Climbs and Crossings

ALL THE HAY. IT'S IN THE BARN.   Three weeks before TNF 50k I paused at this point during my last training run on the course knowing that this was what I'd be seeing with 2.8 miles of downhill left to run...which probably wouldn't be as fun as it sounds come race day when I'd already have 29 miles on my legs. You reach a point where the downhill hurts just as bad as the up. Walking hurts just as bad as running. You get to a point where pain is just a fact, so I stood here to visualize mile 29.2, how I would feel, and what it would take to push myself down this trail to the finish line. That was Sunday. By Thursday I was sick and spent the next week on the couch. Then it was Thanksgiving plus why not throw in a bunch of other things going on, so the three weeks before the race became sort of an extreme taper where I was either not feeling well enough to think about the race or too busy. Maybe a blessing in disguise...the taper crazies stayed away, mostly. Not rea...

It's summer, and I'm not injured. Finally, my dumb ankle isn't trying to ruin my life, so I ran the hell out of my birthday. 33 miles for 33 years. From the City to the trails.  Lucky for me, it was a cool foggy summer day in the city. I loaded my pack with Gu and Glo bars and took off from the Castro a little after 7am toward the Marina. There's quite a bit of up and down between those two points... I made my way past Crissy Field and on up to the bridge, which, at this early hour, was pretty much empty except for a few cyclists. Karl the Fog out in full force On the other side, I crossed underneath the bridge to pick up the Coastal Trail and start the one mile climb up into the Headlands. I was hoping once I got to the top and made my way to the other side of the hills the fog would clear, but....nope. It was really quiet and a little bit spooky for most of the miles to the beach. I was prepared to round a corner and suprise a mountain lion...

On the Sunday morning a week before the 104th annual Dipsea race, I went out for a final training run to attend the Church of the Dipsea Trail. It was a time to quiet the mind and focus on strategy, to run with and talk to veterans of the race and to feel graced by the beauty all around...because race day would be total balls out insanity and there wouldn't be time for any of that. I've run the race twice, both times in the Runner section (that's the way way back). I consider myself an expert on what it's like to run for the first time and think you've done enough research to know what you're in for (HA HA HA), but you don't. I also consider myself an expert on what it's like to run for a second time and think you know more than you did the first time, but you don't.  If nothing else, I can tell you a good story. You get to see the start of the race you're running...again...and again...and again... At 8:30 am the race began with group ...

This is a big deal. Without fail, there is somebody at every ultra I've run that I hear say, Oh, I'm not really trying for anything today, I'm just using this as a training run for my self supported run across Canada next month. I'll probably just cartwheel the whole thing.   I heard this type of exchange on the bus on the way to the start. "It's only a 50 miler, so the heat shouldn't even be an issue." It's a good thing it was dark... The "it's only a 50 miler" comment snapped me out of the anxious mind chatter and got me refocused. The few weeks leading up to the race, any time it came up, GeNene would say to me, "This is a big deal." Then I started saying it, and understanding what it really meant. This is something that I used to talk about doing "someday". It seemed really far off. I believed I could do it, but it would happen to some distant future version of me. "This is a big deal" m...

Advantage: I know this course backward and forward. Disadvantage: Something's up with my knee, and something's up like I'm getting sick plus my head's not in the game because I'm worried about the first two things. The few days prior to taking off for Pacifica, my plan was to just pretend everything was fine.  Even when we got there and my throat felt crummy, and I had no idea if my knee would hold up for one loop let alone 4... Everything is so totally fine.  I thought, I'll wake up and get ready and feel fine...I'll get to the park and warm up and feel fine...I'll start the race and feel fine. I woke up, and my throat still felt crummy. I warmed up, and my knee hurt. I started the race, and I wasn't sure how far I could make it. GeNene had said to me, in my pre race pep talk, "You know your body, and if your knee is hurting or you're not feeling good, you know when to stop." I smiled. I nodded. She gets me, I thought. She...

The wind, though... Especially when you also have to deal with all of *this* A little drought relief finally came in the form of a few days of total downpour across Central California just in time for  Coastal Trail Run's  Golden Gate trail race in the Marin Headlands. Chance of rain on Saturday morning was Infinity%. Traffic directing volunteers: much respect.   The start had the group of us standing on the road under an angry sky, waves crashing next to us onto Rodeo Beach, listening to Wendell's ribbon instructions (polka dot means a turn is coming up, blue is bad). Some wore rain jackets. Some wore garbage bags, and some wore ponchos. I chose a light rain jacket and a hat to keep the rain out of my face (fat chance). The morning air was warm. The rain was light but steady, and the wind was threatening to make things interesting. We took off up the Coastal Trail on the first big climb. A couple miles and 900 feet uphill later, I was welcoming t...