I'm ba-ack!

I had to be.  I signed up for a very high profile 10-miler.  But, I'm getting ahead of the story.  To quote one of my favorite movie characters "Dennis would have hated that."

I've been meaning to travel to Washington DC ever since they signed the Constitution and two good friends settled there post-college (one clearly precipitated the other).  But, let's face it.  Oregon is really far form DC... well, now that I am in St. Louis, no excuses!  Plus, my performance/ pace at the St. Louis Half Marathon finally, finally qualified me for the Cherry Blossom 10-mile seeded runner entry.  I had to prove that I could run 10 miles in 64 minutes.  Ouch!

That race is April 3.  Counting back, that means I should have started training two weeks ago.  Ooops.  No matter, that's why I train all year long to maintain a convincing level of fitness (remember the marathon in four days notice?).  I thought that "convincing" was a relative term, until I motivated a 12-mile long run with a trail race this past weekend.

The Wildwood City Council put on a running race to highlight all the work (and moolah) they have put in to developing the trail system around the Meramac River Valley (Moochas-grass-ias).    The first annual Wildwood Frozen Feet 12-miler was held on a rapidly warming (from 20 degrees C, so describing it as a "warming" might be a bit of a stretch) Saturday morning.  The trails, though, were still covered in an ice/slush mix.  I lined up on the front line, though only planning to run ~7min/mile.  It was a tight start on the bike path and I did not want to get tripped up in the take-off. There was a lot of joking around about the pace I would put on and I suggested that I was planning on running backwards to work on my toe-heel strike (ha!)

First couple miles were on bike path and then we hit the rails-to-trails.  The footing here was less "footing" and more pockmarked, ice-holes with the occasionally bare patch.  I fell into a pack with four or so guys setting that sub-7 min/mile pace (it was a race after-all).  We actually did hit a little bit of single-track down around the Stinging Nettle trail.  I practiced my single-track pass and got my stocking hat ripped off by a branch.  The hat flipped up towards the sky and the guy in third plucked it out of the air like professional baseball outfielder and tossed it to me without missing a beat.  Within 20-steps, I was back in front.

And then there were three: me, Tony, and Andrew.  Still holding that pace, we came upon the two-mile uphill.  Tony expressed the opinion that he might not be able to hang on the uphill but we better watch out on the downhill.  Up and up, steeper and steeper we climbed up on the Rock Hollow trail. Thankfully, most of the ice was gone and only a few patches remained. At the top, cones marked a turn around with a water table and a shout-out from a friend (thanks Andy!).  Andrew and I went stride for stride down the hill, picking our way around the rough parts to step on the saltiest bits.  Andrew commented that he wondered if Tony would catch us at the exact moment we heard his rapidly approaching footsteps.  Forced to pick it up by Tony's pace, we hit the now quickly melting slush path turned slip n'slide for the final stretch.  All three of us kept it tread-side down until we hit the concrete.  By then, it was just me and Andrew, as Tony had made his gallant play for the win and faded a bit.  With a half-mile to go, Andrew and I were going back and forth on whether or not we were going to sprint for the finish (Me -"Are you going to be that guy who out sprints the girl at the finish?" Him - "Well, I am a winner".).  And then, in a split second, the last patch of ice before the finish line, reared its ugly blackness beneath my foot and I hit the ground patella first-followed by a hip, an elbow, a shoulder, and, finally, my back.

Andrew, in a chivalrous, and decidedly good guy move, helped me up and jogged with me 600 yds to the finish line, crossing in sync.  In the end, our times are identical, but some how I got the top line on the results.  But, what a great way to get a long run in!  I'm hoping he might want to join me for a non-race long run in the future.

Here's to the start of my legit race training!  My knee wound/bruise is healing nicely... but my brand new Brooks Running half tights have some new air conditioning in the knee (giant hole).

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.

Rave Run: Mary's Peak

Imagine a drippy Saturday morning in Oregon. The temp hovers at 50 °F. A forest with trees as big as 5 ft. in diameter. Spanish moss cascading from winter barren branches. Weak sunshine filtering through the clouds, brightening already vivid woody colors and deafening the sounds of our footfalls.

Footfalls? Running... After a home-made vanilla latte at Cafe Petro (more on this someday), Blair and I hopped into the Beeper for its first off-road experience and the 20-minute drive up Woods Creek Rd. to the base of the Northridge Trail. To local mountain bikers, the Northridge Trail is the holy grail, the nemesis, the scene of major whammies, and the source of their best stories. But on this fine morning, we saw no tire treads, barely any footfalls, and heard only the soft drumming of a misting on the branches and leaves far above our heads.

We started out on fire road 2005 heading towards Conner's Camp, passing through the closed gate, we encountered a single track off to our left. We followed this for a bit before it wound back around to the road. Figuring this was where we were supposed to be (running uphill), we turned left on the road again and continued along for a half mile. Something didn't seem right to me at this point (I thought we should be on single track). So, at a flagged tree, Blair and I turned into the woods along a game trail.. a narrow, sometimes non-existant scramble through underbrush, over downed trees, and across creek beds. We ran/climbed/scampered like this for a few minutes... I'm sure Blair was wondering where on Earth we were going. But, I was in charge of the show, the gal with the plan, and he said he was there to follow me. That's a lot of responsibility. Fortunately, I have a natural sense of where I am supposed to be, and before either of us had a chance to question if this was the right thing to do, we stumbled onto the Northridge Trail.

We again turned uphill... and ran for 45-minutes up the single track. It wasn't a "straight-up", but more of a gentle climb along the contours of the mountain. The air got wetter. We ran through pockets of warm air. Occasionally, we had to slow to climb over downed trees, navigate cascading tree roots, and twinkle-toe through rock gardens. And up, and up. For four miles. But it never seemed like too much and we didn't encounter anybody on the trail. At some points, I was running holding my breath as the trail came precipitously close to tossing us down the nearly sheer slopes.

The pace and the not super uphillness gave us a chance to talk. So, as we ran, Blair and I talked about the Beaver Freezer (OSU's annual fundraising triathlon), yoga, Haiti, cooking (he makes tapioca rice pudding by the gallon and I make chicken soup by the gallon), racing as a professional triathlete, and movies. Sometimes, we didn't talk at all, just breathed and ran.

At long last we reached the top of Mary's...at 4,097 feet, it is the highest point in Oregon’s Coast Range and the most prominent peak to the west of Corvallis. In the woods, we were shielded from the weather. At the top, out in the open, it was colder, rainier, and windier, and we were glad when the trail crossed the parking lot and dipped back into the woods. We had taken the short-cut to the top and planned to run down the East Ridge Trail, taking the Tie Trail back to Northridge. However, crossing the parking lot at the top proved difficult as the clouds shrouded one end from the other. We couldn't see more than 50 ft to where we were going, but after a minute or two running the perimeter, we picked up the trail again and started heading down... so we thought.

It was glorifyingly down hill, and we readjusted the hip flexors and quad muscles for the descent. At the junction with the Tie Trail, we encountered our first people of the day. I was focusing more on my footing, calling out my customary greeting to the hikers "Hi, how are you?!" One hiker called out, "Great, have a good rest of your run, Sunny". Which caused me to nearly fall off the trail. I came to a stop and recognized Mel and Eric, a couple from my cycling team, Pacific Power/Blue Sky. We exchanged a few words, not wanting to let the blood cool to much, Blair and I headed back down the trail quickly. A couple of strides in, he comments... "we've met six people total in 7 miles and you know two of them." What can I say? Most of the people I call friends are active. Stands to reason I would see them out on a cold raining day ascending the highest mountain in coastal range. ;-)

At this point, we thought the trail was all downhill. Wrong. Be prepared, you will run about a 3/4 miles more uphill to meet the junction with Northridge. That was the only part of the whole run that was grueling. After that, we bounded, ran, leaped our way down the switchbacks back to the car. The caffeine had long ago been replaced by adrenaline. We found the trail head that we should have used to avoid our bushwacking (turn right on the fire road from the other trail, proceed 9.2 ft). The real single-track came out 100 yds from the Beeper, and then end of our off-road rave run.

Epic.

Reporting back: Part 2 Mac Forest 15k

Thought I would post this before another awesome week-end began, commenced, convened, took root, you get the picture. It's been almost two week, which is just long enough for my hip flexors to loosen-up, my black toe-nails to fall off, and my bruises to turn from nice deep purple to yellow.

Sunday morning. Post-cyclocross crash. Post-early morning mocha. No rain! Actually, kind of sad about this. I joined Dave, Stacey, and Syd at Dixon for a carpool out to Peavy Arboretum (how very green of us). At the race site, I ran into friend's Jeff and Meghan, at which point Jeff informed me that he was going to run with me the entire race (yeah) and Meghan told me about a famous ultra-trail runner woman that was entered (not Meghan). Oh (eyebrow raised)?

They were playing funky-town music over loud speakers to get everyone in the mood. Syd and I got our groove thing on while waiting in line for the Johnny-on-the-spots. Before I knew it, race time was here. I lined up near the front, pretty sure I would be finishing in the top 30 or so.

And we were off... the first part of the course (as you can see from the elevation profile) is somewhat mellow looking. It goes along a fire road for about a mile before diving into single track on Calloway Creek Trail. Then the ankle twisting turns and undulating little ups and downs begin. Jeff was nowhere to be seen, but I settled in with a cute tall guy from Eugene named Rob (he's married and we are now FB friends). He would catch me on the downhills and I would lose him on the ups.

Then the real "up" begins. Someone asked me a couple of weeks before the race if it was hilly. I replied that it was less "hilly" and more just "hill. Again I refer to the elevation chart. My race plan from the start was to run slightly too easy on the first few miles so that I could really work the giant climb to the top of Powderhouse Trail (1300'). And that is exactly how it worked. I missed Rob weakly-jokingly calling out "wait for me", but instead eased into my uphill mojo, passing numerous people. Leaving them to wonder how I was doing it.

Then the downhill started, and here is where I suck. My high center of gravity, long stride, Morton's toe, sense of personal safety all prevent me from letting loose down Bonsai Trail (refer to the 1100' to 500' nose-dive that the course takes which, despite the drawing, does not involve a negative slope or any sort or rappelling). Jeff passed me near the top, with a "I didn't think I was going to catch you" and "Come with me". Yeah, I'll work on it.

Here's the thing.... my realistic goal was to complete the 15K sufferfest in 1:10:00 and to feel really good on that awful last steep climb that comes in the final mile. And I felt great. The PF was a tiny bit sore, thanks to an ankle bauble at mile 8. But, I felt awesome, and I hauled into the finish line, almost catching a few of the myriad that passed me on Bonsai. And I finished in 1:09:36, 32nd overall, and 4th female.

And I had an awesome time. Even more awesome was the noodles and tomatoes and cheese sandwich that I had for lunch and the Sunday afternoon football game that I watched through my eye-lids (napping) that afternoon!

And guess where I got the picture of the elevation profile? The sadistic race organizers who came up with this course put it on the back of the race shirt. Guess they figured if they put it with the course map, no one would race.

Race week-end

Back from Switzerland and at it again.

Today, I'll be an athletic supporter at the Strands 5K in the morning. Later, I am the official "Dead Meat Chef" at the Willamette Valley Cyclcross race... orchestrating the post-race grillin' up of beast parts so's everyone on my Pacific Power/Blue Sky team (and others) can get their RDA of nitrates and other performance-decreasing substances. Sauerkraut anyone?

In the afternoon, it is my turn to tear up the golf course. The bike is race ready again, thanks to cycling buddy Denny. He used up his yearly quota of expletives while replacing my cables last week. He had to remove my old grimy bar tape that had congealed with the handle bar. It took hardcore paint stripper to get that stuff off.

After that I submerge the lower half of my body in an ice bath, watch OSU kick USC's a$$ in football, and continue to carbo load for Sunday's adventure: the sufferfest known as the Mac Forest 15K trail run. I'm trying to break 1:10, for the 9.whatever course if that gives you any indication of how hilly and hard it is. And, to make it even better.... It's been raining sinks and stoves every other day, and race day is supposed to be another wet one. Do you think I should put the spikes in my shoes or just hope the waffling on the Brooks Cascadia's (I've got the pink ones, of course) is enough to keep me from slipping to my death?

I'll report back.

Sunshine and day dreams come true.

The sun returned to the central valley just in time for a little cross bike action in the forest.  And to take advantage of the extra daylight and the warm sunshine...  I took a little work break in the early evening to put in some hill repeats on my favorite fire roads.  I was in a hurry to hit the trails so I drove over to Heather's house.  A fur-ball named Mo tried to hitch a ride in my clothes bag.

Sadly, Mo had to stay behind... But I took Dean over to Oak Creek Rd.  and immediately started climbing up to Dimple Hill.  The sun dappled and dazzled through the trees and the air grew slightly warmer (or maybe I grew slightly warmer) as I neared the top.  And, the beauty of the iPhone:  My "cycle-burn" playlist streaming out of the speakers at full blast made a beautiful climbing cadence. 

I posed only a moment at the top (to take a pick and not wanting to waste any light) before jamming over to the Lewisburg saddle.  I muddied myself up on the Saddle loop and as I crossed the road to head back up to Dimple, I took a leg-check.  Everything checked out, so I added one more tempo climb, this one on the single-track of Horse Trail.

About to practice my high-speed descending.

I was almost cooked at this point (good thing I had no more climbing to do).   I began the descent down to Oak Creek, a hairy, one-lane steep gravel road with blind turns and a steep drop off on one side.  I rounded a turn and a group of completely clue-less nature-haters had parked their cars (?!) in the middle of the fire road.  My adrenaline hit peak capacity as I skidded and swerved/careened around the open car doors (adding insult to injury... as if just having the car take up the whole road wasn't enough).  I was so keyed up, I added in a climb and descent down Uproute Trail to make the ride the little longer and drain some of that electric energy before working a tad more.

Night Rider

When you meet up at 6:15 pm at the Oak Creek entrance of the Mac-Dunn Forest on a clear, mild, late October evening... you know you are in for something special.  The vivid reds and yellows of the turning leaves fade into the dusk as the sun falls behind the hills.  Sounds of town are muffled.  And the only things you are aware of are your breathing, the crunch of leaves and gravel under rubber, and the stillness around you.

I rode out to meet Pam, Brent, and Christine for a little night riding last Thursday.  This was the second test of my new MiNewt X2 LED bike light, and the first time I would be riding in deep darkness (the first was just a twilight test).  I was a tiny bit nervous, but the butterflies in my stomach could easily be explained away by the 5 mini-Toblerones that I had as a pre-ride snack.

Pam and Christine were on mountain bikes and were meant to finish up at the cars, whereas Brent and I were on cross bikes and planning on riding to our respective front doors.  Brent and I took off first (Christine tried to ride in her clogs... doh!), heading up the Oak Creek fire road (becoming Patterson Rd.) for a little climbing and loopage on the forest maintenance roads.  Darkness didn't fall immediately, but almost getting nailed by riders coming down the trail made us realize we were kind of invisible.  At the top we turned on our lights and looped around to the Saddle (a point at which four forest service roads converge at a small parking lot and the peak of the Lewisburg Rd.), deciding to ride back and descend Dan's trail (single track) in the dark to get home and extend the awesomeness.

There were so many riders out enjoying the warmth of the forest, including boys from Full Cycles and several groups of two with dogs in tow (thankfully wearing blinky lights).

We stopped at the top of Dan's on Dimple Hill for Brent to change his tire (slow leak) and I was able to drink in the "city" lights of Corvallis.  And then here is where the fun begins...  descending down Dan's is a blast.  Descending down Dan's in the dark with lights (but not a head lamp) is slightly sketch but also a blast.  Descending down Dan's at full tilt when that light goes out... not so much.  About 2/3rds of the way down, on a section that I was admittedly taking faster than the conditions merited, my LED light went dark, leaving me to test the mettle of my cross breaks.  I yelled out "Brent" to which he responded... "What!?.... Oh!"  By the time he got back to shed light on me, I was already four feet off the path and in a fern.  So much for being able to feel your way in the darkness.

After that, I stayed close on his wheel, riding the rest of the way slowly back in to town.  It wasn't so bad.  But from now on I am going to charge my light every night and bring a spare. Jeez!  That could have been bad.  Bad-ass and awesome!

Race Report: Velo Rickreall Rampage

Actual quote from the race flyer:

"Mostly open, slightly bumpy, farm-course with a woodsy trail"

Translated:

We are going to run you through the dry corn fields that are so bumpy you're going to need dental work and a CAT scan afterward.  The woodsy trail is so tight and narrow that your front wheel will meet your rear wheel coming and you'll feel like a pinball, bouncing off the trees and getting matching bruises on each shoulder.  And lest we forget... for the women, we have something special.  We are going to wet down the approach to the bridge so that you have ample opportunity to get muddy!

Yeah!

Sorry this is a little late.  It's been a weird week.  But, I wanted to get this up, as I have now officially competed in three (count 'em 1-2-3) cyclocross races.  AND, I threw it in with the Women's A field, no sand-baggers here.

I rode up to Rickreall with Heather, Sandra, and a slightly "happy" Jim.  We approached the hazelnut/ corn farm just as the Men's single speed division was getting started.  The course immediately made an impression on us as being not-so-much beginner friendly as we watched 

several guys attempt to ride down into the drainage ditch, work a 180 in the gravel and dirt only to dead-wheel it trying to get out of the ditch.  Hmmm.. we were all thinking we would attempt it the first lap and run it the rest.

Waiting for the start of the race....

The race started a little late, owing to the fact that the crew had to "build-up" the approach ramp to a narrow bridge after each race because the loose sandy dirt kept falling away.  Then one crew member must have thought "Wouldn't it be cool.. if we wet it down?  Then the loose dirt wouldn't fall away".  For all intense purposes, this would have worked, except they got a little overzealous with the water and turned it into a mudslide.  So, 400 yds from the start line, the Women's A field hopped over a barrier and attempted to claw their way up this ramp.  The first rider made it okay... the second, not so much.  The third (me) and fourth (the girl next to me) were impeded by #2  who almost dropped her bike on my head.  Seeing this develop... I put a firm hand on her butt and pushed her up onto the bridge.  However, my physics teacher would have at this moment reminded me of the law of conservation of energy, and I slid down the ramp in the mud and back into the barrier.

So, I had to let every one go in front me and then took a running leap at the ramp to get up and over.  At this point, I got caught by the Women's B field that had started 30 seconds back.  But, I  managed to stay ahead of them and pick my way into the single track section.  Both legs and one arm were muddied from this ordeal and as I came out of the woods, I heard one guy remark to his buddy "How'ld I miss the mud wrestling part?"  HEHE.

So, from this point on it was just me trying to catch and pass the Women's A field in front of me.... not as easy as you might think.  The first rider was gone... superstar, she would beat me by half a lap.  But, I put on enough speed to catch 2nd place around the 5th lap (out of 9, I think).  I got a little help from my teammates on the course who let me pass just before or in the single track and took slightly longer to pull over for my pursuers.  I attempted the 180 in the drainage every time and even managed to ride up it once.  I got major props from the spectators for hoping on the bike on top of the bridge and riding down the other side unclipped (no small feat).

The Finnisher demonstrating the bridge technique while Sandra and Heather wait for racers to come out of the single track section.

And in the end, I was muddy, out of breath, numb from the elbows down because of the corn field (and thankful I was riding 30 psi in the tires), and smiling ear-to-ear.  I love this sport.

Oh, and the next morning, I managed to run a road race 10K personal best at the Fall Festival of 37:39.  Yeah, baby!

Where's Waldo Lake: Mountain Bike Weekend

One year ago, who would have thought it, but I'm getting pretty good at this mountain biking thing.  I still have a little bit of road-biker mentality when it comes to riding over rocks (avoid at all costs) and bumps (not good), but as I've gotten faster and more used to having suspension in the front (still rocking the hard tail) I find myself starting to believe my friend Marty when she told me "It's easier to ride over the rocks if you are going fast."

Friday night, Erika, Bill, Marsh-dog, and I packed up the car and drove off to Waldo Lake to meet up with Jim and Heather and another couple from the Pacific Power Blue/Sky team.  In total, we had seven adults (if I count in that), one kidlet (two if I don't), four dogs, eight bikes, and three flavors of Pop-tarts.

Saturday morning we broke into a couple of groups, Bill deciding to run the 20-some odd miles around the lake, Erika and Heather planning a couple of hour out-and-back, and Jim and I mountain-biking around the lake.  Right off-the-bat, I took on some bruises when I got the front wheel hung up on a stump.  I went down so hard and so flat-chested that I bruised my ribs a little bit.  But, not wanting to look to foolish in front of the much more technically gifted Jim, I jumped up, dusted myself off, and said "okay.  Now that I got that out of the way, let's ride."

And we did!  I took the lead most of the way as Jim let me test out my skills with a view of the trail (the lead rider invariably kicked up a lot of dust to obscure the trail for the rider back).  He coached me in a little technique, but mostly we just talked about bikes (wouldn't it be cool... if there were some apparatus that could keep the chain continuously lubed?!  We talked about different ways and requirements for a good 30 minutes!), politics, science (he's a chemical engineer), and of course mutual friends and cool people (we were a couple of gossip queens for a bit).

Before, I knew it, we had gone a 1:30 without stopping and only encountered a couple of spots that I had to shuttle... one was a really narrow gravelly bit that I am sure gets a lot of avalanche action into the lake in the winter... totally exposed, and gorgeous:

Yup, like that.

Continuing on, we encountered a few mosquitos (though nothing to swarm home about), a testosteronie mountain biker (who I am sad to admit was correct about the fact that he had right of way, going uphill and all, but the trail was wide enough that I could go around without stopping!  Peace, love, and rim tape, man!).  We were accosted by Marshall before we saw Bill running.  He looked a little worse for wear, having taken a wrong turn, but still truckin'.  The last 3 miles for us were all single-track and downhill and I put on some seriously impressive moves to stay upright over the roots and rocks.  Scott G. would be so proud!

Jim laughing at me as I almost fall backwards taking the picture.

To chill out after the long ride, Erika and I wet-suited up and braved the 60 degree water of the lake for a little swim around shore.  And it was amazing.... the bottom was a good 40 ft below us at some points and it looked like you could reach out and touch the submerged logs, it was that clear.  I bet a SCUBA diver would have 100s of feet of visibility in the lake, and no fish or plant life (except some moss near the shore) to obscure the view.  Rumor has it there is a submerged airplane in the lake... wouldn't it be cool to dive there?  Correction, wouldn't it be freakin' freezing to dive there?!

Next day, we all combined to head out on bikes clockwise on the trail, with Bill, Heather and I continuing on past Betty and Bobby Lake South to the Gold Lake Trail head.  Can you say "10 miles of hair on fire, single track downhill"?  I couldn't quite keep up with Heather, but I was smiling the whole time and fast!  At one point, I almost pitched off the side of the hill when my weight was going the wrong way to avoid a downed tree.  And then there was the creek crossing that I attempted only to hear Heather yell from above "rock!" just as I hit it... oops.  Managed to stay dry and unscathed.  At the bottom we opted for the road, not wanting to slowly climb through the "Gold Lake Bog Preservation Area".  That is code for "mosquito heaven".  Back on the trail, we all took our own pace, being at various stages of bonking, and arrived back to the campsite with enough time to jump in the water again for a swim before heading back to Corvallis.

Erika and I getting ready to freestyle... 

Ricky Bobby (Bill) tarding it up in the background.

Guide: Waldo Lake is SE of Eugene, OR and ~ 2 hours from Corvallis.  Take some strong mosquito repellent.  The trails are all well marked, and with the lake and several topographically well-defined mountains, navigation in the area is a cinch.  One thing we will do next time: bring a kayak/canoe.  Motors are restricted on the lake... maybe why it is still so pristine.  I'm telling you, not even a bit of trash at the bottom of the lake!  

Rave Run: Gale's Creek, Tillamook National Forest

After the race, I hung out in Portland for the day, watched a crazy costume/flying contraption race, ate sushi, visited Powell's books, and then headed West for a little camping in Tillamook National Forest.  I camped at Gales Creek campground overnight.  My original plan for Sunday was to do a bunch of hikes near the beach, but since I camped in the forest, woke up to such a glorious day, and was feeling pretty rested after my race, I decided to do a little trail running.

Ode to the trail runner:

With shoes that are muddy,

and legs feeling like putty,

I plunge into another gully.

A frolick in the forest,

a valley laid before us.

And the camelback all but empty.

I speed past the mountain bikers.

Narrowly miss the hikers.

And still avoid the poison ivy.

The dirt and root miles,

full of footing trials,

and still I love thee.

With the end of the path near.

I kick it into another gear.

And exit the trail with a finale. 

Sorry about the bad poetry.  Solitary adventure inspires my creative bones (or maybe my not so creative bones).  Anywho, Gales Creek Trail was listed in the Honorable Mention section of the coastal hiking book I had brought along.  Probably because it offers no view of the ocean, only scattered vista views of the forest hills, and would normally be infested with mountain bikers.  However, over the winter, the area experienced a ton of flooding that took out parts of the trail and the forest service actually closed the most of the section of Gale's Creek that is North from the campground for repairs and debris removal.  Other trails in the area were similarly affected (or so I would find out), likely keeping many a would be trail patron away.

No matter, I checked out the trail maps at the Trail Head for the South trail and it looked like I could make a pretty sweet trail loop by running up as far as I could go North on Gales Creek, catching the Storey Burn Trail to Gravelle Brothers and University Falls (the halfway point), circling around on River Wagon Road Trail to Nels Rogers and finishing by running back to the campground on the South Gale's Creek Trail.

I packed up the 2L camelback with water, camera, bright orange jacket (just in case I get lost, shot at, run over by ATVs... what could possibly go wrong?), first aid kit, hand-drawn map from the trail sign post (see below), Cola Clif Blox, a Mixed Nut Mojo Bar, and a Justin's Nut Butter Cinnamon Almond Butter and Marionberry Jelly Bagel Sandwich (a.k. J.N.B.C.A.B.& M.J.B.S.).  And I was off.

My awesomely incomplete map of the trail loop.

Gales Creek and Storey Burn were gorgeous.  I wound up through the creek-way, up and over several vistas.  There were breaks in the trees that afforded expansive hill-side views of the forest.  Sunlight dappled through the tress, creating a scene with every green color imaginable.  Imagine a 96 Crayola Crayon box with only green hues.  There were purple and red and yellow and pink flowers dotting the forest floor.  The footing was mostly pine needles and lomey dirt with the occasional rock or root.  I had to stop several times to take pictures it was so gorgeous.  And not a sole, nor a sound not made by me or nature.

How can you not love this trail?

I came out of the forest to cross HWY 6 and head along the Gravelle Brothers Trail.  And then there was a tiny problem.  Well, actually a big problem.  The trail was closed, but it looked as if another trail off to the left may have taken it's place and it headed in the general direction of University Falls.  I had only been running about 35 minutes at this point, so I figured, what could it hurt.  After all, according to my hand-made map, the falls were only half a finger away (half a finger corresponding to approximately 1.5 miles).

The trail started off nice enough, but soon became pretty technical with small logs and roots.  Clearly, enterprising mountain bikers wanting to make the loop had forged this trail.  I would have a had a difficult time riding it, much less the ankle-twisting, toe-stubing, high-stepping semblance of running that I was trying to accomplish.  Full on 30 minutes later I arrived at a sign that said "University Falls" with a hand-painted picture of a water fall.  But, at this point there were three trails that converged... and my awesome map only showed one trail.  I scratched my head for a few seconds, realized why the guide book had stated in no uncertain terms "consider taking a topographic map of the forest with you on any excursion", and finally decided that after a solid hour of running, I would simply back track along the trail-that-is-not-named and catch the Eliott Creek OTV trail to the tip of Nels Rogers.

I didn't at the time know what "OTV" stood for.  But, I found out... It stands for over-sized, tank-like vehicles.  No really, this trail was mostly fire road and double track.  As I was finishing up on it and crossing over HWY 6 and back to Gales Creek, it seemed like the entire population of Oregon that owns an ATV had convened at this trail head.

Needless to say, I was super glad to get back on the single track.  I chatted up a mountain biker on the trail about his ride and almost ran up on two other mountain bikers that had started descending the trail a few minutes before me (in their defense, it was a hugely technical downhill for the MTBers).  All-in-all, it was a 2:00:07 run not including the few stops along the way to take pics, chat, and consider taking a better map.  Before the summer is out, I'ld love to take my mountain bike and my trail shoes up here again and explore some of the other trails, including the River Wagon Trail that I didn't make it to.

Run for the Hills

Boy, did I ever. My second race in two days. I was feeling a little shnarky from Friday's festivities (it was one of my labmate's last days, so naturally we had to give her a good send off) and Saturday's celebration (State TTT Champs, yo). But I managed to get out of bed early enough to ride Tigger the 5 miles to the race start in time to register for this fun and local trail run.

Last Wednesday, Cary, the race coordinator, board member of the Greenbelt Land Trust that was the beneficiary of the race, and current fellow Wednesday night speedster who feels no qualms about running my legs off each week, convinced me that this was going to be the most fun to be had on a Sunday morning. Which, ironically, turned out to be true. Just as an aside, the Greenbelt Land Trust is kind of like a not-for-profit Boulder Country Parks and Rec that goes around buying open space around Corvallis to create a green buffer to keep out the big box stores. So, the "Greenbelt" is creating a sort of People's Republic of Corvallis.

My experiences last summer with the Imogene Pass Run convinced me that there is nothing more fun than running trails uphill. So, I was really looking forward to this event, especially as a great test of my fitness leading into next week-ends Dirty Half. The first mile starts off gradually uphill along an asphalt bike path, but quickly pops onto single track and turns up the heat on the incline as we proceeded through some sharp switchbacks. The path narrows and then widens out into horse track around mile two, screaming downhill back to a little bit of the blacktop trail before cutting across a grass field and entering the woods on the backside of Baldy. From this point, the trail undulated, weaved, bobbed, and generally tested the hip flexors before ascending all the way to the top of Bald Hill where we were serenaded by a folk guitarist at mile 3.5 before heading downhill and back to the start/finish area. Throughout the race I picked off the runners in front of me until I found myself running behind a guy wearing Tevas (no joke). I was actually content to stay behind him as I figured he had the best foot placement ever, but he was nice enough to pull up and let me pass. So, I was left to cruise down the hill (I refuse to call it a mountain) into the finish.

My motivation during the race actually came from a ghost runner. Erika's Bill ran the course on Saturday and was kind enough (evil chuckle) to tell me his time before hand. I imagined him at each turn just out of sight. In a way, it was kind of unfair because I had the benefit of other competitors, but I was handicapped by the TTT the day before. But, you won't hear any excuses from me because I beat him in the end.

I thought I was under the radar on this one, but today there was a picture of me (starting the race) on the cover of the Gazette Times. But today's props go to my friend Sydney who was quoted in the paper as saying "I kind of felt like barfing right then" - about the summit of Bald Hill. Don't feel bad. We all did, Chica.