Siskiyou Out Back 50K Race Report

Up before the sun, Matt and I tiptoe out of our room and load up the car. No matter how quietly we try to close the doors, each thud is magnified and echoes across the parking area. I climb in the car and point my car toward that tall, grandiose ridge line that separates Oregon from California. I trace the shadowed crest with my eyes. I get to play up there today, I think to myself. As we climb higher and higher toward the top of Mt. Ashland, the sun does too, flooding the surrounding lowlands with great orange light.

Before I know it, I find my place in line behind a few of my club friends who have also made the trip inland. The race starts and I take off. Since my race last year went so well, I try to mimic my race strategy again this time. I zoom off at a clip I know I won't sustain the whole race but try to avoid the bottleneck of runners that always happens after the first mile, the one where we all stuff ourselves onto the singletrack of the Pacific Crest Trail. It works and there must be someone holding up traffic behind me because I spend the entirety of the the next five miles completely alone.

Without the worries of whether I'm going too fast or slow for those behind me, I carefully assess how my body feels. In one word it's this: AWFUL. Ever since my return from Wisconsin one week earlier, I've felt off. My allergies flared enough that I spent the whole week with intense ear pain and the need to use my rescue inhaler outside of actually running, the latter of which hasn't been necessary in almost two years. I feel as if today I've left my climbing legs at home. My legs ache with each uphill section and it spreads into my back. I can't sustain the pace that came so easily last year, so I back off. I sense what feels like a dehydration bonk coming on so I drink some water and have a salt tab even though I think it's a little early to do so. I can feel the day heating up so I decide being proactive is a better approach that trying to treat it later.

Shortly after the fifth mile, the climbing stops and I trot the downhill to mile nine. My hamstrings and back enjoy the break and I try to convince myself that I'm still warming up. Spoiler alert: haha, no you're not, Karen.

I perk up somewhere around the next long climb near mile ten, not because I'm feeling any better but because a group of people has finally caught up to me. I'm not alone anymore! Running alongside a girl on the gravel road we're now running, we play leapfrog as we run-walk our way up. My power hike matches her slow trot and we chat a little through gasping for breaths. We'll stay within sight of each other until the aid station at mile fifteen.

Glancing down at my watch at mile thirteen, I let go of my time goal. I'm fifteen seconds per mile slower than I need to be heading into halfway and there's nothing I can do about it. I pull my pace back and honestly, it's a relief to let it go. I decide to aim for around a six hour finish as I stuff a few more Oreos into my mouth.

A volunteer at the party aid station at halfway refills my water bladder with superb efficiency as I peruse the watermelon. The short break rejuvenates me and I dash off along another gravel forest road, reaching halfway in 2:52. There's a lot of downhill for the next ten miles and I'm looking forward to the opportunity for recovery. I resist the urge to pick up the pace and bomb the downhills, but I shorten my stride in an attempt to save my quads.

Trotting along the ridge, Oregon to the left and California to the right, I can spot both Mt. Shasta (CA) and the weather radar atop Mt. Ashland (OR). As I gaze at that white weather bubble on the mountaintop I know to be the start and finish, I'm impressed with my progress and dreading the remainder of the race. Gosh, that thing is far away, I think.

While riding the struggle bus, the race initials take on a new meaning. I ponder this for far too many miles.

My mood improves steadily as the views become more interesting. Near mile 18, the route moves from the gravel road along the Siskiyou Crest onto mountainside singletrack. The trail hugs the contours of the mountain and I take a few more breaks to shoot a photo, this time a panorama. I adjust the camera settings and pan the horizon while enjoying the break I get from running.

As the day heats up, I notice more of a difference between the shady and sunny spots. I've been drinking a lot, sweating a lot, and can feel my fingers swelling into little sausages. Just as I start daydreaming about more watermelon, the girl behind me points out a bright white patch clinging to the mountainside overhead. "Is that snow?" she asks. We talk about how good it would feel to climb up there and roll in it, maybe making a few snow angels, a detour during our race. It's comforting to know I'm not the only one who is warm and struggling right now. I gaze down at the Rogue Valley, sitting some six thousand feet below us. It could be worse, you know, I think to myself, we could be down there where it's really hot.

Just as the front of my legs and hips begin to ache from all that downhill, I reach the base of the final climb. Honestly, it's a relief to be climbing again. I pass another aid station, grabbing some watermelon and eat it while I power hike away. Each bite is incredible and I debate going back for more.

The snowier winter pushed the wildflower season back a bit, peaking on race day!

The next six miles contain far more climbing than I remember from last year, but of course, when you're struggling, even the smallest hills feel like mountains. In the case of these miles, it really is a mountain.

In order to break up the monotony of all that hiking, I pick a goal up ahead. Sometimes it's the next shady spot, sometimes, others it's a tree stump. Run there, then we can hike again. The game keeps my mind entertained and it doesn't entirely destroy my overall pace. I'm moving along. Okay, this is working. Keep going.

Much to my surprise, I actually catch up to almost a dozen different runners, all of whom passed me on the previous downhill. One asks me how far it is to the top, and I tell him it's almost two or three miles. "You mean total? Or two to three MORE?!" he exclaims, almost begging me to agree to the former. "Two to three more," I reply and can sense his spirits drop. "I remember this as a downhill on the way out, but of course, I was smiling then," he adds as I finally drift off ahead of him.

As I reach the crest of the long climb, my legs quaking with fatigue, a huge smile spreads across my face. Not only are the remaining miles mostly downhill, but I can spot an aid station up ahead. WATERMELON!!!!! Until today, I run races like this largely unsupported. I stop for one water refill at about halfway, but otherwise, I pass all the on-course aid. I know it's a huge time suck and I enjoy eating when I feel like it, not when I happen to pass by a table. But today, it's all about the watermelon. I'm done caring about my time and dive into the bowl of watermelon, grateful for the person who cut it off the rind and into bits so I can take entire handfuls with me instead of standing there eating. I thank the volunteers and stagger off, noticing a slight wobble to each step.

After too many more minutes in full sunshine of the south-facing slope, I recognize where I am: the final mile (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!). At the spot where the PCT rejoins the gravel road, one of my Humboldt friends, Ben, is waiting in the shade. He recognizes me, cheers me on and I ask how his race went as I pass. (He took 2nd in the 15K and got a huge cardboard check to take home.)

Compared to the previous climbs, the final one is small and almost insignificant, but after thirty miles, it's anything but that. I break into the comfort of my power hike and notice Matt waiting in the shade. He trots alongside me for a moment, snapping my picture. I do my best to look like I'm running, but I'm hurting. I've been hurting for the last twenty-five miles. All I can think about now is finally stopping.

Mile 30 Karen is tiiiiired.

I reach the top, no more uphill from here, and pick up the pace. Moments later, I spot the finish line. The rest of the world melts away. All I can see is the finish line arch beneath the shadow of the Mt. Ashland Ski Lodge. I glance down at my watch and see that a six hour finish has come and gone, but I'm managing a sub-8:00 pace for my kick. I cross the line and a sense of relief washes over me. Whew, I'm really glad that's done! Time to sit!

My salty hat.

Hills!

6:05:27
11:46/mi.
4,861 ft. gain.
5th age group (exact same place as last year!), 18th lady, 72nd overall.

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Matt finishes in 4:50:14, good enough for 14th place overall and 3rd in his age group.

All smiles because WE GET TO SIT DOWN!!

We hang around for a few hours, watching the rest of our friends finish before we head down the mountain to clean up. Then it's time for Dairy Queen. Good or bad day, I finished my tenth ultramarathon and that's always worth celebrating!

In an attempt to avoid a 5:00pm bedtime, we force ourselves to keep moving. Since the idea of going out in the warm valley temperatures is the last thing I want to do, we hit the shops and the massage chairs at the mall. Sometimes this strategy works better than others.

I'm such a fun shopping buddy.

Post-race thoughts: It has now been a week since the race and I've thought a lot about what happened. It's rare for me to have a distance race feel this bad in the early miles and not improve. In the week leading up to the race, Friday especially, I was more tired than usual and could sense my allergies flaring up. When my allergies are bad enough to make my ears hurt and my whole body ache, it definitely affects my running. Combining that with a warm day and altitude (entire course was between 5,800 ft and 7,200 ft. elevation) probably contributed to the slower time. The first few days after the race, my back was sore, my lungs hurt, and I took more time completely off than I ever have before. Regardless of my performance, it still was a gorgeous day in the mountains and if I had to do it all over again, I would.

Now to recover, regroup, and plan out my next adventure: ALASKA!

Family

Living two thousand miles from family is hard sometimes. This year alone, my mom, sister, and grandma all underwent surgeries in my absence. My other grandma was hospitalized for a few weeks after she was unable to recover from a cold on her own. Again, too far away to visit. For all those difficult moments I want to reach out and physically hold my family members close, there are visits like this where my heart becomes whole again. I'm surrounded by those I hold most dear and give way too many hugs to make up for lost time.

Traditional "Driving to the Island" picture. Apparently this is something Matt's family has done for decades.

Right after the July 4th holiday weekend, Matt and I traveled to Wisconsin. Together with my sister, mom, brother and his girlfriend, we spent three days together in solitude on a family-owned island in a lake near the Michigan border. Without any of the distractions of modern life, we reveled in the opportunity for good conversation, nature, and the company of those who know us the best.

Relaxing by the lake.

Mom, Chris (brother), Monica (future SIL), and Matt.

When the weather was nice, we were out on the boats. Kayaking, canoeing, and tubing filled our days. Jigsaw puzzles, games, and ping pong filled our nights.

Emily (sister).

Family lunch on a rainy day.

It was perfect. We're already thinking about making this vacation a yearly trip just as Matt has done with his family ever since he was a little boy. Maybe one year we'll be brave enough to bring both of our families together and see how they get along.

Time passed too quickly and suddenly we were on the road again, this time to join my dad and his extended family at a reunion. Being one of eleven kids, visits with my dad's family are both wonderful and overwhelming at the same time. I have well over forty first cousins on that side and even when half of them show up, it's a busy day. When we pulled up to the park and found a sea of people in red shirts, we knew we were in the right place.

My dad, his mom, and all his siblings.

Since my immediate family gets together so infrequently, it was nice to have an extra someone to take our photo to commemorate the occasion. The last time all five of us were together in one place was my wedding day over nine years ago. I hope it doesn't take another nine years before we get our next photo!

Family portrait.

Family plus significant others.

And those who are part of our family by choice. Bless you brave people! ;)

After the reunion weekend, it was time to start heading back to the airport. My mom's mom lives twenty minutes from a small airport in the middle of Wisconsin. I often fly in and out of there, not because it's cheaper, but because of Grandma. We drove straight from one Grandma (dad's mom) to the other (mom's mom).

Matt's right. It was exhausting. Not pictured: Two DQ stops. Hey, Wisconsin is big!

In June, she had open-heart surgery so of course we had to drop by and see her every day until I flew out.  Since she'd already been in a rehab facility for a month, she was more than ready to go home. We took her out for ice cream, took her outside to check out the garden, and had to remind her too many times to slow down and let us help her.

In between visits with Grandma, we returned to the family farm where my mom grew up. My uncle now manages the dairy farm solo but I could tell he was lonely without Grandma to come home to every night. We cleaned up the house for him, helped keep him fed, and made sure his kitties got some love, too.

Crazy Cat Lady visits the farm.

Grandma went home on Saturday. I’d like to think she’s following all the rules the doctors set for her, but I doubt it. She’s independent, sassy, and a little naughty. I’ve always loved that about my Grandma. :)

As the airplane took off and the vast patchwork quilt of farmland pulled away, tears welled up in my eyes. When I live so far away from them, it's a blessing and a curse to have a family as wonderful as mine.

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Just days after I returned home, we found out our family was growing to include one more! My brother proposed to his girlfriend, Monica in a pretty park in Houghton, where he went to college. They're so adorable together and I love Monica. I'm so excited to be gaining another sister!

Bend Trail Adventures

Memories of sunshine, good friends, and beautiful trail adventures in Bend still bring a smile to my face even though this trip was almost a month ago. It has been almost a month since my last post, too. Usually I skip posting when I have nothing to say, but this time, I've had the opposite problem. Too much content, not enough time to sit at my computer and sift through pictures. Trips overlapped and suddenly it's a month later. I know, it's a terrible problem to have.

When one of Matt's coworkers asked to trade shifts to get the July 4th holiday off, it left him with six days off without taking a single vacation day. Since we're not ones to squander such an opportunity and finally found someone who can handle Zoey's pill time, we packed our bags and pointed our car inland, headed for the sunny and warm trails of Bend, Oregon.

A couple of my friends are teachers and spend their summers at their planned retirement spot outside of Sunriver. Each year before they take off, they invite Matt and I to come up and play. So far, we've done just that each of the last few years. Timing was perfect for our peak training week for the SOB so we got to really explore (and binge) on a bunch of new trails.

Our first and last runs were long ones, 22 miles and 26 miles. In between were a series of trail runs, hikes, and paddle trips. My friends, Steve and Michelle, are the types of people who have to tire themselves out in order to sleep at night. It's hard to find friends who wear us out rather than the other way around.  They matched our running miles with mountain bike ones. Afternoon adventures were more low-key, but even those were active. By the end of the week, I was exhausted, but in the best way possible.

Saturday
Long run #1 was on the Mrazek Trail leading from Shevlin Park. Designed as a mountain bike trail, the corners are banked and the dirt path is fairly free of debris and toe-catching obstacles. We climbed a gentle grade for eleven miles then turned around.

Gentle climbs are the worst for me and by the time we turned around, I was almost out of mental power. After the first few steps of the return trip, a matching descent, I perked back up. Picturing myself on a bike, I accelerated through the banked turns and leaped over rocks. It was amazing! I finished the run feeling strong and ready to conquer the rest of our biggest week this summer.

Later that day, I noticed a pain leading up from my left ankle into my shin. I tried to figure out where I hurt myself. Since rolled ankles happen every few trail runs, I don't find them memorable anymore.

Refuel!

Sunday
I had to cut my Sunday run short after it didn't loosen up as I ran. Unfortunately, I was already several miles into a loop when I realized it wasn't going to get better so I had to continue on and finish.

LaPine State Park

I'm not the type to run through actual pain, so I spent a good portion of this run scolding myself for being an idiot and running on an injury. I spent the rest of my Sunday with the ankle wrapped up and soaking in the icy cold Deschutes River.

View of Mt. Bachelor from our float down the river.

Refuel again. hehe.

Monday
The cider and river must have done the trick because my ankle felt much better on Monday. Just to be sure it was okay, we traded our run for a few short hikes and explored Newberry National Monument. We spent the day tracing the rims of volcano craters, picking our way through shiny obsidian fields, and best of all, enjoying yet another sunny day that I never take for granted anymore living on the foggy coast.

Paulina Falls

Pumice Cone Trail

Big Obsidian Flow

Giant Obsidian rock

Normally, I like to take on the hardest hike in the park when I visit places likes this. Since I was nursing an angry ankle, I convinced a very reluctant Matt that we should drive to the top of 7,984 ft. Paulina Peak instead. "Ruby Sue wanted to climb to her first mountain summit", I argued. My ankle felt a lot better, but was still a little wobbly on uneven terrain.

Paulina Lake and Big Obsidian Flow from top of Paulina Peak

Then we had more DQ and hit the recovery zone for a hammock snooze.

Royal Blizzard. Not impressed.

My friends know how to do summer correctly.

Tuesday
We kept Tuesday's run on the bike path between Sunriver and Lava Lands just to be sure I didn't re-injure my ankle. Everything went to plan and we had an uneventful nine mile jaunt before the day really heated up.

Sun-Lava Trail

That afternoon, we paddled around Sparks Lake. The inflatable kayak was frustrating to paddle (think less kayak and more floating banana-shaped inner tube), but the scenery didn't disappoint. Mt. Bachelor and the South Sister kept watch as we explored various islands and geological features of the Three Sisters Wilderness.

Sunshine feet and Mt. Bachelor

Introvert recharge time.

Matt and the South Sister

Wednesday
Long Run #2: 26 miles. Since each day was warmer than the previous, we got an even earlier start for our final long run before the SOB taper. We started out with a lap around the top of Lava Butte.

This was our second 20+ mile run in four days. Already tough because of the mileage and adventure time on our legs, it was made more difficult by running in temperatures almost thirty degrees warmer than what we’re acclimated to handle. We chose the Deschutes River Trail, mostly because it was nearby, shaded, and offered ample opportunity to drench our hats and cool off.

DRT.

Stopped to dunk my head five times. Totally saved my run.

Lava Butte

I felt strong mentally and enjoyed the views, company, and every whisper of wind that came our way. After our run, we cleaned up and hit the road again, headed for home. We definitely made the most of our unexpected long weekend.

The Cascades have some really dusty trails.

I can’t believe it’s time to taper already! Where has summer gone?!