearlessly bombing the non-technical section of effortless singletrack.

Once I hit a set of steeper switchbacks, I hear a rumble of footsteps behind me. I pull over to let the runner pass. One woman and one man sail by. Even though there's nothing to gain from staying with them, I make it my goal to keep the pair within sight. It's a fun challenge and I enjoy how our paces naturally ebb and flow as we move along the trail. The woman, Bev, is a fearless downhill runner, the guy is steady as a metronome, and I seem to gain ground on them when we climb.

After a few miles, we're back on the original trail headed to where we started the day. While I'm more familiar with this trail than any other in the park, my mind keeps wanting to turn off where I usually do on my training runs here. Suddenly, I'm turned around at a poorly marked gravel intersection. The trail markers are all red and silver foil flags pinned to the Manzanita bushes, which of course, happen to be the same shade of red, making them impossible to see.

I make two wrong turns but correct myself after a few moments, losing maybe a minute in the process. I'm frustrated and find that it fuels my finish kick quite nicely. I gain ground on the man and woman ahead of me, who of course don't know I'm racing them because their race isn't anywhere near being over, and accelerate to the finish line. Matt and I ran a fartlek run starting and finishing at this same place just a week ago and I'm able to produce the same strong finish I had that day, noting my Garmin registering a very respectable road kick under a 7:30 pace.

Last Six Miles: 54:37

I park myself in the shade and wait for Nikki and the others to return. I chat with a few of the runners who came in ahead of me. One is local and also a friend of my friend Mark (who is also this race's RD) and the other is an accomplished ultra runner, Jace, from Ashland. We talk a bit about the local trail scene and inquire about runs in the others' neighborhoods. Both of them seem intrigued about my trail race, but I'm careful to hide the fact that I direct it. ;) We'll let that be a surprise, I don't want to seem biased or anything, hehe.

When Nikki returns, prancing through the finish in her tutu, she announces that she's done for the day. As it turns out, her prancing is more of a limp and she explains that she rolled her ankle on a trail run we did together the previous weekend and it hasn't quit talking to her since then. While I'm sad she won't make it to her goal of 24 miles, I'm happy to have company for the day.

We head back to camp to change clothes and I offer to share my leftovers. She eagerly accepts the opportunity to help me eat the green curry I brought with me. "I need to adventure with you more often!" she exclaims, "You make real food!" When I further inquire what she means by this, she tells me she had a full forty-eight hours of PB&J planned. We finish our lunches and return to the race. I pull out my lounge chair (car camping=super luxe, remember?) and park myself there for the remainder of the afternoon.

I help the co-race director, Josh, record bib numbers and spend the day relaxing, visiting, and reapplying sunscreen to the front of my legs. The day heats up quickly and by mid-afternoon, I'm tucked half in the shade to keep from overheating. I take pictures of friends and cheer them on as daylight wanes.

Heidi, en route to her first ultra and personal distance record of 36 miles.

Leslie always looks like this when I see her running. When asked about her secret to looking so happy and fresh, she replied "I'm good at faking it." She's also one heck of a course sweep. She's now swept two of Matt's and my races and is scheduled to do so again at my run in June.

By nightfall, I get a call about Zoey, who seemed to be feeling well enough when I left home. Over a broken phone connection, Rachel tells me that Princess Zoey is quite literally having a hissy fit and she can't get anywhere close enough without the risk of getting scratched. When I planned this trip away from Zoey, it was intended to be a trial run. Since I'm only two hours away, I knew I could return home if there were a problem, but now faced with this decision, I realize what I have to do.

I hastily pack up camp, caffeinate myself at the nearest coffee stand and point the Subaru toward the coast. Upon arrival, I open the door and Zoey rushes to me with such enthusiasm that I wonder if she knew bad behavior would get me to come home to her.  As the wood fire begins to heat up, Zoey climbs onto my lap. Even though my weekend turns out to be shorter than anticipated, it was the perfect weekend getaway. I guess this means she wants to come camping with me next time?

A Taste of Summer

The sun shines brightly against a backdrop of small mountains. A gentle breeze rocks my hammock back and forth. I'm wearing shorts and a tank top and my bare feet show off a set of purple toenails. I lie there for hours, blissfully soaking in the day as I turn the pages of my book.

As far as books on writing go, this one is pretty entertaining. Also: Deep River Sweet Maui Onion chips are amazing!

I begin to nod off after awhile, blurring the line between the world in my head and the one around me. Am I dreaming this? For months, I've been yearning for a summer trip just like this one. Is this fantasy real?

I've become such a diva. All my car camping sites now have to have a place to hang my hammock.

A light chill spreads across my bare legs. I move my reading camp to a sunny spot and spread myself across the picnic table. It's seventy-five degrees and sunny in March, which is typical for here this time of  year. I always forget what different a climate zone the inland areas are. Whiskeytown Lake is situated at about 2,500 ft. elevation in the mountains above Redding.

Lake + snow-capped Shasta Bally

At first glance, it looks like what the higher mountains will be by June. Springtime comes sooner here and I'm all the more grateful for it this year given that the healthy snow pack will further delay access. Right now it doesn't matter at all because Highway 3, the only access point for the best trails, washed out in the last rainstorm. The road slid down the mountainside and rumors are spreading that it may not be until Memorial Day weekend. Yes, these mountains will do just fine.

Can't beat the location.

I'm here for a race. I haven't tapered, I haven't trained, and I haven't any plans for it other than drinking in the sunshine and enjoying the company of my trail friends. Lucky for me, the weather promises to be just like this: perfect. Since the race I'm running is considered the "fun" run, there's no pre-race nervousness.

I could stand there sniffing this lilac bush all day.

After a quick trip into town to check my email and pick up my bib number, I head back to camp and tuck into bed for the night. My headlamp fades to darkness as I finish another chapter in my book. Time to call it a night.

Pusheen is my spirit animal.

Foggy Bottom Milk Run 10 Mile Race Report

"Five minutes to the start! Begin lining up!" a voice cuts through the heavy air. Nobody moves. Each of us is tucked in a doorway or beneath a roof overhang, reluctant to commit to a wet outfit just yet in a game of "No, you go first". Given how hard the rain is coming down, just the walk to the start is sure to soak through all of our layers and dampen our shoes. As I try to coax myself out into the rain, someone next to me says what we've all been thinking: "Might as well get it out there, I can't stay here forever." He dashes off into the rain as me and the three other people sharing the small overhang reluctantly follow.

The first mile, aided by both race excitement and a swift tailwind blowing at twenty-five miles per hour, I'm surprised that the pace feels not only comfortable, but easy. I notice my breathing is calm, yet even I know that I can't hold the 6:30 pace my watch is registering. I pull back on the pace so as not to use my energy up too soon. I begin to wonder if this string of rainy days is finally providing the allergy reprieve my body has been so desperately craving.

Mile 1: 7:22
Mile 2: 7:29

Then we turn to face straight into the wind and the intensity level increases by tenfold. Not only is it windy, but the rain is still coming down.....sideways. Don't think downpour, think fire hose.

This is my friend Caleb finishing the 4 mile race. Everyone was wearing that same expression.

I'm running/swimming upstream as hard as I can and it's as if I'm jogging in place. I try to find someone to tuck in behind. Up ahead is Jeff, a tall, lanky man who won't provide much of a windbreak other than the fact that he's wearing a large cycling jacket that fills up with the breeze. Catch him and then settle in to whatever pace he's got. Even if you're not going any faster, at least you'll be using less energy, I coach to myself.

Mile 3: 8:01
Mile 4: 8:09

The ten mile race splits from the four mile a block from the finish line. Since the new race course was decided only a week ago, many people are confused by this new route. By the end of the day, there were at least a dozen accounts of people following the old course or a combination of the old and new ones. The course was well-marked, but with the flooded roadsides, most of the spray painted markings were underwater. Such is a typical day at Foggy Bottom. I've run this race five times and only one year has had even halfway decent weather.

What's not fun about that, right?

We make the turn onto Centerville Rd. and all the intense effort from the previous miles dissolves. Tucked against mossy hillsides, we've got a break from the brutal south wind. Jeff and I take turns leading. Before long, the lead pack is making their way toward us. They've completed the out-and-back and as I peer out from under the brim of my hat, I can tell they're all struggling and it's oddly comforting. If I could choose to have one thing slow down my race, I would prefer it to be the weather because at least all of us are soaked and freezing together. It's preferable to a bonk or my allergies, the latter of which seems to have disappeared for the day.

Mile 5: 7:53
Mile 6: 7:58

When I finally spot the turnaround cone, I glance at the passing runners and cheer them on by name. They look terrible. For a moment, I'm hopeful. Maybe I can catch one or two of them. Then I circle the cone and those thoughts are immediately extinguished by that increasing headwind. Every time I want to give up and slow down to a more manageable effort level, I remind myself that running is supposed to be fun. This single positive thought seems to help. I repeat this phrase as many times as necessary to keep from giving up.

There's a tailwind through mile seven, but I even with that, I can tell that my breathing is too loud to be sustainable. I pull back on the pace just as I notice Anna zoom by pushing me into eighth place. It stings a little for her to pass me, I have placed seventh the last four years in a row, so I try to relax while attempting to stay with her. She'll be just out of my reach for the remainder of the race.

Mile 7: 7:54
Mile 8: 7:44

Just as I did through this section the first time around at mile 3, I tuck in behind Jeff. He's been either ten seconds ahead or behind me this whole time. I wish I could take my turn leading, but every time I pull up next to him, he pushes the pace faster and I fade behind him. I decide that if he wants to do all the work, I'll let him. The rain lets up just in time for the final two miles, so at least that's a plus. By the time everyone finishes the 10 mile and the 2 mile kid race starts, the rain will have stopped entirely and the clouds part a little to let some sunshine through.

Mile 9: 8:17

I stop for some water right before the end of the ninth mile and Jeff goes on without me. At my last race, I talked myself out of water a mile from the finish line. This time there was no question in my mind: water and walk was a necessity.

Just as another tall runner passes by, I make it my mission to stay with him. Karma handed me several tall running buddies during this race! Perfect! I can't see much of him given how he's hiding beneath a hat pulled down across his face, but I can tell who it is by the way his feet swing outward with every stride. It's Mike, one of the club's ultra runners. As we dash down Main Street into the final half mile of the headwind and race, I recognize that same competitive spirit in another runner I often kick with to the finish line: his thirteen year old son, West. West is rail thin and barely four feet tall, but that kid fights and beats me every time. When I try to pull up next to him and pass, he never lets go of the lead. Like father, like son. Mike keeps me pushing when every cell in my body is begging for me to stop.

I pick up the pace, a gust hits me, and I tuck in behind him again. Then when I've regained energy, I pull alongside him. Now that we're within a few hundred yards of the finish line, I pick up the pace, trying to pull ahead. He counters with his own surge. He crosses the finish line one step ahead of me.

Mile 10: 7:42

1:18:22
7:51/mi.
8th lady.
F30-34: 3rd.

I double over to catch my breath before moving through the finish chute and heading for the water. I cough and wheeze on my way there, a sign my allergies are still bad enough to cause EIA symptoms. I'm pretty sure that was the hardest race of my entire life.  After discussing the day with other runners, most of us agree that the day felt more like mile repeats rather than a constant effort. Whew. Can I just say I'm glad that's over?

After a short cooldown, I head to the car for an outfit change. Before I know it, the kids' race has started and I'm standing on the rubber finish line mat waiting to direct traffic.

Due to the morning rain, the field is much smaller and more manageable than usual. Yvette and I only have to grab only half a dozen kids and turn them around so their timing chip doesn't register ten different finish times as they go back and forth. Rain manages to hold off until the last finisher comes across the line so most of the kids look like they're having fun. The speedy little ten year old soccer player, Elsa, who out-kicked me at the 5K in January was the first girl across the finish line, running strong at just under a seven minute pace.

------

Matt, while training for a trail 50K and battling his Achilles' issues, managed to run a strong race. He teamed up with his friend Jorge and another runner, Ben. They traded the lead through the whole race with Ben finishing in 1:02:11, and Jorge and Matt tying for third in 1:02:12.

Despite the challenging weather, this event is still one of my favorites each year. I love volunteering with the club, especially the events with lots of kids. Here's a really cute video the local TV station aired as part of their Sporting Youth series.

All race photos: Y. Kim, SRRC credit.

Accepting the Cloud

It has been only two hours since I got up and I'm already planning my nap. I cozy up on the couch with my favorite fuzzy blanket and switch on the TV. I flip through my list of shows on Netflix, decide nothing sounds appealing, and turn it off. Snuggling down under the covers, I decide to skip the TV and go straight to the napping part. It's like being sick with a cold, except I don't feel better for long.

We took a quick trip to Whiskeytown to try and dry me out. It helped for about a day.

Not much has changed with me physically. I'm still suffering and sleeping a lot. Every day, I'm thankful that my current work gig (yay, housewife) allows me to rest when I need it. I don't have to adhere to a strict schedule and have enough mindless tasks that my mind doesn't have to be cloud-free in order to feel like my day was productive.

My only good day this week was this one.

I'm accepting my current diminished state, especially as it relates to my running. As a runner, it's easy to focus exclusively on race paces and times, but there's so much more to it than that. What initially drew me to running was the peace and the time with the sound of my breath and footsteps outside, not my speed. While I'm taking this (hopefully) brief hiatus from structured competitive running and racing, I'm trying to focus my efforts on the reasons I fell in love with running. I still need to keep reminding myself of this fact.

Luckily, I have some wonderful running buddies who don't mind disappearing with me into the forest on rainy days.  Girl time with two of my favorite ladies was exactly what I needed last weekend. We spent the day with the tall trees of Prairie Creek and had our own trail ladies’ spa day complete with a mud bath, foot soak, squeaky clean pores, and long chats about boys. I need more trail days just like this one.

James Irvine-Miner's Ridge loop

My friends are the best.

As luck would have it, Matt's weekend coincided with my breaking point. We made a quick trip inland to Redding, but we both learned that their springtime with flowering trees doesn't help me any either.

Since our focus of the trip was relaxing and tapering, we didn't run much. We had some Dairy Queen, took a yoga class, got a massage, and went to dinner with our trail buddy Mark and his wife. It still felt weird to travel with such a light running schedule, but I soldiered through it, medicating with Dairy Queen Blizzards.

Our big running goal was a Strava segment in a small park near our hotel. It took two tries to finally cover the correct route through the tangled web of trails, but Matt came out victorious and snatched the course record.

Meanwhile, I mostly ran at an easy pace, picking it up when I felt like it. My best run of the week was four miles in the drizzle at a 7:50 pace. It's nice to know my legs still know how to run fast.

Tomorrow is the club's Foggy Bottom race where I'm signed up for the 10 mile run. I've run this race in all kinds of weather and haven't missed it since I joined the running club. I love this race in all of its foul-weather-and-flooded-road glory. I spent this week tapering, hoping that a lighter mileage week would let me recover enough to race well.

Race day forecast. Can't get much better than that! ;)

As I'm typing this, my vision is blurring the screen and I've got a sinus headache so bad that my teeth hurt so obviously that didn't work. I'm really bummed that I haven't improved much. Every ten minutes or so, I change my mind about race day: Run the 10 mile easy. Race the 4 mile hard. Race the 4 mile easy. Volunteer instead. I hate that I'm so riddled with indecision when it comes to this area of my life. I'm so used to having a plan and a goal that I'm a bit lost without one. Luckily, Lanore is feeling about as well as I am, so we've agreed to start the race together and go slow if we need it.

Maybe all this rain will provide some relief......

Tree Gawking and My Spring Race Goal

Fog clings to the treetops, completely blotting out any hopes for sunshine. The air is saturated with moisture and before long, my nose is running about the same pace as my legs. Normally, I'm not a fan of these ultra-humid days, but today I appreciate its therapeutic qualities. If my body isn't going to let me run fast right now, I'm going to run in a place where I want to go slow and take it all in.

That right there is my favorite tree in the whole world.

Matt's time off is short this week, so instead of dashing inland for some reprieve, we decide that a trip to visit our favorite redwoods would be the perfect substitute. Once I'm warmed up, the saturated air is warm enough to be purifying rather than bone-chilling. Tension in my body releases with every footstep.

Redwoods are most beautiful in the rain and fog.

The flat light filtering through the mist makes every redwood stand out and it suddenly seems like there are one hundred more trees here than my last visit. Sunny days hide so many of the trees behind shadows. I pay little attention to the pace on my watch. With trails as gorgeous as these, who would want to rush? Tension and frustration in my mind release with every footstep too.

A few miles into our run, the trail moves back onto the road. At one time, the trail segments connected, but due to erosion, several portions jump onto the road for a brief time. We pass a large, fading spray-painted square with the number 4 on it. I recognize this as one of the Avenue of the Giants Marathon markers. No matter how many times I run here, I still can't believe how beautiful this race course is. The wheels in my head begin to turn. After two more short bouts of pavement before we dip back onto the dirt trails, I've already figured out which Avenue distance I want to run: the marathon.

Avenue of the Giants Marathon Mile 4.

Combine the undisputed fact that the marathon course is more gorgeous than the other race distance courses with the fact that I may be leaving the area soon, I instantly knew that I would regret not running it one more time. Besides, the slower pace of a marathon (vs. a 10K or half) would be more agreeable with my allergies right now. I never have a problem with training volume, it's always the high-intensity stuff that breaks me. I don't expect this to be a fast race for me, but it will be nice to enjoy all the same.

We return on the south trail to make a loop. Before long, we drop into a flood plain just above the creek. After a quick crossing of Bull Creek, we're back at the car. My sinuses are clear, my legs and head are flooded with endorphins. This was the perfect way to lift me from my frustrations.

How to begin recovery: run loop that forces you to wade through an icy creek before you get back to the car.

Super Matt eats hills for breakfast.

10 miles, 1:47, 758 ft. gain

I love that we were running buddies before we were even a couple. Thirteen years and counting!

Sigh.

The sigh.

It's the one external sign that Matt always notices. I sigh a lot these days. My allergy symptoms have expanded enough to leave my body completely overwhelmed. At this point, naps don't happen, because my heart rate can't slow down enough for me to doze off.

Rain storm rolling in Lower Table Rock, Medford.

During the last month, Matt and I have taken several trips inland. When he had a weekend, we disappeared, little Miss Zoey tagging along with us. It's no surprise that I felt well, I wasn't home much. I was well enough to have a decent half marathon, well enough to think clearly enough to blog, well enough to finally purge my closet of the things I didn't need. Heck I was well enough to carry on the way ordinary, healthy people do. Just as I began to think my season was turning around, I find myself back where I started. Sigh.

Mt. McLoughlin, from Table Rock. Maybe you'll be in my backyard sometime soon?

Today's run was the first failed speed day. After increasing misery upon returning home from Oregon, I knew it was inevitable. Sigh.

This is beyond frustrating. Right now I seesaw between wanting to scream and kick things to crying my eyes out. I'm sick of struggling with this. Over the years, I've learned to manage my symptoms or adjust my daily activities, but when it keeps me from running well, one thing that brings me joy on so many levels, it makes me angry. It's about the only thing that gives me a few hours' relief from the stuffy head and throbbing ears.

My next race is March 13th. After the half, I was hoping to get another week of quality workouts in and race hard. Now I don't know. I may go inland for a few days next week and see if that helps, but frankly, right now I'm too tired to want to go anywhere.

Don't worry. Zoey is watching over me. Around corners. Behind chairs. In boxes. Okay, maybe it's stalking instead. Nevermind.

Sigh.

--------------

I wish I could tell you everything is great, that I'm not struggling. Or that if I'm struggling, I could ask for advice. Advice and encouragement that would bolster my spirits, lift me from my slump, and make me feel good again. A magical cure that would fix my problem. With this particular one, I know I've exhausted all of my options short of moving away from the ocean. We're working on that one, but the government moves at a glacial pace so it may be awhile.

I hate writing posts like this, so even if I continue to struggle, this will be the only one this spring. They always come off as whiny and that's not the theme I want to highlight in my blog. I wanted to offer an explanation for my recent absence.

I hope all of you are well and enjoying your time outside as our days grow longer. Have a favorite recent adventure you want to share? Leave it in the comments. I could use a good story. :)