Ladies' Weekend, Part 1: Enchanted Forest Wine Run

Nikki pours the coffee as Lanore digs into the breakfast cookies. I splash some milk on my Lucky Charms. Morning clouds add a damp, icy chill to the air outside our cozy little yurt. I've always treasured how diverse my group of running friends is, but it makes weekends like this extremely rare. We're all pulled around in our own social circles but running is where our lives overlap for a moment. Later we go on with the other interests and obligations that don't match.  We've gathered for our weekend's main event: the Enchanted Forest Wine Run 24K trail race. Although it is the reason for us choosing this weekend, it's hardly the highlight of mine.

Lanore B. photo.

We quickly pack up our bedding and say goodbye to the yurt. When we arrive at the race, it's still cloudy and chilly. We affix our tutus, navigate portable toilets littered with glitter, and then make our way to the start.

Lanore nudges me to the front of the pack, and I resist. My body is still sore from the half marathon last weekend. I'm supposed to be running this one for fun, I tell her, before pointing out that UltraSignup has her predicted her finish in the top three ladies. She's also intimidated by the fact that she's wearing bib number one. Nikki joins us in line and the we start off up the hill through Woolridge Creek Winery. We pass rows of grapes as we head the ridge. I'm not half a mile into the race and am already snapping photos, the way it should be if I'm really taking this one easy.

After taking one year off between race directors, the two guys who direct the Siskiyou Out Back agreed to take this run over too. They pared back the amenities and made changes to the course, practically doubling the climbing involved. Instead of a mere 2,500 ft. gain over thirteen miles, it was now 4,000 ft. in fifteen. Then those sneaky bastards forgot to change the course maps on the website, making the added difficulty a complete surprise.

It's not until four miles into the race that I realize that an easy, fun day isn't going to happen with that amount of climbing involved. Regardless, I walk when I need to, and it's not as bad as it could be.

With Lanore up ahead and Nikki somewhere behind me, I eventually make friends with a couple of runners nearby. They always catch up to me on the downhills and I power-hike back to them on the uphills. "I'm the world's worst downhill runner, let me know when you want to go by," became the most common phrase of my race day. The truth is, it's not easy for anyone to run down. Most of the downhills in the middle of the course are so steep that I slide out on my butt a couple of times just walking them.

Benign runnable section.

As the clouds break apart, the day begins to heat up. I'm already soaking wet from the mist clinging to one of the ridges, so I welcomed the warmth with open arms. It took eight miles, but I'm finally feeling good!

Climbing up a hill between miles nine and twelve, I remember this steep and unrelenting hill as a descent from on the way out. Nobody is ahead or behind me and just as what happened last time I ran this race, I'm unsure if I'm still on course.

Just as I'm about to turn around, certain I'm going the wrong way, I spot a runner up ahead. And it's Lanore. She took off so quickly at the beginning, I never thought I'd catch up to her. She's looking pretty rough, similar to how she was at my trail race in June when she had a bit of a medical emergency. I pull out a salt tab and offer it to her. "You look like you might need this, I've got an extra. Do you want it?" I ask. Without hesitation, she takes it and we work together to get up the hill to the aid station. I take my time downing multiple glasses water. A volunteer is refilling my bottle when I notice that I've spotted my very first real-life unicorn!  Only in the enchanted forest!

As Lanore and I pull away, the volunteers tell us it's all downhill to the end. Lanore dashes off ahead as I pick up the pace too. With each step, I'm muttering to myself, just stay up-right. just stay up-right. I'm catching up and passing a few other runners, including a guy who ran the whole race with a DSLR camera in his hand, as I try to stay in control.

According to my watch, I've got less than a mile to go when the trail finally changes to a dirt road. Then I hear footsteps behind me. Now back on a much more gentle downhill, I make it my mission to keep them behind me. Despite my accelerations, they're still gaining on me. I ratchet the pace up another couple of notches and when I reach a clearing, I glance down at my pace, 7:20. Nice. I make two more quick turns and finish ahead of them.

Puzzled by the lack of organization at the finish, I wander around looking for someone to take my bib number tag. It appears that nobody is actually timing the race, but I figure that maybe I'm missing something in my post-race haze. One week later, no results are posted online, so I've got only my Garmin stats. How am I supposed to find out if that string-bean kid ahead of Hal Koerner at one mile stayed ahead of him?!

2:54:32
11:42/mi.
3,967 ft. gain

Lanore packs up and heads out to her grandkids' soccer tournament in Sacramento (a ten million hour drive south), while Nikki and I indulge in a charcuterie plate. After a quick stop to caffeinate, we head for the forest roads south of Cave Junction. As it turns out, our home for the night is so far in the middle of nowhere that we have to travel into and out of California before arriving at our destination.