Sometimes it rains...

And sometimes it doesn't!

Had a full weekend. Here's the short version. Run, swim, bike, run. In that order.

Here's the (slightly) longer version:

Signed up on whim for the Willamette Mission Trail Challenge, a 10K trail run held in the MUDDY river flats of the Willamette River up North in Salem. According to the race website

"Expect very muddy conditions and heck, you may hafta wade through some water too! Be prepared for tons of mud and standing water on the course!"

Rumor had it that with all the rain we had been getting in the soggy Northwest (Thanks, Global Warming!), parts of the course, the park entrance, and the Honey Pot had all been submerged under four feet of water. (I may have made that last one up). But, you wouldn't know it come race day. Don't get me wrong; it was muddy, shoe-suckingly-so in some spots. However, there was little-to-no standing water (except for the giant puddle at the finish which I two-footed). And in most spots you could stump-jump from semi-dry spot, to grassy patch. That didn't stop me, though. I got a respectable amount of mud on my legs, had a run in with an errant twig (left a sweet mark on my forehead), and managed to turn my new pink Cascadias into a nice shade of river-bottom brown. It was 10K of sheer joy.

And apparently, I am "the Corvallis fast girl" who "crushed the muddy 6.2 mile course in 43:25" (according to the newsfeed on the Run Wild Adventures website). Crushed might be a strong word for it. Perhaps, squished would be more appropriate.

This is the face of someone not having fun.... (Oregonpixels.com)

And then there was Sunday. Oh, beautiful Sunday. How often does the sun come out, warm my back, and freckle my nose in the depths of winter? Well, apparently at least once. The last day of my first build to half ironman shape. The day I needed to get in a 4+-hour road ride no matter what (okay... I would have done a 4-hour cyclocross ride if the weather were really terrible). The day I had circled in pink highlighter on my calendar as the evening when I would eat dessert and imbibe on the fine pinot noir I had selected from Eola Hills, just up the road near Rickreall, as a special treat for being good for three whole weeks. Yes, that day turned out to be bright, mostly sunny, no rain, dry roads, only a breath of wind, awesome.

And to top it off, I had a fresh collegiate, 21-year-old riding partner capable of ripping my legs off as we climbed up Decker Rd. for the last 10 miles. I earned that pinot noir.